Crazy Writing Person

Staying in Touch

2012-02-12T11:04:00.002-06:00

In the past 24 hours I have spoken to most of the people I love best. There's Durwood, of course, my roomie and personal chef. DS called for advice on how to sew grain bags together to make a brewfest table cover. I called Aunt B, left a message, and she called back. We chattered away for half an hour or so not really saying much of import, just catching up on each others' lives. I look at that as one long "I love you" with the added bonus of getting to brag (even more) about my family. This morning I talked to both my brothers, DD, and DIL1. The only one I missed is DIL2 and she's got a cold so I thought I'd let her nap this afternoon while DD's at work. (Oh, by the way, it's almost 4:30 PM. Me and the Old Guy went to Sam's and Walmart, then I went to JoAnn, so don't believe the posting time.) Next I want to whip up some curried cauliflower chicken soup for next week's lunches and maybe some hummus to have for lunch too. I bought a cucumber and some Roma tomatoes to slice and take along to put on my garlic Melba rounds with a schmear of hummus and my soup. Doesn't that sound good? I think so. Right now Durwood's in the kitchen leaned back in his chair snoring away. That man is a sleeping savant. He can nap anywhere anytime.

February 12--Alexander Gardner, Abraham Lincoln. He looked tired, Alex thought. No wonder with the job he had but the tall man was gracious and cooperative as he got the vignette set up for the photo session. Alex wanted a spare setting, no swags or draperies, no potted ferns or peacock feathers, Just a plain wall, a muted carpet, a chair and a table. Simple, like the man. Lincoln was taller and thinner than he'd thought. Stringy almost but with the kind of wiry strength that convinced Alex that he would work hard and achieve his goals.

Happy birthday, Abe! Time to make soup.
--Barbara

Played Outside!

2012-02-11T11:19:00.002-06:00

Oh, it was glorious yesterday afternoon when I went to let Porter out to potty. First, she is soooo happy to see me (I'm certain that she's sedate, almost non-responsive when anyone else goes in her house) and then we went outside with a squeeky ball and my snowshoes. She was a little shy at first as she's suspicious of new things and tubular metal things, like the scary bicycles she passes on walks, but she quickly got over it. The snow wasn't deep so it was easy for us to find the ball once I threw it and we had a blast. Up and down the yard we ran/clomped, my ski pole was the perfect implement to retrieve the ball when she took it behind the bushes and she even lost it in the brush pile but we managed to get it and go on playing. I'm sure their neighbors would (and probably do) if they're out when I'm there because I talk to her as if she's going to talk back. We had a good 45 minute romp in the snow and then I was ready to stop, she wasn't but she's just a puppy. She'd have played ball as long as there was some sap to throw the ball and then chase her to get it back. I skipped knitting and yoga last night and today I'm skipping a day-long writing workshop. I just feel over committed lately so I'm really scaling back. I realized the other day that I haven't even been knitting, I just sit and stare at the TV. That's not like me. I need to step back and regroup. Not to worry.

February 10--Western Europe, Armor. All those little metal rings must have been a pain to make. There were no machines that spit out miles of metal that was then around a form and then cut. Nope, some poor schmuck had to heat metal, draw it out by pounding on it, then heat it again, then pound it, over and over hundreds of times to make chain mail. And those helmets are like a torture device. They could barely see out. I can't imagine riding a horse in full armor, much less into battle. I would just give up and play dead.

Part of me, the self-preserving part, thinks I'd be the one muscling to the front of the line for the lifeboats on the Titanic, but I know I'd be the one standing by the rail handing people in and being all reassuring. Damned selfless work ethic. You're welcome, DS & DD, and sorry.
--Barbara

Finally--Snow!

2012-02-10T11:48:00.005-06:00

This is the view I had when I opened the shade this morning. I know, I know, I complain endlessly about winter and cold and snow but it is February in Wisconsin, it's supposed to be cold and snowy. It makes me feel hardy and unbowed by the elements to live, work and play here. Plus I haven't been able to snowshoe all winter. Hmm, I think I'll take my snowshoes along when I go to let Porter out. She'll get a charge out of them, I bet. She and I had a blast playing with the ball, a squeeky ball, yesterday afternoon. She nearly had me trained to come after she caught it, ran around squeeking it, and then stopped and dropped it. We can play ball in the snow with me on snowshoes. Now, there's something to look forward to. This La Nina winter has been one disappointment after another. And I just erased the audiobook I was almost through listening to when I downloaded a Pink Martini album on iTunes. I saw a profile of them on CBS Sunday Morning a couple weeks ago and liked their music. Now I have to get back on the library site, find the audiobook, and get back in line to get it again. Maybe I'll be lucky, there won't be any reserves on it and it'll be available immediately. (going to check) Well, there aren't any holds so I might get an email later telling me I can have it back. If I'm lucky. I was #1 on the list for a book last week and it took days for them to send me the "ready to checkout and download" email. Did I tell you I bought a Kindle Fire the other day? I'm really liking it. There's a learning curve, no doubt about it, but I'm determined. I'm hoping I can figure out how to put my music on there from iTunes and how to put pictures in the "Gallery" app. What's "IMDb?" It's on there and I have no idea what it is and why I'd want it. I'll ask around at knitting tonight, someone's bound to know. Look at the time, I'd better get a move on.

February 9--Katsushika Hokusai, The Great Wave at Kanagawa. The winter ocean loomed over the narrow boats. Katsu and his brothers rowed like men possessed just to keep their position. As long as there was light they had a chance to punch through the waves. Katsu had never seen the ocean so angry. The sky was clear and the wind was light. Only the sea leaped and hurled itself about in its great bed as if it were a child in the throes of a tantrum. He looked down the line of men. Each man's lips moved in prayer, each man beseeching his gods to keep them safe. Their boat rose on the crest of a great wave giving them a view of Mount Fuji. Seeing the sacred mountain gave them all the strength to hang on, to fight their way to shore and safety.

That was a rerun picture too but that one I could see once and week and still suck some inspiration from it. That claw-like wave gets me every time. Off to play with my Kindle and then my granddog. Mush!
--Barbara

I Don't Have to Work Today!

2012-02-09T08:20:00.002-06:00

I wish this had a "singing" font, you know, that taunting playground singing that you do to make someone chase you. Not that this is an extra day off. No, I worked on Tuesday instead of today so it's just a different configuration of days off, but it feels extra and special because now I have 4 days off in a row. Ahhhh. Today Durwood and I will take down and fold up all the drop cloths in the basement. I also get to go play with Porter this afternoon, although Durwood said all she's been interested in doing the last two days is eat rabbit "raisins." Ick. Perhaps I'll stop and buy a new squeeky ball for us to play with. Tonight's the Bay Lakes Knitting Guild meeting (I've got my homework knitting blocked and drying in the bathroom) so I'll see some of my knitting friends there. Tomorrow Skully and I will walk, probably in the mall because it's supposed to be cold and windy, in the afternoon I get to play with Porter again, and tomorrow night's yoga and knitting. Saturday I signed up for an all-day writing workshop at the Harmony Cafe next to Goodwill. Sunday I don't have anything on the agenda. Sounds like a good weekend, doesn't it? A little bit of work and lots of play. Oh, and our renter gave her 30 day notice last night, so if you know anyone in Green Bay, WI who needs a nice place to live, send them over please!

February 8--France, Rouen, Thedosius Arrives at Ephesus. "Mama," Teenie said, tugging her mother's sleeve, "that white horse only has one back leg and it's blue." Teenie's little girl voice echoed over the priest's low Latin murmur as he wrapped up ten o'clock Mass. A rash of throat clearing and quiet giggles spread through the congregation as the organ wheezed to life with the first notes of the recessional hymn. "Shh, sweetie," Teenie's mother, Regina said, "we'll talk about the blue-legged horse when Father Martin's done helping us pray." Teenie had been quiet for most of the church service. Now that she was four years old she could color or draw to keep herself occupied, and when the sunlight lit the stained glass windows of the old church she couldn't keep her eyes off of them.

I used to love looking at the windows in church when I was a kid. I know they're expensive but churches really dropped the ball when they changed to modern almost plain decor. Where's the flamboyant and beautiful stuff that glorifies God? It also gives you something to look at if the priest is a bore. Think about it.
--Barbara

Trapper's Moon, Jackhammer, & a Kindle

2012-02-08T08:07:00.003-06:00

Yesterday was an eventful day around here. The ABT guy came around 9 to fix the crack in the basement wall. Durwood and I had drop cloths hung all aro und and I was still home when the jackhammer came in to do its work. I didn't get to use it (I was already dressed for work) but I did get to go downstairs and take its picture. I'm sure the guy thought I was a loon but what the hell. Durwood saw that Walmart has Kindle Fires for $199 with a $50 gift card so I went right after work and got one. I got one! The Owner's Manual in the box is about the size of an index card so you have to be smart enough to turn it on to be able to read the User's Guide. I was. I downloaded a crapload of free books, some apps (gotta have Angry Birds, right?), and figured out how to borrow a book from the library and put it on there. I was astonished at the lack of available books in the library for Kindle; these things must be spreading like the flu on a cruise ship! There's a free Netflix app so I can even watch movies and TV shows on it. One of the apps I found for free is a labyrinth game. I plan to use it to accustom Durwood to the Kindle. I should be able to download all my music from the iPod Touch and I've already determined that I can read a book on it and knit since you don't have to find a way to hold the pages on a Kindle. I'm glad I waited to get one; it's half the price and twice as functional, maybe three times, as the previous ones. Driving home the moon had risen and it was gorgeous. February's moon is called the Trapper's moon or the Storm moon depending on whether you're a colonial American or a medieval Englishman. Take your pick. (You can see how cold it was last night by the plume of my breath along the edge of the photo. I think it adds a spooky air to what's really a picture of a white dot on a black ground. We're definitely back to winter temps.) I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow AM to talk about changing my happy pill. I'm not going to take the damned things if they're what's keeping me from seeing any progress from my "fit & healthy" goals. Not.

February 7--Egypt, Ptolemaic Period, Relief Plaque with Face of an Owl. "Oh, Em, it looks like Uncle Harold after half a bottle of port." Deborah stood in the living room of the house that Mark and I had just bought. "Dammit, Deb," I said, taking a swipe at her but missing, "now I'll never be able to admire that owl again. He'll be old drunken Harold forever. It was one of my favorite things in the place." The house had five bedrooms and two and a half baths on three floors. It had belonged to an archeology professor at Upland College just across the park from the house and quite a few of his things remained. Mark and I were looking forward to cleaning it out and opening it up to let in more light and air. Mark had moved his books into the professor's old office off the dining room on the first floor and I had my sewing machines, yarn, and writing desk in the big airy bedroom on the third floor. It had French doors out onto small porches front and back and the stairs up to the widow's walk were around the corner. We wondered why someone had needed a widow's walk two states away from the ocean.

I have to go now and play with my new Kindle while I read the paper, eat my cheerios, and take a shower. Hmm, maybe I'll let Durwood play with it while I shower. Maybe. See ya bye!
--Barbara

Back to Winter Means Back to Long Pants

2012-02-07T08:02:00.003-06:00

The temperature is supposed to rocket up into the high teens today or maybe the low twenties, with a sharp and gusty wind thrown in for good measure, so I'm thinking I'll be wearing 2 shirts, long pants, and warm wooly socks today. I won't look as smart and businesslike as I did yesterday but I don't think the customers really pay that much attention to what I'm wearing anyway. Durwood and I went downstairs last night and draped drop cloths all over, clothespinning them to the rafters and random pipes, to try to keep some of the cement dust off our stuff. I just realized that when Mrs. Boss asked me yesterday (at the eleventh hour) if I'd work for her today and I said yes, now I don't get to try out a jackhammer. Dang it. I was going to see if I couldn't wheedle a turn when the guy is breaking out the floor so he can put the magic sticky stuff all the way down to the footing. Now I can because I have to go to work around 9:30 and he's supposed to come at 8:30. Ah well, maybe I'll get to jackhammer another time. I read something so frustrating in Reader's Digest last night that I had trouble sleeping. For the last 2 years or so I've been berating myself for not losing weight. I've been eating right, exercising regularly, and only cheating a little and my weight has stayed pretty stable. I figured that I was doing something wrong. Turns out that the antidepressant I take, Paxil, is one of a few medicines that either make you gain weight or make it nearly impossible to lose weight. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!! I can not believe it. You'd better bet I'm calling my doc today to ask her about switching meds. I can't believe that when I finally change my life habits for the better and take a "happy" pill that fights my depression without making me a zombie, that pill totally crosses out all my "fit & healthy" efforts. Damndamndamnshit.

February 6--Claude Monet, Garden at Sainte-Adresse. I love a hot summer day by the sea. Red flowers bloom like flames in pots and boats bob in the harbor like the gulls, riding the little chop that never goes still. I love my spot near Karel's under the dirty white Cinzano umbrella. I drink the dark local coffee and share a croissant with the sugar birds. They are such fearless little scroungers, those yellow and black birds no bigger than a goldfinch. They perch on the edge of my saucer and demand their sugar. One even berates me for not putting sugar in my coffee. He plucks at a packet, a white one not one of those pastel packets of artificial sweetener, as if to say "this one, put this one in and spill a bit for me." I laugh and open one tipping the tiny white granules across the bright tiles of the table top

That's it for me, kids. Gotta go do morning stuff. Be good, stay warm.
--Barbara

Pushing It

2012-02-06T10:28:00.003-06:00

I think I might be pushing the season today by wearing a skirt, slip, and tights at work but it seemed like the thing to do. I have a new denim skirt and a cotton/cashmere sweater so I dug out some thick tights and a slip and I'm good. I do think I need to seek out some higher quality tights than the ones I got at Goodwill last fall, these fit kind of oddly. In fact, I have a pair of panties over the top of them to keep them up! The waistband's a bit, um, weak. My friend Lala convinced me to try wearing skirts last summer and I fell in love with them. I've always thought a skirt was too "dressy" for me but I sewed up a few in some nice prints I found in the "reduced for quick sale" aisle at the fabric store(s) and, paired with a t-shirt, they make an excellent wardrobe for every day. It was hard to put them away (they never did make it downstairs with the "real" summer clothes) and I'm anxious to start wearing them again. Hmm, maybe I'll visit a real store tomorrow for some tights that aren't uber-irregulars so I can start wearing them again when the weather cooperates. AND I can sew up the skirt I have cut out because it's my first swirly skirt and I've got a sweater that will look exactly right with it, also I'm waiting for all the linens to arrive at Hancock Fabrics so I can make a linen one or two. I love linen, don't you?

February 5--Horace Pippin, Lady of the Lake. So many painters came to Bedford. Professionals and amateurs set up their easels of cluttered the lakeside park sitting on every available bench sketchbooks on their laps. They'd squint at the hills across the lake and their hands would hover over the paper. Inspiration would strike and they'd bend to their work, frown lines growing between their brows. Some of the skipped the drawing and dove right into the blaqnk paper or canvas. Those were the ones I watched, those brave or foolhardy souls who believed that genius depended on spontenaiety, that preplanning or sketching would cramp their brilliance. Too often they flung their work away in disgust while the cautious ones worked carefully on their canvas slowly bringing the view to life. Or their interpretation of the view.

I'd like to be sitting beside a lake today, even a frozen one would do. The Clearing's summer season catalog came last weekend. I've found half a dozen classes I'd like to take. Now if I can only win the lottery or something, robbing banks is just too chancy these days.

--Barbara

It's Starting to Smell Like the Super Bowl

2012-02-05T11:08:00.004-06:00

Durwood's got his turkey little smokies simmering in bbq sauce in the crockpot (I like to call it the incubator because I imagine all sorts of little germies growing in the first part of the process but I must be wrong since they sell so many and I don't see crockpot food-eating people dropping like flies.) and I assembled my Muffaletta sandwich so the garlicky bowl is on the counter. I put together the marinade for his Japanese chicken wings last night and got the tiny chicken parts into a bag to soak up all the soy sauce and sugary goodness to be baked later. Not much healthy eating going on. Maybe I need to get some kind of salad or veggies to have alongside. Is that even allowed during the Super Bowl? Not that I'll be panting to watch or anything; I'll be doing whatever craft I want to do today (maybe some sewing or maybe I'll go downstairs to see if I can't make the Ultimate Sweater Machine make some knitting. Z-Dawg borrowed one from her boss and had small samples at Friday Night Knitting. Hmm, that sounds like a winner. And I can't forget to move the random crap that belongs in my car out of Durwood's van way-back and back into my backseat and trunk. I had to empty out the trunk in case some extra-dedicated shopping or deal finding occurred yesterday on our adventures. My favorite find is a slim denim skirt with little pleated sections at the hem area on both sides. I'm anxious for real warm weather to arrive so I can start wearing skirts again. Maybe with tights and a slip I can start earlier? I have another one cut out but not sewn... hmm, perhaps I'll put that on this week's to-do list. I have too many things I want to do and not nearly enough time to do them. I'm sending out a call for an extra (free) day per week, please.

February 4--Horace Pippin--Lady of the Lake. Lana spread her blanket on the grass and stretched out in the sun. The breeze across the lake was cool on her skin raising goosebumps wherever it touched her. She had spent the morning in tow getting groceries and picking up the week's mail. It had been hard at first getting used to not having that constant stream of news and emails on the Internet. She didn't even get a paper every day. Well, there wasn't a daily paper in Bedford so that wasn't really a possibility. The only thing she missed was the daily crossword. Dan said he'd bring her a book of them when he came up on the weekend. She hoped he wouldn't forget. Until then she made do with puzzles she'd found in an old dresser drawer up in the loft.

I was thinking I'd show you what it looks like out my window today but it's dreary with gray skies, naked trees, scraggly snow. I'm not showing you that; you probably have that too. Instead I've found a photo of what I wish was out my window, a much better vista.
--Barbara

Saturday Escapade

2012-02-04T20:27:00.002-06:00

Today I roamed the city to pick up my friends and comrades in adventure, Skully & Cookie, and drove us to Fond du Lac to visit a yarn shop that's going out of business. I found a few things, Cookie found a few things, Skully just looked and fondled. Across the street is a weaving store with lots of lovely looms and linen table linens. Oh, such gorgeous linen. I could have brought home one of each, at least, but I resisted. I will keep that shop in mind the next time I have to buy a wedding gift though. We lunched at the number one restaurant on the old peoples' hit parade, Schreiner's. I bought 2 pints of their frozen clam chowder for Durwood, he's a big fan. Then we went across the street to the mall to find a Victoria's Secret because Skully loved the body spray Cookie was wearing and kept sniffing her, so we had to get Skully her own so she'd stop it. Man, VS isn't up to its old standards. They don't have any of those pretty silk and lace negligees that a person could buy for a bride, just bright and kind of skanky undies. Too bad. I wonder where brides shop now? We stopped at the Outlet mall in Oshkosh and hit some awesome deals. We got home late in the afternoon very happy and tired. It's always fun to go with them, we go well together, and it was a gorgeous, sunny and warm day. And after supper I got to go over and feed Porter and then take her outside to play for a while. After playing we sat in the living room for half an hour, me on the floor and Porter in my lap. Excellent day all around.

February 3--Oscar de la Renta, Evening Dress. Chickens are good for lots of things--eggs, of course, and their meat. They're great for bug-eating and for scratching up every blade of grass in their yard. When I was a kid my cousin Oscar came for the summer. Mama didn't believe in treating kids like they were special so it was Oscar's job to take care of the chickens. For the first couple of days I had to show him what to do. He was afraid of the hens and nearly cried the first time one of them pecked at him.

Well, I never did get around to the feathers, did I? That evening dress was decorated with beads and feathers. It kind of grew on me.
--Barbara

Super Bowl Food Marinating

2012-02-03T13:18:00.002-06:00

Actually I found this recipe in a Mardi Gras file online for Muffaletta sandwiches (I've never had one but I want to, love the name, don't you?) so I got the ingredients on my way home from the mechanic's and put the olive salad together to marinate overnight. I don't really watch the football but I think it's a good excuse to eat "special" food, plus I figure I can eat slices of it for lunches next week, and I'm taking half of it to DS & DIL1 so they can have it when they get home late from a brewfest tomorrow night or on Sunday, but (shhhh) don't tell them, 'k? Durwood wants to make either bbq pork riblets or Japanese chicken wings, he's more into finger food than a sandwich. I want to make some pesto today too. I spent too much on fresh basil at the grocery and figure I'll make a half batch. Doesn't pesto just sound like summer? I'm in the mood for a piece of summer right about now. They discovered that the lock switch in the drivers' door was faulty in my car and that's why it was still going haywire. That got fixed today so I should be good for a while. Monday the plumber will be here to fix the main shutoff and on Tuesday the basement fixit people will be here. I can hear you saying "already??" I know, we're surprised at it too but it'll get done quickly and with a lifetime guarantee. All that's left on our list are new gutters with leaf helmets, so we'll get a few estimates and get that done too. We are efficient and I'm determined to get this stuff done in good time. I hate having stuff hanging over our heads waiting to be done. I figure if you hurry up and get all your stuff done, then you can goof off the rest of the time. At least that's my plan.

February 2--Johann Christian Schleip, Lyraflugel. There was a hum, not loud, but I heard it clearly. I walked around the old house listening for the source. I found it in the living room or the parlor or whatever you call the main room in one of those big old houses. The thing looked like the love-child of a harp and a piano. I don't know what it's called or how you play it but it was humming like it was vibrating. There wasn't a storm so it couldn't be be reacting to thunder's vibrations. We weren't having an earthquake, not one I could feel anyway. Where had Lenny gotten to? I called out to him but got no answer.

I'm off to do a bit of that goofing off I was talking about. Durwood's taking a nap so his TV is off. It's quiet in here so I'm going to go and sit on the couch. Maybe I'll doze off myself.
--Barbara

Can You Believe It's February Already!?!

2012-02-02T08:26:00.002-06:00

Neither can I. Outside it feels like March with the temps in the 40s and the snowmelt flowing down the street (making the hardpacked snow like glazed glass). It was funny seeing the plumber's truck sliding a few feet yesterday but it's no joke when I have to park out there so Durwood can come and go and I have to walk across that 6' of treachery underfoot. Part of the plumbing problem was taken care of and now we're waiting for the Water Dept. to be able to shut off all the water at the street so he can replace the main shutoff valve in the basement, and I just heard Durwood call ABT to schedule fixing the crack in the basement wall. I suspect that my car's computer brain isn't really fixed after all. When I got home from work and put it into Park the door locks didn't open automatically. That's something controlled by the Body Control Module so I have an inkling we may be going back to the mechanic. I stayed up late knitting my way through the last few rows of Fair Isle on the sweater front. Now I can knit with one color for about 6" and then split for the fronts, knit the sleeves (both on the same needle so they're identical), and finally have that project done so I can move on to the next one. I get to go play with Porter on my way home from work today. I went to Petco and bought a few of their ninety-nine cent tennis balls because she likes to chase them. She won't bring them back yet, but we're working on it. Maybe I should get some Liv-A-Snaps, our old dogs would do anything, I mean ANYTHING, for those.

February 1--Auguste Renoir, Figures on the Beach. You wonder if they are friends. It's hard to tell by the way they hold themselves. Do they smile as equals? Giselle, she stands there with her basket, hand on her hip, the breeze tugging her skirt. Marie-Ange sits n the sand, her small son playing at the water's edge. I know Giselle and Marie-Ange were not friends at school. Too many times she set their caps for the same boy and neither one was the clear winner in that age-old contest. Marie-Ange wed the baker and had her son soon after. There was counting to judge the relative prematurity of the boy but it was not the malicious sort of arithmetic, merely the normal calculation when a baby arrives before the couple's first anniversary.

And that's the end of that notebook. I wrote right to the last page and left about 3" of lines unwritten on. Good for me. Time to have breakfast and get ready to leave for work.
--Barbara

Welcome To The Circus!

2012-02-01T09:08:00.003-06:00

Yesterday after the basement fixing estimate guys left I went down to put a new washer into the cold water supply hose for the washer. It was dripping. I had trouble turning off the water so I used a pipe wrench. It still wasn't off, so I had to shut off the main. I changed the washer, turned the water back on, it still dripped but now the main shutoff valve was dripping too. Gotta call a plumber. At 8 AM the doorbell rang and I opened it to see a smiling young man--and behind him his plumbing truck sliding down the hill on the ice. Not far but it was moving. He sprinted, hopped in, and turned the tires into the hill. It stopped. Saved. He came back, checked out our plumbing problems, and gave us an estimate. Once Durwood regained consciousness we said to go ahead. The Water Department guy arrived to shut off the water at the curb so he could replace our main shutoff. First he couldn't find it, then he couldn't turn it. That means that later today or tomorrow they'll come and dig up the front yard (on our renter's side, no less) to fix the "curb stop" then the plumber can come back to fix the main shutoff valve in our basement. Whew. Happily we don't have to pay the Water Department to dig and fix, but we have to pay for the plumbing of course. Good thing the car repair and basement crack haven't cost anywhere near what we expected, eh? Geez, the fates learn that you have a bit of money put aside and, bang, shit breaks left and right. At least we can pay for it, right? That's something good, right? Right.

January 31--Eugene Cuvelier, Fontainbleau Forest. I was glad to be out of the stuffy house and walking in the woods out back. It had snowed the day before. The fallen leaves were nearly covered with snow which gave off an unearthly light from below my feet. I had managed to get away from the children and grandchildren. Only my daughter-in-law saw me leave and I swore her to secrecy. The house had been full of people for more than a week. As much as I loved to have them all around, the noise and activity tired me. A nice walk in the winter woods was just what I needed. It wasn't bitterly cold so my regular coat and boots kept me warm. My lab, Roxie, came running down the trail to keep me company. We were more than a mile from the house when she found the bare foot of a woman sticking out of a brush pile.

Do you believe that today's February 1 already? I don't. Time sure flies whether you're having fun or not. Love you. Bye.
--Barbara Sue

Black Ice

2012-01-31T10:49:00.002-06:00

Skully and I walked along a busy section of the trail that they keep free-ish of snow all winter only to find, quite by accident, the few patches of black ice. She found it the most, twice she lost her balance and went down on one knee. The first time wasn't so bad, the second time she skinned her knee. Ouch! Now she looks like we all did in grade school. I spent most of my childhood (in the days when little girls wore skirts) with bandages on my knees, didn't you? I wasn't much of an active playing kid (the neighbor kids called me "house plant" when we moved up here) but I still managed to fall and scrap my knees almost on a daily basis. I went back to Skully's house to visit more for a few minutes and look what she gave me. She made it. Isn't it pretty? I think it looks like amber. I love it. Thanks again, Skully. We had the basement guys here to give us an estimate on fixing the crack in the basement wall. We were surprised that fixing it from the inside is the recommended plan. We were sure they'd want to come in with a backhoe and make a mess of my fern bed and have to dig down, screw up the drain tile, and the attendant mess and cost. No, I mean COST. Turns out there's a kind of stuff they can put in the crack from the inside that will bond to the concrete and be a permanent fix, better than fixing it from the outside--and for less than a grand. I know! I nearly fainted. And they can have it done by the end of the week if we call today. Sheesh, totally unexpected news. Now, if the gutter & leaf protection people are having a mid-winter sale my life with be complete. *knock wood (or particle board covered with wood-grained Contact paper)* Time to get this posted and find some lunch.

January 30--Peter Bruegel the Elder, The Harvesters. It's the lowest kind of stoop-labor hand cutting wheat and bundling it into shocks that stand drying in the autumn sunshine. Around our part of the state, bands of migrants come to work the harvest. They camp down in the groves of trees by the river. Pa put up a few shelters so they'd have cover from the rain. I asked him why they didn't live in houses and he said they liked to live under the sky but that might have been a lie. I saw the looks on those kids' faces. I saw them work so hard for a bit of money and not have one minute of time to play all day. They spoke Mexican all the time and I didn't understand so I couldn't ask them to play. One or two of the men, the dads, they spoke some English so they did the business for the group.

I looked at the painting and thought of the migrant housing I saw when we'd drive up to Door County on the weekends when I was a kid in the mid-1960s. I always wondered what their lives were like.
--Barbara

Big Things Coming in Future. Only Matter of Time.

2012-01-30T07:53:00.003-06:00

I ate the last fortune cookie last night and that was my fortune, verbatim. It's an excellent fortune, but I keep expecting to read "ugh" like some Hollywood Indian wrote it or Tarzan's reading it. Why are we so amused by bad English? Semi-bad English drives me nuts but horrible translations in instructions or things like this fortune amuse me no end. I got all the dirty dishes washed and dishwashered long before bedtime, and I even carried up a laundry basket so I can easily get all the special dishes back downstairs. I think I've got an empty bin down there that will hold all of it so next year I don't have to search here and there for the pieces and parts of Chinese New Year. We enjoyed patting ourselves on the back last night that it all came off well. Everyone seemed to have a good time. This morning I'm taking my car in to get its brain fixed so it stops tooting at random times and maybe the key fobs will work on the lock. I thought it might be foolish to spend that much money on a 2004 car but it runs well and doesn't have that many miles, barely over 100k. Although I did spot a red Honda HHR on the used car lot over on the corner. The sign said $9999, I mentioned it to Durwood and he wondered how much I can get for my car, but we need new gutters with leaf covers and there's a big crack in the foundation so those are two things we're better off fixing in the long run. Dang it. Maybe when we get that stuff fixed there'll still be a bit of $ left for that red car. *sigh* Such is life. And it's snowing. Not a lot, just enough to be annoying, but still, snowing on Monday? Really?

January 29--Peru, Figure Bottle. When I got back into my hotel room, after I took a cooling shower and put on fresh clothes, I took my little bottle out of the box. I sat looking into his wide black eyes ringed with red tears and I felt his sadness. I felt the fear that drew him into a ball and the sorrow that coursed through him. The Europeans had come and his people were dying. The diseases that they brought and the weapons that they carried were killing too many of his people. The ravens had flown away and taken the life-giving rain. The figure bore the sorrow of the Nazca like one of those chosen to the task by the gods. Pictures of the hardships brought by a combination of drought and the invasion of the Europeans into the mountains of Peru raced like a movie through my head as I sat with the figure. It was as if I had a psychic connection to the long-dead, man/boy whose image I held in my hand.

And on that creepy note I'm going to go read the paper, finish my coffee, eat cheerios with lots of fruit and go drop off my car. Durwood will take me to work and strand me there until 6 PM when he'll come and rescue me. My hero!
--Barbara

Gung Hay Fat Choy!

2012-01-29T18:21:00.003-06:00

Happy Chinese New Year! You missed it, you shoulda been here. We feasted and had a great afternoon. Naturally I was running behind so the table wasn't empty of daily crap, the tablecloth needed ironing, therefore the table wasn't set, and I didn't get the little zodiac animal figurines out until dessert. Oh well. When most of the dishes have to be made just before eating it's kind of a scramble, especially in our tiny kitchen, to get it all ready at the same time, but we managed. I had the soup finished and the rice ready to cook. We put DS's handmade dumplings into the oven to bake and also used the oven to keep things warm. Everything was delicious, the pickled veggies added a tiny bite of crunch and vinegar, and we had excellent fortunes all around. DIL1 & DS brought sorbets for dessert--mango and blood orange--could you die?? And we've got leftovers for supper tomorrow night. What's not to love?

January 28--Peru, Nazca, Figure Bottle. The little figure nestled right into my hand like it was made for it. Its knees were drawn up and it wore face paint like a child at a fair. I couldn't put it down or take my eyes off it. The rich red-brown of his skin and even the raven tattoos on its arms were oddly appealing. I held the small statue cupped in my hand. I paid for it but didn't want it in a bag. The shop owner rightly convinced me that I'd never get it home unbroken if I carried it. He was right, of course, but I had a hard time handing back my little bottle so that he could pack it.

At about midnight last night I realized that we didn't have teacups. This morning I went to Goodwill and scored 7 cups and 8 saucers. They're a little bigger than I wanted but aren't they awesome? They were ninety-nine cents a piece. Goodwill is the way to go for party dishes without breaking the budget. I'm going to go into the living room and zone out in front of the TV while Durwood watches the Pro Bowl in the kitchen. *yawn*
--Barbara

Clean Up Day

2012-01-28T08:58:00.002-06:00

Today is total clean up day at 1510 because we're hosting Family Supper tomorrow and we mostly have piling systems instead of filing systems. Durwood is the biggest offender because it doesn't irritate him like it does me, but I'm no slouch in the piling department. His solution was to leave a leaf in the table so he'd have more room to pile sh*t on. I'd like to make it eensy weensy so that we had to keep it clear to eat. Guess who wins. Not me, partly I suppose because I detest fighting and it would be a constant fight, plus I would be treating him like I'm his mother and I refuse to do that. Re. Fuse. Today I have to put most of my yarn toys away, carry down the small pile of ex-dresser drawer contents, carry down the 2 sandwich grills and the old VCR and jelly jars that have gathered by the basement door. I want to clear off the counters as much as I can so that there'll be room for recipe assembly and prep tomorrow. We're celebrating Chinese New Year tomorrow and will have pot stickers, Egg Flower Soup, Beef with Hoisin Sauce, Chicken with Almonds, Snow Peas and Shrimp, and Stir Fried Veggies, rice or noodles to serve them on, with coconut ice cream & fortune cookies for dessert. We're making some and the others are bringing some. Also today I want to make some quick pickled beets and see what other kinds of things I can pickle as accompaniments to our main dishes. Gung Hay Fat Choy! It should be fun. I'll give a report.

January 27--George Bellows, Tennis at Newport. "For God's sake, George, just serve the damned ball," Lisa said. It was supposed to be a friendly game of tennis but when Lisa and George are on the courts together it's outright war. Who had been in charge of setting up the matches? Oh, Margo, of course. She and Becket enjoy mixing up the most volatile pairings so they can lurk in the shade sipping their G&Ts and watching for blood. George and Lisa are merely their first victims of the weekend. Looks like Coochie and Edwin are over on the other court. How did she ever convince them to play each other? She has to know that Coochie was the one driving when Edwin's brother died.

And they're off. Imagine a weekend in the country with sworn enemies trapped together. Should be a classic Christie weekend. I'm off to commit a tidy, a very big tidy.
--Barbara

Much Better--Because It's Sunny

2012-01-27T11:27:00.002-06:00

Sunny is always my salvation. I can be in the deepest, darkest funk and a sunny day will drag me up toward happy faster than you can say "Jack Robinson." When I first started paying attention to my tendency toward SAD I realized that even if I was sewing in the windowless basement I knew when the sun came out because I could feel my spirits lift. I know, it sounds ridiculous, but I swear it's true. There's a reason there's a "daylight" lamp next to the couch, the kitchen table, and my desk. They're cheap sanity. I cleaned out the top drawer of my dresser and, holy crap, did I have lots of stuff crammed in there. Reams of old greeting cards, old glasses, old watches, old wallets (no money, at least no American money to speak of, drat it), slips of paper with cryptic notes (Anne's odd pens) and old phone numbers on them, a radio that came over on the Ark and its camera friend, assorted split rings and beads for making stitch markers, Moose Poop incense, knee, ankle and wrist supports, a Harley-Davidson bandanna, and other detritus too insignificant to mention. Most of it's in the bin, some is in other places more suitable for its use, and some is going downstairs to live. I like this cleaning up thing. I find stuff and then have a tiny tidy space when I'm done. Just imagine, later in the year I'll have more tidy than messy!

Look what came! Look what just came! The red Dansko shoes I ordered on Tuesday came already. They're lovely and comfy and I'm wearing them right now. Red shoes, red shoes, I love red shoes. *pause for happy dancing*

January 26--Turkey, Tile. It was too frustrating to write or draw on the floor. Meemaw gave us paper and pencils and crayons but she wouldn't let us use a table. She was afraid we'd get marks on the tables, and we probably would have, but it was impossible to write or draw on the floor. The floor was covered with the most glorious white tiles with red, blue, and green floral decorations on them. They were beautiful. We all loved them, but they had bumps on them. The decorations weren't just paint or a decal pressed on the tile, it was dimensional. That made every pencil or crayon careen like a drunk as the implement lurched in our fingers.

Poor kid. I'm off to knit on my sweater front. I'm determined to get the last 10 rows of Fair Isle done today or tomorrow. Determined I tell you.
--Barbara

Be-Fogged

2012-01-26T09:35:00.005-06:00

It's just warm enough this morning that a light fog is making the world look like it needs its windows cleaned. I could stand to pack up my "himmie hoot" and a pair of shorts to fly off to some beach for a week or a year to get sand in my toes and my shorts for a while. To me that means escaping everything and being a whole 'nother person. We are all grown-up enough to know that our inner demons follow us, or more probably we drag them with us. Relationships and life's problems aren't rooted in our location but ourselves. Bah. I'd like to jack my head up and drive a whole other body under it so I could lose my arthritic knee and my flab, but despite watching every single episode of The Six-Million Dollar Man when I was a kid, that medical trick is still not doable. I emailed back and forth with my boon-companion Lala yesterday and feel some better. Whining a bit does indeed help. For a while there yesterday I was wondering if I could maybe indulge in a little recreational electroshock therapy to just kind of push my reset button but I suspect that's not the way to go. I'll keep on keeping on and vent when I need it. Thanks for all your kind thoughts and words.

January 25--Raphael, Madonna and Child Enthroned with Saints. At least they look like real people, Marcy thought as she prepared to clean the painting. It was quiet in this corner of the Met. Even the fans were silent today. She was glad to be in the basement. The old air conditioning in the building was unreliable which wasn't the best for the art upstairs but it stayed cool down here. She bent over her work table and adjusted the light angle so it didn't glare off the paint, then began working in the corner of the canvas with distilled water and a swab. The work was hypnotic--dip the swab, then gently rub in circles to release any soil, finally blot, and then endlessly repeat. She thought she heard a footstep out in the hall, the scuff of a leather sole on concrete but when she called out there was no answer. She turned back to her work and the fans came back on making her jump and sending a cold draft down her back. In a few minutes she became conscious of a density in the air of the room as if the oxygen had been drawn out. Her knees weakened and she would have fallen if there hadn't been a pair of strong hands that caught her under the arms and lowered her gently to the floor.

Make your corner of the world bright today. I'm going to do my damnedest in mine.

--Barbara

Low Days

2012-01-25T11:07:00.003-06:00

I'm in a funk. I've been in a funk for a while. Is it the midwinter blahs? Probably not because it's not midwinter yet. Is it cabin fever? Probably not because I'm not a "stay at home even when it's cold" kind of girl. It might be grief I'm running from by keeping frantically busy. Could be that. I'm frustrated and irritated and morose--and I freaking hate it. I hate the way I feel. I hate that I sneak around eating all manner of bad things that negate any smart eating or exercise I do. (And who exactly do I think I'm cheating on??? Myself, that's who.) I want to have a running, stomping, screaming fit all over the place but I'm too repressed to do that. (Yeah, I find that hard to believe too.) So I think I'm going to stop. Stop doing and going and meeting, all the things that I do to get out of the house and out of my head. I'll still go knitting on Friday nights and do yoga with Mardi then. I'll still walk with Skully on Tuesdays and Fridays. And I'll still write before bed and post here the next day. But I need to stop, sit still, and listen to my thoughts and my heart. I need to stop shoulds-ing myself into a blur. I'm tired and I'm sad and I'm tired of feeling this way. (Sorry to be such a downer today but I'm hoping it helps to put it down in black and white, hoping that acknowledging how I'm feeling instead of denying it will help it GO AWAY so I can get back to being me.)

January 24--Greek, Earrings with Disk and Boat-Shaped Pendant. Pia hated the gold betrothal earrings. "They're too heavy," she said. "They're so heavy they'll stretch my ear lobes until they hand below my chin." Her mother touched her own earlobes where her own betrothal earrings hung. They were gold but nowhere near as ornate as Pia's were. Adis' father owned most of the land on this side of the mountains. Pia was lucky to be marrying into such a wealthy family. Pia stood at the mirror with tears streaking her clear skin. "They feel like anchors, like great weights bearing me down under Mrs. Kondoladis' thumb."

And that's when I fell asleep, just after I managed to put my glasses and notebook on the nightstand. It's a tired time of year.

--Barbara

Cow Shoes!

2012-01-24T11:27:00.002-06:00

I went to try on some Dansko shoes this morning to see what size I need and look what I found in the "As-Is" pile--cow shoes! They're going to take some getting used to because the soles are wood or some kind of resin but I like them and I'm tired of always wearing sensible shoes. Skully took me along to walk at the new Croc Center where she's a member, she had a guest pass. We walked 2 miles on the track (in our sensible shoes) and then did a circuit on the resistance machines. It was fun but too far from home for me to feel like I'd use it enough for the membership fee, which is very reasonable. Our street is sheer ice, well, not a total sheet of ice, but slush and ice. It sounds like cars are crunching rocks when they drive by and it was a trick to walk from my car parked at the curb around to the cleared off driveway. I had a vision of slipping and sliding all the way down the hill. And you'd better bet I remembered to turn my wheels into the hill when I parked.

January 23--Paul Gauguin, Ia Orana Maria. Liam ran up from the beach, his catch still wriggling on his spear. He laughed when our cook Maria took it from him. She told him that one day she'd have Phillip teach him to clean his supper like Tahitian boys. "I'm a Tahitian boy," he said. I knew that she shook her head as she lay the fish on the cleaning table out back by the shed. "You might live in Tahiti, Liam, but you're still an American boy." He'd come to find me then, his eyes low and his mouth sad. "When will I get to be a Tahitian boy, mama?" I'd pulled his small wet body onto my lap and stroked his head. "You may never get to be a Tahitian but you can live like one." So we strung up a hammock for him to sleep in, got him some lava lavas to wear, and ate a lot of fruit and fish. In other words, just what we'd have done anyway.

That's it for me today, kids.
--Barbara

RAIN! Freezing Rain!!!

2012-01-23T09:01:00.002-06:00

Ye gods, it's going to be "interesting" on the roads today. I'll either sit twiddling my knitting all day or I'll be so busy I don't get a stitch knit. Coming home once it cools off later should be an adventure too. Lord love us, we're in for it today. I took a little break to shower--and now it's snowing like it means business. Holy shit, I'm in for a long day and an exciting ride to work and home. I got all my "to do"s checked off yesterday so I had nice fresh cocoa butter & aloe cream to put on my face after my shower and yummy chicken soup chock full of veggies for my lunch for the next 2 weeks. I package it all up and put half in the dive shop's fridge so it stays fresher. I'm so smart. And there's no one to steal my lunches because Mrs. Boss doesn't like cabbage and I usually put some in. Pretty smart, eh? I'd better leave a little early so here's a bit of story for your reading enjoyment.

January 22--Iran, Storage Jar. "Don't drop the damned thing," Merle said, "you paid too much so we might as well get use out of it before some fool kid breaks it." Arletta frowned and gritter her teeth but she kept her tongue in her mouth. She'd had her eye on the ceramic grain jar all day at the flea market. She knew better than to buy anything like that on her first go-round. She looked it over, saw the price, let the geezer tell her how it had belonged to the Shah of Iran and was smuggled over here, blah, blah di blah. Arletta let his words wash over her as she examined the rest of the items he had. Merle had traded war stories and terrorist stories with the guy as if the two coots in overalls had a lot of experience with radicals. She bought a few items for their granddaughter's new apartment from other vendors and when they were leaving she saw that the jar was still there. She talked the guy down to thirty-seven-fifty from fifty bucks. She didn't think that was too much for something this big and this pretty.

I kinda like Merle and Arletta. I like the flea market coot too (he needs a name). Maybe I'll resurrect them and explore their story. Off to slide to work. Wish me luck!
--Barbara Sue

I Have a Pet Dragon

2012-01-22T11:11:00.003-06:00

No, really I do. See?

Tomorrow is Chinese New Year, the year of the Dragon. We're hosting Family Supper this month so we're having Chinese and I needed a centerpiece so I decided to get a Beta fish, especially since I ran across the vase/bowl and colored glass pebbles, net and scrub brush downstairs when I was cleaning out under the stairs. (sorry for the long sentence, i put in a few commas so you can catch your breath.) We were trying to think of a good name for him and Dragon seems right since it's the "Year of the". He'll make an excellent centerpiece with all the little zodiac animal statues arrayed around him. Next Sunday we'll sit down to a nice supper together and celebrate our new year of prosperity and happiness. (gotta get to the bank for gold dollar coins [the Sacajawea ones, right?] to be lucky money) Today I need to make a pot of chicken veggie soup for work lunches and I want to brew up a batch of cocoa butter cream for my winter dry skin. For the first time in years I'm nearly out of lotion. Gotta fix that. Better get a move on.

January 22--Central Iran, Storage Jar Decorated with Mountain Goats. Cece is little so she can hide in the big jar with the goat on it. Mama and Pa don't like it when we play with that jar but it's the perfect place to hide when you're too little to find a good hiding place all by yourself. Cece's good at hiding, she stays real still if she has Andrew Bear with her. Around Christmas Cece and Andrew fell asleep and didn't come out when Matt shouted "all in free." Lucy and Mama called and called for her. The rest of us had gone out to sled down Fireman's Hill and forgot about Cece in the jar. Mama called for help and Mr. Write the fire chief came out to find Matt and me. "Did she look in the goat jar?" Matt asked Mr. Write. The fireman asked Mama and we were all punished when we got home for playing with that old jar and for leaving the baby in there alone. I got to spend an extra hour in the corner for saying that she wasn't alone, Andrew Bear was in there with her.

No fair at all. Ya know what else is no fair? Three months ago today Mom died. That's unfair, especially when she promised Colton she'd live to be a hundred. Nice moves, Mom, disappointing a kid. C U.
--Barbara

Hawk Buffet

2012-01-21T08:32:00.002-06:00

Sometimes I joke that we're not feeding birds exactly, it's more like we've set up a hawk buffet, and the other day Durwood got photographic proof. He said that this hawk was searching through the birdie tree looking for a meal so he took its picture. Pretty cool, eh? The sun's shining today so I feel a bit better. Yoga helped some, took the edge off of my crabbiness. I didn't have much knitting luck although M had her 10-yr-old daughter with her and we all know how much I like to talk to kids. J helped me frog a too-small hat and roll the yarn up into balls. She's a bright and interesting kid, fun to interact with. I miss kids. This morning I'm going to knit at one of the guild member's house for a while, then I'll get my nails done, and it's supposed to warm up into the 20s. I think I just heard the weather guy on TV say that we might see the Northern Lights tonight! Wouldn't that be cool? I'll have to call the station to see if he has a time guess. I'm not much of a night owl anymore, although I did sleep until 8 this morning, so I'm not an early bird either. I managed to shovel the driveway when I got home last night. It was very cold out there even though I was bundled up to the ears with a thick hat and my warmest chopper gloves. My butt got cold though. That was a surprise when I came in. It's a hard body part to warm up, I sat on the couch on an afghan, that seemed to help, then I just went to bed, and probably encroached on Durwood's side where the electric blanket is turned up to roast. And look, I even wrote last night!

January 20--Vincent van Gogh, Olive Trees. The hot sun beat down on the olive groves making the shade beneath the trees almost black. The trees looked like tortured gray skeletons twisted by the sea winds that roared up the hill from the sea. Lucy lay awake listening to the hoot of the owl hunting in the grove, cringing when he heard the scream of a caught rabbit. The hot wind moaned through the trees and then raced to rattle the shutters in their brackets. It sounded like someone trying to break in. Lucy's fingers gripped the sheet as if the flimsy fabric could protect her. Damn Walter and his ridiculous night fishing expedition with Theo.

That's it for today, kiddos. I'm off to gobble up my Cheerios, take a shower, and brave the cold. Stay warm.
--Barbara

Slacker Nights

2012-01-20T11:02:00.002-06:00

I haven't written before bed for the last 2 nights and I wasn't going to post again today but I feel guilty when I don't so here I am. I'm sinking a bit into the mid-winter doldrums so it's easy to think that no one reads what I write anyway so why do it. I know that isn't true. I know you're all out there panting to read my new thoughts and free writes. I can't let you down. (geez, drama queen much, barbara?) I've been feeling like I've lost my hold on time, that it's whizzing by and I slide on through without being in it. Remember being bored? I do, but I can't seem to get there lately. I can't seem to find quiet, to sit in silence and feel. I'm guessing this might be denial, so I'll just keep paddling along (de Nile, get it?) and keep breathing. Maybe if it'd warm up a bit and snow I could get my snowshoes up and take a spin around the house. Tonight I'll go to knitting so I can do an hour's yoga (I already paid for it), I guarantee that'll make me feel better. And I'll borrow Don's van this afternoon to take Tuesday's load of donations over to Goodwill, that'll feel good to. And I've got a whole garbage bag of acrylic yarn for the other knitters to paw through before I donate it. I'll make it through, don't you worry, I just have to complain a bit while I do. Thanks for listening.

Blizzard

the blanket of winter
flailing in the wind.

Flakes dance a mad fandango
before the gusts,

build scalloped drifts
that echo

their liquid brethrn's
rush to the sand,

knit ragged scarves of white
that waylay inattentive travelers.

Flying in the squall,
rattling the panes,

creaking the bones of the frames
in their tracks,

wind-driven martyrs
sacrifice themselves,

on the bodies of their comrades
piled on the sill.
~~~~~

I've hemmed Em's picnic cloth and now I'm going to go knit a row or two of sweater front. January's fleeing and I'm nowhere near done with that sweater. Dammit.
--Barbara

Yes, Aunt B, It Is.

2012-01-18T09:23:00.002-06:00

She asked if Sandipa's really the bank-lady's name, and it is. She's East Indian and very lovely and one hell of a banker. The title company got its sh*t together so we met at 1 o'clock and signed enough paper to cover a good size room. Now in about 6 days it'll all be filed and proved and fulfilled and whatever else they need to do to write down a mortgage loan. I want a tiara. It's bloody cold today and isn't going to get much warmer for a few days. I had to arrange my layers of clothes so that when I have to go potty at work I can get the job done with the minimum of fuss. If I had to reverse the normal order it'd be sweater up, jeans down, turtleneck up, longies down, undershirt up, underpants down, and that'd just take too long. Funny but too long, so all the shirts except the outer sweater get tucked into my undies so all the pants can zip down in a herd. You might be laughing but I think about this kind of stuff. Efficient use of time and energies, etc. I worked on the next little bit of the basement tidy yesterday and got the area across from the washer repurposed. I shifted the few kitchen-y items into the shelves under the stairs and now all the paper plates, etc. and the disposable food keepers and the whole big box of wraps and bags from Mom's are all on those shelves where we can see what we have before we buy more. Then I sorted through 3 bins of old dive gloves, boots, and hoods. All of them went into the trash and a crate of old regs and consoles is coming to work with me to see if they want to salvage hoses or boots or whatever. Might as well get some use out of it instead of giving the spiders another place to nest. As an added bonus I managed to break two nails yesterday. Two! Good thing I plan to go Friday to get them done anyway. I'll just keep my hand in my pocket--or maybe a glove since it's so bitter cold.

January 17--James Morisset, Presentation Smallsword. Jamie and John never stayed near the house when they played pirates. They went down to the creek that wandered across the bottom of Parsons' old pasture. It had been so long since it had been grazed that the edges were thickets of young trees and brambles lay traps for the unwary. The boys tramped trails through the shoulder-high grasses that waves and rustled in the hot winds. Addy and Lia tried to get parts in the pirate games but they were unhappy that all they got to be were hostages or cannon fodder. They gave up after spending an afternoon lashed to trees serving as masts. The biting ants that crawled up their legs made them yelp, cry, and finally swear which brought Jamie and John running to let them loose.

It was a tired night last night. It's amazing how tiring it is cleaning a piece of the basement no more than 6' wide and then carrying up the trash and donations. The back of Durwood's van is all loaded so I can swing by Goodwill on Friday and unload it. I'm off to bundle up and go to work.
--Barbara

Sign Here

2012-01-17T10:00:00.002-06:00

If it weren't for a computer glitch at the title company we'd be up at the bank signing papers to refinance our mortgage so we can pay less per month and pay it off faster at the same time--in about 5 years. Wasn't that a brilliant idea Durwood had? He's very smart about money and investments. I'm the grasshopper in this relationship and he's the ant. I'm convinced that if you have money, you can spend it and the future will take care of itself. Evidently that isn't the case. He tells me if a person doesn't save money or invest it, there won't be any when they (me, for instance) get old and gray and feeble. When I told him that I don't intend to get feeble so I'll be okay, he scoffed. Yes, gentle readers, he scoffed, telling me that if I didn't save or invest my pennies I'd be a non-feeble little old lady standing on street corners rattling nickels in a tin cup try to sell pencils. Do you think he's right? You do, don't you? I can tell by the look on your face. You too think I need to save my money so that I won't be a broke and cranky, non-feeble, gray haired old lady. Well, okay. I'll be putting my spare nickels in a sock tout suite, but I won't like it and you can't make me. There has to be an old, lonely millionaire out there I can be nice to so he'll leave me his fortune because I'm swell. Somewhere there is, I'm sure of it. (Yep, that's about as likely as Mom winning the Publisher's Clearing House millions because she ordered a blue-million magazines from them. Oh well, I'm keeping the fantasy handy just in case.) We'll be getting a call from the bank-lady, Sandipa, sometime today and toddling back up to the bank to sign. That means that I'll be heading back downstairs to reorganize the canned foods and make room for the boxes of wraps and bags on shelves instead of having them crammed into a box in the way as soon as I'm done posting this.

January 16--Salvador Dali, The Accommodations of Desire. He was so purposeful, so calculatedly eccentric that I felt as though he was a shadow behind his persona gauging our perceptions. There was that conscious gleam in his eyes when he knew he was being watched. So many of his works were made to stir up protest among the collectors. A regular spotlight hog, that crazy Spaniard.

Grr. That was another re-issue of art. I can't help it that I remember what's been in the previous year's calendar and it distracts me to the point that I can barely write about them. Get over it, Barbara, for pity's sake. Is it snowing where you are? It sure is here. *sigh* I suppose it's to be expected in January.
--Barbara

La Nina

2012-01-16T10:14:00.003-06:00

I was reading an analysis of the last month's weather in the newspaper the other day and one of the meteorologists said that La Nina is what's making our weather so wacky. Essentially the surface temps in part of the Pacific Ocean are just a few degrees cooler making things milder and wetter around here. Mild we got, wet not so much. But I can't complain since I've only had to get out my big red snowblower once this winter. Yesterday I updated the Bay Lakes Knitting Guild blog, let Porter out for a potty break, and did the laundry. It took a lot longer than I'd anticipated to redo the blog. I putz and consider, looking at pictures, trying to decide what to say and how to say it. Probably few people look at it, but I do it anyway because I said I would and I like doing it. I also took the second load of things out of the basement to Goodwill. Durwood's afraid I'm going to "give away all the good stuff" but I'm trying to keep the good stuff and let the rest of it go to good homes. I'm tired of giving house-room to things we haven't laid hands on in nearly 10 years and aren't going to use in the next 10. Durwood marinated some chicken legs in a new marinade he found in one of the WW cookbooks then we baked them, serving them with fresh broccoli and couscous. It was a delicious and good-looking supper. We've been enjoying the new WW cookbooks he got from the bargain room at Cook's Corner before Christmas. I'm glad we're not people who always make the same things on the same day. The only "day" we have is Tuesday's fish day, and that's because we put the garbage out on Tuesday night so any fish wrapper or stinky skin doesn't hang around too long. Pretty smart, eh? We, well, he made us breakfast yesterday with Henny & Penny eggs, one for each. They were markedly better tasting than regular old grocery eggs, and I got to collect them my own self. You wish you were here for that meal, trust me on that.

January 15--Egypt, Bronze Cat. Cat sat on the plinth in a shaft of sunlight. The light cut through the dusty air in Uncle Albert's library. Gemma and Bart teased that one day Cat would blink, stretch out, and then pounce down across Uncle Albert's desk to chase mice. "Most probably," Albert said, laughing at the rich imaginations of his great-niece and -nephew. Cat was offended that anyone, even those foolish children who always hung around, would think that he would stoop to pursuing such pedestrian prey as mice. A few times in his younger days he had been reduced to foraging for a mouse or a vole. They were adequately tasty little morsels but he preferred a dish of diced liver and chicken. He'd never developed a tolerance for fur.

I just had a couple in here who spent nearly $600 on snorkeling gear for a Tahitian cruise. *sigh* If they hadn't been so nice I might have had to be rude to them out of sheer envy. Plus she said they have to take dress clothes and that is so not my idea of a vacation. A clean shirt and nice pair of cotton khaki slacks with sandals, that's vacation dress up for me. Ta ta.

--Barbara

Baby, It's Cold Outside

2012-01-15T08:51:00.003-06:00

Still and gray and barely 20 degrees. Ugh. No way would you catch me piling on the clothes and hiking over to Lambeau to watch the Packers play the... um, the (who is it, Dear?)... oh yeah, the Giants, with the good Manning brother, Eli. Eli's the good brother because I heard when Peyton was drafted by one NFL team (I don't remember which one) and he decided he didn't want to play with them so he said "I don't think so." What an ego!!! How dare he think that he was too good to play for the team? I'm not a football fan but I'm even less of a Peyton Manning fan for his overweening ego. I very nastily hope that the little brother, Eli, outstrips his big brother's overall football performance. But not today. I might not be a fan but people that I love (Durwood, DS, DD, DIL1&2, TW & AJ, the list goes on) are fans, plus if they lose then the fly-overs stop. That's really the only part of football that I like. I couldn't live in GB in another part of the city that the airplanes don't fly directly over, it feels like they fly over just for me.

January 14--Thomas Cole, The Titan's Goblet. Lake fell asleep with the book open on her chest. She had begged and pleaded to be allowed to stay awake to read and she'd been granted an extra half hour. the dream began as soon as her eyelashes tangled together and she sighed out the first deep breath of the night. Her dreamship sailed off the red and rocky cliffs of the land of Rockaway. Her ship, The Marlin, served her well, always running ahead of storms. She carried astronomers and scientists who studied the stars and collected rare and beautiful plants from the exotic lands she visited. Captain Lake had heard stories of the natives of Rockaway being under the rule of a giant with a bad temper and a worse reputation.

Time to go off and get a haircut. I'm hoping to convince Durwood to thaw out some bacon while I'm getting clipped so we can have some H&P eggs with toast and Nueske's bacon. Oh, OJ too. Sayonara.
--Barbara

Saturday Adventures in Chicken-ry

2012-01-14T13:03:00.003-06:00

So today's my last day to mind Henny & Penny. I was running a bit behind because I called a friend and talked for quite a while. Not that the girls really minded. They were willing to go out of the roost but only after I scattered some of their feed out on the ramp and the snow. I gave Henny her morning pat and I almost got to pat Penny but she squawked and flapped back into the roost. The goofball. She's the prettiest too. Hmm, maybe that's why Henny lets me pet her; she knows she's not the fancy one so she has to be nicer, not a prima donna like her sister. There were 2 eggs waiting for me in the egg box. See? That makes 7 since Wednesday. Those girls are breakfast-making machines. One of today's eggs has a tiny crack in it so we'll have to have eggs and bacon or maybe an omelet tomorrow. Awww, too bad. Our grand-chickens make very tasty great-grand-eggs. Last night I nearly didn't go to Friday Night Knitting and Yoga. I was all cozy warm and full of the yummy ham and cabbage stew that Durwood made for supper and my right knee has hurt since Wednesday's yoga class so I was this close to not going. Then I thought about how I'd been so excited that Mardi started teaching Yoga at Harmony Cafe and it'd be bad if I ducked out the second night so I went. I am so glad I did. Not only were there only 3 students but doing yoga for an hour made me feel 100% better. One hundred percent, I kid you not. We did lots of downward facing dog and would segue into another pose and then back to the dog. It was the most fluid workout I'd done so far and it was much more what I imagined when I started going. I loved it, I was breathless and sweaty and I'm a little sore today but I loved it and can't wait for next week. You should yoga, even a little, it makes you feel awesome.

January 13--Amadeo Modigliani, The Italian Woman. There was a world of pain in her eyes. She sat on the sidewalk in the shade on an awning, always in black, her hands folded in her lap. No matter what time I went out or came in, she was always there in her chair. At times I wondered if she were even awake or alive, but then a neighbor or a child would come by and pass a word with her. She never smiled, never started a conversation. I couldn't decide how old she was, her skin was unlined and her hair was black. She could have been any age from forty to seventy and I bet she was nearing seventy because she sat so still. I wanted to learn Italian just to hear her story.

Now I'm going to wander off to do something else. Maybe knit. Ciao.
--Barbara

I Am A Saint!

2012-01-13T11:37:00.003-06:00

Really I am. A veritable saint. On Wednesday when I went over to shut Henny & Penny in for the night it was probably 50 degrees and they didn't want to be shut in but I had to shut them in because I was on my way to yoga and they just don't wait for you to arrive at yoga and furthermore they don't really appreciate latecomers. Om. First I chased Henny & Penny around a bit, then I got the hoe to use to kind of herd them into the roost. You can't herd chickens, at least I can't. Finally I got smart and left them alone for a minute, well, I stopped chasing them. Henny went right up the ramp and Penny followed so I quick moved the ramp and dropped the door to shut them into the warm for the night. I went happily off to yoga never realizing that this was on my shoe. Ew, chicken bappie. Ew. (and random snowflakes are floating down. Oh no, you don't) The good thing is there was another egg that I wrapped in a paper towel and tucked into my backpack to be safe until I got home. Thursday morning it was snowing and no way did those chickens want to go out of the roost. I was firm, me and my hoe handle, we clonked on the back of the roost and then shooed them out the door, they walked into the snow, complaining all the way. Namaste. As I said yesterday Henny wanted to go right back in but I soothed her with a pat or two and a sprinkle of chicken feed (chicken feed, heh) so I could put in fresh water and feed--and collect the only egg. Last night they were happily in their roost when I arrived in the 4" of snow to shut them in because I was on my way to Knitting Guild, but there was no egg. No egg! And I looked, I even shoved Penny out of the way and she did not like that. (Tough, I'm the grandma here and I don't take any guff from my grandchickens.) This morning when I went to let them out there were two eggs. Yay! It took a bit of coaxing to get them to come out into the snowy yard but I kicked the snow away from some of the ground and they got the message that it was okay to walk in snow. Now we have 5 eggs. Do you think there'll be one when I go to shut them in for the night? I don't know, but I get to go tend them on Saturday too and collect those eggs. This has been a fun and profitable, if slightly poopy, job. I think I'm going to go get barn boots at Fleet Farm.

There's no fiction today. By the time I got home last night I spent some time with Durwood, ate my yogurt and cookies, and went to bed. Today I'm going to try to take it easy, read magazines, and knit. I already blew the snow and shoveled a bit, and those floating flakes out there better not try to get together and make something of themselves. They'd just better not.

--Barbara

It's Really Snowing!

2012-01-12T10:57:00.004-06:00

Until the flakes began to fly I was convinced that it would slide on by and miss us. The weather guessers have scaled their predictions of how much snow we'll get to 4-6" instead of the 8" or more they initially tried to curse us with. Henny & Penny were hard to convince to leave their roost this morning and instead of just leaving them after I hooked out the egg, today's the day I was to give them fresh food and water. Of. Course. So I encouraged them to leave by first tapping on the back of the roost and then shooing them out. Henny kept trying to get back inside but after a little scratch of her back and a pet or two she left me alone. I scattered the old, poopy seed out onto the chicken yard so they were interested in something besides what I was doing. They didn't seem to like the snow one bit. Maybe when I go to tuck them in I'll see that they've been out. Yesterday I discovered that one lays to be collected in the morning and the other to be collected later in the day--and one lays in the egg box and the other just in the shavings by the food dish. (We'll see if the second one today is in the shavings to prove my supposition.) Gah! I just realized that I forgot to put the camera in my bag so I can take photos at the Knitting Guild meeting this evening and I won't have time to zoom home to get it before the meeting, dammit. I could take pix with my cellphone but it seems that Trakfone had the function that would let me download them to my laptop disabled. The turds. I did remember to dig out a bit of worsted yarn and a pair of US8 needles so I could knit up the swatch for tonight's program which is learning decreases. I've got that done. And maybe I'll borrow a camera from the shop...

January 11--Childe Hassam, Surf, Isles of Shoals. The entry at Tori's Reef on the southern end of Bonaire is my favorite. You park your rental truck alongside one of the channels cut to allow ocean water to be let into the evaporating ponds at the salt works across the road. Once you have your scuba gear on, you climb down the boulders to an area of waist deep water. There's a natural breakwater across the opening in the shore reef so any waves are dampened to easy swells. The water is gin-clear, as they say, and you can see your fins stirring up the white sand as you get your mask on and settled. As you swim out toward the sea it gets very shallow and that's where you see octopus and scorpion fish nestled in the reef niches. Out in the open ocean the wide white sand stretches to the end of visibility. Skeins of silver fish stream by like ribbons on the wind and tiny dark specks of juvenile reef fish dart around little stands of orange fire coral as you swim out toward the deeper reef. But it's on the swim back to shore that Tori's Reef really shines.

Ah, of course I would torment myself with memories of warm salt water and sandy beaches on this cold and snowy January day. I'm cruel and heartless, aren't I?

--Barbara

Frosty Roofs

2012-01-11T07:42:00.003-06:00

It's been unseasonably warm for most of this winter so far. A lot of days have been in the 40s, if you can believe it, and we've had hardly any snow but that's about to change. Tomorrow's supposed to be in the 20s and the snow's supposed to start piling up, as in 4-8 inches worth. Good thing I've got gas for the snowblower, eh? It hasn't been very wintry or snowy so maybe the winter won't seem too long this year. Or maybe it'll extend into the months that are supposed to be springy. God, I hope not. We have more than enough gray and dreary days, thank you very much. The Urban Chicken class went well last night for DIL1. The place was packed with what had to be 45 people! Can you believe that many people want to keep chickens in their backyards? I was disappointed that the show chicken guy didn't bring any. I really wanted to see one. Guess I'll have to go to the county fair next summer. I finished cleaning under the basement stairs yesterday. I have a lovely pile of 7 garbage bags out by the curb and took one small load to the Goodwill. I'll pile more into the car to take on Friday before Knitting. (Oh, mercy, I could go back to sleep. Drink coffee faster. Slurp, slurp.) Maybe I'll go through a shelf of books or two on Friday and take a couple boxes along. I need to clear out some of the zillions of books down there to make room for other things. Not more books. I'm determined to be a good library patron instead of a good bookstore customer. Let the library store all those books, that's why I pay taxes, by God. Here it is 8 o'clock and the sun's almost fully up. How do people manage living north of here? It must be dark, or nearly so, until they get to work. I know it's dark when I leave work at 5 o'clock, or nearly dark. I'd never make it up in Alaska or in northern Europe in the lands of the Midnight Sun. I'd be asleep in a cave somewhere, I need sunlight to start my engines. And the lovely garbologists just drove away with all my trash. Thanks, guys. I'd better get a move on so I have time to do the crosswords before I shower and leave for work.

January 10 (look at that! it's a double-digit day already)--Japan, Ewer with Floral and Stripe Decoration. Steve watched Aubrey as she filled the old white stoneware pot with tea and hot water. The sharp, earthy fragrance of the leaves burst into the room. Pale yellow dawn light filled the corner where he sat waiting for the toast to pop up. While the tea steeped she went to let the chickens out and came in with a fresh egg in each hand. "It's a good day," she said. By the time the tea was ready she had fried the eggs and he had peeled and sectioned an orange for them to share. The golden rays of the risen sun warmed the kitchen as they ate breakfast. Both of them treasured the hour together in the early morning quiet before the rest of the world remembered they were there. "It is a good day," he replied.

Today I get to stop to collect eggs on my way to work. I'll report.
--Barbara

It's a Chicken Day!

2012-01-10T10:00:00.004-06:00

Tonight DIL1 is teaching her Urban Chicken-ry class and I found o ut that I get to tend Henny & Penny, our grandchickens, while DS & DIL1 are away for a few days--and keep the eggs the girls lay while they're gone. We've had some of their eggs but I haven't gotten to collect them yet. I am foolishly excited about the whole thing. I got up in the middle of the night (to pee) and evidently opened the shade over the bed because I vaguely remember seeing the full moon out that window. Unfortunately Durwood saw the moonlight streaming in and thought it was later than it was and got up. He was not amused. He woke me at 7:15 (a tiny bit gruffly) to say that he was going back to bed and I should get up. (Sorry, Dear.) I was going to the Senior Center to use the machines this morning but Skully said that she and Julie were there yesterday morning and the regulars weren't exactly glad to see them or friendly so we agreed to not go today. Instead I'm going to finish cleaning under the basement stairs and will get my exercise hauling all the trash and donations up the stairs and out to the car or curb. And I want to go to WalMart to get a thicker fitness mat for yoga. My arthritic knee doesn't appreciate the time I spend kneeling on it on the scrawny yoga mat I have now (which was a gift from Z-Dawg that I really like and appreciate but it's too thin) and I saw a much thicker one with a strap for rolling it up there. I'm getting one. My knee will thank me and I don't care if I look like a wuss, it's better than having a sore knee for days.

January 9--Thomas Eakins, The Champion Single Sculls. He thought of each race as a battle. When it came right down to it, every time he went out on the water he competed, even if it was against the wind or the current of a line of ducks along the bank. Max thought of his scull like an extension of himself. The narrow craft cut the water like a knife blade and he used the oars like wings to propel himself along the river. He was out just after sunrise in all sorts of weather putting his muscle and mind to the test. He had just slipped under the Harley Street Bridge when the woman in white plunged into the swirling cold river.

I could swear that this same painting was in last year's calendar but I refuse to check because that'd make me suspicious of the rest of them and I'd make myself crazy. Er. The sun's shining and it's supposed to be getting colder and snow before the end of the week. As much as I don't really like dealing with snow I have to say it's about bloody time.
--Barbara

A Little Less of Me

2012-01-09T08:11:00.004-06:00

Did you see the full moon last night? January's full moon is called the Wolf Moon. It was beautiful as it rose up behind the bare maple tree branches.

I'm happy to get on the scale on the Monday mornings when the number cooperates. (as if I don't control that number with my behavior) It's a good way to start a dreary looking day. Maybe the sun will come out later, I know it's supposed to be warm-ish. Of course I have to work so I wouldn't be able to go outside and enjoy it. Not that I did yesterday when I could have. Yesterday I went down into the dungeon and plunged into the forgotten boxes under the stairs. I am determined to work my way through our stuff and streamline our lives this year. It'll be hard, especially for Durwood who likes to keep everything "just in case," but I'm determined. Tomorrow evening I'm going to the botanical garden to attend an Urban Chicken class co-taught by my DIL1. One of the other instructors raises show chickens (show chickens???) so I'm hoping that he'll bring one along. Chickens have personalities of a sort but they're in no way pet material. Henny & Penny are smart enough to taunt Porter into rushing the coop but not smart enough to realize that she'd eat them in a heartbeat if she could get through the fencing.

January 8--Raphael, Lucretia. He just wanted to draw her hand. Why was it so hard? He looked at his own hands every day. He should be intimate with the mechanics of hands. The baker with his flour-cakes hands selling loaves and the barmaid who served his beer. The woman who brought in the clean wash and the boy apprentice who cleaned his studio and his brushes. he saw their hands daily, watched their grace and their dexterity. Saw them work small and big jobs with ease. So why was it proving nearly impossible to sketch Lucretia's right hand? The left one he had rendered to his satisfaction almost at once. The right one was another story. The angle was a challenge, he supposed. The truncated shape, awkward and unfamiliar, but it was a hand. Something so familiar as to be forgettable but so obvious when done wrong.

And that, my friends, is that for today. I'm off to gobble down a bowl of Cheerios, take a shower, dress in clean jeans and a nice sweater, and go off to save the world from SCUBA diving. See ya.
--Barbara

Sunshine Makes Me Happy

2012-01-08T13:08:00.002-06:00

When it's sunny I feel so much better than I do on cloudy days. It's hard to remember that it's January since we haven't had much snow, in fact I realized the other day that the only time I've run the snowblower was when I moved it from the shed into the garage. When I was out filling the birdfeeders I noticed that the forsythia's buds are swelling and the thyme in the pot at the edge of the patio has sprouted leaves down near the soil. I'm happy not to have snow to shovel or blow and skid around on on the roads but it won't be good when the farmers want to grow things and the soil's too dry. I'm procrastinating going downstairs to tackle the boxes and shelves under the stairs. I decided that's where I'm starting my once-a-week clear out. Yesterday I decided to just do nothing (which is very unlike me) and nearly managed it. I sorted out my knitting needle/crochet hook bin and of course I fell prey to a pattern and some super bulky yarn. I got about 6" knitted and realized that it was hurting my hands to knit it and I didn't like the fabric it was making. I ripped it out (that's called frogging in knit-speak) and put it all away. Put it away, like a good girl, so I'm not too motivated to go down there and make a mess again. But I will. Cross my heart. I'll post last night's writing, find a photo to stick on here, and send myself down there to work. I've got a batch of chili crockpotting away for next week's lunches too. It's starting to smell good. I should go stir. THEN post the writing... See? Procrastinating. Then, all stirred, now it's time to get on the stick and accomplish something big today.

January 7--Raphael, Lucretia. My sister Lucy spent the whole summer dress ed in a bed sheet. She did. We were living up at the lake house where the nearest neighbors were about a mile away so she said no one could see her anyway. She said it was comfortable but I thought it'd be too hard to run and keep the danged thing wrapped around you. Besides it kept slipping off her one shoulder letting her... well, you know... her boobie bounce out. When I get them, I'm keeping them tucked away. Maybe mine'll be little fried-egg ones and I won't have to worry about them flopping around. Mama said Lucy was exploring her options. Daddy said she should put some pants on.

Sometimes I wonder where I come up with stuff. Now I'm off to chase dust and spiders out from under the stairs. Wish me luck.
--Barbara

I Was Alone Here--For a Minute

2012-01-07T10:43:00.004-06:00

Even after more than 3 years neither Durwood nor I are really accustomed to him being home all the time. I crave solitude at home and he craves being out in his "territory." On the first Saturday of the month he picks up an even older coot and they meet 2000 census friends for breakfast in a cafeteria across town. At first he went alone, stayed longer talking, and then wandered through a store or two to give me a break. Now that he's picking up the so-old-he's-no-longer-driving guy who doesn't like to stay long or go anywhere else, he's home within an hour and a half. I try to make every minute count by not turning on TV or music or my iPod or calling anyone and it is great, but I want more. Maybe it's time we play "Durwood's out of town" again. That's when he goes to a local motel for a night or two for peace and eating out (no cooking) and I've got the house and my own space for those nights too. It's cheap sanity for both of us. I realized this morning that Lala was very wise when she advised me to hold off until February to implement some of my year-goals. It's a much more physical time for me, the mental things (journaling, bigger writing) aren't going well, so I'm going to table them for this month, tackle some of the physical goals and once I have them in place and ticking along nicely I can slowly add in the things I have to think about. Good advice, Lala. That decision make me feel a teensy bit less crazed.

January 6--Caravaggio, The Musicians. They look like boys but think of themselves as men. The musicians hired to play during supper sit in the alcove turning up and squabbling about which piece to lead off with. Those baby faces make them look like they're not old enough to be awake this late but as one who has had her bottom pinched by the lute player, Mario, I know that they are. Or near enough. They are coarse little things even though they have the look of angels. The smallest, Piccolo the flute player, talks as if he were a dock worker and Luca, who plays the violin so sweetly it makes you cry, makes suggestions of things I don't think a body can do. Rio the singer has the high voice of an angel but looks like a devil with his peaked black brows and sensuous lips. He calls me Madame Imalia as he should but his voice seems to caress my skin as he speaks.

What happens next? I haven't got a clue but I wonder how I can put Imalia and the musicians in proximity over and over. Intrigue? Spying? Sex? Hmm, maybe I'll think on it while I'm clearing out under the basement stairs later. Think sunshine on this dull day.
--Barbara

Windswept Friday

2012-01-06T14:09:00.002-06:00

It's gusty today but in the 40s. Our visit to the Aging & Disability Center (oh, man, it sounds like we're decrepit and crippled, so not true) went well. The room is small but crammed with exercise machines. I like the resistance machines (the ones with weights) and the treadmill better than the stepper and the stationary bikes. We paid our dollars and filled out the releases so we're all signed up. I don't want to quit walking on the trails but it'll be nice to be able to vary my workout when the weather is crap. I'm hungry for a casserole so Durwood and I have worked out a spaghetti-like recipe I'm making for supper before knitting tonight. Oooh, I get to cook.

January 5--Egypt, Menat Necklace from Malqata. It took all her concentration to string the tiny glass beads in the dimness of the workshop. She squinted to see the tiny hole and to slide the waxed thread through the hole. Once she had twenty-four of the blue strands strung Hamid took them to his workbench and assembled the necklace. Lela wished that one day she might get to see one of the tourist women wearing a necklace that she had made but by the time her workday was done she had only enough energy left to eat the scraps Hamid left for her and then unroll her bed in the corner of the shop.

I took in the lighted flamingo today. It looked so forlorn leaning against the house but I don't have the oomph to go out and fix it. Too blah.
--Barbara

Thursday Blahs

2012-01-05T10:52:00.003-06:00

For no reason I have the blahs today. It's even sunny out there, and warm-ish-ing up into the 30s. I did try to start learning Wii Zumba this morning (even though I yoga-ed the hell out of my knees yesterday and they are both uber-achy) but while it did load it wouldn't recognize the controller so that I could create myself and get past the beginning screen. Frustration is not my friend at anytime but before 8 AM we are definitely enemies. I will go back to it later, when I am more awake and have my glasses on, to read the manual (often a good idea with a new toy) and see if I can't figure it out before I use the extended warranty (that I bought for three bucks on a hunch) to get me a new one that will play nice with my Wii. Tomorrow Durwood, Skully, Julie and I are going down to the Aging Resource Center for an orientation in their exercise room so we can go there to workout whenever we want. It's $1 a month. A Buck A Month, people! What a deal! You have to be 60 to qualify so I barely make it but I'm looking forward it having another workout opportunity. I'm loving yoga basics (even though my knees are killing me today). I felt a bit more flexible last night and able to do the poses a little better. Obviously I pushed it a bit but I'll get it and then I can go to real yoga classes. (I have to find out if the Friday night ones start tomorrow so I can be ready when I go to knitting.) I wish I was underwater right now. Warm water would be the best, warm and salty, but I'd settle for cold and green fresh water. I feel like I need the peace of it. It seems like there's a buzzing all around me lately, a buzz of activity and things I need to do. I suppose I take on too many things at once, want to accomplish too much in too short a time, but I'm so eager to experience things I don't want to wait. You know, I never could figure out where DS got his drive to learn "a little bit about everything," and DD got her lifelong eagerness to look at things and not stop and think about them (she was looking around in the Delivery room, for crying out loud, checking out the sounds and lights) because I always thought I was lazy and sedentary and Durwood's a think-ahead kind of guy. Turns out I'm the active, impulsive one racing toward new experiences and wanting to try everything. How did I not know this about myself? Can you tell me that? Anybody?

January 4--India, Krishn Battles the Armies of the Demon Naraka. Many of Judith's guests didn't understand how she could bear to have an umbrella stand made from an elephant's foot in her entry hall. If she overheard someone talking about it she'd turn and walk away. Two years earlier she and Mac had gone on safari, on the trip of a lifetime. It was a photo safari and it was wonderful. Africa was golden and vast and smelled like exotic perfumes. Their safari company took them out in the bush in open-topped Land Rovers where they got up close to all sorts of animals. They slept in tent cabins and ate bush meat, which was what the South Africans called whatever the cook shot for the meal. It was all very regulated but made them feel as if they'd landed on a different planet or maybe back in an old movie. The guides warned them daily about getting too close to the wildlife, emphasizing the word "wild," and cautioning them not to wander away from the group or the camp for any reason. By the end of the month's trip it seemed as if they'd wandered into a park with tamed animals all around. The guide would say they were driving out to see lions and there were the lions. Giraffes would stalk through the acacia trees as if on command. It was very quiet on the last afternoon before they got back to civilization. Judith left their tent to walk down the trail to the stream behind the camp. She heard voices ahead and assumed that others of their party were already there. When she got into the open, she was alone, the only human with a quartet of elephants, and she was too close. Close enough that when the bull elephant nearest her turned to drive her off he knocked her down and stepped on her ankle. The next ten minutes seemed like an eternity until Micah, one of the guides, came down the path and shot the elephant. Judith wasn't dead, but there were times in the hospital in Nairobi over the next three months that she wished she had been. The umbrella stand was the foot of the elephant that trampled her. Part of her loved to see it there knowing that the elephant wouldn't hurt anyone else and part of her hated it because her nightmares always started with a round gray foot descending to stomp her flat.

Now it's nearly time for lunch. I've had visitors but no customers. Back to shredding old receipts.

--Barbara

Cold, But Sunny

2012-01-04T12:01:00.004-06:00

It's not quite as bitter cold today and it's supposed to rocket up to near 40 degrees by Friday. Of course there's a whole lot more winter to be had here halfway between the equator and the north pole. Did you know that? Just about 66 miles north of here is the 45th parallel so when I go diving or to The Clearing I move from the lower 3/4 of the globe to the upper 1/4. The idea intrigues me, every time. I love the idea of moving through such a major geographic feature, but then I've always been a geography nerd. That was my first "what should I be when I grow up," I wanted to be a cartographer. I don't know when that changed, I'm kind of sorry it did, but no use crying over spilt milk. If I'd been one I probably wouldn't have met Durwood, wouldn't have had DS & DD, and wouldn't have worked at the dive shop to meet all the quirky and interesting folks I have over the years. Not to mention not gone to The Clearing where I met even more quirky and interesting peoples, like Lala, JudyRedbird, and Roi. And there'd be no Skully or Cookie or Z-Dawg in my knitting life either. I'd probably have boring, upright, uptight family members, and friends who don't have street names and lead me into temptation in so many ways.

Would I have gotten to knit underwater in Bonaire? No!

Would I have found bagged and frozen poop or a severed deer leg when geocaching? Definitely not!

Would I have slept in a cliff-clinging, one room cabin that has no bathroom, forcing me to moon Escanaba--twice? No way, Jose!

In that case I'm glad I'm not a cartographer. Really glad because I love my life, my family, my job, and my friends (even though most of them are total whackjobs).

January 3--Jacometto, Alvise Contarini. His whole life since he was a little boy Al wanted to go to sea. He dreamed of walking up the gangplank with his white canvas sea bag over his shoulder and sailing off to explore foreign lands. His father had other plans for his second son. In Papa's mind, Al would go to the seminary and become Father Al. He'd quickly rise up in the ranks until he would be an archbishop or cardinal with the ear of the Pope. Papa also decided that Al would make a fortune by selling indulgences and by selling his Papal influence to politicians and businessmen. Al was a devout boy but he had no desire for the priesthood, heard no calling from on high. He wanted to sail away on a caravel and come home with a brown-skinned wife and a fortune in spices.

I foresee tumultuous years in Al's future, don't you? It's been quiet here so far today. Maybe nobody's thinking about going diving anytime soon. All I can think about is escaping to someplace warm for a week or month or so. Hasta la vista, babies! At least until tomorrow.

--Barbara

It's Soooo Cold Out There

2012-01-03T10:11:00.006-06:00

Oh. Em. Gee. (to quote Skully) It is so cold that the birdbath heater can barely keep up. I've gotta go out and re-peanut butter the birdie tree and sprinkle the pb with birdseed. All the birds like to shelter in the branches and I like to give them a little treat while they're staying warm. Having that tree out there is totally worth the ten bucks I spent on it. Oh, I meant to tell you, when I drove by an hour after I got the tree the gate was closed and locked and the owner's truck was gone. I was fated to get that tree, I just know it. My friend Cookie talked to a crone in an occult shop last month and got a good idea for journaling fodder. Each morning you choose a tarot card, or an Archetype card by my friend Roi which have the most beautifulest artwork, then you open your journal, write down the date and the card you chose. At the end of the day you read the meaning of the card and journal how your day jibed with the card. I started yesterday and was floored when the card (the Ace of Wands) described my day exactly. Eerie. I want 2012 to be the year that I take charge of myself and my fate more, to effect the changes, some small some big, I want to work on this year, so I'm going to cast myself into the river of self-awareness and start paddling.

January 2--Suzuki Kiitsu, Morning Glories. They were like a hundred blue eyes, Suky thought as she slid through the tangle of morning glory vines that covered the doorway of the old brooder house. Granddad had warned them about the wasps that nested in the eaves but he'd never said to stay away. Suky had felt drawn to the place since she heard Mama talk about the chicks that used to live inside. She had found tiny feathers in every crack and cranny, stuck to the old wood. From the inside it looked like the morning glory vines were all that kept the place upright. No matter where she looked there were shafts of light filtering in through the big, bright-green, heart-shaped leaves. At first, she just sat in there thinking about baby chicks but then it was so nice and relaxing that she brought a book. Now she had a book to read, a notebook to draw and write in, and an old camp stool to sit on. The constant sharp hum of the wasps kept her alert.

The birds are all fed, the last gifts delivered, and Christmas $$ for a Wii Fitness game spent. I got myself a copy of Wii Zumba. Eeee! Can't wait to strap on the belt and see if I can't learn Zumba. I love to dance, or at least I used to when I wasn't 60 and creaky. I can do this.
--Barbara

Happy New Year!

2012-01-02T16:48:00.002-06:00

Yeah, yeah, I know I'm a day late but I was busy yesterday. Too busy to blog? Yes, too busy to blog. I got busy downstairs organizing yarn and patterns and needles and fabrics into a crafting area that I can use. I can actually put the ironing board up and iron without having to drape fabric over boxes. There's room to open out the cutting table I got from Mom's and use it to cut fabric or sort a bin of yarn. All of my fabrics, except for the 2 bins of swimsuit fabrics, are now neatly organized into an old wooden armoire right outside of the crafting area so it'll stay out of the dust and sawdust but be more accessible. It looks wonderful and will make it a joy to work down there. I even carried the vacuum down there this morning and vacuumed the carpet! This is a great start to my resolution to spend one day per week clearing out a part of the house. I figure if I take it in small bites it won't seem like such a monumental task and I'll have a fighting chance of sticking to it. I made a pot of Black-Eyed Pea Gumbo and a pan of cornbread for supper last night just in case the superstition about it bringing prosperity in the new year isn't just a superstition. It was yummy, but not meaty enough for Durwood. For him if there's no meat it's not a meal. Ah well, I don't begrudge him that one teensy flaw.

January 1--Edgar Degas, The Dance Class. She loved the way the music played along her bones and muscles. She knew she'd never be a real ballerina, never be good enough, like Jenny Taylor, to get a tryout for the ABT but that was okay. Dance put her firmly in her body. It made her in charge in these awful years when she was going from girl to woman. Dance gave her good posture and taught her hands to be graceful. She liked the feel of dancing with her class. To be in a group of twelve, all of whom where doing the same steps felt magical.

Be of good cheer! I am.
--Barbara

Transformation

2011-12-31T17:18:00.002-06:00

I got a start on reorganizing my crafting area in the basement into a functional area again today. I moved all Durwood's books over to a different shelf (for now) and am putting up shelving that will better hold all my yarn, pattern books and needles. I thought about putting a bunch of my books on Book Mooch but I don't want to replace books, I want to get rid of them, plus I'm not thrilled with the idea of paying postage to ship them off. Maybe I'll just haul them to Goodwill or donate them to the library for their annual book sale. It's a much bigger job organizing the craft area than I thought it'd be but I'm determined to work my way through our accumulated crap this winter, free up some storage space, donate things we no longer use, and make better use of the space we have. I want to have access to my newly reawakened interest in sewing there too, so I have to make nice space for fabric and all the sewing odds and ends I brought home from Mom's. And I can't forget to make a place for my watercolors. In other words I'm trying to shove 10 lb. of sh*t into a 5 lb. sack. Typical. I went over to let Porter out this afternoon and played with her for a while. Being out in the yard throwing a ball for her and chasing her around really blows the cobwebs out of my head. She's not supposed to be interested in or try to get at the chickens but that darned Henny & Penny cluck around and taunt the dog until she tries to run at them or burrow under the fence. I think I hear them laugh when Porter gets yelled at. Crazy birds.

December 30--American or European, Evening Dress. "I can't imagine wearing something like that," Meris said, her arms folded across her middle. "Me neither," said Diane, "who ever thought bustles looked good and how did they sit?" "I can't imagine." The women kept on walking through the exhibit marveling at the styles and admiring the fabrics. "I never imagined that peachy pink would look so good with that red, would you?" Meris shook her head. "I wish we could touch the clothes. I want to see the underwear too." Diane frowned at the red silk evening gown with its enormous bustle. "Do you think they made special chairs or sat on benches? And how did they ever go to the ladies' room?"

I'll bet they didn't wear undies because they could never have gone to the privy by themselves with all those skirts and frames and stuff. Crazy fashion. Happy New Year's Eve!
--Barbara

And It's the Weekend Again!

2011-12-30T11:06:00.004-06:00

Do I have the greatest job or what? Work two days, get a looooong weekend, rinse, repeat. I had one whole customer yesterday, one paying customer, that is. I did have one of those guys who comes in, asks a blue-million questions about all sorts of dive-y and snorkel-ish things and then doesn't buy any of it after taking up at least 45 minutes of my time. I actually enjoy educating people about things, equipment, and assorted science-y stuff, but it really sours the experience when they thank me and walk out empty handed. *sigh* I feel so used. On Wednesday a customer came in (well, not really a customer since I don't think he's ever bought anything) who has been coming in since before I started working there in 1993. His name is Ray and he's famous with the old time staff as the guy who signed up for dive class and on the first night in the pool when the instructor said, "jump in and swim 8 lengths" he jumped in, went straight to the bottom of the deep end and just stood there. Someone dove in and hauled him up. When they asked him if he could swim, he said no, and when they asked why he'd jumped in, he said "well, you told me to." He has spent the intervening years trying (unsuccessfully) to learn to swim, and pulling his own teeth so he could fit into dentures. Guess he had some lying around the farm and didn't want them to go to waste. Eesh. This year he had on a Harley jacket and boots, pleather pants, and a blue-plaid earflap hat with the flaps tied up. He was a vision. The customer in the store at the time (a guy) was struck dumb at the sight of him. I'll have to remember to tell ETO and JJ that Ray came in for his annual visit. I love my job.

I'm planning to make Black-Eyed Peas Gumbo (which I realize has no okra in it; I'll put it in because it isn't gumbo without okra) with some bacon and cabbage in it for us to eat on New Year's Eve. I've been reading about traditional ways to usher in the new year. We don't need any more bad news in 2012 so I'm going to cobble together a few random traditions to see if I can't fend off any bad juju that has its sights on the Malcolm clan for next year. So it's going to be black-eyed peas and cabbage for money, the laundry's getting done today, I'll sweep both porches tomorrow to keep old dirt from tracking in, and I'll take down the decorations and put them away to start the year fresh. There's no way I have time to clean the house from top to bottom or finish all my projects by midnight the 31st, but I'll clean the bathroom and tidy up, that should help. And if I'm awake at midnight I'll open the front door and back door to let the old/bad year out the back and the new/good year in the front, which is a Scots tradition I read. Thanks to Crazy Aunt Purl and her readers for all of the info about traditional and not-so-traditional ways to usher in the new year.

December 29--Maurice Brazil Prendergast, The Huntington Avenue Streetcar. The pink was so pale that it nearly looked white. Nita smoothed her skirt and looked at the other passengers. She had the feeling of eyes on her, of the heat of a glance, but when she looked up on one's eyes met hers. She wasn't about to turn and crane her neck to see if the looker was behind her. That was too forward. She knew her manners. She sat with her knees together, feet planted flat on the floor. Her hands were in her lap holding her bag, they were relaxed, and her eyes looked out at the passing street. She wasn't a flirt, no she was not, but she wasn't naive either. She knew that the pale pink, the almost white of her dress made her skin glow. Her dark brown eyes sparkled in the afternoon light and there was one unruly tendril of hair that escaped her careful pins and danced like an imp in the breeze from the open window. It was nearly her stop. Maybe, just maybe a pair of friendly eyes would meet hers when she stood to make her way to the door.

Probably not, sweetie pie, I'm imagining a stalker, one dressed in a business suit with a sedate tie, who will dog her footsteps until she is his and no one elses. Ah, innocence. Gotta go flop the laundry around.
--Barbara

Is That Sleet or Snow?

2011-12-29T09:01:00.005-06:00

It can't seem to make up its mind out there. I'm underwhelmed with either one. So far I haven't won the lottery or made a magic wand so I'm off to work again today. I had a few customers yesterday so I didn't die of boredom and I finished updating one supplier's prices in the computer. Today I get to re-sticker a crapload of inventory. Good thing I don't dress up all fancy for work because I'll be crawling around repricing things. I think I'll wear my Copper Harbor hoodie and copper earrings, and pretend I just got back from the UP. Somedays pretending is all I have to keep me sane. My friend Cookie talked to a woman in an occult store in Milwaukee earlier this month and the woman suggested that she get out a notebook and Tarot card deck and choose a card when she awakes each morning. She's supposed to write down what card it is in the notebook and get on with her day, then at the end of the day she's supposed to look up the meaning of the card and write down how her day merged or didn't with the chosen card. Cookie said that lately the card's been spot on. I reminded her that she's got a deck of Archetype cards from my writing friend, Roi, that she could do the same with. (I am totally in love with the art on the cards. They are absolutely gorgeous and so very inspirational. That Roi's a genius.) I might just play along come next Sunday when the whole new unspoiled year begins. That'd be a good way to start, don't you think? (Oh, hell, it's time to get ready for work. I have to stop lolling in bed until nearly 8 o'clock.)

December 28--China, Square Tray with Two Boys. A and B loved to play in the garden when it was nice outside. A was the musical one. He had a small drum with a mallet. He'd march down the lawn or dance through the shadows depending on his mood. B always rode his hobby horse. He fought imaginary battles or rode out to explore foreign lands. They were happy little boys.

Camilla hated that damned Ming tray. Her mother-in-law had cursed her with it as a first Christmas gift and there was no way she could get ride of it. God knows she'd tried. Mac, her spineless worm of a husband refused to even suggest to his harpy of a mother that the fragile thing might just be an albatross to them. The tray never fitted their casual decor or lifestyle. It was too fragile to have a hot teapot or a cold glass on it. The thing was supposed to be over five hundred years old. What good was it if you can't use it, Camilla wondered. She had been sure that Mac had a backbone when they were dating but he'd lost it once the "I do's" were said.

As you can see I switched horses in midstream. Eh.
--Barbara

What Do You Mean I Have to Work Today?

2011-12-28T07:59:00.003-06:00

It feels like weeks since I've been in the good old dive shop. Thanks to Mrs. Boss I had last Monday and will have next Monday off. Ahh. I do get my paycheck today so I can evict the moths from my wallet; that's a good thing. I ditched any plans to loll on the couch or shop for Wii games yesterday and went to Cookie's house to knit with her and Skully. I hadn't seen them in days and days and I needed to. We spent a few happy hours catching up and knitting. More engineering is needed to help Fifi Jr. stay upright. I tried to tie a couple of guy strings but that wasn't enough so I leaned her against the house. She looks a bit tipsy but at least she's standing instead of sprawled unladylike on the frozen lawn. The squirrels have made off with the two lowest bundles of suet and they're working on the third one. Durwood keeps reporting on it but I don't really care. It amuses me to watch them work. We need to win the lottery. I need unlimited time to pursue all my hobbies and stuff. A magic wand would be good too. I'll work on it. You do that too and maybe we can come up with something. I'm also thinking of renting a flamethrower to help clean out the basement--and maybe the rest of the house. I'm tired of the 1970s carpeting, linoleum, and avocado appliances and sinks. Ugh. I want new stuff but the damned old stuff is still good. I'm at the point where I want to scrape out all the stuff in the house and start over. Durwood doesn't like that idea but I swear that I'll keep him. Really, I will. And my laptop, sewing machines, fabric, yarn, all the tools power and hand, and a few other things, but most of it's old and never used. Clearing out starts next weekend. Cross my heart and spit.

December 27--Edward Hopper, The Lighthouse at Two Lights. It was an Andrew Wyeth day when Len and Gina took the picnic boat out to Two Lights. Uncle Mayo called the little Cris Craft "the picnic boat" because it was the perfect size to run up on a peach for a private afternoon of lunch and a nap. The sky was wide and six shades of blue, with a smear of thin clouds (for art) out over the inlet. The grass on the slope below the lighthouse had reached its full golden ripeness and waved like undulating silk in the cooling breeze. Len had proposed the week before, Gina had accepted, and the couple's happiness floated behind them like the fragrance of lilacs. Gina had spent the morning making chicken salad just the way Len liked it and crushed fresh strawberries for the lemonade. Mama warned her that cake would be too sweet with the lemonade; that cookies would be better. Gina insisted that cake was always a better choice. Mama cried and cried that she'd been sharp with her only daughter over cake versus cookies once the bodies were found over there below the lighthouse. That was before any of them knew what had happened.

There. There's a little mystery to start this cold and sunny day. Bundle up, kids, it's ball-shrinking cold out there. Time to dig out the longjohns. Brrr.
--Barbara

Back to Normal

2011-12-27T08:50:00.003-06:00

I'm never really sure where normal is (yeah, yeah I know Normal [capital N] is in Illinois, I'm talking about the state of being normal) and I suspect I never even get to the outskirts, but today the sky is thickly overcast, it's windy, and colding down fast, I don't have to work, and we're having some kind of fish for supper. That's normal around 1510 and Green Bay, WI for Tuesday in the last week of the year. Durwood has a breathe-y doc appointment later this morning and all that's on my agenda is folding the sheets in the dryer and maybe seeing if I can spend my Christmas money at the preplayed Wii game store. If I feel like motivating myself off the couch, that is. DD & DIL2 made it home safely and in good time yesterday; that phone call's always a relief to get. I need to do some remedial work on Fifi Jr. today. She didn't weather yesterday's wind well at all. I'm sure I can find a stake I can secure her to to keep her on her feet, so to speak. When I was out shopping for stocking stuffers Friday I finally found something I've been looking for for years to put in them--kaleidoscopes. Not expensive ones, just cheap ones, but they're so much fun to look through I thought everyone would enjoy them. For Durwood Santa found a fake spider, I... uh, she... er, Santa couldn't resist it. I think he liked it.

December 26--Andrea del Santo, The Holy Family with the Young Saint John the Baptist. "Uncle Joe, do you mean to let Josh play with the globe? He might break it." That was my cousin John. When he wasn't dragging people into the river trying to push them under, he was tattling on everybody. John was the one who thought he was the rule keeper and the rest of us were rule breakers. He had a reputation, let me tell you. There wasn't one kid in our small town who hadn't been punished for something John ratted them out about. Mom always said we should be tolerant of John's ways but she wasn't the one he told on. John was her sister, Miriam's kid and since she thought that Aunt Miriam could do no wrong she was sure the same was true of John. My mom was a saint.

Okay, I blame that on Christopher Moore. Can you believe that there're only four more days of 2011? A. Mazing. It can't leave fast enough, this has not been a good year for a myriad of reasons. Good riddance. Shoo.
--Barbara

Survival Rate = 100%

2011-12-26T11:10:00.009-06:00

That's right, people, the Malcolm family Christmas survival rate is a round, ripe one hundred percent, so I'm having a mocha Meltaway in celebration while I type. There were no arguments, no melt-downs, no tears all of the days of the family togetherness. DD & DIL2 left this morning for their long drive to Lexington; it was great having them here for a few days.

On Christmas Eve we went one more time to see the lights at Dousman & Platten...

and then DIL2 got out her guitar and played and sang us a few original songs. She's good, very good.

Christmas morning was present opening and visiting with family. We went to DS & DIL1's house for their first Christmas dinner using their heirloom china, sterling, crystal, and hand-crocheted lace tablecloth. The table was beautiful and the meal... well, the meal was the equal of any fine dining restaurant you could name with the addition of the care lavished on it by people we love. There was salmon spread and cheese spread, veggies, and Durwood's meatballs for appetizers. Dinner began with Caesar salad, followed by garlic mashed potatoes, steamed carrots, steamed asparagus, Yorkshire pudding (popovers), and perfectly done slabs of prime rib of beef served with an excellent California red wine for those who like it. Oh my, everyone's party manners were out in force, it was a lovely meal, perfect even, and spent with the people we love best. All three Grandmas who passed in 2011 were toasted and fondly remembered. It's an unhappy year when you start with three grandmas up and end with all three grandmas down. As HJZ said, "I don't like it one bit." Ditto.

Porter celebrated by gnawing on her very own smoky bone from her Chihuahua pal, Lucy. She was totally engrossed the whole evening.

During halftime of the Packer/Bear game we enjoyed HJZ's traditional cranberry muffins with butter sauce. Oh. My. So very good, and so very bad for you. We all swore to leap into fitness and healthy eating--next week, after the first of the year. I mean, really, isn't it rather foolish to think you'll get back on track in the week between Christmas and New Years? Better to just go on your merry way and hit the brakes on January 1 when you're suffering from one form of overindulgence or another. That's my theory and I'm sticking to it.

And for those who care, the Packers won!

December 25--Simone Martini, Madonna and Child. Everyone stared. What else did she expect? She was Italian with olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. Her husband was the son of Middle Eastern parents whose parents had emigrated years before themselves. So their son should have been dark haired and eyed with olive skin too. He had his mother's eyes and his father's olive complexion but his hair, his hair was red. It was the red gold of the sunset or the color of a ripening tomato. No one in living memory in either family had had red hair like that baby boy's. Illaria cried when her grandmother teased her that baby Giorgio's hair was the same color as the butcher's boy and Hassan wouldn't say a word about his red-haired son as if he wasn't sure he believed that the child was his.

I don't have to work today. I plan to go play with Porter in a couple hours and loll around like a slug the rest of the time. Oh, and I will never again forget to toss knitting into the car. Football games are endless when you don't have any knitting along. The Yarn Harlot contends that knitting is what makes her suitable for nice company, after last night I have to agree. I was a tad whiny and petulant, unwilling to be placated by the offer of a ball of yarn and needles to just knit. Mature much? Hope all your boxes enjoy Boxing Day!
--Barbara

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-25T13:26:00.003-06:00

The first wave of Christmas-ing is over and we're resting before going over to the younger Malcolm's house for standing rib roast (!), Yorkshire pudding(!!), and other assorted delicious things that I don't have to make. Durwood's got a batch of BBQ meatballs in the crockpot for an appetizer and Mrs. Z's making her famous cranberry muffins with butter sauce for dessert. (No thanks, no lunch for me.) Brother AJ, his wife and son came over around 11 with bagels and cream cheese so we sat for a couple hours visiting and laughing. All gifts were well-received. DIL2 really liked getting Dad's old chromatic harmonica. I'm glad it will live with someone who will play it. We all remember him playing it when we were kids. Everyone's thrilled with the jams, jellies, and pickled things DD & DIL2 made for us. They make the most inventive flavors of things, like Lime & Peach or Blackberry Chocolate Spice. I think they should have a business. I also think there're probably not many jars left in the greater Lexington, KY area. So far no birds and only one squirrel has found the birdie tree, and the squirrel's only eating the stuff under it. They'll catch on soon, I'm not worried.

December 24--Hans Leinberger, Saint Stephen. As you walk toward him you can see the breeze ruffle his robes. His smile is welcoming and you look forward to sitting beside him for a rest. Then you stand before him and realize that he's a painted carving. You have been fooled into thinking that he's alive, that his garments are fabric. You feel like a fool at first but then you realize how skilled the artist must have been to make something so rigid appear alive.

Not very inspired, pretty darned tired. Merry Christmas to all!
--Barbara

Birds On The Brain

2011-12-24T13:18:00.006-06:00

Last week Durwood and I talked about maybe getting a real tree for Christmas this year so we stopped at a few tree yards to see if we could find one and in our price range. We didn't find one and gave up. This morning I went out to fill the bird feeders and the need for a birdie tree really hit me. It's a bright sunny day with new snow on the ground, just the kind of day I like to be out playing in the yard so I went to find a new bird feeder and then went down the street a block to the neighborhood greenhouse. Which was closed for the season. But there was a pickup truck in the lot, the gate was open, and one of the garage doors was up too, so I wandered around (good thing I wore my boots) calling out to see if I could find anybody. I was standing next to the side door of the cashier's building preparing to set off into the wilds of the lot when the door opened and a (fairly good-looking) man poked his head out to see what I wanted. I asked if he had any misshapen or rejected trees I could use for a birdie tree and he pointed to the half dozen or so leftovers in the yard. They all looked too perfect to be left behind to me but what do I know. I asked how much they were, he said "ten bucks," and I said "sold!" I had a ten spot in my wallet so I handed it over and picked a tree. This one. It's perfect. I can't understand why it was left but I'm glad I ignored the big red "closed" sign and walked in. (Actually I was prepared to damn myself to Hell for stealing a Christmas tree if there was no one around. Thankfully my immortal soul is safe--for now.) He cut the string tying it to a stake, shook the snow off, and shoved it into my trunk for me. When I got it home I nailed it into a holder Durwood made a few years ago, dragged it into the back yard and stood it up. I put weightbelts on the stand so it stays there until we get enough snow to hold it up. After DIL2's nap, we're going to make little net bags of suet cake, pop popcorn in the micro, and spread creamy PB on the branches that will hold birdseed and shelled corn on. I'll post more pix once it's decorated. Oh, we played a fun party game last night called Who What Where. You draw 3 cards, a who, a what and a where and you have to draw it so that the other players can guess, like Pictionary but all the guessing happens at the end when you pass your drawing around so everyone can guess on their guess paper. We didn't keep score, just played. You try drawing "Snow White making out in the ER" and see how far you get. DS & DIL1 came for supper (meatloaf, baked white or sweet potatoes, and mixed carrots & kohlrabi), it was great to all be together for the evening. By the time bedtime rolled around I was too bushed to write so I'll say sayonara for today.

P.S. I thought I'd show you that we haven't forgotten Porter, the grand-dog and Henny & Penny, the grand-chickens. That's a peanut butter filled knuckle bone, some squeaky balls and some cheeseburger flavored treats for Porter and some shelled corn for the chickens. Lord.

A True Friend

2011-12-23T09:32:00.004-06:00

DD's oldest friend (her mother was in Labor & Delivery and I was in Recovery at the same time giving birth to KS and DD) stopped yesterday with a package. She had read last week on the blog how I felt bad about not putting Fifi, my 9 ft. tall flamingo lawn ornament out this Christmas but just wasn't in the mood this year. In her package was this--

a 3 foot tall flamingo made of wire, garland (pink!) and lights. I'm calling her Fifi Jr. and next Christmas she won't be alone out there. Cross my heart.

KS, you are one in a million! I love you. (Your mother sure raised you right.)

I got all the gifts wrapped yesterday. It took a lot longer to wrap what isn't really much of a pile but I enjoyed it. Do you put bows on your gifts? I didn't put them on, it seemed wasteful somehow, but maybe I'll take a minute and bow the presents today. I can use all the festive I can muster and bows are festive, right? Today DS is off work so we're all going to Kroll's for lunch to stuff ourselves with burgers on hard rolls with a pat of butter on top. Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it. Come on up and I'll make the sacrifice to take you there. They have fried cheese curds too. Mmm, fried cheese. They're so good you can feel your arteries slowing down with every bite Anyway, DIL1 will be off in the evening so we'll have family dinner of meatloaf, and I'm still hoping to pop into Friday Night Knitting to show off my family for a few minutes. And I just realized that I have to go get Porter's Christmas gift. I spotted it a month ago at the birdseed store; it's a giant rope ball that she can chew up to her heart's content. I'm certain DS & DIL1 will love cleaning that up. Maybe we'll leave it here for when she comes to Grandma's house... (OMG, I'm turning into a dog person! No, this can't be happening! *gasp* At least I'm a one-dog person--so far. *whew*) Can I get some extra days or maybe a clone, please? It's not that I have a whole lot of stuff that I need to do, I want to do a bunch of things, with people and without them, and there aren't enough hours in the day or days in the week. And not just during the holidays either, I'd like extra time for the rest of the year and into 2012. I don't want to age faster, you understand, I just want time (and money) to do all the stuff I want to do when I want to do it, and without having to quit my job, get a divorce, or go on Welfare. Is that too much to ask? I don't think so.

December 22--Paul Gauguin, A Farm in Brittany. At this time of day the farm looked deserted. Lucas stood beneath the beech tree in the field behind the creamery. He watched the light change from yellow to red-gold as the breeze dropped like someone shut off a fan. He felt the sweat trickle down his neck and reached in his pocket for his handkerchief but it wasn't there. He frowned and looked back toward the orchard where he and Toulon, the hired man, had been clearing brush. He thought he saw it flutter on a branch but there was no wind. he whistled for his dog, Kip, to come as he turned toward the house. As he walked downhill he heard the shrill ringing of the telephone. His wife, Martine, should get it. She would be in the kitchen making supper for him but the thing kept ringing. Why hadn't Martine answered? Where was Kip? He broke into a run, reluctant to call out in the suddenly eerie silence.

Ooh, the hawk just zoomed through the backyard chasing some poor bird. I call the feeders "the hawk buffet" because he/she uses it as a hunting ground. In the winter the little ground-feeding juncos are its preferred prey. The hawk chases them into the patio doors so they flop stunned onto the cement and it can scoop them up. The juncos aren't as clueless as all that and usually get away. It's amazing to watch, especially when the hawk misses because it looks around to see if anyone noticed. Happy daze!
--Barbara

Look What We Got!

2011-12-22T11:06:00.002-06:00

DD & DIL2 arrived last night tired and a bit bedraggled from the looooong drive, but they're here and they're all ours until Monday. Yippee! And on a less happy note, we got this. Just enough snow to be annoying. Not enough to be breathtaking or even Christmas-y, it's just enough to make your shoes and hems of your jeans wet. Bah. I'm sure DIL2's HHR Hobbes is wondering what the white stuff is. He's a Kentucky car and doesn't see much snow. DS called this morning and DIL1 has to work earlier than thought tomorrow so we can have a family dinner. Good thing Durwood made a 3 lb. meatloaf yesterday, eh? (I have adopted the Canadian "eh" rather than the Midwestern Belgian "n'so"since we're so close to Canadia here in the frozen north, way closer than we are to Belgium.) Durwood is the king of gigantic meatloaves; he once made a 5 lb. one when I had the flu, the kids were in grade school, and he had to be out of town. There were gallons of gravy and a mountain of mashed potatoes to go with the VW-sized meatloaf. At the end of the week, the kids and I had a little ceremony over the garbage disposal and consigned the remnants to the Great Beyond. Too much of a good thing is just TOO MUCH sometimes. Today I'm going to battle inertia and my urge to make 5 bags of unwrapped gifts for the 5 members of my immediate family and take the pittiful, paltry pile of gifts I have downstairs and get them modestly covered for gifting. I'm battling my Scrooge-iness at every corner, folks, and I think I'm winning. I had a little gift making mishap yesterday before work but I won't be sharing that until next week. No appliances were harmed but it was a near thing.

December 21--Joseph Leyendecker, At Tea. Peter and Mason hated having to go to their mother's house for tea. Tea was such a female beverage and Tea, with a capital "T," was a feminine ritual with all its attendant rules and rites. And then there was the Inquisition that their mother subjected them too--who were they seeing and where had they been, how were their studies going and what about jobs. She never ran out of nosy questions to ask or reasons to look down her narrow and pointed nose at them. "We have to go," Mason said buttoning his collar with a wince. His face was pink from his fresh shave and his damp curls sprang away from his forehead. Peter stood in his socks frowning at his summer suit. "It's too damned hot to get togged up in this." But they both knew that Mama controlled their allowances so they finished dressing and went to earn their rent.

The men/boys looked so pained and disdainful in the painting I just knew they hated being there and hated what the prune-y middle-aged woman was saying to them. Don't you just love the image of Peter in just socks, his little willy hanging there all forlorn? Merry holidays!
--Barbara

Wednesday That Works Like Friday

2011-12-21T10:58:00.003-06:00

It works like Friday because it is my Friday. After today I don't have to work until next Monday so I have four glorious days off in a row. It's no mistake that those are the exact four days that DD & DIL2 will be home for Christmas. Can I plan or what? The weather's cooperating today too so that the girls aren't driving in snow, sleet or rain which they could very well be driving in in late December through the Midwest. Indiana is very long when the roads are bad. Hell, Indiana is very long anyway but especially when the weather doesn't cooperate. I got the tree up and decorated last night. I'll probably take it down on Tuesday after the girls leave but at least I've made the effort. (I'd better take its picture so I don't forget I put it up.) It occurred to me to print off a picture of a Christmas tree and just tape it to the living room window but then I decided that that was just too over the top Scrooge-y. Nothing is wrapped, no cookies have been made but it'll be Christmas anyway. We have the tree, gifts to give and our family will be with us. Yep, that's Christmas. I hear DS & DIL1 made English Toffee so we can cadge some of theirs (I'll offer to trade some Party Mix) and I plan to crank out some shortbread cookies and maybe spritz tomorrow or Friday, or maybe Saturday if that's the way the wind blows. I can get the girls to help; it'll be fun. Oh, and by the way, booger.

December 20--French, Parasol. Miss Elizabeth was very regular in her habits. She rose daily at 6:15 AM winter and summer. In the winter dark she drank her tea at the kitchen table watching the eastern sky lighten with the growing day. In the summer she carried her teapot and cup out to the patio where she could watch the drab little sparrows and the energetic chickadees at the feeder. When the sun was up over the horizon Miss Elizabeth would set down her tea cup and open her parasol. Not an umbrella, no, this was a silk and lace confection meant never to get wet. Its panels were painted in pastel scenes of millage life in Victorian times intercut by swaths of the most delicate lace and the lace edging was a full six inches deep. When her neighbor chided her for using such an ancient and delicate item in such a utilitarian way, Miss Elizabeth drew herself up to her full height of just barely five feet and said, "We were both created in the same year,the parasol and I, and since I am still in use, it should be too." And that was the end of that discussion.

Yoga after work tonight. Can't wait.

--Barbara

Tuesday That Feels Like Wednesday

2011-12-20T09:03:00.002-06:00

That's because I'm working today. I'm working today because DD & DIL2 are coming home tomorrow and then I won't have to work while they're here for a very short visit. They'll leave already on Monday the 26th but I'm just thrilled that they'll be here at all. I know it's not cheap to drive from KY to here and their jobs are important and demanding, but I'm happy that they'll be here all the same. Durwood's planning what he'll cook, having a good time figuring out how much meatloaf to make for a supper and sandwiches, and he said we can have ham & cabbage stew too. I love ham & cabbage stew. There's nothing like a bowl of hot veggies with a bit of dark pink ham, lots of carrots, (mmm) and onions on a cold, almost-winter night. Talk about comfort food, and I finished the cheese grits for breakfast. I always forget how much I like grits (with cheese, plain I need a lot of butter so they don't "fit the plan" quite as well) but I'll flag that recipe and make it for a treat now and then. I made a cauldron of chicken soup last night with lots of green beans and a little broccoli that was abandoned here by Lala when she left. I love making soup that I can toss all the leftover veggies into so that it's got lots of colors and flavors and it goodgoodgood for you. If your chicken soup is pallid and nearly flavorless I highly recommend you try making Pam Anderson's Fast Chicken Soup Base. You start with a rotisserie chicken from the grocery store deli and go from there. You use the bones and darkest skin (not the slimy fatty parts) to simmer in the broth and then you can take off in any culinary direction once you've got the base. Add curry and chickpeas for Middle East chicken soup, add 5 Spice Powder, a bag of stir fry veggies, and some bean sprouts for Chinese chicken soup, add a can of stewed tomatoes (or Rotel if you like spicy), black beans and cumin for Mexican, add tomatoes, oregano, and cheese tortellini for Italian. The sky's the limit. I vary the broth mixture, sometimes adding beef or veggie instead of all chicken, to make it taste different. It's fast (hence the name) and easy and makes enough for serving and saving. What's not to love? Making soup always makes me feel like I'm taking extra good care of people. It's addictive and waaaaay better than the canned stuff. Now, go make soup!

December 19--Alexandre Cabanel, The Birth of Venus. How did she just appear there in the surf? Wade had been standing on the shore for an hour trying to work up the nerve to paddle out past the break to where the waves were born but he was certain he'd spend more time under the cold blue-green water than riding the surface in the sun. The gulls raucous cried felt like bullies' jeers as she paced up and back. There was a group of four of them swarming above a seal out on the submerged rocks. He kept his eyes on the quartet of birds and the inert seal. It was pale furred, almost albino looking and he turned to walk toward it.

I suspect that this painting was an excuse for that French guy to paint a naked girl, and the longer I stared at it the more I realized that she's lying there looking at him from under her arm, daring him to put down his paintbrush and come over and DO something about the fact that she's lying there all nude and available. She's naughty, I can just see it. Bad. Bad girl. Well, off to keep the world safe from SCUBA diving. Stay dry!
--Barbara

Ditto

2011-12-19T10:49:00.004-06:00

On my way to work I needed my sunglasses but there was an enormous, ominous sheet of gray clouds sliding down from the north (just like the weather guy predicted!) that has settled like a giant garbage can lid over the city, blocking out the cheery sunshine. Bah. It was lovely having Lala visit yesterday and sleep over. She and I went for a walk out along the bay marshes (we saw an eagle nice and low in the sky--score!) and then we folded origami for a while. After a lovely supper, made by the even lovelier Durwood, we went to hear the FREE Christmas concert put on by the Baylander Chorus (Barbershoppers/men's chorus), Chantelles (Sweet Adelines/women's chorus), and a Lutheran bell choir. Those bell choir bells are odd sounding, not bad sounding but not like a real bell with a real clapper, kind of electronic sounding. Heh, I just looked them up on Wikipedia and here's what they say: One of the two major defining characteristics of English handbells are their clappers. The clapper on an English handbell is on a hinge and moves back and forth in a single direction, unlike a school bell in which the clapper swings freely in any direction. It also has a spring that holds the clapper away from the casting after the strike to allow the bell to ring freely. Furthermore, the shaft of the clapper is rigid, such that the bell may be held with its mouth facing upward. That explains a lot. Anyway, the concert was good. We got to sing along on a lot of the traditional carols and I like singing. Before the concert we drove to see the house at Dousman & Platten. Lights! Lights! Lights! I can't imagine their power bill for December. Seeing all the lit houses made me sorry I hadn't put the flamingo and palm tree out this year, but I haven't been in the mood. Next year.

December 18--Iran, Plate with a Hunting Scene. The only way was to ride the camel. Claire looked in vain for a horse, even a donkey to ride but none of the tours of the Valley of the Antelope had anything but camels. Darren and Millie were already mounted, Millie patting her camel and giggling about sheiks and harems. Claire finally let herself be persuaded to perch awkwardly on the bony back of a bad tempered camel named Saddam. She barely understood the camel driver's instructions about controlling the creature. He said his name was Johnny Depp but she was sure it was a nom de caravan meant to make tourists feel comfortable. She kept smiling and nodding. It struck her that she was doing the same thing her Guatemalan gardener Mario did. He understood most of what she said, she thought, but he smiled through it all and just did what he thought she wanted him to do instead of asking questions. It nearly drove her mad. She wondered if Johnny Depp complained to his wife about them after a long day of tourist tours. All thoughts fled as Saddam lurched to his feet almost pitching her off, first forward, then back. There was no time for philosophizing or even thinking on your first camel ride, she realized as the string of camels started striding along, Saddam bringing up the rear. She caught sight of what looked like a tawny dog with horns far in the distance. It was either the antelope the valley was named for or a statue put up for tourists. It was far away so until it moved she couldn't be sure it was real. Johnny Depp spent the trip riding next to Millie pointing out interesting sights, ruins and rocks mostly, and making Millie laugh. Trailing behind on Saddam with his bad disposition and what sounded like a digestive problem, Claire felt like an ugly stepsister. She had just decided to stop brooding and urge Saddam to catch up with the others when something whizzed by her head. Her eyes widened with horror to see an arrow protruding from one of the little antelopes. Hamir, the assistant camel driver, rode out across the rocky desert and came triumphantly back with the carcase draped across the camel's neck. Claire got a little lightheaded thinking how close she had come to being shot. Hamir rode up next to her, patted the little creature, and with a big grin on his face said, "lunch!"

I would totally ride a camel. I think a two-humper would be easier to sit on than a one-humper, but I'd give it a shot. What's a little indignity among friends? Lentil soup for lunch today. Aren't you jealous? It's homemade.

--Barbara

P.S. That's Saturday and Sunday night's writing. I think I'm going to combine them from now on since there's only one "art" for each weekend.

The Sun Was Shining For a Minute There

2011-12-17T09:26:00.004-06:00

I had high hopes that it'd be sunny today, but so far no luck. The weather prognosticator said it's supposed to be sunny tomorrow, that's when I really want sunshine because my friend Lala is coming up to visit tomorrow. We're going to take a walk, either along the bay, river, or creek, they're all outside so I'd like it to be nice. Then after a lovely dinner of salmon, parsnips, and squash we're going to a Christmas concert. I'm looking forward to it. That means that today I get to clean up this sty, change the sheets on the guest bed, and swamp out the bathroom. It really needs it since there's been very little of the cleaning action since Mom died. (I typed "died" first and then I deleted it thinking that word would offend some people but, dammit, that's what she did, she died, and if I can't just say it, well, bite me. I'm not a euphemistic sort of gal, I'm more of an in your face, call a spade a spade kind of woman, so you'll just have to deal.[sorry for the mini-rant, it's that kind of day, back to our regularly scheduled blogging]) The party mix turned out fabulous yesterday. I came home from knit night and put it into the Tupperware. Amazingly, about 2 cups of it stuck to the bowl I used to scoop it from baking pan to Tupperware. I made the sacrifice and ate it. (I am a saint and sometimes martyr. Just ask me.) DS told me the Christmas dinner menu yesterday and we're having Yorkshire pudding! I've never had that and I'm so excited to try it. Durwood's making some sort of meatball appetizers (he's got meatballs on the brain since he learned a trick for making them uniform, he's considering reopening the meatball sweatshop when DD & DIL2 are home and making some Italian Wedding soup; I'll take pictures) and DIL1's mom's making the dessert. I won't have to do anything but look pretty. (Hmm, that may take more concentration than I planned... oh well, I can put on my bright red cashmere sweater and dazzle people so they won't notice I'm not Angelina Jolie. I know, there's a red sparkly sweater way in the back of my closet, sparkly will confuse them--AND I have some jingle earrings and a jingle headband, that'll distract 'em too. I'm set.) It should be a good day--presents, family and good food, oh and Porter too. I'm just now learning how comforting it is to sit and stroke a dog when you're sad. Porter is nearly always willing to be petted if I sit on the floor. She climbs into my lap and sits there as long as I'll pet. Works for me.

December 16--Mesopotamia or Iran, Striding Figure with Ibex Horns, Raptor Skin Draped Around the Shoulders, and Upturned Boots. Pip was quick on his feet. Miss Daley would hardly be back to her lunch in the kitchen and he'd be out of bed. He learned at an early age how to get from the nursery on the second floor to the study where all the good things were. He liked the big atlases with the vast blue of the oceans hemming in the colorful continents and dotted with islands. Interspersed with the books were artifacts collected on Pip's ancestors' trips all over the world. Pip's father, uncles, and grandfathers had all gone off exploring to see more exotic parts of the world than the staid life they led at home and Pip was fascinated by each and every one. Only during his daily afternoon rest, he was too old for them to call it a nap, was he able to spend the time with them that he wanted.

I'm off to eat Cheerios and then attach the dust buffaloes that have infested our happy home. See ya!
--Barbara

Look, DIL2, Snow!

2011-12-16T16:20:00.002-06:00

Well, not much but it is snow. DIL2 always hopes for a white Christmas up here in the wilds of Wisconsin. She hails from Kentucky where snow is more of an emergency than commonplace winter weather. I have to say that a bit of snow would make me feel a bit more Christmas-y too. I've still got the autumn colors wreath on the door and no ornaments in sight, unless you count the flamingo in board shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and a broken ukulele I got for ninety-nine cents at JoAnn Fabrics last week. I just stirred the batch of party mix for the last time so the fragrance of baked cereal and Worcestershire sauce is wafting through the house. I could so eat handfuls of the stuff but I don't want to burn my mouth. I'll wait until it's cool. Er. Cooler. I can't promise to wait until it's totally cool but I will wait a few minute so any nuts I might snag in my grab won't burn holes in my tongue. I'm wanting to go see the lights at the botanical garden but if it doesn't snow I think I'll take a pass. We've been kicking around the idea of getting a real tree this year but we found no tabletop trees today and the regular ones are $25 and up. Is that what a dead tree goes for these days? Good grief. Looks like the fake one (ten bucks brand new at KMart--that was the first letter our kids learned to recognize, the big red K for KMart) wins again. I splurged some of my allowance this morning and bought myself another new black neoprene wrist support. The old beige one looks dirty and scraggly even if I wash it, it looks bad, so I decided I needed a new one. Another new one. They do make my hands and fingers feel better. It sucks getting old. A female Red-bellied Woodpecker has discovered our feeders. You can't really see but her head's nice and red, only the males have the red bellies but their heads are red.

December 15--Charles Cromwell Ingham, The Flower Girl. She gathered the cut blooms. They felt cool and damp against her skin and their mixed fragrances were so sweet she felt a headache begin to grow behind her eyes. In the still room off the kitchen she plunged all the cut stems into a galvanized bucket of water. She cupped her hand to capture the cool spiciness of the red-tipped carnations.

And now I have to go eat some party mix. I feel like Pepe LePew wafting along on a visible scent. It's pulling me down the hall. I can't resist.
--Barbara

Slippery

2011-12-15T19:16:00.002-06:00

This day started out late-fall-ish and is winding up with winter blown in. It was drizzly all day and then when the cold blew in all that wet pavement turned to ice rinks. My drive home was... um, interesting. My short walk from the car to Papa Murphy's and back with the supper pizza was... exciting. I am so glad that I don't have to work tomorrow. If I wasn't having company on Sunday I'd lie around and pretend that I didn't see the dirt or clutter. Oh, and I'd pretend that I hadn't been crocheting too much and had my hands revolt last night at yoga with such intense hot pains that I cried. Mardi says there's no crying in yoga, there can be crying at yoga though. No matter what I did I couldn't make them feel better, so I stopped at Walgreen's on my way home and bought a brace so I could wear one on each hand all night long and all day until I sat down here to type. I didn't knit, I didn't crochet at work today. I did have to type which was an adventure with both hands in wrist braces but I managed. Feels better in the braces. My fingers aren't numb. Carpal tunnel, anyone?

December 14--German, Hunting Sword. It looks like it would be hard to hold with all the flourishes carved into the hilt but it nestles into the palm of your hand. "Like it was made for it," Megan said under her breath. Then she laughed at herself. Of course it was made to fit into a hand, it was a sword. She closed her eyes and imagined what life had been like when the sword was new. That was what had drawn her to anthropology, figuring out how people lived their lives. Using artifacts as simple as a cooking pot or scrap of linen or as fancy as this silver and ivory sword was her favorite way of figuring out the way lives had changed or, more likely, stayed the same over the intervening years.

Wouldn't you love to be able to sift through the artifacts in a museum? I often wonder what's down in the basement that never see the light of day. I'm off to batten down the hatches. It's blowing up something fierce out there.
--Barbara

Kidnapped!

2011-12-13T15:04:00.002-06:00

I got a call from Skully yesterday warning me that she planned to kidnap me after our walk this morning. I said okay. We walked, then knitted a bit, had a little snack, went to Monterey Yarns where we fondled yarn, drove to Quilt Diva to fondle fabric, then to Tony Roma's for soup for lunch. After that I escaped (okay, I was released) stopped at Hobby Lobby, cashed my paycheck and came on home. It's a gray and dreary day, it's all I can do not to let my eyes close and take an impromptu nap. Maybe I'll go lounge on the couch and see if I can't doze off for a few winks. My FIL used to say he was "going to take a fiver," I could use a fiver right about now. I could hardly pry myself out of bed this morning but I didn't want to be late for my kidnapping. Can you believe that it's nearly Christmas? I can't. It was 40 degrees this morning and the glacier in the birdbath is all melted. I fear it won't be a white Christmas for DIL2 this year. I don't mind.

December 12--John Bennett, Vase. Grace carried an armful of branches into the house the day after Leo died. She chose the yellow earthenware vase with the res flowering quince blossoms on it because it had been Leo's favorite. She stood in the silent room in the blue dawn light trimming the branches and poking them into the flower frog in the vase to hold the stems. Leo used to bring her flowers from his walks. He'd come swinging in with his smile flashing so please with himself. So proud to have found a new or different flower to show her. Grace was not looking forward to the next few days. She didn't want to be told that she'd get over it. She wanted to wallow in her misery, to wear Leo's favorite clothes and eat pretzels and chocolate ice cream into the night without having to make an excuse.

And now I'm going to test the doze-ability of the loveseat.
--Barbara

Mondays Come Around Awfully Fast

2011-12-12T08:35:00.002-06:00

Seems like every other day's a Monday, but then why don't I have more money in my wallet seeing as how I get paid on Monday? I joined Book Mooch weekend before last and I still haven't found time to start piling books on there. (And how come website addresses don't have "www" in front of them anymore?) I want to, I really do, but somehow my days off go even faster than non-days off. Could it be that I try to do too much? Nah, not me, I would never try to cram 3 days' worth of doing into one measly day (Friday). No, no, no. Today it's drizzly which means that the drizzle is freezing onto the now colder pavement. I went out to refill the squirrel corn and nearly slipped and fell on my way back onto the patio, caught myself, but still, it's slick out there. (I just had the thought that I should call Mom to tell her in case she's going out to play bridge today, but she's not there, is she? Damn.) The girls will be here in 9 more days! I'm really looking forward to having them around again for a short time. Hmm, guess we'd better get the tree up and start making holiday goodies. I hung the big Santa picture on Saturday. Isn't that enough? Probably not. There's no snow for Anne yet either and the lawns are still green-ish. Oh well. With all the zooming around I did last month I'm just as glad that the snow has held off. I didn't need bad roads to go along with my near-total distraction.

December 11--Christian Kintzing, Clavichord. The keys are backwards, the white ones black and the black ones white. It has that sound like chimes, not a piano, too, and no legs. This is not furniture, it's an accessory. People always find ways to make music, formal or informal, it doesn't matter as long as they can keep a rhythm going. Percussion is easy, just tap or bang with a stick, clang cymbals, or shake a maraca. Where am I going with this? Seems like nowhere in a big hurry. It shouldn't be a surprise that two nights of staring sleepily at a clavichord didn't produce a rollicking story.

And that's that. One more weekend down the drain and one more lame prompt post. I appreciate your dedication to reading this drivel.
--Barbara

Cooking on Sunday

2011-12-11T16:45:00.002-06:00

Oh, man, I should have taken pictures, shouldn't I? Durwood bought 3 Weight Watchers cookbooks at Cooks Corner yesterday. He isn't often allowed to go there unescorted but I got him a gift certificate for our anniversary so he had a pass. I started flipping through the quick recipes one and found one for Ham-Smothered Cheese Grits in the breakfast chapter. I zoomed right out to the store for low-fat cheddar and lean ham so I could make it this morning. It was delicious--and the same points count as my usual Cheerios/milk/prunes/fruit breakfast, plus we've got 2 more servings. *rubs hands together* Then I found a recipe in one of Mom's (bazillion) magazines for Mushroom and Lentil soup. DS came over for a knitting lesson today (he wants to make mittens) so I whipped up the soup. While I chopped and cook DS knitted himself a coffee cup cozy to remember how to knit. The soup was totally delicious. Then when lunch was over I helped him measure his gauge (using the cup cozy) and cast on stitches on DPNs to start the cuff. He knitted while I cleaned up all the dirty dishes I made and then I weaved in the tails on a couple of soap sacks, and made a Christmas-y jingle bell doodad for my car's rear view mirror. I realized that I enjoyed having the tinkling of little black jingle bell spider I put on there for Halloween so I made one for Christmas. (Okay, I got the cold food out of the fridge and took its picture. You'll just have to imagine it's hot, steamy, and ready to be eaten.) Now that the Packer game's on I've turned the kitchen over to Durwood and once I'm done posting this I intend to go downstairs to start making a yoga mat bag. I love making stuff.

December 10--Christian Kintzing, Clavichord. Her fingers rested on the keys feeling the thrum of the pulse of the universe. She was certain that if she was able to hold still enough, to be silent enough, that she would get the message. She had first felt the vibration a few days earlier when she sat down to play. The notes had joined together to make a message. She was sure...

One of these days I'm going to be smart enough to go to bed early enough so that I don't fall dead asleep 4 sentences in. Dammit.
--Barbara

Partly Sunny

2011-12-10T13:52:00.003-06:00

Today started out sunny and that was good. I needed to wake up to sunshine today and I'm going to a Renaissance Christmas concert tonight at a nearby church. One of my knitting acquaintances is playing in it and I want to hear her play. Yesterday was a hard day and a long one. AJ and I scattered at the cemetery, the real estate appraiser came so I had to tour her around answering questions, I got my nails done, drove 100 miles to the tip of Door County, sprinkled, shopped, and drove home, all before 4:30 when I went to DS & DIL1's to take their Christmas card photo for them in front of their new house with their new dog. They did not want Henny & Penny in the picture too; I'm just as glad, those chickens are nuts and not partial to being held. From their house I went straight to Friday Night Knitting where Telaine sat with her 4 month old daughter Clara. I got to hold her and talk to her and even take her shopping with me to Goodwill next door. Having a babe on my shoulder was balm after my day/week/month. At The Clearing they had apple cider and cookies, which I was careful to sample, then I did a little shopping because they were having their annual "snowflake" sale. I pulled out a 25% off one and saved nearly $25. Ahh. The sun was going down on my drive home and by the time I got to Dykesville, 15 miles north of Green Bay, all that was left were pretty colors. (Ignore the blurry, it's the colors I took pictures of) I love living near big water and love that I can drive less than 10 miles from my driveway to see it whenever I want to.

December 9--John Constable, Salisbury Cathedral from the Bishop's Grounds. "It looked nothing like that when we were there," said the iron-gray-haired woman planted in front of the big Constable in the gallery. From my view of her she looked to be over seventy years old. Julian leaned down so that his lips brushed my ear. "Was Elizabeth queen yet, I wonder?" I squelched a giggle and edged away from the grande dame and her entourage. I loved the painting that she objected to and was disappointed that I wouldn't be able to sink into it today. I loved every one of the cows, especially the one standing in the water. I dreamed of being one of the women in their bonnets being squired around by a man in a frock coat and carrying a cane. My visit today was marred by verse and chorus of "it was better when we were there." God save us from tour-group tourists.

I could go back to London any day. We missed seeing the Magna Carta, you know, and it's free to visit the British Museum. That's where it is. We saw the Rosetta Stone and some mummies and the Elgin Marbles although I don't know that I'd be that proud of sculpture one of my ancestors stole from Greece. Mind boggling.
--Barbara

God-Awful

2011-12-09T21:49:00.002-06:00

Durwood and I went to the weekly auction where we'd consigned Mom's antiques last night. The stuff sold for peanuts. It broke my heart and I had to leave when I caught myself considering getting a bidding number to buy the remaining stuff back so the philistines didn't get it. It took a while to get over the feeling that we'd thrown Mom's treasures away and that it was my idea, but I can't beat myself up over it, we did our best. Walking out along the bay this morning was cold, damned cold, but sunny and bright. We saw an eagle fly by fairly close and lots of deer tracks. Then I spent the rest of the day scattering Mom's ashes. AJ met me at Dad's grave where we left most of the ashes, I also scattered some at Mom's favorite bridge spots, and up in Door County overlooking the sunset. Now I feel as if Mom's affairs are nearly settled. I can almost relax. I swear I'm going to spend the winter unloading stuff we seldom use and things we haven't touched since we moved in. The garbage men will probably grow to dread trash day at our house and the Goodwill people will be on a first-name basis but I don't want to leave all this for DS and DD when we kick off.

December 8--Christian Dior, "Cygne Noir" Evening Dress. The black swan was what he called her. He designed the dress, "Cygne Noir" for her. Even sewed her into so that she could only take it off with his help. Only he knew how to release her without ruining the black silk. The structure of the bodice felt like hands, his hands, gripping her in the most intimate way. Each breath flexed the strips of boning, making her aware of his hold on her. He smoothed the black silk gloves up over her hands and over her arms nearly to her shoulders. She carried no bag, wore no jewelry. Her shoes were delicate cages that held her feet just like the dress and gloves held her body. He had staked his claim on her and she saw no escape.

Creepy. Nighty-night.
--Barbara

I Yoga-ed!

2011-12-08T15:15:00.003-06:00

It was lovely. There were 5 people there I knew, and I only knew one was coming. I suspected another one might but the others were surprises. People follow me around, that's how cool I am. (snort) We learned how to sit and to breathe. It takes concentration to breathe the way Mardi told us to and I'm not sure I got that. There're 3 more weeks of Yoga Basics (free!) and we can keep going until we feel ready to move up to Beginner. I already like it. I will definitely be sewing up a yoga mat bag this weekend. It was very different from Wii Yoga which shouldn't have surprised me, but I like them both. Tomorrow morning I'm hoping Skully and I can walk out along the bay marshes. We won't take the dogs but it's a fun place to walk that we don't go to often enough. It's too buggy a lot of the year, but no self-respecting bug should be there in this bone-chilling cold. Good thing we're knitters and have hats and gloves and scarves. Tonight's the auction so I'm meeting Durwood there after work to see how Mom's things sell. I hope we get good prices for them, or at least some of them. It's been a long long time since I've been at an auction, it should be fun.

December 7--Alfred Sisley, View of Marly-le-Roi from Coeur-Volant. In the fall the golden leaves frame the view of the village like a gilt border. Aggie liked to follow the sun around the house during the day. Her mama called her "Sunflower" for her ability to find the smallest ray of sunshine to sit in. On rainy days Aggie hid in the dark library where she read books about living on islands in the South Pacific where it was sunny most of the time. She was sure that she had been born into the wrong family. Not that she didn't love her family but she was sure she had been destined to have lived in someplace where the sun shone every day.

It's been sunny today. That always makes me feel better, although I could do with a nap right about now.

--Barbara

Sort Boxes? Check.

2011-12-07T09:23:00.002-06:00

I sorted through the last of the living room boxes yesterday after letting Porter out and playing with her for a few minutes. Now the only things in the living room are DD's clock, the rack of American Girl doll clothes and their box of hats and shoes, and Mom's cremains. Friday's the day for taking care of that. As TW, AJ, and I agreed, she'll be at Dad's grave (well, their grave, the headstone will be carved in spring), at her favorite bridge spots, and at The Clearing at the tip of Door County where the view of the sunset is unsurpassed. I'm hoping TW can meet me at the cemetery before work so we can do it together. I just want to get this done. I feel like I can't relax and grieve until it's all settled. The auction is tomorrow evening so all the big stuff will be sold then, hopefully for something near value, but if not, well, we don't have to deal with it, none of us has time or room to store it. I keep wanting to call Mom to tell her things and I can't. When the phone rings at supper my first thought is, "oh, that's Mom" but it isn't. As annoyed as I'd get sometimes with her daily calls, I confess I miss her. I was sure I was totally unlike her, I'm not. I'm not exactly like her but I like to think that I have her best qualities. Don't try to change my mind.

December 6--Bamen Tomotsugu, Armor of Gusoku type. The thing had intricate layers and many colors. Julia stood in the dim display space long after the museum doors had been locked trying to assemble the suit of armor. She had been so sure that all the years of sewing her own clothes would help her but the Japanese must have been made of different shapes in the 18th century than Americans in the 20th century.

Sorry it's so short but I went to be too sleepy for words. Tonight Skully and I are going to the first night of Yoga Basics. Can't wait! Oh, and happy Pearl Harbor Day.
--Barbara

March!

2011-12-06T10:46:00.004-06:00

Skully and I finallyfinallyfinally got well (her) and undistracted (me) enough to get back to our walks. I know we're supposed to walk no matter what's going on in our lives but it's hard when your head feels like it wants to pop off (her) or your mom dies and you have a month to empty her apartment (me) so I got back to doing something Wii-ish in the mornings, she's walking Maggie, and we're determined to walk every Tuesday and Friday even if we have to walk in the mall (ugh). And, AND, (this is so cool) she found on the Bay Area Yoga website that they have free (FREE!!) yoga basics classes on Wednesday evenings so we're going tomorrow so we don't look like total newbies when Mardi starts her Friday night class at Harmony in January. Oh, this is going to be such fun. I'm going to sew up a yoga mat bag today since Z-Dawg gave me her extra yoga mat (I will be taking that off my Christmas list for those who care about such things) when I was at her place on Sunday. There's even a pattern for one in a sewing book I have so I'm all set. Good thing I spent the weekend making room in my crafting area, eh? Well, Skully just called and we won't need our mats tomorrow, everything's provided, all we need is to wear comfortable clothes. I'll take along some lounge pants, a sports bra, and a t-shirt when I go to work tomorrow and change before I leave the store. Perfect. I can't wait to try real yoga with a real teacher instead of Wii yoga with video coach Horst on my Wii. I'm sure that I'm going to be lean and supple and about 2 inches taller in just a few weeks (or at least feel like I am). If yoga helps me feel less creaky and arthritic, I'm all for it. My knees feel tons better after just getting back to working out on Saturday. I did a lot of sitting even though I spent the last 6 weeks organizing and emptying Mom's place and that's no good for arthritic knees. It isn't logical that keeping exercising your sore knees would make them feel a lot better than sitting around babying them but it's true. When I slack off my knees hate it. Plus Skully and I plan to go kayaking next spring so we need to be able to move around. There's too many fun things to try to sit down and quit living yet. I am going to the kite festival next September too, fog or no fog, so I need to keep active. I'm not ready to be a spectator any time soon.

December 5--August Renoir, Madame Georges Charpentier and Her Children. "Georgette, don't sit on Bessie." "She doesn't mind, do you, cherie?" Four year old Georgette straddled the black and white dog and scratched behind her ears. Her mother clicked her tongue. "I don't care if Bessie minds, I mind. Get off the dog." Georgette flopped forward and then rolled of the dog with a groan. "But I like to sit on Bessie. She warm and fuzzy, and she likes me." The dog's large pink tongue lapped at a dribble of jam in the corner of the child's mouth. Eugenie snatched her daughter out from under the wet tongue of the huge dog and dragged her to the basin in the corner of the salon. "Honestly, child, you can not let a dog lick your mouth. Don't you know she licks her... well, she licks anything." Georgette struggled to avoid the cold and dripping cloth her mother was roughly scrubbing across her face. "Maman, you're smothering me." "Better smothered than dead from dog germs," she muttered as she scrubbed.

I'm reluctant to leave the sunny upstairs for the sewing area in the basement. As the year ages and the winter ripens in the early months of 2012 we'll have less and less sunshine. What a waste. Bundle up today, it's a cold one.
--Barbara

Safe Passage

2011-12-05T08:43:00.002-06:00

I worked like a paper devil this weekend and now we can walk from the bottom of the stairs to the laundry area without risk of breaking bones. In general, the house is starting to feel normal again. I'm determined to get through the rest of the boxes in the living room and combine and organize their contents. THEN I'll sit down and relax. Cross my heart. Yesterday also was our 35th wedding anniversary so we carded and gifted each other (Durwood gave me a $35 Barnes & Noble gift card and I gave him a $35 Cooks Corner gift card), and then (after the nail-biting end of the Packer game) we made ourselves a sumptuous repast. I volunteered to fire up the Weber and grill our steak; he baked a potato and an onion for use to share, steamed carrots, and sauteed mushrooms. Lots better than any restaurant could make plus we didn't have to get dressed up. Happy Anniversary, sweetheart, I'd marry you all over again.

December 4--Germany, Aquamanile in the Form of a Cock. Jean and Randy loved poking around in antique and junk shops. As Randy said, "our very favorite is a 'junque' shop because we know the owner's got a sense of humor." Over the years they had replaced all of their furnishings bought in department stores with their finds--and it showed. None of their dishes, glasses and silver flatware matched. Not each other, not itself. Each and every place setting was it's own separate entity made up of pieces bought in dim and dusty shops all over the Midwest. The only thing they had in common was a proximity to Jean or Randy.

A-a-a-and it's time to shower for work. Enjoy your day.
--Barbara

Is It Cannibalism...

2011-12-04T11:50:00.003-06:00

to eat our great-grand-eggs? Henny & Penny aren't really related to us, they're our grand-chickens, so it's not as if we're eating parts of our actual family. Right? Right. They were very delicious. That counts for something, right? I spent a happy and sweaty afternoon and early evening yesterday making the basement passable. I found a mound of things I can donate to Goodwill today and managed to work the bins of dolls and photos into places on storage shelves. I'm still working to make my crafting area more efficient. I joined Book Mooch to see if I can't find good homes for a whole whack of books that I just don't need to keep. I'm planning to move all of Durwood's psychic books over so that I can purpose the entire long wall as yarn and fabric storage so I've got more cutting room and ironing room. The poor ironing board just doesn't get the respect it deserves right now. I want to change all that. I've grouped together all the things I'm keeping for DD to take home at Christmas together in one accessible place too. Today's the day I swap the lawnmower for the snowblower in the garage. It's time. We got 2" of snow in November and I'm sure more's supposed to come any day now. (yeesh) A couple years ago I didn't swap until we'd had about 6" and it was damned difficult to drag the lawnmower through the deep snow around the house to the shed. I do not want to repeat that stunt. And today's our 35th wedding anniversary! I can't believe we've been married that long. It's been a fun and interesting time. I wouldn't trade it for the world. Who else but Durwood would put up with my craziness for that long? And like it? He's a keeper.

December 3--Germany, Lower Saxony, Aquamanile in the Form of a Cock. It was still dark. Not a thread of daylight pierced the high east window in their studio but that damned rooster belonging to the church lady next door was crowing for all he was worth. Sada groaned and tried to burrow under her pillow. The rooster crowed again right outside their door. "Go out and shoo it away," she said, nudging her husband. "Take the broom but be sure and put on pants." The thought of Dave out there with is cute white ass shining in the dawn light made her giggle. Dave hasn't answered so she rolled over to wake him up. She reached out and stroked his arm. He was cold, like he'd slept in the breeze from the air conditioner, and he was wet. She rolled back and turned on the light. Dave's side of the bed was crimson with blood as was her hand and her whole left side. Dave lay on his back with his throat cut and his eyes wide. Sada sat up and began edging away from the carnage. She started to scream. It was full daylight before she stopped.

Okay, now, that's a story. (DS, I did not have you in mind, I can't help it if Sada married a Dave. Good thing that's not your real name. Love you, Mom.
--Barbara

And It's Raining

2011-12-03T10:20:00.002-06:00

I am grateful to the weather gods that it only really rained once when we were hauling sh*t out of Mom's place and that was the day after she died (which I thought was totally appropriate). I prayed extra hard that it wouldn't snow until we were done and it worked. The power of prayer, people, give it a hand. I am totally not referencing one religion over another, I'm talking about sending sincere words to whatever power controls my part of the universe and asking for a favor. I lean toward the Catholic because that's the way I grew up but I didn't pass that on to my kids. Sometimes I regret that. I raised a pair of free-thinkers who don't have a religious background to fall back on. Sorry, DS & DD, sometimes the familiar prayers and rituals are a safe place to find comfort and I'm sorry that I didn't give you that. Ah well, maybe that'll come through your spouses, fabulous women that they are. Rain is a perfectly good weather for my plans today. I've got the laundry started and as soon as I'm finished here I'll be heading downstairs to see if I can't bring a little order out of the chaos I made down there, especially over the last month. I resurrected a couple towers of Gillette shelving (DS & DD, you'll remember them as back porch pool supplies shelves) that were taking up valuable garage space, so two of them are in the bathtub sprayed with some orange cleaner to remove the years of grime, and then they will join their brethren downstairs to assume new roles as fabric storage. There will be psychic book shifting and other book shifting as well but I might as well start as I mean to go on and not do the job twice. Right? Right. That will also put me in a position to tend to the laundry without endless trips up and down the stairs. Organization, thy name is Barbara. (hold the applause, please) At least I hope it will be by the end of the weekend. Right now my name is closer to being "pack rat." (Shh, don't tell Durwood. I constantly accuse him of being the family pack rat and excuse myself from that appellation.)

December 2--Vincent van Gogh, Roses. Their aroma filled the room. Callie imagined it as white sparkles drifting like dust motes on the late summer air. She waited all season for this rose to bloom. It wasn't prim like Grandpa Emmet's hybrid teas. Those roses were like society women gussied up and on their best behavior in church. These white roses that bloomed at the tail end of summer they were like, well, they were like mistresses. Their dress was a little much, a bit careless. Their petals ruffly and sprawling, not as rigid as the others. Their fragrance was over the top too. These flowers were comfortable with themselves; they didn't take themselves too seriously. Callie always thought that if her roses were women they'd drink bourbon with a Coke chaser, dye their hair platinum blond, and tell bawdy stories and dirty jokes.

Heh, heh, heh. I'll bet you never thought of roses that way. Now you'll never forget them. I'm off to bring order from self-inflicted chaos.
--Barbara

Done.

2011-12-02T14:09:00.002-06:00

By 11 AM Central Standard Time the St. Vincent de Paul guys had come and gone with the estate sale residue, DS had come to remove the plant holders and bird feeders from the balcony rail and help load up the tables to be returned, I had cleared out all the cleaning products from under all 3 sinks, I had loaded up the cane-back sewing rocker, and we had made a few dozen walks down the lot to the dumpster with the last of the trash and recycling. I also dumped most of a cup of coffee into my purse and down my back. (I do not recommend it, but now my purse smells great.) It was hard, harder than I thought to hand over all the keys and the garage door opener, leaving Mom's apartment for the last time. But I did it. We returned the tables, I put the rockers in storage and hauled the card tables, side tables, and the last bags o'crap into the house. Now I get to try and eliminate some of our stuff that's been moldering downstairs so I have places to put this new-to-us crap. Fun times! I started last night by pulling out all the old and way outdated computer equipment (remember 5" floppies?), hauling it up and putting it in Durwood's van, then I got rid of it on my way to Mom's this morning. That gave me places for the dolls and photos. I have plans for the rest. I'll let you know how it works out.

December 1--Elsa Schiaparelli, "Apollo of Versailles" Cape. It was like wearing fireworks. The black silk cape clung to her shoulders like a lover's arms and the gold metallic braid and embroidery on the front made the impression. The weight of it held the silk in place, feeling almost like a breastplate, which might have been appropriate if she'd had much in the breast department but she didn't. Designers liked to dress her for that very reason. Her hips were slim. Her legs were long and her chest was nearly flat. On her worst days she referred to herself as "a walking hanger" convinced that people noticed only her clothes and not her.

Time to haul things downstairs. I'd like a freight elevator or maybe a dumb waiter. My knees would too, but I think all this upping and downing is good for them so they should quit complaining.
--Barbara

All Boxed Up

2011-12-01T08:47:00.002-06:00

I went to the apartment after work yesterday for an hour and finished boxing up all the donation stuff. Now all that's left is to go over on Friday morning to wait for the St. Vinnie's people, load the remaining tables (DS is helping with that) and Mom's sewing rocker that I decided to keep, hand over the keys, and that's that. Oh, and carry out the trash while I wait for the charity folks. What am I going to talk about when all this is finished? I looked at Durwood last night and asked him what I'm going to do now that I don't have that big job to do, and he said "come home." I thought I'd been home but I guess even when my body was here my mind was 5 miles away plotting how to best attack a big job. I'm very glad that we didn't have a house to sell or any real estate. I've been figuring out where I can park the dolls until I find out if any of them belong to anyone and where I can store all the photos until we can get together this winter to divvy them out. I realized the other day that now I'm essentially the top layer, the oldest generation in my immediate family. I have a metric crapload of aunts and uncles, cousins, in-laws and out-laws scattered around but on the smallest, nearest branch of the family tree I'm at the apex. Eek. And on a happier note, it's trying to snow. It's kind of sleet/raining right now but every once in a while a flake barges through. We're supposed to get around an inch today. Handyman Dave's supposed to come this afternoon to fix the garage door so then I can exchange the lawn mower for the snow blower (I don't like to rush these things) and be ready for the winter onslaught. "Onslaught" is a lovely word, don't you think? "Onslaught," I like it. I made pumpkin pecan bread last night. It's not quite4 as pumpkin-y as I'd like. Oh dear, looks like I'll have to give this away and try again. Ah me, life's a constant struggle.

November 30--Guatemala, Mayan,Vase with Mythological Scene. The sound was so loud that it rattled all the china in the cabinet. It was like an entity in the small room. The weight of it pressed on her skin. She felt it throb in her feet and it radiated up until it nestled in her chest altering the rhythm of her heartbeat.

Promising, but once again I conked out and the pencil scrawled down the page. Stay dry today.
--Barbara

Cold Sunshine

2011-11-30T11:44:00.002-06:00

I wouldn't mind being off today so I could finish at Mom's and rake the leaves for the last time. Not that I've gotten to rake much this year but I would like to. We had to hire the neighbor guy again. I just don't have the time. It would be a good day for a walk too but that won't happen either. Skully came to keep me company when I was packing yesterday. That was good, I miss her. We've both sworn that we'll restart our walks next Tuesday. Cross our hearts. Once Mom got into the hospital and then passed away my days off have been too full and she battled a 3-week migraine so we're both stiff and creaky and need to get out "to get the stink blowed off" as my Grandma Frieda used to say when she shooed us kids out to play. Handyman Dave came and helped me get Durwood's van out of the garage, then he figured out what parts he needs Durwood to buy so he can fix the door tomorrow. I guess we can't complain; that cable's over 33 years old and it's first broken now. Good job, cable, but bad timing. I stopped at TW's work last night to update him on the latest estate developments and he was fixing a giant (and I do mean GIANT) quarry machine that rolled over. It had an impressive dent in the motor housing and a lot of other damage. I can't imagine knowing how to fix something like that but TW's good at it. He gets nice and dirty at work too. I'm glad I have a job that combines office-y things with manual labor things. I'd hate to work in some office and have to be all dressed up all the time. That's so not me. Ooh, I found a recipe for Garlicky Roasted Shrimp, Red Peppers, and Feta that Durwood made for supper last night since Key West Shrimp's on special this week at Festival. He cooked a bit of fettucini that we put it over. It was freaking fantastic. He'd like a bit less feta and he only used one clove of garlic but, oh my, it was delicious. I also found a recipe for fish drop soup in a folder at Mom's. It sounds interesting to me, Durwood thought it sounded awful. I'll make it sometime just to try it. Someone will eat it with me. I mean, who wouldn't want to make a soup with fish balls in it?

November 29--John H. Belter, Slipper Chair. Tanis loved the blue chair, had since she was small. The intricate carving of vines, oak leaves, acorns, and grapes that made up the chair back had entertained her for house as a child. She'd slep into her mother's dressing room and trace them with her fingers. A few times she had pushed the chair ove4r so she could feally get the shapes on paper but she always got caught. "Tanis, how many times have I told you not to play in here." Her mother's voice foze her hands and sent a chill up her spine. "Sorry, Mom," she said. "Sorry who?" Mara's left eyebrow arched as she glared down at her daughrter. Tanis' jaw felt stuck but she managed to say, "Sorry, Maman." Mara was in love with all things French. It made life a trail for Tanis. At least Cook and Giselle the maid spoke French. It was a whole new challenge for Tanis; one with few clues to success. Tanis tugged at the ropes that bound her to the blue chair. She had never imagined that the old rosewood would be so strong and she couldn't imagine why her mind kept skipping back to her childhood. The immediate problem of being tied up in her own dressing room while men in hoods rifled through her safe was what should have been in her thoughts. Her hands were numb and her cheekbone throbbed where the leader of the trio of men had backhanded her to get the combination. No one was expecting her for days. No staff lived in anymore and in summer the foliage around the house was too thick for any of the neighbors to see lights and movement. She heard boats speeding by as the sun set, boats headed for their moorings at the marina at the end of the bay, but none of them slowed to investigate the strange boat tied to her dock.

Uh-oh, this isn't good. Happy Wednesday. It's the middle of the workweek, you know. Ahhh.
--Barbara

Beyond All Imagining...

2011-11-29T15:34:00.003-06:00

We will be returning the keys to Mom's apartment on Friday once the St. Vincent de Paul people come and cart away the post-sale leavings. Today I went over to start packing up the things we're consigning to the auction house and chanced a phone call to see if I could wheedle a pickup today since I was there. Turns out I could. Damien and his sidekick, Ryan, arrived just after eleven, loaded up all the goodies and zoomed off. I'll go over either tonight or tomorrow night to finish packing up the remaining items (not too much left, just a bunch of kitchen stuff) while AJ arrives to get his table and drive Mom's car away. DS will come Friday morning to pick up the tables from Titletown Brewing and the dive shop, so I can then sweep through making sure nothing's left or broken. Once I've done that I'll hand over the keys and garage door opener--and we'll be done. Done. Done. Done. That isn't to say that my living room and basement will be passable yet but that I can do at my leisure after work or on the weekend. This is good. On the not-so-good side, I feel like I'm getting a cold. Dammit. (gonna go get some Zycam, that stuff really works) Oh, and the cable from one of the garage door springs snapped when I put Durwood's van away this morning. We've got a call into a handyman friend, but if it doesn't get fixed today he can take me to work so he'll have wheels so he can go let Porter out in the afternoon. It would be bad if he couldn't go play with the granddog. Why does stuff like that happen when you can barely manage to make it through days? The last 5 weeks of funeral and estate arrangements and all the organization and execution have consumed all my psychic and physical energy. Now that it's nearly finished I get a cold and the house starts to fall apart? I don't think so. Time for some remedial meditation and redirecting of energies.

November 28--Edgar Degas, Young Woman with Ibis. It had to be the fever. Etienne lay looking out the window, the covers pulled to his chin even though it was midsummer and hot. He frowned and blinked to clear his vision. Lisa wasn't out on his balcony, was she? No, he hears her humming in the kitchen as she made some chicken soup for him. He could hear her clearly as she chopped and stirred and sang. He rubbed a shaking hand over his eyes but still he thought he saw her there with a blue mantle over her hair and a pair of scarlet ibis with their needle-sharp beaks standing sentry, one on either side of her.

There's nothing like a good fever hallucination.
--Barbara

Down the Home Stretch

2011-11-28T11:33:00.004-06:00

After a few phone calls to various auction houses, charities, and apartment managements, plus confabbing with various siblings, I have determined that we will be able to vacate Mom's apartment by the weekend. Hoo. Ray. If we pay November's rent (and a prorated fee for the first few days of December) we can have all Mom's things moved, let them take the cleaning charges out of the security deposit and be able to pay off the funeral and other final expenses with the proceeds of the sale. There'll be a little left to parcel out to various credit card companies (who should have known better than send Mom that many charge cards, she had 5 from Chase alone) and that'll be that. I will be so relieved to have that settled. Then I can turn to at home and shovel out paths through my living room and basement, and then get started de-crap-ifying my house so if Sputnik drops on Durwood and me when we're out eating our way around Sam's (or engaging in some other old person weekend pursuit) our beloved children won't have to deal with our mess. But I'm not getting rid of any tools or sewing stuff or yarn or writing stuff. Maybe not watercolors either (that counts as writing stuff since I took it up as novel research). Certainly all of Durwood's Penzeys bottles are safe (he inherited Mom's collection of at least one jar of every single herb and spice that Penzeys sells or ever has sold, it's kind of frightening). I am considering renting a small flamethrower, reducing all crap to ash and then using the leaf blower to swoosh it outside, but I suspect the arson investigators would object, and how would I keep the things I want to keep safe? I'll have to think about it. Maybe if I wet everything down... but then I'd have to dry things out and books don't take well to being dunked, the paints would all melt away, and the tools... well, maybe carrying things to the dump is the way to go after all. These are photos of the apartment before the sale resumed on Sunday morning. It was too crazy to take photos of Saturday morning.

No writing last night, I was just too beat.
--Barbara

We Survived

2011-11-27T17:33:00.002-06:00

We didn't sell it all, in fact very little of the furniture sold and hardly any of the doll stuff, but the lady from Two Rivers is coming up tomorrow to pick up all the doll stuff and sell it at doll shows for us, for a price, of course. We've decided to send the remaining antiques to be sold at a local auction house and we'll donate the rest. Once the sale was over we scurried around, tossed out all the Christmas stuff that didn't sell (old ribbons and tinsel), and started piling things up. There wasn't too much left once the auction things were set aside. Now all we have to do is get the place cleaned up and we're done. Oh, and sell her car. We haven't found the title but AJ says that's not the end of the world. I think we should be very proud of ourselves for getting this much done in just over a month. It turned off cold today, a lot colder than it's been so far, and gray and dreary, of course. As long as the big snow holds off until we've got Mom's apartment cleaned out I'll be happy. Well, happier. I'd rather have 70s or even 60s instead of 30s and 40s, and sunshine. I like sunshine too.

November 26--French, Shoes. Giselle sat hunched over the piece of leather in her lap. She had pierced the outline of the flowers, vines, and leaves onto the oddly shaped skin the day before and now she was embroidering it. She used silk in rich golds, blues, and greens as Monsieur Jirot had showed her. They were to match a gown for the ball the Comtesse was giving for the Comte's birthday next week. There was not a moment to spare. Tomorrow Jirot would mold the leather and sew it to the soles. Giselle had to finish tonight no matter how late she had to stay awake. She could not lose this job.

Eh. The shoes didn't inspire me and I was just too damned tired to work very hard at it.
--Barbara

It's Sale Day!

2011-11-26T12:42:00.003-06:00

and I have to work. Ah well, the sale is in TW and AJ's capable hands with Durwood along to be cashier. I went over to help at the very beginning and it was a crush. Both sewing machines sold in the first few minutes (yay!) and a lot of small things went streaming out too. Cash in/stuff out, always a good mantra. I fear that we're going to be left with most of the plastic boxes in the doll room since I taped them shut so people can't pick through. I can work out a way to realize some $$ from them if they don't sell. I'm nothing if not resourceful. I'm just glad that we managed to get organized and get the sale going so quickly. We rock. Now the next hurdle is to get it all out and get the apartment cleaned to their specs to get the security deposit back. We have got to be able to pay Mom's bills since none of us can afford to shell out for them. Damned credit cards.

November 25--Middle Arabian Peninsula, Incense Burner. It was the little bronze goat on the thing that caught Newman's eye. Adele had dragged him through bazaar after bazaar and each one was just as dark and smelly as the last one. He hated the familiar way the shop keepers reached out to draw them into their cramped shops. "Come inside, ma'am, come inside." Adele was sure she would find a treasure to take home, something worth more than anyone but she imagined. But the day was hot and it was hotter inside. They had seen too many cheaply made trinkets and garish t-shirts when Newman spotted the little goat perched on the back of a brass cup of some sort.

Ah, that Newman's got an eye for goats. Can you imagine how those places smell? Ugh. Come to our sale tomorrow, all prices reduced!

--Barbara

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-25T07:44:00.002-06:00

I meant to type that yesterday but time got the best of me and it was late when we got home from Shawano where we football-watched and ate, and ate, and ate, and ate. Now I wish I'd gone outside to play a bit of football with the kids just to tamp down the nacho lunch before the turkey dinner. Everything was delicious. Durwood's Gruyere dip was an enormous hit, and both the Semolina bread we spread it on and the traditional Malcolm holiday onion bread were perfect. I'm the bread maker around here and I do a pretty darned good job, if I do say so myself. It was good for me to be away from here and all the boxes and proximity to Mom's apartment for the day. I couldn't go over and work and I refused to stew about it. For once in my life I lived in the moment. I hope that all of you have an overstuffed, family-filled day. The pumpkin pie was made with our great-grand eggs (that's the products of our grand-chickens Henny & Penny) and was a triumph. Durwood and I have to scarf down our store-bought eggs so we can get us some of those eggs for ourselves. "The girls" are each laying an egg a day which is a lot for DS & DIL1 to deal with. We offered to help. Isn't that nice of us? DIL1's cousin KZ made a pecan pie with bourbon that was to die for. To. Die. For. I commanded her to make me one for my birthday and I commanded my birthday to move from September to today but I'm guessing those commandments fell on deaf ears. There was an excess of wine in the room. Also hilarity. It was an excellent day. Thanks to the Z's for inviting us. Handwritten thanks are in the mail. (yeah, yeah, it's in the mail. we've all heard that but this time it's really true. really) At 9:00 PM Wednesday night I finally ran out of doll room stuff to tape shut and price. Fi. Nall. Y. If you'd told me that I'd spend the better part of a week just getting that room ready I'd have scoffed at you. Yes, scoffed. But I am the proof. All of the stuff's not totally tidied up and a few things need to be priced but come hell or high water the sale will go on tomorrow and Sunday, and the rest will go to charity next week. Thank the Lord. I suspect that Mom's motto was "Too much is not enough" especially in the doll making area, but I do believe we've got a handle on it now. We're moving ahead even if it's wrong. Moving, that's the important part. Now I need a flamethrower to clear out my living room. I've enlisted (okay, drafted) DS to help next week or the week after. It shall be done. We shall see the living room carpet once again in 2011. I has spoken.

November 24--Felix Bracquemond, Soup Plate. The plates were beautiful. Hand painted, Baye could tell. She'd been buying old dinnerware in all different patterns. Baye hated things all matchy-matchy, it made her nervous. She'd never seen a soup plate like this one. It had a slightly scalloped edge and a strutting turkey in the center. The plate was edged in dry brushed black or charcoal and there was a sprig of thyme on one edge, a moth (not a butterfly but a moth) on the top, and a fly, a common housefly, on the left. It was the fly that made her stop to consider. Would her guests glance down and think that there was a fly in their soup? Would they laugh or shudder? She decided that she'd take them home. They make her laugh. The rest of the world could go... hang.

Gotta go eat my Cheerios and then I get to pick Porter up from the kennel and take her to work with me while Durwood braves the Black Friday crowds. Eek.
--Barbara

Too Much

2011-11-23T08:28:00.003-06:00

Life suddenly (or maybe not so suddenly) feels like too much. In addition to the estate sale and Thanksgiving, we're taking advantage of the lower interest rates and refinancing our mortgage so we can pay it off faster. I do not need one more thing to think about. I worked a bit at the apartment last night and did not get done so I'll be back there tonight. Maybe I'll just go right from work so I have the whole evening to get things done, then maybe I can relax a bit tomorrow. I am thrilled that we're going to be gone all day tomorrow to DIL1's parents place. We'll watch the game (go, Pack!)(oh, I hope I didn't jinx them) and then all pitch in to make the turkey supper after the game. I'm taking a bunch of knitting projects so I'll have lots to choose from. This morning I've got the onion bread dough rising, it'll get baked before I go to work, so that'll be done. (We're taking a couple loaves of Italian Semolina bread too, for the Gruyere dip Durwood's making as an appetizer.) I should unload the pictures from the back of Durwood's van but don't know where I'd go with them. Under the bed, yeah, that's where I'll put the big ones. I unearthed the sewing rocker and the shadow box from the storage yesterday (without breaking an ankle) so they're at the apartment to be sold. I'd love to keep all the things that remind me of Mom and my childhood and all those folks but I'm content with my memories. I have a vivid imagination and a looooong memory (as those who know me know) so I've really got all I need filed away in my head and heart. Once this sale is over I'm going to enlist the help of DS to make some room downstairs and find places to stash things. He'll help me, he's a good boy, um, man. Aw, hell, he's still my boy no matter how old he gets, just like DD will always be my best baby girl. (Sorry, guys, that's just the way it is.) I'd better get a move on, I still have to eat breakfast and shower and it's 8:40. Time's a wasting.

November 22--Japan, Uniform. Hu washed in cold water in the pale dawn light. His small fire did little to dispel the chill of the night but it was enough to heat his mug of leftover tea and keep his bread from freezing. If he were rich he might have a bit of red bean paste to smear across the bread with his thumb but all he had was a little duck fat. He sliced a white radish that brought its own heat to his day. He heard the creak of old Moh's cart as he loaded up for market and knew he should hurry. He planned to walk down into the valley to look for a job in the post office. His old teacher had said they were hiring so he planned to go apply. He thought he would be very happy with a route to deliver. He also though he would look very good in one of the dark blue uniforms. Girls like a man in a uniform.

No radishes for me today, only Cheerios with a banana. Decadent.
--Barbara

Do You eBay?

2011-11-22T10:12:00.003-06:00

A friend, BLV, stopped into the dive shop yesterday and listened to me complain about having too much stuff and wanting to clear out this winter. He suggested that I help Durwood learn how to sell stuff on eBay. Said he'd done it, so how hard could it be? I asked what he'd sold, thinking dive gear or the little model ships he builds, and he said he sold his old Harley to a guy in Australia for eight grand. Remember the buyer pays shipping so BLV said that a big truck showed up at his house and took that motorcycle away to be shipped Down Under. Amazing! The first thing I want to do is box up all the old computer stuff and get rid of that (at the dump or wherever you take that stuff to recycle it), then I'll start sorting out all the other random crapola that we've kept for way too long. Maybe Durwood can sell some of it and save us from having a rummage sale next spring. That'd be good. (Hmm, I could sort my books...) I went out to our storage locker before work and unearthed the shadow box and cane seat sewing rocker to put in the estate sale this weekend. Oh, that reminds me, I need to write the ad and get it called into the newspaper, Craig's List too. Good thing I'm at work so I'll have plenty of time to get it done. It's quiet here. Mr. Boss thinks that I'll be really busy on Black Friday but I have my doubts. I guess I'll see what happens on the day.

November 21--Paolo Aquilano, Kneeling Virgin. She wasn't a blond. You know she wasn't a blond since she was from the Middle East, but there she is all narrow-featured, pale--and blond. It has always made me scratch my head that throughout hundreds of years artists have always painted Mary and Jesus and the rest of them with the same ethnicity as themselves. Same clothes too. I think it shows a lack of imagination and a narrow view of the rest of the world. But then I'd probably have been burned at the stake before I was twenty-one back then.

Nothing like a little rant to end the day on a crabby note. Stay cool.

--Barbara

Dreary Monday

2011-11-21T07:41:00.003-06:00

I'm getting tired and staying tired these days. I suspect its a mental/emotional condition and I'll get over it. Never fear. I'd like to play hooky the next three days and just give 'er, as they say around here, and get Mom's stuff all set and primped up for the sale next weekend. Next week's the last week for leaf collection and I just don't have time to go out and round up the stragglers. Ah well, they'll make good mulch, and the work will get done before the sale. The sole good thing to come from Mom's sudden passing (aside from not having to watch her have to give up her bridge playing, get really sick, and either lose her marbles or be in excruciating pain) is that I get to spend a few days with my brothers. I haven't done that in forever and when we've been together it's been with all our families. Not that I don't like to spend time with them too but TW and AJ and I have been family for 56 years and we're too busy to get together much these days. It's something I appreciate and don't want to lose. AJ loaded all the doll babies--dressed and naked, whole, headless, articulated and dis--into totes with quilts and towels to protect them, and most of the boxes of pictures into Durwood's van yesterday for me to bring home. I'm going to bring home some of the shelving units from Mom's and use them to store that stuff. Somewhere. I may have to sort through a crapload of our crap to have room (which would not be the worst thing). Then if someone calls to say Mom had their doll, I'll have it, and some weekend this coming winter we can get together to sort through pictures and divvy them out or have copies made. Once we can walk through the living room again, that is.

November 20--Southern Netherlands, Crib of the Infant Jesus. She walked back to the square glass case that held the ornate crib. "Did you see that there're four angels? One on each corner." Sally huffed in frustration and trailed back to stand beside her mom. "Angels. Yep, I see them." Her tone of voice was flat and bored. "I wonder why they put jingle bells on those ropes," Lois said, pointing. "Those are bells, right? The baby Jesus must not be a light sleeper." "Ma," Sally tried to keep her voice down, "the baby Jesus doesn't sleep here. It's just... just furniture." Lois tugged on her daughter's sleeve to make her follow her around to the side on the case. "See those openings in the sides? Don't they look like church windows? Do you think they'd let me rock the Baby Jesus to sleep next time he's here?" She looked around. "They'd have to lower the lights so the little Guy could sleep." Sally shook her head. The museum might have been a bad idea. Maybe they should go to the zoo next Sunday. At least she'd get a nice walk outside along with her weekly dose of crazy talk.

Oh. I didn't know that Lois was that old. Huh. Funny how that stuff happens when you're not looking. Enjoy your day. I will. Two words. Pay. Day.
--Barbara

Whew!

2011-11-20T21:02:00.002-06:00

You can all relax, I found the Coach Cake recipe, or rather Durwood did in one of the (bazillion) boxes of papers I brought home for him to sort through into "save" "shred" or "toss" piles. I suspect he thinks that doing that is no big deal, not much of a help but I keep telling him that just knowing he's home to hug on and that he's making a hot and yummy supper for me is an enormous help. Tonight he made gizzards in the crockpot that we had over noodles with fresh broccoli. Mmm. I'm keeping him. I spent most of the day over at Mom's apartment and almost got through the stuff in the doll room. Almost. TW and AJ hauled in all the boxes in from the garage (after AJ packed the canopy bed into his truck), we borrowed a couple banquet tables from DIL1 at Titletown Brewing, and then they spread out all the Christmas stuff and the small amount of really antique china Mom had. Once pretty much everything was out we started pricing. What a pain. Necessary, but what a pain and none of us are rummage salers, estate salers, or antiquers so we're just guessing. We've agreed that we'll entertain offers, especially on the pricier stuff but we're not going lower than half. The longer we work on this the more I threaten to buy or rent a flame-thrower to clean out our house over the winter. I don't think they have home models, though, and I suspect that the jellied gasoline is hard to get your hands on.

November 19--Southern Netherlands, Crib for the Infant Jesus. "No baby could sleep in there," Lois said, bending over to peer at the ornate crib. She straightened up and shook her head. "Look at that. There's no sides to keep Him from falling out and who'd put a baby down on covers with all those pearls and that scratchy embroidery?" "Ma," Sally said, "it's not for a real baby." She looked for a tag. "When was it made? Oh here." She read for a minute. "It says here it was made sometime in the 14th century so that was in the thirteen hundreds. That's a thousand and three hundred years after the birth of Christ." She tugged her mother into motion, urging her down the gallery. "Not even a religious fanatic moron would expect Him to be a baby after all that time." Lois turned to look at the crib. "It's pretty though, isn't it?"

It's amazing what pops out of people's mouths. And here I sit talking like I actually heard someone say that instead of it being a conversation I made up last night when I was half asleep. Now I'm half asleep again. See? It's a cycle.
--Barbara

Barkeep, Rutabaga All Around!

2011-11-19T07:04:00.002-06:00

You know how some vegetables look in the grocery? Kind of shy and retiring? That's how I think rutabagas look, a bit embarrassed and "pick something flashier" is the vibe I get from them. My friend (and dive shop customer) Merlyn's an enthusiastic gardener and he's now brought me two boxes of his homegrown veggies. This week's box had a rutabaga in it. It's not like other rutabagas I've seen. Those bashful, sorta brown, sorta pink softball-sized orbs are nothing to the robust, vivid brown and purple alien bowling ball behemoth in my kitchen. This thing is still growing! There're a couple green sprigs left on the top that have perked up and gotten a bit longer since it arrived. I think it'd be a good idea for both of us to be here when Durwood decides to cook the thing because I'm afraid it might just fight back. Merlyn was in the store yesterday and I asked him if he irradiated the seeds. He and his wife laughed and said, "that's one of the small ones." One of the small ones?!?? I'd donate it to a food bank but I'm not sure I want to inflict an obviously sentient vegetable on some unsuspecting poor person. I'll keep you posted.

November 18--Alvin Langdon Coburn, The Octopus. Jillian and Max loved the octopus in all seasons. They ran up the arm across the street from their door, around the center, and back down the next arm. Every day they ran the octopus--up, around, down--all the while laughing and dodging pedestrians. They didn't care if it was rainy or frigid or so hot you could fry eggs on the pavement,they loved to run. Jillian loved the autumn when the skies were so blue day after day and the sharp wind hurried the leaves along in skeins across the paths. Max like winter with its snow and ice for sliding on. They ran after school when the dusk gathered in the corners. The doorman of their building, Raphael, kept an eye on them most days. In that particular winter he wasn't the only one.

The sun's almost up and I need more coffee. Bye!
--Barbara

I'm Having the Blahs...

2011-11-18T09:14:00.004-06:00

...and I don't like it one bit. I'm sure you're saying to yourself "you goofball, your mom just died, you're supposed to be sad" but this isn't grief, it's the blahs. I know the difference. I put one of the pictures I took when I was up at The Clearing a couple weekends ago on here to remind me that there's a lot of un-blah things in my life and I'm wearing my Copper Harbor hoodie, copper earrings bought in Calumet and some socks I knit myself (they don't match, in case you're wondering) to remind me all day that I am the most un-blah woman I know and that I should pull myself up by my (red lace) bra straps and get over myself. I ordered the coolest thing from the NaNoWriMo office week before last and it came yesterday. It looks like one of those yellow "Livestrong" bracelets that everyone's been wearing for a while, but it says "My Novel" on it and the back is thicker because there's a built-in jump drive in there. How cool is that? I. Love. It. Couldn't wait for it to arrive. So in the winter when I'm ready to sit down and pound out the words of the story that's scrabbling to get told, I'll have somewhere extra cool to put it. Squee! (I am a total dork--but telling you about the bracelet has lifted quite a bit of the blahs so being a dork is good.)

November 17--Amadeo Modigliani, Jeanne Hebuterne. It was hot and still that summer she was pregnant. No matter that all the windows were flung as wide open as possible no cooling breeze ventured in. Jean nearly went mad in July. Matt was gone on a business trip. He'd call to complain about the clients and the meetings, and say how much he missed her. All she could think of was air-conditioned hotel rooms and eating out three times a day. She would lie in the shade of the wide porch with a stack of library mystery novels on the old table beside the wicker chaise and read the days away. She made endless pitchers of sun tea and she ate so much orange Jell-O with mandarin oranges in it she wouldn't have been surprised if their baby was born orange instead of pink. Oscar Mason who lived up the road told all his cronies at the diner that he thought Jean had taken to living out on that porch because no matter what time of the day or night he went by she was always out there.

And now it's time for me to dash off to work (ugh) so that Mrs. Boss can go off diving in Utila, Honduras for a week. *sigh* I'll be the one working.
--Barbara

Ack! Snowflakes!

2011-11-17T10:06:00.002-06:00

There we sat minding our business this sunny morning and snowflakes, yes, SNOWFLAKES came tumbling out of the sky. They were riding the sharp, cold wind in the sunshine and they weren't melting when they landed. I saw 'em. They landed on the patio and just stayed there. No, no, no, no, NO. Not time for snowflakes. Not yet. I have too much to do within the next two weeks for snow to come and stay. After that, well, I'll deal but not in November, no sirree bob. I went to Mom's bank and closed out her accounts this morning. I transferred all the money left in them to the estate account I set up at the bank closer to my house so now it's all in one place and if someone tries to deposit or withdraw from them they're no longer there. Like I said, things are moving along. I got about 1/4 of the doll room boxes taped and marked last night. That room is like quicksand; I get in there and get sucked into doing other things. Last night I first made certain that I had gathered all the feet and tools and manuals for each of the sewing machines, then I got out the tape and the big marker and started at the top left of the first shelving unit. My idea worked rather well. I checked inside the box, moving any pattern to the bottom so it can be seen through the plastic, then I taped around and around so it can't be opened and marked a price on the tape in 2 places. There's just too much stuff and it's mostly jumbled together to allow people to pick and choose. We'd be there for a year just getting it organized. This way the boxes are reasonably priced for their size and contents so that, hopefully, most of it will sell. If not, somebody's getting a huge donation. It's the only way. Yesterday I made sure to cancel all the magazine subscriptions Mom had (that I've found so far anyway), and there were a bazillion, mostly food mags. Already I've gotten 3 refund checks from publishers (over $100!) to put into the estate account. You just never think of how much you spend on stuff like that, do you? It's very relaxing being at work these days. Not because there're no customers, there are a few, but because I can't do estate work here. I can only post to the blogs or knit while listening to my iPod. Ahhh.

November 16--Central Asia, Shaft-Hole Axe Head with Bird-Headed Demon, Boar, and Winged Dragon. Karak kept one pair of eyes on the huge boar coming at him from the left. He could smell the swamp and see the greenish cast to the bristles that covered the grunting wild pig. The creature made low grunting sounds as it pushed through the rushes. Right before his other pair of eyes a winged dragon landed near the path and exhaled a plume of smoke.

Dagnabbit! I was rolling, all ready to keep going but I fell asleep. Next time.

--Barbara

So Tired I Couldn't Sleep

2011-11-16T08:32:00.002-06:00

That was me last night. I hardly ever have nights like that so it was doubly frustrating but Durwood's a good snuggler and that helped me settle down. I took the doll shoes, socks, and hats out to the doll lady who wouldn't buy them (she's downsizing too) but kept them to sell to her students and at 2 doll shows in April and June on our behalf. I hadn't even counted the stuff but people around here are usually honest to a fault so I'm not too worried. She offered to do the same with all of Mom's patterns so I'll load those up on Sunday when I have Durwood's big van, AND the lady who came on Saturday to give me some pricing help called last night to say she's got people interested in both sewing machines and a bunch of the bins of fabric. Hoo! Ray! (I'm naming my next child Gail in her honor.) They're willing to come up on Sunday to get the stuff so it won't even make it to the estate sale the next weekend. We're getting there, Aunt B, don't you worry about us. I even found time to get my nails done, play with Porter for an hour, and to rake a few leaves so I did some stuff for ME too. After supper I made a big pot of chicken vegetable soup for work lunches this week and next. I'll go over to the apartment tonight and start taping boxes shut in the doll room. I want to get a jump on Sunday's chores.

November 15--Paul Poiret, Textile Sample. She couldn't keep her hands off the silk satin of the lining. It was the softest thing she'd ever touched. She smoothed her fingertips across it and her eyes half closed with the sheer sensuality of it. She felt the weave as if it were a More Code message aimed only at her. Her eyes closed as she gave all her sensory attention to the three fingertips of her right hand. The whole world was reduced to the richness of the silk and the electricity it generated along her nerve endings. Back and forth, back and forth her fingertips barely grazed the fabric but the thrill of it raised goosebumps up her arms and she felt her nipples harden and strain in the confines of her bra. Outside sounds receded as her breathing deepened. A shudder ran down her spine and her knees shook.

Whoever she is, she's sure having a moment, isn't she? The cold has come in on the knife edges of the wind. I'm dressing in layers today--and where did I put all my pashminas? Stay warm.
--Barbara

A Long List of Errands

2011-11-15T10:01:00.002-06:00

marks my Tuesday this week. First I'm off to the bank to do estate stuff and cash my beloved paycheck. Then I'll visit the Dollar Store to get some Glade and after that I'll get my scraggly nails done by either Kim or Tuyn at the nail salon. I'll visit my friend Skully to see how she's feeling and gift her with Mom's big box of ribbon embroidery books and supplies because I know she likes to do that sort of stuff, maybe stop and play with Porter the grand-dog for a while and let Henny peck my newly painted nails (she loves my red nails, or maybe she hates them, but she pecks at them and I prefer to believe it's love), and then go to the DOLL ROOM to get a start on taping boxes shut and making prices on them. Hmm, maybe I'll go there sooner and load up the doll shoes, socks, and hats, then stop by the doll store on the east side to see if she'd like to buy them off us and save us the hassle of trying to sell them. Better call first. Dang it, another estate thought just zoomed through my mind and I wasn't fast enough to catch it. Oh well. Ah, got it. I need to stop at an office store to get some price tags for next Sunday. This afternoon or evening I want to whip up a cauldron of chicken soup for work lunches this week and next because I have to work lots of days and need something nutritious and delicious and not off-plan. I've got a big bag of frozen peaches, mangoes, pineapple and strawberries so I can defrost those for lunchtime fruit. Mmm, soup and fruit. What's not to love?

November 4--Edgar Degas, The Rehearsal Onstage. The floor was gritty with rosin and it crunched. LaBelle stood still and pale holding her last pose while the final notes quivered in the chilly air. A pair of hands clapped once startling her out of her concentration. She shuddered but let herself down off en pointe, her heels kissing like grainy floorboards like feathers. The chatter of the chorus girls and boys flowed around her as she drew a shawl gray like cobwebs across her shoulders. She was an oasis of dignity and calm in the center of the whirlwind of the stage.

And that's when the lines went all wonky and I dropped off to sleep. That Degas and his ballerinas. He had a mania for them, didn't he? I watched a series on the Impressionists from Netflix and really enjoyed seeing them as actual men instead of icons or shadowy figures lurking behind their paintings. Imagination is a wonderful thing, isn't it? Mine keeps me entertained all the time.
--Barbara

Monday, Payday

2011-11-14T09:13:00.002-06:00

I always look forward to going to work on Mondays because Monday is payday at the dive shop. I love pulling the cash out of the safe and having that little check in there too. I sign my timecard, write a new one for the week, and then tuck my paycheck into my wallet. Ahhh, what a lovely feeling. About one-third of my pay goes into the grocery wallet on the kitchen shelf, $50 of it goes into my stash to pay for weeks at The Clearing or weekend retreats with friends, and the rest is mineminemine to do with what I will. I can buy yarn or fabric or books or kites or lunch or... or whatever I want. Liberating, that's what that is. I'm trying not to buy yarn this year because I have a metric crapload of the stuff down in the basement. Bringing home stuff from Mom's (sewing stuff like thread and a bit of this and that which added up to another metric crapload) has shown me that I have to stop being sentimental and sell Mom's stuff and also that I need to stop, dead stop, buying anything until I get some of the fabric and yarn down there sewn and knitted/crocheted up. Last night we took DS & DIL1 out for supper to celebrate his 33rd birthday and to thank them both for all their help with Mom's funeral and the attendant activities, then we retired to their place for cake. Mmm, steak followed by carrot cake. It was an excellent night. DD & DIL2, you're next, just as soon as you get here next month. This is not a threat, it's a promise.

November 13--Edmund C. Coates, Bay and Harbor View. "Sailing, sailing over the bounding main..." Mark's voice boomed with joy in the early morning light. From the back seat stereo roans greeted his song. "Dad, don't sing," Avery said with all the pain a thirteen year old can put in his voice. "Yeah, Dad," ten year old Lisa said, "I'm sleeping." Just then the car floated over a small hill and the kids gasped and giggled at the momentary weightless thrill. Thank god they're not too jaded and sophisticated to enjoy a good tummy tickle, Mark thought. The morning sun glinted on the chop of the bay between the small harbor of Bay Ridge and Bedlow Island a half mile offshore. The morning was brightening fast and he couldn't wait to get his ketch rigged and out on the water. Even if the kids grumbled about it he knew they liked to sail with him.

Ooh, everything's too happy and going too well. I feel a storm coming on. Have a day.
--Barbara

Writing Promptly

2011-11-13T17:22:00.007-06:00

It was a little difficult to get my brain wrestled back into the swing of nightly writing. I've been feeling like I was hit over the head with a 2 X 4 for the last 3 weeks, maybe more since Mom was in the hospital for a week before she went to rehab where she passed away after 5 days. So it's been more like 5 weeks that I've been in the middle of this particular whirlwind. Today TW, AJ, and I met at Mom's and pulled out all the things in cupboards, closets, under beds, and anywhere else she hid, uh, stored things. We took some tables in to set things out and next Sunday we plan to finish up sorting and price things, then we'll be ready to have an Estate Sale the weekend after Thanksgiving so that we'll attract deer hunting widows. That was AJ's idea. Pretty good, eh? Look! I cleaned out the doll room closet! It's a small triumph but very appreciated.

November 12--Edmund C. Coates, Bay and Harbor of New York from Bedlow's Island. Sarah had been down to the harbor many times. She loved the noise and the sounds of so many voices from so many countries. The ships sailing in or out brought spices and goods from all over the globe. She had been sent into town to deliver a dress order for her mistress. That errand had been swiftly done, and she had slipped down two blocks from Mrs. Parkins' Dress Shop to breathe in the salty air and to dream of one day seeing other parts of the world.

See? Not exactly a rip-roaring return to the page but a return nevertheless.
--Barbara

Oh, Kids...

2011-11-12T16:31:00.003-06:00

This has been one helluva three weeks. Three weeks ago today Mom died, since then I have been living in the center of a whirlwind of funeral preparations, legal papers, and the need to clear out her apartment before December 1 (so we don't have to pay another month's rent). I've been slaving away in the "doll room." I've taken some stuff home, some for DD, some, I realized today when DS helped me haul stuff, that I really don't need. I realized that I've been reflexively thinking "oh this reminds me of Mom" and then putting it in my take-home pile. A lady who knew Mom from her doll making days met me there this morning and she helped me look at all the things with a more objective eye and made some suggestions about how to deal with the avalanche that is the "doll room." Tomorrow TW and AJ and I will meet at Mom's at 10 AM to empty cupboards, etc., make inventories, and set things out for an estate sale at the end of the month. The month is moving faster than I am and I'm hoping that the three of us together can get a lot done and a lot decided. Keep your fingers crossed.

As you have probably surmised, I am not managing to find any spare brain cells to write a novel this month. I've decided to take myself off the hook and resume my nightly prompt writing. Sayonara for today.
--Barbara

Day 6--11,705 words

2011-11-07T13:03:00.003-06:00

There's no internet at The Clearing so I was unable to post while I was there. I didn't miss it. I didn't miss the whirlwind of things needing to be done to settle Mom's estate. I didn't miss the phone ringing and the piles of things needing to be sorted. For four days I thought only of myself. I wrote when I wanted to. I took a walk when I needed too. I overate. I laughed at silly remarks that Cookie or Skully made. I knitted a bit. I stared off into space. It was restful and oh so necessary. I'm excited that Celia who arrived in the September 25th prompt has proved to be the catalyst that ties together a story idea that's been scratching at me for about 3 years. I had all these characters and the settings, a detecdtive and a villian, a retired British spy and his wife, a fisherman and a Rastafarian, even a murder but I could never figure out a way to butt them togehrer to make a story. Celia is the thread that ties them all together. With Celia in the picture they all make sense. Whew.

November 6--Celia Stevens is a white female aged 48 with brown eyes and fine dark brown hair that she wears cut short for convenience. She has pale skin and sunburns easily even though she loves to spend a lot of time outdoors. She walks a few miles a day year round, bikes, and gardens. She wears sunscreen and broad brimmed hats to protect her skin but can’t bring herself to give up wearing shorts and tank tops in the summer. Her style is casual, wearing khakis, shorts, and white tee shirts; for work she wears “good” jeans and sweaters in winter and cotton shirts in summer. She’s usually in tennis shoes or tennis like shoes for comfort, not really interested in stylish shoes. When she’s nervous she clasps her hands together, what Ann calls “flap hands.” Celia is friendly, has never met a stranger, exhibits a dry and sharp sense of humor, is insightful about people and their motives, and is a good judge of character. She grew up in an averagely happy middle class family in Middle America and still lives in the same Wisconsin town she grew up in. She was a fat kid and teen but is now just a bit overweight at five feet five inches tall and weighs one hundred sixty five pounds. Despite her outgoing manner Celia is unsure of herself in new situations and thinks people only tolerate her. Even though she has had many examples of having insight into people she doesn’t really trust her gut. If she doesn’t stop and think too much, she’s fine but if she takes time to consider she hesitates and can lose an opportunity to meet someone she would like or have a job opportunity she should not pass up. She has recently lost her job due to the sagging economy and her fiancé left her for a younger slimmer woman. She had booked and paid for this scuba diving trip to Bonaire more than a year ago so has come because it’s cheaper to take it than lose it and pay change fees. She has rented an efficiency apartment with an included Honda pickup truck and prepaid a dive package with both escorted boat dives and unlimited shore dives. Since she’s a single she does mostly boat dives. On one of them she spies something shiny wedged in the reef at around one hundred feet and can not resist swimming down to see what it is. The dive master sees her and waves her back up to join the group. She manages to slip the gold object into her buoyancy jacket’s pocket and rejoins the other divers. On board the dive boat she meets Jack and Mona an unmarried couple and they hit it off. Jack’s a wealthy man from Indiana who owned a chain of dry cleaners; Mona is his mistress who he is getting tired of. Mona and Celia become fast friends. Somehow bad men (Manning?) find out that Celia found gold and are after it. She eludes them a few times and arranges to leave the island but an oncoming storm grounds all the flights and she is forced to remain. She has no one to rely on since the bad man is also leading Jack on a merry chase trying to con him out of a big chunk of his wealth.

There you have a taste of me talking to myself on the computer, or the Alphasmart working my way through the story and weaving the new into the old. I'm very excited about it.

--Barbara

Day 1--2,622 words

2011-11-02T10:07:00.003-05:00

I meant to post this last night so that I'd post Day 1's output on Day 1, but after supper I went to Mom's to find all the parts and sew on the American Girl doll cheerleader outfit and lost track of time. It took me over an hour of searching and then struggling to make an unfamiliar sewing machine do what I wanted it to do to realize that I could take the whole kit and kaboodle to my house where there's a sewing machine that I do know how to make do what I want it to. D'oh. Tonight I'm baking bread for my retreat this weekend and can sew or write (if I don't get far at work today) while it's in the oven. Good thinking, Barbara. My brain's still off somewhere trying to process the fact that I'm now an orphan.

November 1--(working title) Underwater Gold. Manning had arrived on the island eight years earlier with fifty bucks in his pocket and a sinking boat under him. The old Tina Marie, he thought with a smile. He had won her in a poker game in Tortola a month before from a guy, whose ownership of the boat was, let us be generous and say... doubtful. The papers the old pirate handed over after the game looked suspiciously well aged and soiled, almost as if someone had scuffed them across the deck after cleaning fish and then drove over them a few times in a gravel lot. But Manning was nothing if not an opportunist so he tipped the old pirate a salute, slung his duffel aboard, siphoned a bit of gas out of the dingy of the dark yacht tied up alongside, and sailed away before the harbor awoke. He spent the next month working his way south along the string of pearls that was the Caribbean. He would stop in at small islands for food because everyone knows that poor people will always feed you and at big islands for fuel because it is easy to get lost in the confusion of a busy marina and score a tank of gas even if you have to work a day for it. Manning tried never to have to work for his gas.

This week I'm doing character sketches and setting worksheets. I decided to follow First Draft in 30 Days to see if that helps me get to a finished manuscript faster or with fewer hiccups. If it'll only help me add conflict, big conflict, I'll be grateful. I'm too wussy with my characters, guess I have to stop thinking of them as me.
--Barbara

NaNoWriMo Starts Today

2011-11-01T09:00:00.003-05:00

Which means my daily nighttime writing will be preempted by needing to hit my 1,667 daily word count to reach the 50,000 word goal by November 30. Be prepared to be enthralled (or at least pretend to be). Yesterday it was so weird to be back at work and kind of a relief too. Not one customer came in, which meant I had all day to rip and re-knit a glove and watch Netflix videos. I am so relieved that Mrs. Boss doesn't mind if I work on crafts or watch videos as long as I get my work done first. Good boss, good job. I felt like I hadn't been there in 6 months instead of 8 or 9 days. Tonight after supper I need to go over to Mom's apartment and see if I can't finish the cheerleader doll outfit she promised to the Brown County Women's Assn. raffle/fundraiser. They're buying it and the estate needs the money so I'd better get a move on. Fortunately it's nearly done and Mom gave me strict orders on how to finish it before she died. I wonder why people hesitate to use the word "die" these days. It isn't any harsher than any other word for when people cease to live. I actually like the finality and lack of equivocation in the word. Mom died; she didn't pass, she didn't go to sleep, and she sure as hell didn't buy a farm. Saying that she's dead doesn't make it any realer or any harder to deal with the fact that my mom is not around to call me every day and annoy me and love me and think that I'm the best daughter on two legs (which I know isn't true because I'm selfish and the world's worst nurse) but I'm still going to miss that. Once I'm convinced that she's really dead, that is. It still hasn't sunk in.

October 31--Salvatore Ferragamo, Platform Sandal. Trudy looked at the shoes the bride, her sister Mai had chosen and her jaw dropped. It wasn't bad enough that Mai had picked the most hideous, loathsome, itchy, frou-frou bridesmaids' dresses in the whole world. No, she had to pick shoes guaranteed to twist ankles on a good day. They were cork and leather accidents waiting to happen. "How...?" Trudy said, "how did you...?" Mai interrupted. "I know." She picked up a shoe and caressed it. "I couldn't believe it either when it saw them. All six colors of the dresses plus gold and white and they're only $137.50 a pair." Mai sighed. "Everyone can afford a bargain like that." Trudy sighed too, thinking of all the extra shifts she'd have to work at Fred's Fine Diner & Lube Shop to pay for shoes she thought would break her legs.

Okay, that's just nuts. It's dreary and gray and it's supposed to rain today. Ugh.
--Barbara