top ten things blogging has taught me

This week’s writer’s workshop is full of gems. This is the one I chose (for today):

“1.) List of 10 things blogging has taught you.”

Oh, yes, prompt #1 – I PICK YOU. I’m going to do it backwards, a la David Letterman.

10. There are a lot of important things I need to be doing….right after I finish this blog post. It’s like a conversation with my inner rambler – if I don’t pop in and say hi she gets upset and wonders why I’m ignoring her. Then we have to go through that whole thing about how cleaning the house is NOT more important than she is and how I’ll try to make time for her more often. My inner rambler is a little bit needy. But then she tells me a joke and it’s all better.

9. I can spend copious amounts of time on other people’s blogs. Some people are SO INTERESTING. I click on one person’s site that I found over here at so-and-so’s blog which I got to from this place over here… and then next thing I know it’s been 5 hours. And still I click. I think I need a 12-step.

8. I joke about making grammatical errors and misspellings, but it really is that bad. I’ve not made a single post without having to re-post with corrections. Even though I proofread. Several times. And enlist help from a friend. And use spell check. Even the ones with only photos. There are probably mistakes in this post. Meh. I’ll just correct them in the re-post.

7. People are so funny. I mean seriously funny. I’m glad no one can see me during my blog reading time because I’m sure I look like a lunatic bursting out in hysterical laughter at random intervals. There are so many clever bloggers. I visit them daily like a good little stalker.

6. I love a giveaway. I know that everyone does, but I’ve entered giveaways for things I don’t even want. “Enter now for a chance to win this old cow bell!!!” SIGN ME UP. Like I need more cowbell. Okay so I do need more cowbell. “Free motorcycle ashtrays! Leave a comment!” Apparently, I get my self esteem from other people giving me something for free. Well, that, and the fact I’m completely awesome.

5. I’m not the technical genius I thought I was. There are things in blogger I haven’t managed to figure out. I’ve only been doing this for a couple of months, but I just switched to the new editor, like, two days ago. What was I waiting for? Did I develop 2-month nostalgia for the old editor? It was probably because I was spending all of the time I should be spell checking and improving my own blog on other peoples blogs, laughing it up. Anyway, I’ll refer you to my real-life friend Kat’s comment on this post about comment moderation. It went something like this: “And turn off comment moderation, you dweeb.” So I did. I mean did I turn it ON at some point? I don’t remember that. Maybe it’s automatically set that way? Although I do vaguely remember clicking on everything all willy-nilly when I first set up the blog. I was click happy. It took me several minutes to find where to turn it off. Blogger is a mysterious, complex world.

4. I feel like I’m in high school again. I’m having to go around the blog school yard and meet the people like the new kid. I’m still learning all the best parts of the playground to play in. Luckily, my friends are the cool kids, so everything’s okay. I’m also still working out snack time, nap time and sharing but when I go home at the end of the day, I have lots of stories for mom.

3. I love a photo story about pretty much anything. One of my favorite posts is this one at For Love or Funny about a sad little cheese curl. I thought to myself, that’s something I’d do, except not quite as funny. And this picture by dooce made my day. I love that dog’s eyes. I LOVE A PHOTO or twelve.

2. I love a comment. Comments make me happy. It’s like a little head peeps out of the nebulous blogging world and says, “hi, there.” I like that people read the blog. Then I think, “Oh, no…real people are reading this. Should I feel self conscious? Is the blog good enough??” Then I remember my afore mentioned complete awesomeness and go back to being happy about comments.

And the #1 thing blogging has taught me: I amuse myself. A LOT. Is that completely just wrong? It’s probably helped by all of my neuroses and delusions of awesomeness, but I like writing about silly stuff and wondering where it all came from. I am my own party. I celebrate silliness. I blog about mayonnaise and spider crickets (of death) and candy.

I love my life.

taking stock

I was looking for some noodles or salt or something in the kitchen cabinets the other day and stumbled upon this:

That's two jars of mayonnaise...in addition to the one already opened, mostly full, in the fridge.  We do not eat that much mayo.  Why?  Was I afraid there would be a shortage?  Maybe I dreamed that I was being chased by a monster and all that would appease him was potato salad.  Maybe they had a sale.  Anyway, it's gonna take us ages to get through three jars.   Does it go bad?  I guess this means lots of sandwiches for the Bear in the coming weeks.

Anyway, I started to look around and noticed lots of duplications.  I decided to be a good little blogger and photograph it for you.  You do want to know the contents of my kitchen cupboards, right?  Okay, good.

Next I found this:

I mean, how many bags of flour does one girl need?  Apparently, five.  I know there are only four in the photo, but one was one was half empty and not worthy of a photo.  Trust me, there were five.  Maybe I thought I'd make scones for England.  And part of Ireland.

Then I saw this:

The one in the middle is open, but still full.  Why?  Because apparently having 4 jars of peanut butter in the house is a little confusing.  Well, really 3.5 because the one not pictured is half empty because I had a peanut butter and jam sandwich today.  What?  I like a lot of peanut butter.  And the jar is small.  And the bread is big.  I was hungry.  Stop judging me.

Moving on, we have this:

Three kinds of mustard.  We are a condiment loving household.  There is a set just like this in the fridge, too.  Because if we ran out of mustard THE WORLD WOULD END. 

Despite the fact that there are only two of us, I want to be sure that we can each have 40 tacos apiece at any given time.

Yes.  Well.

We (by that I mean "I") love, love, love extra virgin olive oil.  So much so, that I got it some friends so that it wouldn't be lonely in the cabinet.  Perhaps that's why we have 3 bottles of oil and 4 different kinds of vinegar.  FOUR DIFFERENT KINDS.  That's a lot of vinegar. 

Then, mystery of mysteries, we have these:

I don't even LIKE kidney beans.  At all.  I do make a lot of homemade hummus, though, so there should surely be more chickpeas than that.  Maybe I made them into hummus. And ate them promptly.  With my gigantic peanut butter and jam sandwich. 

And last but not least, my good friend Splenda.  I use a lot of Splenda.  It's part of my plan to keep from becoming a huge blob of a person, because I would otherwise eat sugar until the cows come home and make myself large indeed.  We don't even have cows.  I should invest stock in Splenda.  Or get them to sponsor me.  Alas, none of these people have offered to sponsor me despite me clearing out their stock at the grocery store. 

Anyway, now that I've beared my kitchen's soul to you I'm going to go and have some blueberries because there are 8 containers of them in the fridge.

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an awkward walk in my shoes

Today I did something that I can’t believe I’m sharing with you. I put my tennis shoes on….the wrong feet. Yep. I’m 33 and in full possession of my brain function (theories to the contrary have yet to be fully proven) and I walked several paces IN BOTH SHOES before I looked down and had that millisecond moment. You know the one - when the full weight of the stupid thing you’ve done bears down upon you. I was instantly transported back to being three. The last time this happened it was much more understandable because I was wearing jelly shoes and it was a kind of easy mistake.

Ah. Jelly shoes. I loathed you and still I wore you.




These things are hideous. Yet, I wore them all the same. They looked good with my way too big off the should top over a brightly colored tank, leggings, leg warmers and teased up hair. Ah…memories.

(*I apologise to anyone currently wearing jelly shoes. Or leg warmers. I am so very, very sorry.)

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a walk in the woods

Because my brain is switched off for the day, I'm going to show you some pictures instead. Pictures good. We took a walk last weekend and this is some of the things we saw.

The start of the trail is in there somewhere.



Oh good. A sign. We just need to take the bridleway...



This way looks good. So we'll go the other way.



There was lots of mud. You can't see it, but it was ankle deep.



Ponies!



Here comes one! Can I keep him?



"Hmm. I think I'll just have a little chew on this fence. Mmmm."



Phoenix makes a friend. She's fearless. She sauntered right up to that horse like it was a fluffy kitten. "Yeah, you're a horse. What of it."



This one was friendly. Like a big dog.



More ponies!






A sweet little church.







This was one of the buildings in Aldbury.



The Bridgewater Monument



Tree. I liked him.



On the way home.



More of the English countryside.



A very long walk and a very good day.

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i have weaknesses?

Oh, yes. Apparently, I do. I know I’m surprised, too. I decided to do another of the writing assignments for this week. I’ll put the link to the prompts at the end of the post. This is the next one I chose:

1.) Ask someone who loves you what one of your weaknesses is.

Hmm. Interesting I thought. I have scads of these. I wonder which one I’ll be highlighting for the bloggy world. So I turned to my beloved Bear and said, “I have this writing assignment thing I want to do. I need for you to tell me one of my weaknesses.” Silence. Then…. “You’re very specific.”

Yep. SPECIFIC.

At least he didn’t say, “You’re a screeching harpy.” Or “Your feet smell.” I think I can live with specific.

After another long pause I said, “Okay, then.” Then he went back to his book.

I know exactly what he meant, though. I stood alone in the wilderness of knowing what I like with no way to defend myself. There’s not a lot of gray area with me on most things. I can form an opinion in an instant. That opinion can also change in an instant, but I digress. I take what (little) information I usually have and I decide pretty definitely just what I think.

This works great with shoes. Life choices, not always as much. Luckily, I’ve not gone too far from happy at any given time, yet. I’m content with my life choices. Even the bad ones. Sometimes especially the bad ones. My mother might disagree slightly about my decision to move to another continent, but you can’t please everyone.

The thing is that I can’t help it. Something enters my brain, swirls around and lands in one of the neat little piles of opinions I have categorized by topic, vehemence and relevance. All is then quiet until something else comes up and stirs the air. I’m constantly adding facts and knowledge to my opinions (when I can get my grubby little mits on those things) and the opinions grow and change for me accordingly.

In other words, I might be specific and quick with an opinion, but I’m the first to tell you that I’m often wrong and I seek to challenge myself just as often. I challenge others and learn from the victories and the defeats. I want my opinions to be the best they can be. I’ll also admit that there is room for improvement in many areas of me. LOTS of big, spacious, vast areas complete with their own zip codes.

A few minutes later Bear looked up from his book and said, “Except…that’s one of the things I like about you most.”

Maybe that means it qualifies as both a weakness and a strength. The real question, though, has become…

Does that mean that I have to start this post over?

no one ever asked me

I liked the writing assignment so much last week that I decided to do it again this week! There’s a link at the end of the post for more details.

This is what I’m choosing this week:

5.) Why didn’t they ask you? Write a list of 5 or 10 sentences that begin with the words ‘No one ever asked me’; then, write about one of them in detail, or use them all in a poem, or use several in a personal description of yourself. (writingfix.com)

HOW could I resist THAT? How, I ask you? I’m constantly ending random rants about this and that with, “But they didn’t ask me. They should have.” Never really thought about what would happen if they DID ask me. Because I’ve got NO answers. But it’d still be an honor just to be nominated.

Anyhoo.

No one ever asked me to be the Instructions Police on an aircraft. If they did I’d bust some skulls. I really hate it when people stand in the aisle while others are trying to get past to their seats (others = me) when they have CLEARLY been told over the intercom to move into their seats, and thus out of the friggin’ way. Obey the intercom. What? You need take off your coat? You should have thought of that before boarding the plane. You need to stand in the aisle and chat with your friend Dave three aisles over about how boarding is taking so long? You and Dave can take it outside and discuss it as you watch the flight take off from the ground.

No one ever asked me when I was in the first grade if I wanted milk with my lunch. I didn’t. Hated it. Plus, it was lukewarm. Eeeew. I mean would a little apple juice have broken the bank? Give a kid some juice.

No one ever asked me if mushrooms are an okay substitute for meat. THEY ARE NOT. Why is it that the only vegetarian dishes on some menus contain mushrooms? Why, people…why?? Mushrooms are the enemy. NEMISIS, ubiquitous mushrooms. Grr. How about a nice aubergine (that's eggplant if you don't speak British)? Or an artichoke? Tofu? Anybody got some tofu? They do, however ask me without fail, “Do you eat fish?” More on that fishy subject here.

No one ever asked me why I got a black belt in karate. It was so that I could perform my duties as Aircraft Instructions Policeman. And so my mom would stop putting her fingers in her ears and humming the Flintstones theme song when I mentioned leaving the house after dark. When I was in my 20’s. And living abroad. Without her.

No one ever asked me to sing. Until today when my piano teacher announces unceremoniously that I have to sing for my ABRSM piano exam. PIANO exam. Where I get a piece of paper that says I can play some stuff on the PIANO. Nobody said anything about singing. I was like, “Um. What, now?” Sure enough, there I was, la la la-ing to the beat. True story. Apparently they expect you to know some stuff about identifying a rhythm and not being totally tone deaf.

No one ever asked me to take an anger management class or seek professional psychiatric help. But the requests will probably flood in after this post.

No one ever asked me why I left a job I really liked and moved somewhere I can’t work. (Yet.) Oh, wait. Yes they did. Like my boss when I gave him my letter of getting-the-heck-outta-here. In a loud and surprised voice. And all of the people I worked with. And all of my friends. And family. And passport control. And that lady at the post office who thinks I should do something about my accent. I miss the paychecks but money isn’t everything. Happiness is everywhere. Right now, happiness is posting stuff like this on a blog for the 11 people who read it. And in the 4,676 other hobbies I’ve taken up in my “extended vacation” time.

No one ever asked me to write long posts in my blog, either, but I seem to do it anyway.

Free of charge.

more yummy candy

Yesterday I decided to make peppermint patties from scratch. Yum. I found a recipe and was so excited.

Except...I couldn't find a single ingredient on the list other than dark chocolate. So I did what I always do and I improvised. I'm pretty sure "recipe" means "this is just a suggestion, please change at will" in Sanskrit or Esperanto or something.

Anyway, I mixed creamed coconut, peppermint flavoring and splenda to make the middle. Lots and lots of splenda. Then I formed them into shapes - well some sort of abstract representation of the shape they should be - and popped them into the freezer for a few minutes. Then I dipped them in chocolate.

I dip a lot of food in chocolate. It makes you love me more, doesn't it? I thought so.

Anyway, I got this:




Again, not perfect, but yummy all the same.

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odds and ends five

It’s been, oh gosh…MINUTES since I was random and DAYS since I’ve forced it on all of you, so the time has come. Welcome back to the state of my brain.

I love how when you post a comment to some people’s blogs it asks you to “Choose an identity.” I LOVE THAT. I’d like princess of a small yet wealthy island nation, please. Or president of the world. Although, if I were president of the world some things would have to come to an end. There would be a lot more legislation around the treatment of animals and a lot more crimes punishable by immediate death. And a whole lot less littering. BECAUSE NOTHING IRKS ME MORE THAN LITTERING. Apart from maybe cruelty to animals. And the price of health care. And possibly people killing each other. But littering is right up there. If I catch someone littering, I’ll confront them. “Excuse me – pick that up. Right now. Didn’t your mother teach you better? Do you want the world to be armpit deep in snickers wrappers and Starbucks cups? YOU ARE SINGLE-HANDEDLY DESTROYING THE EARTH.” It’s usually pretty effective because it’s easier just to pick up the trash and run than confront a crazy woman waving her arms about and yelling incoherently. I do my part. You know how it is.

In other news, my anger management classes are going well.

A week or two ago, the music oracle (aka my piano teacher who knows all) asked me which songs I wanted to play that day. I said song #1 was okay but I did NOT want to play song #2 because it represented all that I hate in the world. He said that he thought I liked song #2 last week. Well, I had changed my mind. Last week I loved it, a lot. This week it’s the target of all of my fury and hatred. “Okay, then. We’ll look at that one next week. Or NEVER.” I’ve been saying that ever since. “Maybe I’ll do this laundry next week. Or NEVER.” On a mildly related note, I found out that he’s the Grand Master of something. They actually have titles like that here. If you didn’t love the UK before, how can you not now? Of course this means another thing added to my bucket list: #37. Become the Grand Master of something.

There is lots of noise from neighbors’ house so I looked the window to see if I could see anything I could call the police about. Sure enough, as soon as I did a window fell out onto the ground. Frame and all. “Oh. They’re getting new windows.” At least that’s what I’m going to assume until oh, say, a major appliance or a body part also flies out the window. I’d go check on them if I saw misplaced body parts. The house falling apart seems hardly worth the effort. I’ve been desensitized by society like that.

I’ve decided that Terri at Continental International reservations is one of my new favorite people. She was so super nice that at the end of the call I wanted to say, “Terri, will you be my friend?” I didn’t because then I’d sound all nerdy and I didn’t want to give that impression to my new friend cool Terri. Anyway, I had about three things I wanted and she immediately accommodated me on all of them. Like I was the president of the world or princess of a small island nation rich with resources. She even helped with a few things I hadn’t thought of and that’s impressive because I sit for several minutes before I call Continental just to make sure I bring up every single thing I can think of so that I don’t have to call back. I finally told Terri that I didn’t need anything else and that parting is such sweet sorrow and I’d see her on the flip side.

When I checked my email a while after talking to Terri, I got confirmation of all of the wonderful things Terri did, along with my flight details to Peru, which I've been highly anticipating since it's been ages since I've traveled somewhere international. AGES. Like three whole months. Apparently I have an addiction to travel. Immediately underneath that email was the Merriam-Webster word of the day email. That day’s word: Wanderlust. How appropriate.

I made cookie brownies this week. They were delicious. However, I think I may have discovered that I’m the only person on Earth who prefers the middle brownies to the outside ones. I like the soft, squishy, chewy inside brownies best. The edges are just not as good. Everyone else seems to fight over the ones around the outside of the pan and I’m alone with the landlocked ones. Not that I’m complaining about the plentitude of yumminess, but I feel a little lonely.

Well, on that note I’m going to stop writing because the dog and cat are playing between me and my keyboard, making concentration on all of this enthralling literature difficult.

And I need a brownie.

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echoing my feelings

This is my dad's dog, Echo. And a precise representation of how I'm feeling today.




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what i value most about people

I love people. People are fascinating creatures. I could watch them all day long and into the night. I love talking to them and interacting with them and reading about them. People tickle my fancy.

Although I like some more than others. A LOT more.

I started wondering recently what it is that attracts me to some people more than others and I made….wait for it….a list. I’m that bad. I make lists of every single thing. This is no exception. So I thought I’d share. I’m under no delusions that you care in the slightest, you understand, but share with you I must.

Commence sharing.

BEHOLD. I list of things I value in people:

1. INTELLECT. Far and away in the lead of what appeals to me in a person is intellect. To me it is: Attractive. Important. Mesmerizing. The smarter you are, the better. This can make or break a relationship for me sometimes. I suppose part of the reason is because of all of the things on this list, this is where I feel the most deficient. Not that I’m a big dummy. No. But I can only aspire to the lofty heights of the intellectual prowess I find in some of the people I love and admire most. I’m not stingy about the type, either. Read books…check. Artist? Yep. Computer nerd – SOLD. You have my attention. Been in school for most of your life? The more letters behind your name, the more likely you are to be among my favorites. I love natural thinkers, too. You know those people who just seem like they were born thinkers? The ones who question everything and find answers? I love those people. I guess I hope that the more of them I surround myself with the more likely it is it will rub off on me. I know there are umpteen million ways to define intellect and I’d love to open a debate with you about it, but let’s just settle it for now to say that whatever springs to mind when I say “smart people” is probably what I mean. Am I intimidated by intellect? Yes. But I love, love, love it all the same. So if you have the intellect, next comes….

2. HUMOR/WIT. I think these two go hand-in-hand, so I’m grouping them together as a single number two on the list. You can be funny and not witty. I just prefer them together. Like milk and tea. You can be witty and not funny, but I can only take so much of that at a time. Put the two together – magic! I love to laugh more than a sane person should (so just the right amount for me) and mixing humor and wit really does it for me. What good is intellect if you can’t make it work for you? A good sense of humor is always, always an admirable quality. I’m sure most people agree. If you have intellect, wit and humor, why not throw in some….

3. PASSION. For anything. For everything. What do you LOVE like you love yourself? What lights your fire and burns down the forest? What makes you get excited about being alive?? What do you know everything about because you just can’t tear away from it? What is your driving force? The more answers that flood into your head reading those questions, the more I love you. Already. After all of that comes….

4. COMPASSION. I love people who want to help. I’m a big softy for animals and I feel a kinship with anyone who feels the same. Do you love other people? Even if you’re just a nice person, that goes a long way in my book. People who can really put themselves in the shoes of others and offer a part of themselves light up a dark space in my life. Gentleness is good. Sincerity is wonderful.


5. HAPPINESS. Should I even have to say that I can’t stand it when someone is constantly sad/depressed/victimized/angry/despondent? No one wants to be around Debbie Downer. I love that happy, jolly person who brightens my day. Or my life. We all have our moments for being everything not happy. But try to do it with a little bit of humor sometimes, would ya? I complain all of the time. Recounting it to my friends and having them laugh is the best cure for being angry in the first place. If you’re sad and need me, I’m there for you. But smile now and then. Crack a joke. Have a little fun.


Are there any quantum physicists who know plenty of good jokes, are involved in some hobby they love, hug trees and feel giddy at the start of the day who need a new friend? If so, pass me an application.

To find people who meet all of these criteria is awesomeness squared with a hat on. I count myself lucky to be friends with so many people who do. In fact, I probably have more than my fair share of really smart, funny, passionate friends so don’t tell the friend police I’m hoarding the best ones.

Because they’re mine.

And I’m keeping them.

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i miss the sea

Sorry to be all literary on you two days in (almost) a row, but I finished Moby Dick a few days ago and I’m taking this opportunity to bore you about it. Again. I’m not sure if I’m going to ruin it for you with this post, so you’ve been officially warned. However, if you don’t know what happens in the end by now anyway, I’m pretty sure you’re not reading my blog because last time I checked you can’t get internet access in caves.

Oh and I’ll be talking briefly about The Old Man and the Sea. If you don’t mind me ruining two books for you then press on.

Just as a sidebar: I was talking to my mom about Moby Dick and telling her not to read it because her delicate sensibilities might not survive that one chapter (at which I cried like a child) about hunting that poor, sweet, slow whale. And the fact that she’d be like, “It took him 43 pages to say that Ahab just let the crew hunt whales to keep them happy about making money while he used them to do his bidding?” She agreed not to venture forth into Melville’s reality. She also said, “Oh, yeah, I know what happens anyway. The whale dies.” No. No, he doesn’t, mother. You’re thinking of The Old Man and the Sea. Except that’s a fish. “Well, Melville sure liked to write about fish.” No, that was Hemingway. “Oh. Same thing.” You’d think I’m doing her a disservice by telling her NOT to read it but in that same conversation she told me that she’s reading The Scarlet Letter and Hawthorne “goes on a bit, doesn’t he?” If at first you think Hawthorne is wordy, Melville’s not for you. She did know that the whale lives in The Scarlet Letter, though, which is good. She was, however, intrigued by the letters between the two men in the back of my copy of Moby Dick and I’m sending them to her tomorrow. Seems I got the nosy-about-dead-people’s-lives gene from her. And by the way, my mother is no dummy she’s just more of an artist than a literary critic. (Maybe I’ll share some of her paintings someday.) End sidebar.

We now return to the regular scheduled book review.

Needless to say, I loved it. It’s now my favorite book. If you know me at all you know how fickle I am about favorites so it might be short-lived, but as of now it’s sporting the top spot. I laughed and cried. A lot. I miss the characters. I miss the sea.

I miss wanting coffee every time the first mate appears. I miss the crazy rantings of Ahab that I sometimes had to go back and analyze like I was in 11th grade English class just so I’d know what the heck he was on about. I miss feeling smart when I finally realized what the heck he was on about. I miss wondering if it’s wrong that I identify with him more often than I feel comfortable with. I miss the scenes where they are chasing whales and the boat captains are yelling crazy motivational stuff at the crews. That might have been my favorite part. I miss Melville’s clever way of making a point and his witty phrasing. I miss saying to myself, “I love that. I’m going to use that in conversation tomorrow.” And then realizing people would stare at me like I have three heads if I did. I miss learning in great detail about the classification and anatomy of whales. I feel as though I’m well on my way to becoming a master cetologist. Won’t that look interesting on the old resume?

Most of all I miss Moby Dick because he’s a survivor.

I’m sad to see them all go. I’m also sad that the sequel is at the bottom of the sea with all of the crew, less one. I’m sad because it’ll probably be a while before I read more Melville because my brain is full and tired and I owe him my best attention. But I will go back to him.

Just like I always go back to Chopin after a little fun with Prokofiev.

Until then, I think my time in the whaling boat was well spent.

daily routine: a poem

I thought I’d try this - it's a writing assignment (see link at end of post for more info on the writing assignment). I mostly only write for therapy. It makes me feel better. Normally, the darker I can get it, the more angst oozing forth – the better I feel when I’m done. I look at the finished product and say, “Wow. That person has issues. Glad that’s not me.” Then I move on as though nothing ever happened.

Sometimes I write happy, but sad miserable life-is-ending is so much easier. Happy is difficult. Funny is nearly impossible. Still, I made a stab at it. I think I might have nicked it’s arm. It’s bleeding, but only a little bit. It’ll live, but I still win.

Anyway, shut up and on with it. Here’s the assignment I chose:

3.) Could a routine become interesting through words? Write about a person (perhaps you) caught up in a daily routine. Establish a rhythm with the story’s words that impersonates the rhythm of the routine.
(writingfix.com)

Here’s what I wrote. It’s about me and it’s mostly true. Okay it’s all true.

daily routine

the day opens up and pulls me in
to the swirling vortex where life begins
contact with legs is realigned
to consciousness I’m again resigned

dog is awake and rescued me
from the horrible fate of serenity
begin the search for sweater and socks
wonder why my eyes feel like rocks

brush my teeth go back to bed
if only a dream inside my head
actually I go down the stairs
and drift off a bit while the kettle prepares

sip my tea and jolt my brain
gather my things and get on a train
there’s really no train but I like to pretend
‘cause I like a train. trains are my friend

since there’s no train I just do a few chores
hang that just there and put this in a drawer
with the house no longer needing hazmat
I can sit and blog about this and that

the dog has that look so we go for a stroll
grab a bag and a 10-foot pole
dog on a string drags me around
really embarrassed, she weighs just 6 pounds

back and exhausted, collapse in a heap
laundry confronts me, at least 4 feet deep
start the first wash then go back for a jog
no rest for the weary but don’t take the dog

this time I’m flying, sprinting and free
confronted at once by angry knee
“where are you taking me, I just won’t go”
and I headlong to the concrete doth go

call it a day in the exercise realm
not too much point with knee at the helm
hobble back home in a blinding pain fog
realize again I must walk the dog

put dog in the yard and have some more tea
wonder what my next task will be
laundry is finished, must hang that up
drop a white sock into tea cup

curse the sock and the knee and the dog
think “this would make a kinda good blog”
jot down my woes, take laundry outside
come back in, eat the cake I’ve just spied

feel guilty for cake and think that I should
yoga it off, plus it’d do me good
yoga nigh kills me, so start a new book
here comes the dog, here comes that look

this time she’s hungry so I feed her some bread
feel guilty again, go for dog food instead
after filling her bowl, bump head on the door
wonder what happened as I rise from the floor

muscles and knee and the bump on the head
seem a sign I should just go back to bed
before I go I’ll just piano some tunes
practice makes perfect in many moons

mozart all channeled and quiet again
should make shopping list, can’t find a pen
fumble and fumble and spot missing key
jump and rejoice, remember hurt knee

need to cook dinner so find suitable pot
make yummy something, all nice and hot
burn finger on stove, whimper and groan
pout like a child, but should really have known

wrap burned appendage, eat dinner now cold
hope people laugh when this story is told
with current state not sure if I’ll last
dear calgon I need you and I need you fast

crawl up the steps and bid all good night
flip up switch to turn on the light
light bulb blows with a hiss and a snap
fall onto the bed, dog in my lap

kneecap is burning, mind filled with dread
might have a concussion from the bump on my head
burned finger throbbing, muscles all ache
the cake I had earlier, a certain mistake

will to live slipping away
decide to depart from this typical day
slide under the cover and let out a sigh
sleep rushing upon me out of the sky

I tumble and turn into unconscious bliss
vaguely recall I never finished my list
care slowly dying, day comes to a close
“I’ll finish tomorrow” I blankly suppose

the night opens up and swallows me whole
I drift and descend and quietly roll
and wait and renew to do it again
till the day opens up and pulls me in


3-16-2010 paige

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sayuri’s sadness

I just read Memoirs of a Geisha for the first time this week. Yes, I know I’m the very last person on Earth and I’m about 13 years late. I just got around to it, with the exciting jet set life I lead. It was a very easy read and took me less than a week (which is super fast for me since I read like molasses). Anyway, I have mixed feelings.

When I read I get myself very involved with the characters and their world, as I’m sure many people do. It’s like I’m another invisible character right there in the action. The story changes my perspective on reality a little bit while I’m reading it. A book is a portal to another world for me, just as it is with most people.

Perhaps that’s why I still like the modern way of writing that involves mostly plot. I have that American-born-in-this-age need to identify with the characters of a story and then have it end happily. I allow myself to get pulled in because I know there will be reward at the end – a nice big, fat, juicy, make-it-all-better ending. Ahhh. Life all makes sense because the main characters find one another and live happily ever after.

Except sometimes I love a book where the plot is just this thing going on while you learn about the people. It’s a little bit more freeing because it’s less like being caught onstage during a play and feeling rushed around by the action and more like going to a tea party with strangers and gradually getting to know them through conversation without anything actually happening. You leave the dinner party and you have some new friends. The end.

Speaking of which: I finally finished Moby Dick. I’ll spare you that until later.

Anyway, back to Memoirs. I liked that the plot moved along and I enjoyed the story. I got involved with the characters to a degree and it was all balanced with the right things happening in the right places. But there was just something about it.

If you haven’t read it and plan to, you might want to stop here so that I don’t spoil it for you.

I wanted to feel good about the ending, but I just couldn’t. I felt like I was in a melancholy mood the entire time I read it and it never changed right to the end. I know she ends up with the guy she wanted but I suppose that in the end I couldn’t overcome the circumstances. I just felt sad. Then she moved away. More sad. I suppose I expected a happy ending. Like….a HAPPY one. Wasn’t going to happen. Should have seen it coming.

I wouldn’t say I was disappointed, but I felt better at the end of Moby Dick. I really did. Although, I didn’t expect a happy ending there. I guess that goes to show you what expectations can do.

I sort of want to read the real memoirs of the woman this was supposedly loosely based on but I just don’t think I can bring myself. I feel as though I owe it to myself to get a more rounded perspective on the whole thing, but I just want to shake off this feeling and move on to something where things explode and the bad guys die. Oh, and it’s a perfect Hollywood ending where the boy and girl kiss in the sunset.

I can’t believe I just admitted that.

That’s all I have to say about that.

Now I have to go and read the letters that Melville wrote to Hawthorne that are printed in the back of the copy I have of Moby Dick. I’m nosey about dead people’s lives like that.

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candy day

This weekend I made these. By hand. They aren't perfect, but they ARE delicious. They are red velvet cake, fairy cake, peanut butter balls, brazil nuts and pretzels dipped in white, dark and milk chocolate. YUM.



I recycled the box from Valentine's Day, though.

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my morning in photos

Today, we wanted to take this:



For a walk here:



For a bit we were lost because we couldn’t find one of these:



And we started panicking. We sort of made a mountain out of one of these:



But we eventually got on track. Then we saw a lion! But it was only this one:



Then we found ourselves standing in one of these:



With a bunch of these:



Pretty soon, we had climbed up this:



And were headed up this:



When we got to the top we found this:



And could see all of this:







And then we came home and did a lot of this:




The end.

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coffee in my veins

My parents drink 4 pots of coffee a day between them every day, without fail. I know that I'm known to tell a tall tale for the sake of effect but this time the numbers don't lie. And I mean four 12-cup pots. That's two pots each for those of you struggling to carry the one. I'm almost in awe of them for just finding the time to drink 24 cups of coffee. And yes, they are very alert most of the time.

I'm mostly a tea drinker and in the same committed way (both the "committed to" and "needs to be committed" meanings apply here). If tea were suddenly mercilessly expensive I'd be suddenly mercilessly poor. It's part of my life and I'm not willing to give it up. If "experts" came out with one of those fickle studies - you know the ones: Eggs are bad! Eggs are good! Eggs cause all of the worlds ills! Eggs are the miracle cure!- about tea, it would matter to me about, oh say...zero. "Tea is evil! It causes skin rash, shortness of breath, fatigue, canker sores, lung collapse, head explosions, spontaneous combustion and death!!" I'd still drink it. I'm stubborn that way. I'd just get some skin cream, a pillow and a fire extinguisher and hope for the best.

Back to my parents and their unhealthy consumption of stimulants.

I love my parents. They are wonderful, sweet and they move around very quickly. They are cute as buttons, if not a little bit quirky. I’m glad I’m their kid, and their kid I definitely am. So, I do like coffee as well, even if not as much as my beloved tea. Sometimes I just need coffee. Sometimes it hits me like a bolt of lightning. MUST HAVE COFFEE NOW. I blame that on the genes my parents lovingly passed to me, all laced with caffeine. Sometimes it’s a slow burn. Hmmm…a nice cup of coffee would really hit the spot right now.

Sometimes I just can’t wait for the coffee to brew, so I just do this:






Yes, that’s a can of coffee beans. Yes, I was eating them right out of the can. No, I do not have a problem. For one thing, they’re decaf. For another thing, we don’t have a coffee grinder. That’s okay, though, since we also don’t have a coffee maker. I know – the cruelty of it all. Be sad for us because we have to drink instant coffee at home. Because we all know that instant coffee is brewed coffee’s ugly sister. So why did you buy coffee beans with no grinder or coffee maker, you say? I’m going to dip them in chocolate, of course. I dip a lot of things in chocolate. Another thing I got from my the parental unit gene pool. My mom loves to dip stuff into chocolate, caramel, butterscotch, almond bark….etc. Since I can’t dip ALL of them in chocolate because that would just be excessive, I’m eating the rest as is.

While I play the piano.

And drink water.

And send texts.

And study music theory.

And take photos.

You want to do it, too, now don’t you? Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Mostly because I don’t have cameras set up in your house so that I could catch you in the act. Yet.

Mildly related sidebar: I had this friend in high school who used to eat ground coffee out of the can with a spoon. I made fun of her. Oh, yes, yes I did. I probably should not have done that.

That’s a phrase I’m familiar with.

Anyway, I’ve written way more about this than I intended and I need to go and clean my house so my life has meaning.

And call my parents to tell them I love them.

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