tangerine trees and marmalade skies

My mother had her gallbladder removed today.

She sailed through the operation (go Mom!) and did so well she was discharged this afternoon - and now she's home, being cosseted and pampered by my step-father.

He called me this afternoon to report how she was getting along, and I could hear her in the background, wondering aloud how my family was doing. There was perhaps the slightest suggestion of pie-eyed in her voice.

'Can I talk to her?' Rich snorted and passed the phone over.

'Hi, Momma! Are you really loopy?'

There was a short silence. 'That's Lupe to you', she said, and spoiled it with a giggle.

and somewhere, the Beatles begin to sing

Picture yourself in a boat on a river......


Yup. I got her sense of humour.

letter to me

BlogHer recently started a 'letter to my body' movement. If you'd like to read others, go here.

Dear Body -

Dude, if we could divorce, we'd be splitsville.

You and I have stayed together for the children, haven't we? Mommy can't break and fall down. But there's been a long and sullen silence between us.

Now, for enemies, we are awfully alike. As we would be.
We both love food - the worse for us the better. And I learned the siren song of chocolate from you, you know.
We both enjoy the sun. Well, you do. I squint a lot.
We both want to play with the kids. Hence the 'fitness' regimen.
And we both think sleep is heaven here on earth.

But that's not enough, eh?

Now, when the doctor said 'Jess, you must exercise', I must admit your feelings about the matter never crossed my mind. I just assumed you'd fall in like you always have. But no.

You crippled me.
I walked healthily.You sprung my knees. (Both knees. You are not subtle in your displeasure.)
I joined a gym. You taught me a new word (sciatica!) and made it impossible to work out.
I tried a softer, more modified walking program. You snapped back with exercise-induced asthma. (And that was a low blow, body. We were so friends before that.)
I thought about yoga. You gave me meaningful twinges in all my joints and declared I was too inflexible for this crap, and what was the next big idea?

Maybe it's my fault. Maybe asking you to carry and support two babies was too much. Admittedly, it was a bit much for you each time (you do seem to have a very rigid time limit for how long things will be hunky-dory in there) but I was proud of you.

So what was the final straw? Was it when I used the cheap body wash? The racking bouts of bronchitis that happen each winter? Is this retaliation for the smoking? I quit nine years ago, forgive and forget, hey? Hey?

I would be happy to continue this argument we've been having, body, but for one small person that we've both created. Well, really both small persons. But girls worry more about body-image, or maybe they don't, but I was a girl once upon a time, and I remember....(irritated noise) anyway. It's very hard for me to hate you and still project a good body image to Rosey.

So how are we going to do this? Can we just get along?



Maybe....if I bought the expensive bath wash?

can't talk,must zzzzzzz

Looong day at the workplace today. Many people coming into the OPD. A good day, a productive day, but my feet think they've run a thousand miles and all I want is to curl up, read for a little bit, and sllleeeeeeeeeeeeep.

If I was to send you a telegram it would read:

Working on a good post for tomorrow. STOP.
Have not abandoned you. I swear. STOP.
Mwah! STOP.

Now, if you'll 'scuse me, my bed (with the pretty sheets? And the many, many pillows?) IT BECKONS, PEOPLE.

swimming in a lake of spam

What is up with the spam emails lately?

I have one email account, dating back from when I was in high school. ONE.

And now the spammers have found it.

(reprinted from www.email-marketing-reports.com, with implied permission.)

Either that, or a LOT of deranged bloggers with names like Keanandra and Kevina R. are really screwed up and don't understand my blog content, and think I need to grow my pennes (sic) so I can have a much beautifuller (sic again) life.

Yeah. I may need a more beautifuller life. Maybe. Possibly. Damn it.
But I draw the line at growing a pennes.

potty training for grownups

Okay, nasty title.

I have no idea if this is true or not*, (anyone been to Amsterdam lately?) but what a great idea!

According to the email, this is from the men's room in the Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam.






*According to Netlore, it is!


Gee, and we just used Cheerios for Cass....

saturday with snow and water

The water is holding. We think. It's hard to really know. The neighbors slightly downstream say it's dropped two inches. The neighbors slightly upstream? Say it's either holding or an inch higher.

Me? As long as the sump pump is holding the flow, I'm not stressing. Okay, so much.

Yesterday, Cass went to his Papa's to explore and found...a sled.

A tobaggon.



So nothing would do but today we must go try it out.

Well, some days the snow does not co-operate. Fluffy fresh snow takes too long to pack down to make a good sledding run.

They had an awful good time pulling it around and laughing, though.
And falling down. And laughing. Falling down is funny in snow.





The view across the road...


Yeah. Those trees? Do not usually live the life aquatic.

hee snort hee

I stole these from marymuses


click it! click it again! click it! click it again!

Barack Obama is

Oh go on! click it!

Hillary Clinton is

Okay, they're a little bit slanted. But funny!

click it! click it again! click it! click it again!

public service announcement

An awesome article about the Canadian health care system


Just, you know, for reference. Because there's a lot of misconceptions being fed to Americans people about what it contains. A lot of scare tactics, some blowing dust up skirts.

And you should always know what the other side has going for it.

improbable solace

Bizarre.

I go home at night, turn on the computer, read (cough) too many excellent blogs, then blank out. Stare at the page while the things I thought I'd write about shriek through my head and dissipate like tissue paper in a rainstorm.

(And the white blogger screen? It doesn't give me hints. Damn it.)

I get distracted by everything else. The kids, the mechanics of feeding and bathing them, the news of the day. The inquisitive and insistent wet nose of the dog. (Walk? Pet? Slobber?)

I do better writing after they've shuffled off to Buffalo and the house is quieter.

How strange, then, that today, while I'm working, I want to stare at the whiteness of the screen and then cover it with words.

The department I'm in today is tucked into an alcove between the emergency room and the main lobby - a peaceful oasis between two drama-filled areas. The acoustics are nice, and it's possible to both pay attention to what's going on around me and to center in on myself.

Maybe it's the dog's fault this never happens at home.

confident condiments

It was late, and I needed to start supper. Both kids played hard today.

"Mo-oom." Cass half-whined. "I'm soooo hungry. I could eat a whole dinosaur and a cow and a horse. A whole horse."

He and I have been giggling over 'The Old Lady Who Swallowed The Fly' book lately.

'A whole horse?'

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yup. With mustard."


I turned to go into the kitchen. Not to be outdone, Rosey spoke up from where she was huddled up on the couch.

"Mama? I'm hungry too. I could eat a whole Barbie. And then another Barbie doll." She wrinkled her nose.

"But with ketchup, okay? I don't like mustard."

queen of de nile

The water, she is rising.

Where we live - sandwiched between the river and a giant watershed on an admittedly pretty piece of land - floods in spring and fall. A lot. Often. Whatever.

While it's beautiful - look! The trees! They're surrounded by water! It's hauntingly lovely! And the ducks! Watch them paddle around the meadow! - it's draining (yes, bad pun) to live in a spot where the main concern two seasons of the year is 'How wet is it going to get?'


Last flood (a few years back) we had a young beaver come swimming into the woodshed, carefully select a piece of firewood, and paddle away to construct a (doomed) dam near the stream that feeds the watershed. I'm sure he thought he'd found the water-rat McDonalds.
I'd like that to go, please. With some cookies.

Today Bear went down to check and found the trusty sump-pump in the basement had failed, leaving five inches of water in the basement.

He was blase. (I'll get the big pump out. It'll be fine.)

I....don't do well in these situations.

The Frank Lloyd Wright house, Fallingwater?* Would freak me right the heck out. A house? Built over water? Are you insane?

Now, I love boats. One of my favorite retirement fantasies used to be living on a houseboat somewhere warm. (Although that might be due to too many Robert Parker novels.)

But a house should not have water under it. Nosiree.

Now, this is definitely not as bad as it could get. It's nowhere near the hell we went through a few years back when the entire neighborhood flooded. And B has pumped out the water and now the (properly working) sump pump is doing a fine job of keeping the basement dry.

But I'm still uneasy.

I don't want to be queen of the nile.

Not even the river I'm on.




*Hey, SL? Ever been there? Well, you should. It looks insanely cool. Just not...you know, to sleep in.

tapioca

I have this weird war with colors going on. My mom liked bright colors and always dressed me in them, so I've never worn plain things.

I had a pumpkin orange baby blanket.
Tie-dyed dresses. (Guess which era I just missed growing up in?)
Red velvet boots.

My pictures in high school are rainbow-ish - one year brilliant blue blouse, the next jeweled purple (with three shades off purply-pink silver dangly earrings.) One year in yellow. One year in sage green with an orange oversweater. (I blame the fashion icons of the day. It was hard, like, keeping up with Muffy and Brigid, y'know? .) My senior pictures were taken by my Dad, and even though they were black and white (I had THE COOLEST senior pictures EVAH) I was wearing a kelly green silk top. Always bright.

I have always gravitated towards brighter, more sunshiny shades of the spectrum. Until a year ago, I had never owned anything brown. Sometimes the colors were loud, and sometimes - well, seriously I think about some of those clothes and wince now - they didn't really work, but I had a huge issue with looking like everyone else* and so wore glimmering colors with reckless abandon.

Now that I'm away from that cess-pool mixing pot of culture and life-lessons, I've stuck with the louder end of the rainbow. Maybe turned down a bit, though, since I don't really feel the need to look like a peacock so much anymore. Plus there's the growing older/settled in/Mom bit which (like it or not) does affect the way you look and view yourself... I've made peace with colors.

So. Why, after all this sturm und drang, am I so hesitant to paint my walls pale and soothing? I like them. I really do. But I go to buy the paint and I...freeze up.

Why tapioca? Everyone has tapioca. I want mince pudding. Or pistachio.

It's got to be a hold-over from high school.




*Jesus Gay. My whole rebellion in high school? I thought I was SO DIFFERENT because I wore blue jeans and primary colored shirts while everyone else wore blue jeans and...more muted t-shirts. Although I did wear bright tinkly mad earrings. Mostly silver. Damn. I was SUCH a rebel.

'well, it could', she said

Rosey's mouth is screwed.

Well, okay, not screwed, but bad enough to make me think the dentist is humoring me.

(And our dentist? A very sweet person*.)

R's front tooth - the one next to the gaping hole in her mouth - is slightly discolored. This happened since the accident, and I just figured it was the death knell for the tooth.



Our dentist said there's a possibility that the tooth might have blood inside it (like a bruise) and that would have caused the discoloration. It might get better.

We were all set to be on Fever Watch 2008, since the problem with whapped teeth is that they can abscess, and that can get hugely nasty. (Mental note: must warn pre-school.)

Then they took x-rays.

And we were screwed.

Rosey's tooth has a broken root. A broken root. Oh frabjous joy. Apparently Miss Rosey has inherited both the clumsiness gene (from me) and the sheer cussedness tendency to always have the worst-case scenario happen (from Bear.)

We were sunk in gloom when Bear piped up. Trying to put a good face on things, he said (Oh Pollyanna!) "But it might grow back, right? The nerve could regenerate."

She looked at both of us, then at Rosey, watching us all.

"Well, it could," she said.






*Whose office called me at eight am this morning (I left an unhappy message on the answering machine this weekend) and fitted us in today. Not complaining, so much.

I may never be a real grown-up

Cass hit his full stride heading for the house, spurred on by the thought of hot chocolate.

"Last one there's a rotten egg!'

And what does it say about me that the first thing I thought to say wasn't

Don't run! You'll fall!
or
That's not nice!
or even
Watch out and don't push Rosey!

but

'NOT INCLUDED!'

higitus figitus

I had records.

LPs. Big things with lovely covers that worked with a record player - a machine that had an arm you'd have to place on the grooves of the record carefully (moving slowly so your hand didn't bounce and the blaattt of speaker noise didn't startle everyone) and attempt to put the little head down directly in the right spot so you didn't miss any of the song.

My parents bought me Disney records.
I loved them. I could recite huge stretches, sing the songs, and (much to my parents chagrin, I suppose) did. Mad Madam Mim scared the pants off me. I can remember cowering under the covers, listening to her cackle and the soft shlip! of the record, drifting off to sleep to Wart's victory and eventual crowning as King of England. I imagined Mim as huge, with glowing red eyes and palsied skeletal hands, eager to win and get her way and turn everyone into germs.
She was my boogeyman. But I loved her anyway.

Years later, I saw the film. And was shocked. Mim wasn't scary! She wasn't room-filling and horrible to see! Where was her cane? And her all-seeing wicked eye? Instead, she'd been Disney-fied into someone that looked more like my second grade teacher than a angry cackling witch. Short and plump with purple hair? I was more bothered by Grimace.*

MTV affected me much the same way. The pictures in my head when it came to the music were so much better than the imaginings of other people. And less confusing, too.

I miss records. Or some sort of media that doesn't include a picture. I think the sounds of things mean more than the pictures while you're growing up and your imagination is growing and developing. I've started looking into books on tape for C's MP3 player. I really want him to experience being swept away into a world of his own imaginings, guided by a lone voice, making the characters come alive in his mind. Drawing his own pictures.

Something that I think DVD/VCR/cinema/cable channels don't do.



*You know, Grimace. The purple thing.

the guilt monther ith here

Rosey pell-melled it up the first two stairs and slipped, knocked her face into the step and burst out crying. Blood everywhere.

I was busy with the wet washcloth and the ice cubes and trying to figure out where (all) the blood was coming from, wiping the blood off her teeth, etc. Verdict: small cut in mouth. Everything else: okay.

She wailed for a bit then abruptly fell asleep in the chair, still sucking on her freezie.*

But when she woke up, one of her teeth? G-O-N-E.

I freaked out. There is no prettier way to put it. Faced with a sudden hole in my daughters face, I called both the dentist and the doctor. (Of course, both weren't answering. I had to freak out all by myself.)

Ookay. Obviously backup wasn't an option. Get ahold of yourself.

I checked her mouth. Although she wasn't letting me touch her other teeth, the empty socket (mocking me - what sort of mother lets their daughter lose a tooth and doesn't notice?) was tidy and wasn't bleeding. Her mouth also wasn't bleeding anymore.

So - nothing swollen. Nothing bleeding. Nothing....nothing the doctor was going to be able to do.

Crap. So this was all my decision. It was my call.

So Rosey will go in to the dentist Monday for a check-up and x rays, and if she doesn't open her mouth voluntarily this time? I'm going to have to make her.

Y'know. Because the guilt levels aren't high enough yet.

NOW I have to gloss over the fact that the tooth fairy will be bringing money for a tooth that isn't physically available to her. (Or that anyone would possibly want, once it becomes available...if you catch my meaning.)

'The tooth fairy celebrates ALL teeth, Rosey-Posey. Even the ones she doesn't...have.'


And won't be actively seeking out, believe me.





*Tip I picked up in the OPD - Freezies, while still in their wrappers? Lovely size to put on almost any cut, even inside the mouth. C's school uses frozen yogurt tubes on all bumps and scrapes.

hearts and flowers

Happy Valentines Day, everyone.

Hearts and flowers and love to you all!

paper and clay

And on this happy day, this day of hearts and flowers and love and romance, this news leaves me shaken and saddened and just so, so sorry for that aching family.

Please hold your loved ones close tonight. And be careful out there.

tell me what you're reading

Jenty tagged me.

Here are the instructions:
1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.


I'm reading Matters Of Chance, by Jeannette Haien, a book that's good so far but I'm deeply suspicious that something hinky will happen soon; the young couple adopted twin girls in what can only be called 'weird' circumstances and I'm sure somewhere down the line something major will come of it....

Anyway. Ahem.
Page 123. Gotcha. Fifth sentence. Okay. Next three sentences:

'Before he was fully house-trained. Tessa and I went at it with everything we could think of, but it does still show.'
She came into the room's twilit luminance, entering its evocations.

Prettily written.

How about you? What are you reading?

out and about today

We saw rocks

and trees

town

and country

oh, and I saw lots of this (thith)

and then the sun went down and it was time to go home and have supper.


A couple of these pictures are blurred - I was taking pictures as we drove.

the tag in front isn't pokey

School calendar:

Monday - Backwards Day (wear something backwards!)
Tuesday - Pajama Day
Wednesday - Twins Day (dress like your friends!)
Thursday - Red and White Day
Friday - Cool Shades and Crazy Hat Day (also Canada's Flag Day) (also s*k*a*t*i*n*g)

He's been looking forward to this for a few weeks now. Planning his outfits, talking about how he's looking forward to each and every day, how he can't wait for Valentines.

I was preparing for a major sulk when I went in his room this morning to tell him school had been canceled, (wheeee it's a dreaded snow day agaaaaaainnnnn) mentally thinking over what I had in the house for crafts and games and maybe cookies? but he trumped me again.

"Okay." He said, jumping out of bed to wiggle his tootsies in his rug. "Can I still (thill) wear my clothes the wrong way?"

Oh definitely. Whatever keeps your little gap-toothed grin a-going.

the weekend

Cass came home Friday waving a cardboard cutout of a red apple. On it was printed 'Cass lost a tooth today!' and there, barely visible under a wad of scotch tape, it was. His third tooth, and his first top one.

He looks cute with the gap. And the slight sibilance? Funny.

His left front tooth (the one still hanging in there) has been teasing him for awhile - it got loose, then tightened up again...then again...and now it's just a tad wiggly.

The tooth fairy visited that night, and left him two shiny toonies. (And now the tooth lives in my keepsake box, buried under about six layers of stuff, invisible to the boyish eye.)

That was a happy thing. Add to that he had a really good playdate with M*, and went to a wild, pinata bashing toy-gun boy-tag-team birthday party for a classmate on Saturday, and The Boy? Had a terrific weekend.

On Saturday, the Sears fairies delivered a spankin' brand new mattress and box springs.
If anyone wants me, I'll be in bed. With my new pink sheets. And rosebud pillows. Hell, I may never come out. B looks cute in there, if a trifle uncomfortable. (Sorry, honey. They were pretty.)


In order to get the cushy bed up the narrow stairs, B had to take the banister off. When the delivery men came, they (accidentally) kicked all his carefully laid out spindles, and now we're trying to figure out where in hell all these darned things go so we can put the banister back on.



---------------------------------
This morning there was news that human remains have been found in an overgrown parking lot near the river. While the police will say that the remains are of a young, caucasian female, they will not release her identity until after the autopsy, which is expected Wednesday.

Rumours are flying. That poor, poor family.

---------------------------------

*M's mom helped Cass learn to love skating again. We're big fans.

mmm, pancakes*

I steal good stuff from Canada




You are breakfasty, like a pile of pancakes on a Sunday morning that have just the right amount of syrup, so every bite is sweet perfection and not a soppy mess. You are a glass of orange juice that's cool, refreshing, and not overly pulpy. You are the time of day that's just right for turning the pages of a newspaper, flipping through channels, or clicking around online to get a sense of how the world changed during the night. You don't want to stumble sleepily through life, so you make a real effort to wake your brain up and get it thinking. You feel inspired to accomplish things (whether it's checking something off your to-do list or changing the world), but there's plenty of time for making things happen later in the day. First, pancakes.


*obviously not a reference to the previous post!!

super mom

Miss Rose and B and I went out for breakfast this morning.

It was late, so the lunch crowd was in full-force and it took quite awhile before our food was served. While we were waiting, Rosey had two packets of crackers, a large apple juice, a tea biscuit, and a glass of water.

When her pancake came she wasn't very enthusiastic about diving in. Then she spotted the maple syrup, and everything changed. She puddled syrup over everything in a three foot radius and shoveled it on in.

B and I were discussing refrigerators (we're in the market for one) when there was a chokey noise and then....Rosey threw up.

She's always had a stupendous gag reflex. Too much food, too much to drink with her food, stringy/long things like celery or noodles, chewy stuff like meat - all of these make Rosey erp. The only food we've been able to identify that makes her sick is yogurt, and we're not sure if that's the yogurt itself or aspartame.

I cupped my hands in front of her face and let her throw up in them. I didn't realize I was even doing it until B turned a pearly shade of yellow-green.

When she was through, she and I went to the bathroom to sanitize her face/my hands. She skipped back to the table where B sat, palely sipping his coffee. His plate was gone, as was hers, but my toast and sausage was still there. I dug in. R prattled about coloring as I finished my food, then we paid and left.

Halfway home B looked at me. 'You just...caught that in your hands.'

I nodded. Yep.

There was a silence.

Does that make me Supermom?

He coughed. 'Actually, most people would call that insane.'

What do you think?

'I think you're super insane.'

Well, I did marry him......Thanks, baby. Wanna hold hands? I scrubbed really good....

my life would be better if I cooked more, apparently

My Fortune Cookie told me: You may become more amusing by trimming the edges off your teaspoons. Get a cookie from Miss Fortune

Oh, good lord. I knew that.

a blog was born

I sat down and tentatively worked my way through the start-up area, half-listening for the baby to turn over and start whimpering for her midnight bottle. I'd never been deep in the bowels of Blogger (how's that for an image?) before, and wasn't really paying enough attention, (which is how my address ended up being not daysgoby, but jessalogic.blogspot.com, something I puzzled over for quite awhile before giving up on changing) so I made a few mistakes and had to take it slow.

Once that part was done, I was faced with....a blank page.

Okay. Time to shine. That's why you're doing this, right? Because you like writing, like what you've read so far, and want to add you voice into the mix?

Boy, that page was blank. And big. And starkly white.

Where to begin? Tell your story, Jess. Start with -

What?

-What the name of the blog means.


Okay. I can do that.



Thanks to all of you for being here the past three years.

gardening in my mind

I have the perfect place for a little garden plotted out.
Our house faces south-east, so this little patch would get the lovely morning light and have dappled-shade by the time the hottest part of the day came.

I'd like to put stones around it - larger stones worn smooth and round, so perhaps some from the banks of the river or a nearby lake. I'd like to be picky with the soil, raking and fussing and making it smooth for the seeds and cuttings I'd put in.

And, oh, the things I'd put in!

I have spots for:
sweet basil
chives
mint
peppergrass
lavender - masses of lavender
rosemary
summer savory
parsley

and I have to have a snarl of snapdragons. And a back row of daisies.

And perhaps in just a few places, peeping their friendly faces up, some johnny jump-ups. To remind me of other gardens in faraway places.

I've tried a vegetable garden before, and got nowhere. The deer were oh-so-fat and happy, though. So I think this year I'll try an herb garden, small and sweet, outlined by stones carried from the edges of the rushing water. I can almost see it....


In other news, it snowed today.

little girl lost

I live in a very small town. Everyone knows everyone (or at least one or more of your people) and there's this whole feeling of safety, of community. When I was a new mom, I'd be walking Cass in the stroller and people would call me over to their yards so they could exclaim over how cute he was and tell me stories about what B and his brother and sisters were like when they were young. This area is awash in tradition and timelessness. People look out for each other.

Which makes it really hard when something like this happens.

At around 5 pm on Sunday, January 27th, a twelve-year old girl vanished from the next (larger) town over.

Karissa Paige Boudreau was squabbling with her mother as they drove to Sobey's (grocery store) near the mall and parked. Her mother left her in the car and ran in to get a few things. When she returned, Karissa was gone. The police have been searching for her for ten days now, and say they're coming up empty despite ground and air (helicopter) searches. Divers have been combing the river by the mall yesterday and today and do not think she's in the water.

The police have found no evidence of foul play.

She was wearing a black top, vest, jeans, and pink crocs. And we've had three snowstorms since then.

I know some of you are in Canada - a few of you are even in the Maritimes. But with Maine and the States so close, it makes sense to send this out all over. Please keep an eye out for this beautiful twelve year old girl.




Her family, understandably, just wants her home. Please call your local police department or Sgt. John Collyer at the Bridgewater Police Station at (902)543-2464 if you think you may have seen Karissa.

we are all rock stars

(Woot! Eighties flashback!)

notes on super tuesday

(this will be updated throughout the day) - and turned out hugely snippy, too

* WHY, in the name of all that's holy, is California using paper ballots? Did NO ONE learn from the Florida fiasco? (and, while I'm being snarky - what a coincidink that was - the state where GB's brother is governor had the problem with the mysterious hanging chad votes?)

*I have a new entry for the nuculur drinking game. Watch The View, and every time Elizabeth Hasselbeck goes out of her way to bring up the point that she's not a Democrat, drink!

* CNN, honey. WHY are we watching a man eat candidate head cookies?

* Is it truly possible for ANYONE to win this early? And if not, then why is it called Super Tuesday?

* John McCain and Hilary Clinton both appear to be waxworks of themselves. At least they have that in common.

*One of the commenters on CNN said something clever about Obama and now he's repeating it every.fifteen.minutes. He's all proud of himself that he had something to add to the conversation...I think the other panelists want to pinch him.

*I can't believe I missed all those spoofs of campaign ads!

*I'm beginning to wonder if MSNBC doesn't have cameras in voting booths and a back room filled with teeny tv sets. They're certainly ready to 'project a winner' early!

*Must. Stop. Watching. the Silverman video. 'I'm F*cking Matt Damon' I think I'm going to pee myself if I don't. Plus, now the song...is stuck in my head. And B doesn't think it's as funny as I do, strangely. link
(appropriate for work, I suppose, since they bleep the word. But-funny.)

*So does this mean Mitt Romney and Hucklebee slink away now? Like thieves in the night?

to the rest of us he's unmannered and foolish

He adores her and will happily swoop and wrestle and chase and snort and thunder around as she shrieks after him. I've even caught him with doll hats perched on his head - once with a sweet set of pompoms tucking his ears up. And he seems to be happy with the Doodlebops, too.

But - I think he likes it best when they settle in to the big old recliner and one or both fall asleep.

making my day

"Holy crap! Blackbird gave me an award!"

I greeted B at the door with that other night. He doesn't understand about the blog world, how I've met so many people that make me laugh and think and nod and cry and show me things I've never thought about. I was chattering about someone the other day and he said, puzzled, "Now, is this somebody you can borrow a cup of sugar from, or a maybe-you'll-meet-her-if-she-ever-gets-to-Canada virtual person?" I think B classifies y'all as my 'imaginary weirdo internet friends,' (stole that one from Julia) while I think of you as friends I just haven't actually had coffee with yet.

It wasn't until after supper that I realized that Calvin had given me that award as well.


I am honored and grateful and so glad I make you smile. I have read you both for a long time, and my morning wouldn't be complete without checking in on the two of you with my coffee. Thank you so much!

Now, to pass the goodness on!

The rules say: "give the award to 10 people whose blogs bring you happiness and inspiration and make you feel happy about blogland. Let them know by posting a comment on their blog so they can pass it on. Beware you may get the award several times."

I love Apathy Lounge. I get a thrill every time I see she's posted. Ms. Beaverhausen will either have written something socially relevant or a funny post about her life and family. She has a great writing style - check her out, you won't be disappointed!

Jenny at The Bloggess cracks me up. Every day. If she's not writing about her half-paralyzed shaved cat Bubba (I'm not kidding) she's recounting bizarre conversations she's had with her husband Victor, showing crazy pictures of her toddler at maximum cuteness overload or scheduling another big margarita party for bloggers in Texas.

If I Were Queen Of The World is one of my newest reads, and I've been amazed with not only her political views (nuculur. Everybody drink!) but her wit and style too.

Kitty Cafe is one of those sites where you sigh and stare and get inspired to create.

Lemon Life is a funny, sexy, fashionable place, populated with neat people. Oh, and you've got to see her dog! Sarah distills a busy life into sips of sweetness.

Marymuses is good people. She makes me smile. Look for the Lucy Snowe post.

Pea Soup. Ever look at someone's life and think you want it, even for just a little while? Suse cultivates beauty all around her and makes amazing objects, with help from her fabulous boys.

Posie Gets Cozy is an absorbing read into the world where handcrafted is king. Alicia will show you all her new projects, and (even for the decidedly not-crafty among us) make you want to try....

Stomper Girl tells a good tale. She's a tap-dancer by trade and has good stories of living far away. Her love and pride in her boys shines through every post.

Sweet| Salty is an amazing, heartwrenching, stupendous blog. Kate tells the story of how she and her husband and her two boys are learning to live with the shadow of tragedy behind them - her words sweep me away, give me lumps in my throat and make me see the light in different ways.


There are so many more. I find new ones every day. Please visit these fine folks and see why I think they deserve this award. They do make my day!

daytime tv leaves me cold

Little secret: I don't like Oprah.

I usually don't appreciate her show, generally don't agree with her taste in books and still am not sure that large bunches of people won't wake up after Super Tuesday and wonder if they voted for Obama because they wanted to, or if they got caught up in a Winfrey-frenzy.

That said, I don't think she's evil.

But I don't think she's a genius, either.

Lunch hour today I found an old Woman's World magazine. (You'd be amazed at how old the magazines can be in the X-ray department of a rural hospital) In it was an article about 'plugging into your inner genius' and featured an arresting first line about 'Do you want to be a mastermind like Einstein, da Vinci, or Oprah? Follow these simple strategies below!'

I goggled. I had to be reading that wrong, right?

I wasn't.

Oprah Winfrey has an interesting story. She's a self-created multi-media extravaganza, all wrapped up with a bow. She's done good things for the environment and gotten people to read, etc, etc, etc.

But genius?

barrett's privateers

A few years ago I went on this great graveyard tour with my sister-in-law during the local festival. We were lead through the graveyard of the first settlers here by people in period dress, with stories and re-enactments. At the end of the tour, all the ghosts and players lined up and sang Barrett's Privateers. I'd heard sea shanties before, but not one so local - and when I turned to mention this to M, she was singing along lustily. As was the rest of the crowd. I think they learn it in school here.

This can be sung either slow and dirge-like or fast and sprightly (usually as a drinking and dancing song) - see how excited the audience is to hear it?

And it's like that every time this song is played! I'm a little surprised I wasn't required to learn it before they'd let me over the Nova Scotian border...