Three-fourths of the major players are gone from work today - not illness, but scheduled things (which means no one is calling looking for them) and the phone is quiet and the day is subtly gray and drippy and we're all stifling yawns. Hitting the coffee hard and hoping for four-thirty to come, quick and painless.
(bugger, bugger, bugger) After assuring the man at the copier repair shop that YES, I turned the damned thing off and turned it back on, the copier guy came and...I don't know....rubbed his thumb and fingers together and look! Now the copier is working!
It's more aggravating than trying to explain 'that noise' to the car mechanic.
(Anyone else besides me astounded that the technology has come so far - I mean, the copier machines now can fax and scan and upload and download from flash drives and print on both sides and staple, for cripes sakes, a far cry from the ones in the past, where collating wasn't even an option - and the first advice from the repair shop is still unplug it and plug it back in?!?!?!)
I'm getting a haircut after work, and am stupidly excited about this. I have so much hair I'm lost in it, (a cold-weather trick of mine, grow out the mop) and need a shearing. Also some highlights.
Okay, the copier fella (he's a nice guy, really) is still in there, futzing. So he can't have sprinkled pixie-dust in all the right places. Actually, he's conferred with a colleague, so maybe I didn't make a bad call after all????
Ooh, and the sun is coming out. My haircut awaits (well, okay, in a few hours.) But the day is getting better.
Wednesday, 28 April 2010
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
plotting
The kids rooms need to be updated.
Cass still has the paint job that he had as an infant - his nursery was very gender-neutral, so it's a mixture of yellow and white and blue, with kites flying overhead and puffy white clouds painted on a blue ceiling.
He still loves the sky-ceiling. But all the rest we could change, and he'd subside without a protest. We're thinking a loft or bunk bed, many, many shelves to hold toys, and a good tall bookcase for his books. I'd also like to put in some matting (something that could be shaken out if necessary) - perhaps some sea-grass stuff?
The trouble is that I want to do something pulled together, at least vaguely, and not too-little-boyish, and yet don't want to do a room in camo or anything. (He'd love that. I would weep every time I went in.)
Rosey's room is green (a very gorgeous green the colour of rose leaves on a cloudy morning) and ivory. She loves purple and pink. Flashy, splashy purple-and-pink.
Sigh.
I want to do rooms they can live in for a few years without them being too baby-ish. Or too pink.
I've been watching Sarah's House, and eying decorating blogs, and I've got some ideas, but holy....this scares the heck right out of me. (I'm the one who doesn't choose paint colours well, remember?)
Mostly, storage. STORAGE STORAGE STORAGE. But well-thought of storage, not just masses of containers to dump things in.
So I started today. I ordered both the kids shades for their rooms. True, neither is a fabulous colour (one is gray and the other gray-purplish, but it's a start.
And I want a chandelier for R's room. B'cause they're pretty.
Cass still has the paint job that he had as an infant - his nursery was very gender-neutral, so it's a mixture of yellow and white and blue, with kites flying overhead and puffy white clouds painted on a blue ceiling.
He still loves the sky-ceiling. But all the rest we could change, and he'd subside without a protest. We're thinking a loft or bunk bed, many, many shelves to hold toys, and a good tall bookcase for his books. I'd also like to put in some matting (something that could be shaken out if necessary) - perhaps some sea-grass stuff?
The trouble is that I want to do something pulled together, at least vaguely, and not too-little-boyish, and yet don't want to do a room in camo or anything. (He'd love that. I would weep every time I went in.)
Rosey's room is green (a very gorgeous green the colour of rose leaves on a cloudy morning) and ivory. She loves purple and pink. Flashy, splashy purple-and-pink.
Sigh.
I want to do rooms they can live in for a few years without them being too baby-ish. Or too pink.
I've been watching Sarah's House, and eying decorating blogs, and I've got some ideas, but holy....this scares the heck right out of me. (I'm the one who doesn't choose paint colours well, remember?)
Mostly, storage. STORAGE STORAGE STORAGE. But well-thought of storage, not just masses of containers to dump things in.
So I started today. I ordered both the kids shades for their rooms. True, neither is a fabulous colour (one is gray and the other gray-purplish, but it's a start.
And I want a chandelier for R's room. B'cause they're pretty.
Saturday, 24 April 2010
week end
It's a gorgeous day here, and I think I'm going to take my daughter and my camera and go look for things to take pictures of. I may or may not get to working in the garden.
It's a lazy, wonderful day.
Back with pictures later. Are you having a great day?
It's a lazy, wonderful day.
Back with pictures later. Are you having a great day?
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
in the sweet by and by
My mother's memorial service was last weekend, and while I wasn't able to be there, I spent quite a bit of the weekend remembering, hauling out old photos and cards and trinkets, thinking.
It sounds sad, doesn't it? But it really wasn't.
photo credit Edw.J. Van Dyne, 1971
It sounds sad, doesn't it? But it really wasn't.
Above all, I was loved.
Above all, I am still loved. Your love goes with me. Always.
Miss you, Mamacita.
photo credit Edw.J. Van Dyne, 1971
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
the house in troy
When I was very small, going back to where my father grew up was a wonderland.
It was a big old house, not country-style at all, but trimmed out with colorful fabrics and thick rugs and souvenirs from my Granddad's travels (my brother and I learned early on not to be startled by prayer masks from Swahili or Peruvian wood figures leering down from the living room walls) and full of corners to find a sunbeam in and read. Or relax. Or hide from a younger brother. It was large enough that the usual stirring of the household noises wouldn't wake you, and set far enough back from the road that traffic sounds never got loud enough to become a background noise.
It was framed by fields of apple trees (the family business) and a river. It was a perfect place for tearing around, creating scenarios and intricate games, and discovering new things every time. A new animal-in-residence, for instance, or a half-remembered place to throw sticks in the water and smell the sweet mud and the new grass growing. There were lilacs in the backyard and everywhere the soft droning of bees, happily doing their jobs on the apple blossoms.
It's amazing, but I can run all through that house in my mind - the layout of it has never left me.
A friend sent me some pictures of my graduation party from high school - several of them are outside the house I lived in for twelve?more than that? years, and I remember my grandparent's house, a house I probably visited no more than twenty times, a house not in the family now but still lovely and standing in a field of apple trees in Pennsylvania - better than that one.
Such is memory.
It was a big old house, not country-style at all, but trimmed out with colorful fabrics and thick rugs and souvenirs from my Granddad's travels (my brother and I learned early on not to be startled by prayer masks from Swahili or Peruvian wood figures leering down from the living room walls) and full of corners to find a sunbeam in and read. Or relax. Or hide from a younger brother. It was large enough that the usual stirring of the household noises wouldn't wake you, and set far enough back from the road that traffic sounds never got loud enough to become a background noise.
It was framed by fields of apple trees (the family business) and a river. It was a perfect place for tearing around, creating scenarios and intricate games, and discovering new things every time. A new animal-in-residence, for instance, or a half-remembered place to throw sticks in the water and smell the sweet mud and the new grass growing. There were lilacs in the backyard and everywhere the soft droning of bees, happily doing their jobs on the apple blossoms.
It's amazing, but I can run all through that house in my mind - the layout of it has never left me.
A friend sent me some pictures of my graduation party from high school - several of them are outside the house I lived in for twelve?more than that? years, and I remember my grandparent's house, a house I probably visited no more than twenty times, a house not in the family now but still lovely and standing in a field of apple trees in Pennsylvania - better than that one.
Such is memory.
Monday, 12 April 2010
needing an overhaul
Well, this Spring, so far, blows.
I have just received confirmation that there is no way all my paperwork will come back in time, so I won't be going to my mothers' memorial service - something that I think I'm okay with, but I hate the thought of disappointing my father and my step-father and my grandparents (who are being gracious and lovely through all of this. Actually everyone's been really supportive and kind and understanding - anger at how this turned out has apparently made me think they'll turn on me like raging dogs, or something. Which isn't their personalities at all.)
My friend M is the same. Which isn't all bad - at least she's not dying, right - but isn't great, either. I keep remembering chunks of our history together - she and I lived together for four years, and I have old and doddering cats that were our pets then - Chumba, in fact, my steadfast purring machine, my cat-hat, my giver of kitty-zen, was her kitten - and she hasn't gone through that time yet in her head. It's bewildering and sad and bittersweet, all at once.
My job continues to go well, with my only complaint being that they're under-utilizing the support staff. (me) But I'm hopeful that I can corner some big projects soon.
My children didn't go to the music festival today - Cass came in to our bedroom in a high state of anxiety because he couldn't remember the words and thought he was going to throw up, and after he blubbered a bit B (soft-hearted B) let him out of it (which of course meant there was no way R was getting up there either. Five, for her, is all about what's good for the gander is good for the goose.) Not that I'm the hard-hearted parent, exactly, but I wouldn't have given in.
And I'm tiring of this set-up for my blog. Maybe a move? Do I want to jump into more serious blogging territory? Will have to think about that....but definitely at least a face-lift for daysgoby.
My brother had a good friend that used to come out to supper with us quite a bit - and it used to kill my mother that we could go to any restaurant (Mexican, Chinese, Guatemalan, Italian, whatever) and he would order a hamburger and fries.
And now my daughter is taking on that role.
Yesterday she suggested that we all go out to eat at the Chinese restaurant here in town. SHE suggested it. I was thrilled at the idea of more hot-and-sour soup, so off we went - where she promptly ordered fried fish and chips. At least she ate some of my soup.
I have just received confirmation that there is no way all my paperwork will come back in time, so I won't be going to my mothers' memorial service - something that I think I'm okay with, but I hate the thought of disappointing my father and my step-father and my grandparents (who are being gracious and lovely through all of this. Actually everyone's been really supportive and kind and understanding - anger at how this turned out has apparently made me think they'll turn on me like raging dogs, or something. Which isn't their personalities at all.)
My friend M is the same. Which isn't all bad - at least she's not dying, right - but isn't great, either. I keep remembering chunks of our history together - she and I lived together for four years, and I have old and doddering cats that were our pets then - Chumba, in fact, my steadfast purring machine, my cat-hat, my giver of kitty-zen, was her kitten - and she hasn't gone through that time yet in her head. It's bewildering and sad and bittersweet, all at once.
My job continues to go well, with my only complaint being that they're under-utilizing the support staff. (me) But I'm hopeful that I can corner some big projects soon.
My children didn't go to the music festival today - Cass came in to our bedroom in a high state of anxiety because he couldn't remember the words and thought he was going to throw up, and after he blubbered a bit B (soft-hearted B) let him out of it (which of course meant there was no way R was getting up there either. Five, for her, is all about what's good for the gander is good for the goose.) Not that I'm the hard-hearted parent, exactly, but I wouldn't have given in.
And I'm tiring of this set-up for my blog. Maybe a move? Do I want to jump into more serious blogging territory? Will have to think about that....but definitely at least a face-lift for daysgoby.
My brother had a good friend that used to come out to supper with us quite a bit - and it used to kill my mother that we could go to any restaurant (Mexican, Chinese, Guatemalan, Italian, whatever) and he would order a hamburger and fries.
And now my daughter is taking on that role.
Yesterday she suggested that we all go out to eat at the Chinese restaurant here in town. SHE suggested it. I was thrilled at the idea of more hot-and-sour soup, so off we went - where she promptly ordered fried fish and chips. At least she ate some of my soup.
Tuesday, 6 April 2010
whufa?
The little patch the house sits on is mostly green now, with untwirling buds of leaves and blue jays scolding each other in the mornings. My god, it's almost like spring.
Behind the house sits a good sized hill - trees grow (the soil is probably three inches deep in decaying pine needles) and the occasional wild critter gambols through, but other than Bear's mighty chain-saw there's not a lot else going on up there. The kids like to go wander around while B cuts up firewood.
(These are the Easter Bunny woods.)
Between the house and the woods lies the watershed, which stays wet most of the spring and fall. During the summer, though, it's possible to traipse through it and find interesting things - like antique beer cans, twisted bits of unknown metal, or even old bottles.
Part of the area, you see, was the household dump. The place where bottles and cans and rusted out household things were tossed. We've cleaned it out as we've found it, but it's not as though there's masses of stuff around - just bits, here and there, reminding us that we aren't the only ones who've spent our lives on this land.
The children like to bring me back things to ooh and aah over. Blue glass, a Watkins bottle, still with stuff (cod-liver oil??) inside. Small stuff.
And then a few days ago they found the motherlode. Back in the woods. It's huge. It's....oh, here:
I thought it was a Gallo bottle until I saw that it has 'Made In Canada' stamped into the glass on the bottom. And while the top is tightly rusted on, the sludgy blackness inside looks like oil. Motor oil. B thinks perhaps it's gas mixed with oil - for a chainsaw, perhaps? - and now I have no idea what to do with it. Putting it in the recyclable bag seems....well, stupid, and letting something like this (possibly filled with something flammable) simmer in the relentless heat of the dump foolhardy. Pitching it back into the underbrush where it's been for the last forty-fifty years isn't an option.
So help! Whufa I do with this?
Behind the house sits a good sized hill - trees grow (the soil is probably three inches deep in decaying pine needles) and the occasional wild critter gambols through, but other than Bear's mighty chain-saw there's not a lot else going on up there. The kids like to go wander around while B cuts up firewood.
(These are the Easter Bunny woods.)
Between the house and the woods lies the watershed, which stays wet most of the spring and fall. During the summer, though, it's possible to traipse through it and find interesting things - like antique beer cans, twisted bits of unknown metal, or even old bottles.
Part of the area, you see, was the household dump. The place where bottles and cans and rusted out household things were tossed. We've cleaned it out as we've found it, but it's not as though there's masses of stuff around - just bits, here and there, reminding us that we aren't the only ones who've spent our lives on this land.
The children like to bring me back things to ooh and aah over. Blue glass, a Watkins bottle, still with stuff (cod-liver oil??) inside. Small stuff.
And then a few days ago they found the motherlode. Back in the woods. It's huge. It's....oh, here:
I thought it was a Gallo bottle until I saw that it has 'Made In Canada' stamped into the glass on the bottom. And while the top is tightly rusted on, the sludgy blackness inside looks like oil. Motor oil. B thinks perhaps it's gas mixed with oil - for a chainsaw, perhaps? - and now I have no idea what to do with it. Putting it in the recyclable bag seems....well, stupid, and letting something like this (possibly filled with something flammable) simmer in the relentless heat of the dump foolhardy. Pitching it back into the underbrush where it's been for the last forty-fifty years isn't an option.
So help! Whufa I do with this?
Thursday, 1 April 2010
splenda is nasty, nasty stuff
The latest in the long list of terrible, horrible things I've done/am doing to my body:
I'm not eating sugar.
Yes, I know it's Easter. (I never claimed to be terribly bright.) And (trust me!) my whole body is (hyper) aware of the chocolate it's not getting.
And it resents that.
Hoo boy, does it resent that.
(So far [we're whispering so that my brain doesn't register that we're talking about contraband] it's not been too hard. The hardest things seem to be buying food outside the home - like lunches and things - and not offending Rosey when she wants to share her goodies.)
This isn't the result of a bad medical report or anything of that ilk, just the realization that I was either adding sugar to my coffee or drinking regular coke or having ice cream every day, and that can't be healthy.
And I'm not setting myself up for failure by saying never. I'm not eating sugar right now. I had my coffee with a shot of 2% this morning (yes, yes, lactose, but I'm not adding to that) and it went over surprisingly well.
Then after lunch I figured hey, why not, I haven't tried fake sugar since before I was pregnant with Rosey, I'm sure it's better now, immediately followed by cough cough gag gag wheeze
and I think I'll stick to the plain-and-bitter kind, thank you.
Maybe the Easter Bunny can bring me some nice fruit. Y'know, or something.
I'm not eating sugar.
Yes, I know it's Easter. (I never claimed to be terribly bright.) And (trust me!) my whole body is (hyper) aware of the chocolate it's not getting.
And it resents that.
Hoo boy, does it resent that.
(So far [we're whispering so that my brain doesn't register that we're talking about contraband] it's not been too hard. The hardest things seem to be buying food outside the home - like lunches and things - and not offending Rosey when she wants to share her goodies.)
This isn't the result of a bad medical report or anything of that ilk, just the realization that I was either adding sugar to my coffee or drinking regular coke or having ice cream every day, and that can't be healthy.
And I'm not setting myself up for failure by saying never. I'm not eating sugar right now. I had my coffee with a shot of 2% this morning (yes, yes, lactose, but I'm not adding to that) and it went over surprisingly well.
Then after lunch I figured hey, why not, I haven't tried fake sugar since before I was pregnant with Rosey, I'm sure it's better now, immediately followed by cough cough gag gag wheeze
and I think I'll stick to the plain-and-bitter kind, thank you.
Maybe the Easter Bunny can bring me some nice fruit. Y'know, or something.
i really, really don't get facebook sometimes
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