Independent Scholar

"Surprises do arrive so late."

Mon, 12 May 2008 12:09:20 GMT

Work = quiet and slow. One question, but it was a lulu. Your heroine hearts her job.

Also got a chance to chat extensively with the new part-time Sunday person, who showed me a really cool list of the world's healthiest foods. Do note that eggplant is on it.

*twinkle twinkle*

After, bused over to the bowling side of town. Had time to kill, so, found self a caffeination station and curled up with a book. Getting a Life is a sort of sequel to Your Money or Your Life, and is mainly composed of stories of people who used the steps in YMoYL to achieve financial independence. Your heroine has a decided interest in financial independence, and a healthy skepticism toward anything that smacks of get-rich-quick, but she finds this intriguing. Because, really, who doesn't want to be self-sufficient enough to drop out of the rat race? I do love my job, but it would be nice to work only when and if I really wanted to, don't you think?

And no, they weren't all barefoot crunchy granola types, and nobody was starving or deprived. They just made different choices based on their values. And I feel like, well, I've got a start on that. Let's see how far I can go. The principle you're supposed to use is a tad William Morris, actually, the notion that if you receive pleasure and value from money spent, then it's not frippery to you, regardless of what it might look like. My coffee funds, for example. It's a significant chunk, but it's worth it to me for pleasure derived. If that ever changes, I'll change. Until then, I refuse to feel guilt. It's the things you pay for that don't either line up with your values, or give you pleasure, that you aim to trim. Like the electric bill. Or your cellphone. Or whatever's driving you crazy to pay for.

Thing is, right now, cannot imagine what else can cut. Rent, sure - still looking at that. But what else? Hm. Do enjoy a challenge...

Also started The Generous Man, a study of human generosity and sexual selection. Everyone gets hung up on natural selection, and forgets that Darwin was a proponent of sexual selection as well. And generosity, philanthropy, kindness, are sexy. At least, according to the authors. Bien interessant - lots of talk about game theory, and descriptions of experiments in which people play financial games, and behave quite contrary to how logic says they should, thanks to those pesky emotions that have different payoffs than simple coin, which we'll give up cheerfully to get those other payoffs. Hm.

At any rate, bowled best game ever last night, leading me to believe that if it weren't for the pesky eyestrain headaches, a no-lens lifestyle might actually be viable. All the same, am greatly relieved that doctor's appointment is today, as this is getting to be a Bit Much.

*rubs temples*

It could, of course, have been the music. It's hard not to get fired up while surrounded by 70s/80s cheese. And, y'know, it's probably not a bad thing that, for the rest of my life, "My Boogie Shoes" is gonna be accompanied by thoughts of Jeremy, Natalie, and stamps. And Dana under the influence of half a margarita.

*smiles*

Anyway, we bowled yet another four-pack of cuties. Alas, they do not play on your heroine's team. At least, think not: four guys who can sing Stevie Nicks tunes in four-part harmony are probably not only not on my team, they are not even playing the same sport.

*twinkle twinkle*

They were fun, though, and good bowlers. Nearly died laughing at their snark, and will gladly go see them bowl in the championship round. 'Cos we're sure as hell not going, my teammate's six strikes in a row notwithstanding. Talk about a fluke...

Poem = Mother Night.

Pets as therapy! Neat.

That's it. But it's just as well. It's freezing, and have to go reconcile spring wardrobe with the return of winter weather. Bleah.

That is vaguely Monday-don't-wanna-ly all.

"Truth should be known, it can only bend to a tune of its own."

Sun, 11 May 2008 13:23:20 GMT

A gentle, do-little day. Should probably not be reading as much as am, but c'mon: it's The Last Duel. Yep. The last legally sanctioned duel in France, 1386, Jean de Carrouges v. Jacques Le Gris, over the honor of Carrouges's wife, Marguerite. Your heroine adores microhistories, especially when they're set in times and places of her various obsessions. Have only read chapter one, as this will be a book to ration and savor. Also, maps! French geography = bien interessant.

*fuzzles*

Also, an extremely long, luxurious nap. You allow yourself to relax and indulge in a really good nap, and you start to understand why cats sleep the daylong. It simply feels so good to relax and not do anything. Your heroine really should do this more often. It's a luxury and a privilege to pause, let go, curl up under a blanket, and dream.

Have, of course, talked to my mom this morning. We mostly talk about library stuff; she worries that she's not doing enough for her kids. Considering that she's probably the only person talking about books and reading in most of those kids' lives, would say she's doing her share, and then some. Yeah, in a perfect world they'd have a properly-trained, MLIS-holding superwhiz. What they've got is a poorly-funded school with a library in the basement, and a woman willing to work for peanuts and draw on her childraising experience to give those kids some love and support. Doing small things trumps doing nothing, IMHO, and beats the hell out of moaning and hand-wringing.

She's no saint. None of us are. But have never forgotten something a co-worker once wrote, namely, that she sincerely believes everyone is doing the best they can. That may or may not be objectively true, but your heroine likes the theory behind it. If somebody really is doing the best s/he can, it's easier to have compassion when s/he's being an asshat. Most of the time, anyway.

Too early to call Xan. Conventional wisdom would have you believe she wasted her degree and her artistic talent by choosing to stay home and raise her children; conventional wisdom has never met her children...or Xan, for that matter. My sister knocks me out, mainly because she's both smarter and more sensible than a lot of people with advanced degrees. In fact, she was smart enough to take a look at the whole rat race and then go with her own gifts and desires, a lesson her older, supposedly smarter, sister has had to learn the hard way.

Dana: I'm pathetic!
Natalie: But you can grow!

*smiles*

At any rate, here we are. Have zealously weeded more of the bookshelves, and feel tons lighter. Am thinking it's time for breakfast, and a little more coffee, and a bit of linktastic punditry before heading to the office.

First, though, Sonnet 18. Because every day is a Shakespeare day.

Thomas Friedman says, call your mother. His sounds like she was a pistol, and is an exemplary template for old lady-dom. Young lady-dom, too, come to think of it.

The history of mother's day. Note: NOT heartwarming. In fact, downright sad at points. The lesson here, am thinking is, whatever you're the mama of, sometimes you just have to let your baby go, or it will drive you crazy.

On a related note, every year somebody calculates how much a mother's labor is worth. Behold, this year's total. Yeowch.

Last, but certainly not least: provided the funds come through, Metropolis is getting a whole whack of scripture. On a practical note, as a Monty Python character once said, "I've already got one," so that's just one more thing to dispose of along with the morning paper. Then again, a custom Metropolis New Testament could be interesting, esp. if they went for the vernacular (Yinz is the light of the world, 'an 'at. Now go get me an Ahrn City). Will report back with description and photo, if this actually comes to pass. And maybe us locals can build a fort with our copies.

*1/2 jk*

All snarking aside, I do like the notion of the Bible as God's love letter to humanity. I spent most of my childhood reading it like a fiend, backwards and forwards, so I know for a fact there's a lot of good stuff in it. Of course, there's also a lovely letter to you from the powers that be, right outside your window, if you'd care to take a peek. Just saying. JMHO, YMMV.

*shrugs, smiles*

Now, let's see what we have in the way of grownup clothes. A bientot.

That is fancifully all.

"We ain't too pretty, we ain't too proud."

Sat, 10 May 2008 15:22:35 GMT

Silly, really. Walking around, only able to see two feet in front of my face. I should be murderous at this point. And yet, it's quite liberating not to see. Permission to relax, even. "Sorry guys - I can only do what I can do." If it weren't for the squinty headaches, I'd possibly keep it like this. And it's also an excellent metaphor.

At any rate, there was a going-away party last night at which your heroine put in an appearance. This one was a pleasure, not because the person won't be missed, but because she's leaving to go pursue a dream, and I heartily support stuff like that whenever possible. She and her husband are taking a risk, a leap of faith, to claim what is, for them, the opportunity of a lifetime, and that's definitely a reason to hoist a glass and otherwise applaud.

Some of our mutual friends wrote them a song as a going-away present, too. How cool is that?

*approves*

In other news happymaking, have disposed of my wedding dress. Listed it at Freecycle, where, to my surprise, it garnered quite a bit of attention. The person to whom I decided to give it has been divorced twice, and is still optimistic, brave, and/or foolhardy enough--depending on how you look at it--to try matrimony yet again. If anybody can take my Dana dress and make something good if it, she's the one, am thinking. Here's hoping the boogie shoes will fit, too.

It's a little sad, but it's time. Cannot begin to explain to you how joyful it feels to let things go. It still hurts a little, but there's been a tipping point, am thinking, because moving forward feels more quietly, joyfully correct than either looking back, feeling guilty, or standing still. I have no idea what am moving toward, but life feels open and spacious again, full of adventure and possibility. Like I fell off the network, but have somehow made my way back. So, here's to the network.

*sips coffee*

Just had an extremely precious moment with the Lucky cat, who, much to my surprise, leaped into my lap and, after fretting a bit, curled up, purring like a difference engine, with one paw on my computer desk for purchase, or to make a quick getaway. It was tough to type like that, but such a rare burst of affection from a usually diffident cat was worth the effort.

It didn't last, of course, for nothing gold can stay. She wobbled a bit due to the back paw anchor, and lost her balance; I tried to scoop her up before she fell, but she would have none of it, and transformed her fall into a balletic leap. She sat about a foot away, licking the treacherous paw clean, then sauntered off, probably to sleep on the bed. She slept with me all last night, too, the shameless hussy.

*smiles*

Her brother is curled up on the windowsill to my right, bushy tail languidly drooping above the radiator. Can tell by the flattened-ear silhouette that he's surverying the Kingdom of Outdoors again. Foolish cat.

*g*

No formal plans for a spacious Saturday. Am working tomorrow, so will probably spend this time in a healthy mixture of industrious-productive and shameless-lazy. And you, mes chers etoiles?

Poem #1 = Falling. Quite lovely.

Poem #2 = The Value of Things (Or, Clearing Out). Timely and apropos.

Breakfast, phone call, art, laundry, go! Have an excellent day, dears.

That is cheerfully all.

"Fear of flying? No, not me."

Fri, 09 May 2008 11:40:46 GMT

1) Um, yeah. The Wed./Thurs./Fri. corridor is a little cramped. Must remedy this.

2) The 1982 Rio sounds better than the remastered version. Accept no subsitutes!

3) Checked out a book yesterday called For the Love of Garlic. Am mightily pleased by this because, well, it's garlic. Also, the title sounds so very down-homey: "For the love of garlic, Nyla Jean, put down that pickaxe and come fix me a turkey sandwich."

*snickers*

4) Poem = Mrs. Snow.

5) My benefits form finally came! Eyesight, here I come...

And with that, we get this show on the road. Longer entry tomorrow.

That is tap-dancerly all.

"You were waiting for what? St. Swithin's Day?"

Thu, 08 May 2008 11:24:19 GMT

Well, it is raining.

*twinkle twinkle*

Short takes:

1) It's been 60 days. Am stunned, surprised, proud, pleased, grateful, humbled, curious, amazed, blinky, and quietly looking forward to what untapped gifts are hiding in the next 30.

2) Stayed up far too late last night reading Grave Peril which, IMHO, not only did not suck, but reinforces my belief that Harry Dresden is love. Sorry, guys. I'm no longer an objective reviewer at this point...and bring on Summer Knight, says I.

3) Also, there was ice cream, at the bestest place evah!

*huggles kittengirly*

4) She also flipped me this snarky bon-bon on being vegetarian. What he said! Yeah! Especially the part about how bacon smells good, because, well, it just does. And that's perfectly okay!

5) Somebody needs to make a lolcat that says CARBS NOM NOM NOM.

6) Yesterday's delightful moment was sponsored by the wicked men of the telephone reference unit, who were talking about oompa-loompas for no apparent good reason. We decided that it would be pretty flipping awesome if the library had a squad of oompa-loompas on staff. Whenever somebody was acting like an asshat, the oompa-loompas would appear, and spirit the offender away. They would then sing a song.

7) I'm pretty sure that laughing about that notion all afternoon kept the mad patrons away from me. Every dog knows its own.

*twinkle twinkle*

8) You know what am randomly grateful for this morning? The fact that I live in the same era as Christopher Walken. Dance on, mad mofo. Dance on!

9) Poem du jour = Matinee.

10) The cats apologize for their recent absence from the world of belles lettres. They've had quite a lot to say lately, actually, but their wisdom is for mama's ears alone, oh yes. And we're all still trying to make sense of Lucky's birthday prophecy; I've never seen a kitten stare like that, or declaim so elegantly aftewards.

*twinkle twinkle*

Raining! Time to go for a walk.

That is, affectionately, all.

"It's like a whirlpool, and it never ends."

Wed, 07 May 2008 12:02:32 GMT

Well. First thing right out of the gate, lost a contact lens. And by "a contact lens," I mean "my last contact lens." Which makes me, for all practical intents and purposes, blind.

Or, possibly, not. I'm astonished at how well I was able to function yesterday without corrective lenses. It's a little disorienting, but I'm not bumping into things, tripping over things, or anything riddikalus. And I can actually do my job, which is nice.

*amused*

At any rate, this is a good thing because it forces me to go to the eye doctor, something I've been putting off for an unreasonably long time because of an irrational distaste for medical professionals. I've never been treated poorly by a doctor; I just don't like them, and I have no good reason why. I hope medicine will forgive me in advance. It's going to be a while before I can get in there, though, thanks to the arcane, draconian hoops I have to jump through to be able to take advantage of my vision benefits. So this next half-week or so should be rather entertaining, at least for the people around me. I mean, I can't call off sick until this gets straightened out.

And it's not like I'm Alicia Alonso, or anything; for those of you who didn't know--and I didn't, until yesterday--Alicia Alonso was one of Cuba's premier ballerinas. When she was nineteen she had to have four surgeries for a detached retina, which left her with practically no peripheral vision, and then she had to stay in bed for a whole year to make sure she healed. And yet, even after all that, she still worked her way up to the point where she could dance the principal roles again, including Giselle, for which she became famous. So if Alicia Alonso could do that, I can certainly manage a relatively sedate librarian career while waiting for a doctor's appointment, and new lenses.

Still, though. Jeez.

*sighs, resigned*

The other shoe that dropped yesterday was that, when I came home, S. had taken more things. He had, however, also left a few, mostly things I didn't realize he had, like the antimassacar one of my library school classmates crocheted for me, a pair of black stockings (I knew I had one more pair), etc. The kicker, though, was that my soon-to-be-former MiL also took it upon herself to return the gift I gave her last Christmas, a hand-stitched sampler of her favorite epithet, "Whatever."

*blink blink*

I was so flipping tired when I got home that all I could think of was, "Man, that's cold." I can see it her way, though. Really. I mean, come on: pernicious bitch breaks your darling son's heart, you really don't want her needlework, now, do you? I imagine that's what it looks like to her, and while I could be wrong, I don't think I am.

*sighs*

So, anybody want an FTL original? Technically I still owe three of you on that everlasting craft meme, so cdaisym, cedarlibrarian and infowidget get first dibs. Photo upon request.

*headdesk*

And for some reason, the whole ridikkalus day was kind of like this video:

Weird, isn't it? Is that not the whitest suit in the world? Life's just crazy like that: some guy hopping around in a white suit, disturbing people...crazy.

*smiles*

On a related note, started an interesting little book last night called Going Sane. The author argues that we've always been, culturally, more interested in madness, and as a result haven't defined sanity very well: what's sane? Well, the opposite of mad. But what's madness, and why should we aspire to sanity rather than to it? Very twisty-interesting: I mean, swap out "normal" for "sane" and yet get quite the cogent, lucid argument for being bull-goose looney.

*twinkle twinkle*

Let's see:

Poem = For an Amorous Lady.

Editorial = The Cost of Smarts. Er, what?

*headscratch*

And, apparently, poor is the new rich. Mind-boggling.

I suppose I should eat something. Take care.

That is pensively all.

"The price is high, but the end is near."

Tue, 06 May 2008 11:50:37 GMT

Am in that weird state again where just don't know how to respond to things. Like when somebody's upset about something, and you offer them a constructive solution, and they refuse to take it, preferring to remain upset. Clearly, you step back and let them exercise their right to remain unhappy. But you wonder. And you feel bad for the person, but that only goes so far. And you have to watch yourself to make sure your compassion doesn't secretly catalyze into sanctimony. So you just kind of blink a little, and say, "Hm," and feel bad for the person, who is rather nice, actually. And then try to let it go, because, honestly, it's no longer your problem.

Goodness knows, fall into that sticky enough myself. Like, oh, dunno, every time S. calls. Am still feeling enormous amounts of guilt over my role in this whole affair, beating on myself really hard for trying to force myself into a "normal" life. I made mistakes, and I still have regrets, and apparently I need to keep whaling on myself for that. But there is a calm, dispassionate part of me that has stepped back to watch myself whaling on myself, wondering when am going to be done with that. Dispassionata feels for me, she really does, but she doesn't try to stop me, either. I suppose the fact that I can detect the observer means I will stop doing this to myself sooner rather than later, but still.

It even turns up in books. Started I'm Not the New Me yesterday, a memoir about a woman who, unhappy with her weight, tries to lose some. The amount of self-hatred and unhappiness pouring up from the pages is more than I can bear, so I won't be finishing it. You'd think I'd have more compassion, being a formerly seriously overweight person myself. Then again, maybe because I remember being there, I have no desire to go back.

People who knew me before, when I was really fat, ask me all the time how I did it. It was really actually quite simple: I reached a point where I got sick of my life being the way it was, and was willing to make the changes necessary to alter it. I learned to cook. I started exercising. I stopped eating boatloads of crap unless I was willing to walk a mile for it (and you'd be surprised how frequently I was, and still am, willing to walk a mile for the prospect of really good ice cream). I started drinking lots of water, reduced my portions, learned to say no, made friends with food instead of seeing it as the enemy. Was it easy? No. But the alternatives were less attractive, so there you go.

*shrugs*

And you'll forgive me if that sounds less than kind and compassionate. It drives me crazy that so many women in America dislike themselves, their bodies, the way they look in general. But I don't have to be one of them, if I don't want to. And I don't want to.

Because there's heat beneath your winter, let me in.

Oh, Simon. You say the sweetest things, at the darndest times.

*sighs*

So, here we are again, a lovely morning in my study. The art store won't open for a few hours, so there's no hurry to go get more paint, though I still need a few colors to complete the one project am working on. To pass the time, will probably work on those stained glass windows some more. Provided my new apartment has adequately-sized closet doors (and I can't imagine they wouldn't - a door is a door, is adore, Isadore), have got an idea for what to do with the pages once they're colored in.

And that will be fine. But, for the moment, I still have no better answers about how to be in a world that perplexes me so, except to be quiet and still, and look around, and think a lot.

In poetry today, Longfellow speaks of Night.

The article that's breaking my brain this morning involves local grocery options.

First of all, I simply don't get the persistent "competition with Cleveland" thing. So Cleveland has a bigger store than we do. We're not Cleveland.

Also, if you really take a good look at it, we have a heck of a fine store. Are we really to be pitied because we don't have 24 rows of prepared meats? Should we put on sackcloth and ashes because we only have 21 bins of olives, as opposed to 36? That's the detail that's really breaking my brain ce matin: 21. Bins. Of olives. 21. Twenty. Plus one. Bins. Of. Olives.

*vanishes in puff of smoke*

*reconstitutes*

Call me judgmental, if you like, but it seems to me that something, somewhere, has gone terribly wrong here if we are sincerely considering ourselves deprived because we "only" have one Whole Foods, and it's sooooo much smaller, with fewer amenities, etc. In the face of worldwide starvation, that seems just a teensy bit insane.

It also begs the question, what is enough? Let's say we get a bigger store, or a second store, and 50 rows of prepared meats, and 100 bins of olives, and chair massages, and a mariachi band that plays for you while 700 virgins brew your free-trade coffee and sing praises to you for being a wise and judicious consumer, skilfully executing iambic hexameter in their songs. Is that enough? Where would it end? Do you see why I'm a little afraid to leave my house in the mornings?

*worries*

Is it wrong to be happy with what you have? I don't mean stop striving for better things. I'm just questionning the definition of "better."

Oh yeah, definitely time to make some art. A bientot, mes chers etoiles.

That is perplexedly all.

"Love go slow, love go fast..."

Sun, 04 May 2008 15:21:13 GMT

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and your heroine is brewing another pot of coffee, mostly because she can.

Let's review:

Spent most of yesterday being a complete sloth, compliments of normal biology and just plain old needing a rest. This was, however, excellent preparation for another evening at the opera, which really demands all the attention one can give it. On an amsuing side note, your heroine discovered, while dressing for the evening, that she had forgotten to bring dress shoes from her office. Given that dress shoes are normally for work, she keeps them there, preferring to go barefoot at home anyway. And so she set out for the opera house clad in a fetching black ensemble...and white tennis shoes. Nobody gave a good damn, least of all herself. She mentions it, however, because it is charming.

*twinkle twinkle*

The show in question was the utterly delightful I Capuleti et i Montecchi, and there's a reason why they call this sort of singing bel canto. Add to that the director's choice to costume everybody in Victorian dress, and, well, fluttery-love. The only thing that was a teensy bit disappointing was the stage combat, as it looked as if the director said, "Okay, now, everybody, just wave your swords about for a bit." Not a scrap of artistry, pas du tout. And what was up with that one piece of set design, the trees that looked like they came from Planet Claire? The opera itself, however, was pure heaven, and Giulietta's voice deserved far more praise than it got; the reviewers mostly fawned over the local favorite, an expert at trouser roles, and she deserved all the praise she got. And yet, Giulietta, without whom one would not need a Romeo, trousered or otherwise.

*fangirl fluttery luff*

For the record, that intial five seconds of orchestral tuning is almost as good as the opera itself. To your heroine, it feels like coming home to something larger than oneself. One could almost believe, for half a moment, that exciting, wonderful things are just over the horizon, waiting for dawn.

*smiles*

Reading = Marge Piercy's Sex Wars. Your heroine knows she's enjoying historical fiction when it makes her want to learn the bona fides on the protagonist. Also, the stripey stockings the cover model is sporting fall decidedly into the realm of "do want."

*g*

You know what really blows my mind, though? Grandmere and grandpere, both sets, were alive during this period. And it never occurred to me, not once, to ask them anything about it. Maddening.

*headdesk*

Ah well.

In other matters readerly, started The Narnian, because I think it's high time I learned a little bit more about one of my favorite people. Was surprised to learn that his life while writing The Chronicles was quite the stressboat, which just goes to show that you never know what's going on with people, even those with lives of great genius; you just never know what secret sorrows are wrapped around somebody's private heart.

*ponders*

On today's docket: yoga, more laundry, a few stained glass windows, and persistent trash-bagging. Because I seem to have recovered my usual high spirits, so I should probably take advantage of that while it lasts. And, of course, there will be bowling.

*satisfied handdust*

Today's poem, Posthumous, is a wonderful example of how a poet can take a teensy truth and illuminate it so that you really think about it. People do, of course, linger on long after they do, in many ways various-curious.

For those with the time and/or inclination, a profile of Louise Hay.

The local feature story is a bit of a weeper. It's so not fair. Who gets cancer at eighteen? What the frell is the freaking point of that? Perhaps to shock us out of our own complacency. Or maybe it has nothing to do with us at all, except in the sense that it has to do with all of us.

*sighs*

Time for breakfast. Have finally found a good use for one particular decorative jar I wish to keep: if I take it to the co-op, I can fill it full of tasty things like pumpkin granola. Who knew?

That is cheerfully all.

"Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in."

Sat, 03 May 2008 13:15:28 GMT

It occurred to me last night that I don't have to put myself through the Sports Night cycle again if I don't want to. And upon further reflection, I've decided that I really don't. I've got WikiQuotes and memory, if necessary. So if you'll excuse me for five seconds...

...done.

*satisfied handdust*

Started reading Thich Nhat Hanh's True Love, a slim little volume of gentle gems. According to Thay and the Buddha, there are four components to genuine love:

1) maitri, which includes not just the desire to make somebody happy, but the ability to actually do so.

2) karuna, the wish to relieve another's pain, and the chops to actually pull it off.

3) mudita, or, simply, joy.

4) upeksha, or, freedom, giving somebody else enough space to feel comfortable inside and out.

If you accept these premises, and you stop to think about it, it seems remarkable that anybody ever truly loves anyone at all, ever. And yet, it happens. We just don't always notice that love is what we're dealing with, probably because we're expecting something else.

*ponders*

At any rate, had a nice, quiet evening with another good book, and les chatons. And now I'm ready to go off and have adventures. So, there's that.

Today's poem = Fruit of Loneliness. I want to make jelly from the fruit of loneliness and spread it on my peanut-butter toast.

Back to the business of rebuilding. See you tomorrow.

That is quietly all.

"The stained glass curtain you're hiding behind never lets in the sun."

Tue, 29 Apr 2008 12:51:09 GMT

Chop an onion and saute in 1/4 cup olive oil. While the onion softens, slice a 1-lb. eggplant into rounds, then dice the rounds. By the time you've done this properly, the onion will be brown and wilty. Add eggplant. Sprinkle veggies with 1.5 T brown sugar, then pour 1/4 cup balsamic vinegar and 1/2 cup water overtop all. Cover and simmer about 15 min. Stir in 3/4 cup of olives (green or black, sliced or whole - your call) and let simmer about 3 min. more. Grind black pepper overtop to taste, then stir in 1 cup feta crumbles. Serve over brown rice, and thank your luckystars for eggplant.

*sparkles*

Have picked up a number of other adventures in eggplanty goodness which we'll be trotting out as the occasions merit. You have been warned. Next time you make this--and you will--you can adjust the proportions of sugar and vinegar, depending on how much sweet you like in your sweet, or sour in your sour.

When not scribbling down recipes, am reading Soul Work, which has turned out to be the history of psychological movements attempting to incorporate spiritual principles. I like it because it's pretty simple: Here's a school of thought, here are its principal thinkers, here's what they tried to do, here are the seminal books they wrote. A nice roadmap of past thought, which is what I like in my histories of things. There's a time and a place for complicated, but sometimes straight up across the plate is the way to go: tell me what I need to know, and let me move on, book. Kthnxbye.

Am also, as I said I would, rewatching my way through Sports Night. It's just something I feel like I have to do, to put it to bed once and for all. I figure, if it's burned on my brain, I don't really need to own the discs, now, do I? Especially since the discs aren't mine. I have a funny notion of honor, but it's my own, and I'm going to strive to live up to it. Have just re-reached "The Six Southern Gentlemen of Tennessee Tech."

Am starting to suspect I need a new mythology anyway. Can't imagine where I would find it, given my aversion to most television, but things never happen the same way twice. And, much like the stamps that appear when most needed in "Dear Louise," things have a way of turning up on schedule.

*ponders*

And with all that, I return to the office, hopefully a little smarter and a little more resilient for having taken time away to care for myself. Nobody died, and the place didn't catch fire, so maybe there's really no need to let myself get all upset over stupid little dramas that aren't nearly as important as, say, rocking Pandora jazz and moodling with eggplant. Or painting nails a fetching shade of dangerous. Or walking for miles and miles. Or spending time with people I like.

*smiles*

Poem = John Updike, Slum Lords.

On the local front, more handwringing and punditry over our friends, the wedding brawlers.

*headdesk*

Y'know, I'm probably not the most qualified person to comment on these matters. I still don't understand, though, why this is a front-page story for any other reason than to make the rest of us feel better, and allow us to project our own grapplings with matters marital onto a distant, safe target. JMHO, YMMV.

Oooh, yeah, that left a sour taste in my mouth. Methinks I should go do something pleasant. Like a crossword puzzle. An extremely difficult, head-scratching crossword puzzle.

That is amusedly-resignedly all.

"She knows what she knows. I know what she's thinking."

Mon, 28 Apr 2008 13:06:11 GMT

Spent my morning with kittengirly and kittenhubby, and my afternoon/evening with my bowling team. Sunday morning, of course, means brunch; the company was better than the food, but the food wasn't bad, although, if we ever go back there again, I shall bring my own emergency cheese kit.

*g*

I also now have everything I need to smell like vanilla for ages to come. Figures I'd prefer one of the most expensive ingredients on the planet.

*smiles*

Later, our team captain made us dinner, and we got to spend some time hanging out and enjoying each other's company. What made this really special was that nobody even knew it was my birthday, and I certainly didn't bring it up. It was just something we did. They found out, later, of course, from an innocent third party, and rebuked me for not telling them earlier. But I didn't want a fuss made over me; some people like to fuss over such things and others don't, and I like everybody, so I never want anybody to feel obligated. At any rate, homemade spanakopita, and strawberry shortcake, and a mystery wine that turned out to be surprisingly good (and is now out of my kitchen forever, huzzah!). Going on to bowl my best games EVAH was merely gravy.

In-between, a very long walk, punctuated with the curious phenomenon of cake-batter ice cream. Have you noticed this? I didn't want an entire cake, not even a small one, because I tend to prefer the icing over the cake. Am decidedly fond of the trend toward cake-batter ice cream, however, because it's the perfect combination: a lot of something I really enjoy, plus a teensy bit of something I like in very small doses. The ice cream parlour I habitually eschew has changed its horrible singing policy to an optional one, in which the server asks you if you want a song. Given that I still think having someone sing for tips is humiliating indentured servitude of the most heinous kind, I politely declined, and managed to restrain my look of horror. I think.

*twinkle twinkle*

At any rate, my new favorite flavor ice cream is, decidedly, cake batter. The best ice cream place on the planet makes the best kind, bien sur. The second best guys have one that's merely okay, though they excel at other things. So, now you know what to tempt me with when you're trying to talk me into one of your devious schemes.

*mischievous g*

So, the eighth day of FTL has finally arrived, when your heroine has to start thinking about coming down to earth. Have a book review to write, which should help, and a number of other get-ready plans and projects that should make re-entry to the ordinary world relatively smooth and painless.

On a slightly more downbeat, yet still happy-ending note, Xannie and little E. were in a car accident over the weekend. E. is fine, Xannie's a little banged up. She claims it was all her fault, but based on her description of what happened, it sounds like one of those things that just happens, despite everybody's best intentions. Xannie's a little blue because apparently her car is now undriveable, and she feels like she's put an unfair burden on her family, so, if you would, send her some comforting thoughts. Your heroine, it goes without saying, is insanely grateful that it wasn't worse than it was.

*deep sigh of relief*

Today's poem = Her Legacy. Bless the Aunt Cleones of the world. And please, let me be just like them.

It was, apparently, a slow news day in Metropolis, because this story made the front page. I suppose you could argue that semi-public brawling is news. However, given the circumstances, it seems to me that this was more about public shaming and titilation than sincere reportage. On the other hand, you could argue that the article's subjects are in sore need of a little public shaming. But on that third hand, which we have not got, don't we all have something better to do than fuss and cluck judgmentally over two people who are clearly pretty screwed up?

*sighs*

Have spent a pleasant morning so far making art, and reading about Italian wines. Apparently, the rule of thumb for wine and food pairing is, "If it grows together, it goes together." Meaning, if you're serving a dish from a specific region, you can serve it with any wine from that region and the pairing will be just fine. Neat, eh? I do so love relatively useless information; one never knows when it will come in handy. And I still harbor hopes of throwing parties again. As my apartment slowly transforms into something approaching welcoming, I can feel the return of optimism.

But first, have got to finish re-watching my way through Sports Night. Kind of a moral imperative.

A bientot, mes chers.

That is quietly delightedly all.

In which our heroine completes the fifth regeneration of her entire cellular structure.

Sun, 27 Apr 2008 13:20:12 GMT

There's an eggplant, some feta, and a bottle of balsamic vinegar in the kitchen. Old diaries, once re-read, can go to the recycling pile with no regrets. Everything smells like vanilla and frankincense. Coloring stained glass windows is a pleasant way to spend a rainy afternoon. The ocean-soaked feeling of coming up from a dream, with its attendant remedy, never fails to please. The sadness of clutter dissolves like sugar in the face of level-headed action. The world, and all the people in it, including oneself, are a lot more interesting than they're given credit for.

A delayed epiphany is better than no epiphany, and I'm at peace with the fact now, that, had I had just a little more moxie, I could've totally made the cheerleading squad in seventh grade. If somebody were to walk up to me and ask, "How can a bracelet be hi-fi?," I would know exactly what they were talking about. It's occured to me recently that I've always had an aversion to cauliflower, but have never actually tried cauliflower, so this must be remedied, especially if there can be cheese involved. Ditto peanut butter and sweet-pickle sandwiches, minus the cheese. I have a gazillion cunning plans for improving the world, but not the faintest notion about what to do next with my hair. Ridiculous amounts of my time are eaten up with quoting song lyrics back and forth in e-mail with people from my former theatre troupe. Re-reading letters that I wrote, but never sent, has been awfully instructive, but I think I'm just going to set them on fire anyway.

I was told there would be cake, and there was! Twice! And as for you lot, don't think I've forgotten: I still have that stone I picked up the day we went to the ocean, dear, and it's very precious to me. You--the other you--are someone I want to know all my life, if you can stand that, so that we're still ranting away when we are old and gray. You--that third you--have never saved my life, but have always been there to prop me up while I'm saving my own. You--to the fourth power--are far more powerful than you think you are, and I look forward to executing my secret plans for world domination with you in my makeshift Dumbledore's Army. You, and you, and you, and you, beyond my capacity to express, save with a lowered gaze and a humble heart.

Also, I like walnuts.

*waves at the FNI survivors*

All the crazy rightness of days and nights becomes clear, for just a second. It won't stay, and it's a short trip back to confused. But moments of clarity can be recorded and remembered and reread, if necessary. Though one can't set the innerneps afire, darn it. Oh well.

*shrugs, smiles*

Levity break!

This was forwarded to me by colleenrose18, and is, as of this writing, the best birthday gift EVAH. Observe:

Granger says:

1) "The Great City" / Shirley Horn

"If you come in, be sure you can get back out."

2) "Under Pressure" / Queen & Bowie

"Love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves."

3) "Listen Here / Cold Duck Time" / Pancho Sanchez

"Everything I do gonna be funky from now on."

4) "Dirty Great Monster" / Duran Duran

"We're all afraid of each other."

5) "Labour of Love" / Frente

"One chance, one shot. That's all anybody ever got."

6) "Metropolis" / The Church

*smiles*

"Don't say nothing good will never come of this. Don't say the damage is worse than it is."

7) "Blame it on My Youth / Meditation" / Keith Jarrett

Instrumental, piano

8) Repeat #2

*raises eyebrows*

"Love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the light."

9) "Face Up" / Rush

"I'm on a roll now, or is it a slide?"

10) "The Choice is Yours" / Black Sheep

*giggles and waves at dontfeedthetiki*

"Never sweat the chaos, for a black sheep has ways."

Now, see, there you go. Clear as crystal.

*g*

I can't decide of the timing of today's poem is ironic, snarky, or perfectly innocent.

*shrugs*

Recession diet, eh? Perspective is a funny thing. There are people who live like this all the time, by choice. There are people who were raised like this, and either really took to it, or fled into the arms of creature comforts as soon as their adult incomes permitted. I just don't know how I feel about living in a world where shopping at Wal-Mart is a sacrifice (as opposed to, say, a crime against labor unions).

Now, let's go do this thing properly.

*handdust*

That is joyfully all.

"Don't you see the color of deception, turning your world around again?"

Sat, 26 Apr 2008 12:33:23 GMT

Call it a bittersweet sandwich. After another joyous morning of making art (my career has its first serious rival in ages), spent a pleasant afternoon with kittengirly, thus ensuring that my "girl" card will be renewed for another year.

*twinkle twinkle*

And then, after much hilarity and hijinks, we came home, and there was S. He looked...bad. Bad enough that I was down in the dumps about it for a good hour after he was gone. There's no way to break up with somebody without hurting them. I don't like hurting people, even when it means helping myself.

*slumps*

Let the record show, though, that I only feel bad when he's around. That tells you something right there.

At any rate, last night's agenda involved finding and purchasing my birthday gift to myself. This turned out even better than I'd hoped, to the point where I can't even really talk about it too much lest I spoil it for myself. Suffice to say that I found something so beautiful it both took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes. It's not for public display or consumption, and it's winging its way to me as we speak. And here we drop a little curtain and move on to the next thing.

*smiles*

kittengirly sent me this piece about how things are back home. You could argue that the needs of the group trump the desires of the individual, but this sort of response is emblematic of the way so many of us from that part of the country were raised: what's yours is yours, and you'll die rather than give it up. Understandable, when one often has so little to start with.

On a vaguely related note, Tim Nolan offers us a Prayer Chain.

That first pitch was right across the plate, but the second one's a bit of a slider.

*g*

And with that, off to have more adventures, large and small. A bientot.

That is deliciously all.

"I wanna know about the mystery dance."

Fri, 25 Apr 2008 11:45:19 GMT

New icon courtesy of dontfeedthetiki, and a conversation about how contemporary video gamers are just plain wusstastic.

*twinkle twinkle*

Finished my scheduled projects well ahead of time yesterday, including progress on that craft meme have been doing for ages. Just need a little ribbon and the glue gun, and we're good to go. If there's any creative accoutrement more delightful than a glue gun, I don't want to know what it is, lest I die of envy.

All fired up by decoupage, started in on the kitchen cupboards. They are now clean, orderly, and devoid of all that tea. Tea is, IMHO, medicinal, not recreational, so I need very little of it. Off to the living room it went.

S. did come, and it was a little weird. Civil, but weird. I get the sense there's things he wants to say, and isn't, but I could be projecting. Wobbled a bit right after he left, but only because it's so weird. I mean, the fact that he pretty much fell into his dream job this summer tells me, as if everything else already didn't, that we were keeping each other from all the things we're meant to have. I'm not trying to beat on myself, but that's a pie that gets split in half.

Things begin and end in their own seasons. A smart person pays attention, and knows when to let go. I will remember this, for next time, and not be so gosh-darned insistent on having my own way, for my own limited reasons.

*sighs*

Later, a night journey. Thought it would be both fun and practical to start a commonplace book, given that am always seeing and hearing and reading random things that surprise and delight me. So, as the light faded, walked to the heart of town and took my sweet time picking out a notebook worthy of my randomness. It is, of course, red leather, with a small heart inscribed on its cover. Manages to be both understated and vivid at the same time; a good choice.

Moodled over magazines while I was there, too. Am fascinated by magazines, with their monthly promise of progress and improvement. Dawdled mostly in the artsy-craftsy section, but fuzzled over the writing magazines, as well. Being published is less important to me these days than actually having something worthwhile to say. And since I can do that on tha innerneps, it's kind of nice to let one more thing go.

Have you noticed how, at dusk, the sky is a different color every night? It's always a gorgeous blue, but never the same blue. Today blue, and yesterday blue, and tomorrow blue. 4/24 blue was duchess-ballgown blue. If you looked at it carefully, you could imagine the lady, stealing into the room where the gentlemen play cards, quietly, but with the unavoidable rustle that betrays a woman's habits. Merry eyes, a generous smile, a cascade of dark curls. She steals to the card table and puts her hands over the eyes of the one she loves best, causing him to drop his cards and flush a most attractive shade of red-pepper indignation that is part frustration, part desire.

Clearly this meant I should lie on the front lawn and stargaze. So I did. I think my neighbors find me odd.

*twinkle twinkle*

Today's poem = amusing.

This book = intriguing. Interview w. author, followed by excerpt.

"Things crawl in the darkness that imagination spins."

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 11:07:12 GMT

1) Holy crap, Transylvanian goulash! If somebody puts that in front of you, you don't ask if it's vegetarian or not. You just try it, because it's really good. My stars, that restaurant. Like being at grandma's house, back in the day.

2) And next week, we're going to try rolling our own sushi at Se's house. Heavens help us all.

*g*

3) Spent most of yesterday working on a poster. Punching out stencils for the lettering gave me another idea for a collage, "Alphabet Stencil Soup." Don't ask; you'll just have to wait and see.

*impish g*

4) Yesterday's musical experiment = Keith Jarrett's piano stylings. Quiet, soothing, nice.

5) Am going through bookshelves, being really critical about what stays and what goes. Anything I will possibly use or reread in future stays. Everything else goes.

6) Today's poem is yet another repeat, but they seem to pick the good ones, so, no complaints. Man Writes Poem is a tricksy blend of sportscasting and writing, so of course, it's totally love.

7) Still need glue. Hm.

8) S. showed up just as I was leaving yesterday, and he figured that since I was leaving, he'd just come back some other time. Am vaguely irritated by this, but, fine.

9) Talked to my dad yesterday. He's handling this a whole lot better than mom is. I can tell, because 99% of his sentences begin with "You should." That means he cares. I think. Right? Right.

10) On the local news front, ignorant people just plain suck. It's okay to feed our kids junk food, and expose them to all kinds of violence on tv, but heavens forfend if they're accidentally in a bookstore when somebody's reading erotic poetry...

*sigh, avec eyeroll*

Extra: zomfg, Simon Le Bon, you and the spinning itunes wheel take me by surprise, every single time.

Must dash. A bientot.

That is energetically all.

"Just one rose, it knows your name."

Tue, 22 Apr 2008 12:36:34 GMT

Yesterday was quite the awesome, reference-wise. Heavy on the science/engineering/medical front, where I held my own masterfully, with help, but with a redemptive art auction price question that was actually sort of cool, and where I could really shine. Usually those questions are folks bedazzled by Antiques Roadshow, and firmly convinced they've got a gold mine up in their attic. The patron in question might actually have something interesting. Plus, I got to learn a little about Vietnamese painter Le Pho who, apparently, really enjoyed painting peonies. Peonies, en francais, sont "les pivoines," which is just plain pretty, n'est-ce-pas?

At any rate, it's nice to be engaged at work, and to feel one has made a difference in the beautiful-crazy world.

After, ballpark! The Metropolis Moonmen suuuuuuck, and that's a big 10-4. But coach_bruce and I were, at one point, the only people in our section, good circumstances for conversations philosophical. And I got to have a pretzel with mustard. There's really nothing on the planet that can't be enhanced with a mustard-soaked pretzel, served with a side of ballpark. Also, dusk turned up to watch the game in a fetching shade of blue that faded to black as she silently observed the fracas, then retreated in bemused dismay.

Life is so very, very beautiful, isn't it? I will not quarrel with Virginia Woolf's assertion that it is very, very dangerous to live even one day, but I shall argue that it's breathtaking, too. Which is, of course, exactly what she meant.

*smiles*

Have been up and painting, a different project this time. White paint is difficult. How many coats are enough? How white is white enough? Do you eventually have to reach a point where you say, it's never going to be as white as I want it to be, and go on? Or do you keep layering on the white in hopes of reaching perfection? An interesting predicament.

Poem du jour = House, Billy Collins. It's a repeat, but a darned good one. Billy Collins = love.

*fuzzles*

Interesting language/perception experiments. Also, "leebish" is just plain fun to say. Methinks shall steal it.

*g*

In matters ridikkalus, scuppies. Come on.

*eyeroll*

Your heroine hates how everything needs a cutesy name. Seriously. This is actually kind of ironic, in light of the language experiments, above. But why is it necessary to figure people out and peg them into categories that we can then conveniently label? People are ever so much more interesting than any arbitrary boxes into which other people put them. Or, for that matter, into which they put themselves.

Alternet had a treasure trove today; observe:

Happy Earth Day. All rhetoric aside, here's some concrete-practical.

Yet another book for my waitlist. Most amusing in this excerpt? The list of what you can and cannot say in a book published by Steeple Hill.

Candid commentary from a sex worker who is not ashamed. Not for the prudish, and probably not work-safe in most environments. Some may find themselves delighted by the segue into the erotic, as the essay draws to a close.

*glances at clock*

Plenty of time to perform my civic duty, and, perhaps, create a little more art before the daily. But first, we dance! Because it's a sunny Tuesday morning in Metropolis, and Elvis Costello beckons imperiously.

*g*

That is fancifully all.

"I fought fate. / There's blood on the garden gate."

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 11:49:18 GMT

Let's see:

Painted until ran out of paint. Then saddled up, lit out for the territories, and rustled up more paint. Ginormous sale, 50 cents a bottle, even. V. pleasing. Also grabbed alphabet stencils for another project, and stumbled upon two packages of what has to be the smartest marketing move ever: random collage paper. It is quite random, I assure you, little odds and ends of fetching, interesting things, and oh, the items in our collective futures, mwahaha!

Book for the trip: Pema Chodron's No Time to Lose, an explication of Shantideva's The Way of the Bodhisattva. Bien interessant. Such things always are, to me, in theory. Will read about compassion, and opening one's heart, etc. Then I get to work and it's always "Oops, oh my." And not in that good way. Sigh.

*shrug*

Still, would like to be the kind of person who uplifts others. Which is why am spending eight days spoiling self rotten - so there's a well to draw from. And must figure out how to do this all the darned time.

Was going to bake something, but then realized I really wanted ice cream. So I went for a walk and got ice cream. Spent about ten minutes watching a squirrel cavort around somebody's yard. Squirrels knock me out. Better than television, hands down. Their tails, like little question marks? And the way their noses twitch? Hilarious-cute.

After the squirrel and I parted ways, needlework. Needlework takes longer than it does, and requires counting. Also, if you count wrong--and who is not sometimes wrong?--you have to be clever enough to figure out how to alter the rest of the design so it's still serviceable. Sitting cross-legged in a sunny patch, musing over celtic knots, is a peaceful way to spend a spring afternoon.

Let the record show that last night's bowling excursion was the first time have felt genuinely happy in a group of people since I turned my life in a different direction. Up to now, have been faking it until I make it, which is not to say I haven't been getting some satisfaction out of it. But that's been more in the realm of balm-solace, and last night was different.

I think it was the screamer that did it. The team against which we bowled had a very, er, passionate advocate / pep squad leader, who kept screaming encouragement to his teammates, full-throttle, the entire time. We laissez-faire Lebowskis just kept looking at each other and snerkling, esp. when the screams ratcheted up into the realm of "YES, YES, THAT'S IT BABY, OH GOD, OH BABY, COME ON, YESSSSSSS!" It was, um, er, wrong. And highly amusing. But wrong. But we didn't want to be right, really. We were having too much fun. And we teased him about it, too, with the result that he started screaming for us, which, of course, resulted in more laughter.

Better bowling, too. The sheer lunacy of it all really fired me up, and I bowled my best games to date. Had forgotten how wonderful it feels to engage in a sport, once you really get into it. Will probably never be L33t, but the return of genuine happiness, after feeling battered, bruised, wooden and sad, for so long, was like a long, cold drink of water.

Authentic happiness, it's said, comes from inside, and not from externals. I believe that. You can feel the difference, if you really pay attention. Happiness that depends on externals pricks at your nerve endings like little pins, creating delicious sensations that then fade when the stimulus goes away. Happiness that comes from within feels spacious and generous, and you love everyone and everything, and only wish them well.

At least, if you're me.

*blushes*

Sorry. No, no I'm not. You've been listening to me whinge for quite the while. It's only fair you get my rose-coloured glasses reveries, too.

*smiles*

7.5, and then a ballpark. But first, these messages

Danica Patrick becomes the first woman to win a major American auto race, demonstrating definitively that women can do utterly pointless things just as well as any man can!

*giggles*

No, seriously, good for her. Everybody's got different dreams. You wanna drive around in circles really fast? Go you, girlfriend. Seriously.

*coffee cup salute*

Of potential interest to certain segments of my audience, for various reasons: of lasers and quitting smoking.

Jill Filipovic grouses about the traditional First Lady bake-off. Here's an idea: why don't we ask the women, in future, if they want to do it? If they do, roo hay. If not, we dump it this time. I always get slightly annoyed when somebody stridently aseerts that anything to do with wimmin's traditional activities is somehow repressive or anti-feminist. You can be a great feminist and still cherish the traditional female arts. The difference is, in this day and age, you can choose those arts you want to explore. Um, well, if you're of a certain economic class and, um...where was I going with this again?

Okay, so it's complicated. But swapping recipes doesn't automatically make you a doormat, and it's not a signifier of anything more than, possibly, here's a little tradition we might not need anymore. And if we don't need it, great: more time in the kitchen for me, and folks like me, who genuinely enjoy the act of creation in that particular oeuvre.

New review book. I know these things are random, but I still get a little frisson of pleasure when I open the envelope and it's a Name author. It's a pleasure and an honor to get a peek at a talented person's labor of love a teensy bit before everybody else.

*fuzzles*

Off to make mischief. A bientot, mes chers.

That is happily all.

"Because you can't, you won't, and you don't stop...."

Sun, 20 Apr 2008 12:05:12 GMT

Yesterday's walk was accompanied by generous, nourishing helpings of sun and warm wind. Even here, in the city, so much beauty, almost overwhelming. Have decided to start double-bagging to the recycling center, with the pleasing result of needing few to no bags at the co-op. Routines are pleasant, and never boring; they don't make for exciting journal entries, though, because how can you convey the singularity of each instance, when the external details are the same? It's the Heralictus rule - never the same river twice, and deeply happymaking, if a teensy bit drab to the average onlooker.

Also scrubbed the tub and hung the new shower curtain, resulting in a big, goofy grin on my face whenever I walk into the bathroom. That's what I'm talking about, people. If it doesn't delight you to death, get rid of it. At least, if you're me.

And then, this morning, both birdsong and rain, a gift beyond measure. Woke up to the gentle, insistent beat of water on the roof, a pleasure-tattoo. As if the air, unable to bear the delicious pressure any longer, let loose all its watery feelings for the sake of sharing its joy with everyone and everything else. An auspicious beginning, indeed, to the eight days of FTL, in which shall spoil self rotten and do interesting things.

*twinkle twinkle*

Want to learn non-attachment? Own cats. The little vixens got their claws on mama's needlecase necklace, a pretty silver trinket designed to hold embroidery needles, hanging from simple silver links. Will now need a new chain for it, as they clawed it from its moorings and have been batting the chain around the house all morning. I should probably be annoyed, but velvet cord is cheap, and they're having way too much fun, supervised and otherwised, for me to be overly vexed.

Also, have been absolutely burning through the NYT Sunday crossword. Normally that puzzle owns me, but have been tearing it up, in pen, with few obstacles. Either I got smarter in the night, or Will Shortz and his minions are grappling with the flu.

*twinkle twinkle*

Have been reading a very lot, in volumes varrious-curious, but nothing to report. Yet.

So, off to execute the plan, make a lot of art, and be a lot of happy. Here's hoping your day is similarly delicious, mes petits choux.

That is, fondly, all.

"Should I be surprised? I see the possibility...."

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 14:13:05 GMT

So much better. Got a lot of work done, didn't have to talk to anybody unless I wanted to. Made some time for fresh air and sunshine, and then retreated to my snug, slowly-improving haven. My life is, perhaps, not the most exciting one, but it usually works for me. There's more I would like to add to it, on my own terms, but there's time.

The hardest part, really, is learning to turn to myself for all the things I really want, rather than looking for them in someone else. This is not to say one doesn't need other people; I most certainly do. But it's really easy to long for someone else to rescue you, rather than give yourself all the things you've always wanted. It's easier to get over that with the tangibles; the intangibles are harder. Who, for example, does not wish to be loved and cherished by another? But who is willing to love and cherish oneself the way one would wish to be loved by another? Who treats oneself like the beloved one longs for? And how can one expect to be truly loved by another if one does not truly love and cherish oneself?

These are the questions that keep me up nights, stargazing.

I am also forced to admit that I am lonely, but not for common company. I like people in ones and twos, rather than crowds, and those people should be secure enough in themselves that they should not want me to change for them. Ideally they should be so focused on their own goals that they don't have time to be jealous of mine, but it's an imperfect world. I would do well to remember that when I'm being hard on myself, and other people.

As for love, well...I don't think I'm the marrying kind. I'd wish I'd paid more attention to this possibility before trying to slot myself into an "acceptable" life path. No force in the 'verse, though, can keep me from love again, someday, under the correct circumstances, for which I am willing to wait, until my dotage, if necessary. The key lesson learned I've learned here is not to settle. Ever. I didn't listen to myself or honor myself, and for that I am sorrier than I can ever tell you. Yes, you could argue, he has much to answer for. But, oh, my dears, so do I.

*wipes eyes*

At any rate, I found that list of things you're "supposed" to do before you're 40, posted in another's blog. Here they are. I've stricken the things I've already done, and will provide commentary on things that just plain aren't ever going to happen.

~~1 Quit your book club~~
2 Bridge the baby chasm [what the hell does that even mean? Childfree for me, and that's final.]
3 Admit to everything [What, and spoil the mystery? Please.]
4 Throw an Oscar party [If I never hear the word "Oscar" again, I could live perfectly well.]
5 Make out with the best man [Whatever...]
6 Eat the worm [Tequila? Pass.]
7 Build a nest egg
8 Take your parents out to dinner [Trust me, they wouldn't allow it.]
9 Date a twenty-five year old, one last time [Er, why? I grant that I could meet a 25-year-old who meets my standards, but I highly doubt it.]
10 Put a lid on it [As if.]
~~11 Karaoke~~
~~12 Host~~
13 Scuba Dive [Not interested, thanks. No, I'm not afraid of fish.]
~~14 Document your life~~
15 Stop the tchotchkes
16 Serve on a jury
~~17 Play poker~~
18 Musically upgrade [I like what I like. I'll continue to try new things, but giving up beloved cheesiness, for the sake of maturity? Ain't happening.]
~~19 Yell at someone~~
~~20 Remove it~~
~~21 Lose the snooze~~
22 Pierce something other than your ear [I'm on the fence about this. I don't feel strongly drawn to piercings, and so will probably skip it.]
~~23 Strain your brain~~
~~24 Rent the classics~~
~~25 Pay off credit card debt~~
~~26 Think outside the box~~
~~27 Do something romantically cheesy~~
28 Drop $50 on a bottle of wine
~~29 Date a musician~~
30 Drive cross-country [can't drive - anyone care to make it a team project?]
31 Control the future of your face [what the hell does that mean? If they're talking plastic surgery, I'm soooo not interested. If they're talking moisturizer, we'll see.]
~~32 Say NO~~
33 Ride a Harley [Again, just not interested, thanks]
~~34 Accentuate the positive~~
~~35 Say yes to bubbles (create reasons to celebrate)~~
~~36 Redistribute the wealth~~
~~37 Unsubscribe~~
~~38 Confront bullies, racists and homophobes~~
39 Supply your own power (chicks, learn to work your own VCR!)
~~40 Sculpt yourself~~
~~41 Teach a class~~
42 Have a kid if you want one [Okay, that clarifies one, but still: NO]
43 Go to Paris
44 Reunite (with old friends)
45 Be your own Schneider (learn to work the toolbox in the bottom of your cabinet!)
46 Give a really great toast
47 Buy a piece of real art
~~48 Take a stand~~
49 Master a mass-transite system, but know how to hail a taxi
~~50 Cut someone loose~~
~~51 Vibrate~~
~~52 Enact a two-drink maximum~~
~~53 Play an instrument~~
54 Make a new friend each year
~~55 Smell good~~
~~56 Dump the Gap~~
~~57 Boycott February 14~~
58 Take a sabbatical
~~59 Go fishing~~
60 Fill up your jewelry box
~~61 Kiss the frogs~~
~~62 Play matchmaker~~
63 Be a boss
~~64 Purge (things, not food!)~~
~~65 Break your own record~~
66 Quit smoking [N/A - never started]
67 Sign each book you've read [Um, why?]
~~68 Ask a friend for help~~
69 Drive a car that costs more than $50,000 [N/A - non-driver]
~~70 Show gratitude~~
~~71 Expose the wizard (visit a talk show or movie set)~~
~~72 Take a mental health day~~
73 Discover your superpower
74 Go to a movie alone
~~75 Root, root, root (for the home team)~~
76 Instead of a stage name, pick a "stage age" [this is just plain silly. Am proud of my age, whatever it is.]
77 Lose gracefully
~~78 Surprise someone~~
~~79 Ride in a limo~~
80 Hang up your binoculars (sit front row!!)
~~81 Let the spirit move you~~
~~82 Sleep under the stars~~
~~83 Give something back~~
~~84 Habla sie Francais?~~
85 Throw out any T-shirts with logos on them [Not on your life.]
~~86 Ride a roller coaster~~
~~87 Have a male friend~~
~~88 Ditch your college furniture~~
~~89 Name something~~
~~90 Divorce your hairstylist or at least cheat~~
91 Get someone else to love your favorite movie
~~92 Take the long way home~~
93 Learn to tango
94 Go somewhere that makes people scratch their heads
95 Charm your way into (or out of ) something
96 Figure out what you want to be when you grow up [And spoil the surprise?]
97 Colorize [Eh. Pink fantasies aside, I rather like my haircolor the way it is.]
~~98 Never show up empty-handed~~
99 Bring something back to life
100 Retreat
101 Accept that forty is the new thirty [that's a cop-out - what does it mean? Age is what is.]

So. Some interesting ideas, but, on the whole, I rather think I need to write my own darned list.

*handdust*

Thank you for riding out this difficult week with me. It was, comparatively, less difficult than previous weeks. Still, this is so hard. If you weren't listening, I don't know what I should do. And that's all you have to do, really. So thank you.

Under the heading of amusing-disturbing, creepy playground decorations. On top of all the other really good reasons to go abroad, I now want to go abroad and see some of these terrors my ownself. Especially in Prague. Jeepers...

*giggles*

Ai yai, Potter encyclopedia lawsuit kerfuffle. It's all over the map, and it's ugly. Perhaps that's why I haven't really been following it. If he's lifted too much of the canon, it's got to be nixed. On the other hand, if she's trying to prevent a librarian from creating a proper encyclopedia, well...

*sighs*

The personal is political, whether we like it or not. I suppose the problem is I'd have to READ the darned thing. Which is why I question the whole not-having-a-jury. Get a panel of fandom up there, and this would be clear-cut.

*1/2 jk*

Poem = Who Will Know?

Now that the hall closet has room for my things, am going to put them there. We shall, henceforth, refer to it as the craft closet.

Sun, wind, errands, reading, go.

That is moodily all.

"If I could wave my magic wand, I'd make everything all right."

Fri, 18 Apr 2008 11:48:10 GMT

1) The re-up letter finally came. More incentive to clean and clear. I don't need to return it until 5/5, but still.

2) Poem = Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire. Thoughtful-sad.

3) Birdsong = beautiful and brilliant. I shall never, ever tire of this simple, yet utterly complex, joy that comes every morning. That there are birds, and that they sing, pays for much.

4) Is there a sustainable level of meat-eating? George Monbiot wrestles with food politics, as well as his conscience.

5) Learned a new bus route yesterday, and had an adventure. Am, ergo, quite the pleased.

6) I need a life. I mean, I have one. But I need more of one. Or to make more of the one I have.

7) On the webcomic front, Snooch loses his mind.

8) Made a delightful mess of spaghetti, which means will now not need to cook most of the weekend.

9) Have just realized I need glue. I don't glue much. This has not been an issue for, oh, years. But now there is something to glue. It's going to have to be good glue, too, darn it. Goofy cats...

*sighs and smiles*

10) You can probably tell I feel better today. I sometimes wish I still weren't so much at the mercy of external circumstances. Would like to be more gracious and solid, less susceptible to life's petty vagaries. Suppose it's something to build toward...

Extra: There's a book called 101 Things You Need to Do Before You Turn 40. Must examine this and see if it's inspirational, an utter crock, or something in-between.

O, Medazzaland, Medazzaland...7.5, then out. A bientot.

That is bemusedly all.

"Funny, after all we've done, that you could be someone I don't know at all."

Thu, 17 Apr 2008 11:15:46 GMT

1) I swear, everyone and everything can just freaking bite me. Well, except you lot.

2) That's not objectively true. Am just venting. Is it Friday yet?

3) Roadhouse blend waters down well, it's that strong.

4) Last night's excursion = Thai food. Delightful, esp. since they took my request for spicy very seriously. It clocked in at "hurt me 10," which is exactly how I like my spices.

5) Have been spending my lunch breaks doing needlework. Decidedly soothing.

6) Alicia Ostriker = love.

7) It's nice that high schools still put on classic musicals. Will probably be humming "Oldest Established" and "Miss Adelaide's Lament" the daylong. A person could develop a cough.

*smiles*

8) You can't ban no-fault divorce. Gracious. Wasn't aware that anyone wanted to. Good thing I'm sneaking in under the wire.

*eyeroll*

9) It's about time to start fussing with my hair again. It's getting shaggy. Still no clue what I want, but am quite clear on the message I want it to send: a mixture of, "I am not to be trifled with" and "come closer, o person of discriminating taste, for you will find me pleasing"

*twinkle twinkle*

10) "Tricked Out" sounds like the soundtrack to a video game. Nice one, LeBon.

My travels take me afield this morning, a fate I accept with only a smidge of grumbling, because there will, quite possibly, be tasty things. There had better, actually. Otherwise, somebody's got some explaining to do.

That is wickedly all.

"If you come in, be sure you can get back out."

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 11:40:11 GMT

1) Blinkety, on multiple fronts. How life can be so wonderful, so shell-shocked, and so perfectly normal, all at the same time, is baffling.

2) Nixed the costume. Such things need to be planned for, not shopped for at the last minute. On the bright side, found something comfortable (non-work) and something comfortable-cute (worktastic) at my favorite thrift store.

3) Reading: Bare Bones Children's Services. If I want my own banana republic someday, and now I most assuredly do, had better know a little bit about this stuff. For the record, I am still probably not the go-to person you want in children's services.

4) Am a teensy bit frustrated by the amount of recycling piled up in my kitchen. I know it will gradually taper off as all the junk mail reduction efforts have made begin to kick in. Still, annoying. Wish city would pick up catalogs and whitepaper at curbside.

5) Have finally started researching candidates so can make a good decision in the primary.

6) Have just realized have a book review due next week. Darn it. It's a book about socially responsible cataloging. Talk about getting the short straw...

7) I just read the gas meter; why does it need to be read again? Corporations confuse me.

8) A day with no meetings is a day full of sunshine.

9) Am waiting for a warm night so I can spread a blanket in the front yard and gaze up at where the stars would be, if the city weren't. That night is not tonight, alas, if the weatherfolks are correct.

10) Vaguely tired and crabby, wishing hadn't packed weekend so full of social things, but am sure will have a good time, once I get over my poor attitude.

*twinkle twinkle*

Dear Lucky cat: you're nearly three, and yet, because your brain is the size of a walnut, you still think you're a kitten. Si charmante!

And you, mon Smoky-boo precieux...it's darling how you alternate between snuggling at my feet and at my head. And the pawing at my nose, while occasionally owchy, is a most agreeable alarm clock, all things considered.

Coffee, breakfast, outfit, go, avec grumbling.

That is somewhat tiredly all.

"You talk just like a book."

Thu, 10 Apr 2008 11:24:28 GMT

1) Am besotted with spring evening skies. That such blues exist, and that I can see them, pays for lots.

2) Reading: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Man vs. society. Society wins, but man puts up a helluva fight. Easy to see why this is a 20th-century classic.

3) Also reading: Catullus, in translation. w00t!

4) And also reading: Warrior Politics, Kaplan.

5) Am amused-fond of how some people get all nervous-twitchy when they see me and kaiten_koneko with our heads together, plotting.

6) Poem du jour = The Silver Swan. Roo hay for the public domain!

7) Little E. is making her first communion this May. They grow so fast! Will be there if I can.

8) No dinner club this week, darn it. Next week should be an adventure, though, as it's one of those places where the guy does all the cooking in his house, what he feels like, when he feels like it. It's out in the middle of nowhere, and you have to have an appointment. Good times.

9) It's worth the annoyances of leaving early to rack up the OTR. OTR is your friend, and will save your sanity.

10) I wonder what the cats want for our birthday? Hm. Must ask them.

*twinkle twinkle*

That is scatterdashedly all.

"Butterflies in her eyes, and her looks? To kill."

Tue, 08 Apr 2008 12:16:26 GMT

Springtime = happymaking. Am sure am the irritant that sends my colleagues right over the edge, at least in the mornings, when am at full strength, esp. after a nice long walk in the great outdoors. They get their revenge at 4:30 or so, when I start to wilt, but still.

*smiles*

This week's culinary experiment plays with the joyful trope of "breakfast for dinner." And who doesn't love that?

Vegetable frittata:

Preheat oven to 350 deg. Nuke half a package faux bacon or sausage per instructions on box, then crumble or slice into bite-sized pieces. Drain a can of diced tomatoes. Shred one cup and a 1/2 cup, respectively, of cheeses of choice (preferably a cheddary one and a parmesan-y one). Chop 3-4 green onions, a bell pepper, and a half dozen button mushrooms. Saute w. a small chunk of butter in a large skillet, along with a cup of broccoli florets (frozen are fine). Set aside. In a mixing bowl, beat 10-12 eggs with a 1/4 cup water and oregano, black pepper and garlic powder in amounts of your liking. Beat until foamy. Stir in bacon/sausage bits, cheeses, those tomatoes you've forgotten by now, and the veggie mixture. Pour into a greased, shallow 1.5 quart baking dish (regular glass sheet cake dish works fine). Bake 25-40 min., or until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean.

A teensy bit labor-intensive, but you won't notice it if you're listening to some nice music, and crooning to yourself, or your pets, or both.

*g*

To-dos, at some point:

pick up cocoa and powdered sugar, to make fudge
finish assembling costume for Sat.
dive back into that walk-in closet [the closer I get to the end of it, the more overwhelming it gets. Suspect this is normal]
more laundry [that little washer? Like a dream. Am soooo getting the dryer.]
clean out kitchen cabinets [how long CAN one keep tea, I wonder?]

Am contemplating getting a little beginner's sewing machine, quite possibly one designed for children. Quit that laughing.

*twinkle twinkle*

So, there's that. Am feeling decidedly more solid and self-assured. That will probably change again - in fact, it's the only thing can really count on - so am just trying to enjoy what is, while it is. Am thinking it's helpful that somebody has lost a vowel. Anymore, when am pondering things, am thinking in terms of S. only. Suppose that's progress.

*shrugs*

Also, as of today? One month down, two to go. Thank you for all of your help; it has been hard, but at least have never been alone. I find that more comforting than can ever tell you.

*luffs, vaguely embarrassed*

Making me chuckle today: Postcards From Yo Momma. Do you have a mom? Does she write you stuff? You might like this.

Methinks dontfeedthetiki will get the biggest chuckle out of today's poem, but anybody who's ever worked in a public library, or been in food service, or both, will probably appreciate it, too.

And now, breakfast. This whole "getting up early on my late day" thing is working for me better than I'd hoped. I get a whack of things done, and myself cared for, before going to work, and I have a nice, solid foundation upon which to build more successes. It's nice when you figure out what works for you, isn't it?

Have a wonderful day, mes chers.

That is affectionately all.

"There are times I look at you differently / Like I've never seen you before."

Mon, 07 Apr 2008 10:48:27 GMT

Somehow managed to screw up my alarm clock while setting it, resulting in a 4 a.m. wakeup that I didn't catch until I glanced at the coffeemaker and it read 5 where I was expecting 6. Hm. Not tired in the least, and grateful for the "extra" hour. Have taken care of self as well as stuff-and-things, and am anticipating a good start to the workweek.

*satisfied handdust*

Yesterday = quite satisfying, on several counts. Have boxed up a great deal of kitchen stuff that is either not mine, or extraneous. This will help me achieve my goal of keeping the sink empty and clean, which it now is. It's really simple: you dirty dishes, you clean dishes. Not having a gazillion dishes really helps in that regard.

The little things I find are happymaking, too. Let us take, for example, a set of sheets that were a gift, and never opened. They were hiding in a closet, for years. After a brief moment of zomfg headdesk, was able to appreciate having sheets with no memory. Ditto one pillow, unopened. And kittenses are great helpers when it comes to bedmaking.

*g*

The other gem I unearthed was Rush's Chronicles I, which was occasion for a joyful whoop and extra adrenaline for cleaning. There's nothing like "The Spirit of Radio," "Freewill," and "Fly By Night" to get you in an organizing mood. There is also, of course, my favorite Rush song evah, the eleventy-million-minute miracle, "Xanadu." Quit that laughing - it's from Coleridge, philistine! Bite your tongue.

*blushes*

No, seriously - why don't people write eleven-minute epic songs anymore? Granted, you kind of have to be in the mood for an epic, but if you're open to the experience, it can be quite the adventure. Besides the whole being from Coleridge bit, it puts me in mind of an experience I had, back in the day. Which makes this as good a time as any, one supposes, to explain why I stopped smoking pot.

I smoked pot a grand total of three times, making me an absolute ninny in the controlled substances department, I know. But I could have quite cheerfully become a lotus-eater, especially after that third time, when I saw and heard astonishing things. The chamber in which my friend and I were ensconced had for decoration, among other odd items, a piece of sheet music, blown up to poster-size and framed on the wall. When the drug took hold, this poster became the object of my undivided attention, primarily because I thought there were bugs crawling on it. However, when I got closer, I realized that it wasn't insects, but the notes themselves. They were dancing, alone and with each other, kind of like in Breughel's great picture, the Kermess. And as I watched them, I could gradually start to hear the music to which they were dancing.

Several hundred thousand years later, when I came back to earth, I realized three things:

a) that was the coolest freaking thing I had ever experienced in my life, and
b) how fragile is reality's scrim, and what cool things are right next door! and
c) if I kept smoking pot, I would completely forsake everyday reality in favor of those pleasures, so I had better quit.

Does that make sense? I think I've spent the rest of my life since then trying to appreciate the world in all its incandescent mystery without having to take drugs to do it. Which brings us back to "Xanadu," because when I listen to it, I feel exactly the same way I did while watching the notes dance, and it sounds like the music the notes were dancing to. And I don't have to break the law or step out of my everyday life to experience it, either.

*catches self, vaguely embarrassed*

Oh, just try an epic song on for size. And don't even get me started on "La Villa Strangiato."

*g*

On the social front, had a chance to share a meal and a fun event with some co-workers, including some folks had never met and/or didn't know well. A good time was had by all, and I sincerely hope we all do it again next year. Some of those trivia questions were hard, though - am not sure if would actually want to be on the hot seat, as cheerleading is much more fun.

Start your week off right with some snidely whiplashery from Donald Hall.

According to George F. Will, conservatives give more generously to charity than liberals do. I wonder if the researchers bothered to ask themselves who has more money to start with, or if such a grand, sweeping economic division can be made. After all, if, as Natalie puts it, most of your portfolio is tied up in food and rent, giving can be tough. It is not, however, impossible, so your heroine would like to encourage her liberal friends to give when they can, and pitch in more when that's not feasible...if only to wipe that smug smirk off of George F. Will's face.

*1/2 jk*

Honestly, why it's even a contest anyway is beyond me. There's a logical flaw in there, that if you don't practice charity as much as the other guy, you're not living up to your own standards. That makes my head hurt just thinking about it. Are you living up to your own yardstick? All righty then.

Having dispensed with teh internetz, am off to console the Lucky cat, who's grievously vexed over the remnant of a cat toy she's torn to ribbons. All this fetching has got to be good for my bowling arm, n'est-ce-pas?

*twinkle twinkle*

That is energetically all.