Monday, March 09, 2009
How much deeper would the ocean be if sponges didn't live there?
Happy 50th Birthday Barbie Milicent Roberts! You were always a great friend and enchanting company.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The best sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that it hasn't tried to contact us
They're cutting down trees. Not nuisance weed trees that have sprung up uninvited, but huge ancient eucalyptuses with trunks the diameter of a full harvest moon. Well, maybe not ancient since the eucalyptus does have a propensity for quick growth, but with trunks that size they're at least pretty damned old. Their trunks wore the pealing bark that is common to their species, but they were gently twisted; looking rather like giant natural barber poles. Do they grow that way naturally or did the Santa Anna’s twirl them that way over time?
This is California so you know that these trees are being sacrificed to the god of road widening. Heaven forbid they should jog the road to the left for a quarter mile and then back straight. Nothing, damn it, stands in the way of progress.
On the way out to drop Aidric off at school we were stopped by the traffic crew as only one lane was open and traffic was taking turns using it. I saw the big giant aerial truck and the chipper and other assorted machinery, but thought that ComEd was just performing some tree trimming to keep the power lines clear and safe. (as eucalypti also have a propensity for losing good stout branches in a strong Santa Anna.) On the way to pick Aidric up however, I saw the stripped bare carcasses of the first 3, of the 10 or so, trees lying on the side of the road. All of their branches and smaller bits having been fed to the chipper and the massive 30 or 40 foot trunks laid out and cut into 4 or 5 foot length. Their elephantine diameters preventing them from being casually tossed into the chipper, these pieces were being loaded into dump trucks to be shipped…where? Is there a gargantuan chipper somewhere?
It’s too sad, by the end of the week that shady quarter mile will be glaring and naked in the sun and that lovely stretch of road will look like city instead of bucolic country side.
This is California so you know that these trees are being sacrificed to the god of road widening. Heaven forbid they should jog the road to the left for a quarter mile and then back straight. Nothing, damn it, stands in the way of progress.
On the way out to drop Aidric off at school we were stopped by the traffic crew as only one lane was open and traffic was taking turns using it. I saw the big giant aerial truck and the chipper and other assorted machinery, but thought that ComEd was just performing some tree trimming to keep the power lines clear and safe. (as eucalypti also have a propensity for losing good stout branches in a strong Santa Anna.) On the way to pick Aidric up however, I saw the stripped bare carcasses of the first 3, of the 10 or so, trees lying on the side of the road. All of their branches and smaller bits having been fed to the chipper and the massive 30 or 40 foot trunks laid out and cut into 4 or 5 foot length. Their elephantine diameters preventing them from being casually tossed into the chipper, these pieces were being loaded into dump trucks to be shipped…where? Is there a gargantuan chipper somewhere?
It’s too sad, by the end of the week that shady quarter mile will be glaring and naked in the sun and that lovely stretch of road will look like city instead of bucolic country side.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
The cost of living hasn't affected its popularity
Who says it never rains in So Cal? It does rain here, just once or twice a year and then it rains with a vengeance. We've had three solid days of rain. So far our winter rains have provided us with 2.5 inches of landscape saving moisture. The downpours can cause some problems though. The other day, the first day of the storms, I was driving through Malibu on PCH behind two snow plows. No, it wasn't snowing, but the area is prone to rock and mud slides that often close the highway. So I guess they weren't snow plows so much as mud and rock and flood water plows.
The one thing that IS true is that Angelinos can't drive in the rain which is why I was on the 1 and not the 405. The 10, the 405 the 101 and many other freeways and surface streets were virtual parking lots due to accidents . In all fairness it's not really poor driving skills that cause these accidents, or rather not primarily poor driving skills. The fact is that it rains so little that rubber, and oil and other substances accumulate on the roadways during the dry seasons to such a degree that the first few hours of rain can't really get them all washed off. Combined with rain water these substances turn into the So Cal version of black ice. Then moronic drivers, forgetting that they don't know how to drive in rain, drive too fast and try to stop too suddenly and end up upside down on the concrete center divider, causing the rest of us to curse them. Yes, it's cruel and vindictive and bad karma to curse the injured, but when it's taken you an hour and a half to travel the half mile to your escape route, you tend to lose all perspective.
Along with the rain the temperatures have dropped into the 50's (brrrrr) and I forgot that I'd left my coat at the cleaners. I dropped it off over a month ago when the temperatures had sored into the 80's and I was sure that spring had sprung early. Now I'm going to have to pick up the coat to wear and then have it cleaned again in a week when it warms back up. Life in Cali just sucks doesn't it?
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In other news my friend Maggie is getting married in Toulouse and Sean and I are going out for the wedding. We've had thousands and thousands of airline miles burning wholes in our pockets for two years now, and just as they're set to expire we were given the perfect excuse to use them. Funny how these things always work out.
We will be there only a week and we are like kids in a candy store trying to cram as much into that short week as possible. We've got lists and maps and stuff piling up on the dining table to take with us and the trip is a month away. We're not at all excited about going back to France.
We've got lists of places to go, lists of what to take, lists of what to bring back, lists of people to visit and a list of lists to keep it all straight...
The one thing that IS true is that Angelinos can't drive in the rain which is why I was on the 1 and not the 405. The 10, the 405 the 101 and many other freeways and surface streets were virtual parking lots due to accidents . In all fairness it's not really poor driving skills that cause these accidents, or rather not primarily poor driving skills. The fact is that it rains so little that rubber, and oil and other substances accumulate on the roadways during the dry seasons to such a degree that the first few hours of rain can't really get them all washed off. Combined with rain water these substances turn into the So Cal version of black ice. Then moronic drivers, forgetting that they don't know how to drive in rain, drive too fast and try to stop too suddenly and end up upside down on the concrete center divider, causing the rest of us to curse them. Yes, it's cruel and vindictive and bad karma to curse the injured, but when it's taken you an hour and a half to travel the half mile to your escape route, you tend to lose all perspective.
Along with the rain the temperatures have dropped into the 50's (brrrrr) and I forgot that I'd left my coat at the cleaners. I dropped it off over a month ago when the temperatures had sored into the 80's and I was sure that spring had sprung early. Now I'm going to have to pick up the coat to wear and then have it cleaned again in a week when it warms back up. Life in Cali just sucks doesn't it?
..............................
In other news my friend Maggie is getting married in Toulouse and Sean and I are going out for the wedding. We've had thousands and thousands of airline miles burning wholes in our pockets for two years now, and just as they're set to expire we were given the perfect excuse to use them. Funny how these things always work out.
We will be there only a week and we are like kids in a candy store trying to cram as much into that short week as possible. We've got lists and maps and stuff piling up on the dining table to take with us and the trip is a month away. We're not at all excited about going back to France.
We've got lists of places to go, lists of what to take, lists of what to bring back, lists of people to visit and a list of lists to keep it all straight...
Sunday, February 01, 2009
And Finally
Before we left for France I tried to get everyone to come and take away as many plants as they wanted. Oh that garden was so beautiful, how I miss my giant hostas and all of those tulips and the dozens of different colored day lillies and... Ah, well... Some of my 'Agency' friends decided to take me up on the offer of free plants...
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I’m giving away some of my garden plants to good homes. Three gardeners expressed an interest in taking in some of my orphans and we agreed on 5 pm on Saturday for a good time to get together in my yard and start digging.
E showed up in her Honda wearing espadrilles. P showed up with the family station wagon, a shovel, tennis shoes and a few pots. G showed up with the Expedition with the seats folded down, a tarp covering the entire area, about 8 five gallon paint buckets, a shovel, wearing hiking boots, garden gloves and her hair pulled back.
E wanted a clump of ornamental grass and maybe a few daylilies. She went over to the grass she wanted, pointed it out to me and half heartedly tried to dig it up. “I think I wore the wrong shoes for the job” she says with a girly self deprecating laugh. (Not fooling me a bit.)
P goes right to the back garden and timidly points to a hosta she likes and asks if she can have that one. “Yes of course, take it, no one will remember to water anything here” I say. “It’ll just die” She digs in and I help her hold leaves out of the way while she digs around it.
E comes along to the back having given up digging up the grass, since I wasn’t going to help her with it. (Do it for her more like) “Oh what a beautiful garden you have, it must take a lot of work.” I assure her it does and she wanders around aimlessly. Finally she stops in front of a clump of daylilies, “Can I take some of these?” “Sure help yourself”. She digs around the clump a bit a finally manages to dig up a small clump that I assure you will not live.
P meanwhile has dug up and potted her hosta. “Can I have that one?” “Sure go ahead” She gets to work. Digging and potting.
E takes her one potted daylily out to her car chit chats a bit and leaves.
G meanwhile has decided what she wants, developed a color scheme and started digging. This girl was stamping down on the back of her shovel and making neat slices in the soil cutting a nice wide circle around each clump. She dug up three coordinating colors of daylilies, a black eyed susan, a purple coneflower and three different colors of phlox. She worked hard, potted her stuff, loaded her truck no fuss no muss. She was serious, not shy and willing to do the work.
I was quite impressed by G overall, P was just too timid even after I assured her that that’s what she was there for. E, well, E was useless and I wanted to just shoot her.
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The Story of Three Little Gardeners - posted on July 26, 2003
I’m giving away some of my garden plants to good homes. Three gardeners expressed an interest in taking in some of my orphans and we agreed on 5 pm on Saturday for a good time to get together in my yard and start digging.
E showed up in her Honda wearing espadrilles. P showed up with the family station wagon, a shovel, tennis shoes and a few pots. G showed up with the Expedition with the seats folded down, a tarp covering the entire area, about 8 five gallon paint buckets, a shovel, wearing hiking boots, garden gloves and her hair pulled back.
E wanted a clump of ornamental grass and maybe a few daylilies. She went over to the grass she wanted, pointed it out to me and half heartedly tried to dig it up. “I think I wore the wrong shoes for the job” she says with a girly self deprecating laugh. (Not fooling me a bit.)
P goes right to the back garden and timidly points to a hosta she likes and asks if she can have that one. “Yes of course, take it, no one will remember to water anything here” I say. “It’ll just die” She digs in and I help her hold leaves out of the way while she digs around it.
E comes along to the back having given up digging up the grass, since I wasn’t going to help her with it. (Do it for her more like) “Oh what a beautiful garden you have, it must take a lot of work.” I assure her it does and she wanders around aimlessly. Finally she stops in front of a clump of daylilies, “Can I take some of these?” “Sure help yourself”. She digs around the clump a bit a finally manages to dig up a small clump that I assure you will not live.
P meanwhile has dug up and potted her hosta. “Can I have that one?” “Sure go ahead” She gets to work. Digging and potting.
E takes her one potted daylily out to her car chit chats a bit and leaves.
G meanwhile has decided what she wants, developed a color scheme and started digging. This girl was stamping down on the back of her shovel and making neat slices in the soil cutting a nice wide circle around each clump. She dug up three coordinating colors of daylilies, a black eyed susan, a purple coneflower and three different colors of phlox. She worked hard, potted her stuff, loaded her truck no fuss no muss. She was serious, not shy and willing to do the work.
I was quite impressed by G overall, P was just too timid even after I assured her that that’s what she was there for. E, well, E was useless and I wanted to just shoot her.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Fourths
Stop me if you've read this one before. It too sounds vaguely familiar. Sorry Jess, I know you read this one before and were deeply insulted. On the bright side, you proved to us that you were definately up to the challenge.
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I was outside today pseudo-gardening. Just puttering around, pulling a weed here and there, watering this and that, moving, dividing. I say pseudo-gardening because I was really too distracted to stick with any one project long term. In addition to my A.D.D. I just kept thinking that there is nothing I can do, that two (or three) years of neglect aren’t going to undo anyway.
I set up the oscillating sprinkler over the main ‘mound’, as we refer to the big bed in the middle of the front yard, we’ve had plenty of rain but it was calm enough out that the water wouldn’t get blown all over so I thought I’d just take advantage and make sure everything is good and watered.
My giant hosta is three years old and its leaves are finally beginning to live up to expectations. The delphinium is gigantic too. The oriental poppies are in full bloom, the reds almost done, the pinks and whites just starting. Everything is doing gloriously this spring; the garden is having a rare year.
My A.D.D. was brought on by an on-line session today ‘googling’ France. I found an expatriate web site that had loads of information on moving to and living there. Unfortunately, the more I read the more stressed I became. So many things to do and remember so many things will be different. I have lists all over the house. “Furniture Measurements”, “Questions for Scott” (our attorney), “Questions for their attorney” (tax and immigration attorneys hired by the company), “Questions for the HR Orientation Person”, “What to take – air shipment”, “What to take – sea shipment”, “People to call”, “Services to Cancel”…Then on line looking for apartment/house rentals, although the company promises help with this, we only get one week (June 7 – 14) to look for houses. I want a head start, one week is not nearly enough time and we have to have a place set before the movers arrive so I know what we can take. All info says to be prepared for size shock; accommodations in France are smaller. Houses are not so small but, only in suburbs. Apartments in town are small and I would rather be suburban but there will be a car issue. I won’t have one, or at least not right away. The expat. page also has advice on shopping, services and language, all of it useful but so overwhelming.
Have begun packing and sorting things like photo albums I’ll take, Christmas ornaments (must remember to add Christmas tree stand to “Things to Take List” as expat. page says that although trees are easy to find, stands are not.)(??) Trying to find a converter/surge protector strip for computer peripherals, but Radio Shack says no such animal. Have to purchase individual converters for Printer, Scanner, etc. but how will I plug everything in that I need? Have to e-mail peripherals companies and question individually to see if any special things I should know…The more I think the longer the lists the more stressed I get. What kind of trouble am I going to have getting hooked to the internet? Am I going to have to go back to PHONE LINES? Do they have DSL or cable?
J will be staying here, but will visit often. She and our other 'adopted' daughters are already plotting the complete take-over and makeover of our house. J is looking forward to some independence and responsibility and some partying too no doubt (but we really don't want to know about that). She'll be starting her junior year of college in the fall. The neighbors have been alerted and she has a long list of emergency contact people for every conceivable eventuality and feels prepared to be an adult. Continuing my penchant for lists I've spent the last couple of months creating a "Who You Gonna Call" list, a list so detailed and extensive that it is quickly becoming a "Who You Gonna Call" notebook.
I have also spent the last few months telling Jess the truth about the dishwasher, grocery and toilet paper fairies. Two years ago when we finally broke the news to her about the 'new school clothes' fairy, she took it well and began an ambitious project to purchase her own new school clothes. I hope that the new revelations spark an equal response and I have great confidence in my beautiful daughter to overcome these blows and rise to the occasion. We've also begun responding to every request for assistance with "Mom and Dad live in France, they can't help you..." so far it's going well.
Haven’t really slept in days and the move is still at least seven weeks away (hoping for 9). Keep waking up at 3:00 a.m. (the witching hour) with stuff just racing through my head. I’d get up and write it all down but I’d be up all night making lists. So instead I just lay there awake, tossing and turning, at this rate…wait a minute, bright side looming... MAYBE I’LL LOSE WEIGHT!
Looking outside to see how the ‘mound’ watering is going and a wind seems to have come up. There is water all over the neighbors drive way. This doesn’t usually happen, this wind is blowing in from an unusual direction though; it seems to be coming from the east? Unusual. Hmm…must be the wind of change.
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France - posted May 25,2003
I was outside today pseudo-gardening. Just puttering around, pulling a weed here and there, watering this and that, moving, dividing. I say pseudo-gardening because I was really too distracted to stick with any one project long term. In addition to my A.D.D. I just kept thinking that there is nothing I can do, that two (or three) years of neglect aren’t going to undo anyway.
I set up the oscillating sprinkler over the main ‘mound’, as we refer to the big bed in the middle of the front yard, we’ve had plenty of rain but it was calm enough out that the water wouldn’t get blown all over so I thought I’d just take advantage and make sure everything is good and watered.
My giant hosta is three years old and its leaves are finally beginning to live up to expectations. The delphinium is gigantic too. The oriental poppies are in full bloom, the reds almost done, the pinks and whites just starting. Everything is doing gloriously this spring; the garden is having a rare year.
My A.D.D. was brought on by an on-line session today ‘googling’ France. I found an expatriate web site that had loads of information on moving to and living there. Unfortunately, the more I read the more stressed I became. So many things to do and remember so many things will be different. I have lists all over the house. “Furniture Measurements”, “Questions for Scott” (our attorney), “Questions for their attorney” (tax and immigration attorneys hired by the company), “Questions for the HR Orientation Person”, “What to take – air shipment”, “What to take – sea shipment”, “People to call”, “Services to Cancel”…Then on line looking for apartment/house rentals, although the company promises help with this, we only get one week (June 7 – 14) to look for houses. I want a head start, one week is not nearly enough time and we have to have a place set before the movers arrive so I know what we can take. All info says to be prepared for size shock; accommodations in France are smaller. Houses are not so small but, only in suburbs. Apartments in town are small and I would rather be suburban but there will be a car issue. I won’t have one, or at least not right away. The expat. page also has advice on shopping, services and language, all of it useful but so overwhelming.
Have begun packing and sorting things like photo albums I’ll take, Christmas ornaments (must remember to add Christmas tree stand to “Things to Take List” as expat. page says that although trees are easy to find, stands are not.)(??) Trying to find a converter/surge protector strip for computer peripherals, but Radio Shack says no such animal. Have to purchase individual converters for Printer, Scanner, etc. but how will I plug everything in that I need? Have to e-mail peripherals companies and question individually to see if any special things I should know…The more I think the longer the lists the more stressed I get. What kind of trouble am I going to have getting hooked to the internet? Am I going to have to go back to PHONE LINES? Do they have DSL or cable?
J will be staying here, but will visit often. She and our other 'adopted' daughters are already plotting the complete take-over and makeover of our house. J is looking forward to some independence and responsibility and some partying too no doubt (but we really don't want to know about that). She'll be starting her junior year of college in the fall. The neighbors have been alerted and she has a long list of emergency contact people for every conceivable eventuality and feels prepared to be an adult. Continuing my penchant for lists I've spent the last couple of months creating a "Who You Gonna Call" list, a list so detailed and extensive that it is quickly becoming a "Who You Gonna Call" notebook.
I have also spent the last few months telling Jess the truth about the dishwasher, grocery and toilet paper fairies. Two years ago when we finally broke the news to her about the 'new school clothes' fairy, she took it well and began an ambitious project to purchase her own new school clothes. I hope that the new revelations spark an equal response and I have great confidence in my beautiful daughter to overcome these blows and rise to the occasion. We've also begun responding to every request for assistance with "Mom and Dad live in France, they can't help you..." so far it's going well.
Haven’t really slept in days and the move is still at least seven weeks away (hoping for 9). Keep waking up at 3:00 a.m. (the witching hour) with stuff just racing through my head. I’d get up and write it all down but I’d be up all night making lists. So instead I just lay there awake, tossing and turning, at this rate…wait a minute, bright side looming... MAYBE I’LL LOSE WEIGHT!
Looking outside to see how the ‘mound’ watering is going and a wind seems to have come up. There is water all over the neighbors drive way. This doesn’t usually happen, this wind is blowing in from an unusual direction though; it seems to be coming from the east? Unusual. Hmm…must be the wind of change.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
A Third Course
This blog post seems familiar to me. I wonder if I didn't share it before, but the thought bears repeating.
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Have to teach CPR tonight and I really don't want to. I hate doing it so much. On the bright side this will be the last time I ever have to teach it. Well let's not say ever, let's say for a long time.
This brings me to other recent happenings.
I heard someone say across the table from me during yesterday's meeting that she danced with her father at a wedding. He told her it was the first time he had danced in 25 years. This brought to mind the whole thing of 'last' anything. Why can't someone tell us at every point "This is the last time you'll ever (fill in activity)". Would I have said something different besides "See Ya" if I had known we would never see Joe again after sixth period math 22 years ago? What if the last time I roller-skated back in high school is the last time I'll ever do that. Would I have enjoyed it more/savored it more if I'd known? Or even if I knew I only have 3 more times to do... would I make an effort to mark the moments. On my wall in my office I have a bulletin board filled with a collage of photographs of family, friends and memorabilia. It's there to remind me of happy times. There's a photo there of me holding an adorable baby named Olivia at a recent work related event. The baby was so sweet and I fell in love. Is that the one and last time I'll ever see her?
I recently heard of the death of a pre-school student of mine from 11 years ago. Her name was Sarah. I remember Sarah as a round faced, golden haired little imp. Sarah was a twin and she and her brother Daniel were favorites of mine from the moment I saw them. They were adorable children even when they were up to no good. Their home lives were troubled and I became an advocate for these children (and later for their little brother David) in a family situation that was sometimes frightening and endlessly transitional. I watched that little girl go from stubborn and recalcitrant to teachable and compliant.
I have a memory of this little girl sneaking out to the courtyard of the school to pick sweet peas one afternoon. I was beside myself when I couldn't find her. I had searched in all the usual places and was about to sound the alarm when I saw her out the window. I went out and dragged her inside, scolding her the whole way for scaring the life out of me. As I stopped to catch my breath and continue my tirade she brought those flowers out from behind her back and said 'for you'. Anyone who knows me would know that of course I cried.
I taught her for three years from when she started in diapers at age 2 until she 'graduated' to kindergarten. I watched her learn to love learning. I taught her to read and tie her shoes. I taught her to identify the seven continents and how to add. I knew that I could always find her in the 'Practical Life' area fixing herself a little snack of peanut butter on crackers. I knew that her favorite things to show and tell were things she found on the ground. I knew that she loved art especially anything that involved paint.
I loved that little girl and that is the person I lost two weeks ago; not the teenager who had just gotten her drivers license the day before her death. I lost Sarah and no one told me that that day in June after the 'goodbye' swim party 11 years ago was the last time that I would ever see Sarah. I moved across the country a few days later.
The children and staff of the Montessori school made me a quilt as a going away gift. Each child had decorated a square with fabric paint. I have Sarah's handprint on my bed.
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Ever - Posted May 14, 2003
Have to teach CPR tonight and I really don't want to. I hate doing it so much. On the bright side this will be the last time I ever have to teach it. Well let's not say ever, let's say for a long time.
This brings me to other recent happenings.
I heard someone say across the table from me during yesterday's meeting that she danced with her father at a wedding. He told her it was the first time he had danced in 25 years. This brought to mind the whole thing of 'last' anything. Why can't someone tell us at every point "This is the last time you'll ever (fill in activity)". Would I have said something different besides "See Ya" if I had known we would never see Joe again after sixth period math 22 years ago? What if the last time I roller-skated back in high school is the last time I'll ever do that. Would I have enjoyed it more/savored it more if I'd known? Or even if I knew I only have 3 more times to do... would I make an effort to mark the moments. On my wall in my office I have a bulletin board filled with a collage of photographs of family, friends and memorabilia. It's there to remind me of happy times. There's a photo there of me holding an adorable baby named Olivia at a recent work related event. The baby was so sweet and I fell in love. Is that the one and last time I'll ever see her?
I recently heard of the death of a pre-school student of mine from 11 years ago. Her name was Sarah. I remember Sarah as a round faced, golden haired little imp. Sarah was a twin and she and her brother Daniel were favorites of mine from the moment I saw them. They were adorable children even when they were up to no good. Their home lives were troubled and I became an advocate for these children (and later for their little brother David) in a family situation that was sometimes frightening and endlessly transitional. I watched that little girl go from stubborn and recalcitrant to teachable and compliant.
I have a memory of this little girl sneaking out to the courtyard of the school to pick sweet peas one afternoon. I was beside myself when I couldn't find her. I had searched in all the usual places and was about to sound the alarm when I saw her out the window. I went out and dragged her inside, scolding her the whole way for scaring the life out of me. As I stopped to catch my breath and continue my tirade she brought those flowers out from behind her back and said 'for you'. Anyone who knows me would know that of course I cried.
I taught her for three years from when she started in diapers at age 2 until she 'graduated' to kindergarten. I watched her learn to love learning. I taught her to read and tie her shoes. I taught her to identify the seven continents and how to add. I knew that I could always find her in the 'Practical Life' area fixing herself a little snack of peanut butter on crackers. I knew that her favorite things to show and tell were things she found on the ground. I knew that she loved art especially anything that involved paint.
I loved that little girl and that is the person I lost two weeks ago; not the teenager who had just gotten her drivers license the day before her death. I lost Sarah and no one told me that that day in June after the 'goodbye' swim party 11 years ago was the last time that I would ever see Sarah. I moved across the country a few days later.
The children and staff of the Montessori school made me a quilt as a going away gift. Each child had decorated a square with fabric paint. I have Sarah's handprint on my bed.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Danger Will Robinson, Danger!
Aidric is 3 in four days and he refuses to be potty trained. Is there an obedience school or something I can send him to for that? Is there a Potty Training boarding school, cause I would do that. Can I hire a nanny for a few months just to get him through this process without me actually having to be involved.
I've never potty trained a kid before. No really, I think Jessica potty trained herself. She had to have done it herself because I don't remember anything about it! (I'm a grandmother remember)(Ooh, I just remembered, Jess has been asking what I want Cormac to call me and I think I want 'Grand mama' but he has to say it with an English accent.)
One day I just stopped buying diapers because we seemed to have a huge surplus and then I realized it was because Jess wasn't using them anymore. She found the underpants I'd put in her drawer and she just started using them instead.
Ginkgo Biloba tablets, right, they're on my list...
I've never potty trained a kid before. No really, I think Jessica potty trained herself. She had to have done it herself because I don't remember anything about it! (I'm a grandmother remember)(Ooh, I just remembered, Jess has been asking what I want Cormac to call me and I think I want 'Grand mama' but he has to say it with an English accent.)
One day I just stopped buying diapers because we seemed to have a huge surplus and then I realized it was because Jess wasn't using them anymore. She found the underpants I'd put in her drawer and she just started using them instead.
Ginkgo Biloba tablets, right, they're on my list...
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Cats are smarter than dogs
You can't get eight cats to pull a sled through snow.
See, you didn't believe me did you? Yes, this is a Christmas decoration, I know this because the pig is wearing a Santa hat. Any ideas?
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
A Second Taste
Mr. Crumb's was a fabulous bake shop near the NIU campus. They made the best oatmeal raisin cookies and oh so much more. I always loved their sandwiches too, but there was usually only one or two people working behind the counter and sandwiches, as you'll see, took a while. Sadly Mr. Crumb's closed its doors a few years ago, and those cookie recipes are gone forever.
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Went to Mr. Crumb’s today for lunch where a young man we'll call 'flirty college boy' or FCB for short, was behind the counter. FCB was a true sandwich artist. You'll see.
“I’d like a turkey sandwich on a croissant with honey mustard, muenster, lettuce and tomato.”
“Ok” he says smiling sweetly and heads over to the sandwich counter (his palette). Once there and in the right frame of mind he carefully chooses a croissant from a bin and proceeds to, very meticulously butterfly it.
“Did you want honey mustard or hot and sweet mustard? Not that you need any more sweetness.” He delivers smoothly.
(Cute, very charming, but I'm pretty sure I said honey mustard.) “Honey.”
“Yes dear?” he replies, now grinning like an idiot. Man, I walked right into that one didn't I.
Return my best un-amused un-smile.
“Would you like mayo too?” he asks, ‘mayo’ bottle poised over my not- so-soon-to-be sandwich
Freeze frame a second...Ok, I know some of you have heard this rant before but, why oh why is it that some people do not know the difference between Mayonnaise and Salad Dressing (a.k.a. Sandwich Spread, a.k.a. Miracle Whip)? Can they not taste the difference? Once when ordering a sandwich here at Mr. Crumb’s I was asked if I wanted Mayo on my sandwich. I asked the young woman if it was REAL MAYONNAISE or some sort of sandwich spread wanna-be. She said, “Oh, no it’s real”. I said ok. Well, you know, of course it was Miracle Whip, rendering the sandwich ruined and completely inedible. Now back to our show...
“NO” I say sharply to stop him from squeezing the poison onto my sandwich.
“Sorry” he mumbles. And I then, by way of apology, have to launch into the speech. I have to once again educate another person on the difference between…
Then comes the lettuce. Each leaf selected, inspected and judged. Those that pass inspection are carefully and almost lovingly placed on the prepared bread in an intricate pattern designed to render full coverage of total sandwich surface. Those leaves not passing the rigorous inspection process are ruthlessly crumpled and tossed in the waste bin. I wish I could more articulately explain the time consuming process this actually was, but that would make this not so interesting story that much longer and less interesting.
“What else did you want?”
“Muenster.”
Cheese process less lengthy but since cheese is cut square and croissant is, well, croissant shaped; there was a careful bending/breaking/shaping process for each of three carefully placed slices.
Knowing what’s coming I say “Tomato”.
Two slices carefully placed. Now, I begin to rethink my beverage. Was going to order a large breve latte with a double shot of vanilla to take back to my frigid office. However, my mind reels at the thought of spending another 10 minutes waiting for that! Not to mention having to watch the slow arduous process this would no doubt be. (Insert mental screaming and incoherent babbling here.)
“Chips or pickle?”
“Chips.”
“Beverage”
“Large Coke”
“Anything else for you today” he smiles his best charming smile.
(Aaahhhh, god no, nothing else, please, I only get an hour for lunch!!)
“That’s it thanks” I smile at him praying he can add and make change.
..............................
Ahhh, Lunch - Posted May. 9, 2003
Went to Mr. Crumb’s today for lunch where a young man we'll call 'flirty college boy' or FCB for short, was behind the counter. FCB was a true sandwich artist. You'll see.
“I’d like a turkey sandwich on a croissant with honey mustard, muenster, lettuce and tomato.”
“Ok” he says smiling sweetly and heads over to the sandwich counter (his palette). Once there and in the right frame of mind he carefully chooses a croissant from a bin and proceeds to, very meticulously butterfly it.
“Did you want honey mustard or hot and sweet mustard? Not that you need any more sweetness.” He delivers smoothly.
(Cute, very charming, but I'm pretty sure I said honey mustard.) “Honey.”
“Yes dear?” he replies, now grinning like an idiot. Man, I walked right into that one didn't I.
Return my best un-amused un-smile.
“Would you like mayo too?” he asks, ‘mayo’ bottle poised over my not- so-soon-to-be sandwich
Freeze frame a second...Ok, I know some of you have heard this rant before but, why oh why is it that some people do not know the difference between Mayonnaise and Salad Dressing (a.k.a. Sandwich Spread, a.k.a. Miracle Whip)? Can they not taste the difference? Once when ordering a sandwich here at Mr. Crumb’s I was asked if I wanted Mayo on my sandwich. I asked the young woman if it was REAL MAYONNAISE or some sort of sandwich spread wanna-be. She said, “Oh, no it’s real”. I said ok. Well, you know, of course it was Miracle Whip, rendering the sandwich ruined and completely inedible. Now back to our show...
“NO” I say sharply to stop him from squeezing the poison onto my sandwich.
“Sorry” he mumbles. And I then, by way of apology, have to launch into the speech. I have to once again educate another person on the difference between…
Then comes the lettuce. Each leaf selected, inspected and judged. Those that pass inspection are carefully and almost lovingly placed on the prepared bread in an intricate pattern designed to render full coverage of total sandwich surface. Those leaves not passing the rigorous inspection process are ruthlessly crumpled and tossed in the waste bin. I wish I could more articulately explain the time consuming process this actually was, but that would make this not so interesting story that much longer and less interesting.
“What else did you want?”
“Muenster.”
Cheese process less lengthy but since cheese is cut square and croissant is, well, croissant shaped; there was a careful bending/breaking/shaping process for each of three carefully placed slices.
Knowing what’s coming I say “Tomato”.
Two slices carefully placed. Now, I begin to rethink my beverage. Was going to order a large breve latte with a double shot of vanilla to take back to my frigid office. However, my mind reels at the thought of spending another 10 minutes waiting for that! Not to mention having to watch the slow arduous process this would no doubt be. (Insert mental screaming and incoherent babbling here.)
“Chips or pickle?”
“Chips.”
“Beverage”
“Large Coke”
“Anything else for you today” he smiles his best charming smile.
(Aaahhhh, god no, nothing else, please, I only get an hour for lunch!!)
“That’s it thanks” I smile at him praying he can add and make change.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Vintage Stuff
You all don't know this, but I used to keep a blog before I moved to France. Yes, I know, how could I not share this information with you before. Well, mostly because it was a therapeutic writing exercise for me and some of the entries are very private. However, I recently received an e-mail from this other blog site saying that if I didn't post again soon my blog would be considered 'abandoned' and consequently, deleted. They can't do that, can they? Just delete ME?
So, I went to the site and started reading these old posts, to see if I cared whether it was deleted or not. Turns out I do care, but also turns out that if you're willing, I think I'd like to share just a few of these entries.
I'll post these entries here over the next couple of days, with their original titles and dates of post. There aren't but maybe a handful of them. Remember that these were written when I was working for 'The Agency' in DeKalb just prior to the move to France. The names will be changed to protect the innocent. I hope you enjoy these blasts from my past.
..............................
Having small battle of wills with Little Green Ticket Man. You see I work in a five-story building that has enough parking around it for 15 cars. Let’s do the math; hmmm… probably 150± people work in this building? Am I the only one that sees the problem?
There is a public parking lot that is adjacent to our buildings lot that has probably 40 spaces, which is very handy. Or would be very handy except for the fact that it is a 2-hour parking lot. There is a 12-hour parking lot behind the businesses across the street, but it’s just not too convenient. At least not for me and especially in the winter (or when it rains, or when it’s too hot, or when the breeze is blowing or …).
So OK, the LGTM is a little troll like creature in green civil servant uniform pants and jacket (always the jacket) who walks the downtown DeKalb area in a route designed to allow the ‘parker’ exactly 2 ½ hours of parking time. He’s very meticulous and very prompt. I’ve paid many a $3.00 fine, because I’m not so prompt about moving my car every couple of hours. Really it makes no sense since it’s ok to move it over one space every couple of hours so long as it’s not in the same space. So where’s the logic in that? The same number of cars are always in that lot, they’re just playing musical spaces. Is this system designed specifically to irritate me?
Well then, today as I returned from lunch he was in the downstairs lot writing tickets and marking tires (with chalk). I decided to wait him out. I did not get out of my car until he was on his way down the road. Waited a bit longer and then went into the building. On my way up the stairs I look out the window and there he is! The Little Green Troll is coming back down the street toward the parking lot. Now I’m not saying he was waiting for me to get out of my car so he could mark it, or that the whole walking up the street thing was a ploy to trick me out of my car, but it sure as heck was suspicious. He goes over, marks my tire and proceeds down the street.
Well you KNOW I went right back out there and backed my car into the space across the lot. Take that you Little Green Troll!
This all just begs the questions – Is avoiding a $3.00 ticket worth all this aggravation? Wouldn't it be easier to just go ahead and park down the road in the 12 hour lot? Nah, that would be too easy, forget I even mentioned that option. Would it be considered a bribe if I just taped $3.00 to my windshield with a note asking him to just take the money and save me a trip downtown? Could I just meet him on Monday, hand him $15.00 and call it even for the week?
So, I went to the site and started reading these old posts, to see if I cared whether it was deleted or not. Turns out I do care, but also turns out that if you're willing, I think I'd like to share just a few of these entries.
I'll post these entries here over the next couple of days, with their original titles and dates of post. There aren't but maybe a handful of them. Remember that these were written when I was working for 'The Agency' in DeKalb just prior to the move to France. The names will be changed to protect the innocent. I hope you enjoy these blasts from my past.
..............................
The Little Green Troll - Posted May 8, 2003
Having small battle of wills with Little Green Ticket Man. You see I work in a five-story building that has enough parking around it for 15 cars. Let’s do the math; hmmm… probably 150± people work in this building? Am I the only one that sees the problem?
There is a public parking lot that is adjacent to our buildings lot that has probably 40 spaces, which is very handy. Or would be very handy except for the fact that it is a 2-hour parking lot. There is a 12-hour parking lot behind the businesses across the street, but it’s just not too convenient. At least not for me and especially in the winter (or when it rains, or when it’s too hot, or when the breeze is blowing or …).
So OK, the LGTM is a little troll like creature in green civil servant uniform pants and jacket (always the jacket) who walks the downtown DeKalb area in a route designed to allow the ‘parker’ exactly 2 ½ hours of parking time. He’s very meticulous and very prompt. I’ve paid many a $3.00 fine, because I’m not so prompt about moving my car every couple of hours. Really it makes no sense since it’s ok to move it over one space every couple of hours so long as it’s not in the same space. So where’s the logic in that? The same number of cars are always in that lot, they’re just playing musical spaces. Is this system designed specifically to irritate me?
Well then, today as I returned from lunch he was in the downstairs lot writing tickets and marking tires (with chalk). I decided to wait him out. I did not get out of my car until he was on his way down the road. Waited a bit longer and then went into the building. On my way up the stairs I look out the window and there he is! The Little Green Troll is coming back down the street toward the parking lot. Now I’m not saying he was waiting for me to get out of my car so he could mark it, or that the whole walking up the street thing was a ploy to trick me out of my car, but it sure as heck was suspicious. He goes over, marks my tire and proceeds down the street.
Well you KNOW I went right back out there and backed my car into the space across the lot. Take that you Little Green Troll!
This all just begs the questions – Is avoiding a $3.00 ticket worth all this aggravation? Wouldn't it be easier to just go ahead and park down the road in the 12 hour lot? Nah, that would be too easy, forget I even mentioned that option. Would it be considered a bribe if I just taped $3.00 to my windshield with a note asking him to just take the money and save me a trip downtown? Could I just meet him on Monday, hand him $15.00 and call it even for the week?
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