We Could Take 'Em

This is a fun little tool that will help you understand geography   overlapmaps.com

Thankfully

Here's a list of things I like:

-instant coffee
-banana bread
-roller skating so fast I can barely breath
-sunrises
-answers
-vintage fairy tales
-warm socks that only go up just past my ankles soze I can wear them with skinny jeans
saying "soze"
-websites that don't make one click for each new number on their really incredible list of amazing things that will blow my mind to see (I never make it past three clicks)
-instagram (thanks Ajax!)
-tall brooding poets
-this song (always a sucker for clapping in a song)

Frosty Grass

Toast is what gets me out of bed in the mornings and trying to quit toast was a total mistake.  I'm sorry toast.

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Being in love makes every song about you.

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If RuPaul can make this person look like that, then none of us should worry about how pretty we are on the outside again - work on the insides.

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Here's a thing I made recently that I like...



Here's some more things I made on Instagram www.instagram.com/jenny1396

Autumn Again

It's Autumn again and the leaves are crunchy in the yard.  The giant spider web is up on the porch and the kids are planning and plotting costumes.  I'm doing the giant purge of things as the flip flops and shorts that will fit next year get packed up and the sweaters come out.  Likely this weekend I'll stand on a small ladder and carefully balance seven giant wooden storm windows into place and seal up the house for the winter, but I like to seal it up first smelling clean.  So I've begun the moving of couches to rid the living room of old Cheeto smell.  Next I'll slather all the woodwork in lemon oil and make it all slippery to the eye.

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My ten year Blogoversary came and went. I don't know what to say about ten years.  But I keep going.  Markedly less because of my recent personal life changes.  I just didn't feel like I wanted to share anything during my divorce process.  There was plenty to say, but I spoke it out into the air where it would dissipate. This is the place for some permanence. (Unless of course the Internets implode and the Robots take over Earth and erase all previous evidence of human kind and my ten years of droning on about Cheeto crumbs and unmatched socks gets blinked out of existence, or if Blogger gets phased out by Google... whichever comes first.)

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I'm soo out of style I can't care. It's only become apparent to me because I have a middle schooler in the house and she keeps getting taller and so I have to make trips out into the world and spend money on clothing in stores where I could also be buying flouncy sweaters with extra yards of fabric knitted in the front ready to billow out like a lovely fuzzy jellyfish if I choose to spin, arms outstretched to the world whilst autumn leaves fall all around my pumpkin-spiced knit knee-high socks barely peaking out of my slightly worn leather boots fashioned in which the fit forces me to continuously stand with my toes coyly pointing towards each other.  While this bohemian chic seems like something made just for me all flowey and cozy and comfortable and quirky, turns out I like jeans and a hoodie paired with tennis shoes and I like standing with my feet planted firmly under me and my hands on my hips like Wonder Woman.  It's efficient and also I am ready at any time for a child to fling themselves at me, or to run after a ball before it hits the street, and to shove my pockets full of phones and water bottles and stretchy gloves.  There's no catching a kid falling out of a treehouse in that flouncy sweater - we'll both be tangled in a boho nightmare of woolly yarn and leather buckles and choke to death in a snarling gypsy scarf heap.


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My Gentleman Friend is taking me to see The Rocky Horror Play on Friday night.  I've never seen the movie or the play.  When I told our friend who is in the production this, they rubbed their hands together called me a virgin while cackling with anticipation.  I'm slightly nervous about this whole thing now... I feel like I am about to be the only person in the front row without a rain poncho while Gallager gets his Sledgeomatic out - only I've seen enough Rocky Horror pop-culture snippets to know the proverbial Sledgomatic could involve lingerie and or dancing.... or toast and I looooove toast. So it might even out.

I Turned the Heat On

I turned the heat on but I'm not ready for pumpkin lattes or using my oven. I'm not ready to start raking leafs into piles.  I don't want to pair up a hundred socks fresh and warm out of the dryer. I can't pay a heat bill and I don't know what I want to be for Halloween.  The recreational fires wafting from the backyards of the neighborhood are repugnant and I refuse to scrape the frost off my windshield.  I don't care where my voter id card is.  It's getting to dark too early.  The wool sweater I pulled over my head yesterday made my neck itch and I scratched until I was irritated.  Summer never quite got here this year.  It popped it's head in for a few days.  I said "Oh I'm so glad you are here, we were hoping to do some swimming." I welcomed and offered lemonade. I turned on the air conditioner but only for a few days and then summer was well on the way to the southern half on the planet when I desperately waved out the front door offering up my pale skin.

ten things

I looked inward to this small niche I've carved for my life to make a tidy little list of good things. Like every list of good things I ever post, coffee is at the top; burnt, bitter, life affirming, hot, morning coffee. Without it there would not be nine more things.

1 Coffee
2 Warm socks
3 Wood floors
4 Family and friends
5 Spell check
6 Internet
7 Thanksgiving stuffing
8 Roller derby
9 Leave in conditioning hair spritzer that smells like cake
10 Satire


 

Teeming Mass of Privileged Humanity Up Close

A very dear friend from Texas asked me to go over to the one book store we have in the third largest city in Illinois (yes one!) and get a book signed by the author for her. This pal came to my house and chased Jack for me when I had to put my newly reconstructed knee into the medieval knee bending machine for an hour,  three times a week. I figured the least I could do was take a trip to the bookstore for her. Besides, how many people could there possibly be in Rockford standing in line for a four time world champion WWF wrestler gone children's book author? Turns out, a whole bookstore full.

 The children and me walked towards the back of the bookstore to waste time at the train table play area and find the latest Diary of a Wimpy Kid while figuring out what to do. I inquired about "how long these things usually take" and the line lady who had no idea. When we arrived at the children's area, there was another mob of people standing around in a large circle with cameras in hand holding them high and trying to listen intently. I figure it was the author of the book giving a little interview and these folks were mobbing him. I didn't even bother to try to see; we walked past the assemblage and went straight to the train table. Ella found her book and sat tableside reading intently. I found a seat and decided to people watch. Next, there was a great round of applause from the mob and like a football huddle, they broke, kids in purple shirts running everywhere and doting helicopter parents chasing. I realized it was some school event, where the kids sing or dance or something and it was the same night as the book signing. The place was a zoo.

A dozen preschoolers in purple shirts besieged Jack, attempting to play trains. He seemed slightly taken aback, I let him handle it. He was able to hang onto one train, driving it in the big squirrely loop around the table while others wined, snatched, played, cried and tantrummed. I saw worried parents standing over children demanding they say please and thank you, share, take turns, "play right" and "say cheese." I watched one girl in a tutu and tiara melt down completely because she couldn't play with a specific train. Then I watched her mother try to bargain with Jack so that her child could have the one toy she wanted (the one toy in Jack's hand.) Jack paid no attention. I did, but I didn't interfere at all. The girl had to be extracted kicking and screaming from the train play area where no doubt her mother bought the train she wanted to play with in the next aisle.

Jack was polite, focused on his fun and had a good time without me jumping in. I also witnessed an insane amount of booger eating perhaps even it was the most schnozberries consumed in one place ever. I couldn't believe with all the hovering and supervising of the play not one parent said "Gross! Don't eat that!" They just pretended they didn't see it. And here is where I need to say; if you are paying enough attention to praise your precious progeny for successfully getting the train through the tunnel, then you also saw that nose pick, and "Ew" on your parenting.

Next, I had to figure out how to get a book signed for my pal. I moved my caravan of children, stroller, winter coats and new books to the other side of the store to see if the long line of wrestling fans was moving. It wasn't. The angel on my shoulder whispered in my ear, "You came all this way, you're so close." the devil wined in the voice of my eldest "Are we done yet? I'm booored." conjuring pictures of me wrestling Jack back into the stroller.

I went to the front of the store to buy the books the kids picked and inquired about the price of the featured book. I also asked if I could buy one today, have it signed, and pick it up the next day. The cashier asked with surprise "Don't you want to meet him and have a photo taken?" to which I responded that I was sure the author was a fabulous guy but I didn't need a photo or to shake his hand I just wanted his signature on a book. She asked me to wait a moment while she stepped away and then she came back and said she found a nice young man near the front of the line that would get my book signed for me. Ah! The whole operation salvaged, I quickly agreed. The nice young man found me after about ten minutes and handed me a signed book. I thank him and we left, faith in booger eating humanity restored.

Things I learned this week

Always ask the eye doctor if there is a "fitting fee" before you make the appointment.

Kiwi requires a great deal of silverwear to eat; a knife to halve it, a spoon to scoop it out and then a fork for the actual eating.

You should wash sheep skin rugs with shampoo and lay them flat to dry but not in direct sun, it will damage the leather. 

Calling In

I totally don't feel like doing anything today.  I don't want to unpack any more stuff, run any errands, do any physical therapy, wash, brush, clean or cook anything.  I just want to continue sitting in front of this screen with my fuzzy little dog at my feet, while one baby sleeps and the other is at school.  I want to stretch this morning out into a whole day of eating Girlscout cookies and drinking French press coffee while reading blogs in my pjs.

Whiff

I smelled the live oaks on cool humid air and was reminded of vacations in New Orleans. If I had a recording of it I'd hit play, right along with the radio on Saturday mornings.  I'd invite listeners to take a breath while I am retelling about visiting the City of the Dead.  I'd play it on quiet nights when it is too much to open the windows.      

Ambushed

Hey you! Other Mommy Blogger! I surf the blogosphere between the wee hours of 'The Baby Finally Fell Asleep While Jumping on the Couch-O-Clock' and a 'Quarter Past I Can't Keep My Eyes Open Any Longer'.   So if I click on your blog and suddenly Shania is singing about how Today is my Day, loud as shit because the last person to use the computer was a seven year old who thinks the volume should always be on eleven, then you are ensuring I can never read your blog.  Because, like a jack in the box, something you thought was totally cute popped out of it's box and scared the crap out of my kid.  Stop it.

Mercurial

Me 9/26/11

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When the power goes out, everyone gathers up underneath me. Candles lit, we hold each other for a good long moment before everyone is calm.  I make a mental note to buy a big battery powered lantern and decide a game of Crazy Eights is in order.  I use a flash-light to find a deck of cards that the baby hasn't taken a bite from, all the while stepping over the dog who keeps manically placing herself at my feet.  We sit at the big dining room table and arrange candles.  Light is bouncing off the ceiling and fanning out over the room.  We play two hands of Eights and lose ourselves in conversation about how unfair second grade can be.  The baby is trying desperately to eat the seven of clubs.  We forget who's turn it is.  We run our hands quickly through the little flame and then dip the tips of our fingers in the candle.  I pepper the fun by telling a story about a kid getting hurt playing with fire.  We negotiate a group expedition to the bathroom and back.  We eat cake. We attempt another hand of Eights.  Every appliance in the house jumps on all at once and soon I am sitting among empty cake plates, finger prints cast in wax and abandoned playing cards.

10 Things I Like

Tassles
Blanket tents
Mermaids
Miniatures
Ribbons
Photos of Cuba
Wing tips
Orange Crush
Squished pennies
Beach glass

Polaroid

Remember when it cost .35 cents to find out one of the twenty eight photos taken included closed eyelids? That was back when picking up photos felt as exciting as getting mail with handwriting on the outside. I'd try to make it at least to the front seat of the car before tearing open the thick packet of shiny photos, but sometimes I'd stand right there in the store reliving a birthday party and feeling incredulous about someone ruining a perfectly good group shot by putting rabbit ears behind someone else. It felt special to get double prints and sometimes I'd send them out to the people who were in them, using the mail, paying for a stamp, writing a note on the back, in cursive.

In total, I took 4 years of photography classes in high school and college. The smell of the dark room still reminds me of the freedom a photography teacher grants to roam the campus or chat away the hour with your lab partner in a tiny red lit closet with frozen moments worth printing, clothes pinned around the room. Getting your photo taken meant you'd better comb your hair, stop horsing around and smile and the only people who looked like models on film actually were models. Fixing a photo took skill, filters, a darkroom, a light hand and patience. Sometimes is was just easier to retake a photo when the zit was gone.

When I see people photobomb, duckface and put a carefully rehearsed grin behind a peace sign, I get wistful for just saying cheese and hoping your eyes are open and your fly is shut. It reminds me, in a game of charades, should I pantomime a photographer focusing a camera, my children will never guess it correctly, just like rolling down a window, dialing a phone number and tuning in a radio station.

I still have eight rolls of film undeveloped in my box of family photos. They are from 1999 the year I saw the Cubs at Wrigley field, we had a New Years Eve party and I got a my first digital camera. I've long since forgotten what could be on those rolls and I suppose I should get them developed before there's nobody left that can remember how. Maybe there will be a good shot or three on each roll or maybe our eyes will be closed in all of them.

Four Things on a Sunday

Is cursive going to be obsolete? My kid wants to learn it so bad and I spent years perfecting mine and I still like using it. Perhaps in the future I'll be able to write secret notes to other old people in the retirement community in cursive.

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Jack has big eye brows, I only noticed today when we went to the pool and they were wet and stuck half way up his forehead.

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A moment ago I felt something crawling on my shoulder, I grabbed it and it was a spider. I put it outside and then leaned way down over the sidewalk to learn it was a wolf spider.

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This is the Edmonton roller derby eville Orange Crushers logo, I heart it and want it on a shirt.

Bibliophilia

I stood at Goodwill among the stacks of used books scanning each spine for something interesting when I happened upon a pink book stuck spine inward. I grabbed and turned it about before putting it back in the stacks and finding a little brown wrapped text book next to it.

The old brown wrapper is oily and smooth from being used and covers a beautiful red text book called "Mathematical Tables - From Handbook of Chemistry and Physics Seventh Edition" compiled by Charles D. Hodgman, M.S., Associate Professor of Physics at Case School of Applied Science from Chemical Rubber Publishing Co. 2310 Superior Ave. N.E., Cleveland, Ohio. 1941

It's a relic befitting of a shelf with a slide rule and a Kodak Duaflex IV twin lens camera also perched on it. It's a book I'll not take the time to read, understand or use, but a book I instantly fell in love with. On the inside cover Eugene Anthony Tiernan, who later co-authored "New Technology in Oilseed Proteins," carefully wrote the log shortcuts he wanted to easily access while he was in Iowa State College's Chem E. Class. It was a time when instead of buying a cell phone case, one bought a brown book cover to wrap a book in and had phone number like "2183-J" that an operator had to connect you to.

On the inside of the buttery little book are pages and pages filled with patterns of numbers in tables carefully typeset in something like a Bookman font. The pages are thin, smooth and abundant. The whole book lightweight and satisfyingly convenient in size. It made utterly no sense for me to buy it other than I wanted it. I paid $1.50 and with the original selling price at 55¢, if my math is right, I figured it to be a terrific investment already appreciating by almost 300%.

Restart

I started my day with coffee, Bach's Toccata en Fugue in D Minor on Organ and a falcon in my front yard eating a dead crow next to the gnarls of frozen dead bushes. I was going to work on my plan of world domination but decided I'd better nap when the baby naps and instead went back to bed. Upon waking the second time the sun was out and so was Mozart. World domination sounded like a great deal of responsibility I didn't need on top of the artwork and housework I need to finish today.

Grace Laughed at Me

I went to the court house yesterday to renew my car license registration. The line went out the door. There were cobwebs hanging off the people. I hoped that the office with no line was the one I needed to visit, but the lady behind the desk with no line told me to get in the line. I asked her if she thought it would move fast enough for me to get out of there in time to pick the kid up from school in three hours. She laughed at me and said I should come back today early in the morning. I left. I didn't think it was nice of her to laugh. I didn't go back today. I tried to do it online. Since we moved I have to go in person. I'm hoping tomorrow, day three of the five day overdue grace period, will be less crowded and the morning won't feel so early or funny.

Sleep Button

I hate the little sleep button on my keyboard. You know, the one with the moon on it, that when accidentally looked at too hard sends a computer into a narcoleptic fit of frozen, leaving me wondering what the heck just happened. Yeah, that button. I never use it, or more accurately, I never mean to use it. That button can suck it.

Knots and Mashups

We're all moved in and mostly unpacked. The bigger space has me feeling less knotted up. The handyman is coming today to do small repairs. Tomorrow is the first day back to school.

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Why is it impossible to make the back of my computer look nice? I sat down with zip ties last night and coiled up cords, yet is still look like Medusa is lurking in between my desk and my shelves.

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Go here and listen to "Imagine a Jump", "Smells Like Rockin' Robin" and shake your groove thang to "Gimmie Gimmie". Or just download the whole thing for free!