I got this book (Happiness is a choice) as a side effect of ordering some other books and I though t it might be useful for the Big Bad Bean. I started reading it last night and found it...not poorly written, but not incisively written either... kind of fluffy in fact. However, i was thinking about all day and decided to try the first short cut to happiness and found the day more fun, the Bumble Bean more fun, me more fun.
And that was a good thing because it has been A DAY. I had a really hard time waking up this morning. I probably should have tried harder (as in 4-5 cups of coffee.) I burned my bacon. I got my vitamin adhered to the side of my esophagus. I boiled over my noxious tea (after Berg the dumbest cat ever, had chewed a hole in the package that I didn't notice before I shook it...all over my feet. Ding was very offended and stalked around my dripping, reeking feet with her head turned aside.) Then, the Bumble Bean and I went on our adventure.
He refused to have his diaper changed when we got to the T station, but my happiness pulled us through gracefully. I did however decide that I would rather not bring my purse as well as his bag, so I took out everything that I thought I would need and tucked the rest beneath the seat.
We had a very fun adventure at the aquarium. In fact we were in the gift store before I realized I didn't know where my keys were. They should have been in my pocket. Happiness on hold for a moment, I passed backward through all my actions in a panic, and realized... I had not lost my keys. I had decided when going through my purse that I had no need of them while on the trip so I tucked them away in their own little pocket in my purse. And indeed it was true that I wouldn't need them on our adventure. I did not think far enough ahead to realize I would need them to get back in the car and eventually back into the house.
No one would be home. I had left the phone at home and I wouldn't be able to call anyone anyway since i haven't put anyone's number in the phone. Also, the only other person who has a key is the A Bean (maybe...assuming she can find it) and I was pretty sure she was in NY or PA. So, we took the bus home and attempted to break in through the window into the basement next to the back door which i was pretty sure I had removed the lock from. It is a very small window. I got it open and was trying to convince myself that I would be able to fit through it and all its accumulated grime, but the Bumble Bean would have no part of it. He was very firm in refusing to let me try to go through or going through himself. So what next.
I knew that our door jam was in shaky shape, so I broke in by prying away all the wood that held in the latch and opening the door once it was completely insecure. Happiness still going strong but feeling in need of a Martini even though I gave up drinking last week. Out of Vermouth. Hmmm. Happiness. Drambuie.
I still have a birthday party to get through, my car to retrieve, milk to pick up, and I was hoping to finish the dragons tonight. I will continue to choose happiness because the only other option today is to hide under the couch which doesn't have room for me. A little boy at the bus stop asked me why the Bumble Bean was so happy and I replied, "Why not? He has to be something and better to be happy than miserable." The kid didn't look convinced, but I felt better and still do.
11 September 2011
05 September 2011
Healing Traditions
This evening was an evening when I was off Bumble Bean duty, but I'm such a sucker that when he asked I stayed with him until he fell asleep...it's hard to feel bad about that. But, I had decided that once he fell asleep, I would do a variety of things on my ridiculously long to-do list for this 3 day weekend, then watch The Rock (the movie not the ex-wrestler) and take a shower before bed.
Usually when I make plans like this they founder on the to-do list, either because I get caught up in the to-do's or because I become overwhelmed and just play sudoku until I pass out, accomplishing nothing.
This time I got through two and a half items on my to-do list, fast-forwarded through The Rock and just as it was time to take a shower, I decided that tonight would be the night that I oiled myself all over. Two people have now recommended this to me for health and nice skin, so with no more knowledge than sesame oil and a hot shower (no soap) I took my bottle of cold pressed oil into the bathroom, routed the cat and proceeded to oil myself all over. This was a rather shocking experience, first because I rarely actually see my body anymore and when I do I'm in a hurry, showering, steam, no glasses, etc... The second reason it was shocking is simply because of what I found upon examination. I will not go into details since I know the Long Bean occasionally reads this and I don't want to embarrass him. It was however quite dis-heartening.
I quickly realized that I should perhaps have gone to the website that was recommended to me about this since I found I didn't know how much oil I was supposed to be using... Should I be slick or just glowing? I went for slick since I figured I was at an oil deficit and my hands were at this point to oily to go use the computer. I then took my oily self into the shower having decided to not oil my face or my hair since I didn't remember any guidance on those systems.
Upon entry into the shower, two things that I have always known came to the forefront of my mind. First, that I use my hands to wipe the water from my eyes and push the hair back so I can breathe, and, second, with hot watter, oil becomes impossible to contain. So with a greasy face and hair, smelling like nothing so much as a tin of tahini, I rubbed and rubbed at my healthily oiled body and came to yet another gap in my knowledge. Namely, how much of this stuff was I supposed to be trying to remove? I rubbed and rubbed at the body that I had come to be a stranger in and abruptly came against yet another truth that I know but had forgotten. Bath tubs are slippery when wet. They are ever more slippery when oiled and wet.
I have, in a healthy glowing way, strained one of my groin muscles. I don't actually know if it is a groin muscle since the only time I am ever aware of it is when the Big Bad Bean feels compelled to do this horrible hip-type set which feels remarkably like I've just been kicked in the groin... or, as it turns out, like I slipped in an oily bathtub.
Ah, well. I am out. I am clean-ish. My skin feels nice and not covered in an oily scum (noticeably unlike the bathtub) and the pain in my thigh has subsided to the point that I think I will be able to sleep.
Usually when I make plans like this they founder on the to-do list, either because I get caught up in the to-do's or because I become overwhelmed and just play sudoku until I pass out, accomplishing nothing.
This time I got through two and a half items on my to-do list, fast-forwarded through The Rock and just as it was time to take a shower, I decided that tonight would be the night that I oiled myself all over. Two people have now recommended this to me for health and nice skin, so with no more knowledge than sesame oil and a hot shower (no soap) I took my bottle of cold pressed oil into the bathroom, routed the cat and proceeded to oil myself all over. This was a rather shocking experience, first because I rarely actually see my body anymore and when I do I'm in a hurry, showering, steam, no glasses, etc... The second reason it was shocking is simply because of what I found upon examination. I will not go into details since I know the Long Bean occasionally reads this and I don't want to embarrass him. It was however quite dis-heartening.
I quickly realized that I should perhaps have gone to the website that was recommended to me about this since I found I didn't know how much oil I was supposed to be using... Should I be slick or just glowing? I went for slick since I figured I was at an oil deficit and my hands were at this point to oily to go use the computer. I then took my oily self into the shower having decided to not oil my face or my hair since I didn't remember any guidance on those systems.
Upon entry into the shower, two things that I have always known came to the forefront of my mind. First, that I use my hands to wipe the water from my eyes and push the hair back so I can breathe, and, second, with hot watter, oil becomes impossible to contain. So with a greasy face and hair, smelling like nothing so much as a tin of tahini, I rubbed and rubbed at my healthily oiled body and came to yet another gap in my knowledge. Namely, how much of this stuff was I supposed to be trying to remove? I rubbed and rubbed at the body that I had come to be a stranger in and abruptly came against yet another truth that I know but had forgotten. Bath tubs are slippery when wet. They are ever more slippery when oiled and wet.
I have, in a healthy glowing way, strained one of my groin muscles. I don't actually know if it is a groin muscle since the only time I am ever aware of it is when the Big Bad Bean feels compelled to do this horrible hip-type set which feels remarkably like I've just been kicked in the groin... or, as it turns out, like I slipped in an oily bathtub.
Ah, well. I am out. I am clean-ish. My skin feels nice and not covered in an oily scum (noticeably unlike the bathtub) and the pain in my thigh has subsided to the point that I think I will be able to sleep.
12 August 2011
Perhaps I am a Racontuer
I sit here doing incredibly boring things and find myself ranting in my head:
"Stupid, fucking thieves and home invaders!"
"Autistic spectrum, my lily-white ass!"
"Gamers (role playing) and people who engage in make believe S&M are still playing house with their friends and after about age 12 that's just boring and a little sick."
"First my hammock and now B&E you stupid f*^$ing, f%$&ers!"
I recently spent some time with a man who claimed to be the most offensive person he knew. So, in the interest of offending the greatest number of people I know (most of whom don't read this blog, but I don't care,) I have decided to rant about:
"Modern child-rearing theory and practice is a conspiracy to promote mindless consumerism"
And now I don't care about it so perhaps more later or perhaps not.
"Stupid, fucking thieves and home invaders!"
"Autistic spectrum, my lily-white ass!"
"Gamers (role playing) and people who engage in make believe S&M are still playing house with their friends and after about age 12 that's just boring and a little sick."
"First my hammock and now B&E you stupid f*^$ing, f%$&ers!"
I recently spent some time with a man who claimed to be the most offensive person he knew. So, in the interest of offending the greatest number of people I know (most of whom don't read this blog, but I don't care,) I have decided to rant about:
"Modern child-rearing theory and practice is a conspiracy to promote mindless consumerism"
And now I don't care about it so perhaps more later or perhaps not.
13 June 2011
Life has been too full to blog
and I haven't felt inclined. There has been a lot of life that seems like it could inspire a post but it doesn't inspire me to actually sit down and do it.
Six months descending into a pit of despair, hoping, trying to have faith- it worked. Everything is looking up. Except teaching law students. And various and sundry other parts of my job.
Tonight I attended my second in a series of public meetings concerning the Green Line Extension Project in Somerville. I'm actually really excited/intrigued/stimulated to be investigating my local government. I recently read that despite this country's foundational principal of rule by law, not many Americans believe much in law or government, inherently distrusting it. Hear, hear! I wonder if I could change that in my town?
Six months descending into a pit of despair, hoping, trying to have faith- it worked. Everything is looking up. Except teaching law students. And various and sundry other parts of my job.
Tonight I attended my second in a series of public meetings concerning the Green Line Extension Project in Somerville. I'm actually really excited/intrigued/stimulated to be investigating my local government. I recently read that despite this country's foundational principal of rule by law, not many Americans believe much in law or government, inherently distrusting it. Hear, hear! I wonder if I could change that in my town?
More boxer-ed butt...
this time right outside my window. Never saw the guy's face, don't know anything about height (he was on a ladder), weight, skin color, hair, etc... I'm guessing he was still fairly young since he did have a fairly nicely formed bottom and most middle aged male bottoms tend to migrate to the front to form a gut... sometimes the crack moves to the front as well which is rather horrifying.
14 April 2011
Do your pants hang low?
I'm working to close-of-library this evening and, since I was hungry, went forth for food after 6. I walked behind half a dozen people who were wearing their pants below their bottoms. I remember hearing about study that found that wearing high heeled shoes (more than 3 inches) meant that you were very unlikely to develop bad knees in old age. I wonder what such a study will say about under-bottom-pants-wearing? While your hips are permanently skewed, your knees are broken and your ankles give out, you don't experience chronic neck tension due to all anxiety being focussed on your behind?
30 March 2011
Trumping "The Chipmunk"
As anyone who has followed my blog is aware, the Bumble Bean has been slow to use verbal language to express himself and the world around him.. When he was two and didn't feel like crying when something hurt or upset him, he would clench his fists by his side and say "dit, dit, dit, dit" until the urge passed. DSS characterized this as toddler swearing.
Later, as in the past year, the Bean developed another unique verbal ploy which was that "The Chipmunk" was what he used to trump any argument. It would go like this:
"It's pajama time!" said Mommy.
"No," said the Bean.
"Yes," said Mommy.
"No," said and signed the Bean.
"Yes," said and signed Mommy.
"No," said, signed and head-shook the Bean, "The Chipmunk."
Neither the Mommy nor the Daddy had any idea what this had to do with, but clearly the Bean felt this was the ultimate argument.
Recently, we tried to turn the tables on the Bean and we introduced "the chipmunk" on our side of the argument. The Bean came right back with something like "the frazier."
Today, my birthday, I had a call from the Big Bad Bean who said that he tried a different counter and was soundly recountered by the Bumble Bean:
"No," said the Bumble.
"Yes," said Big Bad.
"No," said and signed the Bumble.
"Yes," said the Big Bad (he doesn't do the signing escalation.)
"No," said, signed and head-shook the Bumble.
"Veto," countered the Big Bad Bean.
"No comment," recountered the Bumble Bean.
He's the light of my life and definitely too smart for his own good.
Spellcheck, such as it was, seems to have given up entirely.
Later, as in the past year, the Bean developed another unique verbal ploy which was that "The Chipmunk" was what he used to trump any argument. It would go like this:
"It's pajama time!" said Mommy.
"No," said the Bean.
"Yes," said Mommy.
"No," said and signed the Bean.
"Yes," said and signed Mommy.
"No," said, signed and head-shook the Bean, "The Chipmunk."
Neither the Mommy nor the Daddy had any idea what this had to do with, but clearly the Bean felt this was the ultimate argument.
Recently, we tried to turn the tables on the Bean and we introduced "the chipmunk" on our side of the argument. The Bean came right back with something like "the frazier."
Today, my birthday, I had a call from the Big Bad Bean who said that he tried a different counter and was soundly recountered by the Bumble Bean:
"No," said the Bumble.
"Yes," said Big Bad.
"No," said and signed the Bumble.
"Yes," said the Big Bad (he doesn't do the signing escalation.)
"No," said, signed and head-shook the Bumble.
"Veto," countered the Big Bad Bean.
"No comment," recountered the Bumble Bean.
He's the light of my life and definitely too smart for his own good.
Spellcheck, such as it was, seems to have given up entirely.
29 March 2011
"Are you OK, Stick"
For the Bumble Bean's 5th birthday we did not have a birthday party because he didn't give a damn and we didn't care for the hassle. Instead, we played with the Flip video camera: http://www.youtube.com/user/laughingatus?feature=mhum and then we built him his very own birthday fire in the back yard.
Since then, he has from time to time asked for a fire and I have dutifully gathered all of the fallen sticks from around our yard and built a fire which he has played with/in for 10-20 minutes and then gone on to other forms of backyard entertainment. I, of course, then have to keep an eye on the fire to make sure it doesn't run away.
A few weeks ago, a very large branch fell off the sidewalk tree in front of our house and some civic minded individual pitched it into our yard so it would be our problem rather than the city's. Naturally, I dragged it into the backyard for future fire starting activities. This branch is easily 3 times as long the Bumble Bean with forks and general branchiness. The Bean has taken to standing it on its spindly end and letting it fall over and then rushing up to it and saying, "stick, are you OK? Are you OK, Stick?" giggling, and then doing again. Then he balances this long unweildy thing across the swing and pushes it for awhile, reciting, "not too high (I know, I know) not too fast (I know, I know) make sure I don't fall off (I know, Stick!)" then pushing it so hard that the whole thing gets tangled up.
He is more fun every day and I am more besotted with him everyday. I can't imagine ever converting that into something that a self-respecting man would feel comfortable with, nevermind an angst-driven teenager. Hmm.
Since then, he has from time to time asked for a fire and I have dutifully gathered all of the fallen sticks from around our yard and built a fire which he has played with/in for 10-20 minutes and then gone on to other forms of backyard entertainment. I, of course, then have to keep an eye on the fire to make sure it doesn't run away.
A few weeks ago, a very large branch fell off the sidewalk tree in front of our house and some civic minded individual pitched it into our yard so it would be our problem rather than the city's. Naturally, I dragged it into the backyard for future fire starting activities. This branch is easily 3 times as long the Bumble Bean with forks and general branchiness. The Bean has taken to standing it on its spindly end and letting it fall over and then rushing up to it and saying, "stick, are you OK? Are you OK, Stick?" giggling, and then doing again. Then he balances this long unweildy thing across the swing and pushes it for awhile, reciting, "not too high (I know, I know) not too fast (I know, I know) make sure I don't fall off (I know, Stick!)" then pushing it so hard that the whole thing gets tangled up.
He is more fun every day and I am more besotted with him everyday. I can't imagine ever converting that into something that a self-respecting man would feel comfortable with, nevermind an angst-driven teenager. Hmm.
Lost it
I have now lost two pieces of writing that I was intending to reproduce in the blog. The first was the next chapter of Artemis Winter in which I wrote about being fed up; the second was the introduction and outline for my book, "How to learn anything." The problem with losing the second one is that it was on a co-pay receipt and had my name on it and I probably lost it at work and if anyone reads it it could really insult them and I could have an uncomfortable conversation looming somewhere in my future.
The sentence just prior made me happy. Partly because, though it is a run-on sentence, it is exactly how I talk (have therefore captured my "voice" in writing) and partly because I was engaging in a little recreational anxiety over it and then realized that there isn't anyone in the Law School that I have ever had a conversation with who could really make me uncomfortable. Being arrogant certainly has great advantages.
I sent my website off to Manhattan Toys a week ago. I will call today to follow up. http://www.laughingatus-design.com/ I'm not sure after all that it is impressive in anyway, so now that I have sent it, I will post it on Facebook and elicit the random and not-at-all helpful, thoughtful or critical sorts of comments that Facebook accrues (accretes?)
The sentence just prior made me happy. Partly because, though it is a run-on sentence, it is exactly how I talk (have therefore captured my "voice" in writing) and partly because I was engaging in a little recreational anxiety over it and then realized that there isn't anyone in the Law School that I have ever had a conversation with who could really make me uncomfortable. Being arrogant certainly has great advantages.
I sent my website off to Manhattan Toys a week ago. I will call today to follow up. http://www.laughingatus-design.com/ I'm not sure after all that it is impressive in anyway, so now that I have sent it, I will post it on Facebook and elicit the random and not-at-all helpful, thoughtful or critical sorts of comments that Facebook accrues (accretes?)
10 March 2011
Regency romance with a sore throat
2 am, wide awake, throat hurts so much I can barely swallow... What to do? Write a regency romance.
Lavinia ducked behind the curtain hiding the withdrawing room from view. "Oh!" she said, wide eyed at the sight of a man and woman locked in an intimate embrace, "please excuse me."
"Don't be a fool," snarled the gentleman, "she's fainted. Do something."
"Why not lay her on the chair behind you and let me pass." He laid the girl, none too gently, on the chair and moved to the side. Lavinia slid past him and asked, "who is she?"
"I haven't the faintest," he replied. Lavinia looked at him sidelong while chafing the girls hands, an impudent grin in her eyes. "I was summoned here to meet my nephew and when I entered, she just gasped and fainted." He sounded more aggravated than aggrieved.
The grin got as far as Lavinia's mouth and her lips twitched. She looked away and said, "do you often have that effect on young women?"
No response. The girl was also not responding to the gentle chaffing, so Lavinia checked discreetly to see if her corset was too tight. "You may want to ask a footman for smelling salts."
"Don't you have any? I thought all gently bred ladies had a bag full of such quackery always to hand."
"Flattering," she replied. "Your reputation does not have you so boorish."
"You know me?" he asked, surprised, but with a thread of amusement in his voice. Lavinia peeped at him again and saw no humor in his face, but he looked to her more human and interested. Just then the girl on the chair moaned and half sobbed. Lavinia turned back to her as he said, "it seems you have the advantage me."
"Shh, sweetheart. Calmly, all is well."
"I don't see how she could be more calm or more unwell without actually expiring." He was actually teasing her! And at such a time.
"Why don't you go make yourself useful and get some smelling salts?"
Just then an enormous lady threw back the curtain, and theatrically exclaimed, "What's this!?"
Lavinia turned more fully, still on her knees holding the girl's hand, "have you smelling salts? She has fainted and I can't rouse her."
The lady looked stunned and disappointed, rather like a florid souffle sinking into itself. "The daft girl can't do a thing right." She shot a guilty glance at the gentleman who had stiffened like a poker. The comment along with her guilt and general theatricality made it rather clear that he had been made a fool of.
Reaching down and grasping Lavinia by her wrist, he hauled her to her feet and pulled her from the room saying, "I think we can leave the girl in the capable hands of her duenna."
Lavinia, half skipping to keep up, tugged at his hold on her. "Will you stop before I break my neck! It's not my fault you were a target of a matchmaking mama. I've torn my flounce!" He stopped abruptly causing her to bump into him. He actually grinned this time and said, "I wonder what one has to do with the other?"
Lavinia drew herself up in mock indignation, "I entered that room and saved you a great deal of embarrassment to mend my flounce. I did not have the chance before you hauled me forth like so much..." She stopped, not wishing to compare herself to baggage but he saw it and his grin widened into a real smile of appreciation. Instead of replying, he moved another curtain on the wall aside, revealing a small alcove, with nothing in it but a rather ugly sculpture of a fish, and thrust her inside saying, "I will guard the entrance from unwanted intruders."
With that the curtain swung shut and Lavinia was left in semi-darkness to find her needle (already threaded, thank god) and mend her torn hem. "I hope I don't ruin it in the dark and all," she muttered hoping he heard. She emerged to find his mood changed once more from the grimly teasing to surly. He looked at her critically, "who are you?"
Lavinia twinkled up at him, "as we have not been introduced, perhaps you shouldn't be talking to me."
"Don't be an idiot," he advised, more mildly than the words would indicate, "What's your name?"
"Mrs. Linnett."
He considered for a while looking intently at her face. "That's the family name of the Earl of Fosburnham."
"Indeed. I was married to his fifth son, Frederick."
"Was?"
"He died several years ago."
He did not reply, but looked at her for a moment more, then turned abruptly away, grasping her wrist again. "The next dance is starting."
Skipping again to avoid being dragged along behind, Lavinia said, "What of it?"
"We'll dance," he said.
At that Lavinia dug in her heels and pulled back sharply. "I believe it is for the gentleman to ASK if a lady would care to dance."
"Don't you care for dancing?" he asked all smooth innocense. Lavinia narrowed her eyes at him. "Can't take it yourself?" he aked.
Lavinia grinned back at him and then laughed at his expression. "Of course, I love to dance. Do you?"
"I don't usually dance," he replied as he maved them once again towards the dance floor.
"But you do know how? I've already had my dress torn once by a flat footed buffoon."
"Flattering," he said back at her. "Of course I know how, I just don't do it that often." With that he swept her among the dancers swirling gracefully about the floor. They revolved around the floor a few times with no conversation. He didn't even look at her. As they began the next circuit of the floor, Lavinia looked away from him and commented, "Unusually fine weather we're enjoying this week."
That brought his eyes back to her face, but she refused to look at him. She could see the grin in his eyes but it didn't make it as far as his mouth. "So who were you before you married young Linnett? Who's your family?"
"Your reputation has you top of the trees, yet I don't see how it can be so when you don't do anything right. How do you manage it?"
Lavinia ducked behind the curtain hiding the withdrawing room from view. "Oh!" she said, wide eyed at the sight of a man and woman locked in an intimate embrace, "please excuse me."
"Don't be a fool," snarled the gentleman, "she's fainted. Do something."
"Why not lay her on the chair behind you and let me pass." He laid the girl, none too gently, on the chair and moved to the side. Lavinia slid past him and asked, "who is she?"
"I haven't the faintest," he replied. Lavinia looked at him sidelong while chafing the girls hands, an impudent grin in her eyes. "I was summoned here to meet my nephew and when I entered, she just gasped and fainted." He sounded more aggravated than aggrieved.
The grin got as far as Lavinia's mouth and her lips twitched. She looked away and said, "do you often have that effect on young women?"
No response. The girl was also not responding to the gentle chaffing, so Lavinia checked discreetly to see if her corset was too tight. "You may want to ask a footman for smelling salts."
"Don't you have any? I thought all gently bred ladies had a bag full of such quackery always to hand."
"Flattering," she replied. "Your reputation does not have you so boorish."
"You know me?" he asked, surprised, but with a thread of amusement in his voice. Lavinia peeped at him again and saw no humor in his face, but he looked to her more human and interested. Just then the girl on the chair moaned and half sobbed. Lavinia turned back to her as he said, "it seems you have the advantage me."
"Shh, sweetheart. Calmly, all is well."
"I don't see how she could be more calm or more unwell without actually expiring." He was actually teasing her! And at such a time.
"Why don't you go make yourself useful and get some smelling salts?"
Just then an enormous lady threw back the curtain, and theatrically exclaimed, "What's this!?"
Lavinia turned more fully, still on her knees holding the girl's hand, "have you smelling salts? She has fainted and I can't rouse her."
The lady looked stunned and disappointed, rather like a florid souffle sinking into itself. "The daft girl can't do a thing right." She shot a guilty glance at the gentleman who had stiffened like a poker. The comment along with her guilt and general theatricality made it rather clear that he had been made a fool of.
Reaching down and grasping Lavinia by her wrist, he hauled her to her feet and pulled her from the room saying, "I think we can leave the girl in the capable hands of her duenna."
Lavinia, half skipping to keep up, tugged at his hold on her. "Will you stop before I break my neck! It's not my fault you were a target of a matchmaking mama. I've torn my flounce!" He stopped abruptly causing her to bump into him. He actually grinned this time and said, "I wonder what one has to do with the other?"
Lavinia drew herself up in mock indignation, "I entered that room and saved you a great deal of embarrassment to mend my flounce. I did not have the chance before you hauled me forth like so much..." She stopped, not wishing to compare herself to baggage but he saw it and his grin widened into a real smile of appreciation. Instead of replying, he moved another curtain on the wall aside, revealing a small alcove, with nothing in it but a rather ugly sculpture of a fish, and thrust her inside saying, "I will guard the entrance from unwanted intruders."
With that the curtain swung shut and Lavinia was left in semi-darkness to find her needle (already threaded, thank god) and mend her torn hem. "I hope I don't ruin it in the dark and all," she muttered hoping he heard. She emerged to find his mood changed once more from the grimly teasing to surly. He looked at her critically, "who are you?"
Lavinia twinkled up at him, "as we have not been introduced, perhaps you shouldn't be talking to me."
"Don't be an idiot," he advised, more mildly than the words would indicate, "What's your name?"
"Mrs. Linnett."
He considered for a while looking intently at her face. "That's the family name of the Earl of Fosburnham."
"Indeed. I was married to his fifth son, Frederick."
"Was?"
"He died several years ago."
He did not reply, but looked at her for a moment more, then turned abruptly away, grasping her wrist again. "The next dance is starting."
Skipping again to avoid being dragged along behind, Lavinia said, "What of it?"
"We'll dance," he said.
At that Lavinia dug in her heels and pulled back sharply. "I believe it is for the gentleman to ASK if a lady would care to dance."
"Don't you care for dancing?" he asked all smooth innocense. Lavinia narrowed her eyes at him. "Can't take it yourself?" he aked.
Lavinia grinned back at him and then laughed at his expression. "Of course, I love to dance. Do you?"
"I don't usually dance," he replied as he maved them once again towards the dance floor.
"But you do know how? I've already had my dress torn once by a flat footed buffoon."
"Flattering," he said back at her. "Of course I know how, I just don't do it that often." With that he swept her among the dancers swirling gracefully about the floor. They revolved around the floor a few times with no conversation. He didn't even look at her. As they began the next circuit of the floor, Lavinia looked away from him and commented, "Unusually fine weather we're enjoying this week."
That brought his eyes back to her face, but she refused to look at him. She could see the grin in his eyes but it didn't make it as far as his mouth. "So who were you before you married young Linnett? Who's your family?"
"Your reputation has you top of the trees, yet I don't see how it can be so when you don't do anything right. How do you manage it?"
06 March 2011
Potty, potty
The Bumble Bean peed in the potty for the first time yesterday! It was a day full of potty things after that. He refused to wear clothes most of the afternoon and evening. I missed my mom acutely when he used the potty and I had no one to call who would be just as excited without judging. I finally called the A Bean once I thought she would be home. She was appropriately happy and proud of him.
Later that evening, when he was without a stitch of clothing he gave a series of three little farts, and said, "uh-oh, need more bubble gum!"
Later that evening, when he was without a stitch of clothing he gave a series of three little farts, and said, "uh-oh, need more bubble gum!"
01 March 2011
Big bonus of big boobs
When you are at a public pool with your child and he wants you to keep his floaty toys safe from the hoards of other children, you can stick them in and around your cleavage and not even look deformed.
28 February 2011
What are people thinking? Or are they?
Today, in the course of normal workplace conversation, I told someone that we are planning to homeschool the Bumble Bean. She responded with, "Oh my God! Why would you do that to your kid? No one likes homeschooled kids!"
It had never occurred to me to have a popularity contest be part of my child-rearing policy. Now that I think of it though, there are quite a few children I would like to vote out of the next round. I wonder if that means sterilization or just a dunce cap?
I do wonder how prevalent this attitude is. I think most people would be unlikely to say it to my face since to do so would be incredibly rude and offensive. Even though I am very hard to offend and usually impervious to rudeness, it got me thinking, and this is what I thought:
It had never occurred to me to have a popularity contest be part of my child-rearing policy. Now that I think of it though, there are quite a few children I would like to vote out of the next round. I wonder if that means sterilization or just a dunce cap?
I do wonder how prevalent this attitude is. I think most people would be unlikely to say it to my face since to do so would be incredibly rude and offensive. Even though I am very hard to offend and usually impervious to rudeness, it got me thinking, and this is what I thought:
- Yes, a majority of homeschoolers tend to be some degree of elitist about and I do find it aggravating and counterproductive but I'll take it over vaster ignorance, helplessness, uselessness and waste.
- I've never been like most people, even before I was homeschooled, and that has never noticeably stopped people from liking me. In fact, maybe I should pro-actively tell people who seem inclined to be too glommily friendly.
- I'm a LIBRARIAN for Christ's sake! Mainstream is obviously not a primary concern of mine.
- I'd rather my kid in be in therapy for years and years because he didn't have access to broadcast television than live in desperate mediocrity his whole life. (Yes, I know that's elitist.)
- As she left, she thanked me for the opportunity to think for the first time today...apparently not even realizing that she was illustrating my point that school prepares children for lives of dullness and drudgery: putting up with pointless exercises day after day; classes and homework when in school, meetings forever after that, ad nauseum (no barf-bag included).
- A newly realized reason I want to be independently wealthy: I won't have to attend meetings.
Family means family. Where's the booze?
The Big Bad Bean wears his heart on his sleeve. I don't mind at all. I love being the wife of a man who is shamelessly, sappily in love with me.
The Big Bad Bean wears his heart on his sleeve. He has no tolerance for fools, liars or other unworthy characters and it shows.
As it turns out, he also has no tolerance for most of my family. It also shows. He graciously extends this to a hefty chunk of his family too, he's very equal opportunity in that way.
I can't say I blame him...about my family at least. I can't quite drum up the same depth of feeling for the untolerable parts of his family since by and large they don't communicate about anything important so the chance of them ever saying anything to damage the Bumble Bean is pretty low.
On the other hand, I am dreading my family reunion in July. Last February's visit for my brother's 40th birthday party was such a remarkably un-nurturing experience that it was anti-nurturing and I have no desire to repeat it. Even less desire to repeat it to the tune of over $1000.
The Big Bad Bean wears his heart on his sleeve. He has no tolerance for fools, liars or other unworthy characters and it shows.
As it turns out, he also has no tolerance for most of my family. It also shows. He graciously extends this to a hefty chunk of his family too, he's very equal opportunity in that way.
I can't say I blame him...about my family at least. I can't quite drum up the same depth of feeling for the untolerable parts of his family since by and large they don't communicate about anything important so the chance of them ever saying anything to damage the Bumble Bean is pretty low.
On the other hand, I am dreading my family reunion in July. Last February's visit for my brother's 40th birthday party was such a remarkably un-nurturing experience that it was anti-nurturing and I have no desire to repeat it. Even less desire to repeat it to the tune of over $1000.
19 February 2011
Picking my nose in the late night kitchen
Tonight was book club and I still have a cheesecake to make for tomorrow's party at the in-laws. It is late and I am in the kitchen, not however picking my nose. I have considered it, since we had determined in some fantastic and incomprehensible tangent that is fairly signature for book club, that picking one's nose in the kitchen was not OK, except perhaps for very late at night. I have decided that I am in fact not in the mood to pick my nose. It is fragile now and would probably bleed were I to use it in such a fashion.
Tonight's topics were supposed to be balls (I missed this discussion due to saying goodnight to Samir), weird occurrences and money. I don't believe that we talked about money at all. We talked about zombies, their attraction and apocalypses (apocalypsi?) and winter camping, survival and vegetarianism as it relates to cruelty v.s survival. I think the only conclusions we came to are that bivalves are incapable of feeling pain and that pizza would be the greatest loss to humanity assuming any of us survived an apocalypse. We also discussed celebrities, specifically that it is a terrible fate to befall a human being, that Harrison Ford is an Indiana Jones of wild animal welfare and that Tom Cruise, or perhaps Katie Holmes (who may or may not be from a family of Scientologists, Catholics or Masons or all of the above) is being investigated by the FBI for slavery. I actually knew about the FBI investigation since I went to a normal-ish grocery store yesterday and read the headlines of all the rags.
In other news the Dragon Daisy was a big hit but the monkey ball, which had such great promise in my head, turned out to look more like a pig, though the Bumble Bean suggested that it looked more like a bird to him. I can't really see it but the ears are rather fly-away. Photo to be published (once I take it) on http://www.laughingatus-design.com/.
I'm not particularly looking forward to tomorrow. I'm not really sure why. Perhaps I'm just tired and know I will be tomorrow as well.
Tonight's topics were supposed to be balls (I missed this discussion due to saying goodnight to Samir), weird occurrences and money. I don't believe that we talked about money at all. We talked about zombies, their attraction and apocalypses (apocalypsi?) and winter camping, survival and vegetarianism as it relates to cruelty v.s survival. I think the only conclusions we came to are that bivalves are incapable of feeling pain and that pizza would be the greatest loss to humanity assuming any of us survived an apocalypse. We also discussed celebrities, specifically that it is a terrible fate to befall a human being, that Harrison Ford is an Indiana Jones of wild animal welfare and that Tom Cruise, or perhaps Katie Holmes (who may or may not be from a family of Scientologists, Catholics or Masons or all of the above) is being investigated by the FBI for slavery. I actually knew about the FBI investigation since I went to a normal-ish grocery store yesterday and read the headlines of all the rags.
In other news the Dragon Daisy was a big hit but the monkey ball, which had such great promise in my head, turned out to look more like a pig, though the Bumble Bean suggested that it looked more like a bird to him. I can't really see it but the ears are rather fly-away. Photo to be published (once I take it) on http://www.laughingatus-design.com/.
I'm not particularly looking forward to tomorrow. I'm not really sure why. Perhaps I'm just tired and know I will be tomorrow as well.
04 February 2011
In case you have been wondering where I've been since mid-December
I feel somewhat responsible to this blog to keep writing it. I don't feel responsible to Facebook. While I took on both in a voluntary fashion, both I believe inspired by Martinis, I don't login to Facebook if I can help it, but do feel bad about not blogging. Weird, since there are a lot more people who read Facebook than even know that I have a blog. Also, because I am so strapped for time, I read my friends' blogs once I post an entry of my own and if I don't post then I don't keep up on the doings of my friends. Bad friend, sit!
A whole lot of what I have been up to is the Bumble Bean. I'm working from home 2 days a week now which means that on Tuesdays and Fridays I wake up at 4 am and work until 8 or 9, then start having fun with my little buddy and try to squeeze in a few more hours of work throughout the day as well as working through most lunches, going in early-ish, and leaving late on the other days.
He is more fun than there is any reasonable way to describe, so here are some vignettes I have been jotting down meaning to blog about.
At the moment he is using the splatter guard as a "tennis racket" to launch a variety of toys down the back stairs and commanding the Berg-kitty, "go get it!" "no, you go get it." As I write this the "tennis racket" has turned into a banjo, then a lily pad, and now abandoned for his true love - alphabet games & spelling.
We are in the kitchen. I am cooking bacon. On the table is a collection of toys representing two things for each letter of the alphabet. On the counter next to me is another collection of toys, one for each letter of the alphabet. The fridge is covered with magnetic word strips in runs like "moon cloud laughed" and "after one here cha cha is asleep." On the floor are his alphabet blocks, abandoned for now, and a collection of foam letters which he is licking so they will stick to the side of the cabinet. He is spelling rhinoceros. He is spelling it wrong and I point out that it should be "os" at the end instead of "is." He sounds it out for me, and sure enough, he is correct. That is exactly how we all say it in this house.
The Bumble Bean is sitting on the floor of the kitchen while I'm making bourbon chicken. He has his toys drum and is hitting it while flinging his head back and forth shouting, "Animal, Animal, Animal!" It is really an amazing imitation of the great Muppet drummer.
The Bumble Bean started drawing stick figures this weekend. he makes two circles for eyes, a big crescent for a mouth, then draws lines from the mouth to represent arms and legs. I wonder if that means he's an optimist?
He has started arguing a lot more. If I say no, he'll say, "the yes." If I say yes, he'll say, "the no." We will go on like this for a while, the Bean become more heated and then he will deliver, as the clincher in the argument, "the chipmunk." So far, no one has been able to figure out what the chipmunk is, where it's from or what it means, but the Bean has decided that it trumps. He is of course wrong in that but not because it is a chipmunk.
A whole lot of what I have been up to is the Bumble Bean. I'm working from home 2 days a week now which means that on Tuesdays and Fridays I wake up at 4 am and work until 8 or 9, then start having fun with my little buddy and try to squeeze in a few more hours of work throughout the day as well as working through most lunches, going in early-ish, and leaving late on the other days.
He is more fun than there is any reasonable way to describe, so here are some vignettes I have been jotting down meaning to blog about.
At the moment he is using the splatter guard as a "tennis racket" to launch a variety of toys down the back stairs and commanding the Berg-kitty, "go get it!" "no, you go get it." As I write this the "tennis racket" has turned into a banjo, then a lily pad, and now abandoned for his true love - alphabet games & spelling.
We are in the kitchen. I am cooking bacon. On the table is a collection of toys representing two things for each letter of the alphabet. On the counter next to me is another collection of toys, one for each letter of the alphabet. The fridge is covered with magnetic word strips in runs like "moon cloud laughed" and "after one here cha cha is asleep." On the floor are his alphabet blocks, abandoned for now, and a collection of foam letters which he is licking so they will stick to the side of the cabinet. He is spelling rhinoceros. He is spelling it wrong and I point out that it should be "os" at the end instead of "is." He sounds it out for me, and sure enough, he is correct. That is exactly how we all say it in this house.
The Bumble Bean is sitting on the floor of the kitchen while I'm making bourbon chicken. He has his toys drum and is hitting it while flinging his head back and forth shouting, "Animal, Animal, Animal!" It is really an amazing imitation of the great Muppet drummer.
The Bumble Bean started drawing stick figures this weekend. he makes two circles for eyes, a big crescent for a mouth, then draws lines from the mouth to represent arms and legs. I wonder if that means he's an optimist?
He has started arguing a lot more. If I say no, he'll say, "the yes." If I say yes, he'll say, "the no." We will go on like this for a while, the Bean become more heated and then he will deliver, as the clincher in the argument, "the chipmunk." So far, no one has been able to figure out what the chipmunk is, where it's from or what it means, but the Bean has decided that it trumps. He is of course wrong in that but not because it is a chipmunk.
I do so use Wikipedia...
but only when appropriate and I always cross check. I don't remember what I decided to look up in Wikipedia that caused this post to blossom in my head, but there it is. I use Google too. It's a great place to start.
Wikipedia will infer for you that coconut oil and coconut butter are the same thing. Google will seem to confirm that. However, if you try shopping for coconut butter on Amazon, you find that several manufacturers insist that there is a difference. I would agree since I now own both coconut oil and coconut butter. Hands down, I'm using the butter when I start making ice cream, but the oil is key for lightly sauteed snow peas with ginger and sesame.
Also, I fully intend to use Wikipedia to further my promotion/distribution of the Peking Duck Style once I get it edited. I got the raw footage captured last night so I'm further ahead than I was!
Wikipedia will infer for you that coconut oil and coconut butter are the same thing. Google will seem to confirm that. However, if you try shopping for coconut butter on Amazon, you find that several manufacturers insist that there is a difference. I would agree since I now own both coconut oil and coconut butter. Hands down, I'm using the butter when I start making ice cream, but the oil is key for lightly sauteed snow peas with ginger and sesame.
Also, I fully intend to use Wikipedia to further my promotion/distribution of the Peking Duck Style once I get it edited. I got the raw footage captured last night so I'm further ahead than I was!
Bacon, eggs and juggling
There are quite a few things in cooking in which you simply can't take short cuts if you are interested in a particular outcome. Eggs over easy with a runny yolk but no snotty white MUST be cooked over low heat with some kind of fat (I prefer butter.) Bacon to be crispy all the way through but not burnt must be cooked over medium to low heat and turned frequently once it starts to crisp.
Just now, as I was making my bacon and patiently waiting for it to be what I wanted it to be, I picked up the juggling book that I bought in early January and started reading the introductory matter. It went through the original edition from 1979, the encyclopedic edition, the current edition and then mentioned that if you started to have mystical experiences with your juggling you can always pick up The Zen of Juggling and delve deeper into this amazing art. At this point I had to put it down due to the frequent turning of my bacon, but I kept thinking and what I thought was, "wow, people are amazing! They can find depth of meaning in anything." Followed immediately by, "wow, you can make money with pretty much any sort of nonsense!"
Just now, as I was making my bacon and patiently waiting for it to be what I wanted it to be, I picked up the juggling book that I bought in early January and started reading the introductory matter. It went through the original edition from 1979, the encyclopedic edition, the current edition and then mentioned that if you started to have mystical experiences with your juggling you can always pick up The Zen of Juggling and delve deeper into this amazing art. At this point I had to put it down due to the frequent turning of my bacon, but I kept thinking and what I thought was, "wow, people are amazing! They can find depth of meaning in anything." Followed immediately by, "wow, you can make money with pretty much any sort of nonsense!"
01 February 2011
More snow...WTF!
I know this is not a very original post title, but it is very expressive of how I'm feeling about all of this.
At my last head examination, Dr. B. said that if there was still no change in the shrinking of my brain arteries and as long as the vascular reserve was still good, we would drop from a head examination every 6 months and go to every 9 months. Huzzah, Huzzay! Gooey, neck-breaking, eye-popping ultra sound only once a year (roughly, I'm optimistic.) However, I got a call yesterday about my scheduled MRI. Grrr. I didn't realize the ultimate check would be an MRI. I thought it would be more of the above mentioned horrible gooeiness.
I hate MRIs. They never end. Well, they do end but it takes a long time. They squeeze you in a tiny tube so you can barely see your toes way down there obstructing the light at the end of the tunnel. Then they tell you it will be loud, keep very still, breathe normally, and then pump you full of toxic chemicals that make you sick for a week or more and also make you feel nauseatingly hot and like you just wet your pants. Last time they were halfway through and stopped to accuse me of having a secret hair pin in my 1 inch long hair, dragged me out of the tube, felt my head and neck all over, and finally discovered that someone had woven a straightened paperclip into the neck of the johnie. They looked at me like I might have done it, then clearly some form of logic cut in and they thought "why would anyone do that?" My question exactly. So it started all over again and I got a double dose of the toxic nasty pants wetting stuff.
Now that I'm done with my rant, I would like to say that when they first gave me the stuff and warned me that it would feel like I had just wet myself, I did wonder how you could have that sensation without, ya know, wet-ness. But sure enough, just like they said, that is exactly what it felt like. And no, I did not actually wet myself, I checked afterwards. It does lead one to wonder if MRI techs, what with all the radiation and loud popping and straightened paperclips, inject themselves with that stuff as a form of entertainment? Perhaps when they have been drinking profusely and haven't peed as a sort of contest of endurance? A special rite of passage for MRI techs?
At my last head examination, Dr. B. said that if there was still no change in the shrinking of my brain arteries and as long as the vascular reserve was still good, we would drop from a head examination every 6 months and go to every 9 months. Huzzah, Huzzay! Gooey, neck-breaking, eye-popping ultra sound only once a year (roughly, I'm optimistic.) However, I got a call yesterday about my scheduled MRI. Grrr. I didn't realize the ultimate check would be an MRI. I thought it would be more of the above mentioned horrible gooeiness.
I hate MRIs. They never end. Well, they do end but it takes a long time. They squeeze you in a tiny tube so you can barely see your toes way down there obstructing the light at the end of the tunnel. Then they tell you it will be loud, keep very still, breathe normally, and then pump you full of toxic chemicals that make you sick for a week or more and also make you feel nauseatingly hot and like you just wet your pants. Last time they were halfway through and stopped to accuse me of having a secret hair pin in my 1 inch long hair, dragged me out of the tube, felt my head and neck all over, and finally discovered that someone had woven a straightened paperclip into the neck of the johnie. They looked at me like I might have done it, then clearly some form of logic cut in and they thought "why would anyone do that?" My question exactly. So it started all over again and I got a double dose of the toxic nasty pants wetting stuff.
Now that I'm done with my rant, I would like to say that when they first gave me the stuff and warned me that it would feel like I had just wet myself, I did wonder how you could have that sensation without, ya know, wet-ness. But sure enough, just like they said, that is exactly what it felt like. And no, I did not actually wet myself, I checked afterwards. It does lead one to wonder if MRI techs, what with all the radiation and loud popping and straightened paperclips, inject themselves with that stuff as a form of entertainment? Perhaps when they have been drinking profusely and haven't peed as a sort of contest of endurance? A special rite of passage for MRI techs?
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