Doing the internet personals thing is weird. I've mentioned this before, right? What with all the actual old-fashioned going-out-on-dates one has to do? It's like getting set up on a blind date by your cousin, except your cousin is a poorly-designed web portal who asks a lot of lame questions. At least having to try to explain to a stranger who I am, in an hour or less, has made me much more comfortable in job interviews. And that's a skill I'll need, since tomorrow is my first day of official unemployment.

My to-do list for Monday:

Wake up sobbing
Buy cat food
Apply for unemployment
Have panic attack
Do laundry
Go to Post Office, mail off eBay items
Eat nothing but egg rolls
Look for jobs on craigslist and mediabistro
Stare at the boxes of crap taken from my office
Drink
Make more shrinky-dink earrings for dandie
Water plants
Vomit

And so on. Tuesday should be a little less grim, since a group of recently-canned coworkers are gathering to watch Ugly Betty and eat take-out all day. After that, the future opens up before me as an endless black void. And it's cold out there. So very, very cold.

Getting laid off due to downsizing is kind of nice in the way that getting to be at your own funeral is kind of nice. Sure, you're dead, and therefore no longer an active player in the story of your life (or career). But if you're lucky, like I am, you hear a lot of people saying a lot of genuinely nice things about you that you wouldn't have otherwise heard. You may be surprised at who comes to the funeral; there might be people you thought had forgotten about you. A few people you thought you might see won't show up at all. For the most part, I've felt incredibly supported, both with words of wisdom and with job leads. I still haven't used all of my networking contacts. I might feel differently when my severance pay is about to run out (late January) but for now I feel great. Terrified, but pretty hopeful, and determined to make the most out of this time of forced semi-retirement from the working world.

I am packing up my office. It's weird how little I feel. I mean, I am constantly worried I won't find a job, and that it will be a cold winter, and people will forget about me. At the official farewell party last night I was making jokes about networking with the homeless people who hang out under the railroad bridge, you know, just in case that's what I end up doing. But I'm not yet at the point of despair. A few more weeks of failure has to happen first (I'll let you know, I'm sure). Right now it feels likely that I'll have to take a job that pays less than what I'm getting now, and I'll have to scramble to make extra income to pick up the slack. I don't have an extravagant lifestyle, so it's difficult to find things to cut out of my budget.

Anyway. Onward and upward. Goodbye squarehouse, goodbye mouse. Goodbye people I've worked with for 11 years. It's a lovely day outside and I need a nap.

Hey, look at me! I joined BlogHer. Which means I now have a beautiful, life-giving advertisement over there on the right. Isn't it great? And shiny? Don't you want to click on it, and then tell all of your friends to come to this blog and click on it too? I thought so. Get to it, people!

I just came from Isabel Baker's 90th birthday celebration. She's been living in Laurel Park for 40-something years, and has been active in the life of the community the entire time. She's one of those elderly people you want to be when you grow up. She's warm, friendly, sharp, has a lot of self-awareness and a sense of humor about herself. I hope I am half as loved as she is if I get to be 90.

After we'd all eaten potluck lunch, the mayor of Northampton (also a resident of the Park) read an official proclamation declaring today Isabel Baker Day. And the current president of the Laurel Park Association (not the same thing as the homeowner's association... it's complicated) presented Isabel with a brass plaque thanking her for her service to the LP community; the plaque will be installed in the Tabernacle. Then Isabel spoke. She thanked all of us for coming, and introduced a woman who had come all the way from Japan -- when the woman was in college, she traveled around the U.S., and bumped into Isabel's husband, who made her come over for dinner. Her English wasn't good, but her French was, so Isabel brought over a friend to translate from French to English. They stayed in touch over many years. Isabel told some stories about the old days of the Park, and ended by saying that whether she'd known us for a long time or a very short one, we were all very dear to her. Then we sang and had yummy cake.

I was also fortunate enough to sit at a table with Harry and Priscilla, a couple who met as kids at the Methodist summer camp here. They just celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. As a child, Priscilla may have even slept in my house, back when it was a dorm (there were 2 or 3 similar dorms). So cool.

The whole experience filled me with gladness, and made me more determined to keep this house. I hope I can do it.

I no longer have any actual work to do, in these twilight days of my job (officially unemployed in 12 days!). And I have never been so busy. I have a gazillion people to contact and ask for advice, get names and email addresses and phone numbers of other people to contact, and they send me to other people, or tell me about jobs to apply for... It's amazing how much I've managed to keep on top of, what with my lack of any sort of personal organizational system. I've only let a few things slip through my fingers, mostly by choice (my hairdresser urged me to call her niece, who works at a web company; haven't done it yet). I have a couple of interviews coming up, which is awesome. I have a good pitch idea in mind but I haven't gotten around to writing it yet. Our off-site editor people are coming tomorrow, and we have dinner and drinking plans both Wednesday and Thursday evenings. I am also getting advice on applying for unemployment, and using COBRA vs. one of the cheaper MA-provided plans, etc. In between all of this, I am sorting all the stuff in my cube.

And then there's all the stuff at home I want to do. I bought the supplies for baking my own bagels; I want to finally refinish this coffee-table thing I've had for awhile, plus repaint my metal patio set; I need to do some all-around cleaning (always); and sew some fancy scarves in addition to the cool t-shirt ones I made for dandie. There's the big-ass quilt still unfinished, too. This weekend has a trip to the Big E, plus the Laurel Park matriarch's 90th birthday potluck lunch.

I enjoy being busy and all, but this is getting a bit ridiculous.

I kind of love Kathy Griffin. Not many people know this, but I am a regular listener of a couple of hilarious, vulgar, NSFW and very, very gay podcasts (PNS Explosion and Daily Purge, can I get a what-what!). And Kathy fits right in to that genre. Yes, she's had too much plastic surgery, but there's something about her that totally charms me. So I was thrilled to read about her acceptance speech for the Emmy she just won:

In her speech, Griffin said that "a lot of people come up here and thank Jesus for this award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus."

She went on to hold up her Emmy, make an off-color remark about Christ and proclaim, "This award is my god now!"

Predictably, the Catholic League of Eternal Disapproval or whatever the hell it's called has condemned the speech, and now they're going to edit the "bad" parts out of the telecast. Lame.

I'm using a new template! The old "classy" beige/tan was getting a little dull. List of links has been updated and refreshed as well.

If you call someone and he texts you back saying he can't talk just now because he just got out of the money machine, which would you assume?
A. He somehow became trapped in an ATM vestibule and needed rescue.
B. He won big at Bingo and got to enter the Money Machine: a glass cabinet full of swirling wind-blown money, where he had 45 seconds to grab as much cash as he could.

"A" is the more reasonable choice, right? It's Occam's Razor, people. But no, the true story is "B." And it's not my tale to tell, so you'll have to hit up Henning next time you see him.

Speaking of seeing people you know, next time you're in a check-out line and you see a copy of the October 2007 issue of Disney Adventures magazine, pick it up and turn to the first page.

After a short period of rallying, by television now appears to have turned the darkened corner towards actual tube-death. On Saturday I decided to turn the TV on after a couple of hours of listening to my iPod on shuffle (the best part: "Johnny Thunder" [Kinks] and "Hold Back the Rain" [um, yes: Duran Duran] coming on during a brief thunderstorm) and I couldn't get the picture to show up for more than a few seconds. I tried slapping and hitting it in various spots and with varying degrees of strength, but it was futile. I only wanted it to be on as background while I did a mindless sewing project, so I ended up listening to a Hallmark Original Movie starring Shelley Long and Patrick Duffy. I lasted a half-hour. Still, the experience didn't make me loathe myself and everyone else, like watching "Rock of Love" (a.k.a. "Strippers Fighting," thanks Scott) does. I have a problem with that show. It's a car crash from which I can't look away. I need a personalized V-Chip that blocks that show from my life — plus "Flavor of Love," "Parental Control," "Cheaters," and "Intervention."

I might need to add that new show about the lobster boats... I watched one episode recently, and it started off with an airlift rescue of a cameraman who went into shock after being violently seasick for three days. They kept showing the guy, looking pale and awful and semi-conscious, unable to swallow a sip of water as he lolled on the bed in the cabin of a pitching, rolling boat. I have a surfeit of empathy, so just typing that is making me feel like I need several Bonine and a nap somewhere very very still. Even while I watched it I was thinking, "Shit. More raw material for my nightmares." And yet, I had to see the guy get rescued and healthy again. At least he made it out of there ok... Which is more I can say about the poor "Rock of Love" girls.

Someone at the sing tonight asked me where I worked, and I had to say, "Well, until the end of the month, I work at ..." She was a college senior, and so I acted hopeful about my job prospects, not wanting to crush her tender, optimistic soul. I'm still in the planning and plotting phase of my job search. I did send out one cover letter/resume via email last week, and have another position a friend is encouraging me to apply for (excuse me: "another position for which a friend is encouraging me to apply;" gotta have the perfect grammar if'n I want a writin' jorb). I hope to send that out tomorrow, after I get my new "professional" blog going. I bought a domain name (which is my name, .net, since some asshole is squatting on my name .com) and everything. The site will just have my clips online. I don't have the web skills to make it look amazing, but I'd rather it not look quite as amateur and "web 1.0" as it does right now. Sigh.

My garden is in the last frenzied throes of productivity. I can't even keep up with pinching off the basil flower buds. The tomato vines are beginning to brown and wither but there's still plenty of fruit getting ripe every day. I've blanched, peeled, and frozed a bunch of the smaller variety of tomatoes, and I've been giving away some, and I have been trying to eat a tomato a day. I'm trying to really savor them because the season is short, and you just can't get good tomatoes in a store... But it's tough when there are so many tomatoes in the garden you feel guilty when you go a day without consuming one.

My god, this post reads like I have the life of an old woman. I'm exciting and with-it, I swear! Once you get to know me! And after I've had my arthritis medicine, and there's no rain in the forecast, and I've taken my Centrum and Ensure...

Transperformance was last night, and as usual, everyone rocked and were hilarious, the kids were dancing and goofing around the whole night, and I had a great time. I took a bunch of photos but only 6 were good enough to upload. You can see them all here.

Something inside of Blogger is screwing up the link above. If it doesn't work, you can copy and paste the url: http://chowflap.com/gallery/main.php?g2_view=core.ShowItem&g2_itemId=669

I played croquet on Tuesday evening for the first time in more than 20 years. It was good times. I played regularly in the summer when I was a lass, and here's photographic proof:







These were taken at my late grandparents' house in Center Harbor, NH, on July 4, 1976 (making me almost 4 years old). No, I don't know which one is me, though if you go by the parent-enforced color coding system, I'm the one with the red mallet. Which makes my sister the one with the very poor form in the second photo. Click my "some of my photos" link on the right, and look in "General photos", for larger versions.

No movement on the job front, though I have been doing plenty of "networking", i.e. talking to all of my friends about my plight. And I flipped through a book of cover letters, and had my boss look at a draft of my resume (it needs work). I also talked to a former co-worker who told me that since she's been freelancing (after getting laid off in an identical situation two years ago) she is much happier, but not making as much money as she did when she was full-time. Which is worrisome. I still have time to think about all of this, though.

So. I've been laid off. The new financial boss decided that killing our magazine would give him such a big bonus, he couldn't not do it. We will be officially employed until the end of September. We heard the news yesterday morning, and I'm just now able to really think about possible outcomes without bursting into tears. A lot of the outcomes involve me selling my house at a loss (still figuring out how much of a loss), renting somewhere cheap, and taking on a more adventurous job or jobs. I would be heartbroken if I lost the house. For some reason, and I know it's irrational, I'd feel like a failure. Or, I could find a not-so-attractive job doing technical writing or something that paid well, but which would mean a long commute to Hartford or some similar hellscape. I could put my severance pay towards a Prius, maybe (it's not enough dough to buy one outright). And that way I could keep the house.
...

I just got off the phone with the realtor that acted as my buyer's agent. She gave me some numbers, so I have a better idea of what selling my house would mean for me financially. I guess it's up to me now... I have some big decisions to make in the next few weeks that could radically change my life. Stay tuned.

I hadn't been to my garden in a few days, so I had a big harvest today. And I took some photos.
Here are my zinnias, which I grew from seed and are now taller than I am.



Here's a macro of a pink one. I love the scales under the petals.



And my prolific eggplant. It has been feeding me well.



I found this tomato, which a fox/cat/raccoon had taken a bite of and then decided it wasn't for them. After I snapped this I found another bitten one (but uneaten) on a different plant.



One of the gorgeous heirloom tomatoes I picked today. Yum...


Here's my winnings for the day. That's a little bag of basil tips.


And a pretty macro shot of the striped little guys.

Our team took third place last night, not too shabby. I was responsible for two right answers (ghee and Cats). And then we decided at the last minute to go see the 12:01 showing of Superbad. The theater was a sea of baseball-hatted teen boys, with a smattering of girls and people in their 20s. We figured we were the oldest people in the theater. Before the movie started, the boys would yell at every familiar face that walked into the theater. How they can tell themselves apart is beyond me. Like with butterflies or penguins, maybe you have to be one of them to notice the subtle differences between each member of the group. Anyway, the movie was very funny. I feel like I have gotten a generous helping of cock and blowjob jokes which will stay with me a long time. Seriously though, the movie seems like this generation's Risky Business, or 16 Candles, except rated R and funnier.

I got home at 2:30, and was in bed at 3, where I tossed and turned for about an hour. I had eaten a small popcorn by myself with no water or soda -- this after the two Jack and cokes at trivia -- so I was stupidly dehydrated. I got up and drank some water and managed to sleep for a few hours. I did manage to have a disturbing dream in which I had been burdened by a large number of tiny newborn puppies. I was trying to figure out how to drown them (so easy to stuff into a sack and throw it into the river!) or otherwise get rid of them in some way that wouldn't destroy my mind with guilt. The idea of trying to raise them at home until they were old enough to adopt out seemed too impossibly time-consuming and work-heavy. If I brought them to a shelter I'd have to pay a fee for each dog they took in (this happened to me in real life about 12 years ago, with two kittens I saved from certain death and nursed back to health), and since I had, like, 17 puppies on my hands, it would cost me a lot of money. So the puppies would just have to go, secretly, and without me telling anyone I ever had them in the first place. But, through various wacky and unpleasant adventures, I was unable to get back to the puppies until they outgrew their hiding place, scrambling out and charming everyone with their antics while I tried to act surprised.

Right now I feel almost human again, though I'm about to go out to eat with friends and then go back to that same bar to play pool, and I might end up at the Elvis tribute show around midnight if I don't crash by then. Normally I'd take tonight off but I have to jump on the party train when it comes through town, you know? Sleeping will have to wait.

Last night I had a dream that I was in a relationship with Huey Lewis. He was older than he was in the 1980s, but still probably not as old as he is now. Regardless, I was thrilled to be with him, and we seemed to get along well. Today I was working on the crossword puzzle in the Advocate, and there was a Huey Lewis-related clue (answer: Huey). I do not know what the universe is trying to tell me. That it's hip to be square? I knew that already. Thanks, universe -- or should I call you "captain obvious"?

I am about to run out to a bar after staying in last night (didn't even attempt to go out, I was content to stay at home). How am I? Alternately lonely, happy, sad, petulant, confident, awkward, and hopeful. More later.

Have you ever started eating a new food just because you're heard it's so good for you? Something like kale, maybe. You buy it at the farmer's market, thinking, this doesn't look like something that will be delicious, but it will make me feel so healthy and good that maybe I won't mind the taste. And at first, you only eat it because you know you really should. But then, once you get to know kale, you start finding new and delicious recipes, and eventually you realize that, even though this food is packed with vitamins, low fat and high in fiber, you love it. You taught yourself to love kale. Sandy, chewy, good-for-you kale.

Yeah. That doesn't work when it's with people and not food.

I had a vacation. It was very nice, very relaxing. I got into a total groove of getting up for breakfast (woken up by my cell phone alarm), going to a morning meeting thing for an hour, killing time until lunch (reading, usually), eating lunch, napping, waking up, going swimming in the lake, eating dinner, sitting on the porch with a book or newspaper or computer until I had enough of an appetite for an ice cream cone, getting and eating an ice cream cone, and going to bed. Some variations: after dinner, usually there was some playing on the lawn with the kids; once there was kayaking before the swimming; two mornings I worked on a bowl (thrown on a wheel); there was a speaker on Monday night, the "Fund Fair" after lunch Weds., and the variety show thing Thursday. But really, there was mostly a lot of reading and sitting and eating. There were people (kids and adults) reading the new Harry Potter everywhere you looked. I finished it on Monday and thought it was very good. Anyway, if you'd like to see a few photos of my family enjoying the place, click here.

Now I'm back, and the katydids have started up. I hate them. I love hearing crickets, but the onetwothree scratchy katydid noise instantly makes me feel like it's oppressively humid out, even though it's currently about 70 and dry. The noise makes me feel anxious. I think it's a learned response to August heat, seasonal allergies, and the impending return to school. Of course, it could just be that katydids make a loud, annoying, and not-so-pretty noise.

I am back from California. Getting there I was delayed two hours due to weather, both ways. On the way out, the plane pulled out of the gate, stopped, and then stayed there for two hours while they played a free movie for us (Blades of Glory, seen it) and a thunderstorm slowly passed over us. On the way back, I had a stop in Pittsburgh, where my plane was stuck in St. Louis due to a tornado warning. They were two hours late. When it finally arrived, I was extremely dismayed to see it was a very tiny commuter plane, three seats across. It was an hour ride and fairly bumpy and scary, but I survived.

And California. Well, I didn't make it to the Kwik-E-Mart, but I did see Harry Potter at the Universal CityWalk. My ticket cost $11.50, but my seat was like a La-Z-Boy and the screen was dizzyingly big. I also found my way to Griffith Park to ride the mini train they have. I was under the impression it would be steam-powered, but instead it was diesel. I stayed at a Sheraton right next to the Hilton I usually stay at, which was uncharacteristically sold out. I discovered after I arrived that the hotels were filled with people there for a sex toy convention. Actually, the signs said "AVN [that's the organization that puts on the porn awards, that's all I know] Novelty Expo." It took me about a day to figure it out. What tipped me off: Sample bags, like the ones I pick up at Toy Fair, except these had the logos for various kinds of lube on them; a guy wearing a Doc Johnson embroidered polo shirt; me reading a few guests' Expo badges and seeing companies like "O'My Products"; and finally, two girls in push-up bras and super-tight tank tops with www.sweetarousals.com over their boobs. Then there was the motorcycle that had been airbrushed with a constellation of condoms, dildos, single-use lube packets -- I didn't look too long. The best thing about it was that the other people at the hotel, the ones not attending the Expo, were all families with young children. The Expo people were very discrete, mostly. When they chatted in the elevator with me, it was to weigh the pros and cons of using a certain Chinese manufacturer, and they could be talking about any product. And the special motorcycle only came out after dark.

Now I am home and trying to get prepared for a week vacation. I went to my garden after work today and did some triage on my huge tomato plants that had been blown over by the storm on Sunday. A neighbor got his car crushed by a tree, so I got off easy. I picked a bag of snow peas, a lot of basil (just trying to keep up with the flower buds), and my first eggplant. Now I am contemplating using my jet lag to my advantage and doing the midnight Harry Potter pick up. Hmm...

So! Last Sunday I went to Coney Island with my sister, bro-in-law, my 3-year-plus-five-months old niece, and my 5-month-old nephew. It was hot and sunny and pretty much perfect beach weather. It was imperative that we go to Coney sometime this summer because major construction projects will begin at the end of the season, destroying the gritty, fun, anything-goes-and-everyone's-welcome feeling here. I took a bunch of photos and uploaded some of the best here.

Some highlights:

The carousel in the Wonder-Wheel-associated park (not Astroland) was playing awesome dance hits. While S and L were on it, they played "Freak Out."



Nearby, this traffic cone was having the ride of its life.



We spent a long time deciding if we wanted a swinging or stationary car on the Wonder Wheel. We are swingers at heart, though, and eventually we committed to a swinger car.



Here's a view of the aging kiddie park below the Wonder Wheel. Notice how incredibly crowded the beach is.



My niece was delighted. My sister was scared (note white-knuckled gripping action).



My nephew woke up right at the end of the ride.



A few more shots:







For more, including the best pirated Mickey item I've ever seen in the flesh, visit the album above.

Dudes, I know. I KNOW. It's been a while. It's also been too hot and humid for me to think, let alone get up the gumption to upload my photos from my trip to Coney Island (from Sunday). I am way behind on other things, too, and it's not going to get any better; I have another trip to SoCal this upcoming Sunday-Thursday, and then I'm gone the whole week after that. I will have my computer, though, so that might motivate me to post. I have been Twittering, so I encourage you once again to get on that.

Hey! You need some new things, don't you? I mean seriously, just look at yourself. So get on down to Dandie in the Underworld, just behind Osaka, and buy some new things. Perhaps one of these necklaces would do the trick.






Yes, I made them. Yes, they are only $10. Yes, the price is so low that it is hard to believe. But it is true.

In about three weeks I am probably going to southern California again on business. If I do, you'd better believe I'm going to visit the local Kwik-E-Mart.

Some Important Programming Notes:

Saturday morning, from 8 to noon, is the Laurel Park tag sale. It's a great excuse for wandering around my funky little village, plus the Park is populated with freaks and artists with too-small houses, so the pickings should be great (or, at the least, interesting).

Saturday at noon, Dandie in the Underworld officially opens for business. It's a crazy and cute shop filled with handcrafted items from the Valley's finest and funkiest. Directions: Go to the building housing Glamourama and Osaka; walk around it to the right; see the big marquee; head inside; be delighted. I have several shrinky-dinks-based necklaces for sale in there. My stuff is tagged "dew," a name I decided upon after little to no study or thought. It's my initials, that's all. I've been inside the shop a couple of times and I love everything for sale there. I plan on buying some of it, even. So exciting!

The memorial service for my grandmother was very nice. I got emotional and was all trembly-voiced when I went up to speak, but other than that it went beautifully.

My grandmother was always an avid church-goer and loved singing hymns in the choir (she was raised Methodist, but ended life as a Congregationalist). At her service, I read the lyrics of this Sacred Harp song:

329 Vain World Adieu

When for eternal worlds we steer,
And seas are calm and skies are clear,
And faith in lively exercise,
And distant hills of Canaan rise,
The soul for joy then claps her wings,
And loud her hallelujah sings,
Vain world, adieu.

With cheerful hope her eyes explore
Each landmark on the distant shore:
The trees of life, the pastures green,
The crystal stream, delightful scene.
Again for joy she claps her wings,
And loud her hallelujah sings,
Vain world, adieu.

The nearer still she draws to land,
More eager all her pow’rs expand;
With steady helm, and freebent sail,
Her anchor drops within the veil.
Again for joy she claps her wings,
And her celestial sonnet sings,
I’m there at last.


I think she would have liked it.

An addendum to the below: I am so screwed. Or, you know, not. Har har.

An open letter to the guy whose online profile said he was 37, but who admitted in his description he had lied about his age. He contacted me, I asked him how old he was, and he told me he was 47 "but told I look considerably younger."

Dear guy,
You are the fourth man I've come across in the last month who either lied about his age or omitted the information (instead saying the age they "felt like" or "looked like" or something). I'm at a loss as to why. The truth will come out sooner or later, and people who lie about their age, or deny it, are sending two messages: One, that they are ashamed of their age, which is sad to me. Better to say you're 47 and have a woman be pleasantly surprised at how good you look. Two, that they only, exclusively, want to date younger women. Neither of these things are positive messages to be throwing out there.

My longest relationship was with someone who is now about your age, so I would potentially have been a good dating candidate for you. But the age-denying thing is a big red flag for me and, I'd wager, most women.

I know you didn't click on this email expecting a lecture and I'm sorry... you're bearing the brunt of four men's mistakes, and that's not fair. And you probably think I'm crazy. But sometimes I can't help but try to fix easy mistakes like the one I think you're making here. My vote: Tell the truth in your ad.
- Debl

I actually wrote this all out, intending to send it, but my head cooled and I didn't. Dating using computer tools is a lot of work. But I have this crazy dream of not being alone the rest of my life (I know! So crazy!), so here we are.

p.s. He emailed me a photo while I was writing him a considerably shorter, nicer reply than the above, and he does in fact look well-preserved. But it's all ruined now, isn't it? Seriously, do women lie about their age all the time too? The stereotype is that they do, but I'm only seeing the other side.

p.p.s. He wrote me back to my less-hostile email and said he was sorry, I was right, and he edited his profile to show his true age. In a few years I'm going to be all, "Reader, I married him." (Kidding.)

Erin was my grandmother. When we were little we called her Grandmommy, but in the last few years of her life we called her Nean. Like good grandmothers everywhere, she was an excellent baker of cookies and pies, as well as the famous Way Family Granola, and she had the ubiquitous jar of hard candy that had solidified into one big piece. Unlike good grandmothers everywhere, she wasn't particularly warm or effusive with her affection. She was very reserved and liked things to be done the proper way. When we were frustrated with her, we'd secretly call her passive aggressive, but she was really just assertive, even though it came in a "frail old lady" package.

She always seemed slightly sad or disapproving, but that was due to the structure of her face more than anything else. She didn't like talking about herself, and even after we asked, she never told stories about what life was like during the depression and WWII, other than the basic facts of names and dates and who moved to what town after marrying who.

My fondest memories of her have to do with the house in Center Harbor, NH she and my Grandfather bought when we were born -- when we were older, she told me that they bought it so they'd have enough room for us to come for extended stays. The entire second floor of the house was just for guests. It had a huge backyard, a hammock, raspberry bushes and wild blueberries, croquet... and they lived a short drive to the lake's beach. My grandfather would chop wood while my grandmother worked in the kitchen. We visited for at least a couple of weeks every summer, and (I think) every other Christmas. When we grew into pre-teens, they sold the house (breaking our hearts) and bought a boring cookie-cutter one in town, because "you didn't want to visit anymore." Which was probably true, but we wanted the house to always be there just the same.

I remember getting a 12-inch of "Do They Know It's Christmas" one year, and making Nean listen to it, since the song had been in the news a lot. My grandparents always had the radio playing classical music, so having Nean listen to a "rock" song was a novelty. After the song was over she smiled politely and said something vague like "that was fine."

We also watched E.T. (the movie) on cable with her at our house in Jersey. We all loved it and thought she would too, but after it was over she said she had liked it, but that it was "no Wizard of Oz." I was offended (even though it's true). She liked to catch Jeopardy every night, and loved to watch stuff on PBS that may as well have been broadcast from another planet (as far as I was concerned), like the Kennedy Center Honors.

She wasn't a frivolous, silly person, so when she *would* be silly -- flashing a funny face at the camera, or gamely wearing big green Hulk hands (a photo of this is on my parents' fridge door) -- it was beautiful and surprising, like seeing a unicorn.

When I went up to sort through her things a few weeks ago, after she was transferred from her apartment to a nursing room, I found that she had kept every single card we had ever sent her, plus of course all of the various pieces of "art" we'd given her on holidays. She loved us, and wanted us to visit more, to write more. She was very proud of us and loved showing us off to her friends. I think she never really understood my sister and me when we were kids, who were weird and volatile and moody and sparkly, while she was always calm and in control and had lunch on the table at noon every day because that's when lunch is. But -- once after a fiery outburst with my sister (we were home on a break in college) she found me alone and told me that I was sensitive -- and she meant it as a compliment. It was the first time I had ever remotely considered that being sensitive could be a good thing.

Nean died around 4 a.m. Tuesday morning. She was 90 years old.

So I went to California. It is very sunny there -- at least, it's very sunny after it's very foggy (or smoggy -- hard to distinguish), which it is all morning. Ye Olde Theme Park was as fun as always. I was with a slightly-younger co-worker who had never been to any theme park owned by this particular company, so it was exciting to go on the classics with her. We were there for two nights, and then rented a car and drove to Burbank for two nights. We met with some colleagues I'd previously only known via email and phone calls, and it seemed to go fairly well, except for one meeting in which it became apparent we were two factions of underlings without our leaders, and as such had no real power to make anything happen of any consequence. But still, face-to-face stuff is important. So they tell me.

We saw Mariska Hargitay (with child and a short haircut) at the theme park, and The Rock (so completely gorgeous and perfect... seriously, he's charming and has a good sense of humor, and has gotten more slender and less bulky, and is just... we were drooling) at the studio's restaurant. My co-worker thought she saw Lisa Kudrow, and I know Lisa's not super-thin, but I doubt she'd wear clothing that would give her even a tiny muffin-top. But maybe I'm wrong.

We also went out and socialized in Hollywood: once with a beloved former co-worker, and once with a couple of the new co-workers I'd met that day. The former was at a dinner at an "English pub" called the Cat and Fiddle, which is said to be frequented by Morrissey (he wasn't there). We sat in a gorgeous outside patio and dished about everything. She's the kind of woman who buys a combination map of stars' homes and famous crime scenes, and makes a special drive to see the house where the Manson murders happened. She used to cut my hair in a spare office at work, back when my haircut was as simple as can be. She's a trip, and I miss her. After dinner we went to Hamburger Mary's in West Hollywood, which is essentially a gay theme restaurant. Besides the bright red and pink walls and kitsch hanging everywhere, each single-stall unisex bathroom has its own disco ball and "Dancing Queen" playing on a loop. (On the way back from the bathroom, I overheard one guy saying to his group of male friends, "Oh don't tell the flavored condom story again!") The check is presented in a high-heel pump. The waiters are all hot, skinny men, and they take care of you well. We met up with some of my former co-workers' friends and talked trash about celebrities (we were, as a group, unanimously anti-Angelina and pro-Aniston. My people!).

The latter night, we were invited to join some colleagues' Dining Divas night. They're a group of women (mostly single and in their 20s-early 40s, I'd guess, but mostly in their 30s) who get together every month or so and do something different each time. This night was a wine-and-cheese thing for charity held in the outdoor mall right next to the Kodak Theater. I was concerned the group would be kind of boring or false or overly girly, but they ended up being very funny, warm, smart, talkative, confident... It was very inspiring.

So, to sum up: Flying out there is always a bitch, but I had a great time.

Tuesday morning, while I was getting ready to leave my hotel room, my sister IMed me on my laptop that my grandmother had died. I feel like I haven't processed this information yet. I seem to start mourning a long time after the actual passing-away... Maybe I need time to feel the lack of their presence, and when people I don't see very often die, that can take some time. I want to write a blog post all about her, if it doesn't turn too sad or personal or morbid.

Speaking of morbid, when I visited the nest after work yesterday, there were no robins sighted anywhere. I fear the neighborhood cats have made short work of the little guys. Sad. Next time I think I'll remove the nest before any laying happens. Near my house, there aren't enough places to hide out of reach of cats. Damnable beasts.

I'm back, got into my house at 9:30 last night. This morning I went out to check the nest -- and it was empty! (except for the lone unhatched egg.) However, the lady or lord robin was on the little tree next tot he house, freaking out at me. If I had actually been outside (and not in the screened porch) he would have been scary. As it was, he was screaming at me and swooping and flapping, and his head and chest feathers were all puffed up. So, I think (I hope) that the baby robins have left the nest but are still nearby, well-hidden. I read someone else's diary of a robin family living on their porch, and this sounds like a similar timeline; unfortunately, they leave the nest when they can still only fly a few feet or so. If I catch sight of any fledgling robins, I shall let you all know!

Just a quick note to show a new photo of the chicks, taken this morning (two days since the photo I last posted):



... and also to say that I have never hated my job so much as I do right now. This particular crisis will pass, but it's going to be as shitty as this for at least another week. Meanwhile, my grandmother is dying, so that's also nice. You know things are miserable when I'm actually looking forward to being stuck in the middle seat on a cross-country flight so I can have some time to play my Gameboy and zone out for a few hours. I'll be in California from Saturday afternoon until Weds. night; posting will be non-existent, but I will be twittering.

I took a pic this morning of the nest situation. Lady robin was extra-pissed at me today for some reason, so I only stuck around for only about 20 seconds.



The chicks are starting to look more like birds (being able to see their beaks helps). I am thinking the third egg is a dud. Unfertilized, maybe? I'm curious to see what happens to it. Robins keep their nests really clean, but how are they going to get a full egg out of it? Just tip it over the side?

I was going to ride my bike to work today. I'm renting a car to go to NYC this afternoon, returning tonight, so I'll drive that car home and return it in the morning. And then I could ride my bike home tomorrow... Except I have a 5:30 "restaurant week" dinner at Circa, and trivia right after. No way am I riding my bike 3.5 miles home at 11:30 at night. Oh, and trivia: Our new and improved team -- we brought on a semi-permanent fifth member, Jose! woo hoo! -- got the fourth-place booby prize last week. We may have broken our losing streak. I don't want to say more and jinx it.

When I came downstairs this morning, the lady robin was feeding two little somethings. The second bird hatched! I took this pic this morning:



They're sort of entwined. But one is way bigger than the other, being one day older.

And did I take another video? Sure did. There's not much bird movement after the first few seconds, but watch the upper right corner for bonus woodland action in the last few seconds. Ok, it's not spectacular, but it's 30 seconds of your life. Come on.

After work I looked outside and the lady was out hunting for food, so I grabbed my camera and went out there to take another photo. Which I did (but didn't post) but then stood there and watched them be all floppy and fuzzy and kind of gross. And then the robin flew right up to the nest, not 6 inches from my face (but separated by a screen), saw me at the last split second and flapped to the tree a few feet away. That's when I felt the guilt and I got the hell inside. (She was back at the nest in a minute.)

Oh it is ON now. Took this pic about an hour ago:



This baby robin is all, "Screw you guys, I'm getting out of this shithole. Who's with me?"

The lady robin doesn't seem too bothered with my constant checking of her nest. I'm not touching anything, since the only place I can get high enough to see is inside the screened porch.

I also took a photo of the pollen situation on Friday, before I put on a dust mask and swept it up:



Pollen was coating everything: every leaf, blade of grass, car... It's currently pouring rain, which will help a lot, though not with my porches. Ah well.

Edited to add: Happy birthday tooo yoooooooooou, Happy birthday toooo yoooooooouu...



When I climbed up on my ladder contraption, the lady robin was on the ground watching me, but she doesn't chirp in alarm anymore when I approach. She has already disposed of the eggshell in a secret location. They do that. (Unfortunately for me.) This little guy was flopping around, unable to lift up its grotesquely-huge head. Did I take a video? Why yes, yes I did.

I stepped outside of my front door yesterday morning and surprised a snake that was basking in the sun on my little wooden walkway. It did quick, crazy diagonal getaway moves to slip into the ground cover. It's the same sort of snake I saw in the Fitzgerald Lake area twice on a walk two weeks ago: probably a common garter snake since it looks nothing like the other slithery beasts on this list.

Very much looking forward to relaxing at home this weekend. I feel ready to laze about on the porch with a magazine, maybe after cooking up some crepes. My robin is still nesting, despite me harrassing her with my presence all the time. I think she's sticking around for the long haul. Once the eggs hatch I'll definitely post pictures. Our homeowners' association just sent around an email requesting our help in counting nesting birds -- except for blue jays and robins, which are so common they don't bother counting them. What a diss!

I has a robin! A robin built a nest on my porch (well, just outside of it, but next to the porch door) during a two-day period last week when I didn't go out there. I figured the robin abandoned it once I started using it every day, but no! This morning I looked outside and there was a lady robin sitting on the nest.



Uh-oh. I opened the door from the house as gently as I could, but she still flew away. I stretched up my arm and took a pic to see if she had laid some eggs already. And look!





{edited to add new, much better macro image of the eggs.}


And here's the nest itself. See how close it is to the door that I use at least a couple of times a day, and usually many times more?





I am worried that I am going to scare her off with all of my comings and goings, and her eggs will die. It's a lot of pressure! Luckily for my conscience, robins aren't exactly an endangered species...

I have been keeping this on Twitter, but now I will tell you all: I got a bad poison ivy rash last Sunday (woke up with it on Monday morning) and I've been feeling like a troll ever since. Actually, that's not entirely true: It stopped itching so distractingly after a few days, so by Thursday I felt a lot better. The nasty-looking rash remains, however, and new tiny patches keep appearing. I don't know what to do except keep using the special soaps and creams, and my nightly sacrifice to the gods to deliver me from vegetative Satan. Last week I printed out some photos of poison ivy so I could go hunting for it around the outside of my house. Yesterday I may have found one. I pulled it out using an inside-out baggie as though I were picking up dog shit. And then I scrubbed my hands and arms like in Silkwood and burned everything I had been wearing. Well, not really, but I've done many loads of laundry. I was wearing a pair of leather sneakers when I supposedly got the first bad exposure, and I don't know how to wash them. I am considering throwing them away, which would hurt me and my thrifty nature.

I also did a bit more work on my garden plot, and I am now at full capacity. It's hard to stop! I was thinking of putting in some broccoli and eggplant, but I'd have to dig into virgin soil to get more room. I need to stop.

Random note: If you've got a small spot on your wood floor that needs cleanser, don't use Pledge, unless you'd like to turn that section of floor into an ultra-slippery skating rink. In fact, it would be better to not make the mess in the first place, though that would require going back in time and deciding that after midnight and a couple of drinks isn't the best time for cutting your cat's rear claws. I never thought the bleeding would stop, but miraculously it did, after about ten minutes of horror and guilt...

I've joined Twitter. If you want to keep tabs on me, let me know and I'll invite you or whatever I need to do. It's fun! (If you don't know what Twitter is, there's this great site called "Google" you might want to look into it.)

Also, I got my first check from the art-o-mat people! The modest check came with an Activity Report listing how many pieces I've sold and where. I sold 10 at a museum in Sacramento CA, 5 at Faces (step it up, local people!), 5 at a museum in North Carolina, 5 at a museum in Charleston S.C., and 10 pieces at the Whitney. I repeat: I sold 10 pieces of my artwork at the Whitney Museum of American Art. Awesome. The art-o-mat people asked for 50 more pieces to sell. I think I'd be able to finish them within three years, this time around...

We got the tiller to work. It's a beast. Old and greasy with hot stinky breath and dull teeth. It wants to just go skittering across the top of the ground, so to make it actually bite into the soil, you have to hold on and lean back to keep it in one place. It's like wrestling with an angry badger who'd enjoy chewing your toes off, if only you could let them slip a little further underneath... Anyway, I did till my entire plot, which is about 8 feet by 12 feet (totally guessing). And then I spent an hour and a half raking through the soil to sift out the big weed clumps and root systems. It was dusk and the black flies were out and swarming excitedly all over my sweaty body. Apparently there are black flies in this state; you just have to get into the woods for them to really party. They seem to like to slice off the top layer of skin and lap at the blood, leaving behind an itchy red welt (as opposed to the pink welt of a mosquito). So focused and OCD-ish was I that I couldn't stop sorting out the weeds from the dirt to go home and spray myself with Off. Instead I kept smearing my arms, face and neck with dirt, which didn't really help with the flies but made me feel kind of Survivor-ish. Now my legs are covered with red spots and bruises and I look like a ten-year-old at summer camp.

Tonight my apres-work plan is to garden: add composted manure, make mounded rows, plant what I've bought already, and cover everything with mulch. I am already tired from two nights in a row of bad sleep. It's been humid and sticky, plus my brain wants to hurt me by not shutting off. Pray for me, my people. I know you're out there even though you never comment.

Another short post:

My local peer group gathers to play an informal game of baseball at a park every Sunday afternoon. It's been happening for at least three years now. They call it the Hangover League or something... I tried playing with them back when only a few people would show up, and let me tell you: baseballs are very hard. Like, even when you manage to hit one with a bat — even though there's a big wooden stick between you and the ball — it will hurt your hands. And once when I was pitching, the batter hit a grounder and it popped up and hit me in the kneecap, making me queasy and faint from the pain for a few minutes.

I would only participate in this if it were softball, ideally put on in this manner, but stoned-optional.

Thanks to defective yeti for linking to one of my favorite Mr. Show sketches, The Story of Everest. It makes me laugh so hard that I sputter and gibber and spitfle and gerhurk. I have this on DVD, and in the commentary they tell the story of how the increasingly-impatient audience had to just sit there and wait while the crew set everything up again, which took like 10 minutes each time. Hee hee!

Trying to keep busy from feeling broken-hearted again. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Trying to stay positive, and luckily it's gorgeous outside. Tilling is scheduled to happen tomorrow afternoon; hopefully I won't accidentally till my toes. Going to buy a lot of plants at the farmer's market and get ready to go. Just got a coupon in the mail for Hadley Garden Center, my gardening store of choice, so I'm pretty happy about that. New tires are scheduled to be purchased on Monday after work, so I don't pop a tire on the way to and fro NJ for yet another depressing family obligation. Sigh. At least I have lots of plans for this weekend...

It's that time of the year when you should park on the right-most side of the Stop and Shop parking lot so you can hear the enormous chorus of peepers in the wetlands there.

I called a meeting (which happened Sunday) about the semi-abandoned community garden space in my little village, and people showed up! It was very exciting. We'll see if there's follow-through, but it looks like we'll be able to get a reliable water source (i.e. people are donating hoses to link together to reach the nearest house) and a tiller (someone lent theirs to the people who take care of the common areas), for free. Teamwork, people.

I also went for a walk in the conservation area that's adjacent to the village. I picked a path at random. Parts of the path were very faint, but I could still hear the highway, and I knew that if I got lost I could always navigate back by keeping the sound on my left. My path entered a small pine forest, where the path melted away, but I caught another one on the other side. The paths became a little bit wider and I think they're used by ATVs or something, though I heard none. All of the pathways seemed to lead to houses and lawns, so I kept turning back and trying different forks. And then I got tired and decided to go home, so I never really found a good loop. Once I got home, I found a tick on my arm. Gross, and weird, since I had been careful not to brush against anything. I took a shower and found another tick in the drain catcher. Shudder. I figured those were the only two that had made it onto me, but I found two more in the next hour. Disgusting little fuckers.

So, though I found the magical fairy land of the pine forest, I'll be scared to go back without spraying myself and my clothing with protective chemicals. Stupid wildlife.

Spring came this past weekend like an explosion of warmth and sunlight, forcing all of the trees to immediately bud and the forsythia to bloom (or almost bloom). I opened up the doors to my two porches and suddenly my house is huge. What I did this weekend:
Washed many windows and put in a few screens
Swept both porches
Hung hammock in second-story porch
Raked up dead leaves and branches
Purchased two "steppable" plants and a bag of Moo Dirt
Had a prickly bush (with many children) in my front garden identified as an invasive species. Dug and pried and yanked out bushes using leather gloves, leaving my forearms to get nicely scratched
Patched up the sod over the septic tank access hatch, which had been dug up for inspection in January and very poorly re-covered. The largest, densest chunk of sod seemed to be made of a clump of hosta, so I divided some out and replanted it in the back. The rest I tried to replant atop the septic tank as best I could
Hauled all prickly bastard plants and leaves over to the woody mulch pile using an old sheet
Toured community garden and picked out a plot; discussed buying 200 feet of hose to improve water access to garden, and hiring a tiller guy to turn the weedy, neglected soil
Bought a compact bicycle tire pump, inflated my tires, and biked to the Fitzgerald Lake conservation area, where I was serenaded by peepers and redwing blackbirds

Besides all of this activity, I managed to get thoroughly bored watching TV on Saturday night. Bored because I was too tired to leave the house or work on anything crafty, but not tired enough to simply go to bed. I was disturbed by the television's lack of power to lull and entertain me, but then last night I watched a couple of hours of the Planet Earth marathon and was completely enthralled. TV, you have redeemed yourself.

Also: I saw Grindhouse Friday night and loved it. The first movie is definitely the better one. I went with a girl friend and for the next 24 hours afterwards we felt like kicking everyone's asses.

The end times are (once again) upon us: High-waisted jeans are coming back. My prediction for what's coming next: enormous bat-wing sweaters that fall below the butt. The resurgence of 80s fashion reminds me of this cool concept store, Units*, that was in my local mall. I still have some long leg tubes from them (like thigh-high sock but with no feet) but I haven't figured out how to wear them without looking like a ho.

Anyway. My dreams last night were star-studded. First, I was chosen to act in the new Pirates movie. Keira and I would be the two kick-ass female pirates, and go on pirating adventures with Johnny Depp and a rotating cast of sidekicks. I was allowed to choose my character name, so I went with "Robyn." Our costumes were awesome. After running through some action sequences (climbing! swordplay! evasion!) we met up with Johnny's new sidekick, played by Robyn Hitchcock. Robyn wanted to keep his real name, putting me in a difficult position. He was wearing a very un-piratey fluffy white feathered hat (to go along with his bird-like name). I couldn't wait to tell H and L about it.

Later, in a separate dream, I rode in a station wagon with Larry David and helped set up his book-signing table at a charity event.

*I googled the crap out of Units but only came up with a couple of blurbs. This one is from liketotally80s.com:
UNITS: A one-size-fits-all clothing store featuring knit skirts, shirts, belts and leggings in coordinating colors. The clothes were sold in UNITS boutiques located in malls throughout the United States. You could buy six different pieces of UNITS clothing and create an entire wardrobe from them. It goes without saying that UNITS did not make it out of the 80s.

The good folks at Bubbilicious sent the office a briefcase-sized box full of gum today. It's open and on display in a well-trafficked area, and every time I walk past a pink sugary cloud seeps into my head. It's kind of delicious and intoxicating and nauseating, all at the same time.

Yesterday I became a woman: I defrosted my fridge. I had googled some good tips (put a pan of boiling water inside and close the door, and the frost will fall off in sheets; use a plastic knife to pry off the rest) and so I knew what I was getting into. My fridge seems much happier now, and seems to be turning on a lot less.

I also took a long walk. I figured out a simple loop starting and ending at my door. I doubt I'll repeat it. For one thing, only about a third of it has interesting scenery and buildings; the other two-thirds might as well have been in New Jersey. For another, there are no sidewalks, which is fine in the country-ish part of the loop, not so fine during the nearly-a-mile part I'm walking along Rt. 5. It was so windy when I was walking on Rt. 5 that I couldn't catch my breath. I did discover, however, that I can easily walk to an open-24-hours gas station mini-mart, the Danish furniture store, the RV place, and (slightly further) a soft-serve ice cream store and (furthest of all) Holy Smokes, a bbq joint inside an old church. Because this was Easter Sunday, I saw two groups of children searching for eggs, and a third group playing ball on the lawn in their Easter dresses. I do not do anything for Easter except buy half-off candy the day afterwards. Actually, I sort of celebrated by not using my car all day. Christ died for your gasoline!

I've gotten a couple of big "I really need to do this" kind of things out of the way. One: my taxes. Two: My car inspection (March: I wasn't even late!). Three: I am seasoning a wok. This is a wok I got as a gift years ago, an authentic spun-steel one that came coated in motor oil so it wouldn't rust. When I first got it, I scrubbed the hell out of it, used it a few times (notably to make hot and sour soup, which was delicious but took three hours to make) and then hid it away to let it slowly corrode. Through the magic of SOS scouring pads, I got almost all of the rusty parts off. Now I'm in the middle of numerous cycles of seasoning: Heat the damn thing to very very hot, smear oil (vegetable, corn, or peanut) inside, let it smoke like a demon (while still rubbing in the oil; you don't want beading), and once it finishes smoking, do it all over again. I read six different sets of instructions and some had me cooling the wok down between coats, but some didn't, so I did a few coats a couple of days ago and a few coats today. The bottom of the inside of the wok is now pleasingly black, like it's supposed to be, but the sides are just normal dark metal color, even though I turned the wok to heat it evenly.. I know, it's boring, but I really want to be able to make a perfect stir-fry. I'm gonna test it out later this week.

Four: I got a haircut. A real one, at a fancy salon (fancy: not the $10 haircut place). My hair is short. Like shoulder-length short. And it bounces and moves around. It feels great! I only feel bad I didn't do this earlier (say, 20 years ago) but I guess the stars had to be aligned just so. I occasionally worry I look a little bit like the star of this
(when she has the shorter hair, obviously), but then I just start singing the song, and I forget all about it. I mean, who can stay pessimistic when singing that?

I went to the ICA in Boston on Saturday. The museum has just opened in a new location and building, and the design has some nice features: I like the huge glass elevator, and the Mediateque, a cantilevered room on the fourth story with a glass wall tilting downward, so that all you see is water when you look out the window. A bit hard to describe.

The art was okay. Some good stuff, but it was all on one not-huge floor, and the quantity didn't seem like enough for $12 admission. We did not, however, spend any time in the "Mediatheque" browsing through their digital video art archives, which would have been fun. My favorite piece was this: We walked into a darkened room -- there were a number of these scattered around, usually with some video installation playing inside, but this one just had a large rectangle of orange on the wall, and a museum guard standing next to it. The orange seemed to be slightly glowing. I went right up to it, almost touching the wall but keeping my hand a couple inches away so as to not upset the guard. The rectangle appeared to be painted directly onto the wall; it wasn't being projected, because my hand made no shadow. Was the paint itself glowing? I wondered that out loud, and the guard said, "Actually, it's --" and she stuck her hand INTO THE RECTANGLE. I actually, literally gasped, and said, "You just blew my mind!" The rectangle was an opening to a seamless little room, that was somehow illuminated completely evenly. It was incredible, funny, awe-some. All good things for art to be.

Speaking of art (of the much-less-ambitious variety), my one-of-a-kind mini-watercolor blocks are now in the Northampton art-o-mat! Stop on by and take a look, it's still in the lobby of Faces. Half the money goes to a good cause (supporting art in the schools or some such) so go and vend a piece of my very soul. Cheap!

Work is very busy, everything flying at me at once (there was a logjam, and it wasn't me, I just get all of the suddenly-free timber flying down the river). Snow is melting. There was a lot, so it'll take a while; be patient.

I always forget how fantastic the broasted chicken is at Bluebonnet Diner. We went there last night and had to sit in the lounge because it was so busy. The lounge was renovated a couple of years ago, getting updated from mid-70s decor to late-70s decor (thank H for that one). Even though smoking hasn't been allowed in there for years, it still looks like a place where you should smoke; a bar with dark barstools, low lighting, dark carpet, tall booths and tables too close to each other. Pay it no mind; get the three-piece broasted (one piece is a tiny wing, so it's not a tremendous amount of food) with fries or mashed, and a way-too-generous helping of coleslaw, and you'll be happy. Please note, however, that the Bluebonnet is closed on Sundays. Ridiculous, I know.

When I think about the Bluebonnet being closed Sundays (one of the best days to eat at a diner) I get the same feeling of injustice that I get when I think about trivia night. See, the Rug Burns have a rival team, a team that often just-barely beats us, a team that frequently comes in first place. The first place team wins the largest amount of money, so this matters. This particular team has the trivia master's girlfriend as a member. Now, everyone who is friends with trivia master guy (and he's a sweetheart, funny and kind) says that he's a straight-shooter and that he definitely doesn't share the questions with his significant other. But, dear readers, he and his girlfriend live together. Inevitably, they watch the same TV shows and movies, hear the same music, talk about whatever interesting news item they've read recently. In short, she absorbs much of the same media that he uses to come up with questions. It's incredibly obvious to me that she shouldn't be playing. It LOOKS like it gives their team an unfair advantage, even if it truly doesn't. (Though I think it does.) So far I haven't been asshole-ish enough to do anything about this except complain, but my indignation at the unfairness of the situation grows a little every time they beat us. I can't help it, I want things to be fair. Fairness, everywhere, for reals.

Went to the South Face Farm sugar shack in Ashfield yesterday, and it was pretty much perfect; The foot or so of snow was freshly plowed so the roads were clear, but we still got a pretty half-hour drive through snow-blanketed countryside. As we entered Ashfield it started flurrying fluffy, sparkly snow. We had about a half-hour wait in their newly expanded (though largely unheated) waiting area which has old farm implements, abandoned wasp nests, and squirrel-chewed sap tubing to look at. Plus, and this is important, they have serve-yourself coffee for a buck a cup. Unfortunately, the sap boiler wasn't on; the sap has been barely flowing this year. Apparently the trees are all confused due to the weird winter we've been having. We were seated right by a window framed by picturesque icicles hanging down from the eaves just above, and looked out on a birdfeeding station. While we were there the icicles slowly slumped and fell off. The food was awesome, of course; whole wheat pancakes with blueberries, bacon on the side. The corn fritters are perfect but please, you really only need one. In fact, split one with somebody. The only problem with the sugar shack experience is that it's not much of a "get up and go!" breakfast. Even with the coffee we were in sugar-n'-carb-comas for hours. But it was so worth it.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

You all should know that the sporting center in Southampton (right past the candlepin bowling place on Rt. 10) is having a Ham Shoot every Sunday until Easter. Doesn't seem like shooting a ham would be very sporting, but I guess it's in the spirit of Easter (Easter dinner, at any rate).

This is kind of neat. A woman from the local NPR station came to the Shape Note singing on Tuesday and recorded about half an hour of us for this story. It's a pretty basic overview about this kind of singing, and she used the same song twice for some reason, but my voice is in there somewhere. Here's a link to the story.

I hope to see you all at the big big show at the Elevens tonight, what with the School for the Dead and the Ouch music bands a-playing.

Over the past week:

I purchased a second-hand CB2 shag rug (similar to this, except mine is ivory-colored) off of craigslist. It sheds pieces of wool fluff constantly, but you're not supposed to vaccuum it. So I obsessively and gleefully comb it with my hands at every available opportunity. It's like owning a large, flat, lazy dog.

I taught new guy that a concave surface (say, the bowl of a spoon) will reflect an image upside-down. He was fascinated and shocked, and had to go look up the phenomenon online to figure out why it does that. He's a curious cat.

I've passed my 50th workout with Maya, my computerized personal trainer. She now thinks I can do actual straight-leg pushups. I cannot. Other than that, it's good, and I am feeling progress; stronger, better cardio... It's great.

I ate at the Sierra Grill a couple more times. It's just too convenient, the food is fresh and tasty, their wine list is too good, and they have $3 desserts which are just big enough for me. But: I also ate at two places in town I'd never been to before: Caminito and Cafe Lebanon. Cam is kind of expensive and I'm not entirely convinced it's worth it (unless it's summer and you're out on their porch with some sangria); Cafe Lebanon gets a huge thumbs-up from me. Their Chicken Shawarma sandwich rules.

I went to see Jaws on the big screen at midnight on Friday (part of Cinemark's Friday flashback series, I think it's called...). The print was ancient but it was still fantastic to see it in a theater. There's just nothing wrong with that movie. "Quint?" "No."

Oh, I forgot a follow-up to the five superballs I mentioned. I gave one to the cats as a toy -- they loved it; they picked it up and carried it around like dogs, just to drop it and whack it away to skitter across the open floor. I left the other four in a shallow bowl on my dining table. The next day I noticed there were only three in the bowl, but thought I might have lost one myself somehow... Except the day after that, all of the balls were gone. My cats had discovered the superball nest and had routed them out! I was only able to find three (under the fridge and the stove... not easy); the other two seem to have gone back to their home planet. I have one in a cat-proof area and I'm letting them do whatever they'd like to the remaining two. (Whatever they like = losing them underneath something immobile.)

First of all, this was interesting reading, in light of the sudden and inexplicable closing of the Quiznos on Main Street last year.

Second of all, I'm going to start using those tags that all the kids are talking about, because they are fun. I like words.

I went to the Holyoke flea market Sunday. I wasn't really looking for anything to buy... It was more of a trip to refresh the library of images and sounds my brain pulls from when I'm dreaming. The best part of the Holyoke flea is the old guy playing (badly) a Casio keyboard with automatic accompanyment -- you know, the feature where you can pick, say, "Bossa Nova" and then hit a key and it'll play a backing track in the chord you want. He is awesome. He has no tip jar, and has no items to sell; he plays his dusty version of "Que Sera Sera" solely to serenade you as you walk by.

Current wish-I-was-there: Kayaking through a bioluminescent bay.

Current number-one TV crush: Mike Rowe.

Current dinner plans: Pasta with red sauce punched up with some Trader Joe's chicken sausage.

Current worry: That I'm coming down with whatever caused my never-gets-sick co-worker to leave early today.

Most recent free-table score: Five superballs.

Current weather: Perfect February melt-a-thon. Go, go, go!

Ahh, three-day weekends. Love them. I am now almost totally unpacked at the house, and I hung a bunch of small framed things all together on one wall. I did some cleaning and some clothes-washing. And some other stuff I won't bore you with. I'm looking forward to spring. The propane company came and filled up my tanks -- my tanks were only down to 40%, so it won't cost $400 this time, though it has been less than a month since they filled them last. At my little village's post office area, someone posted a sign-up sheet about forming a propane collective, which I will definitely join. I'm not sure how much it'll help us, unless the price of propane is more fluid and negotiable than I thought it was, but it's worth a shot. Plus the quasi-socialist in me likes local, small-group collectives.

I also visited a newish, modern bar, the Dirty Truth (alt. names: The Deafening Truth; The Devil) a couple of times. I had been mostly avoiding it because it's often loud and crowded in there, but lately I've been liking it. There's a friendly vibe, it's clean and serves tasty food... Once you get into the middle of things it's not unbearable, and I always see at least one person I know.

Yesterday, by the time I made dinner, I was out of mental energy. I decided to give in and give up on being productive. It was kind of a nice feeling, actually. I ended up watching TV with my laptop, playing Bookworm on the computer and IM-ing a little bit with friends. By the end of it Hambone was sleeping in my arms like a baby, her head lolling limply. The cats love the rope-covered post, and will run right up to it, leap onto it and continue running vertically without breaking stride. Junebug is nimble, but Hambone has a hard time getting over the top to the beam. She still likes running to the top and then jumping off. They're good little monkeys.

Things I didn't do: unpack the last few things; my taxes; plan a housewarming party, or at least a dinner; work on the quilt; work on prototypes for selling.

So we did get to go home early yesterday, and I was able to take a delicious and cozy nap with my cats. After that, I discovered the pilot light in my hot water heater had gone out. I tried relighting it several times, but it wouldn't stay lit. So I worked out, and then took a shower over at my neighbor-friend's house. She is doing a great job at creating the kind of community she wants here, by inviting a neighbor over to dinner who had been living here for ten years without ever doing such a thing. Plus she likes feeding my cats. It's good.

After the shower I went into town, which was largely unplowed, for a romantical dinner tyme out with the new man. We ate fancy cheese and roast duck and chocolate cake and a bottle of wine. Today I shall be eating salads.

A vignette from the toy thing: A PR lady was showing me a new line of pink and purple little die-cast cars, saying, "Finally girls can have the fun of playing with cars!" This was one of a few times I was made speechless, since I played with toy cars all the time when I was little; the lack of nauseating pink color and "bling" on the bumpers didn't seem to be much of an impediment to me. Also, the cars had the typical plastic-track playset, except instead of racing and jumping through hoops, these cars stop at the mall and pick up a new purse. I don't think I need to continue talking about this.

We're in the middle of our first "Nor'easter" of the season, and I am at work. Until five minutes ago, I was the only person on my staff here. My two bosses are MIA, no word from them. I was shocked that the office wasn't closed -- so sure was I that I almost didn't even call in to check. But I did, and here I am, listening to the sleet clatter against the window.

The toy thing was fine. Mainly I walked a lot, carried heavy bags, and said "That's cool" or "neat" many, many times to publicists. The toy world still divides product along gender lines, with pretty and cute non-active items for girls, and hard and pointy action items for boys. Creating vs. smashing, petting vs. hitting: Be relieved, for the status quo is being maintained by the nation's trendmakers.

After telling DG a couple of days ago that my cats had stopped waking me up in the middle of the night, they've been waking me up in the middle of the night. Sigh. I really wish they (ok, it's really just half-monkey Junebug) would cut it the fuck out.

I had a dream recently that my new house was a much bigger suburban ranch in bad shape, and in the dream I was showing it to my parents. In the utilities area, my dad noticed the sketchy, filthy, yellow McDonald's-branded tubes coming from the furnace, and he picked up the end of the tube (having been disconnected but never removed), accidentally spilling old fry-oil on the floor. Later I discovered a wing of the house that I hadn't looked at since the first time I'd been shown the place. In this wing was a narrow parlor with sort of ornate furniture everywhere, including a crowded, over-full, double-sided bookcase/cabinet in the center, essentially making the narrow room into two even narrower rooms. Filed among the old books were slices of unfrosted chocolate cake. I took one and ate it and it was fresh and delicious.

This morning I got my first propane bill: FOUR. HUNDRED. DOLLARS. Shit. I opened it while I was at the oil change place, and it was all I could do to stop myself from driving home and turning down the thermostat. Propane is priced like gas, so it’s $2-something a gallon, and I think I have two 48-gallon tanks. It shouldn’t ever be quite this expensive again, however, since I think it had been more than a month since they’d last come by to top off the tanks.

Other than that madness, the house is great. I’m in the last stages of unpacking and organizing, and will be taking another trip to Ikea this weekend, though they’re still out of stock in the chairs I want (Swede bastards!). Also, I re-found a Home Depot gift card I was given when I bought my first house (more than 4 years ago… closer to 5 or 6, by now), and it turned out to still have the full $100 amount on it! I bought a bunch of rope and wrapped it around one of my posts to make a vertical cat highway to the upper ceiling beams. So far they’ve shown no interest, but I’m going to try to make them love it. I also bought a street atlas for Western Mass and I’m actually thrilled about it. It’s like having Mapquest in my car! It will make my tag sale-ing much easier this spring.

With that stuff, and singing, and Lost starting tomorrow, and trivia, and doing the big toy fair thing Sun-Tues next week, I am a busy lady and I like it.

I am going to try (again) to post more frequently, with less diary/"summations of my life" types of posts. So, shorter, but with more frequency. Cool?

I am an aunt again, this time to a boy! As soon as I got the call that actual labor was definitely happening, around 9 p.m. Monday, I hopped in the car and started driving south to NYC. At 10:30 I was halfway there and zooming down the highway when I got a call from my sister. "So," she sighed. "I had the baby." I had missed the entire thing! Apparently what I missed mainly involved a very very painful and stressful car ride to the hospital (Park Slope to mid-town Manhattan), in a van piloted by my dad. My sister was in so much pain she threw up into a little bag she'd brought, with varying degrees of aiming success. The ride was so nightmarish that my sister, dad and bro-in-law all seem to be suffering from a little post-traumatic stress. As soon as she got to the hospital they wheeled her up to the labor and delivery room and checked her out, and told her (to her dismay) that an epidural couldn't happen -- the baby was coming now. Four pushes later, and out came my nephew: 8 pounds, 8 ounces of tomato-skinned boy. Seriously, the kid was dark red when I saw him. He has cute crinkly ears and makes snurffly kitten noises. And because he came out so fast, his head and face are perfectly round.

My niece met the baby today, and she seems to like him. She declared him " cute" and was petting him and kissing him (and her mom). We'll see how that goes. She turns three on Thursday -- they just missed having the same birthday. As for now my new nephew shares a birthday with Lesa and Miles, which means I'll actually remember their birthdays from now on.

For the past couple of days I've actually avoided clicking on the link to my blog, out of shame that it had been so long since I posted. I had a lovely weekend, though not a very productive one. Saw a couple of fun/beautiful shows, played some fun games with firends, laughed a lot. I'm still waiting for my sister to go into labor (she's due Feb. 1, her daughter's birthday); something might happen at her weekly checkup today that would help move things along. Meanwhile, have I been getting extra sleep in anticipation of potentially pulling an all-nighter of driving and birth-partnering? No, I have not. Not for lack of trying, but I'm going through a serious bout of insomnia due to excitement/stress/anxiety. My adrenaline isn't shutting off, all due to the new house, waiting for my sister's phone call, and a new romance that's a-brewing. That's three things at once that individually would have me waking up at dawn with my heart pounding, and feeling hungover from lack of sleep for the entire day. B vitamins are the only things keeping me upright.

Still to do on the house, and soon: Get rid of several more piles of empty boxes (yay!); unpack and arrange my Meaningful Objects (i.e. crap, tchotchkes, knick-knacks); hang all of my pictures/shadow boxes; dust and sweep/vacuum. Slightly longer-term, but still important: buy a large rug (or two), buy two more chairs for my dining table, buy two stools for my kitchen counter, get an electrician over to fix my front door light and hang a pendant lamp for me. Note how all of the longer-term items cost me money. I just got my propane tanks filled, and they left a card saying how many gallons they put in and how much the gas costs per gallon, but didn't say the total cost for the fill. I'm too scared to do the math myself and I'm waiting for the actual bill... It might be scary-high. But I've been trying to live my life without fear, and so far the results are very promising.

I just read a news article in the local paper that referred to Grampy's, a convenience store that's been a 7-11 for several years now. The long-time residents still call it Grampy's, though, since 7-11 isn't very specific.

The house is great. I have no complaints so far. Well, maybe the sound on the lofty second floor is a little echo-y; I'll have to devise a way to dampen that. I have still to unpack all of my studio stuff and knick-knacks, but everything else is pretty much set up. Last night I called my neighbor friend so she could come over and learn how to feed the cats (in case I am suddenly called away by my laboring sister), and we decided to eat dinner together. I was in the middle of making some previously-frozen salmon steaks and pasta with pesto, and she brought over a salad and a bottle of red wine. It was fun times.

My cats have been driving me crazy. There's no easy way to keep them from my bedroom loft, and even if I could, I'd be able to hear them meowing. Junebug especially is insistent that 4:30 a.m. is time for breakfast, and it takes multiple shoves off the bed to get her to leave me alone for another half hour, when the routine repeats. I can't ever give in, of course, because I'd be teaching them how to get me out of bed. I'm pretty frickin' tired. Maybe I need one of those magical automatic feeder machines! But then maybe one cat would discover the food and eat it all before the other one was aware of what happened. Hmm...

Hey, look at me -- I'm finally in art-o-mat! Click on my name to see samples. The whole process only took me three years (cough). Hopefully they'll be available in machines soon...

I’ve now spent two nights in the house. The cats are still acting nervous but seem to be enjoying all of the high places they can now access. I still only have minimal furniture – my futon mattress is on the floor – but I was able to unpack all of my clothes and some of the kitchen stuff, as well as set up my TV. Last night I visited a co-worker who lives a few houses away. Her cottage is adorable and cozy and filled with the kind of friendly, interesting clutter I like. She made me a cuppa tea and when I was leaving made me take some leftover eggplant parmesean. It was lovely.

My laptop is sick. When woken, the screen flickers and then dies after a few seconds. Luckily I have Applecare, and repairing it should cost me nothing. I dropped the computer off at Yes today, where it won’t even be looked at for 2 or 3 days. The agony! My baby has been taken away. It’s going to be rough, but not as rough as no-computer-and-no-TV. At least I now have delicious, delicious digital cable. All of the movie channels are unlocked (not the premium on-demand stuff, however) for some undetermined trial period, but I still didn’t find anything I wanted to watch at 10:00 p.m. last night. I’m too ashamed to tell you what I actually ended up watching.

I’m looking forward toi finally getting all of my stuff into the house, even though I’m not entirely sure where I’m going to put everything. It’s like playing dollhouse but with a real house. Which is fairly obvious and goes without saying, but there it is.

My closing was yesterday, and I was a homeowner!

Note the past-tense.

Oh, I will be a homeowner -- officially I haven't owned the house at all yet, but I did sign everything and handed over a huge check and got a key, and my lawyer said "now, officially, you're not supposed to go in there until the deed has been registered..." and I said "OK, as far as you know, I will not be entering the house." And I then drove over there with a car full of stuff, including my TV and my computer, so I could meet the cable guy and get hooked up. I spent the day moving my clothes-on-hangers, my plants, all of my hanging artwork, and some various random items. I used the toilet on the first floor, and the plastic arm which raises the water stopper thing in the tank broke, so I went to a hardware store, bought a replacement, and repaired it. I hung a picture in the bathroom. I swept up some of the dust bunnies, and dusted everything. A small hammock had been left on the top porch, and I lay in it dreaming of spring.

And then my lawyer called me from the road at 4:15, saying there was a problem.

Apparently the bank thought it was missing a piece of paperwork which they in fact did have, and the check was very late in getting to the seller's lawyer. They got the check, finally, at 4:05 -- five minutes after the registry of deeds closed for the three day weekend. Now the seller just needed to sign some legal indemnity thing saying I would not hold her responsible if I broke my leg on the stairs or something ... But the seller's lawyer had taken off from work early, mine was in a car heading to NYC, and anyway, the seller "wasn't comfortable" signing such a thing, since those indemnity things can be contested in court.

I'm leaving out the frantic drive to the seller's law office (which was closed) and many calls with the seller's nasty, prickly realtor (though I have the seller's cell phone number, I didn't use it) in which I begged her to talk to the seller and convince her to sign the thing. But no. The most galling part was the realtor saying that the seller felt like she had already jumped through so many hoops and had bent so much throughout the process that she wasn't willing to bend any farther. What the fuck? Her expectations must have been crazy and unrealistic, because we've been super-easy about the whole deal. I even bought her furniture, for a very fair price! (I bought her house for a very fair price, too!) Apparently she's very "by the book" so blah blah blah good for her. Enjoy my giant check.

Whatever. After an embarrassing phone call with my realtor in which I was crying too much to speak clearly, I spent a few hours yesterday evening with a splitting stress headache and feeling like someone took the house and burned it to the ground. Then I recovered somewhat, and I called all of my friends who were going to help me move, I called the utilities so I would have electricity and heat in my apartment for a few more days, I rescheduled the truck rental, and resigned myself to being in this apartment a bit longer than I had planned. Everything I own is in taped-up boxes, so I can't spend this time making artwork, or reading, without doing a lot of unpacking. I definitely can't cook. And of course I have no TV or internet access. I did finally remember that I can watch DVDs on my laptop (which I'm writing on at the Woodstar right now) and I happened to have the "Stella" DVD set from work, so I watched some episodes on the couch with the cats.

My realtor has been exceptionally sympathetic through this whole thing, and she says we should do a smudge-stick-smoke-purge of the bad mojo left behind.

I guess the big move will be next weekend, which is not a three-day weekend; the present three days will be completely wasted on me. I will try to find something creative to do outside of my depressing apartment. Maybe go to some movies by myself? I don't know.

Hey! What are you doing this Saturday, say around 10:30 a.m. to 2 p.m. or so? Want to get some exercise, hang out with awesome and funny people, and see my amazing and funky new home? Then you should help me move! Email me if you're interested. I've got 3 definites already but I can't shake my utopian vision of 10 people showing up and each only having to move a few things. For together we are strong. (If I knew more about Socialism better, I'd have a better slogan for you.)

Today on my walk to work, a guy about 10 yards in front of me appeared to be wearing a coonskin cap, complete with tail. I thought it was cool and retro until I got a little closer and realized it was his hair -- one huge puffy racoon-tail of matted dark blond hair. Nice.

P.S. Thanks, everyone, for the congratulations!

First of all, this is my 900th post.

Second of all, the bank appraisal came in -- at exactly my purchase price! Suspicious, yet awesome! I guess I'm actually going to be buying a house Friday morning. Whee!

Update: I did not hear from the bank appraiser on Friday, though my mortgage guy at the bank attempted to track him down. I guess we'll hear Monday. So I am just going to go ahead and believe that I'm getting the house and that nothing bad will happen. I don't have much of a choice, since the seller is moving out of the house today, and this is the last weekend before I'm planning on moving so I need to pack. A lot. The seller sold me a bunch of her furniture, which is a HUGE relief. Now I'll have something to sit on in the living room! Amazing.

Still waiting to hear about the appraisal! The Processor needed me to fax over some more documents. And I have to meet with insurance people tomorrow morning. Leaving for trivia soon (Smokin' Lil's first).

Today I got a co-worker to put Easy Cheese on her face. It was actually related to a work matter.

I had a dream last night that I was driving through the curved roads of a well-maintained suburb with ultra-green lawns and flowering gardens. Each house had a big sign with the sale price on it, and almost all of them were priced less than the house I am buying. Sometimes dreams are easy to interpret. I am still barely holding the line against illness; a cold is trying very hard to creep in...

Happy New Year! It’s two-thousand and heaven (because nothing else rhymes well) and goddamn, this year has got to be better than the last. On the Eve, I did in fact dance my butt off, though because I’ve been working out I never had to take any rest breaks.

I also had a very productive weekend – there’s nothing like an impending move to put a fire under your ass (again with the butt references). Most incredibly, I am now almost finished the art-o-mat pieces I started oh, 3 years ago or so. They should be mailed by the end of the week. I also sewed some slipcovers for my Ikea POANG chair and ottoman, sewed a cat toy from some scraps, did some laundry, culled my sweater and hotel shampoo collections, cleaned half of the bathroom, and started packing. I always forget how time-consuming and distressing packing is. Part of me enjoys the organizing and the busywork aspects, but the other part of me wonders where all this stuff came from and why it takes so many, many boxes to contain it. Last night I was so stressed out and hyper from my day of organizing, cleaning, sewing, and packing, that I was still wide awake in bed, with eyes open, at 2:00. I had to take drugs to get any sleep at all.

House-buying update: Not much to report. Minor septic thing was taken care of. Waiting for my mortgage approval, and right after that should be the dreaded bank appraisal. All of this should happen by the end of the week. Fingers crossed …

Edit! Apparently the bank appraisal is happening tomorrow! I don't know when I will find out the results, however...