most cutest ever

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kWq60oyrHVQ

The very end is my favorite!

concrete angels

A few months ago, I found myself in rural seaside Maine. 2 hours from the airport rural! Free time was scarce, but me, my rental car, and my camera circled this sign.

It makes me cry.

Hospital said to arrive at 8:15. I'm an over-achiever who wanted to be freshly showered, Bibled, etc. so my Responsible Adult picked me up at 6am...to drive a mile down the road. 4892 autographs later, I was sitting in pre-op trying and failing to hold it all together. There's the serious eye phobia (I carefully avoid candy aisles during Halloween lest I catch a glimpse of anatomical gummies). Fatal anesthesia errors are sorta kinda some of what I do. Oh, and while the pain of a needle doesn't bother me at all, but feeling of something in my vein is close to unbearable.

I'm an ideal patient for eye surgery, is what I'm trying to say.

I kept it cool and professional the majority of the time. I stood up and shook the hand of every single nurse, tech, and surgeon until world's sweetest nurse asked me to please stay in bed lest I trip and cause more work for her require more surgery. I alternatively cracked "immaculate conception" and "I can start my own religion if I'm with child" jokes to the countless inquiries into my non-existent sex life. Even I grew tired of repeating the same pirate, parrot, and bottle o'rum lines. It was just me, confined to bed, machines clocking every breath, pulse, and heartbeat, and my big scary thoughts.

A lovely nurse pumped my IV full of Valium. Nothing. She turned the volume on my heart monitor way down because all that anxious heart-pounding was setting off alarms that "were disturbing the other patients." A senior nurse soon barked "why hasn't anyone given her Valium?" to which someone called out "um, she was given High Dose 30 minutes ago." Four nurses stopped and stared at me, swimming in a johnny, eyes too alert but hands calmly folded. That heart monitor gave me away.

More drugs. I kept explaining to all these lovely people that, really, I get paid to be a compentent mature adult.

A (very handsome) anesthesia nurse arrived and announced "I'll be your bartender for the day." My Responsible Adult asked for a hit o' that...for herself, which she deserved. Handsome nurse invited me to lie back and relax. I opted to sit up, ramrod straight, thinking "they can't operate on me if I'm awake." Mr. Handsome asked for a bit more Valium and then started The Good Stuff. I think the first shot took a detour, judging by the confused concerned Looks that bounced from my bushy tail to the IV to the bright eyes to the anesthesiologist. Another hit followed, and all I remember was turning to Responsible Adult and giggling "I'm not really a blonde."

I've never been a blonde in my life. I have no idea where that came from.

I woke up at some point and, due to the mass quantities of assorted drugs coursing through my veins, could not safely walk. A nice orderly poured me into the car, Responsible Adult carried me out, and I slept for the next 18 hours.

The pattern of my life has been wake, pain meds, work until my good eye needs a nap, pain meds, sleep, and so on. And with all of this, I marvel at God's hand. How the only thing I know about grandmother turned out to be very important detail. How every appointment was booked next-day due to some last-minute cancellations. How the world's best eye hospital is blocks from my door. How the world's two best occular oncologists fawned over me. How it was less than two weeks from when I discovered a bit of suspicious pigmentation to having it removed by the world's best eye surgeon. And, how even if it was malignant, the entire area was removed. Benign or malignant, I'm looking at thrice a year check-ups. No big deal. And I daresay that the world's best eye surgeon has a handsome single associate who I wouldn't mind seeing thrice a year. That's marvelous.

The recovery is going well. Turns out that living with one eye patched up and one open is not easy. Driving is absolutely out of the question for at least two weeks. I went out in public for the first time tonight, and navigating empty drugstore aisles took an unexpected amount of concentration. There is no dog-walking, stair-climbing, or Merlot-with-dinner-drinking for a while. But otherwise good!

Usefulness of the day: Want fluffy scrambled eggs and omelets? Shake a little baking powder (the canned stuff, not the boxed) and whisk as usual.

Going into surgery tomorrow. Please pray it goes well :)

the eyes have it, bedside manners, and please pray

Last Saturday I went in for my routine annual eye exam. "Doc," I said, "I've had this odd vein-thing for a while." He looked. And looked again. "How long has it been there?" he asked. Panic started to kick in. I gave a rough estimate of more than 3 months but less than 6, explained that I reasoned it was just a burst blood vessel from lifting weights, and commenced the internal kicking of one's rear and smacking of one's forehead. Seriously Allison? He explained that it was not a blood vessel but pigmentation, and ought to be checked out sooner rather than later. I kicked and smacked myself again. Seriously? I am a walking talking skin cancer risk. Very fair skin, very dark hair, blue eyes = cancer, cancer, cancer.

Me and my still-numb eyes walked out to the car and, in the middle of the crosswalk, recalled something about my grandmother. She died a few months before I was born, and I know little about her. Frugal, made my mother re-use her brown paper lunch bag. Strict, took "wash your mouth out with soap" literally, and passed this on to my mother who stocked a small half-bath off the kitchen with liquid hand soap and a toothbrush. And had a glass eye.

I phoned my mother and asked the cause of my grandmother's death. A rare intraoccular melanoma. I lost it. Those yellow numbing drops, by the way, do come out of shirt sleeves with a hearty swipe of Fels-Naptha.

Then got it back. Decided that I could live with one eye. Decided to cut off my hair if I needed chemo. Made a mental note to get medical wishes, power-of-attorney, and will in order. And so on.

I knew exactly the two specialists I needed to see, and I wanted everything done Right Now. A flurry of phone calls to my retired eye surgeon uncle, physician aquaintances, and my friend's friend who once dated a resident at this particular hospital ensued. Nothing. In the midst of all those calls, I prayed for a quick appointment. (Not so) curiously, I phoned for an appointment on Monday. A last-minute cancellation meant I could get in to see Dr. R. on Tuesday...or else after Christmas. Tuesday, done, sold. (Not so) interesting that a dozen well-connected folks could not cause a last-minute cancellation! And then, tomorrow, an 8-hour appointment with Dr. S. Wowsa.

My (physician) father gave me a calming, supportive lecture.
"Allison, you must see a very good surgeon."
"Yes, I agree."
"Really, it is absolutely crucial that you see someone good."
"On the same page, Dad-o."
"Allison, you want someone who is a highly skilled surgeon."
"I am not arguing with you. Agreed. You are making me anxious."
"Well, I'm just saying that you need to see a highly trained, highly skilled, highly experienced surgeon."
"Actually, I was just going to see my mechanic. He's got some drills and such in the back and would do a phenominal biopsy."
"What is wrong with your car?"

Seriously, Dad? F for bedside manner.

A patient, tolerant, lovely, tolerant friend insisted on accompanying me to Dr. R. Eye appointments largely consist of waiting: waiting for eyes to numb, dilate, etc. Numb, see Dr. 1. Numb, see Dr. 2. And so on. After wrestling away my Blackberry - on which I was conducting some frantic research - she tried to keep me distracted. In gratitude, I said nice things like "I don't care about Wikileaks" and "I don't care about North Korea, I care about my eyes" and "I'm only criticizing the way you hung up my jacket because yelling at you makes me feel in control of something."

Well. A for self-awareness, at least.

When the 5-hour appointment was finally over, Friend pleasantly asked if there was a way for me to feel in control without snapping at her for not hitting the elevator button quickly enough, I lost it. Again. Right there by the elevator. "Kiddo, loving you is like tackling a porcupine! Why?!" she said...a little louder than necessary. "I'm a very scared litle porcupine right now!" I wailed. To all the lovely folks on the ninth floor around 2pm last Tuesday, I do apologize. I'm actually a generous, considerate, lovely person. Though I completely understand why you might have confused me with the occular oncology version of Bridezilla.

And, just for the record, I am amazing at handle anyone else's crises. Really. Really. People pay me to put out fires! And I volunteer with people who are dying in hospice care! I'm good at it! So says the foot-high stack of heartfelt thank-you letters in my office!

Dr. R. said go see Dr. S. Again, landed a quick appointment for tomorrow morning. Dr. S. is, interestingly, the same surgeon who treated my grandmother. And Dr. S. is no joke. All of this week was spent getting pre-op clearance in the event Dr. S. orders an immediate biopsy/surgery. Whew. Blood work, cardiac checks, physical exams are a full-time job!

In all likelihood, I am looking at a benign bit of pigmentation. If it is malignant, it can probably be excised. If that doesn't work, there are chemo eye drops. But there very likley will be a biopsy involved. And, in addition to being a horrific patient, I have horrific issues with eyes. I deal with blood, guts, gore, pain, suffering for work, and I'm perfectly - if strangely - at ease. But eyes? I get nauseus at the sight of eye models in waiting rooms. So, yes indeed, tomorrow should be tremendous fun :(.

The good news? I secured both appointments with unheard-of speed. People come from around the world to be treated at this hospital (including my late grandmother) and it is right down the street from me. And work has been perfect...much like my pre-op blood work! Please pray that all this pigmentation-melanoma-cancer foolishness goes far, far away.

oh nom nom nom

Amen, amen, amen.

Listen, I'm hardly some liberal crunchy granola-eatin' Obama-smoochin' hippie. Though I am fond of my Birenstock clogs and Grateful Dead, I've never heard of this film until today. When did food, water, and air become so very political? Baffling. And oy. Oy, oy, oy. I very much doubt that Eve was tempted by a Froot Roll Up...but I'm only half-kidding when I predict that certain American so-called conservatives will take aim at *that* next. "See what happens when you eat an apple? You FALL."

been traveling. more traveling. if you have a moment, please pray for safe travels.

i hate plane travel more than anything else. amtrak? LOVE. planes? no. no thank you.

been to some interesting places lately. pics to come soon. hint: mostly cows. and this upcoming trip? ocean, bears, moose...and not much else. the nearest airport is a 2+ hour drive. holy moly. will i even get cell reception?

in other news:

1. i am shopping for furniture. dante missed a level of hell.

2. jack does not have cancer, nor is his foot broken. he will, however, fake both when he feels neglected. unfortunately, the vet bills are not fake.

3. i'm in that weird spot where i look at certain things and think "hmm, i like x. wait, i think x keeping me from getting closer to the Lord."

4. oh my: ethnic grocery stores. i do not care for most asian-style foods, let alone the seafood, pork, and interesting meats that predominate. pig uterus? nope. however, $.79/lb for organic baby bok choy? $.99/lb for spaghetti squash? yes, please.

5. my new addiction: chunks of fresh homemade mozzarella and a sliver of tomato, wrapped up in basil.

orchid

God writes the gospel not in the Bible alone, but on trees and flowers and clouds and stars. Martin Luther


$12 flea market orchid.

I think a pure snow-white spray is needed in the bedroom and the living area needs a slim shower of sunshine-yellow.

Yes, indeed.

guard dog

After some recent and alarming incidents in the immediate vicinity of my office, I asked Big Boss Man if I could bring Big Guard Dog with me on nights and weekends.

Dear Big Boss Man:

I understand the answer is very likely no, but would it be ok if I brought in my Lab if I work evenings or weekends? He is nearly 11 years old, very friendly, had never had a accident, is short-haired and shaved so he will not shed, and he will never leave my ofice.

His answer: Your dog is welcome anytime.

Now, all that I wrote is true. But not totally truthful. This Addendum should have followed...

Dear Big Boss Man:

In the interests of full disclosure, I must provide you with this Addendum to yesterday's correspondence in which I described my dog as an older, quiet, mannerly old fella.

1. Jack is crazy.

2. Jack is immune to prescription and over-the-counter canine sedatives as well as Benadryl.
3. Jack has a paper fetish.

4. And a bit too fond of ladies' unmentionables...which I guess isn't really relevant here.
4. At nearly 11 years, he is regularly mistaken for an 11 month pup.

5. And so on.

6. And so on.

7. Ad infinitum.

8. However, you will be pleased to know that Jack shares an interest in the law. From appellate briefs
to basic research
to "Products Liability and the Search for Justice." Jack joined me on a "test" Saturday last week. And he did phenominally well. He nearly knocked over an accountant, but in a loving sort of way. After cursory sniffs around the place and deep Labby eyes longing to properly sniff out every single blessed office and every single blessed cubicle, he promptly passed out.

"Mamma, enough with the flashes!"

Eventually, he realized that the law ain't nearly as exciting as Hollywood would have one believe.

"Seriously?"

"This is what you do all day?"

"Yawn."

cows and corn

It has been an insane past 2 work weeks, and there is 1 more to go. I think. Possibly 2.

I have dubbed this my "Cows Across America" tour.

Leg 1: I drove through 2 hours of steep winding 2-lane roads of cornfields, knuckles white, and trying to forget that I had ever read Children of the Corn. The few miles right before the destination ought to require tokens to travel as they rival some of the more stomach-dropping roller coasters - I actually did keep an eye out for sick attorneys on the side of the road. I may or may not have snapped a cell phone pic of a lonely field and sent it to my paralegal with the caption "I think Deliverance was filmed here." I arrived at my destination very early, needed to powder my nose, and told the nice lady residing in my GPS to please find me a bathroom. Burger King: 16 miles away...driving approximately 10mph.

Lesson: Never, ever pass up an opportunity to use an Interstate restroom. And "well, I've read Stephen King, so I know what goes on in corn fields" will never be an appropriate response to a hotel clerk's "what do you think of our area?"

Leg 2: More cows, more corn. I may or may not have snapped a cell phone pic of a cow standing smack in the middle of the road and sent it to entirely too many people with the caption "mooooove over."

Lesson: I think I'm funny.

Leg 3: Begins tomorrow. This time I'll be bringing the camera along. Lucky you.

wish

Sometimes I wish there was someone who I could call.


I learned that my brother threatened suicide three weekends ago and was promptly committed for 5 days. He admitted that the threat was an attempt to woo a lady friend, and not a legitimate attempt. (Snarky side note: is a suicide threat attractive to women? Whew, I'm a terrible person. Moving on.) Most people, upon finding that one's brother is locked away in a psychiatric ward, would not breathe a huge sigh of relief and drop to one's knees in thanks. I did. Not the dropping, as I was behind the wheel, but plenty of thanks. I have been enouraging my parents to force him into treatment for years. Unfortunately, the law says that involuntary commitment is warranted only for immediate threats of harm to self or others.



Basically, he wasn't killing himself fast enough for the law.

He has been sleeping all day, every day, for nearly 5 years. Refuses to get a job, refuses to move out of my parent's house, refuses to do anything but be extremely unpleasant for the few hours he is awake. Me? I did an armchair diagnosis of anxiety plus depression with psychotic features.


The problem is, I think, that the people around him on a regular basis - my parents and sister - are so used to his behavior that they didn't realize how abnormal it is. Totally in vain in December, I suggested to my mother that when one responds to a sister he hasn't seen for nearly a year with a "fuck you" upon being greeted, wished a Merry Christmas, and offered breakfast, well...something ain't right. In fact, something is very, very wrong. And there are professionals and medications out there that will help.

So he did his 5 days and was released on a Friday. My mother told me that he admitted that the threat was not real...but that he didn't feel safe alone. For someone who - literally - responds to "good morning" with "fuck you," this was especially alarming to me. The fact that he is forced to take an anti-depressant - which can prompt suicidal behaviors in the early dosage period - compounded my alarm.

So my parents did the rational, reasonable thing. They left him alone while they went to their weekend house.

I phoned my mother daily to check in. Tonight my father told me that he is not doing well. Whatever that means. My family isn't exactly into disclosure.

So...my wish is for someone to whom I could vent all the details of this ridiculousness without anyone (1) blaming my parents (only I can do that) or (2) privately wondering if mental illness runs in the family.

I have no clue what will become of my brother. None. Really, none. All I know is that I am the only one who appears to be taking my brother's health seriously, and yet I am the one who he is least likely to listen to and least likely to make any kind of an impact. Briefly, my brother has long concentrated all his anger against The World in me. Convenient, as I lived 350 miles away for 10 years. But inconvenient, too, as I appear to be the only one who thinks that sleeping 20 hrs/day and anger that is, frankly, frightening, are not normal.

Lord, help him.

things that make me go hmmm

My floors got redone this weekend and, in the interests of not getting high-as-a-kite off the sanding and sealant fumes, the dogs and I are living with a friend for a few days. (They actually are decent houseguests.)

This friend lives in the woods. That's woods to me, not necessarily woods to most of you. And when I say "woods," well, I really mean "formerly dense forest razed to make room for yet another tract of architecturally bland McMansions inhabited by a lot of inconspicuous consumers who pour gallons of poison over their perfetly manicured lawns before retreating to snack on organic corn chips and organic lemonade sweetened with organic cane sugar."


Personally, I think the perfectly manicured lawn-fountain-statues look is lovely...if one means it ironically. Give me the wild - or at least individualistic - look any day! Does anyone honestly think that a reproduction of a Greco-Roman statue next to the garage automatically vests one with class?


Answer: Evidently, and Italian-Americans are disproportionately afflicted.


The problem with plunking down a home with Palette 2 countertops/cabinets/flooring in the kitchen and Palette 5 vanity/tiles/hardware in the master bath in said forest is that forests tend to be inhabited by all manner of forest-y denizens.

Who knew?


I was trying to relax in the tub yesterday afternoon when I heard Coco going crazy at the back door. No matter. Could be an errant leaf. Then Jack started going crazy. Not his 'big boy' bark, which is enough to produce a puddle between your feet, but enough of a "you should see this, mamma!" bark that, with a great sigh, made me leave my nice cool bath. A feral, small, sleek, perfectly black kittycat was making her way around the yard. No sooner had I sighed and sunk back into my bath than I heard more commotion. This time, a deer. A young male, judging by his antlers. Clearly up to no good what with his snacking on birdseed and such.

My point?

Cats and deer? Cause for major alarm. Fireworks? Not a peep.

I don't get it either.

hunger and yearning

I've been sort of trudging along this whole capital-S Spiritual journey partially out of a sense of obligation, partially out of a sense of "it's good for me!"(like broccoli, you know), and partially out of a desire to not go to Hell.

I knew - know - precisely what is missing: that pure yearning after God. I yearned to have that yearning. That has been my prayer for so long: please, make me yearn for You. Turn my heart to you. Make me want You, make me want to know You, make me hunger for You. I am so very envious of those who have that hunger...yes, envy is a sin, but I kinda suspect it ain't that bad of a sin :)

For years, I didn't understand why some prayers were answered immediately. Indeed, some so fast I had to giggle. "Please let there be a parking space." Done. "Please tell that driver to let me cut in front of him." Done. "Please help me find my car keys." Done...and done, and done, and done. And yet others - others that, in sum, begged God to teach me to glorify Him, to recognize sin, to turn away from it, and to, above all, push me to that singular wanting? Not so immediate.

I'm beginning to suspect that maybe, just maybe, by proving that He could be faithful about the little things, He could be faithful about the Big Things.

A friend lent me a book - Jesus Calling - and, my goodness, is that title ever accurate. I will write more later, but I am now totally floored by the way that so many of us write off or condense down the entire Bible as "love your neighbor as yourself." It's in there - don't get me wrong - but how many souls have been deceived by this falsehood that loving one's neighbor is all there is?

My oh my.

Just some random, mid-week, haven't-slept-for-more-than-4-hours thoughts.

just a list on a Sunday evening

1. Well, I can't believe I've been with this new job for more than one month. Time flies.

2. It is hot, hot, HOT here. I and my snow-white ancestors were not meant for this climate. I wilt. I melt into a sticky puddle. As much as I adore my windowed office, it gets full sun. I down so much ice water that I have to rotate which floor's bathrooms I use so no one comments on my excessive use of the facilities...unfortunately, drug use is hardly uncommon among the lawyerly folks.

3. I have to fly this week. On an airplane, incidentally. I hate flying. If you feel so inclined, pray for safe travels on Tuesday and Wednesday.

4. I took on a roommate for a few months. She neglected to mention she is terrified of large dogs. Jack has been taking full advantage of that, sidling up very close to her, giving a short, startling bark...and grinning as she flies to the dog treat jar to thwart an imminent attack.

5. I discovered that the large berry tree in my yard is actually a mulberry tree. The birds gorge themselves on the fallen berries, ocassionally getting tipsy from the fermented berries and flying into my window. I caught Coco doing the same. Gorging, not flying.

6. I decided that, in the interests of sanity, I need to take one full day off: no work, and no work talk. Curiously, God knew when He was talking about when He said something about a day of no work.

advice?

My sister. 20-something, pretty, sociable, Bachelor's in sociology. Rejected from every single graduate program in sociological statistics. Looking for some kind of a career. She has been a waitress/hostess and nanny since she was 16. Hard-working, smart-but-not-brilliant, and does not want to be a social worker.


She is thinking of going to school for medical billing. I think that market is oversaturated. Anyone have any other ideas?


My ideas:

- Becoming a physician's assistant. Or radiation or respiratory therapist. Anything but a nurse! 2 years ago nurses had their pick of offers...then everyone and their mother went to nursing school and, whoops!

- Actuary...that's statistics, right? Not sure. I hear "statistics" or "math" and dive under a bed.

- Looking into consulting positions.

- Sales, as she is pretty and sociable and could make a killing...if she moved. I guess this idea is moot as she won't move.

- Possibly getting her paralegal certificate? She has legal connections up and down the entire East Coast. I actually have zero knowledge of the state of the paralegal market.

- If she had any mechanical skills whatsoever, I would march her right over to an electrician's or plumber's program. Personally, I think that pushing every single child to college is a mistake. People, what will we do without electricians, plumbers, and other skilled tradespeople??? Not to mention that a master electrician can snag a low six-figure salary in some areas, I think. I know what my electrician makes - mostly honestly - at least. But I digress.

- ??? Give me your ideas!

cowgirl, baby

My office has a casual dress code. Not business casual...casual. Now, I spent a good amount of time and a very good amount of money acquiring a lovely conservative work wardrobe. And now, what's this? Sneakers and flip-flops are standard footwear? Heavens, I would never even dare try to sneak by with open-back or peep-toes at my old firm.


So I went a few days my standard skirt suit sans jacket. Then I swapped the work shirt for a twinset. Then, dressy jeans, heals, and a twinset. Finally, I gave in to fit in. Kept the pearls! Cold dead...neck? Really, as long as there is a pressed suit kept ready to go in my office, no one cares what anyone wears. So my standard outfit is jeans, a plain t-shirt, pearls, and...these.

Now, these 3.5in heeled boots are as obnoxious as they are loud. However, they are, in all honesty, the most comfortable pair of shoes I've ever worn, easily beating out Birkenstocks, Crocs, and even those fancy MBT sneakers I once tried. But comfort is beside the point. The point? They are loud. And I walk with a heavy gait. And, due to an errant - but entirely innocent and wholly inoffensive - CC'ed email, I learned that the paralegals directly below my floor have dubbed me "Cowgirl."

I like it.

well, that worked

God is so good.

After my little pity party, things got a little better. Evidently, He wasn't kidding around when He said something along the lines of prayer, something along the lines of its efficacy.

1. Some of you joined me in praying that the overwhemitis would decrease. It did. I'm now at a code Panic instead of a code Heart Attack. Fun fact: the stress-heart attack link was not discovered until a physician noticed that the edges of his waiting-room seats were worn down. Funner fact: the rate of heart attacks is significantly higher in trial lawyers than in the general population.

2. I had to go to an event in an unfamiliar and rural area last week. My GPS informed me that the building was a patch of grass 20+ miles from where I needed to be...but next to an old-timey diner filled with nice country folks who gave me spot-on directions and told me to come back for a post-event beer. And, because God never lets me forget that Stuff Like This Happens, I gave myself plenty of extra time and arrived to my event a comfortable 45 minutes early.

3. This tickles me: again, with the GPS, I had to turn left into traffic...on a heavily traveled 4-lane road. Now, I'm very careful about left turns...but I also panic when there are people behind me, imagining how frustrated they are. So I said "Lord, please give me a safe opening here." And not more than 5 seconds later there was. Ha! Love it!

4. I do a lot of writing for journals and textbooks and a lot of lecturing. It takes up a ton of time that I can't get paid for. This firm asked me to aitionally handle several chapters in another textbook...which takes up MASSIVE amounts of time. Just when I started wondering whether I could convince my physician to prescribe an inhaler to a non-asthmatic, I got the brilliant idea of outsourcing the majority of that work to law students, i.e. slave labor. Approved. Now picking out some bushy-tailed law students for summer help.

5. The new firm took so long to give me info on health benefits that I assumed the benefits were minimal. I worried that despite being told in the salary negotiations that the benefits were "stellar," they were now playing around, thinking "she just hung up her diplomas in her office; she probably won't quit now if the benefits are junk." Finally got the materials this week and they are stellar.

look lika man, look lika ma

I've been heavily involved this week with someone who is a dead-on ringer for Mad TV's Miss Swan. (Stop around 4:20 if you don't want to hear an SOB.



Folks, I'm a light drinker and a non-smoker. But 3 solid, 10 hour days dealing with my very own Miss Swan had me eyeing the corner dope dealer's wares.

Kidding.

I think.

I'm having a pity party and you're invited.

1. I don't wanna be a lawyer anymore.
2. I want to laze around all day long.
3. Eating avocado sushi.
4. And gazpacho.
5. And nachos.
6. I am feeling overwhelmed.
7. Very, very, very overwhelmed.
8. Please pray for me because I have no clue how I'm supposed to get everything done.
9. Let alone done well.

I forgot

Evidently, there was some kind of holiday today. Whoops, I forgot. Just about every single person in the office - attorneys, techs, secretaries, paralegals - left by lunchtime on Friday. One of the last ones out popped in and exclaimed, "what are you doing here?"

Working. Duh.

She gave me a look of pity, no doubt thinking it was sad that I would be skipping the beach that weekend.

People, I've already seen Snooki & Co.! And my skin is nearly blue. And I don't particularly care for that sticky prickly combination of crowds, bikinis, and heat. A root canal sounds like more fun than a day at the beach.

In truth, I've been getting to the office around 4am and relish having the entire building to myself. Dark and silent. The 9am bustle provides a nice boost. And all that early bird productivity means I can usually scoot out the door by 5pm. Fortunately, this firm doesn't much care when I work provided I do work (a lot).

I left the office Friday afternoon exhausted but perked up when I found a friend - loaded down with my favorite pizza (jalepeno popper) and a bottle of Riesling - lounging on the porch with the dogs. Reasoning that I could afford to take Saturday off, I did. Slept in until 11am! Puttered around the garden, did a little shopping, and a lot of eating. Oh, and caught up on the news for the past week. Something about an oil spill? Brittany Murphy's windower died? Train accident in India? Spent most of Sunday doing dictation outside, which is actually a pleasant way to pass a few hours. Church? God taught me about Himself in a garden, and that's where I've been of late:


SOME keep the Sabbath going to church;
I keep it staying at home,
With a bobolink for a chorister,
And an orchard for a dome.

The tomatoes are insane. The cucumbers are not far behind. The raspberries, spagetti squash, and summer squash are all doing well. The eggplant, peppers, and herbs are struggling a bit. Getting the watermelons set up is on the schedule for this week.

Unfortunately, a holiday does not remove my billable hours requirement, so I worked a full office day today. Doing contingency work ("we don't get paid until you get paid") is different from having to actually keep count of my hours worked in six-minute increments. Same amount of work, I think, but the measurements are different: project completed vs. hours worked. Might drive me batty. But I hope not.

I hope you all had a lovely weekend!

this

this made my day..."cat adoption ad gone wrong."

Very, very, very wrong, indeed. I do hope poor kitty found a home.

Edited to add: There is a muffled "SOB" in the very last two seconds. I missed it the first three times because I was laughing so hard.

well

Well, I made it through the first week. I've set a nice schedule of 4am-4 or 5pm, which allows me to have plenty of quiet, uninterrupted productive time in the morning while being able to have a social life in the evenings. And by "social life" I mean, more often than not, dog park time and hand-shakin'/baby-kissin' time at a variety of rather silly - but necessary - community events.

I have two paralegals, who are awesome and awesomer but I haven't quite gotten a read on my secretary yet. All I know is that she is fastidiously matches her eyeshadow to her shirt. Very, very, very fortunately, my own personal quirks (plenty of those) and practice preferences appear to align with both paralegals. Grateful that we think alike. My office is decent-sized, with lots of natural light and big windows with - get this - a pleasant view! I've been picking up on hints that the 5 people I replaced were especially well-liked by the support staff, so I've been treading carefully there.

Spent the week getting a handle on my caseload. It is always a curious thing to go through files that once belonged to someone else.

One thing that is amusing? I regularly opposed several of my new colleagues when I was at my old firm. There has been some good-natured ribbing going back-and-forth there :)

Otherwise, I've been totally left to my own devices. Haven't seen or spoken with the attorney I'm supposed to be teaming up with, though I am hoping that will happen this week.

Oh! And I did a major writing assignment for another attorney and was told I did "a very, very nice job." Now, my old firm was an old-school type of place where the only way I knew I was doing a minimally adequate job was if I wasn't getting yelled at. Eventually I figured out that I couldn't be doing a minimally adequate job - my old firm definitely would not have kept me on the payroll for that kind of quality. Took me a while to realize that. Anyway, my Precious Snowflake generation simply can't be yelled at; we will positively shrivel up and die without regular, copious injections of praise. Remember, folks, my generation got trophies for mere participation - not actually winning - lest anyone's self-esteem feel hurt and offended. At my old firm, "praise" was a grudging "you didn't totally mess that up." So to get a "very, very nice job" message this evening was, well, very, very nice :)

No good deed...and I'm nervous!

Work starts tomorrow. I had lunch with a law school friend this afternoon. Lovely boy. I think he has a Romatic Interest in me. Guess that's another story.

Chicken tikka masala, hot-from-the-oven garlic naan, and some kind of eggplant/cumin/garlic dish. As I walked back to my car, I passed a homeless man and his dog half a block down from a convenience store. I picked up water, treats, and food for the dog and water, food, and sunblock for her owner. I handed these several bags and my leftovers to the owner and chatted with him for a few minutes about his dog. So few people actually engage in conversation with our homeless! They're not invisible, people! His teeny-tiny year-old pitbull named Sherry loved on me the entire time. I like to do a quick check-up on dogs when the owner is homeless. Sherry was dressed in several clean sweatshirts (it was cold and rainy today), had great teeth, and looked perfectly healthy, happy, and cute.

I like to see homeless dog owners. I'm certainly not advocating that we give a free pup with a free meal down at the shelter, but, I imagine, pet ownership keeps the owner sane. And out of trouble.

Anyway. Then some lady passed by and clucked. "So you're giving the dog food and water and nothing for him?"

"Yes, ma'am," I wanted to say. "Exactly. I'm hoping he starves to death so I can have his dog." However, having a general policy of not engaging crazies in debate, I ignored her.

Sorta like how she ignored the owner's cup of change.

***
Work starts tomorrow. I'm nervous. I'm also nervous because just after I accepted this (defense) firm's offer, several offers with plaintiff firms came in. Plaintiff is where I want to be! Trying to trust. Trying to capital-T Trust.

I think I'll go curl up and pretend that I live in a wonderful magic land where bills pay themselves, legs are self-shaving, nylons never run, calories are just numbers on paper, and every tv station runs Milo and Otis on a 24/7 loop.

argh.

Work called this morning and asked me to come in on Wednesday instead of today as they are still in the midst of some housekeeping matters. They are letting go of five associates and, evidently, the letting-go process and subsequent re-arranging takes some time.

"But I'm all dressed and ready to go! In a carefully selected, focus-grouped ensemble! And I shaved my legs!"

Translation: "Thank you; I look forward to meeting everyone on Wednesday."

homemade laundry detergent

I've known it was possible to make one's own detergent for at least a year, but assumed it would be harsh on clothing. A little Googling revealed that most people have actually found that homemade detergent is better for clothing. I read through a few recipes and decided to go with powdered detergent. Unfortunately, the big-box stores in my area have never heard of Borax or washing soda. Amazon.com has, but I'm not paying $9 to ship $9 worth of ingredients. Ace Hardware had a free ship-to-store option and a decent coupon code, but only sold multipacks. $83 for what looks to be several years' worth of detergent is a good deal...but not for someone who doesn't even know if she will like the stuff.

Then, quite randomly, I was in a grocery store about 40 minutes away...and just happened to find all three ingredients right there in the laundry aisle. Sold!

Here is what you need: Washing soda, Borax, and Fels-Naptha soap. I believe Zote or Dove can be substituted for Fels-Naptha, but Fels-Naptha is specifically labeled a "laundry soap" and I've been pleased with it.

Grate the soap until you have 2 cups. I used a cheese grater and then food-processed it. I also tried cutting the soap into chunks and processing it that way. Either way works, but if your processor is more of a "lite" model, you should grate before processing.

In a bowl, mix 2 cups Fels-Naptha, 1 cup Borax, and 1 cup washing soda. Mix, then process. This detergent won't leave any kind of a scent on your clothing; if you want to add in some essential oils, do it while the detergent is in the processor. I used a coconut lemongrass blend; lavender, lavender tea tree, lavender lemon, or lemon would be lovely, too.

Use 1 tablespoon for a regular load and 2 tablespoons for a heavy or heavily soiled load. This detergent is not sudsy, so don't fret if you don't see bubbles. If you want nice, soft clothes, pour a little white vinegar in the fabric softener dispenser. I usually air-dry everything but linens and gym socks and plain vinegar does a great job at removing the soap residue that causes stiffness. Pardon me while I cringe at all the money I've wasted on Snuggle's vanilla sandalwood fabric softener when half a cup of cheap-o white vinegar does the job!

Honestly, this is fantastic stuff. Didn't bother my sensitive skin at all. Dirt cheap if you can find the ingredients locally. I've since been told that if your local Walmart doesn't carry all three of the ingredients, pool supply stores, stores with large Hispanic customber base, and old-timey general stores are all good places to look.

Store in an closed container with spoons for measuring. If your Lab confused a pitcher with a chew toy, this is a good use for it :)

faithful

God is faithful.


I have to say that during my FUNemployment [cue extreme sarcasm] days, I wasn't quite sure what He had planned. For example, mere days after I lost my job I interviewed with a firm headed by a mentor's close friend. Just after the interview, I heard a distinct "I have something better for you." It made no sense at the time. None! And I argued back, "but this is better! And even if it isn't better, it is just fine." only to hear, again and clearly, "I have something else better for you."

I still don't know what that meant. But I am trying to trust. With a capital T.

So, here is to hoping that the something better starts tomorrow. I'm nervous, scared, anxious. Will they like me? Will I like them? Will I trip and fall and rip my stockings?

Hopefully, hopefully, and definitely, respectively.

Gotcha

Got the job. Interview on Tuesday, a surprise second on Wednesday, hammering out the offer on Thursday and Friday, acceptance on Friday night, and then "can you start on this Monday instead of next month?" this morning. Whew. I'm dizzy just thinking about how fast that all went and it doesn't seem quite real yet. Busy freshening my work wardrobe after months of disuse, getting the dog walker scheduled, pulling files from storage for my new office, etc.

Kinda crazy how this all happened. This firm had actually come after me about a year ago and I declined. Very interesting work and the guys I'll be working with the most seem to be - and I've been assured by others that they are - fun and decent and all that. Still, I'm definitely intimidated. The firm fired several people and replaced them with...me. Just me. And not, I know for certain, because there is less business. The opposite, in fact. Now, I've always cultivated a professional reputation as bushy-tailed go-getter, but doing the work of five people? Gulp.

dinner and...

I had a lovely dinner with the defense firm's other principal and the main case manager. I had an herbed chicken breast over chopped tomatoes with a side of lemon butter and a nice Chardonnay and- what? You want to know how the meeting went?

Fabulous, fabulous, fabulous. And I learned that they do have a small plaintiff practice! They don't advertise it, but some plaintiffs' attorneys turn down emotionally tough cases involving children (especially horrific manners of death, rape, etc.) and refer to this firm. This firm considers it a moral obligation. I've done plenty of those kinds of cases - the kind that make more seasoned attorneys lose their lunch - so no problem there.

All went well and the principal said "we're planning to extend an offer."
Me: "I'm planning to take your offer."
Principal: "We were thinking maybe tomorrow."
Me: "If you offer, I will take it."
Principal: "Call me tomorrow afternoon."

So, that is the P-L-A-N. Take big boy to the groomers, run a few errands, throw the dogs in the house with a couple bones, and run out to the car where I can make that phone call in complete silence.

skip if you are tired about my job search :)

Tuesday
10:30am: Round 1 interview with a defense firm. The principal said that I was the first interviewee with several more that day and later in the week. In sales talk (because most of life is sales), I did my standard closing of "I want this job. What is the next step?" and was told to expect a call in a week. He also said I was cocky and obnoxious and he really liked that. Guess that's another story.
11:30am: Plaintiff firm sets up interview for Monday...24hrs after I sent over my resume. In today's market, that is unusual. Then again, I did have people praying that firm would set up an interview. So, really, not that unusual :)



Wednesday
7:14am: Defense firm calls. Paralegal: "Apparently yesterday went really well and another principal wants to meet you today." Less than 24hrs! I am having an early dinner with the other principal tonight.

Thursday
8am: Oil and filter change, then Jack goes to the groomer, and then...Sorry. Not relevant. Where were we?

Oh. Yes. Here is the thing. The wholly premature thing. I love plaintiff side. Love, love, love it. I got along great with the first principal at the defense firm yesterday and suspect I will feel the same way about the one I am meeting this evening. Exciting, high-profile work...just like my old firm but opposite side of the courtroom. Unlike most of my generation, I don't want to job-hop and, ideally, would stay with one firm for my entire career. I'm loyal. Not naive, not a doormat, but loyal. But if I went with the defense firm, I would probably do some time there and then leverage it to a plaintiff position. That is what the vast majority of plaintiff attorneys do anyway. Or not. I might wind up loving defense. Who knows?

Well, I think I know Who Knows. I just want it all to work out. If I wouldn't get an offer from the plaintiff firm, I want an offer from the defense firm. If I would hate working at the plaintiff firm, I want an offer from the defense firm. If I would love the plaintiff firm, I don't want an offer from the defense firm until I get one from the plaintiff firm. If this, then that, and I want.

I want, I want, I want.

Pollution

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world. James 1:27.

Well. I give myself a D for that.

Life is confusing. I'm beginning to suspect that the majority of that confusion isn't confusion at all, but temptation. Isn't it easier to say "that confuses me" than to say "I know that X is wrong, but I want to do it anyway?"

Yes. The answer is yes.

The interview today went very well and the interviewer assured me that he would recommend me to round 2. Really liked the firm! The principals seemed like fun guys and all the paralegals I met could not have been more helpful, polite, and professional. The firm fairly screamed, "we have our act together!" Plenty of firms do not...

And that perfect job listing I mentioned the other day? They called to set up an interview. It is on Monday morning. Plaintiffs' side and the position would be be a lot of medical malpractice work. Fun stuff.

Keep the prayers/karma/rain-dancing/sage burning a' comin!

***
Usefulness of the day: No coffee grinder? The Magic Bullet works just fine.

garden stuff

I've been doing a ton of yard work the past week.

Jack helps.


Irises! Love them. The purple ones smell like grape jelly; the yellow ones of lemon cake. And they all look as if they lost a fight with a lawn mower.

The rhododendrons are in full bloom, too.

I put in 18 tomato plants, 6 per box. 18! I usually do 12. Guess I'm still miffed over last year's late blight. A box of cucumbers, a box of eggplants, and a box of banana peppers and jalapenos. There is a hedge of raspberry trees on the side of the house and I'm eyeing the space next to those for blueberries. What am I not growing? Zucchini. Don't care for it. And anything that I can buy cheaper at the flea market, which includes corn, garlic, onion, mango, and avocado.

Oh, and I also had the great idea of starting pumpkins, squash, and watermelons from seeds...which means that I will have to build another 2-3 boxes. I was worried that I wouldn't have space in the yard, but I had to take a chainsaw to one of the rhododendrons yesterday. She was talkin' smack to me.

Still lots more to do. I have pots and hanging baskets that need to be filled with flowers, a small porch herb garden to start, hopefully a couple boxes to build if the pumpkins and squash and watermelons germinate, and some very hard labor in tilling up a place for the blueberries.

***

Usefulness of the day: I've said it before and I will say it again: red plastic! Insulate tomatos with red plastic sheeting and your plants will be at least 8ft tall. Not white. Not black. White and black plastic only provide heat insulation. Red light, however, triggers a growth hormone. While you're picking up red sheeting, buy some taaaall support crates and strong rods - you will need them in August!

prayer request and update

Baby Ben is doing great! He is out of the hospital and doing all the things a newborn baby should be doing...including being chubby and cute :)

I have an interview tomorrow; please pray it goes well! I also applied for a job last night that sounds perfect...praying that I get an interview with them, too!

that was interesting.

The interview on Wednesday was, by far, the most bizarre interview ever.

The guy looked like and had the voice of David Puddy. I had to fight the urge to slap him a high five and ask whether he followed hockey.

Went well...I think. Another interview on Tuesday.

prayer request

I have a promising interview on Wednesday morning. Prayer warriors, good-vibe senders, sage-burners, rain-dancers, etc...DO YOUR THING!

Update: Woohoo! Another one to be scheduled.

***
Usefulness of the day: Ever if you don't drink the stuff, vodka is a rather useful item to have around the house. Swish plain unflavored vodka to remove odors in a Nalgene. Put a little fruit-flavored vodka in a glass, shape a piece of paper into a cone shape and place the narrow end in the glass with the paper just above - but not touching - the vodka. Great way to send fruit flies to a boozy death! And I've never tried this myself, but I've heard that spritzing plain vodka on musty clothing will rid the garment of storage odors. And if you actually drink it...my new favorite drink is plain vodka, plain seltzer, and a few olives. Hey, olives are good for you! Heathy fats!

argh.

This has happened at least a dozen times over the past five years. And I don't get it.

We - me, Jack, Coco - will be walking in the city. Lots of people like to stop and say hi. We like that! But a few people feel compelled to insinuate that I am making some kind of a social comment by having a big handsome fit white boy and a little, so-ugly-she-is-cute, not very fit*, black girl. One an expensive breeder purchase, one a $30 rescue dog. "What, you'll pay for a white dog but not a black dog?! Huh? Huh?" One happy and confident and lovin' life and one who isn't quite sure about life...but she will bark at it.

We're just on a walk, people! No one is "oppressing" anyone else. I judiciously avoid try very hard to avoid giving unsolicited social commentary...and I don't even know how I could use the dogs to illustrate issues on which I would opine.

The worst was Coco's Halloween costume...that one got me cussed at.

At a very crowded fundraiser for a shelter. With as many children at the party as dogs! Who does that?

I would point out that it has always been someone of a specific race and gender making these not-too-kind comments. But specifying that race and gender would, I'm sure, strike some as sexi-racist. Raci-sexist. Nothing sexi about racism!

People are ridiculous. Entirely too much "that offends me as a X" and entirely not enough common sense or manners.

Will adding a black-and-white pup next make it all better? Because Harlequin Great Danes make me smile.

* She came to me at 30lbs! Minpins are supposed to weigh 8-10. She is down to 15, so don't yell at me for having a fat dog :)

Photo from Mid-Atlantic Great Dane Rescue League.

***

Usefulness of the day: Do not put your actual home address as "home" in your GPS. Use the address of a nearby business instead. If your GPS is stolen, do you really want the thief knowing where you sleep at night?

best bread. ever!

Please, for the love of all that is tasty, make this! The result is a rustic ciabatta bread, airy and chewy and crusty and wonderful.

Mix together 1 cup flour, 1/4 teaspoon yeast, and 2/3 cup warm water for about 2 minutes. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let it rise at room temperature for at least 12 hours. This is called the biga. Within 1-2 hours you will see very small bubbles forming - that's good!

Add 2 cups flour, 1/2 teaspoon yeast, 1 teaspoon salt, 1/3 cup non-skim milk, and 1/2 cup water to the biga. Be sure the milk and water is room temperature. Mix for about 5 minutes, then knead for 8-10 minutes. The dough will be very sticky, but do as best you can.

Cover bowl with plastic wrap and let rise for 2 hours.

Very gently fold dough a few times with a spoon, re-cover, and let rise for 45 minutes. Repeat. Do this very gently and only a few times - you don't want the gluten to go crazy. Fold, don't mix!

Gently divide dough in two. Take each half and gently fold in half, then press your well-floured fingers into both loaves so that there are indents all over the surface. The key word is "gentle" here! Let rise for another 45 minutes or so. Heat oven to 450.

When ready - finally! - spray surface of dough with water. Bake for 5 minutes and spray again. Repeat. Bread is done when the surface is golden and crusty and wonderful.

This is really, honestly, truly, the best bread! I've taken to keeping a little biga in the fridge, just in case I want a snack later.

Now, I'm the queen of substitutions and otherwise "doing it my own way" recipe-wise. However, don't you dare try to use yogurt, soy milk, or skim milk! The proteins in the milk are what makes the texture airy and bubbly. I'm going to attempt a gluten-free batch next week. If you can manage to save some of the bread for the next day, it does not go stale overnight and makes for wonderful paninis in the morning.

***
Usefulness of the day: If you prefer to air-dry your clothing but don't like the stiffness, pour plain white vinegar in the fabric softener holder. The stiffness is a result of detergent residue, and vinegar will dissolve it.

prayer request

This afternoon, I pulled into a gas station, thirsting for a cold beverage. I parked next to a red sedan and noted that the driver was asleep. I was not concerned - I know that I have caught catnaps here and there.

But walking back, I felt a sense of unease. I peeked in the car and saw a spent syringe on the driver's lap. Given the area, she was likely not a diabetic...if you get my drift. I phoned 911 while letting the station's manager know what was going on. 911 assured me that a team was on its way, and I asked the station's manager to check through an open window to be sure the driver was breathing. I spent good money of those CPR classes, yo. "She is just really, really, really high, I think," he said.

Non-responsive, but breathing. So I left. As much as I wanted to remain and know that she was ok, I knew that I would never know that she was, truly, ok. And, given that, my presence would only be of the gawker variety. No need for those. She was - is - a young girl. By her college sweatshirt and the college decal on her car, I assume she is a student. Please pray for her. I assume she survived her "high," but please pray that she survives. Please pray that she would know that her Creator loves her - dearly loves her - and that tremendous joy can be found in places other than a needle.

***
In other news, if you feel so inclined to pray that I land a job soon...it is also tremedously appreciated. Matthew 18:19 and all :)

thou shalt not

steal!

On Friday night I went out for dinner and drinks with a few girlfriends. One friend parked on a main street in the middle of the city. We had a lovely time. I got my fill of baba ganouj and garlicky cucumber yogurt soup with iced mint tea and sampled a tahini sauce that made my palate sing and...

Well, I'm turning into my grandmother, aren't I? No story can be told without detailing the food.

Around midnight, we walked Friend back to her car. A few cars away, we all saw that the rear passenger window was open. Now, if you live in the city, you never think, "did I leave the window open?" You know that "oh, great. Someone broke into my car."

Friend did an inventory while I reported it to the police. This city's police handle all broken-in cars by phone these days because, as the officer noted, "there are so many; crime is really, really bad these days."

That's brotherly love for you.

Gone was her GPS, satellite radio, a fistful of random cords, and cool little coin purse. Before you feel pangs in your own empathetic heart: the GPS was low-end $50 unit, the radio was broken beyond repair, and the coin purse contained an estimated $.12. Even better! All those cords were broken. They left the only working cord! And they left the GPS cord, too. Replacement GPS cords, I'm told, are almost as expensive as the unit itself. They also took two vouchers for a complimentary meal for two at any Hilton restaurant. (I'm praying that the thief uses those to treat his mother next month.)

Then, a howl. "They took my WORK clothes!" My heart stopped. I know how expensive work clothes are, especially hers. I quickly prayed that the work clothes would find their way to someone who needed a really, really nice interview suit. "Was it your interview suit?" I asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"Nah, just a few shirts," she said, calming down. "And something else, too..." she murmured.

The stolen bag held her dirty, filthy, disgusting laundry from a recent business trip. Work shirts, gym clothes, and unmentionables. All stinky and sweaty. Sexy. But even better (or worse!) she had suffered what she delicately called "extreme ladybit issues" on her trip and the evidence was all over the bottoms.

So that was the haul: a bunch of useless plastic, two meals for two, and a bag of clothing that definitely qualifies as biohazardous material at this point.

Crime doesn't pay, kids!

On a more serious note, I am increasingly saddened by how many people out there have zero regard for the property of others. I'm not naive and I know that there are far more serious crimes. But it makes me sad. Remember when I hit my friend's neighbor's car? The guy was floored that I knocked on his door. Plenty of people told me that I could have - and even should have - just driven off. I don't say that to put the spotlight on my values :) but to show the sad, sorry state we're in. Where honesty and doing the right thing is rare and, when we see something we want, we are loath to let trifling matters of finances or ownership get in the way.

The break-in occurred on a busy street on a Friday night between 8pm and midnight. The car was alarmed. And the Upright Moral Citizen(s) had plenty of time: the mess of papers in the glove compartment was meticulously sorted and several expired vouchers for complimentary meals were left behind. I'm certainly not proposing that any of the multiple people who had to have seen this go down were under any obligation to step in. I know I would not, not with the number of trigger-happy thugs in this city. But, to put it bluntly, one has to have some pretty big cahunas to smash a window and take his sweet time. Don't tell me it was some crackhead, because he had enough presence of mind to sort through the unexpired and expired meal vouchers. Yes, I know that theft or damage to another's property has been around for a while, but...I can't help but theorize that it is related to today's culture of gimme, gimme, gimme, and gimme now!

***
Usefulness of the day: Can't hurt to stash a roll of duct tape and a couple of heavy-duty contractors trash bags in the car just in case you need to tape up any windows!

sewing update 1

Someone chided me for not posting pictures so here they are!

The machine. It belonged to a woman's father who was a tailor. Included with the machine was a box packed with very old sewing stuff. Buckets of vintage threads on what looked like hand-carved spools, bags of sharp tools and brushes, some kind of a ruler and clamp contraption that I'm guessing is as to a shirt as a vise is to a carpentry project, vintage cigar boxes of buttons, more than 100 zippers, and more stuff I don't even know how to describe. All of it promptly freecycled. As I combed through this cool vintage stuff, all perfectly labeled in the handwriting of someone who actually learned penmanship, I imagined the father would have been good friends with my cobbler, who is 95 years old, blind as a bat, perpetually high as a kite from all the polish fumes...and who does an impeccable job on my shoes for a good price.

And the fabric that started it all. "That is going to be an obnoxious bedspread," my mother said. "Perfect! I replied. "Matches your daughter's personality!" I used to be painfully shy. Then I learned to overcompensate. Then overcompensation became natural. Then I needed a matching bedspread.

About a year ago I discovered Heather Bailey fabrics, swooned, and dashed over to etsy for anything in her prints. The photo of these pre-cut squares caught my eye and didn't let go until check-out. I suffer from twin problems: poor impulse control and the mistaken belief that I am crafty. Which is why I am not allowed in Michael's anymore. I am chock-full of grand sweeping ideals, but the follow-though and actual requisite skills don't exist.

I laid out the squares last summer to hand-sew. Then, after threading a needle, I got distracted by some shiny object bored. And that was the end of that. Until a sewing machine landed in my car trunk.

I love it when things land in my life.

Exhibit A.

Exhibit B.

I posted on freecycle yesterday, offering a homemade meal or resume editing for a sewing lesson. Reason 436 why I heart freecycle: a dozen ladies offered to come over, give some demos, and have me start the quilt as they watch and correct.

If you have Johnson & Johnson stock, buy. Band-Aid sales are going to dramatically increase.

***
Usefulness of the day: Can't find (or broke) your camera cord? Pop out the memory card: there is usually a drive on your computer that will take it. To get the pictures, go Start>Computer>Devices with removable storage. The card should be listed there.

insert rolled eyes here.

Disclaimer: "feminism" means 10 different things to 10 different people. Feminists are a wildly diverse lot, I've learned, and what one "feminist" believes is a reasonable, well-argued "feminist" goal or objective another "feminist" also reasonably believes is yet another link in the Chains of the Patriarchy.

With that.

Sometimes an apron is

wait for it...

...just an apron!

Feminist Kristen Painter was delighted to receive an apron as a gift. But then, something happened.

This cheery little number propelled her straight into a "feminist identity crisis." Watch out, people. Those aprons are a clear psychological threat to one's psyche.

"I was asking myself, "Am I perpetuating the idea that female domesticity is our only contribution to society and therefore our only value?!"

Thankfully, said crisis was over soon.

"I quickly assessed myself, my motives, why I enjoy the apron, who had given it to me, and I realized I was ok. I am not sacrificing my ideals by wearing the apron. The fact that it came from a like-minded, feisty feminist herself helped calm my brief freak out."

Well. I'm glad. I never had much use for sitting around and theorizing whether my [insert random neutral household item here] was perpetuating anything or, have mercy, "sacrificing my ideals."

That's the problem with just about every single -ist group out there. Not just feminists, not by a long shot! They all suffer from a shared tendency to spend far too much time, effort, and mental energy fretting about perpetuating instead of, say, enjoying a pretty, machine-washable present that just happens to protect one's clothing from splatters. Is examining whether X perpetuates Y worthwhile? Of course. Just not All. The. While.

My parents were very keen on raising me to be a Strong Independent Woman. Accordingly, my mother banned Barbies (unhealthy body image) and chose to have me called by my middle name, theoretically unisex but definitely masculine. Even she was very happy when my father gave her a fancy new vacuum cleaner for Christmas one year. And anyone remember that scene in Father of the Bride where the woman broke off the engagement when her fiance gave her a blender? Puh-lease. Who cares about perpetuating when one can have powerful suction technology and smoothies?

Hope Ms. Painter's significant other gives serious contemplation to her next birthday gift.

Oy.

what is the world coming to?!?!

In breaking news, the Wall Street Journal reports that leather shorts are in.

For summer.

Sorta how bare legs in a skirt were/are in. For winter.

I think I'm the only female in my generation who would consider going without nylons for a summery beach dress. Maybe. Then again, my skin is nearly blue so going bare-legged is practically an affront to public decency.

Anyway.

Do you see those? Those shorts have a "paper bag waist."

"Paper bag waist" sounds rawther shabby chic. Taking a cue from Mugatu's Dere-lict! campaign, are we?
Ladies, don't be fooled! The only people who should be wearing pleat-front bottoms - and that is what the "paper bag" is! - are the gentlemen who grace the pages of Brooks Brothers and L.L. Bean.

Just watchin' out for ya!

***

Usefulness of the day: Well, if the above wasn't useful enough for you...even if it doesn't look dusty, be sure to regularly clean your computer (and television) screen to reduce eye strain.

sewing machine!

A neighbor gave me her old sewing machine before she moved. I'd like to try it! I've had these lovely Heather Bailey pre-cut quilt squares for more than a year and would love to do somethingwith them. The machine came with a large, heavy box of thread, zippers, and bobbins.

Bobbins. Don't know what they are, but they (1) sound sharp and (2) accordingly, will find their way into my fingers soon.

Any suggestions for how-to websites, books, etc.? My fine motor and spatial reasoning skills are non-existent. I could find a way to suffer serious bodily injury in a padded room. And, when it comes to anything artsy with the exception of photography, I have the attention span of a

oooh, something shiny over there!


Yes. So any advice for an extreme beginner who needs to avoid injury while stitching together a patchwork quilt?

When the dogs' "other mommy" - my former Roommate - moved out, we agreed a joint custody arrangement was best for everyone. Then former Roommate decided that the dogs were better with me and, while she takes Coco for the occassional overnight, ol' Frick and Frack are basically mine.

Lord, help me.

The difference really isn't significant. When we lived together, former Roommate traveled a great deal. As in, at least 3 weeks out of the month. As we lived together for about five years - in which I went from being terrified of all dogs to debating adding a third! - the natural progression was that we became co-owners. And, by circumstance, I was (very happily) doing at least 90% of the parenting. She decided to keep it that way.

But it is handy to have an extra set of, well, hands, at the dog park.
As you can tell, certain boys know exactly where we are headed.

And all I have to say about this is that in my car, all dogs are properly restrained in the rear. But what fun are rules on a sunny Saturday morning?

forsaken

This is probably either (1) a really stupid question or (2) one of those questions that, along with "where did Cain's wife come from?" we're just not supposed to ask. I actually did ask the below (and preceding) question in my ladies Bible study group, which were met with assorted clucks and variations on the passive-aggressive "I'll pray for you," which we all know is nice Christian speak for "you are a total moron."

Why did Jesus think that God abandoned him?

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Usefulness of the day: Need to buy a large quantity of fancy resume paper? FedEx/Kinkos usually has 500 packs of it. Much cheaper than Staples. You probably have to ask for it; the big packs are not typically on display. Ask how I know :/.