On Being Well Read

The Elusive Offspring put this list on his LJ, with the comment that the average person has read only 6 of the "to 100" books printed. He says to highlight the ones you've read, and italicize the ones you plan to read. I'm going to try this...

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible (some of it)
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 1984 - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman (Golden Compass, etc.)
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare (all 36 plays, most sonnets)
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot (can't remember!)
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh (Guess the miniseries doesn't count)
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins (My copy is on a shelf, not read yet)
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte's Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom (I read Just One More Day)
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

I'm fascinated more by what I have NOT read than what I have read...for example, Ulysses and Jude the Obscure! What the--!
Right now, I am reading all of the Alexander Kent "Bolitho" series. Why? Heaven knows. Probably because they are easier to understand than the Patrick O'Neil series, of which I have managed to get through three. After I finish with the 27 Bolitho books (all checked out from the library), I have a pile of other books to read, including The Other Boleyn Girl and Daughter of Fortune...and did I mention that I REALLY, REALLY want a Kindle for Christmas?

The Eagle Has Landed (in a nest)

I don't know why this gives me such an unbelievable thrill, but this morning on my drive to work, I saw a huge bald eagle soaring overhead. I'm lucky I didn't wreck the car in my excitement. I love birds of prey, but especially bald eagles. It was so big! Then it flew into the top of a tree, onto a gigantic nest. Yes, there is a giant eagle's nest right there along the Potomac. The neat thing was seeing our national bird, and then across the river, seeing the great landmarks of DC. Naw. Forget the landmarks...it's all about the eagle. A truly is a beautiful creature. Damn!

A Great Sense of Well Being

Usually, every year when we get our cost-of-living raise, I immediately put it in Thrift Savings. That way, I never had it, and I don’t miss it. This year, with my Thrift Savings depleted more than I could have imagined, I have decided not to put my COL into TSP. Instead, I am planning to spend it on something that makes me feel REALLY good. I hired someone to clean my house. Someone I have seen around for two decades. She has worked for four neighbors who have lived in this neighborhood longer than we have. She remembers when the elusive offspring (yes, him) was a baby.

She came yesterday and brought her sister with her. Her plan is a good one: This week, focus on a deep cleaning of the first floor, which suffers from 7 years of construction dust. Next week, clean the first floor and deep clean the second and third floors. It’s a good plan, but I’m not sure how it will work out. I have a project room that I call “the explosion.” It’s where I dump stuff I don’t want anyone to see (and it’s a terrible mess). I am working on cleaning it out, organizing everything. But it is by no means ready for a maid. The master bedroom WAS ready, but I’m in the process of going through my closets and drawers trying to get rid of stuff. Also, I’ve started to gather Christmas presents in that room. I think I may have her hold off on the Explosion room and the master bedroom.

But it is amazing how good I feel about the first floor right now. It took both of them four hours to clean the living room, the dining room, the family room, the kitchen, and the bathroom. This house is a hundred years old, but not large. It’s just the right size as far as I am concerned. At least it will be when I have finished clearing out all the rooms of 24 years of accumulation. The downstairs looks fantastic. S and her sister scrubbed the kitchen, including walls and ceilings and shelves so that it literally sparkles! Wow! And all the wooden surfaces shine. After they left, I sat down in the living room and looked at the floors. Not a speck of dust, or dog fur to be found. The antique light fixture in the living room is beautiful again!

When S and her sister left yesterday, I hugged them and said they had made me feel fantastic. After the mess made by the first round of remodeling, I had given up trying to keep it under control. Then it just got away from me. And then it was just too overwhelming to contemplate. S has systems. She tackled the job with true gusto! I did a few things downstairs to help (and to make sure they understood how I would like things done), and then I got out of their hair and went upstairs to sort. I could hear them downstairs, talking (mostly in Spanish, a very little of which I understood, but didn’t care), and every once in a while I could hear S laugh. She has the most delightful laugh I have ever heard. I am serious about that! Every time she laughed, I smiled.

Kira wandered around them, even while they vacuumed, unconcerned (although some time I will tell the story about her and the stick). They absolutely loved Kira. Everyone loves Kira.

Anyway, I have two feelings. When I am downstairs in my beautiful, clean, well arranged first floor, I am unbelievably serene. When I am upstairs amidst the mess I have made in my efforts to get this house under control, I am depressed. I want to get to where I have that sense of well-being everywhere in my house. It will happen.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. It is probably my favorite holiday of the year. It's all about family, friends, fun and food. My sister says she even likes it better than her birthday. I agree. I like it better than her birthday, too. (hehehe)

OK, Happy Thanksgiving!

All I Want For Christmas

There is only one thing I want for Christmas and it’s very expensive. No, not world peace…I’ve wished for that every year and never gotten it, so I have no expectations of world peace for Christmas. No, it’s not diamonds. Or a big fancy house. Or a different job. I like my life. BUT…I want one thing for Christmas. And, as I mentioned, it’s expensive.

It’s a Kindle…you know, the electronic book reader by Amazon.com. It is $350! And I want it. I love the idea of being able to carry many books at once. I will still want my classic hard books (like all my Jane Austen books, and my poetry, and all the special first editions, etc.). I will certainly still want to hold an actual book in my hands (although the Kindle FEELS like a real book). But this would be for all those paperback books I read and then have to donate to Good Will or find a friend who would like to read them or leave them in the office kitchen for anyone who wants them, all because I don’t have room on my bookshelf. I save my bookshelf space for books I love. A Kindle will hold 150 books! And as it gets full, you can put the books on a ScanDisk or on your computer and then turn around and put more books on the Kindle. I can get every Anthony Trollope book, short story, poem ever published in one download for under $5! How great is that! Same for Mark Twain. I’d still have my hard copies, but I could carry them with me on the Kindle when I travel. I already have a list of books I want to get for it. I really, really want a Kindle. I don’t want anything else. Well, I want world peace, but you know how that goes. Just a little ol’ Kindle.

I told my husband that, if I didn’t get a Kindle for Christmas, it would be the saddest, most disappointing Christmas since I didn’t get that pony.

Do you think I was a little … um … unsubtle?

Justice for All

The Texas State Bar did something very clever. Last year, they sponsored a YouTube contest and invited entries with the theme of justice for all. My favorite video is called “Like Justice for Chocolate” and it is amazing. You should watch this 3-minute video.



The last sentence says it all: “It’s easy to make the wrong choice when you don’t understand what you’re giving up.” Beautifully said.

A Day of Culture

What a day I had Saturday! Leaving my favorite husband at home to do guy things (of course, he likes culture, too, but this was a "Girl's Day Out"), I got to Janet's at 9:30 a.m. and we immediately went to the Strathmore Museum for the Miniatures Collectors' opening. I am astounded by the ability of some artists to create such tiny, intricate paintings. And, of course, once again, I indulged myself by purchasing a beautiful little watercolor...by the same artist whose painting I bought last year! I now have five miniature paintings, collected over the last 18 years. One man who was there when the place opened has collected 200 (yes, 200!) of these paintings over the last 15 years. Janet bought a watercolor of two gray cats sunning themselves. It wasn't one of those "cutesy" paintings you see of cats. It was a beautiful study of light and shadow, with fantastic technique. If she hadn't bought it, I would have. I may have to try my own hand at painting my cats.

Anyway, we left Strathmore by noon and had a light lunch at a vegetarian Chinese restaurant in Rockville, and then headed to the Kennedy Center to hear a young new pianist from Russia, Daria Rabotkina, who is currently pursuing a doctorate from Eastman School of Music. She was very impressive, playing some extremely powerful pieces by Miaskovsky, Rachmaninoff, Prokofiev, and Tchaikovsky. The theme of the performance was the Dies Irae theme that appears in so many classical pieces (including the Liszt Totentanz and Mahler Symphony No. 2, among others). We had great seats overlooking the keyboard, nice and close. I am coming dangerously close to writing a critique, which I don't want to do, but suffice to say she was extremely powerful (oh, yes, I already said that). Of course, these kinds of pieces always impress.

We left the Kennedy Center and drove to a favorite needlework store near Mount Vernon (long drive, but fun). When we left the store, there had been a storm and the sky was gorgeous. Driving up George Washington Parkway (one of my very favorite drives), we saw the most stunningly perfect rainbow over the Potomac. It was a complete arc, and you could discern all of the colors, including purple. I really should keep a camera with me at all times. I don't know what our fascination with rainbows is, but it really got to me. I felt giddy as a child over it!

The drive to Baltimore took longer than usual, but we got there in plenty of time for our 6:30 reservation at our favorite Afghan restaurant, Helmand's. I promise not to write a review, but I do have to say the pumpkin dish was positively mouthwatering.

And then it was to the Lyric Opera House to see the Baltimore Opera Company's production of Bellini's "Norma." I love going to see an opera I have not seen before. It's great to listen to opera, but so much more fun to watch it performed. It's kind of like "collecting" performances, much like Janet's bird-watching ("birding" they call it) expeditions, where they collect bird sightings. It's more cerebral than tangible.

We got out around 11:30, it took us another 20 minutes just to get out of the garage, and then about 30 minutes to get to her house. I didn't get to bed until 1:30 a.m. It was a most excellent day. I feel very cultured. For now.

And So It Begins

This morning, on my drive in, there was a man standing in the drizzle very near my office, with a sign: “Hungry. Please Help.” I didn’t have much time before the light changed, but I did have time to grab a couple of dollars worth of my parking quarters to give him. As I handed him the coins, I got a good look at him. He was probably late 20s, early 30s. Clean (in other words, new to the streets). Articulate (he spoke to me in complete sentences). Polite and grateful (clearly, he hasn’t had to deal with enough rude, uncaring people to turn bitter yet). The light changed before I could talk to him, but I wondered what brought him to this corner of Mass Avenue and Second Street. I could speculate, but why? It’s enough to know that there are more people out on the corners again.

About 15 years ago, there was a guy I saw every night on my drive home. If the light stopped me, I always gave him a little money (usually quarters, sometimes a dollar). If there weren’t a lot of cars behind me, sometimes we talked while I waited for the light. I found out that he had been an anesthesiologist, and had hit hard times. He’d had an accident (he walked with an honest limp), medical bills had piled up, he lost his job because he couldn’t work for a while, then he lost his home and everything else. He was a really nice guy. Chris was his name. He never smelled of alcohol either. I remember that over the months he started standing straighter, wearing cleaner clothing, looking hopeful. He still limped, but he looked great. Then one day he came up to my window and asked me to wish him luck because he was going on an interview that afternoon. And then I never saw him again.

I have no idea whether he got the job, or moved to another corner, or another city, or what happened to him. But I like to think he got that job and got back on his feet again.

A colleague of mine said he suspected Chris “put on a limp” to take advantage of others’ kindness, asking for money he really didn’t need. My colleague thought I was being naïve to “fall for the scam.” But I don’t agree. Why would anyone want to stand on a corner, in bad weather and nice, for everyone to look at, while they ask for money, unless they really had to do it? And really, what’s a few quarters here and there? I spend FIVE quarters on a regular cup of coffee every morning (Starbuck’s coffee is even more). I can do without a cup of coffee to give quarters to someone in need. I like to think that the quarters people gave Chris allowed him to get cleaned up and back to work again. Although I know that not all people in need will get back on their feet, isn’t it worth it to try to help when we can? I choose not to second guess the motivation of a man standing on a corner in the drizzle with a sign that says “Hungry. Please Help.” I choose to forego that first cup of coffee.

I Want To Be A Cool Septuagenarian

The other night I was listening to a local radio station that plays current music, and they played a phone conversation with their “favorite listener.” She was a 70-something. With her funny, raspy voice she said: “I went to the store to buy Linkin Park CD and the sales clerk asked me if I wanted the ‘clean version’ or the ‘dirty version.’ What’s that all about?” The announcer said the “dirty version” had bad language on it. Cool Septuagenarian says: “Oh, like I’ve never heard that before!” And everyone laughs. Announcer says: “Itunes often gives you the option to buy the dirty or clean version and I usually go for the clean version.” Cool Septuagenarian says: “Well, that’s what I did.”

I love this 70-something Linkin Park fan! What else does she like??? Cold Play? Goo Goo Dolls? Cake? I wanna be a Cool Septuagenarian!

But not yet.

Civic Duty

Saturday morning, H and I stood in line at the Arlington Courthouse, along with hundreds of other people, to cast our vote. The polls opened at 8:30 a.m., and we were in line by 8:40 a.m. There were hundreds of people in line before us, some of whom started the line before 6 a.m. It took us an hour and a half just to get into the building, and then another hour and a half once we were in to get to the polling machines. We were fortunate, as we got to the back of the line, to meet a really nice couple in front of us and we spent the entire time talking to them. Carl and Karen are a 30-something African-American couple, and he is Navy. His charm and incredibly quick wit made the time seem to go by much faster. He didn’t say exactly what his job was (except to say that if he told us he’d have to kill us…yeah, you know that old excuse), but he has met almost the entire cast of characters in this election drama, and it was fun to hear/see him imitate Cheney, McCain, Rumsfeld, Powell, and others. He was not disrespectful of them, just funny.

The people in line were very patient, and the poll workers were very pleasant and helpful. In all, there was an air of excitement about this election that I have never seen. When we got into the voting room, there were four electronic machines and three paper voting stations. All four of us chose the paper ballot. Then, when we left, H and I went back outside to check on the line. It was even longer than when we started, and the wait estimate was four hours. Talk about dedication! We think the line was so long because the Courthouse was the only place you could vote early, and Saturday was the last day to do so. On Election Day, there are many polling places, so I’m not sure the lines will be very bad. We’ll find out later.

I imagine that I will be up late tonight, waiting to see the results.

Bummed Out By Too Many Friends In Crisis

I'm feeling really weighted down now. Not because of politics (the worst will be over by Tuesday, I hope), but by friends in crisis. The husband of one friend (Lea) fell and broke his back while I was in LA three weeks ago, and after a nine-hour session in surgery, they expected to have him sitting the following day. But he is not doing well. He is in and out of consciousness, his temperature spikes (they have him in a very cold room covered by just a towel), his lungs have filled with fluid that must be suctioned out every day (causing him a great deal of stress), he is on oxygen (he has pneumonia), he has to be turned often (and even so, has bedsores...my mother would be furious if this had happened on her watch). Before he was intubated, he was incoherent; now he couldn't talk if he wanted. And my friend is all he has. No family whatsoever. She is a former nurse and she has been a wonderful advocate for him. But it has been extremely difficult for them both. They are both very athletic, riding bicycles, sailing, kayaking. And he simply is not getting better. It is awful.

My friend, Mary, has been having trouble at the office and she is really depressed. I wish I could help her, but there is nothing I can do, except listen. My friend, JJ, has breast cancer. I have known for at least five months. And I have yet to send the card (and a little gift) I bought for her some time ago. She is undergoing chemo and I know she could use the moral support. Janet's mom has been in and out of he hospital, and in an assisted living home, for almost a year. All I can do for her is sit and listen to the difficulties of having to fly to and from Alabama every couple of weeks ($500/flight) to handle her affairs. She can't keep up with the medical bills. I have no idea what is going on with my painting buddy, Betty, because I have not called her in over a month, and she no longer has an internet hookup. She is morbidly overweight and has diabetes and trouble getting around. She suffers from depression.

I seem to be paralyzed with an inability to cope. I don't believe that I, myself, am depressed. Just overwhelmed by it all. I had such a good time in LA, not thinking about anything weighty. I had a wonderful time in Pennsylvania this weekend, too. Then I returned to this.

Well, I know one thing I can do. Right now, I am going to sign off, get up from this computer, find that card for JJ, wrap the little gift, put it in a box, and address it. At least I will have done that much. Then maybe I'll call Betty tomorrow evening.

3000 Miles

Yesterday morning, I was in California. Last night, I was 3000 miles away in Arlington, Virginia. As we got out of the car in front of the house, that little fact really hit me. I had traveled 3000 miles in less than five hours. Two hundred years ago, it would have take three months to travel by horse-drawn wagon, and several days to go by train (well, that part has not changed). If you drive 500 miles a day, it would take six days to drive that distance...of course, when we drive from here to Houston (1500 miles), we usually go 700 miles per day. What an amazing thing. Five hours. Coast to coast.

This country is really wonderful. Lately, with all the politics, and the polls showing "red" states and "blue" states, I have found myself thinking about the different people in each state. New Yorkers are different from people anywhere else in the country (especially New York City New Yorkers). Texans are different, as are Californians. Washingtonians (of the DC variety) are unique, too. Hawaiians. Alaskans. All completely different from other states. It's like living on a continent of dozens of different countries. But it is the sum of the whole that makes this country great. It isn't just one state. It is all of them together. We are all Americans. OK, so now I am getting gushy. But it's that beautiful flight that does it to me. Every single time. I always have to sit by the window, so I can see the quilt patched fields, the snow-covered mountains in Colorado, the unbelievably stunning Grand Canyon, and the hills of California.

I had a great time in California. We did all the things I said we would do. And tomorrow, it's back to work for me. Vacation's over.

Hatemongering

I know that I said I would not think about politics while I am here in beautiful California having a wonderful vacation, but I cannot get away from news of what is going on. I am flabbergasted by the Palin/McCain campaign. If I were still a Republican, I'd be ashamed to my core. Heck, I'm NOT a Republican and I'm ashamed for them. What are they thinking??? I recognize that not ALL Republicans agree with the hatemongering that is going on right now, but why don't they speak up about it? What does it mean that McCain's poll numbers have gone up (on the Yahoo.com page), if just a minuscule amount? I understand that the experts say that negative campaigning works (what does that say about people?), but I don't understand how this kind of despicable behavior can bring positive results for a campaign.

What happened to the McCain of 2000? Were we wrong to think he was a decent man then? Does he ever sit back and wonder how it all got so out of hand? Or does he really even care? He has no control over his followers...maybe he doesn't want to have control. Maybe he secretly likes the reaction of the crowds. Does he go back into quiet rooms and say "Wow, that was great!" or does he say "This is terrible"? Somehow, watching his complete lack of control, I don't think it is the latter. I think he believes that the continued hate rallies will give him what he wants.

Actually, my greatest fear is a terrorist attack before the elections. And it wouldn't be a foreign attack. It would be a domestic attack (probably by one of these crazy followers)...but we wouldn't know that until after Palin/McCain got elected and then it would be too late for us.

It is unbelievable that I could be so terrified now. What happened?

My next post will be more positive. Despite the above, I really am having a good time here.

The Elusive Offspring's New Toy, and a Trip to LA

Following in his father's footsteps, the Elusive Offspring has a new toy...a 1989 Honda CBR 600 F-K (I like that last label). Fortunately, his dad's bike has more power...but not too much. H has a 650 Honda Nighthawk. Clearly, I am too generous with these two (hehe). Anyway, here is the bearded elusive one with the new acquisition on the streets of St Andrews:



I am leaving for LA tomorrow to visit my best friend, Tracy. I will be in gorgeous Marina del Ray for one glorious week. I will TRY not to think of politics, or my office (I busted my behind to finish drafting a filing today, which I will have to file the day I return to the office). But next week will be a true vacation. We are going to walk, shop, swim, eat healthy meals in and fancy meals out, drink wine both in and out, hang out in the hot tub, see movies, visit Catalina Island or Santa Barbara for one day, and generally pretend for one week that we are wealthy. I'm not going to think of the economic crisis because this is trip a great bargain... my airline ticket cost me only $5 because I cashed in my frequent flyer miles with the thought that the airline company may ultimately discontinue those in the wake of the economic crisis. I am staying at Tracy's place, so I don't have to pay for a hotel. And I'm not even taking annual leave, because Monday is a holiday, Friday is my regular day off, and Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I am using my three TOAs, or (Time Off (for good behavior) Awards). I am feeling very smug.

I am taking a stunning stitching project and my paints, for those times when Tracy is working on her scripts or meeting with A&E or ABC or one of the other major production companies...and she does, indeed, have several meetings scheduled for next week. Go Tracy!

Tracy will let me use her computer from time to time, so I may be able to keep up with my blogosphere...

Bored Now

Saw the second Presidential debate.

Can we vote already?????
Palease! Getting really tire of this.

The Debate

So. I watched the debate. And to answer my question from my last post, no, she didn't wear her hair down during the debate...the only earpieces we could see were the ones over her ears...meaning her eyeglasses. So I think my concern about another Rovian tactic has been calmed. I think the McCain camp did a good job preparing her. I think she did do a good job redeeming herself after those terrible one-on-one interviews, but it really sounded very rehearsed to me. She didn't really answer the questions, and there was not much real substance to what she said, but I am certain that she appealed to her base. She has reaffirmed their faith in her.

On the other hand, I think Joe Biden did a great job answering the questions that were put to him and correcting the record on what she said. I wonder what impact this debate will have on the undecideds...

Palin's New Hair Style

I notice that Palin has a new hair style, one that covers her ears... just in time for this week's coming debate... could it be that she will wear a wire so that someone more knowledgable can feed her the correct answers?

Hmmmm, I wonder...

I Want A Bailout

Yes, I believe a bailout is in order. For me. I have been very good with my finances. Certainly, I have more debt than I want to have, because I have an elusive offspring living his elusive life at university in Scotland. It's expensive. But I have not missed any bill payments, and I have only been late one day on one credit card in the last decade...and that was because I was out of the country when the bill came due. But I think I should get a bailout. I won't be greedy. I don't need $700 billion. I don't need a million either. Heck, I don't even need $100k. I mean, of course a million or $100K would be nice, but really, I think $50,000 would do nicely. It would pay off my credit cards, the rest of the BAT (big-ass-truck) and the last of the elusive offspring's tuition. All that would remain would be the mortgage. I can handle that. And the the income that was freed up by the bailout would allow me to invest further in the economy. I'd be happy to invest. It would be nice. I could invest in new clothes. A new computer would be nice. I'd like a maid service. Bailing me out would help create jobs. I wouldn't mind investing in jewelry...yes, I could invest very nicely.

Why shouldn't the government go directly to the people who have the debt and bail them out? I mean, it makes sense to me. Why bail out the banks and Wall Street when you can go directly to the little guy?

I want a bailout.

Silly Treadmill Cats

OK, so yesterday's video was just too depressing. Let's have a funny one now.



The amazing thing is that neither of these cats was forced to walk on the treadmill. They wanted to walk on it. They kept coming back to it. It was a challenge to them. Silly kitties.

Palin's Savage Killing of Wolves

I don't think I have to say anything other than this sort of thing upsets me more than her stand on abortion (especially in cases of incest and rape), her vindictiveness to those who oppose her, her stand on the war in Iraq, her inexperience, need I say more? And it's not just because of my blog name. I am not necessarily anti-hunting per se. That other stuff is political. This is outrageous. Completely and utterly outrageous. My blood boils.

Political Hypocrisy

I have been wanting to write about how I feel about this year's election, but it is just so damned depressing that I can't seem to write my feelings. I am so frustrated with the Palin/McCain ticket. I don't know what happened to McCain since 2000, but he's not at all the same guy. Not that I would have voted for him if he WAS the same guy...just that I wouldn't be so terrified as I am now if he were to get elected. His "maverick" and thoughtless choice of Palin as his running mate is a slap in the face, and a good example of a total lack of judgement. It was his first opportunity to show some sound decision-making and leadership, and he chose Hockey Mom. I wonder if he had any idea that she would upstage him so thoroughly. When you see them these days, you begin to wonder which one of them is the candidate and which one is the running mate. Which is why I call them Palin/McCain.

I get really tired of the hypocrisy. A few years ago, a knee-jerk Republican colleague said she did not like Bill Clinton...that she could never vote for a man who cheated on his wife (of course, she is married to a man who cheated on his first and second wife, but forget that because he's not the president...thank goodness). And yet, this year she will vote for a man who not only cheated on his wife, but left her because she was disfigured in a terrible car accident (he has admitted this was probably a mistake), only to immediately turn around and marry a multi-millionaire that he called a very nasty name in front of reporters. Lovely man. But for many years now, I have thought it my bound duty and my husband's to get out and cancel this colleague's vote and her husband's... In fact, every time I finalize my vote, I feel very smug about it, knowing that I have done my bound duty.

Anyway, I am including here wonderful piece makes me very glad that I left the Republican party to become a Democrat way back when. But I am such a luddite that I can't figure out how to attach it without making it PART of my entry. So, here it is in its entirety.

Subject: Different outlooks

If you're a minority and you're selected for a job over more qualified candidates you're a "token hire."
If you're a conservative and you're selected for a job over more qualified candidates you're a "game changer."

Black teen pregnancies? A "crisis" in black America.
White teen pregnancies? A "blessed event."

If you grow up in Hawaii you're "exotic."
Grow up in Alaska eating moose burgers, you're the quintessential "American story."

Similarly, if you name your kid Barack you're "unpatriotic."
Name your kid Track, you're "colorful."

If you spend 3 years as a community organizer growing your organization from a staff of 1 to 13 and your budget from $70,000 to $400,000, then become the first black President of the Harvard Law Review, create a voter registration drive that registers 150,000 new African American voters, spend 12 years as a Constitutional Law professor, then spend nearly 8 more years as a State Senator representing a district with over 750,000 people, becoming chairman of the state Senate's Health and Human Services committee, then spend nearly 4 years in the United States Senate representing a state of nearly 13 million people, sponsoring 131 bills and serving on the Foreign Affairs, Environment and Public Works and Veteran's Affairs committees, you are woefully inexperienced.

If you spend 4 years on the city council and 6 years as the mayor of a town with less than 7,000 people, then spend 20 months as the governor of a state with 650,000 people, then you've got the most executive experience of anyone on either ticket, are the Commander in Chief of the Alaska military and are well qualified to lead the nation should you be called upon to do so because your state is the closest state to Russia.

If you are a Democratic male candidate who is popular with millions of people you are an "arrogant celebrity".
If you are a popular Republican female candidate you are "energizing the base".

If you are a younger male candidate who thinks for himself and makes his own decisions you are "presumptuous".
If you are an older male candidate who makes last minute decisions you refuse to explain, you are a "shoot from the hip" maverick.

If you are a candidate with a Harvard law degree you are "an elitist-out of touch" with the real America.
if you are a legacy (dad and granddad were admirals) graduate of Annapolis, with multiple disciplinary infractions
you are a hero.

If you manage a multi-million dollar nationwide campaign, you are an "empty suit."
If you are a part time mayor of a town of 7000 people, you are an "experienced executive."

If you go to a south side Chicago church, your beliefs are "extremist."
If you believe in creationism and don't believe global warming is man made, you are "strongly principled."

If you kill an endangered species (Polar bears) or shoot wolves from an airplane, you're an excellent hunter.
If you have an abortion (even in cases of incest and rape and the mother's health) you’re not a Christian but a murderer.

If you teach abstinence only in sex education, you get teen parents.
If you teach responsible age appropriate sex education, including the proper use of birth control, you are eroding the fiber of society.

Post Script to "Everyone in my Family is OK"

Finally, yesterday afternoon I talked to my brother. He and my mom are fine. They are without power and a part of their fence blew away, but they are ok. There was no water damage. My brother says he tried to reach me several times, but was unable to because of phone problems. He said at one point his cell phone died and he had to charge it in his truck. I asked if he had tried using Mom’s cellphone. No, it wasn’t charged. It wasn’t charged? Why not? She never uses it, so they didn’t bother to charge it.

See what I mean? Dumb and dumber…

Everyone in my Family is OK

I have heard from everyone except my mom and brother. But one of my sisters got a voice mail from my brother saying they were ok, but were having phone trouble. The sister and brother in law in Galveston had some water damage and debris, but things are looking up. Their power is back on, but the fresh water situation is not good. Fortunately, they prepared by putting aside a lot of potable water before hand. It turns out they are on higher ground than I realized before. My other sister and brother-in-law had tree damage, and their power went out, but they are ok, too. And my sister (Girl from Texas) is fine. Her house withstood the storm, and her power came back yesterday. She went through the storm alone.

Everyone in my family is ok.

Officially Worried Now

I'm getting really worried about my family in Houston. One of my husband's sisters lives in Galveston with her husband and a menagerie of animals. They won't leave because of the animals. I think they should just pack all the damned animals into their truck and leave. Worry later. Go. Just go. Now. This is going to be really bad for Galveston. The west part of the island is already flooded and the surge hasn't gotten there yet. The surge is projected to be 20-30 feet depending on location.

My sister (Girl From Texas) is probably going to be ok, but I am worried about her, too. I can no longer call anyone there using my cellphone because there is too much cell traffic now.

I'm worried about my mom and brother because of their proximity to the San Jacinto River, which will flood when 12 inches of water fall in less than 12 hours. And the water will have no where to go (because of Ike) except into the neighborhoods, including theirs. I have the Weather Channel on, and can't get any work done. Jim Cantore has stressed that there will be record flooding from Ike. He repeated that for emphasis.

I have a bad feeling about this. A really bad feeling.

Yikes, it's Ike

My family lives in Houston, and I'm a bit concerned. My sister will probably be high and dry in her 1920s duplex, which is in a higher part of Houston (if you can imagine flat Houston having a "higher" area). But my brother and mom live in an area that floods. And they are not leaving. They plan to stay. I suggested that they should make sure they have plenty of fresh water and food that doesn't have to be cooked. My brother told me they would "make their own water" which does not mean what you think it means. It means they have a water filter. An electric water filter. They have an electric stove, too. I think my brother believes they will sit out the storm watching television and popping popcorn. In an electric microwave oven.

Sometimes I think my mom and brother are Dumb and Dumber. I gave them these nicknames a few weeks ago, when my brother started talking politics. He said that Obama didn't want to allow offshore drilling and that would ruin business for petroleum landmen in Texas. I thought he was joking...but he wasn't. "Not allowing offshore drilling will ruin business for landmen? Huh?" If anything, I would think Texas landmen would want drilling to occur on land, not offshore, so they could get the leases and drilling rights to the oil. I really don't understand him. He thinks Obama is going to raise everyone's taxes because he saw it on a McCain ad. He thinks Obama is a secret muslim because he heard it from someone. He doesn't read the newspapers. I can't even write what my mother thinks. Thus, the nicknames. Then, when my sister told me about some other dumb thing my brother said, I told her about the nicknames. She laughed. Later that night, she called me and said: "OK, so, which one is Dumb and which one is Dumber?"

You probably think I dislike my mom and brother. To the contrary, I love them very much. You might think that I am rude to them. I'm not. Well, maybe sometimes, when they say really stupid things. I have told my brother that he owes it to the rest of the country to educate himself before making ridiculous pronouncements. In the alternative, he and my mom should do everyone a favor and stay home on election day. Sometimes, they are more than a bit frustrating. The thing that bothers me most is that they may be representative of the majority of this country. Terrifying thought.

Anyway, I'll update the Ike situation later. And the dumbness situation too, maybe.

Life on the High Seas

Well, ok, so it's not really the high seas. But when our anniversary came around two weeks ago, H asked me what I wanted. I said "Let's not get each other something. Let's get something for US together. Or for the house." We both liked that idea, but a couple of days later, H says he's gotten something for us and he hopes I like it. He won't tell me what it is, but it's for us. The morning of our anniversary, I hear him outside banging on the BAT (big-assed truck) and I look out to see him putting the racks on it (we use them for such things as sheetrock and two-by-fours and the like, you know, for the house. But I knew he wasn't getting something for the house). I went outside and walked up to him and said "Just tell me it's not kayaks..." He knows I'm not ready for a kayak just yet. I love canoeing but I'm just not ready for a kayak. Someday. Not yet. "No, it's a canoe. We're going to pick it up now."

Yippee! A canoe! One of our first dates was a canoe ride on Summerville Lake in Texas. That was a lot of years ago! And I absolutely loved it. Then, throughout the years, we'd occasionally go canoeing with the elusive one. Then, he and the elusive one did a 10-day canoe trip in Canada, complete with backpacks, tents, and portage experience. We always wanted our own canoe, but there were other things that took the money then.

He found this one on Craig's list...a 14-foot Mad River Canoe. A little heavy...about 80 pounds. But not expensive. We picked up the canoe, went to lunch, then headed out to Mason Neck for our very first ride in our new canoe. We were only out on the water about 45 minutes to an hour. We saw several osprey and a bald eagle (being chased by a gull!), And you know the sound the eagle makes in the movies? It sounds so cool in real life! The water was calm, but I was very tired when we pulled the canoe out of the water. Despite the sunblock, I got a little too much sun...not a good idea for a red head. But I absolutely loved it. I expected my arms to be sore, but it was my neck that ached. I still loved it. I wanted to go out again the next day, but we already had plans.

So, this morning, we drove up to River Bend, above Great Falls. We paddled up river for about an hour, even trying our ability against some tough water. We decided to portage at one point...I'm not going to want to do too much of that with this canoe. Dang! It's heavy and awkward.
Then we came back down river. It took half the time. I worked much harder this week. I need to find a really strong sunblock, and a wide-brimmed hat. I've been using a painter's hat and it's not protecting my face well enough.

I feel great! I love this canoe! Can't wait for next weekend. Somebody suggested Burke Lake. I could go back to River Bend again and again, it's so beautiful. Maybe I'm ready for a kayak after all!

If I Weren't Laughing I'd Be Crying...

We have been without one of our bathrooms since two days before Christmas last year. On December 23, we got up early to do a little straightening and cleaning before my sister arrived at 11:30 in the morning, and the EO arrived at 8:00 that night. So, I made beds and organized while H cleaned the second floor bathroom. He did a right thorough job on the bathtub. It sparkled! He went downstairs ahead of me, and when he got to the kitchen, I heard him say "We've got a problem." And when I got there, I saw water pouring out of the ceiling fan in the kitchen. Yikes!

I wanted to call the plumber. No, says my favorite husband, it's going to require pulling out the ceiling or maybe the upstairs floor to fix it. It's that 80-100 year old cast iron plumbing, rusting or corroding, or something like that. It's going to take a lot of work to replace it, he says. Luckily, it had nothing to do with the commode, so at least that worked, but not the sink or the tub. He suggested we wait until we can ]\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\0 (that was Wolfie, writing his own thing--translate "feed me"--as he walked across the keyboard, the little bum). OK, so H figured we could just replace the bathroom rather than tearing it up and putting it back together. A nice idea. We've been wanting to redo that bathroom for several years now. Fine, I said. We'll try to do it in February. Ok, then, maybe March. If not March, then April. Should I just call a plumber? "No," my husband says,"I'll do the work. It will save us money." But then we went to Scotland in June. So maybe July? Well, not July. Now, we started thinking about maybe waiting until the EO graduates next year. But that would mean...no second floor bathroom for another year!

The thing is, I'm a bath person, not a shower person. I believe in long luxurious bubble baths in a comfortable sloping tub. A glass of wine now and then. Some nice smelly candles. A good book. Now, the only other full bathroom in this house has the most ridiculous little bathtub in the world, obviously created by a designer who had never taken a bath in his or her life...preferring that splashy thing called a shower, I suppose. For eight months, I have used that awful bathtub. For eight months, I have longed for my comfy tub. I am proud to say I have never complained. Until now.

But now, my sister-in-law and her husband and two girls are coming to visit in September. We are very excited abou the visit, but it's going to be rough with all six of us using the same bathroom for the week. So, last week, in my sweetest voice, I suggested that perhaps now would be a good time to get a plumber to come out and tell us if we can just patch it up and use it for another year or so. To my surprise, H said he'd call the plumber.

The plumber came on Sunday. As they went upstairs, I heard my husband telling him to let him know when he needed the kitchen ceiling cut, and my husband would do that job...he's very particular about how things are done. The plumber agreed and started surveying the problem. Luckily, in this old house of ours, this bathtub has an access area that is easily reached from above the tub. The poor plumber was practically hanging upside down in the access area surveying... H and I went downstairs to leave him to his work. Before long, the plumber comes downstairs, looking for H. "Is it really bad?" I asked. "No, I think it's a lot simpler than you realize." "Really???" I was excited! Maybe we won't have to tear out the kitchen ceiling after all.

For eight months, I have been without my beloved comfy tub. For eight months, I have been using that ridiculous thing upstairs. It turns out that our flood was caused by my husband's exuberance cleaning the tub two days before Christmas. The water went up into the overflow (the very old gasket needs replacement) and poured down into the ceiling over the kitchen. The bill to find out this delightful "I told you so" nugget? $142. That and a tube of Goop silicone caulking. The plumber said that it would take an awful lot of corrosion or rust to get through those thick old cast iron pipes. And there was none.

And no, I haven't used the free "I told you so." I never do...even though I've had quite a few opportunities to do so. But telling stories about my favorite husband is much more fun than telling him "I told you so." It's more fun to fall back on the all-knowing smile and arched eyebrows than to say "I told you so." And I have so many stories to tell!

So, it looks like we can wait until after the EO graduates to remodel our upstairs bathroom. But I promise that the next tub that goes into that bathroom must meet my strict specifications. Even if it means climbing in to each and every model in my socked feet to try it out!

Back In The Saddle Again

I had a rather rough week...no, make that TWO weeks. Yes, I enjoyed the Olympics, especially Michael Phelps' sweep of gold medals. And the gymnastics. Beach Volleyball. Basketball! Track and Field. Diving...hey I could go on, but you get the idea.

I used the Olympics to try to bring myself into a state of relaxation during the two weeks I worked on a particularly difficult case. I worked on my days off, in the evenings, and on weekend days (sometimes at the office and sometimes at home). But in the end, it was a good thing. The case has been resolved. Settled. It was a hard-won settlement. But we did it. My co-counsel is a true gentleman, with a silver tongue. I'm a bit bullheaded when it comes to trying to do the right thing. It's the red hair. We actually made a really good team, me with the quick snap-backs, and him smoothing everything over. At one point, I told him I really liked this "good cop, bad cop" thing we had going. He says "And we can reverse roles now and then if you want." "Sure!" I said "I'd like to be the bad cop every once in a while, too!"

Of course, I was the bad cop, something I have never really done before. Normally, I'm the sweet southern-style lady, winning 'em over with a smile and sweet voice. But for some reason, this time, I just got angry with the outrageous behavior of our opponents. In the end, we settled. And we got everything we wanted. But it wasn't easy. Still, it was worth all the work.

So, I'm trying to get back to normal. Back to blogging. I have the piano tuner coming over tomorrow, and I'm looking forward to some music. I plan to do absolutely NOTHING tomorrow. Well, obviously, I'll get up and have breakfast. I'll do that. And I'll probably turn on the TV to watch the basketball game. I'll do that, too. But I have no set plans. Finally! A real day off.

Olympic Fever

It may be a while before I get back to my blog...I am SO wrapped up in the Summer Olympics right now. Is it just me, or does it seem like the coverage is SO much better this year than ever before? Is it because Beijing is 12 hours earlier? Who knows?

Last week, I worked long hours at the office, and even on my day off. It's another one of those nasty cases (they seem to be coming along more and more often, probably because everyone expects the administration to change and the free ride to end but enough politics). I had planned to help my friend Dorothy move on Friday, but had to work instead. H and I were able to help her on Saturday, along with some other friends and movers. We were all exhausted. We started at 8 in the morning and finished by 2:30 in the afternoon. H and I went home and I showered and took a 20 minute nap, then started watching Olympic events. I like to work on things while I watch TV (review documents, do a little needlepoint, some knitting, paperwork, etc.) but I found it a little difficult to do much of anything but watch the action. If it hadn't been for the commercials, I wouldn't have accomplished anything.

I'm a big Michael Phelps fan, and he has not disappointed! The 400 meter was exciting, especially when he was a full body length ahead of the next swimmer at the end, and breaking his own world record to boot. Fantastic! Then we watched the basketball game between the US and China this morning. Loved that, too! And the gymnastics. But I was SO worried about the men's relay event tonight. The announcers kept talking about how there was no way the Americans would beat the French in this relay. And even until the last few seconds, I didn't believe it would happen. But, Damn! They did it! This time, I found myself sitting on the edge of the sofa. Then standing in front of the sofa. Then in front of the television. If I'd gotten any closer I would have been in the water with them!

So. Here it is. I'm just going to be so busy this week, between the job and the Olympics that it may be a while before I write again.

Dumpster Riding

No, that's not a typo. I know you've heard of dumpster diving. This is different. Well, it involves dumpster diving, but it's not the point. Tuesday night, I went out to dinner with some friends (we celebrate our summer birthdays together every year), and Donna told us her tale. A week ago, she wrote out some checks to pay bills and put them in their envelopes, then put the stack on her table to take to the mailbox when she left for work. She remembered that it was recycle day at her townhouse complex, so she gathered her newspapers and piled them on the table, too. You know where this is going. When she grabbed the papers to take them out, she accidentally grabbed the outgoing mail, too. And she didn't realize her mistake until she had lifted the dumpster lid and thrown everything in. Oops.

She decided she simply had to go dumpster diving for those lost bills, so she went into the house, changed from her workclothes, found a nice chair to climb on, and went back out to the dumpster. Using the chair, she was able to get into the dumpster, which was basically empty except for her papers, the bills, and about an inch of water. Yuckky! She got the wet envelopes and tossed them out of the dumpster onto the ground, and suddenly felt a bump as the big rock that kept the dumpster from rolling fell out of place, and the dumpster started rolling. As in rolling toward a hill. Just as her life began to pass before her eyes with the thought that the dumpster was going to tumble down the hill with her in it, she remembered that the complex had put chains on the dumpsters because of previous problems with dented cars. She says she could only pray the chain held. And it did.

Now she had to figure out how to get out of the dumpster. The chair was on the outside, she was on the inside, and there was nothing to stand on...and on top of that, she had to hold the lid up, too. No one in sight to help. Eventually, my former ballerina friend managed to get one leg up over the side of the dumpster and squirm the rest of the way out. Unharmed. Wet and covered with yukky stuff, but unharmed.

Anyway, Donna is almost a germ-freak. Not quite Howard Hughes, but very aware of cleanliness. When we go out to eat, the first thing she does is go to the ladies room to wash her hands. And she doesn't like to touch public door handles with her bare hands. OK, so now, she is standing next to the dumpster, covered with dumpster muck, and holding a pile of gooey envelopes in her bare hand. Her bare hands, I tell you! What does she do about it? Well, she goes into her townhouse, spreads the envelopes on the table and dries them with a hair drier. Only then does she take her shower, clean everything up and get ready for work again. My friend Donna is a very organized clean person. Once she tossed those dry, albeit suspect, envelopes in the mail, I'm sure there was nothing left to tell the tale of her dumpster ride.

She says she hopes no one got it all on video on their cell phone. I said I hope they did! I'm going to be on the lookout, checking Youtube! But my advice to Donna? Two words:

Online banking.

Red Letter Weekend

The elusive offspring called Friday, Saturday and Sunday. If I didn't know that he was calling to make sure he didn't miss wishing me happy BD (yes, I'm a Leo), I'd have worried that something was wrong. It's great to see how stimulated he is working in the Physics department. If you want to know exactly what he is doing...well, I can't say. Not that it's secret. It's just that I don't understand it. Something about one substance acting as both a conductor and an insulator depending on temperature. Is this what "superconductivity" is all about? He says all he needs is a pen and paper to do his job. He's doing mathematics and theoretical physics and all that interesting stuff. Interesting stuff to physicists like the EO and his physicist flatmate, the Irish-lilting James. And interesting to my favorite husband, who took thermodynamics in college. The only thing I know about thermodyamics is that if you put a kettle of water on the gas stove and turn up the fire, you can make a nice cup of tea in about one minute. Mmmm. That sounds like a nice idea right now.

Another Tomato Caper

Every day when I get home from work, I am always afraid to find out what might be waiting for me. For the first two months, Kira had an accident on the tile floor every other day (and believe me, it's not fun to clean up after a dog, especially one the size of Kira). We knew she didn't have parasites (the vet already confirmed that), so we thought maybe she had colitus or irritable bowel or something like that. We tried every type of canned dog food known to man, and every type of dry food, or combination thereof. When we got back from Scotland, Kira decided on her own that she wanted only dry food, and only once a day, in the evening. She would not eat in the morning. And we started doing something that a friend recommended: we put one tablespoon of unsweetened coconut on top of her food every night. It binds with the yukky stuff inside the gut and takes it out with the rest of the ... stuff. She LOVES that coconut! She wants me to put it in the palm of my hand so she can lick it up. When I open the fridge, she hurries over to stick her nose in and touch the bag of coconut. Sure enough, it looked like we had cleared up the problems with her innards. Then after the three wonderful uneventful weeks, she did that gross thing that Ziggy used to do...she found the "kitty treats" in the litter box. Ewe! Next day, boy did we have a clean-up job! But now we have gone for two weeks without incident. We put the kitty litter box in the basement, and Kira can't get through the kitty door to go down there. It frustrates her to no end that the cats can go through that little door and she can't. The cats, of course, realize this, and torment her with the cruelty that only cats can show.

Tonight I came home, and as I always do, peered into the kitchen with trepidation. Imagine how delighted I was to see that there was no Kira accident on the kitchen floor. Yippee! But wait! What on earth was that bowl doing upside down in a corner. And what was that lump under the bowl? No, no, nothing like that. Please! But, if you recall my Tomato Tale from May, you won't be surprised to hear that under the bowl was the tomato I had left on the counter the night before. A tomato on the floor! Was Wolfie up to his old tricks again? Or had Kira decided to look for treats on the counter and knocked the bowl over in the process? I picked everything up and put it in the sink to be washed, then left the room. No sooner had I stepped into the living room than I heard a noise in the kitchen. I ran back in to find Wolfie, on the counter, holding the tomato by the stem in his teeth. Up to his old tricks again.

So I ask you, what is more interesting, a coconut-eating dog or a tomato-eating cat?

Keeping in Touch with the Elusive Offspring

Sometimes, I really have to work hard to keep in touch with EO. When he's bored, and has nothing to do, or when all the other students have gone on holiday leaving him behind, he has been known to call home every night. But when all his friends are around him, and he's working, and sleeping until 2 in the afternoon, his poor mum becomes a bit of a potted plant (I didn't say I become potted...just a potted plant).

So, this past Saturday I called him at 9:00 a.m. my time and 2:00 p.m. his time. I got my cellphone and pressed the speed dial for Thom UK. The phone rang that special UK ring "burrrrt-burrrrt." "Hullo?" a male voice answers. In my sweetest, all-knowing mother's voice, I say: "Are you asleep, sleepy?" A hesitant response comes back "Uh, no," and then "Who are you trying to reach?" Oops! Not the elusive offspring I was looking for. "Oh! I must have the wrong number! Sorry." The male voice on the other side says it again "Who are you trying to call?" This time, my response is a little sheepish: "Thomas." "He's asleep" comes the answer. "Oh, who am I talking to?" "James." (It sounds more like "Jems" when he says it). One of my son's flatmates...from Ireland. And my synapses start to malfunction immediately. What the heck is James doing with Thomas' cellphone (or "mobile" if you are in the UK)? Luckily, James saves me from saying something stupid, like "What the heck are you doing with Thomas' cellphone?" by telling me I should call him on his mobile and wake him. Ah, I had called the flat's land-line.

I should have said "Sure! Nice to talk to you, James." But no. I start asking him stupid questions about how he's doing and what he's up to. He's a really nice guy and he put up with all my questions and I believe he even gave back as good as he got. Eventually, I said I should probably call the sleepy one and we hung up.

Honestly, I'm not stalking my son's flatmate! Mrs. Robinson I'm not! But I have to admit that when he speaks with that lilting Northern Ireland accent of his, it's ... well... seductive.

So, I then called and woke the sleepy one. Last week, he started his internship with one of his professors or lecturers or someone in his department. It appears to be more than a 40-hour a week job, this internship. Sadly, the department did not have the budget for paying him (although there were funds for graduate students), so the potted plant is now footing his rent and bringing lunch to work (thus saving bucks and calories). The EO sounds very satisfied with this summer internship...sort of makes it all worth while, you know, eating home-made sandwiches and soup and all.

Eventually, I'll get ahold of him again and find out just what he's working on. Maybe I'll call the flat's phone number again (as opposed to EO's mobile) and maybe James will answer again...

Just kidding!

How We Spent Our Summer Solstice

This year, Summer Solstice (June 21) landed on a Saturday...and we were in St Andrews for it. What better place to be at the height of summer? The sun sets around 11 p.m., but leaves a wonderful glow on the horizon, until it comes up again by 4 or 4:30 in the morning. A number of times during our visit, I awoke around 4:30 a.m. and looked out the window to see people walking down the street as if it were already 8:00 in the morning. I mean, where do you go at 4:30 in the morning? The pubs close by 1:00 a.m. and nothing opens until who knows when.

OK, so on the Summer Solstice, we went to the pub where the elusive offspring works as a "bar man." Over here, we call them "bartender." In old western movies, they used to call them "bar keep." I just call him "Thomas." My favorite husband calls him "Mr. President." Ok, bad joke (but that's what H would say when EO was a baby, and people would ask "what do you call him, Tom or Tommy or Thomas"). Back to the story. My son's friends are delightful, all 45 of them. Every time we'd see any of them in town, they would invite us to join them, or they would come join us. When the pub closed on this fine Summer Solstice night at 1:00 in the morning, and my son had to stay behind to help clean up, his friends urged us to come along with them to the sand under the castle ruins and EO could catch up with us later. There on the sand, they built a bonfire (two competing bonfires, actually) and sat around playing guitars and singing and drinking beer and whisky. I was very glad for the fire, because it was cold. But the cold didn't stop two girls from stripping down to their underwear and jumping into the 50-degree water -- what's that in celsius, 9 or 10 degrees? They didn't stay in the water very long, and luckily there was that warm fire waiting for them. Not to be outdone, a guy did the same thing...I was more than a little worried about him because he was quite drunk already and I was afraid he'd fall on the rocks. Fortunately, no one got hurt.

I sat on a cold hard rock with Alice and thought that this tradition of making a bonfire and welcoming the sun on the summer solstice must be hundreds of years old. And St Andrews students have done it, year after year, for decades, centuries. St Andrews University was founded around 1410...and St Andrews castle was built a couple hundred years before that! 800 years ago.

I managed to take a photo of what it looks like at the darkest point of the longest day of the year in St Andrews, Scotland. You have to stand really still for the camera to capture. Even so, this does not really capture it. The smell of the bonfire, the sound of the ocean, the singing, the cold air, the little bit of wind blowing across the sand. What an appropriate way to celebrate Summer Solstice in the land of the druids.



A little post-script: H and I left around 3 or 3:30 a.m., leaving EO to sing with his friends. Most everyone else left around 5:30 a.m., after the sun was well up. EO crashed at a friend's flat and we didn't see him until around 11 a.m. The impressive thing was that everyone brought plastic bags to carry out all the beer and whisky bottles and trash. And later on in the day, all that was left was ash from the bonfires mixed into the sand. This must be why no one ever complains about these little bonfire events.

Testosterone

My favorite husband has discovered the joy of BBCAmerica...or more importantly, Top Gear. In case you have never seen Top Gear, it's sort of like Motor Week, on steroids (testosterone). H first saw this wonderful show while we were visiting the elusive offspring in St Andrews. The hosts of Top Gear are three guys, of varying ages, discussing various cars (usually super-cars like Lamborghinis or Ferarris or Porsches, with the occasional BMW and Mercedes thrown in) and they even get to test drive these cars on a race track. Of course, there's another guy, the faceless (helmeted) Stig, a former Formula One driver who takes over where the three hosts leave off. He really makes those cars sing! I wish I could be driving them! No, no, wait, this is about my favorite husband: he wishes HE could be driving them. The neat thing is that Top Gear brings in guest drivers...like Helen Mirin and Dr Who (David Tennant or Bertie Crouch) and his assistant (Billie Piper)...and for the record, Dr Who was soundly beaten by his assistant. They also do such neat things as pit a Range Rover against England's top tank, the Challenger II. That was fun...you can watch it on YouTube:

In another episode, they pitted a Lotus Exige against an Apache helicoptor. This is on YouTube, too.

Anyway, when we get home from work and finish making dinner, we sit down to eat and watch the telly, as they say in the UK. And our choice of entertainment, after the nightly news, is BBC. It used to be that H would skip from channel to channel...never really finding something he wanted to watch. Or he'd say, "What channel is that XYZ show on?" or "Where do I find the ZYX movie?" You get the idea...I'm usually the channeler. But not now. Now, he grabs the remote as soon as we sit down and puts it on Channel 114 (the only station he knows now), and then sets aside the remote until Top Gear is finished...he'll even leave it longer, hoping against hope that there is yet another episode following. He doesn't mind watching the reruns either, even when they come on two hours later!

This weekend, we discovered a funny Brittish sitcom called Spaced...There was a six-episode marathon on Sunday while H varnished the new pocket doors in the dining room and I did paperwork. I love the quirkiness of this Brittish "Chuck" meets "Friends" sitcom. My husband, however, kept asking me questions while he had his back to the television, varnishing the doors: "So, is this a science fiction?" "No, it's just a show about a couple who have to act like they are married to share a flat together." Obviously, the alcohol in the varnish was having some sort of effect on H because he then asked "Are they time travelers?" Still varnishing with his back to the television. "No, that was Dr. Who. These guys are just a bunch of strange people in a flat in England." Finally, he got up and watched it with me for a little while. There was a wonderful scene where three of the characters (all grown men...I think) suddenly start finger-shooting each other in slow motion, complete with slo-mo sounds...bullets, grenades, splats, drawn-out "no-o-o-o-s. " They are slowly falling backwards and sideways as they get hit by the imaginary bullets, and eventually they all end up on the floor, not moving; then suddenly they get up and head out the door together, off to the pub. For some reason, that scene made me laugh so hard I could hardly breathe and I almost lost a contact lense from the tears in my eyes. Heaven only knows why was it so funny to me! My favorite husband gives me a goofy look and says "Men are all just big kids, aren't they?"

Well, yes, they are. While I know that H would love to have one of those Top Gear fast cars, secretly, he'd probably like the Apache helicoptor or Challenger II tank even better! So, these days I leave the remote next to his chair...this is a man who is really in touch with his inner little boy.

Malfunctioning Synapses

We have a bunch of twenty-somethings working in my section at my agency (both technical and legal). I really like them all, but find myself talking to two of them more than the others. We sometimes just sit and talk about things: life, work, family...you know, stuff. I never really thought of the difference in our ages until recently.

For example, last year, I was talking to Maryanne about a friend of hers who was having a baby. She said the friend had gotten a sonogram. I said a sonogram was my son's first baby picture and she turned to me, incredulously: "They had sonograms back then?" Imagine my surprise at hearing that phrase "back then" so soon in my life! I laughed out loud and answered: "Why, yes, we did. We even had cars back then." We both laughed, but I think she was a bit embarassed. I, on the other hand, thought the whole thing was funny... until a couple of days later.

Barely had I recovered from the "back then" experience when my co-counsel on one of my cases told me about the training session he had attended the week before. He had been bored because they had stuck him at a table with a bunch of old guys. "Old guys?" I asked, "How old were they?" "You know, forties and fifties," he said. "Wow!" I said, "That old!" He got all goofy and tried to back pedal. I can't remember what he said, but I laughed because he was digging the hole deeper. I told him to just keep it up because someday he, too, would be on the receiving end.

I think he likes to come into my office to talk because he knows he will make me laugh. Although he's three years older than EO, he sort of reminds me of my son. This morning he was in my office telling me the reasons he liked working for the government as opposed to a law firm. "First," he said, "you can have a life away from the office." "And B," he added, "you get far more experience sooner than you would at a law firm." He was right, of course, but I laughed out loud and asked him if he had seen "Home Alone." First and B. He understood and laughed, which leads me to the title of this blog. Malfunctioning synapses. Obviously, judging by the fact that AK is a very bright young attorney, I knew he was merely suffering from malfunctioning synapses, something I, myself have experienced.

To put him at ease, I told him about my own synapse malfunction two nights ago, when my favorite husband and I were flipping through channels and he stopped on a bicycle race. You know the one. The scenery was fantastic. "Where is this?" I ask. "It's the Tour de France," my favorite husband answers. "The Tour de France is in Finland this year?" I ask. "No, it's in France." Looking at the clock in the corner of the screne, I wonder: "Why are they using a Finnish clock?" No sooner were the words spoken than I realized my mistake. The "Finnish" clock only had one "n" in it. You know, finish? As in finishing time? Duh!

Does this mean I'm getting old? Surely not! After all, anyone's synapses can malfunction at any time. Right?

The Analyst's Couch

Yesterday I saw a bumper sticker that said: "Embarassing my children: a full-time job." I like the sentiment expressed by that bumper sticker. But my motto is this: "I have to give my son something to talk about when he is on the analyst's couch."

When the elusive offspring was 16 or 17, he said to me: "Mom, I want to dye my hair blue." "Sure!" I said, "where can we get the dye?" We bought bought the dye and his girlfriend came over and we made an afternoon of it. When we were finished, his normally ginger hair was the most lovely midnight blue. I loved it! My favorite husband, of course, hated it. As I watched EO drive away with his girlfriend, it suddenly hit me that I'd blown it. If my son was making a rebellious statement, a bid for teenage freedom, I did exactly the wrong thing. I should have said: "No, don't do it. I forbid it," or something more parental than "Yes, let's!" That way, when he's an adult and needs to blame his parents for his woes, he could tell the analyst: "My mother wouldn't let me dye my hair blue." But no, I wasn't thinking quite correctly. Instead, I found myself taking photos of my blue-haired son and keeping them in my office to amuse and shock colleagues (the military types were especially distressed by the idea of a blue-haired son). Two weeks later, the hair was turning a sickly green, and we refreshed the dye. Then two weeks after that, when it started looking yukky again, I asked EO if he wanted to do it again. "Naw, this is too much work. I'm going to let it go back." For which I really was grateful. It took a while to get the blue out of the bathtub, and I still have a formerly cream-colored towel that is now splotchy blue (not my doing) and can't be left out when we have company.

So, on our first night in Scotland last month, my son says: "Well, I guess it's now or never," and he takes off his leather motorcycle jacket, at which point I immediately knew where this was going. "Please don't let it say Mom." He lifts his sleeve and reveals what is actually a very nicely done tattoo:

"SPQR" being the initials for ... if my Latin serves me and if I translate correctly ... the Senate of the People of Rome. He said he got it as a reminder of the effects of hubris. He said the great nation of Rome fell because of hubris, and the United States is often compared to Rome (even taking the eagle for its symbol, like Rome). I tried to be really disappointed in this new evidence of EO's independence, but I'm afraid my open fascination with the artwork betrayed me. Maybe it's because I was suddenly reminded of my own flirtation with the idea (when I was 20) of having a tiny rose tattooed on my ankle...that fantasy faded faster than a henna tattoo. I have no tattoos. As for the EO's tattoo, my husband reluctantly admitted the elegance of the tattoo and its meaning, but still hates it. Blue hair grows out. Tattoos don't. Howevr, I think if he is going to have a tattoo, this one is a rather nice one.

Back to the analyst's couch. Now, you won't thank me for this next story. But I'm going to tell it anyway. During that same 16th or 17th year, my blue-haired son and I were driving down Glebe Road and he suddenly said: "Oh! I just thought of The Game!" "Huh? The game?" And he explained it to me. The simplicity of it is just stunning. The Game is to think of The Game, nothing more, nothing less. Or maybe more importantly NOT to think of The Game. But once you know about The Game, you will find yourself suddenly thinking of it (here is where I take a bow for sharing this lovely little mind fart of a game with you). What triggered the thought for my son that day was the act of driving down Glebe Road (maybe because he was on Glebe Road when someone taught him about The Game, just as I was on Glebe Road when he taught me about The Game). And thus, what triggers The Game for me is, of course, Glebe Road. Who knows what will now trigger the thought for you?

It is a never-ending quest to find things for EO to tell the analyst when he is an adult needing to blame his woes on his parents. Last week, the day before he went back to St Andrews Scotland (oh, yeah, I forgot to mention he came here for two weeks after we went there for two weeks...four lovely weeks with the ever elusive one), I made him spend the whole day with me so we could share some quality mother-son time. In our four weeks together, I was sure I had seen him for only 2 hours and 15 minutes...he thinks I exaggerate the paucity of time together, so I'll inflate it to 2 hours and 45 minutes. While we were having lunch together, I looked at him and said seriously. "I want to say something to you. I know you will hate me for it." Expecting some grand parental pronouncement, he earnestly responded: "No, I won't, Mom." I hesitated, smiled, and said "Glebe." "Oh, man! I don't believe it! You made me think of The Game!" Well, not quite in those words.

Something for him to tell the analyst.

Recovering from Vacation

The problem with going on a two-week vacation is that you really need another two-week vacation to recover from your two-week vacation...

We got back on June 25. That was a long time ago! But I have not had one moment to myself since we got back. It seems that every single one of my cases went bonkers while I was way. I know I'm a lawyer and I don't mean to say bad things about my profession, but I have to say that sometimes lawyers can be SO sleazy. In my absence, one slimeball tried to convince my supervisor (who was taking care of things while I was away) that we had agreed to something we would NEVER have agreed to. She was not fooled. And just today, other tried to do an end-run around us to get some outrageous agreement approved by the head of our section without my case team's input. Again, we were lucky that he knew what was going on and did not agree. I have never seen so much of this kind of behavior before. It's like everyone is taking a page out of the W Bush playbook and trying to ram their trash through before a new administration takes over. It is unbelievable what goes on in the last few months of an administration. I am proud to be a public interest lawyer, but it's not necessarily an easy job.

But enough about my case load. Kira is doing incredibly well! I can't believe she is the same dog! When we picked her up at the doggy hotel after our trip, she was very excited to see that we had not gotten rid of her. She has been extremely well-behaved. It's all so interesting. No longer is she eating the expensive venison canned dog food ($2.50 a pop!)...instead, she is eating very high-option dried dog food. It is really what she wants. Also, she no longer likes to eat anything in the morning. It just sits in the bowl until the evening. So, now she is eating three cups of dried food every night. She now weighs 65 pounds...we need to put another 15-20 pounds on her. And the best part is NO MORE ... well ... diarrhea. No more accidents on the kitchen floor. It's wonderful! Another thing is that she now brings her toys to us so we can play with her. She is really cute when she pounces on her ball, with her ears straight forward and her big paddle feet. She's not barking madly at people when they come in. She starts to bark, and stops when I tell her to stop...usually, anyway. We had a bunch of my colleagues over for hamburgers on Sunday, and Kira took it all in stride, like she was used to having so many people in the house. I've never had a dog attached to me like this. She's my shadow. I almost don't even need a leash for her now! Almost.

What a sweet beautiful dog. Well, I must leave. Before I started this post, I was reviewing and commenting on a 100-page settlement document that is woefully inadequate. Gotta get back to it. I have lots to write about, but it's going to take a while.

Perfect Day in Scotland

While EO is at work, we are relaxing at his flat. He's letting me use his laptop to check e-mail and write on my blog. He'll be back in another hour or two, and we'll take it easy tonight. We've been living the night life here, that's for sure! The first night we ate at a cafe where a friend of his works, and took our time getting home. Night before last, we closed down the pub where the EO works as a barman (bartender) on Fridays. The live music was fantastic. Last night we almost did the same, but decided to come home sooner. Nevertheless, every night we've been getting to sleep around 2 a.m. Partly due to the interesting fact that, this far up north, the sun doesn't set until after 10 .m. (and even then, the sky glows), and it rises before 4 a.m.! It's really wonderful. Your body thinks it wants to stay up all night...then you crash.

Thus, it is another beautiful day in Scotland. We left nearly 100 degree weather in DC to come to St Andrews where the temperature is between 50 and 60 degrees. This is as gorgeous a place as I remember it, with dark blue skies over the ocean even when the sun is shining. Which is why I am not going to stay to write very much. I'm working on a little watercolor painting of the North Sea...as viewed from St Andrews castle and I want to get back to it. I've been letting it dry before I do more.

I wish I could have had this education abroad experience when I was a student. Must go! Must paint!

Very exciting

So I will be out of pocket for two weeks. We'll be having fun in very cool Scotland (low 50s, as compared to the 102 degrees we had here the other day). I am taking my watercolor paints and hope to get lots of little paintings of St Andrews and maybe Inverness. A friend who lives close to Inverness has asked us to take a train up to see her for a couple of days, and we are all looking forward to doing so. She's a polymer artist. A true artist.

Here it is, 11:30 p.m., and we have to be at the airport by noon tomorrow...neither of us has started packing yet. We have both been totally overwhelmed at work and at home. But, I think I can get started now. I made a list (as I always do) a couple of weeks ago and it's a good way to get started.

Maybe I can borrow EO's computer at some point and get my blog fix... if not, well, I'll catch up in two weeks.

Anticipation

H and I hit the ground running this morning. We have so much to do before we leave for Scotland. We had a nice unhealthy breakfast at McDonalds (an Egg McMuffin isn't THAT unhealthy, is it?), then he took me over to the church so I could do the flower arrangements for the altar, and we stopped at the pet specialty store to pick up several cases of dog food for Kira while she's at the Doggy Spa during our trip. All this by 10:30. Then while H got his hair cut, I finished writing the newsletter for my needlepoint guild and e-mailed it. Off we went to Staples so I could make copies of the newsletter for members who don't have e-mail. To the auto store. To REI for new little bottles for shampoo and such. To Starbucks for something cold to drink. To the groc for dinner fixings. Back home to get some stuff done here. It's now getting close to midnight, and I'm really tired. There is so much to do, and, despite all we did today, I don't feel like I'm getting anywhere. Stressful. Add to that the stress from trying to get everything organized at my office.

The nice thing is this: I know that, when I get packed and we start out the door on our way to the airport, all the stress will lift. It's like magic. I won't even give a thought to the office. My friend, Dorothy, will stay at the house and take care of the kitties and plants and all, so I don't have to worry about any of that.

This trip to Scotland is really going to be a vacation. I'm taking my paints. I want to do some little paintings of the north sea, and St Andrews, and maybe try my hand at the architecture. I'm taking "The Kite Runner" for reading. And a couple of very small stitching pieces. I'll have my i-Pod for comfort. My camera for capturing the beauty of it all. Do I need my PDA? Not if I don't plan to give a thought to the office.

This is kind of a rambling stream-of-conscious entry... it really is time for a vacation.

Wind

I'm trying to get everything organized at my office so that my life won't be crazy when I return from Scotland. But it seems that every case I have has blown up somehow, requiring meetings, and issue statements, and draft proposals. For three months, things have been relatively easy, with only an occasional frantic day. But this entire week has been awful. And it promises to get worse before it gets better. I can't wait to get out of the office for two weeks, far away, in another country: Scotland!

We had a wild storm today. It hit us at around 4:00 in the afternoon, with sideways rain and branches blowing across the streets, power outages and falling trees. When we got home from work, we discovered that four trees had gone down around our house. Not our trees, our neighbors' trees. A 150-year-old oak tree fell between two neighbors' houses, messing up the roof of one and the side of the other, but not crushing either. This is a giant grandfather of a tree, and it laid itself down right between the two houses.

Then my neighbor on the other side lost my all-time favorite cherry tree, one that I have watched grow as my son grew. I used to rock him as a baby and look out of the window at the blossoms on that tree. It was much smaller then, but it was absolutely beautiful. Every spring when it bloomed, I was transported back to those magical baby days. The wind pulled the tree up by its roots, and tossed it toward our wrap-around porch, but missed. We think there had to have been a microburst, not quite a tornado. The branches were covered with almost-ripe cherries, and some of them blew onto the porch. This same neighbor also lost another, smaller cherry tree, and a dogwood. In the front of his house, an old oak tree lost two very large branches. My neighbor pointed up into one of his remaining trees, and there in the branches was a roof shingle. We could not find where shingles were missing from our houses or any of the houses around us.

None of my own beloved oak trees (including the 250-year-old white oak) was damaged. Some windy pruning occurred, but nothing severe. The crepe myrtle we planted last year looks fine, as do all the dogwoods. And the roses and azaleas seem to be really enjoying all the rain.

We had another loud thunderstorm about an hour or so ago, but now there is just a steady rain. It makes a lovely, soothing noise.

Weddings and the Passage of Time

H and I went to a friend's wedding on Saturday. The bride is a colleague of mine (she reminds me a little bit of my sister, Girl from Texas). It was a very intimate event held at an officers' club, and a very classy happening. Friday night, she had a small gathering at her high-rise condo in the Pentagon area, with the most spectacular view of the Washington Monument and the Capital from her balcony. It was sort of like a rehearsal dinner, but without the rehearsal. Just the dinner. We all sat around and talked and I got to know the groom a little better and decided that I like him very much. I think they are well suited. The wedding was equally close. The bride, her brothers, two law school friends, a couple of her colleagues (including myself, Lea and our supervisor) and our husbands, the groom and his three kids, two sisters and a colleague...not too many people. A very nice number.

Weddings are interesting to people who have been married for a while. When your child turns 21, you sort of forget that you were ever 21 yourself. But a wedding brings back the memories of the beginning. At the same time, a wedding slaps you in the face with the knowledge that you're NOT 21 any more. And yet, at this wedding, the bride was 40-something, and the groom at least 10 years older, but as I watched them take their vows, their faces filled with youthful anticipation, I was reminded once again that you don't really have to be 21 to be young. My father was fond of that old cliche "You are as young as you feel." So, the occasional wedding is a good reminder.

I don't know at what point during the ceremony H took my hand, but suddenly there it was, big and warm and very comfortable. Later, I overheard someone saying that they had seen my supervisor and her husband (same age as us) take one anothers' hands. And Lea and her husband were a little sweeter to one another.

So, what causes this sudden desire to touch each other? Is it a wish to be 21 years old again? Or at least to recapture the newness of it all, a time when everything was in front of us, a horizon of unknown potential and anticipation, before the mortgage, the career, kids, college tuition payments? Does it remind us to BE young?

The other day, the elusive offspring called. He is considering his options for the time after he graduates in June 2009. One thought is that he would take a 2-year visa and stay in the UK to work. Any work. Physics would be nice, but he says he'd even work as a mechanic just to get away from the academic world for a while. "You're getting a mighty expensive education for doing mechanics work," I said, and then suddenly I thought differently. "Actually, never mind. Now is the time to do that. Before you get the mortgage, the career, kids, and the pesky college tuition payments that go with having kids." He's only 21. His whole life is out there ahead of him. Certainly, I'd rather see him using his talents (singing, acting, his aptitude for science), but if he can support himself in the UK with whatever job he lands, well then, that's part of his life experience. I would have loved to have that experience.

And who knows? Someday, I might be standing at his wedding and reaching out for H's hand, reliving 21.

A Good Mood

I had a wonderful Memorial Day weekend! My friend, Dorothy, and I went to visit KJ (another stitching friend) in Chesapeake, MD. KJ and her husband, Bob, have a beautiful house that makes you feel like you are at an elegant retreat, which is what KJ says she wanted us to feel. No kidding! It was like going to a five-star B&B, but to be with a friend. She has two guest rooms -- actually, the one I stayed in is KJ’s stitching room, but it’s so beautifully appointed that you feel like a truly valued visitor. She had fresh flowers in both rooms, and baskets of products in the bathrooms (anything you could possibly ever need). In the evening, she’d sneak up to our rooms while we were still stitching and turn on a small light and the radio (low volume), and she’d leave a cold water of Perrier on the side table, with Lindor chocolates in a beautiful little bowl.

The food was superlative. Her husband likes to cook and he prepared fantastic meals for us. We got there at 9 a.m. and he started us with a breakfast of French toast to die for. After we had stitched for a few hours, he took us out to lunch for clam chowder in Deale. For dinner (very late), he fixed a delicious dinner of steak, potatoes and asparagus. Dorothy and I helped prepare dinner on Sunday. It took us three hours to prepare the ingredients and only 20 minutes to cook it! We had the best Cajun jambalaya I’ve ever tasted, and Bob did his best Justin Wilson imitation while we worked in the kitchen! I’ve never eaten collard greens with such wonderful flavor. And for dessert, we had peaches marinated in peach schnopps and covered with Hagendaas Ice Cream. Wow! I was certain that I had gained 5 pounds over the weekend; and yet, when I weighed myself this morning, I had not gained an ounce.


While we were fixing the dinner goodies, I tried my hand at preparing Margaritas, using their new Margarita machine. It was one of those trial and error things, so I made several batches…and wouldn’t you know that each batch got better than the last? Hmmm, maybe WE got better! Yummy!


KJ’s priest joined us for dinner Sunday night and when we sat down at the table, he proceeded to tell us about one of his parishioners, a detective, who was called to a house where they’d found the owner face down in the tub, covered with Cheerios. “Oh my gosh, really?” Of course I believed him…he’s a priest for goodness sakes…but THEN he says “Yes, they are now on the trail of a cereal killer.” Moan! Groan! I couldn’t believe I fell for that!!! All those Margaritas must have addled my brain, because I'm SURE I heard that one before. I could not resist: “Now that’s just plain corny.” Then things really deteriorated after that.

H was invited to come for the weekend, but he wanted to stay home and finish the dining room. I would have loved to have him there with us, but he certainly gets more done when I'm not there. He and Bob have a lot in common. No, H is not a gourmet cook. But they both like motorcycles, and they both do major house remodeling jobs. I’ve always said there is nothing as sexy as a man who can both practice law and build a house (my favorite husband, for example). Well, Bob and KJ are both rocket scientists. So, Bob is a rocket scientist who can build a house AND cook a gourmet meal. Anyway, H agreed to come pick me up Sunday so we could all go to lunch together.

Yesterday morning, while KJ was off doing something and Bob was reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee, I asked him if he ever sat back and thought how good life was, with his beautiful wife, beautiful house, and two beautiful dogs. He smiled at me and gave me a knowing nod. Life is very good. I’m hoping that KJ will come to my house in July or August so that I can return the hospitality.

And life is very good for me, too! When we got home and I walked into the house, I saw that the dining room is finished! Most of the furniture was back in place and all we had to do was put the piano back where it belongs. No easy feat! A neighbor came over and helped us move it. Then we put the rugs down … and do you think we ate dinner in that new dining room? No way! The day was so gorgeous that we ate outside on the porch and the breeze carried the scent of my roses up to us.

Life is very good indeed! Tomorrow I will call the piano tuner. I'm in a very good mood right now.