Happy Merry!
Dec. 22nd, 2019 10:36 am<a href=https://vimeo.com/33612599>Fred and Ginger</a> , Hem and I send you the most joyous wishes of the season.
"Identical Snowflakes" by Hem, vid by Icepixie
<a href=https://vimeo.com/33612599>Fred and Ginger</a> , Hem and I send you the most joyous wishes of the season.
"Identical Snowflakes" by Hem, vid by Icepixie
random preoccupations...
Jul. 10th, 2019 02:05 pmA long story for another time, but someone gave me a tiara, or two, several years ago. Just rhinestones, but pretty and glittery. Wearing one made me feel silly and special for an hour or two. It was fun. I started browsing tiaras at ebay now and again, just to see new designs and enjoy the pretty. Over the years, I’ve collected…some more tiaras, paying no more than $10 to $20 for any of them. I kept them wrapped carefully in tissue and nested in boxes. Once in a while I’d dig one out and wear it for a couple of hours while editing, reading, folding laundry, or watching tv.
I’ve had this random black plastic CD rack, relic from the before times when music came on CDs. The rack had three squarish sections with slots for a dozen jewel cases in each section. I’ve used the rack in altar displays once in a while, for tiny examples of changing seasons, or at the holidays for mini-displays. Mostly it just languished, empty and unused. I’d always toyed with the idea of maybe displaying some–or all–of my tiaras, somehow, but didn’t have a lot of drive to implement the idea. And then one day, cleaning off the bottom bookshelf, I stood the empty CD rack on end.
DH helped out by cutting and glueing black foamcore “cleats” at the halfway point in each of the sections, and foamcore “shelves” to rest on the cleats. And voila! Seven tiaras on display! Also handy should I suddenly have a desire to wear one. But…there were still tiaras packed away in boxes. “I’ll build you more shelves out of thin plywood and paint ‘em black,” DH said, that project joining the looooong list of projects he has lined up. I resigned myself to wait, until I woke up one morning wondering, “Are the insides of those drawer boxes black?”
Reader, they are. The red drawers, containing my silver jewelry in plastic baggies (mostly so I don’t have to polish them often, also with earrings and coordinating pendants and things bagged together) are now stacked on top of each other on the shelf.
DH gave me a halogen desk lamp, which I put on a shelf just inside my office door, trained on the tiaras. I flip that switch when I walk through the door and the resultant blaze of glitter, color, and sparkle never fails to take my breath, just a little, every time. A tiny thing to lift my mood, even for a few minutes. There are copies of Actual Tiaras in there: fourth down, center, the Marlborough, AKA the Spencer Honeysuckle tiara. Below that, Princess Sophie (of Sweden, I think?)’s Palmette Wedding tiara, and below that, the York tiara, Sarah Ferguson’s wedding tiara. The gold one, top left, is one of QE2’s favorites, the Girls of Great Britain and Ireland tiara. The baroque gold and emerald one, center top, is a recent gift from a friend, and I call her Idina. I know I have at least two–and maybe as many as four–tiaras still in boxes in the closet. The green drawers may end up stacked on themselves soon, as the tiara towers grow in height.
I’ve had this random black plastic CD rack, relic from the before times when music came on CDs. The rack had three squarish sections with slots for a dozen jewel cases in each section. I’ve used the rack in altar displays once in a while, for tiny examples of changing seasons, or at the holidays for mini-displays. Mostly it just languished, empty and unused. I’d always toyed with the idea of maybe displaying some–or all–of my tiaras, somehow, but didn’t have a lot of drive to implement the idea. And then one day, cleaning off the bottom bookshelf, I stood the empty CD rack on end.
DH helped out by cutting and glueing black foamcore “cleats” at the halfway point in each of the sections, and foamcore “shelves” to rest on the cleats. And voila! Seven tiaras on display! Also handy should I suddenly have a desire to wear one. But…there were still tiaras packed away in boxes. “I’ll build you more shelves out of thin plywood and paint ‘em black,” DH said, that project joining the looooong list of projects he has lined up. I resigned myself to wait, until I woke up one morning wondering, “Are the insides of those drawer boxes black?”
Reader, they are. The red drawers, containing my silver jewelry in plastic baggies (mostly so I don’t have to polish them often, also with earrings and coordinating pendants and things bagged together) are now stacked on top of each other on the shelf.DH gave me a halogen desk lamp, which I put on a shelf just inside my office door, trained on the tiaras. I flip that switch when I walk through the door and the resultant blaze of glitter, color, and sparkle never fails to take my breath, just a little, every time. A tiny thing to lift my mood, even for a few minutes. There are copies of Actual Tiaras in there: fourth down, center, the Marlborough, AKA the Spencer Honeysuckle tiara. Below that, Princess Sophie (of Sweden, I think?)’s Palmette Wedding tiara, and below that, the York tiara, Sarah Ferguson’s wedding tiara. The gold one, top left, is one of QE2’s favorites, the Girls of Great Britain and Ireland tiara. The baroque gold and emerald one, center top, is a recent gift from a friend, and I call her Idina. I know I have at least two–and maybe as many as four–tiaras still in boxes in the closet. The green drawers may end up stacked on themselves soon, as the tiara towers grow in height.
We also have an arroyo here...
Jun. 9th, 2019 08:08 pmI grew up and spent most of my adulthood in the southeast. We have farms there.
But we have ranches around where we live now. One of my favorites doesn't have a name, that I know of, but it has small horse statues on its gateposts, and this sign on one of the barns.
It looks like the Hazel Atlas design on the Anchor Hocking milk glass mug I had as a child.
Another couple of ranches are favorites of mine because they have their names on signs near the road. There's Cowgirl Spirit Ranch, which always reminds me of Cowgirl Jessie from the Toy Story movies, and makes me grin and give a mental fistpump to girl power. They have alpacas and goats in their fields, and now and then a pony or two.
And there's 3 Hand Ranch, which is somewhat troubling. I mean, is it run by three ranch hands? Or maybe by three people who only have one hand each? Or by one person with two hands and another with only one? Every time we drive by the sign I have my eyes peeled for clues. They apparently train horses--I never see baby horses and their moms there, only adults out grazing.
And then there's the Northwest Mountain Stables. Sounds solid, right? Dependable? They also train and probably board horses, and with a name like that you pretty much believe you can trust them to look after your stock. The ranch was recently sold and the new owners changed the name to Northwest Mountain Stables.
Before that? The Wild Marmot Ranch.
I mean. If you had a choice, where would you rather do business, huh?
But we have ranches around where we live now. One of my favorites doesn't have a name, that I know of, but it has small horse statues on its gateposts, and this sign on one of the barns.
It looks like the Hazel Atlas design on the Anchor Hocking milk glass mug I had as a child.
Another couple of ranches are favorites of mine because they have their names on signs near the road. There's Cowgirl Spirit Ranch, which always reminds me of Cowgirl Jessie from the Toy Story movies, and makes me grin and give a mental fistpump to girl power. They have alpacas and goats in their fields, and now and then a pony or two.
And there's 3 Hand Ranch, which is somewhat troubling. I mean, is it run by three ranch hands? Or maybe by three people who only have one hand each? Or by one person with two hands and another with only one? Every time we drive by the sign I have my eyes peeled for clues. They apparently train horses--I never see baby horses and their moms there, only adults out grazing.
And then there's the Northwest Mountain Stables. Sounds solid, right? Dependable? They also train and probably board horses, and with a name like that you pretty much believe you can trust them to look after your stock. The ranch was recently sold and the new owners changed the name to Northwest Mountain Stables.
Before that? The Wild Marmot Ranch.
I mean. If you had a choice, where would you rather do business, huh?
Opinions? Comments? Sarcastic remarks?
May. 23rd, 2019 04:28 pmWe bought furniture today--sale prices, yadda. It's not the blue-turquoise-teal-blue I wanted, it's shaded tweedish grey with a soft hand, sturdy construction, high and firm enough to be comfy (I hate sinking butt-first into downy cushions and having to fight my way to my feet). All the good plusses, stain-resist, delivery, plus pickup and donation of our futon and loveseat, both of which have served valiantly, but well, it's time to part ways.
My question: I have my dad's club chair, built like a fricken tank, hard-rock maple frame, joined, no screws or bolts, hand-tied springs, weighs a ton and is indestructible. Somewhere in the 70s Dad decided grey-and-red awning stripe silk damask wasn't his thing (green moss fringe around the seams, green bullion fringe at the bottom, woo!) and had it recovered in cream faux-Naugahyde. Guys, I can't even make the "Do you know how many naugas had to die for that chair?" joke because--*faux*-Naugahyde. The chair will go on forever unless somebody hacks it apart with a battleaxe and lights it on fire.
It's a great chair (cat not included), straight lines, deep seat, perfect angle on the back. I've sat in it, and would still, but I need an ottoman and unless it's the perfect height it wrecks my knees. H hates the chair, the angle of the back's all wrong for him. However, even with the new stuff, we need a chair. So do I investigate how much gold pressed latinum it's going to cost me to have it reupholstered, or price a new chair?
Opinions, please?
ETA: That is not my house, that is not my rug. Picture was taken in my mom's house before we absconded with the chair.
OH and I are both very nearsighted. And while his night vision is far superior to mine, that doesn't much matter when everything you see is both fuzzy and *dark*. So we use nightlights, in order to not trip over that thing I forgot I left there before I turned out the lights. OH has been very fond of those phosphorescent green circles that glow at you in the dark like the spy eye of a room-sized computer on 1960s-era shows like The Outer Limits and Twilight Zone. Creepy, but harmless. Lately he decided he didn't like the green, so he switched it out for one of those faceted round "crystal" numbers that always remind me of Logan's Run. It was too bright, he said, so he took it back and exchanged it.
I got up to go to bed the other night, turned off all the lights and started down the long, dark hall, and stopped, taken aback. At the end of the hall, glowering ominously through the relentless dark, everywhere around the outlet where it was plugged in glowing with eldritch fire, was the Eye of Sauron.
A very short, Eye of Sauron, though. About a foot off the floor. Still, late at night in the dark? Huh.
I got up to go to bed the other night, turned off all the lights and started down the long, dark hall, and stopped, taken aback. At the end of the hall, glowering ominously through the relentless dark, everywhere around the outlet where it was plugged in glowing with eldritch fire, was the Eye of Sauron.
A very short, Eye of Sauron, though. About a foot off the floor. Still, late at night in the dark? Huh.
Observations
Feb. 22nd, 2019 12:40 pmI woke this morning to wind rattling the windows and gusting through the cedars that overhang the house. And now it's snowing like fury out there--falling thick and fast and swirling in otherwise unseen eddies of wind.
And the ambulance just took our across-the-street neighbor to Hospice. The neighbor who took months of careful measurements and notes and evaluations to decide to buy the house. Who set about remodeling to her own specs and standards, who pulled down the back shed, grown in stages, like Topsy, cleared the debris and erected a solid, square and plumb foundation and a new shed on that spot. Who insulated and drywalled and polycoated the rafters and beams on the inside, and installed a treadmill and a stationary bike. Who recruited a student worker to help her clear the lot around the foundation of the house, lay gravel and paving stones--by hand. Who hired someone to build a porch, somewhere to sit outside and read in nice weather, that someone who wandered away, unpaid, abandoning his tools.
OH took a look at the dangerously shoddy job left undone and volunteered to build it, and spent the summer doing just that.
She had lived in PNW and Canada--standing just under 5' and retaining a slight lilt of Irish accent, she was of liberal opinion and speech. After doing all her dilligence on buying the house, she found herself nested between two staunch fundamentalist tea partiers, both hard of hearing, who in warmer months of open windows, blasted Rush Limbaugh and his ilk from waking to sleeping. She was not amused.
She had played on an Irish hurling team, and one of her fondest memories was traveling to a meet in NYC by subway and seeing the other passengers expressions as this team of Amazons of variegated size and shape boarded the train, sticks in hand. She has a shelf full of golf trophies, and she and her foursome would drive to Canada, play their 18 holes, have lunch, and return before the local course would have found space in their schedule for the ladies to play.
Having noted the frequent whimsical fencing made up of discarded single skis, she made her own garden fence of hockey and hurling sticks. Her latest project before she became ill was to build a ramp beside her back steps so her disabled friends could come visit, and to pave the dirt floor of her carport with concrete patio slabs bedded in pea gravel. Those tasks won't be finished, now.
She was driving her little red car less than a month ago. Whatever's taking her moved swiftly, and left little time for goodbyes. Little but fierce, and forever remembered.
And the ambulance just took our across-the-street neighbor to Hospice. The neighbor who took months of careful measurements and notes and evaluations to decide to buy the house. Who set about remodeling to her own specs and standards, who pulled down the back shed, grown in stages, like Topsy, cleared the debris and erected a solid, square and plumb foundation and a new shed on that spot. Who insulated and drywalled and polycoated the rafters and beams on the inside, and installed a treadmill and a stationary bike. Who recruited a student worker to help her clear the lot around the foundation of the house, lay gravel and paving stones--by hand. Who hired someone to build a porch, somewhere to sit outside and read in nice weather, that someone who wandered away, unpaid, abandoning his tools.
OH took a look at the dangerously shoddy job left undone and volunteered to build it, and spent the summer doing just that.
She had lived in PNW and Canada--standing just under 5' and retaining a slight lilt of Irish accent, she was of liberal opinion and speech. After doing all her dilligence on buying the house, she found herself nested between two staunch fundamentalist tea partiers, both hard of hearing, who in warmer months of open windows, blasted Rush Limbaugh and his ilk from waking to sleeping. She was not amused.
She had played on an Irish hurling team, and one of her fondest memories was traveling to a meet in NYC by subway and seeing the other passengers expressions as this team of Amazons of variegated size and shape boarded the train, sticks in hand. She has a shelf full of golf trophies, and she and her foursome would drive to Canada, play their 18 holes, have lunch, and return before the local course would have found space in their schedule for the ladies to play.
Having noted the frequent whimsical fencing made up of discarded single skis, she made her own garden fence of hockey and hurling sticks. Her latest project before she became ill was to build a ramp beside her back steps so her disabled friends could come visit, and to pave the dirt floor of her carport with concrete patio slabs bedded in pea gravel. Those tasks won't be finished, now.
She was driving her little red car less than a month ago. Whatever's taking her moved swiftly, and left little time for goodbyes. Little but fierce, and forever remembered.
stolen from my LJ flist
1. Do you like blue cheese? No, you may have mine, thanks.
2. Coke or Pepsi? Neither
3. Do you own a gun? I have for a long time. I used to enjoy plinking (tin can targets). I haven't touched it in a decade or more. It's locked up.
4. What flavor of Kool-Aid? Ack, augh, I can still smell it from making it for my kids. No thank you.
5. Hot dogs? Yes, about three times a year.
6. Favorite tv show? Supernatural, as long as it lasts, baby.
7. Do you believe in ghosts? Spirits, maybe. But not ghosts of actual people.
8. What do you drink in the morning? Coffee, or tea if the tum isn't up to coffee.
9. Can you do a push-up? Unlikely
10. Favorite jewellery? I have a thing for lockets.
11. Favorite hobby? Writing, playing with stuffed animals and the occasional doll (repairs, including clothes, cleaning, replacing missing parts)
12. Do you have ADD? ADHD, inattentive
13. Do you wear glasses? Yes
14. Favorite cartoon character?Aang Uncle Iroh
15. Three things you did yesterday? Organized a list to speak to my PCP, scrubbed the bathroom vanity counter and toilet. Need to do the mirror.
16.Three drinks you drink? Water, tea, clear soda
17. Current worry? Some troubling physical symptoms that may be drug side effects or interaction.
18. Do you believe in magic? Can I just say I believe in collective energy? I've seen what the focused intent of a group of people can do.
19. Favorite place to be? In shotgun, driving with OH
20. How did you ring in the new year? Reading
21. Where would you like to be? Driving to Whistler with OH
22. Name five people who will most likely do this challenge? dunno
23. Favorite movie? Spirited Away
24. Favorite color? Iridescent blue-grey
25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? Not since we slid out of bed on opposite sides.
26. Can you whistle? Badly
27. Where are you now? On the futon in the living room
28. Where would you rather be right now? Right here's good.
29. Favorite food? OH's veggie-barley-beef soup
30. Least favorite chore? vacuuming
31. Most favorite chore? Honestly? Things like wiping down the cabinet fronts, cleaning the fridge or freezer door gaskets, washing the kitchen trashcan lid, wiping down the stovetop, emptying the toaster's crumb tray. Anything I can start and finish while the coffee's brewing is great—small effort, things that often get neglected, and job *done*--accomplishment!
32. What is in your pockets? lint, and a very sad wrinkly tissue
33. Last thing that made you laugh? Scathing political screed, well delivered
34. Favorite animal? Always? Cats of all sizes, canines of all sizes. Elephants and giraffes, just because they're both ridiculous looking, but there's some delicate elegance about them both.
35. What is your most recent injury? Bit my tongue
36. How many tv's in your house? One
37. Worst pain ever? Dislocation and buggering of knee: torn ligaments, stretched tendons. Six months on crutches. Still won't bear my weight bent.
38. Do you like to dance? Not as much any more.
39. Are your parents still alive? No
40. Do you like camping? I would probably not endure the lack of creature comforts well now, but when the kids were young, I loved tent camping at the lake. We pitched camp on the slope down to a tiny, private cove, and would take the boat out onto the main lake, or into other coves to fish. In the afternoons, OH would nap and the boys and I would moor the boat in the center of the cove and dive and swim and play for hours. I must have lost 15 lbs in the two weeks that summer, despite the fact we were all eating like ravening beasts. It was fabulous. Also the first time I ever saw the Milky Way, as nothing was around the lake but farmland, and no streetlights. Amazing.
1. Do you like blue cheese? No, you may have mine, thanks.
2. Coke or Pepsi? Neither
3. Do you own a gun? I have for a long time. I used to enjoy plinking (tin can targets). I haven't touched it in a decade or more. It's locked up.
4. What flavor of Kool-Aid? Ack, augh, I can still smell it from making it for my kids. No thank you.
5. Hot dogs? Yes, about three times a year.
6. Favorite tv show? Supernatural, as long as it lasts, baby.
7. Do you believe in ghosts? Spirits, maybe. But not ghosts of actual people.
8. What do you drink in the morning? Coffee, or tea if the tum isn't up to coffee.
9. Can you do a push-up? Unlikely
10. Favorite jewellery? I have a thing for lockets.
11. Favorite hobby? Writing, playing with stuffed animals and the occasional doll (repairs, including clothes, cleaning, replacing missing parts)
12. Do you have ADD? ADHD, inattentive
13. Do you wear glasses? Yes
14. Favorite cartoon character?
15. Three things you did yesterday? Organized a list to speak to my PCP, scrubbed the bathroom vanity counter and toilet. Need to do the mirror.
16.Three drinks you drink? Water, tea, clear soda
17. Current worry? Some troubling physical symptoms that may be drug side effects or interaction.
18. Do you believe in magic? Can I just say I believe in collective energy? I've seen what the focused intent of a group of people can do.
19. Favorite place to be? In shotgun, driving with OH
20. How did you ring in the new year? Reading
21. Where would you like to be? Driving to Whistler with OH
22. Name five people who will most likely do this challenge? dunno
23. Favorite movie? Spirited Away
24. Favorite color? Iridescent blue-grey
25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? Not since we slid out of bed on opposite sides.
26. Can you whistle? Badly
27. Where are you now? On the futon in the living room
28. Where would you rather be right now? Right here's good.
29. Favorite food? OH's veggie-barley-beef soup
30. Least favorite chore? vacuuming
31. Most favorite chore? Honestly? Things like wiping down the cabinet fronts, cleaning the fridge or freezer door gaskets, washing the kitchen trashcan lid, wiping down the stovetop, emptying the toaster's crumb tray. Anything I can start and finish while the coffee's brewing is great—small effort, things that often get neglected, and job *done*--accomplishment!
32. What is in your pockets? lint, and a very sad wrinkly tissue
33. Last thing that made you laugh? Scathing political screed, well delivered
34. Favorite animal? Always? Cats of all sizes, canines of all sizes. Elephants and giraffes, just because they're both ridiculous looking, but there's some delicate elegance about them both.
35. What is your most recent injury? Bit my tongue
36. How many tv's in your house? One
37. Worst pain ever? Dislocation and buggering of knee: torn ligaments, stretched tendons. Six months on crutches. Still won't bear my weight bent.
38. Do you like to dance? Not as much any more.
39. Are your parents still alive? No
40. Do you like camping? I would probably not endure the lack of creature comforts well now, but when the kids were young, I loved tent camping at the lake. We pitched camp on the slope down to a tiny, private cove, and would take the boat out onto the main lake, or into other coves to fish. In the afternoons, OH would nap and the boys and I would moor the boat in the center of the cove and dive and swim and play for hours. I must have lost 15 lbs in the two weeks that summer, despite the fact we were all eating like ravening beasts. It was fabulous. Also the first time I ever saw the Milky Way, as nothing was around the lake but farmland, and no streetlights. Amazing.
a comment in someone else's journal...
Aug. 17th, 2018 11:39 amprompted a think about faith and the outward trappings thereof. I was raised in a rigid fundamental Christian
church. My parents had grown up *around* the church, but didn't attend because they each were essentially raised by wolves. As adults they joined the church as a means of belonging, socially, and from fear of the afterlife.
I began to question their religion as a young teen, though my parents remained largely unaware, since my research was confined to extensive reading and talking with people *other* than my parents. I wanted to avoid hurting them by "rejecting" their faith--and also, I admit, wanting to avoid a shitstorm should they find out I was "questioning."
I researched Judaism, seriously considered converting for a few months. Studied Roman Catholicism, and went through some serious contemplation of becoming a cloistered nun. Sometimes regret not doing it. As an adult, there was a period of (stealth) wider Protestant Christian belief and practice *within* my parents' church. And thus to a lengthy study of Native American spirituality, discovering the varying beliefs and practices of many Nations, before acknowledging that as much as I was drawn to some of many, I could not embrace *one* belief system and, retaining much gained perspective, let go of cherry-picked appropriation. And moved on into Celtic paganism, Druidism, a brief but concentrated exploration of Hinduism, Shinto, and Buddhism.
Buddhism makes sense to me. I simply don't have the determination to commit to practice. I believe and practice many tenets of Buddhist faith, but acknowledge I am not, and cannot be, right now in my life, a Buddhist. I do have figures of the Buddha in my home and garden, as focal points for contemplation, and where my gaze falls, to rest, and find footing in my struggle to overcome chaos and rancor and despair. If that's appropriation, then I'm guilty. But I would never consider those figures as "decoration," because they have purpose: they recall me to mindfulness, and are an anchor in my inner search for strength and kindness, and for peace.
church. My parents had grown up *around* the church, but didn't attend because they each were essentially raised by wolves. As adults they joined the church as a means of belonging, socially, and from fear of the afterlife. I began to question their religion as a young teen, though my parents remained largely unaware, since my research was confined to extensive reading and talking with people *other* than my parents. I wanted to avoid hurting them by "rejecting" their faith--and also, I admit, wanting to avoid a shitstorm should they find out I was "questioning."
I researched Judaism, seriously considered converting for a few months. Studied Roman Catholicism, and went through some serious contemplation of becoming a cloistered nun. Sometimes regret not doing it. As an adult, there was a period of (stealth) wider Protestant Christian belief and practice *within* my parents' church. And thus to a lengthy study of Native American spirituality, discovering the varying beliefs and practices of many Nations, before acknowledging that as much as I was drawn to some of many, I could not embrace *one* belief system and, retaining much gained perspective, let go of cherry-picked appropriation. And moved on into Celtic paganism, Druidism, a brief but concentrated exploration of Hinduism, Shinto, and Buddhism.
Buddhism makes sense to me. I simply don't have the determination to commit to practice. I believe and practice many tenets of Buddhist faith, but acknowledge I am not, and cannot be, right now in my life, a Buddhist. I do have figures of the Buddha in my home and garden, as focal points for contemplation, and where my gaze falls, to rest, and find footing in my struggle to overcome chaos and rancor and despair. If that's appropriation, then I'm guilty. But I would never consider those figures as "decoration," because they have purpose: they recall me to mindfulness, and are an anchor in my inner search for strength and kindness, and for peace.
Friday five
Jul. 13th, 2018 12:43 am1) If you could be either a fish or a bird, which would you be, and why?
I've always loved the water, but in recent years I've developed claustrophobia and now I don't love being underwater so much. And really, short answer: fish don't sing.
2) Would you rather it be 10 degrees too hot or 10 degrees too cold? (Does your answer change if that’s indoors or outdoors?)
The body aches and stiffness are much worse in heat. Why we moved from NC to PNW.
3) What is the best thing that happened to you today?
I dropped my (expensive to replace) clip-on magnetic sunglasses at the grocery store. When I realized it I zipped back to the checkout line I'd just gone through--I'd felt them in my pocket before pulling into line there. "I dropped my sunglasses," I told the cashier. "You sure did!" she chirped. "Someone found them before they got run over, so they're fine."
4) Is youth wasted on the young? (Follow-up: are you old or young?)
Old enough not to be considered young anymore. I think probably the health and energy of youth is wasted on people inexperienced enough to squander it.
5) Pasta salad or potato salad?
I'm theoretically not supposed to have either. My *preferrence is always potato salad--I make two killer recipes of potato salad, even though I can't eat it. But using rice or quinoa noodles I can have pasta salad.
I've always loved the water, but in recent years I've developed claustrophobia and now I don't love being underwater so much. And really, short answer: fish don't sing.
2) Would you rather it be 10 degrees too hot or 10 degrees too cold? (Does your answer change if that’s indoors or outdoors?)
The body aches and stiffness are much worse in heat. Why we moved from NC to PNW.
3) What is the best thing that happened to you today?
I dropped my (expensive to replace) clip-on magnetic sunglasses at the grocery store. When I realized it I zipped back to the checkout line I'd just gone through--I'd felt them in my pocket before pulling into line there. "I dropped my sunglasses," I told the cashier. "You sure did!" she chirped. "Someone found them before they got run over, so they're fine."
4) Is youth wasted on the young? (Follow-up: are you old or young?)
Old enough not to be considered young anymore. I think probably the health and energy of youth is wasted on people inexperienced enough to squander it.
5) Pasta salad or potato salad?
I'm theoretically not supposed to have either. My *preferrence is always potato salad--I make two killer recipes of potato salad, even though I can't eat it. But using rice or quinoa noodles I can have pasta salad.
In passing
Jul. 10th, 2018 04:03 pmThis morning I wrote in an email to a friend--"Between the executive dysfunction, the agoraphobia and the anxiety, I don't have time for depression."
ring around
May. 2nd, 2018 05:06 pmSomeone asked the other day about the black ring I wear on my right hand. It’s an ace ring, asexual identifier, like a rainbow flag pin. You’ll catch sight of one once in a while, a few celebrities occasionally flash one.
I can’t wear wide bands, though I love the look. My wedding ring at the moment is a stack of four 2mm sterling bands, each in a different design. For the ace ring I bought an inexpensive 2mm black coated stainless steel band, but it didn’t have enough visual heft. So I ordered another one just like it, planning to wear the pair as a double band. And then on Etsy I saw the tiny faceted hematite beads strung on fine wire, and I think it all worked out beautifully
a little help
Feb. 21st, 2018 03:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mickeym and her family are having a hard time lately.<a href=https://mickeym.dreamwidth.org/1408606.html>Read at her account</a>
Any help would be appreciated.
could we make that happen?
Feb. 6th, 2018 06:38 pmWhat if 45 threw a <a href=https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/trump-military-parade_us_5a7a3d9ae4b0d0ef3c0a716c>massive ego-stuffing military parade</a> and nobody came? Just tanks and missles and troops clanking down streets with empty sidewalks and, except for 45 and the obligates in the box seats, all the stands vacant and echoing with silence. And one lone photographer to document the occasion.
Joys of the season
Dec. 25th, 2017 05:29 pm
Daniel and Dougal snuggle beside the tree
clockwise from top left: Milo, Froederich, Virgil Henry, Arlo the pig, Thaddeus, and Truman in the Santa hat wish all of you merry.
Peaches and Pete cuddle in the cradle underneath the tree.
All of us hope your day is happy, whether or whatever you celebrate!
Wishes for the Merriest of seasons
Dec. 25th, 2017 10:07 amI've done this before, it's a tradition by now.
<a href=https://vimeo.com/33612599>Fred and Ginger</a> offer my very best wishes of the season to all of you!
<a href=https://vimeo.com/33612599>Fred and Ginger</a> offer my very best wishes of the season to all of you!
Hot chocolate
Dec. 17th, 2017 05:55 pmThere was mention of hot chocolate today in <lj user=spn_darkside>, which reminded me of a story.
OH was stationed in Germany at the time, and was out with his unit on maneuvers. Two other wives and I drove up to Berchtesgaden to visit with yet another wife whose husband was also away, and one ridiculously early dark o'clock, we drove out to the village huddled on the shore of Konigsee to watch the cows come home. The cows are pastured up on the mountainsides through the summer, but in the fall, they're brought down to winter in barns and paddocks in the village. It's an annual observance and celebration of the turning of the seasons, and the cows are decked out to participate in the celebration. All the cows wear flower crowns in their horns, and the first cow (you do know there's descending order among a herd, yes?) wears a broad collar, embroidered all over in flowers and scrolly designs, and a huge bell hangs from her collar. Each cow after her wears a collar less ornate and fancy and a smaller bell than the one before, but even the last one in the procession has her collar and bell.
We waited along the village street for more than an hour. The sun wasn't actually risen above the mountains ringing the lake when the bells tolled the approach of the herd. There was cheering, which the cows accepted as their due as they made their way to various enclosures. And then the crowd dispersed to go about their mornings, cheerful and chattering amongst themselves. We stamped our frozen feet on the muddy ground and suffered a definite sense of "Is that it?"
Our hostess asked, "Does anybody feel like hot chocolate? We could go to the gasthaus," and she gestured to the ironically and aggressively Bavarian half-timbered inn a ways up the slope. It looked like there was heating inside there, and that sounded like heaven.
We settled around a table in front of a roaring wood fireplace, the room full of breakfasting tourists and village celebrants, and ordered hot chocolate. It was brought in a tall silver pot, with a long silver spoon for stirring. The top quarter of the pot was piled whipped cream, and there was a bowl of whipped cream in addition. The first sip was a surprise, since neither the chocolate nor the whipped cream was sweetened, but as we sipped a welcome warmth spread, and our smiles broadened. The milk itself was rich and the chocolate was decadent, the whipped cream just adding more welcome richness. I'm sure our cholesterol levels rocketed that day, but none of us cared. As we poured happiness from a steaming silver pot, we were warm and blissful, and somehow thrilled that we, as few ever have been, were there when the cows came home.
OH was stationed in Germany at the time, and was out with his unit on maneuvers. Two other wives and I drove up to Berchtesgaden to visit with yet another wife whose husband was also away, and one ridiculously early dark o'clock, we drove out to the village huddled on the shore of Konigsee to watch the cows come home. The cows are pastured up on the mountainsides through the summer, but in the fall, they're brought down to winter in barns and paddocks in the village. It's an annual observance and celebration of the turning of the seasons, and the cows are decked out to participate in the celebration. All the cows wear flower crowns in their horns, and the first cow (you do know there's descending order among a herd, yes?) wears a broad collar, embroidered all over in flowers and scrolly designs, and a huge bell hangs from her collar. Each cow after her wears a collar less ornate and fancy and a smaller bell than the one before, but even the last one in the procession has her collar and bell.
We waited along the village street for more than an hour. The sun wasn't actually risen above the mountains ringing the lake when the bells tolled the approach of the herd. There was cheering, which the cows accepted as their due as they made their way to various enclosures. And then the crowd dispersed to go about their mornings, cheerful and chattering amongst themselves. We stamped our frozen feet on the muddy ground and suffered a definite sense of "Is that it?"
Our hostess asked, "Does anybody feel like hot chocolate? We could go to the gasthaus," and she gestured to the ironically and aggressively Bavarian half-timbered inn a ways up the slope. It looked like there was heating inside there, and that sounded like heaven.
We settled around a table in front of a roaring wood fireplace, the room full of breakfasting tourists and village celebrants, and ordered hot chocolate. It was brought in a tall silver pot, with a long silver spoon for stirring. The top quarter of the pot was piled whipped cream, and there was a bowl of whipped cream in addition. The first sip was a surprise, since neither the chocolate nor the whipped cream was sweetened, but as we sipped a welcome warmth spread, and our smiles broadened. The milk itself was rich and the chocolate was decadent, the whipped cream just adding more welcome richness. I'm sure our cholesterol levels rocketed that day, but none of us cared. As we poured happiness from a steaming silver pot, we were warm and blissful, and somehow thrilled that we, as few ever have been, were there when the cows came home.
I *said* I had a shelf fetish!
Sep. 21st, 2017 05:06 pmI've been coveting these:
Here's the two likely places I have to put similar shelves.
and...
The ultimate plan is to replace the defunct and never-used dishwasher with a useful rolling cart with a butcher block top. The soffit is hollow, and I'd really like to replace all the upper doors with doors that go to the ceiling. Failing that, beadboard backsplash and soffit, paint all the cabinets white, replace the hardware and relocate it from center doors to the corners of the doors. I can live with sheet vinyl flooring and yellow formica countertops...for a while.
So, where do *you* think the floating shelves should go? Over the desk? Or over the bar? Both? Neither?
Here's the two likely places I have to put similar shelves.and...The ultimate plan is to replace the defunct and never-used dishwasher with a useful rolling cart with a butcher block top. The soffit is hollow, and I'd really like to replace all the upper doors with doors that go to the ceiling. Failing that, beadboard backsplash and soffit, paint all the cabinets white, replace the hardware and relocate it from center doors to the corners of the doors. I can live with sheet vinyl flooring and yellow formica countertops...for a while.
So, where do *you* think the floating shelves should go? Over the desk? Or over the bar? Both? Neither?
I got wood...
Sep. 11th, 2017 03:10 pmI pulled out a pair of wooden candlesticks from the cabinet this morning, and wound up cleaning and oiling all my stained wood pieces. A big dough bowl, a square salad bowl, an amazingly shaped and grained salad bowl with two serving size bowls to match, a huge and gorgeous carved acacia wood bowl that's just damned art, two pairs of wooden candlesticks (there are more. I stopped myself from doing all of them), two small staved teak bowls, two staved paddle handled breadboards, an oak paddle handled breadboard, the Dansk carving board, a woven splint bowl from the 70s, a wooden brandy snifter-shaped ...I have no idea what the purpose is, but it's pretty, and two small sandwich boards. Oh, and my laminated teak tray.
The thing with oiling wood is that dry wood swells when it gets wet. Part of oiling it is to seal the pores so water doesn't get in and make the wood swell and crack. But if the wood's dry and you use too much oil, it still swells and can crack. The trick is to slather the oil on, wipe it down a *little* bit, so it's not dripping, and let it set for about an hour. Then go back and wipe it down again, removing the excess oil, leaving just a thin sheen of oil. Then depending how dry it was, after another hour or two, or the next day, polish it dry, and it should be fine for several months. All my pieces look so gorgeous now!
I still have to do my unstained raw cutting boards. I use mineral oil on everything. I made the mistake of using vegetable oil, and my raw wood mortar and pestle is still dark and ooky looking. I sanded it for *years* to finally get down to where the wood wasn't gummy and tacky from the veg oil. So, mineral oil only.
For cutting boards I have used bleach, sparingly, and I've sanded out dimples from the meat hammer--which I no longer use. The dimples look cool, though. "Mess with me and I'll do the same to you! Ha!"--and water rings. But what I do now is sprinkle coarse sea salt on the surface and scrub with a cut half of a lemon. It bleaches and disinfects, and is totally food safe. Once it's clean, you rinse it and pat it dry, then let it set for at least an hour to evaporate any water, and then rub it down with mineral oil. I like to use my fingers--the oil seems to penetrate the pores of the wood better from the warmth and texture of my fingertips (or palm, depending on the size of the board) than with a paper towel or other applicator. Anyway, I do both surfaces and the edges and then leave the board either leaning against the backsplash or upright in a dish drainer for an hour or two, then go back and wipe off any excess, and if the piece is small enough to fit in the sink, a quick dose of dish soap and water, rinse well, pat dry, let air dry so all surfaces have air, and you're good to go.
Ironically? OH does 99% of the cooking, and he uses plastic cutting boards. I insist on having my wooden ones (that I used when *I* ruled the kitchen) out where I can see them. I think they're pretty.
I...may have a thing for wood. Oh, get your mind out of the gutter. Well, yeah, that kind of wood, too.
