Beware The Full Moon!

My first moon shot.
Originally uploaded by emma lagunday

I had just finished reading an article about tonight's full moon, having noticed earlier, just as it was getting dark, that the moon looked particularly beautiful. I was interested to read that this full moon is larger than others this year will be. Something about it being at its perigee. Technical stuff. I have always thought that, when I'm feeling down, and oppressed by Life's Little Calamities, of which there have been many lately, it is helpful to go outside, in the dark, and look up at the moon and the stars. Kind of puts things in perspective.

And then my cell phone rang. I galloped through the house, trying to remember where I'd left it. In my purse, in the bedroom. It was about 8:55 p.m.

"Hello?" Breathless.

"Hey! I'm on the shuttle! Should be out in about ten minutes. Are you in the cellphone parking lot?"

"Shuttle? What shuttle?" Stupefied.

"In Tampa. At the airport!"

"But you can't be! I checked on-line and it said the flight was delayed! That you'd be arriving at 10 p.m.instead of 8:50!"

"Where are you?" Ominous.

"I'm at home...."

He didn't [couldn't] say anything. He didn't need to. I could hear the blood vessels popping over the phone.

"I'm out the door now!" Grabbing bag and keys.

Ten minutes pass. I've just turned onto the parkway. Cell phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Don't speed! Call me when you get here." He seems to have taken some deep breaths since our last little chat. He doesn't sound quite so apoplectic.

The silvery disc of the moon is riding high, illuminating the way. I'm at the airport in under an hour. I call as instructed. No answer.

I pull into the curb behind several other cars outside Southwest. Crane my neck to see if he's sitting somewhere, waiting. Nada. Call again. Still no answer!

Where could he be? Maybe he's waiting further up. Pull out from curb, pass entry to Southwest, pull back into curb. Crane neck some more. Nothing.

Call again. No answer. Phone is down to one bar. Oh! Won't that be swell if my phone dies!

But,hark! It's ringing!

"Hello?"

Annoyed, irate, very cranky voice wants to know where I am.

I tell annoyed, irate, very cranky voice that I am outside Southwest arrivals, where I've been for the last ten minutes, repeatedly calling a person who now has an annoyed, irate, very cranky voice, but somehow could not then answer any of my four calls!

It was a very
silent ride home. By the light of the silvery moon.
Maybe next trip he'll take the trouble to write down his flight number.....for the staff.....who are quite feeble minded.

Reading Assignment

Okay boys and girls, I'll make this brief.

I can't stay today, but I have a reading assignment for you.

Toddle on over to Silfert. I'll be checking to make sure you completed the assignment. The sky fell in on me earlier this week [temporarily] and I've been feeling kind of glum, but after reading "Dogfights and Swordplay," I have a stitch in my side from laughing and the gloom has lifted.

This will get you out of the rut you might be in if you haven't ventured out of your comfort zone [reading the same old blogs]lately. Leave her a comment. No, I'm not her agent. I'm doing this as a public service.....

Don't let me down....

I'll be snooping and taking names!

"A Room Of My Own"

It's Monday morning, the sun is shining, and for now, all's right with the world. The OC is off in parts northern for the week, the Bean is back on campus, so it's just me and the cat. Purrr!

The Writers' Almanac [thank you again Thimbleanna!] this morning, mentioned that it was the birthday of Robbie Burns. I won't be having haggis for dinner, nor washing whatever I do have down with whiskey, but "My luve's like a red, red rose," will be with me all day!

It's also the birthday of Virginia Woolf who wrote, among other things, "A Room Of My Own." I haven't read it but, according to Mr. Keillor, it's an essay on women and literature. Mental note: look for it at the library. And one thought led to another, as tends to happen, and I realized I have a room of my own. Which makes me very happy. So you'd think I'd keep it in better nick!





But project piles on project, and variety being the spice of life, they're all out at the same time, so I can flit, at will, from one to another. Call me Mme.Butterfly.

It is disgraceful, and I am ashamed to be such a slob. And still a little voice in the back of my brain defends me, whispering fiercely

"But, but, butbutbut! From chaos comes creativity!"





"Yeah, right!" the prosecuting attorney says with curled lip.
"No sob stories please! What is required here is Action! Toss and fling! Like together. Organize by colour. All needles in one place, please, not here and there and everywhere. And thread? Here's a radical concept---keep all those spools on the thread organizer! Get those Christmas boxes off the floor. No stammering about being ready, early, for next Christmas. Get them gone! And those sz. 4 jeans? Left, so hopefully, by California Girl who thinks I'm some kind of magician? Let her put on a little weight to fill them out! Chop Chop!"

"Yes sir!" whimpers the defense, "but can I at least finish stitching the binding on this before I start?"





The prosecution glares, then softens.

"Oh my!" In reverent tones.

"You're actually about to finish something you only started last week?"

The defense blushes.

"Yes, this is the New Me. The 2010 model!" Demurely.

Finish what I start.

Organize the Room Of My Own.

What a radical concept.

The prosecution rests.

And I will not fall back on Mr. Burns immortal words about the best laid schemes o' mice an' men ganging aft agley! I will not consider that an option at all at all!

OC vs. Mattress Update

It's really just as well we can't see into the future. Dealing with the present is enough of a challenge! Today was the sixth day the OC woke up alive! He says it just wasn't his time to go. I say Someone Up There was looking out for him. He is a very capable driver. He also has lightning reflexes. He is strong enough, and was mad enough that night, to wrestle the Explorer off the road and away from oncoming traffic. I shudder to think what the outcome would have been had I been behind the wheel!

Whoever says you can't really know who you're dealing with on the internet doesn't know the compassionate, caring people who read this blog. I feel that you are all real friends, and I'm sure reading your comments [because he does lurk!] had a part in breaking down his cussed stubbornness! Binding, gagging, dragging or butt kicking wouldn't work to get him to the doc. After an injury a few years ago, he was helped enormously by his chiropractor. Guess who he went to see this afternoon? Of his own free will? He'll be going twice a week for the next few months. Meanwhile, he has put in a full work week at his desk, has talked to the insurance people by phone, has organized a replacement car, which is already sitting in our garage, and has managed to keep news of our little disaster from the ears of his father! Definite Superman leanings!

Thank you all for your concern, and for caring.


Note: As the Bean's GF was driving home from school a few days ago she saw another mattress, on another busy road. It was on the median, but sticking out enough onto the road to be a hazard. Are we being invaded by mattress toting aliens?

A few weeks ago, I was driving home by a back road. I'd been to the fabric/craft store and bought a ball of yarn. One ball of yarn. On sale. But, it may turn out to be a very expensive ball of yarn.....I was on a straight, lonely stretch of road, and, too late, spotted the cop car, lying in wait for me in the ditch. She executed a smart u-turn and put on all her fancy flashing lights and chased me down. So I was going a few miles over the speed limit. There wasn't another soul or vehicle in sight. A little bit disgruntled, I told her I found it remarkable that she was concentrating her law enforcement expertise on this little back road, and wondered aloud why more effort wasn't put into catching the rascals out on 19 who bowl along at 80; blythely whizz through red lights; dodge in and out of lanes with alarming speed and disregard for safety, their own or mine....She pursed her lips and drew herself up to the full stretch of her five feet and two inches, and told me that this wasn't such a deserted stretch of road as I might think. People walked their dogs out here. There were no people in sight; no other vehicles in sight; and nary a hound to be seen.

In light of Recent Events, I'm wondering if I could make a deal with the Law. I'll pay my fine if and when they find and ticket the mysterious mattress moron! Sounds fair to me. What do you think?

"Once Upon A Mattress"

At least he didn't wake up dead!

But, I'm getting ahead of myself.....

Saturday was a dreary, gray day. Very un-Florida like, but we did get stuff done. And, in my usual enthusiasm for new beginnings, the New Year has me determined to get the house ship shape this year......There are those who would yawn, and wink knowingly at that. Yeah, yeah. Unbelievers all.

It was a dark and rainy night. Not good weather for our usual walk, so the OC let me off the hook and went alone to visit his father. About the time he should have been getting home, the phone rang. I'd been indulging in a mad moment or two, dancing around the newly spruced up living room to the strains of Chocolat. I picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"M! Come out to 19 as fast as you can! My car's on fire!"

"What?" My brain reeled. But the word "Fire" registered. He obviously wasn't in a mood to furnish details, so I yelled for the Bean, who was buried back in his room, fortunately home for the weekend. We hurried off in his car, neither of us knowing what we would find, knowing only that it was urgent.

As soon as we turned onto the main highway we saw the flashing lights ---red and blue and yellow, flashing, dazzling, hard to miss. The Bean kept his cool while I was losing mine. He made a u-turn and we pulled up on the same side of the highway as all the commotion. Aghast, we realized the vehicle in the ditch, with fire hoses trained on it, was the OC's Explorer. One of the firemen told us he was OK, that we'd find him in the fire rescue truck.

The fire rescue guy was filling out a form, getting details of what had happened from the OC, who was, to my practiced eye, as mad as a wet hen. He has a very low tolerance for foolishness, stupidity, carelessness, both from himself and others. But he was co-operating, answering all their questions, and, amazing as it seemed,
he appeared to be unhurt.

He had been driving along in the dark and the rain. Less than a mile from the turn to our house, he moved into the right lane to be ready to turn. And suddenly, at fifty five miles an hour, there was a rolled up mattress in the middle of the road. He tried to avoid it, but it was too late. He hit it and it sent the car spinning towards the median. He didn't want to risk crossing the median and colliding with southbound traffic, so he struggled to move to the right, but had no traction on the wet road as he careened onto the shoulder. The tires dug into the soft sand but the momentum had to go somewhere and he ended up rattling around as the vehicle rolled not once, but twice. Then the fire started under the hood; and people started yelling at him to get out; told him they had called 911. He waved them away [typical!]. That's when he called home. The people who'd tried to get him out backed away as the fire got bigger; the driver's side door was jammed; but, deciding that the better part of valor might, indeed, be to get the hell out, our hero got it open with a mighty kick.

We spent several hours out there in the rain and the dark. He couldn't leave the scene of the accident until the sheriff arrived and made his report, which, when he finally arrived, he did very slowly. The OC declined to have them take him to the emergency room, claiming that he was "fine." My plan was that we'd go home, shower, get some dry clothes and then go to the ER.

But. He wouldn't go. Stubborn. As. A. Mule. I told him if he woke up dead in the morning, he needn't come crying to me.

Yesterday he worked all day. Because if he took some time off to lick his wounds, the company might just grind to a halt. And we couldn't have that. No siree.
But today two friends of mine came by and gave him a tongue lashing. And his co-workers up north told him to get himself to a doctor, and a nurse friend yelled at him to go to the ER and tell them she said he needed a CAT scan. Just to make sure he doesn't wake up dead.

So now, he still wont go to the ER because he thinks the whole ER scene is a circus. But maybe, maybe he'll go to the doctor. I'll keep you posted. Meanwhile, he's reliving it over and over in his head. Trying to analyse what he could have done differently. And if he could find the person who carelessly allowed a mattress to fall out of the back of his pick-up, heads would roll!

He grazed his head, the same one that, not long ago, had to be stitched up after a tumble from his bicycle. He has several mysterious bruises. His back doesn't feel great, so he will be going to see his chiropractor. And the whole experience has not improved his disposition, which wasn't exactly sunny to start with.

But you really can't blame a guy for feeling like Superman when he can walk away from something that looks like this. [Pictures taken in the cold light of next morning.]

Ouch!



And Ouch!



And more ouch!

Let It Glow, Let It Glow, Eventually It's Got To Go!

We never put our Christmas tree up until the week before Christmas, so, obviously, we do not haul it to the curb on St.Stephen's day. I'm always appalled when I see bare naked Christmas trees, lying dejectedly at the curb, the day after Christmas, shorn of shimmering lights and festive decorations. What's wrong with these people? Don't they know that the best week of the Christmas Season is the week that starts on Christmas Day? The pressure is off, the mad rush is over. Time to relax and enjoy family and friends, lazy mealtimes and yummy leftovers. Time to turn off the TV, get out the board games and the jigsaw puzzles, curl up with a good book, or just sit in the glow from the tree lights sipping a nice glass of wine.....

My rationale for leaving the tree up longer than most is that, when I was a child, we left the tree up until the Epiphany. Couldn't be taking it down before the Three Wise men arrived from The East, bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh......The Epiphany was how many days ago? Those Wise Men have come and gone, delivered their gifts and followed their star back home through the desert. By now the Infant they came to see is probably starting to crawl.....So, yes! The tree had to go. That was my big accomplishment yesterday.

We also had some gingerbread real estate on the market,




but, since Christmas, the demand seems to have dried up, in spite of some additional enticements such as this sporty car in the gingerbread driveway...





and this pond in the gingerbread garden, fully stocked with gold fish...




No takers though, so out they went.

The OC, coming off the week from hell at work, also had a busy Saturday. While I was dismantling the tree, he was supervising the installation of a new air conditioning unit. We were both mightily pleased with ourselves and looking forward to a quiet, relaxing evening. But fate had other plans.....

Which is a tale for another day.

Meanwhile, I'm missing the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights...

A Sunday In Two Acts

When I got up yesterday, the last thing I expected to do before nightfall was attend a wedding.

A friend picked me up around noon. I had agreed to go with her to a pre-dress rehearsal of a dance/opera in which she has a small part. For moral support. Because she's nuts and couldn't believe she'd let herself be talked into it! The choreographer of the show had seen my friend teaching her Tai Chi class; one thing led to another, and before her head stopped spinning she had agreed to do some Tai Chi in the show.

I spent an interesting few hours watching how such a show goes together. The producer was a wild looking young man named Constantine who had a comically hard time pronouncing the letter "R." In what I took to be an effort to tame his wild appearance, he was formally dressed. Anything beyond shorts and a t-shirt qualifies as formal in these parts! So, slacks, an open neck shirt and a sports jacket? Definitely formal! Which was just as well, as, if he'd worn shorts and a t-shirt he might not have managed to look a day over fifteen! He had an overall gingery appearance, pale with a shock of wiry, sandy hair, eyelashes to match, and large, wobbly glasses. I wondered what kind of a figure he'd cut in high school....He was all over the place, waving his arms, playing the piano [excellently], stopping to redo some parts, tweak others, to praise, to cajole, and to scold, like an old time schoolmaster, when his charges got too talkative.

The cast was a mixture of older and younger singers, male and female. Gorgeous young women with glossy hair, presence, and massive lungs, part of the equipment necessary to sing as beautifully as they did, undoubtedly. Just as well I never pursued a career in opera then, as I am woefully under-equipped. Lovely young people, all on the threshold of their lives. Definitely made me feel my age! Was it really a lifetime ago that I was like them? Or was I ever like them? Was I always on the edges, admiring? As I am now....

I watched the dancification of tai chi, as my friend went through her portion of the performance, decked out, to her mortification, in a diaphanous, floaty wisp of a costume, with young dancers, all of generous proportions and more massive lungs, twirling and floating about her.

And then, at last, the rehearsal was over. We were starved. The choreographer directed us to a local eatery, The Lime And Coconut, which turned out to be a Florida kitsch, hole-in-the-wall place we never would have happened on without directions. All very plain and infinitely hokey. We ordered, and ate, and our conversation found its way to how we'd both met our husbands, to our wedding days and our take on them now, from the enormous distance of thirty plus years.... Then there was a bit of a stir and we gathered, by listening, that a young couple, who had been sitting at the bar, were going to be married, right there, right then, by a justice of the peace!

The justice of the peace arrived and the young couple came and sat with her at the table next to ours. A call went out for someone with a camera, and since I had mine I got up, ready to play official wedding photographer.





It was short and sweet. The bride, a lovely girl, and her young man seemed very much in love, and happy and calm about the enormous step they were about to take.

I couldn't help wondering what had brought them to this place, on the third day of the year, to get married without parents, siblings and childhood friends in attendance. Just a raggle taggle group of people who happened by the Lime and Coconut. The buzz around the tiny restaurant was that they'd been intending to have the justice marry then down by the water's edge, but since the weather yesterday was close to freezing, they were persuaded to bring it inside where they'd at least be warm. How sad will that girl's mother be when she hears her beautiful daughter got married in a hokey little eatery by the Gulf of Mexico with so little ceremony? No beautiful gown, no flowers, no music, no bridesmaids, no candles? Was it that her parents didn't approve of her young man? Or were they planning a normal wedding but got so tired of the emphasis being on the wrong things that they threw up their hands and ran off together?

The core of the five minute ceremony was the same as any fancy, extensively planned, out-of-the-ball-park expensive wedding.

"Do you, Brittany, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Brittany replied "I do!"

"And do you, Andrew, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
Andrew looked into her shining eyes and responded "I do!"

They each placed a ring on the other's finger and that was it. The deed was done.

"You may kiss the bride!"





Will she later regret not having had her Dad walk her down the aisle to give her away?

Friend and I had just been discussing how little we remembered of our wedding days. Too much excitement, too much pomp and circumstance, too little opportunity to quietly reflect on the enormity of the step we were taking.....Or maybe that's the plan? To keep you from thinking about what you are about to do..... In case such thoughts might lead you to run, screaming, from the church, and not stop until you reach a little fishing village by the Gulf of Mexico, on a cold day in January, where you can gather your thoughts over a glass of beer, find a justice of the peace, and quietly, without a lot of distracting hoop-la, promise to spend the rest of your life with this person you love, and step bravely, hand in hand, into the unknown.

Brittany and Andrew have been on my mind. I think they haunted my dreams last night. I hope they'll be happy together, that life will be gentle with them. And that, thirty years from now, Brittany will look back on her wedding day with no regrets. I feel like I've stolen something that rightfully belongs to a woman I've never met: the sight of her precious daughter's happiness on her wedding day. If the tables were turned I'd be bereft. I'm glad I was there.





Congratulations and Best of Luck, Brittany and Andrew!

Hey There, Auld Aquaintances! Remember Me?

I'm not sure I can remember how to do this, but it's quiet here, eerily quiet, I have the house to myself, no more excuses. But since I am guilty of blogger friend neglect, can I buy forgiveness by showing you pictures of my excuses?

Here's excuse #1..........





Here's the Bean getting acquainted with # 1.....





Here's excuse #1 with excuses 2 and 3.......





Here are excuses 4,5 and 6.........





Here's The Bean clowning with Lily and excuses 2 and 3......





Here's Excuse #6 with excuse #7...........





Here's the OC with the UK trio, excuses 1, 7 and 5.......





And here's me with excuses #1 and #7.....






Am I forgiven? It was a busy, happy month, which would have been perfect if oldest son and his two excuses could have joined us....But let me be grateful for what we did have. I hope all of you, my bloggy friends, had a happy, peaceful time at Christmas, and that you will all prosper in this new year.

Brooding In The Moonlight

Bet you didn't think you'd find me here tonight! I felt like my baby died! So I guess I'll be easing off gradually, instead of cold turkey......

We've been going to the track to walk most evenings, but the OC was tired tonight, long day on the phone, so I sallied forth into the moonlight alone, just around the neighbourhood. The pine trees stood dark against the pearly, moonlit sky; the air was still; but, when I reached the lake behind us, the silence bristled with insect song and the croaking of frogs. As I walked towards the water, the boardwalk glowed silver from the light of the moon. Some ducks out in the reeds were having a family meeting. I could hear the muted quacks from where I stood, leaning against the railing. Thinking. Wishing I were a frog, or an insect, or a duck. Because all of the above have built in systems for communicating, which seem to work much more efficiently than human efforts to do so.....

Done With The Daftness!

When Rise coaxed me into joining her in the daft madness of promising to post every day for thirty days I was dubious. I fell by the wayside last time I tried; rebelled against the "must" of it all, dug in my heels and quit. Around here there's shame in quitting, but I stubbornly believe that, sometimes, it's the only sane thing to do. Or maybe the only sanity-saving thing to do. There's vanity involved you see. Can't have people reading drivel and knowing it was written by me! I scraped through this time, and there was drivel involved, vanity notwithstanding. I couldn't let her down a second time!

I think the idea behind Nablopomo is to discipline yourself to write every day, which is commonplace writing advice. If you only write when you have a brilliant idea you'll be writing very little. The hope might also be that all that discipline and daily writing will make you a better writer. Hmmmmm! I'm not seeing the improvement. Maybe we need to stay at it for another month Rise? No! No! I'm joking!

I have loved hearing from the Blister every day. I'll miss that. I hope that she'll continue with at least a post per week, which is about my own blogging comfort level. Thank all of you loyal supporters who encouraged me with comments, even when you had to get really creative to do so!

And now to the "leaba" --- sounds like "labba" --- Irish for bed, though Rise would have you think it was "scratcher!" I might even dream a little---but not about anything so daft as a post every day!

Fairies and Little Folk

I was blog hopping earlier today and came across this Fairy Name Generator at the bottom of a tangled garden in Smitonius and Sonata's neighbourhood. If you play along you can discover what kind of fairy you are. At this stage [one more day of Nablopomo--yeah!]I'm scraping the very bottom of the barrel. And we are big believers in the Little People where I come from anyway.........


"Your fairy is called Columbine Rainbowfilter
She is a fortune bringer.
She lives in mushroom fields and quiet meadows.
She is only seen on midsummer's eve.
She wears lilac and purple like columbine flowers. She has multicoloured wings like a butterfly."

I was a tomboy as a child, so never felt at all fairy-like! But since growing up I have embraced my inner fairy! I love rainbows and columbine flowers and the colours lilac and purple. And, as a fairy, I would feel very much at home in mushroom fields and quiet meadows. The wings might take a little getting used to.......

This all put me in mind of "Little Folk." My daft Auntie Bid worked for a while as a nurse/companion to an elderly English lady. This lady gave her a thick hardcover book one time, to give to me, her niece. I was about ten or twelve I think, and I absolutely loved that book! It wasn't really a book, but rather a collection of a year's worth of the "Little Folk" magazine, carefully bound together by someone who had loved the magazine as much as I now did. There were stories, and poems, and lovely old-fashioned illustrations and line drawings. It was challenging to read the serialized stories, as the magazines had not been bound together in logical order. But the hunt for the next installment was part of the fun for me.

Then our annual school bazaar day approached, where the nuns tried to raise money for the missions. We were all expected to bring in donations of things to be sold. I didn't have a lot of "stuff." A few dolls, my ancient teddy bear, some books, and the Little Folk treasury. I must have had a weak moment, or been really desperate for something to contribute, but I gave it to the nuns for the bazaar! Someone that day found a treasure for a few pennies, and I mourned my loss and my stupidity for years!

But it occurred to me today that it is possible that someone reading this might be familiar with that long ago magazine. If you are, this rainbowfilter fairy would love to hear about it!

Patty Cake, Patty Cake, Baker's Man...........

Some time ago,I read about an easy cake recipe on someone's blog. All you had to do, she said, was mix a chocolate cake mix with a sixteen ounce can of pumpkin. Pumpkin is an acquired taste, in my opinion. One that I never acquired. Give me pecan or give me death! Nevertheless, I made a mental note to try it....sometime....then promptly forgot about it.

Since the GOCSD [Great OC Slim Down] began earlier this week, I'm not trying to make cake or brownies or anything that will make him veer off course. But tonight I had to make an exception.

Tonight the Bean's GF was coming over. She turned twenty one today. He had planned a fancy dinner for her, but cake had not entered his head. To me, cake and birthdays go hand in hand, so, with the sand in the hourglass relentlessly falling, grain by grain, I cast about for a cake to make that would be both fast and wonderful. And then I remembered the magic pumpkin cake. No eggs, no oil, no butter; nothing but a chocolate cake mix and a can of pumpkin. The blogger who wrote about it claimed it was so good she could have eaten the whole thing.....Hmmmmm....we would see!

It felt pretty chalky mixing it together, but eventually all the dry mix was moistened by the pumpkin. It didn't seem right to put no eggs in, but no eggs were called for so I put no eggs in. Into the pan it went and then to the oven.

Half an hour later we had a cake for the birthday girl, which was the object of the exercise. It looked like a cake. It tasted chocolatey. It was edible. Mercifully, you could not taste the pumpkin. Served with a large helping of vanilla ice cream, and blackberry sauce, it filled the bill..... But I wouldn't be tempted to eat the whole thing. There'll be no encores. It was an interesting experiment.......but, next time I'll stick to the tried and trues!

Great Book For A Lazy Day

There are a few days in the year when I do not cook. The day after Thanksgiving is one of them, so it's a good thing there were leftovers today, or people might have starved.

Lily gave me a book to bring home, "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo," by Stieg Larsson. As soon as the coffee was made this morning, I betook myself to the couch and settled in for the day. It's the kind of book you can lose yourself in. The weather co-operated, cold and colder, with a need for sweaters and scarves, slippers and blankets, and a good supply of hot tea piped to the couch at regular, hourly intervals. We don't get too much of that kind of prime curling-up-on-the-couch-with-a-great-book kind of weather, so we have to make the best of it when we do! There was the minor annoyance of trips to the loo, but other than that, I spent the day luxuriously immersed in my book. The menfolk even had the good grace to take themselves off to the golf course!

I can't tell you what happens since I'm only two thirds through, but I can tell you it's a riveting read. I'm between a rock and a hard place: I want to know how it ends, but I don't want it to end! But at least, when I do come to the end, I have the comfort of knowing there are two more books by Larsson out there. If you have room on your To Be Read List, add this! But first, make sure there are lots of leftovers at hand, so you won't have to be wrenched away for something so mundane as cooking, and feeding the natives, just when it's getting really good!

Pumpkin Pie With a Dollop of Doggerel

Rise wrote some clever verse tonight, so, not to be outdone [though if you keep reading you will see that I was outdone!] I had to give it a try. Nothing more scintillating was rattling around in my turkey dulled brain..............


My hair is wild,
My eyes are bleary,
Don't know when I've been so weary
Thirty days of endless toil,
Digging deep in desert soil
Connecting to my inner child.

No sterling insights here you'll find;
The child's rebelling,
Tantrums swelling,
Brain is rusty,
Temper's crusty
Fed up with the daily grind.

Longing for the way things were:
A blog a week
With time to tweak,
No pressure put on
To push the button
'Til the goods were there.

You get the idea. No need to torture you further! J.Cosmo Newbery and Riseoutofme have nothing to fear. But after reading Rise's post tonight I had to try. Apologies. I had no idea it would be so dire!

Merriam-Webster's word of the day today was " Scrumptious!" Very appropriate, as everything was indeed "delightful, excellent, and especially delicious!" Hope it was likewise for all of you here in the U.S.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Here's the finished mystery knitting from earlier in the week! Are you kicking yourself? It wasn't so difficult to see, now was it? And that piece of furniture? You keep it by the chair where you knit and keep your yarn in the bowl part, which being rounded and smooth, allows the yarn to unwind easily as needed. So there !



All across this vast country tonight people are preparing turkeys for their Thanksgiving feast. Ours is in a bucket of apple brine in the garage. An OC discovery that roasts outside on the barbeque grill, it is the most delicious way ever to cook a turkey! An added plus, since it cooks outside, is that it frees the oven for sweet potatoes, green bean casseroles, corn bread, pies and stuffing.

Pumpkin and pecan pies are cooling on the counter; cole slaw is all shredded and mixed and chilling in the fridge; the Bean is planning to make homemade cranberry sauce in the morning. Chicken liver stuffing, a la mother-in-law [whom we'll be missing], remains to be made, along with gravy and rolls.

But what about my pilgrims? Scattered to the four corners. Thanksgiving always stirs mixed feelings in me. It's a lovely idea and television always rubs it in, showing multi generational families gathering 'round a groaning table. But the airlines are working to make sure that this is a pipe dream for many. Thanksgiving is the most expensive time of year to fly. We will make phone calls tomorrow and content ourselves with hearing their voices......Then we will sit at our not so crowded table and be grateful for our many blessings; for health and home and employment; for education and transportation; for music and books and fabric and yarn and friends; for freedom to say and think and feel without fear; and most of all for the blessings of each other, those present and those not. And I will say my own silent, fervent prayer that those who cannot be here will be safe and loved and among friends, and know that I miss them sorely and will always love them.

Under Suspicion.....

When my green card expired at the end of the summer I muddled around for a bit. Got taken to the cleaners by one official-sounding site, after which, greatly chastened, I found the official site of the U.S.Citizenship and Immigration Services and duly submitted my application, along with the hefty fee.

Several weeks passed. Then, one day in the mail, instructions arrived for the next step in the process. I was to proceed, on a certain day, to the Immigration offices, one and a half hours south of where I live. On the appointed day, I drove there, mapquest printout clutched in my sweaty palm, making sure to arrive in plenty of time for my appointment, so as to avoid the dire consequences of "failing to appear."

I was docile and obedient and filled out their silly forms with information I had given them a hundred times before; sat, without causing a disturbance, until my name was called; allowed the fingerprinting technician to repeatedly roll my fingers back and forth on his state-of-the-art equipment; looked straight ahead, as instructed, while my picture was taken. I was very well behaved. Nobody observing me would have attributed to me any criminal tendencies.

Less than a week later, the Immigration Service informed me by mail that the FBI was unable to process my fingerprints. Oh joy.

"It will be necessary," they said, "to have your fingerprints retaken."

They assured me that this would be accomplished at no additional expense to me. Except of course my time, and the considerable distance to be traveled, since fingerprints taken at the local police station would not be acceptable. [Though why the hell not is beyond my feeble ability to understand!] Still, considering the consequences that would ensue should I fail to appear--"Your application will be considered abandoned and denied," I thought it best to show up.

One month after the first appointment, I motored again to the Immigration offices and had my fingerprints retaken. Chatting to the technician and joking about how we might be having a date every month, since I didn't anticipate that my fingerprints would look any different this month than they had last, he told me that it is not uncommon for the fingerprints to be unreadable. Criminals sometimes sandpaper their fingers to render the prints unidentifiable!

I have lived here for thirty nine years and have always watched my Ps and Qs. And now, in the twilight of my unremarkable existence, I am under suspicion, because my fingerprints are not acceptable to the US Government?

And the retaken prints? Also unreadable. No rocket scientist had to put in overtime to predict that!

Yesterday's mail brought more communication from the US Citizenship and Immigration Services [working hand in hand with Homeland Security, the same people who require us to remove our shoes before being allowed to board a plane to anywhere!]

I am now instructed to submit, in lieu of my unclassifiable fingerprints, "law enforcement clearance letters from every place you have lived during the last ten years........for the purpose of conducting a criminal background check."

Wait! There's more! I must accomplish this within 87 days. ??!!%&#! Or they will

1)send me back to Ireland in disgrace for having such criminal-looking fingerprints?

2)Arrest me and lock me up with the rest of society's misbehavers?

I know these are tough economic times. I know the government wants to provide employment. But they surely don't have to get idiotic about it. I am insulted! It's enough to make me turn to a life of crime.

The Great OC Slimdown Begins

Long ago, when we were barely twenty, the OC and I had summer jobs at Kennedy Airport. I had become friendly with his sister, and, irony of ironies, was introduced to the OC by their father, who, when we wanted to get married a few years later, raised the loudest howls of protest. The OC had just returned from a stint at ROTC summer camp in Alabama. On our first date we went to the beach. He was lean and muscular from all the physical training he'd been through at camp, tanned by the Alabama sun, and very handsome because he was born that way. That was thirty nine years ago.

Now he is no longer lean. His waistline has thickened considerably in the last five years. He used to run marathons; he still rides a bike, once in a while, but not often enough; he lifts weights occasionally; he plays golf most weekends. But none of this budges the thickness from his middle.

So, whisper, whisper, Rise and I plotted how we could intervene to halt the spread of the spread. Rise is the family fitness guru. Lean as a racehorse, she teaches fitness and swimming to persons of all ages, genders and girths. She herself runs regularly, hikes and bikes, and trots daily, back and forth to the palace. She declared that, for the OC to be restored to the physical splendor of his youth, he should walk. Fast. Every day.

The OC was not impressed. Walking was for sissies; for old ladies; for children and wives; too tame an activity for a manly man. Besides, wouldn't it be much more fun if a new machine were required, something expensive, and intimidating, some kind of treadmill perhaps?

But why, the voice of reason asked, spend a lot of money on something that would take up lots of space, require regular cleaning and maintenance, [not to mention causing brain cells to die from the boredom of trudging along in the same place, never getting anywhere,] when you could operate your own machinery, shank's mare, and achieve the same, or better, results, for free?

We were dismissively pooh-poohed.

And then we went to visit Lily. Lily, who remembers forced family fun outings from her youth. When Pater Familias would drag us all, the willing and the unwilling, to the track, or the soccer fields, or on a long bike ride. Every weekend it was something. She added her voice to the clamor for walking. He tried to pooh-pooh her, but she wasn't having any of it. She took him on a forced march one evening, just the two of them. And, despite our superior wisdom and years of experience, who do you think prevailed upon him to do what he needs to do? Not Rise, his sage and learned sister-in-law; not me, his loyal wife of thirty nine years, but the young, determined whippersnapper, his daughter! Not that he succumbed right away or did anything to give her the least idea she had succeeded. Face, at all costs, must be saved. It was only this morning, that he suggested we go to the track at the end of the work day and walk two laps.

Breakthrough!

And so it came to pass. We went to the track. We walked two laps. Fast. Then we walked another. We didn't die. But we did huff and puff. Proving that walking, fast, is not for sissies, but a good way to lose unwanted, unnecessary and unhealthy poundage. This miracle could not be achieved by mere mortals. It required daughter intervention. Daughters have magical powers over old curmudgeons. Powers to move them to do what they should, even when everyone else fails. Thank God for daughters, I say!

Riddle Me Ree

The week with Lily & Company flew by and now we are home. So, tired and hoarse [but on the mend!] and with the clue bag on empty, all I have for you tonight is a guessing game.



This is something Lily inherited from her husband's grandmother. I had never seen such a thing before, but having seen it, I think it's an ingenious invention. I don't know whether it was intended for the use the granny, and now Lily, put it to, but it is perfect for the purpose! Can you guess what it is? If you can see over the edge of the bowl, you might get a hint...


Since I knew that Lily has a great variety of leftover yarn from her knitting projects, I brought a pattern I've had since the seventies along when I went to visit! I didn't get it finished, but this is what it looks like so far.......



Care to hazard a guess? I'll post a picture of the finished article later in the week. Meanwhile, it's off to bed with me. And as lovely as it was to see Lily and Crew, I won't need forty blankets, nor a hot water bottle! There's no place like home, especially when the temperature is in the seventies!

No Axe Murderers Turned Up....

.....and the only casualties were some leaves.


When Lily told M where we were going on Thursday night, he was incredulous.

"Your mom has a date with someone she met on the internet?"

Lots of ribbing, but, nothing daunted, off we went to meet Jen. who'd been warned about but was not deterred by "The Bug." We'd told her we were both tall, one with dark curly hair, the other with white. She'd told us she was short with straight blond hair.

No searching was necessary as, when we walked into the restaurant, the first person who caught my eye was a short blond, looking straight at us with a big smile. It's uncanny, but I almost felt I recognized her. Is it possible to form an accurate mental picture of someone from reading their blog?

Over a delicious dinner we talked non stop for close to two hours! Jen was so friendly and easy to talk to. We talked about families, blogging, her teaching, and how her husband was worried and warned her, as she left the house, to keep her phone at the ready, in case we turned out not to be a blogger and her daughter! Jen's blog is accurately named; she is very upbeat and positive, someone you'd be delighted to have as your child's teacher.

Especially for Thimbleanna, to carry on her tradition of "Wilson" photos at blog meets, we took a picture. Not very flattering to either of us, but we'll offer it up for our sins!




This is the kind of caper that convinces the OC his wife has bats in her belfry. But it was so much fun! I'd do it again in a heartbeat. The chances of meeting an axe murderer are fairly slim. You're much more likely to make a new friend, since you already, sort-of, know each other from blogging. If you like the way the blogger writes, chances are good you'll also like the blogger. We were glad Jen's husband let her take the risk!

Signs of Fall In Ohio.....

Golden leaves,


And kids playing ball.....