A moment of reminiscing allows for apprecition of previously unnoted goodness

Dear Professor,

I've been thinking of you, the classes and projects. Thank you for pointing out that a research paper is not the proper context for making up words. Also pointing out that that the average college student can't claim they "coined" a new word was a good thing. Thank goodness for the bloggosphere allowing the decimation of the English language and all the rules that we learned were only acceptable to break in certain ways back in the day. I will always remember that "a lot" is yes, shockingly, TWO WORDS.

I appreciate all the times when you put up with the opinions and vocalizations of people who hadn't lived long enough to experience the ramifications of their opinions with graciousness. You could have belittled, shot down or coldly dismissed. You were frank, you were blunt, you were thought provoking, but never cold hearted and superior.

You have my sympathy, that the campus is now "fresh air" only and you are presumably walking half a mile off campus for a little break from the insanity that is a place of learning. Remember the good old days when one could have an officemate puffing away at a big, fat, cheap cigar while you are trying to concentrate on your papers? Ahh the good old days. That is what started this little note of appreciation to you, it was an afternoon for reminiscing. Continue in all your eccentric goodness, live long, and prosper.

Desilou Freebush

thankgoodness for Google Chrome

It's been so long since I've logged into my blog that my Google Chrome doesn't even have it on my eight top websites when I open the browser. I guess the absence of it clued me in that it was about darn time to get back to it!

disclaimer: this was writen while listening to Damien Rice's "The Blower's Daugher"

I'm having a day that feels like everything is picking up on my mood and perpetuating it. I am reletively sure we create our own reality and I am doing it myself... yes, Data is seeing threes everywhere and reality suddenly makes sense.
Last night I dreamed an odd dream (what's new there?) but  through out the dream I was looking for something to drink. I was going through cupboards looking for coffee. I drank cranberry juice, went to the fridge to get some orange pineapple juice, was handed a glass of water, and saw someone making a pitcher (yes, plastic pitcher) of dark coffee with a layer of creamer on top. When it was poured, it gave up just the right amount of coffee and creamer and combined itself. Somewhere in there I realized that choosing to never drink anything would be a slow, painful way to die. I woke up.
My son got out of his pj's this morning. They were a sleeper that I had removed the feet from and cut a little v in the back of the collar so I could put them on him backwards - he'd still be comfy but wouldn't be able to take them off. Ha. Ha. Turns out the little v in the collar was just enough room for him to Houdini out of them and well... we've seen this mess before.
After he had a bath and was settled in the high chair with his breakfast, my (WONDERFUL) hubby cleaned up the crib while I took a shower. Somehow it wasn't as refreshing as I thought it would be, my coffee wasn't as good as I'd been craving in my dream, and my daughter was a grouch when I came back out. Never mind that, I should be in a good mood, or at least not a total grouch, so I got the kids settled, tidied up a bit and then started catching stuff up on the computer.
I'm a product of my noisy, technologically advanced society. I can hardly stand quiet. I love music. I had to have some tunes even if my kiddos were ensuring the house would in no uncertain terms be too quiet. Pandora Internet Radio? Me love it long time. I tuned in and it read my mind. I know that that's not one of the Pandora's creators claims. Yet somehow it read my mind, my mood, and started playing Damien Rice's The Blower's Daughter.... then David Grey, Other Side... then Coldplay, Fix You....
While I'm writing my mind is wandering back to things I usually avoid meditating on. My current thought is that one can learn from the past, mistakes or otherwise, chalk it all up to "experience" and do the best you can from there. What is the point in contemplating the what-ifs if it's beyond your power to actually change what happened? I've heard of people going back and changing a tiny detail of a memory to something better every time they think of it until one day, the memory is golden and comforting and happy and nothing near what really happened. Does this ease the soul? It must, if it's needed. Is there a time when this would be called for? Yes. Do I have anything that calls for that? No, unless I've already suppressed it, and have no idea. What if one needs a firm grip on reality one day in the future but lost it in all th flips and switches and imaginings of the past?

chocolate fried pickles - taste just like PB&J

Sometimes I get the feeling that my little girl is tuning me out. This morning she answered everything I said with, "uh-huh." So I asked her, "do you eat chocolate fried pickles with your toes?"  She answered the same, "uh-huh," even nodding her head. I looked at her pointedly and repeated, "Do you eat CHOCOLATE FRIED PICKELS... with your toes?" 
"What do they taste like?" 
"Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches!" She grinned. 
Sometimes I get the feeling that my daughter is really the Cheshire Cat.

a spontanious dance off in real life????

Yes. I am being serious. My daughter challenged me to a dance-off in my own kitchen. After a few moments of complete crazy dancing on both our parts, she informed me that she won, being that her moves were so much "cooler."

Quote - Lewis Thomas

The great thing about human language is that it prevents us from sticking to the matter at hand.

Lewis Thomas

US author, biologist, physician (1913 - 1993)

An excellent brief bio about Lewis Thomas at this link

reason to love the internet: Orcharding

I've heard a lot of jokes about the internet and blogs/bloggers. I think that perhaps if you dive into the "sewer of information" and start swallowing everything that comes to you, a) GROSS, and b) are you some mindless zombie?! As with any of the media we are bombarded with everyday, it takes discernment, a touch of common sense, and a sense of humor. While we wade through all this muck and brouhaha, we can discover little bright spots of happiness and art. 

Last year I found this blog (yes I use the Blogger "next blog" button and get so annoyed when it's not on someone's page). The blog site/title is GENIUS. PURE GENIUS. It's one of those things when you see it you say, "If only I had thought of that first!" Also, I love her sense of humor. And the reason I'm posting this today: the pictures are wonderful! I love seeing other people's view of their every day world. I'm a shaky photographer at best, and have no Photoshop skills. That makes me appreciate someone else's frozen time and beauty so much more. This wonderful "Orcharding" picture made my day. I'm posting it here after seeing that Bethany just asks to be sited when you borrow her work. So, dear friends, admire this picture and stop by and visit Bethany's blog. 

this is my current *gasp* FACEBOOK status

1) whoever made cribs with beadboard on the inside never had to try to clean said beadboard

2) anything resembling the texture of gushy mud WILL be played with by a toddler 

3) toddlers think its a game to take their pj pants & diapers off  and they like this game because they are SO GOOD AT THAT GAME

4) never put a toddler to bed in cute little two piece PJs


Whoever said nap time is mama's nap time too, LIED.

Blogger: Random Question Prompt

From my Blogger profile:

Random Question: 
Describe the sound of a moist waffle falling onto a hot griddle.

I'm just going to pick on the question. I mean, it’s called “Random Question” but it’s not even posted as a question. And taking it just as a writing prompt statement, did they write it that way just to twist your brain to all the different ways it could be interpreted? Is the waffle "moist" because it's still in BATTER FORM? Or is there a special waffle trend that I've been completely left out of where you make a waffle, somehow soggify it and then throw it on a hot griddle? Maybe so. Perhaps I shall Google twice cooked waffles. On the other hand, did a moist but cooked waffle somehow get air born and happen to land in a hot griddle? This may or may NOT be the intended waffle landing site. If so, assuming a person was there, it would be a simultaneous dull thud and "OH CRAP!" Of course, if there was no one there to hear the waffle fall in the assumed kitchen, would it actually make any noise?

like mother like daughter... A Five Year Old's Dream: apparently the one where a whale comes up and then turns into a lady

This morning my daughter excitedly tells me: "Mommy! I dreamed last night that Daddy made me a big cool computer and I was playing on it and then it was so awesome and then I had the same dream again that I dream always. There was this giant whale and it came up and then turned into a lady and then turned back into a whale and there was another whale." Apparently that was the end of the dream. From her happy, somewhat thoughtful expression while she told me the tale (hehe hinting at a lame pun) it wasn't a scary dream. Hmmm. She needs to work on her descriptive abilities, as much as I always feel that I do after writing something up or telling someone a story. I'm still wondering what the rest of the details were about the whale turned lady turned whale. Oy vey! Like mother like daughter I suppose.

Dream: the one where i mostly watch it like a movie, a friend is living with two possesed dolls and there's a giant house being built

Last night I dreamed:
     I was leaving a house. It's an older, single level small home with a rickety wooden screen door that doesn't make any noise as it falls closed while I leave. I step off of the old boardwalk that runs the length of the house front and walk away. I know there is something there I am yet to accomplish - I'm putting it off.
    A few more steps down the dusty dirt road and I'm standing in, then just watching, a semi-futuristic hospital room. My friend Anwen is there, she's a nurse, listening intently to a doctor's instructions that I cannot hear. I see her nodding, yes, sir. I'm not surprised to see her, I know she's just moved back to the area and just getting started  as a nurse here. As the the doctor leaves, the patient watches Anwen's face as she turns to him- she's his life line here, he's very weak. Over all though, he doesn't look ill to me. Actually, he appears in excellent physical health, muscular, lightly tanned, golden blonde hair, intelligent eyes. They both exude a sweet innocence as they stare into each other's eyes. I can feel as clearly as though I could see some sort of electrical bond, a glowing blue force binding them together: in that look, they know fates are tied, nothing will separate them. Watching as an unseen presence, they talk, several days have passed while I watched here. He'll be discharged soon, if only they can hide their bond to each other and maintain the expected nurse-patient appearance. They have a plan. As he leaves, I am at Anwen's side. She smiles - she knew I would be there, to go with her.
   I follow her as we follow her steps in the plan. Go out the hallway and then we are on the way to a small antique town. We arrive by an old white school house church. It's the same one from Little House in the Prairie, the hill it sits on cut and pasted into a heavily wooded area. We head towards a steeply arced wooden bridge and the view changes, I'm watching alone from above the other side of the bridge as a wagon comes up from the school side.
   Russell Crowe is in an old buckboard wagon with the director of the new Robin Hood movie he's staring in (Crowe is working on a Robin Hood movie right now in RL, btw). Russell is dressed as Robin and the director, who is holding the reigns, is Friar Tuck. As they come over the top of the bridge about to start their descent, I worry how the two horses will handle the wagon and not be crushed by it. I picture their back legs bending under the press of the wagon. Then I feel Friar's reassurance, This is how it was always done! Everything will be fine. Actually, we'll be crossing several bridges that were built much like this one on the way. He's reassuring Russel. I get the impression of the hooves beating down on the bridge boards allegro staccato and the two lean sharply back from the momentum.
   I move on towards the right, heading to the town, a wisp floating to where I'll be watching next. I'm in the main section of town, passing over the house I left earlier. It's now the first house I come to, on the left side of the dirt road. I never see the buildings on the right. Someone is in that house. I should go back... instead I continue on, descending as I come to a five level house under construction. This is the house the community is building for Anwen and her handsome patient. He's very important to them - honored even. As I float down, it's night, bright stars are visible above the dense pine trees surrounding the town.
   I join Anwen on the third level, where she is getting ready. She points, my room is just down the unfinished hall. I can see the stars through the walls - there is just boards and yellow electrical wires. The walls are unfinished and I know if I were to look up, I would see through the next two floors to the completely finished roof. I get settled in. There are boxes and a sleeping bag on the floor. Everyone has been assigned a room and each room is expected to sleep at least two. I wonder at it in confusion for a moment, but am assured by Anwen's plan. I go down to the area in the front of the house and meet with some of the town folk. We move as a group to a modern high school cafeteria. The tables are in the back and the chairs are set up facing the end of the room where the school band has been arranged to play a welcoming concert for Anwen. I sit at her left in the front row. I don't hear the concert, but when it is finished, she must leave to get back to her room. I can hear the bustle of the crowd now as I look around the room. My husband in RL is suddenly at my side, carrying our young son, our daughter beside us. It's time to go back to the house. You know what needs to be done. He impresses this to me as he lays a hand on my arm.
   We walk back up the road to the house I left earlier. The brother of a close friend answers the door. Since our friend died, there have been two demons that have been visiting the house, causing unrest. They make their presence known by entering two large dolls that are normally just animated toys. I leave everyone in the front room as I follow the dolls into the kitchen. Suddenly they both stop, falling down. I can see myself standing by the cooking fireplace while one doll lies limp on the table, the other on a chair further in. They slowly become animated again and I know the two spirits have come. I've something to do to change their course, and free the home for the brother.
Dream over.

running in place

I've come to the conclusion that housework is like running in place. You work really hard, probably sweat, and don't get anywhere at all.

anything is possible when you are five

Good ol' technology. With it, I can order a pizza while I'm sitting in my pj's in Idaho to be delivered in somewhere in Texas for my hubby and have it delivered within the hour. Unfortunately, my five year old thought that we'd get a duplicate of the pizza delivered here. When I told her to go get in bed, her eyes welled up with tears and she said, "Mama, I wanted pizzzzaaaah!" Poor baby. I suppose if we hadn't already eaten dinner and I had a lot of extra cash or something, I could in theory order the same order to be delivered here too, from our the pizza place local to us. But no, I'm not going to. I explained that if they delivered the pizza here for Daddy's dinner it would be pretty old and gross when he got home, and he'd still be hungry right now. That seemed to make sense to her so she moved on and convinced me that it was a great idea to let her stay up and watch an episode of Star Trek DS9 on DVD with me.

taking slackerific to a whole new level

I haven't given much time to writing the last couple weeks. If one were to look back at the time frame between the two previous posts, well, there was a bit of a delay. No, I'm not blogging in Java. HAHA. Bad, and probably technically incorrect, attempt at a joke. Yes, living with a geek makes me a pseudo geek - just dorky enough to try to make jokes, not really clued in enough to pull off the punch lines. 

I digress. 

Lately I just haven't been sure what to write out here. There's the group of people that like to make fun of bloggers - do you really think people want to hear about the muffin you had for breakfast and what random thought you are having for the day??  YES, DAMNIT I DO.  Those are the kind of blogs I read... along with a few that are really fantastic about sticking to their theme like clockwork... like Shedworking and The One Minute Writer. My sister-in-law has been writing up "The Random Thought of the Day" emails providing me and select others with humor and something to contemplate for a long time now - definitely blog worthy! She just started a blog: http://rhanebeaux.blogspot.com/. ABOUT TIME!! Yes, I'm almost positive that's rainbow vomit on the banner. Don't let that deter you. Once she starts posting all the randomness, you'll find something that strikes a chord with you. Yes you should click the little FOLLOW button. Yes this is shameless pushing of someone's blog because I want them to get readers and keep posting. Yes I am grinning as I write this. Yes I write because it makes me happy.

I digress.

Perhaps all this blogging isn't the internet litter the critics say it is. It is freeing to put one's thoughts out there for others to share and perhaps discuss. It is like that journal or diary I am boldly assuming you had at some point in your life. You wrote away in it, kept it tucked away, called it private, all the while imagining that somehow, someone (not your parents) would read it. They would read it and be intrigued. Read it all and know you and understand you. They would accept you despite - or because - of all the craziness in the pages. You would be worth reading every word and contemplating while they were off doing their daily things - a good book that can hardly put down for other obligations like work and sleep. Now days we have the internet and your blog can be your journal that can be a little more accessible to the world. You've raised the stakes that someone will stumble across it and be intrigued, click follow, and read your thoughts. YAY for technology!

I just thought I'd add, that while somethings about technology is great, technology has caused pseudo words to be ordained and added to the dictionary. the word thru is just a lazy badly spelled poser for the word through!!! HAVE WE NO SHAME???? This is coming from a person who used "I digress" to avoid creating transitions... but I digress...

Dream: the one where i work at a popular lunch place turned classy lunch and dinner fine dining, and we eat pink asparagus before the dinner shift

Several nights ago I dreamed:

That I worked for a popular lunch place and they had just moved to a fancy new building. It had several dining rooms and was like a converted Victorian style hotel. Some of the old hotel rooms had been converted to staff boarding rooms - like a dorm only worse, instead of going to class and eating too much ramen noodles, you just went down the hall and you were at work. A stressful rush around the place kind of work I'd like to add. In the dream, I woke up (still in the dream, stay with me!) and realized I was late for my dinner shift. The staff all met for a late afternoon meal before we reopened for dinner and I had to hurry and get there. The other ladies I shared a room with were rushing around and just about ready. I quickly got up and dressed in my supposed-to-be-classy white button down shirt and black slacks and realized it would take to much time to put on my shoes and socks. I was lucid enough to think to myself, I'm dreaming, just make the shoes be on and they will be. I was still somewhat surprised when it worked. It was like cheating on a game. I made it down to dinner with everyone else and we sat down to eat some of the Chef's fancy new cuisine. Let me add here that I know that the restaurant is in our small town with a population of around 40,000, there is nothing like this building in town but we do have several resturanteers trying to be the fanciest snazziest places in town (gotta make a living yo). This is why the Chef had prepared pink asparagus, artichokes, and some sort of dessert that looked like sliced bananas that I expected to tasted like strawberry banana cheese cake - instead it tasted like undercooked plantains. I woke up while contemplating the dessert in my dream.

Dream over.

hint at what i'm working on for next post

i'm having a hard time describing my latest dream i want to post... some of the description is getting a little awkward ... i mean really, PINK ASPARAGUS? I googled it, it grows in white, green and purple varieties but i didn't find any pictures of it growing pink in hue.

Here's the working title for the post i'm working on:

Dream: the one where i work at a popular lunch place turned classy lunch and dinner fine dining, and we eat pink asparagus before the dinner shift

i wish we had an In-N-Out Burger here!!!

Wonderful delicious burgers, cheesiness with fries and a milk shake.... /sigh. MISS YOU In-N-Out Burger!!! COME TO IDAHO!!!!!!


A Real Conversation Today

"Mommy, our house is too small," my daughter said to me while she was drinking her bedtime ritual glass of water.

"Actually honey, our house is huge. It's the same size as your grandma and grandpa's house," I responded thinking that our 1700+ square feet was plenty. "We just have too much junk. If we took a bunch out, it would seem bigger."

"Okay mama! That's a great idea! Tomorrow, we can take all your stuff and everything and put it in the garage and then we can play and the house will be BIG!" She stopped and thought a moment. "Well, except the kitchen stuff, in case I get hungry."

Dream: the one where i have a summer job in a mountain ghost town resort and military uniforms look like the old AWANAs shirts

Last night I dreamed:
I am step out of a old traveling bus along with most of my close family and some people that I know I know (in real life (RL) I cannot recall ever seeing these people before). We step out into a clearing on a mountain, an old ghost town lies before us. It's cool, even though I know it's summer. The old buildings are quite spread apart, stable, but not restored by any means. There must have been a bustling town here as the spaces between buildings are where I know more of the town used to lay. My sisters and I run the hotel building, we go there to set up, we bunk in the basement, the main floor for guest check in and the second story has guest rooms. My mom runs a the c-store laundromat that is one of the more prestigius businesses in town. I never see it but I know its near the hotel and is a cinderblock construction painted white, out of site since its the one modern edition to the ghost town proper.
Somehow, observing the town in the course of walking from the bus to the hotel, my clothes became a dusty rose colored plain 1800's dress, with dark buttons down the shirt, my shoes the dark nondescript old high-top lace-up boots. Nearly everyone is in historic but plain costumes. All the ghost town buildings are open, like the front is missing and all laid out, showing the floors to the outside. As we are barely settled in, the first guests (and only people in my dream that I know are guests) arrive, a couple in their early thirties, arrive.
I leave the hotel by the front and wander through the small town area and behind it, up the mountain and behind a screen of trees, coming to a 1970's brick school building, where my daughter takes her classes. I've arrived just in time to get some of her projects and the review of her school year. She is busy running around the class rooms with her friends while a large blond woman that I know from the bus comes up to chat and ask if the bathhouse is open yet. I don't experience it in the dream, but we have a conversation and part amicably from my impression as I walk away from her to find my son and daughter.
As we head down back through the ghost town, there are tourists wondering around, bright spots of modern technology and colors with their cheesey outfits and cameras in the drab and dust. I'm called to the aid of the couple that were the guests I checked into the hotel, the woman is in labor now, though I don't recall her being pregnant when they first arrived. My mother in law is there too, but she is taking vitals and calming the woman, and I'm left catching the baby - after of course, ordering someone to boil water. There is no labor scene, just suddenly I'm holding this newborn, a glowing, beautiful essence of innosence, and wishing we had one of those heated baby stations like they have in the delivery rooms at hospitals. I was lucid enough at this point in the dream to wonder why my mother in law, who is an RN in RL, wasn't the one playing doctor.
Suddenly I'm pulled back into the dream, and my daughter and son and I meet up with my husband, our friends Tiff and Tyler, and my sister in law Jessi. We have to drive down into the town about an hour or so away to pick up Jessi's hubby, Casey, who is just coming back from a couple weeks in the field with the armed services (yes it was non-specific in my dream). We are there, in the outskirts of the town almost imidiately in my dream expericance, all of us piling out of a metalic grey Ford Tarus that there is no way we all could fit in, but I know we drove there, all together.
We're waiting in what I can only describe as a large hanger like building, with hotel and storage rooms built in the middle almost like enclosed cubicles on a single floor, the ceiling is the roof high above us. Casey should have arrived by now, it's late in the day. We walk down the outer wall of cubicles and some of the walls have windows, there's a classic 80's blond lady sitting inside of one smoking. As we continue we come to the cafeteria area where we see his uniform shirt hanging over the back of one of the large colorful chairs (like the ones in kindergarten rooms, primary colors, but adult size). There are blue and red chairs visible and the red chairs are just a little off so they are a bit orangy. I never see the yellow chairs but I know they are in the mix too. My sister in law picks up the uniform shirt and I recognize it - I know someone who had that shirt before, but I'm not lucid enough to place it (RL it's a AWANAs uniform shirt, the kind you would have seen in the 90's, LIGHT grey, plain, no awards on the red and yellow badge area yet). We go outside looking for Casey and run across a closed market, but the owner, an Asian man, is still out front at the table he has set up outside. He's quiet, and I know his wife is in the store, fearful of why we are wandering about, but he is calm, like he'll quell any trouble with amazing kung fu. He cuts up some super sized double king sized Snickers bars and gives us all samples before we move on. I know we start to leave, and are concerned about getting some type of employment, that maybe he can help us with, when I am woken up by a text message from my sister.

Dream over.

Reposted: snowy imaginings

think i'm hallucinating
seeing things that are not there
light shining through the window
shining on your hair
i stood bare foot in the dark
i couldn't light a match
light was glaring off the ice
the wind hasn't started blowing yet
you thought i was your angel
i thought we'd fly away
its over but not gone
its over and gone now
imagine we'd find something else to say
there's nothing left to say

Social Bonds

I read "The No Name Woman" again. My mind finds it so strange to read about the cultures ans social rules of other countries. I find myself angered at people acting in their social rule set and the anger covers from my eyes the fact that I am putting our rules over theirs to try to conform them or say why they were right or wrong. Where are my ancestors' ghosts? What are the rules I am supposed to go by? I must be so steeped in these social bonds that I cannot see them any longer. Yet I know they are there - I can almost feel them around me - like demons.

Reposted: monster besides the water

We were on the lake, a lake created by a dam, and one of the mountains looked like an enormous beast that had died just steps from a drink. The head of the beast was laying only yards from the current water line. Before though, I imagine without the dam, it would have been a small creek. The dinosaur was huge, lumbering to any water it could find in the desert. What made him wander into the desert, and thus to his death, I don't know. His head pointed to the saving stream, just out of reach. His short neck stretched out from his shoulders, pushed upward by his fall. He was left resting on his chest. The beast must have had stout legs like an elephant, his knees and legs folded up next to him. Over the years, he must have caused a great sad stench as his grand body deteriorated. Eventually, only his bones remained, rather than collapsing, they stayed through storm and flood, becoming skeleton to a new and mighty beast - a mountain.

god games

What is it about those crazy little "god games" that is so addicting? Games like SIMS, Age of Empires, FarmVille, Farm Town... OY! There are a ton of these crazy games where a person can build a city/hometown/farm etc and then try to make it "successful". What's the point? There is no way to win the game. One never saves the princess or a planet. Usually one gets so immerced in the game that the gravity well created by the game quickly pulls in friends as well. My guess is that the government is using these games to send people subliminal messages and has incorporated some urgent need to return to the game or play through lunch/dinner/bedtime so that they can make sure we get the full force of their brain washing. In fact, the government is playing their own little god game! Huh. I can't ... remember where I ... going with this... Oh! My potatoes need to be harvested on my little virtual farm. Gotta go!

Quote - Tom Masson

Let's Get Out Our Toning Bands -or- How I Enjoyed My Breakfast Even More

This morning I was watching the Today Show on NBC. Since I hadn't had breakfast yet and it is supposed to be the most important meal of the day, I fixed something easy to eat during a commercial break. WELL. I should have gotten out my toning bands because as I ate my giant double chocolate chip Costco muffin which I had just heated and melted REAL BUTTER on top, the Today Show aired a segment about back fat. Al even cracked a joke about eating to much fat back (bacon). I didn't realize I needed to be so concerned about back fat. Apparently it is the sneaky thing that causes all health problems, along with bras and t-shirts not to fit. If you do the magic exercises twice a day for two to three weeks the fat will magically melt away. HMMMM. I know I'm a bit over weight, but I've only recently been uncomfortable with it - in an achy physical way, not the OMG SHE IS FAT social pressure way. Our society is so concerned with being thin and with the economy and yet keeping up with the proverbial Jones' - I'm thinking these all are symptoms of the really disease: asophrosyne - the lack of self control. (I got a B in Ancient Greek, however, it really seems we are missing sophrosyne... I decided that adding the "a" for lacking was the best way to go about this. I feel in better shape and more educated now that I wrote that and all thanks to a segment about back fat). Here we are, over weight, in debt up to our eyeballs watching television about what we need to buy to have the best picnic/social standing/success in life. I wonder if that is how my double chocolate ginormous muffin became so especially delicious. :)

Sophrosyne (σωφροσύνη)

e t y m o l o g i c a l l y
meaning moral sanity and
from there self control
or moderation guided by
true self-knowledge.


Pocky - it's a delicious Japanese treat that I found at a local asian food market. My son, who is just a year and half old, loves this treat as much as I. In fact, he's recently added "pocky" to his little vocabulary... next thing you know he'll be saying OREO :)

Eeehhhh, lets back up a bit here... it's not that I feed my small children a diet consisting primarily of chocolaty items. It's this strange genetic trait that my children have inherited from me - I can hear/smell/sense high calorie, fatty, delicious edibles being opened or being brought in my vicinity. While my kids are still honing their skills (sometimes my daughter comes running up saying, "Can I have some?!" when she hears me opening the mail) I can usually tell what's being opened or if its milk or dark chocolate. Meanwhile, all attempts to ignor said edibles creates a craving for the item.

Imagine working in a large room the size of a grocery store filled with cubicles and people on the phone. Now, think about how many of those people are snacking on something completely naughty when you consider the USDA food pyramid. You willingly submit yourself to employment there for eight plus hours a day trying not to think about the slightly overdone popcorn two rows over, the vanilla cake with cream cheese frosting ten cubes behind you and three rows over, and just over the cube wall, someone is eating mini chocolate donuts. HOW COULD YOU NOT GAIN FORTY POUNDS?! I've since escaped to a world where I'm the one bringing in the Oreos, frozen chocolate fudgesicles, pinto beans, spinach and Pocky.

Better Late Than Never

(I am reposting this from my original blog 5/28/08 because I liked writing it and I made eggs this morning)

My husband of nearly five years surprised me. Not in a randomly bringing flowers kind of way. This was more of an I-can’t-believe-you-waited-this-long-to-tell-me kind of surprise.

When we first got married, we both worked, but I tried hard to be a good little housewife – you know, always have fresh towels in the bathroom, never run out of socks or coffee or toilet paper, and make my new hubby breakfast every morning.

Breakfast turned out to be harder than I thought. We have very different opinions on eggs. I like my scrambled, as an omelet, or over hard. Fully cooked is the most important part as I don’t really enjoy eggs, especially un-disguised eggs. Ian however, loves runny yokes with wheat toast to dip in them after he’s eaten the fried whites. I worked hard to perfect the runny yoked happiness of eggs and made them for him once a week in the breakfast rotation. When Charsia was born, I started slacking off on the breakfast thing even more than I had while I was pregnant, so he probably has fried eggs once, maybe twice a month now. You may be surprised at the ways I have accidently found to ruin the eggs, but at least eighty percent of the time he gets his happy eggs over easy with buttered wheat toast to dip in the yokes.

This morning I set his breakfast down for him at his desk where he’s already working. He looks at the food and then up at me and pauses. Then he says, “Hon….” He looks down at his breakfast of coffee, toast, yogurt and nearly perfect eggs (one of the yokes broke) again.

“What?” I ask cautiously. I can’t guess what he is about to say but I know when he pauses and makes that face, he is feeling awkward.

“Uh…” Another pause. “I uh, don’t really like fried eggs hon.”

I must be giving him a blank look.

“I mean thanks for making these for me but I really don’t like fried eggs.” He picks up part of the egg’s white and tugs at it a little for emphasis. “I mean, if I am going to eat fried eggs, this is the way I like them.” As if that was going to console me for the years of egg making.

“But I thought you liked eggs over easy! That’s why I work so hard to make them that way – SO YOU CAN DIP YOUR TOAST IN THE YOKES. Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I start to walk away then turn and come back to lean over the desk and start laughing (I think I am making him nervous with the laughter). “We’ve been married nearly five years and you are finally breaking this to me?”

It turns out he likes almost all variations of scrambled eggs (I know you were wondering). It wasn’t like he told me that his name wasn’t really Ian, or that his other wife makes the fried eggs better. I may have over reacted. Now that I don’t have to try so hard on the eggs any more, they don’t seem that bad… Maybe I will make them for him next week. I’m sure that they will turn out perfect now that they aren’t his favorite.

Titles I considered for this post:

You Think You Know a Person

Deviled Eggs

Devil's Eggs

Fried Eggs and Hon

An "inspirational saying about grammar"

Devotees of grammatical studies have not been distinguished for any very remarkable felicities of expression.

- Amos Bronson Alcott

US educator Transcendentalist (1799 - 1888)

I just don't see how that inspires one to aspire to greatness by use of grammar...


There's something about a fresh, clean, high quality, unmarked peice of paper. Something about the texture, the color... it gives me the feeling that I'm about to write something wonderful.