Someone else's Christmas

Currently: thoughtful (Also, just suck it up, camper. This is part of the price of being a we.)

This is the first year I spent Christmas away from my family. In a way, it wasn't really a big deal. I'm not a crazed Xmasophile like some people I know and Thanksgiving, spent in the bosom of many relatives of varying closeness, was only a few weeks before. Also, the currently poisonous familial atmosphere doesn't exactly lend itself to wistful dreaming for ye olde Yuletides of yore. A few times, boys have come to Christmas at the family homestead, and truthfully, it's an experience I wouldn't wish on any sane person, let alone a person that I actually liked. So there isn't any particular reason why I should have been blubbery and silly and whimpering about being Away From My People On This Special Day For The Very First Time.

But I was.

Not that I was crying myself to sleep every night, but I definitely felt more than a small sense of diconnection and loss. And not because I wasn't in the midst of a ridiculously nice, warm, and caring supernuclear family with interesting traditions and great food, cute decorations, and a general excess of holiday cheer. And not that the Christmas days calls to The People weren't irritating and awkward, per usual.

Still, I missed our traditions of stressing out from the presence of the elder generation, staring at each other with nothing to say (well, nothing nice, anyway), being vaguely annoyed at all times, death-march singing marathons, and feeling slightly spied-upon. Oh, and hot pot. Really, it's not that bad, but my family does have quite a way of draining all the joy out of the holidays!!! So it's not longing for misty memories or laughing good times, exactly, but more a missing of the expected and familiar. Also, it is usually the only time each year that my entire family gets together - and not even an extended family, but just the basic nuclear family unit. We missed it in 2007 and that makes me sad.

The weirdness at being with Other People for a family holiday is another story altogether. Even if everything is pleasant and lovely and thoughtful and fun, which it was, mostly, the experience is just...not the same. And I, unfortunately, can sometimes be unexpectedly drawn to sameness and No! Change! Ever! Suffice it to say, I don't think that it can ever be a completely comfortable experience. Though I do expect that it will get easier upon repetition, so the oddness is not also newness, and the sense of outsiderhood is gradually worn away.

No sale part II

Sucker = me. I don't really want to remember this episode as anything but the time I managed to resist a one-on-one pitch to buy into a ridiculously overpriced vacation club. Unfortunately, it was also the evening in which I learned an important lesson about how there is no such thing as free airline tickets :(

No sale

I thought that the festival of lights would be great opportunity to see the inside of the Mormon temple that dominates a certain turn along the Beltway landscape. It's looks vaguely like an UnEmerald City and catching sight of it after a long drive tells me that I'm almost home. Naturally, like every other Christian chruch's holiday pageantry, I assumed that the festivities would take place in the temple and I would finally get to see Oz for myself.

Instead, the experience featured viciously windy, near-freezing cold (Oh! How my New England root have deserted me after many years away from the motherland. I am as thin-skinned as any other mid-Atlantic protoSoutherner!), and a visitor center refuge sown with eager proselytizers intent on cheerfully and relentlessly... proselytizing (hey, I just learned to correctly spell the word). At first, I did not understand the ramifications of these interactions and genially expressed interest in learning about the differences between the Mormon faith and other Christian denominations. Luckily, my companion understood that I was only looking for short, academic answers, and quickly steered us away with blithe tall tales of youthful studies of the Book of Mormon. After we'd been stopped several times before making a complete turn about the lobby, I began to realize what my desire to see the pretty lights had gotten us into. I've never been so aggressively pitched in my life and I've done a lot of shopping! These people are certainly gung ho to collect stars for their heavenly crowns!!! I thought that my childhood church was very aggresive in their recruitment, but I'd never experienced anything quite like this gauntlet of attention!

I have to say that I did appreciate the directness of their approach - "Can I tell you about the book of Mormon?" was usually the 2nd or 3rd line in the dialogue, right after the exchange of names (and possibly, hugs). Also, I could appreciate their tactics from a marketer's perspective. All of the would-be recruiters were decently to ridiculously good-looking (especially those tall, blond boys. Yum! And, er, young. Very young.), very well-scrubbed and dressed, and almost comically polite and pleasant. All in all, while I was not inclined to sell my soul for a glimpse inside the temple, I couldn't help but feel warmth and a tinge of awe for people who so genuinely and actively believe in something, as well as the commanders that so skillfully deploy their troops. (That golden plate story, though? Has me scratching my head, still.)

Pay attention!

I forgot to use the defrost setting when microwaving meat last night. The result? A gray, rubbery, overcooked, HOT!! mess. I used it anyway, because I can't bear waste. Ick :(

The soup initiative, revisited

When I was in grad school, I lined one of my office bookshelves with cans of pop-top, chunky winter soup (bought on sale, of course). The sodium-filled cans of hearty goodness were my ward against hunger, my first line and fallback, and reason for Not Eating Lunch Out Every Damn Day (you can spend a graduate stipend soooo fast if you're not careful!). It worked out pretty well, saving me some $, but also raising my blood pressure...

The inescapable conclusion, regardless, was that soup is a wonderful winter food. Sure, it's great other times of the year, but during the winter, it's warm and soothing and filling and makes the house smell nice. So here's the plan: two soups, every weekend, to supplement the food prep for the rest of the week. The new Lodge has actually been drafted for this effort. This is good, because, left to my own devices, I'd just look at the thing, not use it. It's already made beef-vegetable soup and a batch of marinara! Yeah!

So the soup initiative has been...reinitialized...and thus far we've had:

Black bean soup
Cod chowder
Beef-vegetable soup
Lentil soup x 3
Butternut squash soup

(Lentil soup so often because it's the vegetable disposal and also, therefore, the Soup Of Health! Plus, verrrry tasty.)

Updates every week (excepting the holidays, most likely), I hope!

Holiday party, company style

The first year I participated in the company party holiday gift swap, I was nervous about my contribution. I'd only started there a few months before and was still unsure about what would offend. While I don't remember what I ultimately offered up at the gift table, I do remember the relief I felt when people started opening the presents. We can, and are even encouraged with cheers and claps by management and staffers alike, to bring booze.

Dude, easy!

There has to be a better way

Having 80% of the grade being determined in the last 2 weeks of a class is a terrible idea. Also, having no graded assignments, tests, or quizzes before the final is extremely stressful, because the student has no idea what to expect on the test and no way to better the grade if preparation was inadequate.

***************
I hate waiting for service folk to meander on over whenever they feel like it come to the house. I don't understand why they can't give you a real ETA.* Cable, heating, pest control, it's all the same. When you have to wait a day and a half for a 15-minute appointment, something is wrong!!!

***************
Fire drills at work during the winter. Sadistic bastards!



*Oh, I do understand that they don't have any incentive to show up on time, or give an accurate ETA, or to care about the people who call them in general, because they are all so busy that they can flip the bird to their clients by holding them hostage in their homes with threats of missing your One Chance to get your heater serviced This Quarter, and may even consider that to be a job perk for their amusement. What I can't understand is how they can live with themselves, with such callousness and general disregard for humankind weighing on their souls. Apparently, with large piles of $.

Let's all run on down to Avenue Q

Yay!!! Even though I haven't seen Wicked yet, I know why Avenue Q beat it out for the Tony!! The show was so utterly charming and delightful and potty-mouthed and FUN that I can hardly express how much I liked it. This is now my favorite comedy musical (hard to compare the dramaticals to the comedicals. I like them differently.) and it only improves upon listening, which I have confirmed after playing the soundtrack eleventy billion times.

It's hard to talk about the songs and the characters without giving away the plot, but it almost doesn't matter. These characters are archetypes, the storylines are familiar, and the songs are jaunty echos of tunes from childhood. The show's brilliance lays in the gusto, the sweetness, the warmth, and hilarity that unfolds as these people WHO ARE US, puppet and puppetmasters alike, are explored.
I can say that the technical skills of the puppeteers are a real treat to behold. Some puppets take multiple people, while some people play multiple puppets. Sometimes the actors voice a puppet as they are acting with OTHER puppets. It's sort of dizzying to think about and artfully deceptive to watch. The human mind is very good at fooling itself and you could almost swear that the puppet's voice was coming out of its mouth, not from all the way across the stage.

The staging is definitely designed to appeal to the Sesame Street generation X to Nexters, with people and puppets and TV screens and lessons abounding. The songs are funny/beautiful because they are true! and ridiculously easy to sing. It's been a couple of weeks (granted, we've been listening to the soundtrack), but some of the songs are still floating around in my subconscious. I often find myself humming or thinking about songs and punchlines.

I can't wait to see it again!

Ah, now I understand

A little bit better, anyway.

At first, I guffawed (with many others) at this year's "Sexiest Man Alive" designation. Whenever I see/hear of him, I always think of "Maaaaatt DAmoN" as played by his Team America puppet doppleganger, and it's not exactly, er, sexy (and that movie knows how to do puppet sexy!). But after jetting around the globe with Jason Bourne this week, I think I'm a little closer to figuring out why he was tapped for such a singular honor this year. A little Terminatorish in his demeanor and can't-keep-him-downness, but still, I can see how his brokenness and superspeedy spy moves have a certain appeal.

A taste to remember

Holy crap, this was one of the best-tasting things to ever pass my lips:

smoked foie gras torchon with dried cherry compote, brioche tuiles and tellicherry pepper-minus 8 vinegar gastrique

That crazy jumble of words resolved themselves into a generous portion of rendered foie gras rounds; dense, intensely creamy, and simply bursting with MEAT (and not liver) essence, with crunchy-tart accompaniments. The foie was lusciously unctuous - you had to bite into it, but the piece would slowly dissolve on the tongue as you swirled the solution about your mouth. A layer of, I don't know, richness was left on the lips - not like fat, or grease, or paraffin, or anything as solid as that, but more of a feeling than anything else. If this isn't unami, I still haven't experienced it, but oh WOW, was this delicious...

Note to self

Fish memory strikes again!

Last year I avoided a particular work function for a good reason.

This year, I forgot the good reason and decided to attend.

I now remember the reason: two years ago, I got lost driving to this place because it was dark, icy, and the road makes an improbable 90-degree turn off to the side. Also, I was almost run off the road in the process of finally turning around after traveling many miles the wrong way.

The same thing happened again! All of it! HATE!

(But it turns out, I do remember how to ice skate and find it to be a very pleasant winter activity.)

Tips for teachers

1) Be easy on the eyes

2) Be easy on the ears

3) Be energetic

4) Be genuinely interested/inspired about your subject

If you're not at least one of the above, just a thought, but you should probably find another job.

(My teacher this semester was all of these things - a pixie sprite with cute clothes, a lilting European Spanish accent, an insane amount of energy for a late night class and being a new mother, and almost scarily invested in her topic, all of which almost made up for the idiocy of the grading scheme and made class sessions extremely pleasant.)

Dummyhead

It might be disconcerting for someone to genuinely believe that the medical professional rooting around her mouth with sharp, whizzing instruments is a bit slow, if you know what I mean, but not me! My dentist is a charmingly nervous and attentive youngish guy who does a terrific job in all things, EXCEPT, he can never remember how much Novocaine I need. Even when I remind him. With my exact dose. What he does when I remind him is to exclaim fatuously at my self knowledge ("Wow, you really have done this a few times!"; "Oh, you know about the lip wiggle, you're a pro!") and then proceed to ignore me, giving me the dose HE thinks is appropriate. This has happened for the last three visits. Why don't I get rid of him? Except for this teeny, tiny flaw (and his slightly braying laugh), he's very congenial and has got mad technical skillz. Sadly, I've been to enough dentists to know the difference. And, it's an easy enough problem to remedy on the spot, as I wince in pain the moment he attempts to proceed. Inevitably, he exclaims again ("Wow, your teeth really ARE sensitive!"; Whoa, you really aren't numb yet!"), and then ponies up the rest of the sweet, sweet deadening juice. So I keep him.

This time, for example, I requested 2 ampules, citing the last visit where it took exactly 2 ampules to make me numb enough to work on. He agreed, with a smattering of the above exclamations, and then gave me 1.5 doses, thinking it would be enough. A few minutes later, amidst my my tossing head, whimpering, and body twitches, he stopped trying to Drill Into My Head, noting, "You're not even fully numb! Maybe only 75% numb!!!" Heh, you don't say...

(Incidentally, this is one reason why I knew that James Frey's "memoir," Million Little Pieces, was at least partly fiction. Dental surgery without numbing or being completely immobolized/ paralyzed simply isn't possible, because you can't hold yourself still enough to allow someone work at that scale, no matter your pain tolerance. Pull a tooth? Sure. It's quick and brutal. Actually root around and fill something? No way.)

Anyhow, proper quantity of Novocaine was given, numbing commenced, procedure completed, and cavity isn't showing any sign of implosion just yet (crossing fingers!!! I SO don't want to have another root canal!!). Also, numb face and furiously itchy nose (that couldn't be scratched silent!!) till well into the night. Just another day at the dentist.

Pretty pot pie

Gratuitous pot pie pictures. One might even say, pot pie porn! (Gastronaut porn, that is.)

It's official, this is the best possible final resting place for leftover Tday turkey and pie crust. Also, not a bad thing to have on your birthday when sick like a DOG. Soooo comforting.

Monochromatic loot

As I gaze at my newly acquired Bday riches, I notice a certain...trend.

Blue pot:

(Worship the pot! I heart this pot! Such pretty enamel! I have been longing for a pot like this for years! If I felt as definitively about having children as I did about this pot, then there would be no internal childbearing conflict!)

Blue bag, pants, bra, sweater, and sparkly thing. Last year I got another blue sweater, shoes, pair of pants, and shirt.

Hmmm.

I'd felt that I'd kicked the automatic blue thing. Now, there's nothing wrong with having a signature color. I've always enjoyed the color blue and it's no accident that a lot of my possessions fall on one section of the color spectrum. For a few years, I consciously tried to pick things other than in blue (RED!), to lend variety to my wardrobe and household (it worked, sort of - I now have a lot of red stuff, too). Luckily, I moved into a place that was already painted green and taupe, which staved off blue walls (which I used to have). I think it's safe to say that the blue embargo is over, or more accurately, that it never existed in the first place.

I think it might be time to reinstate the ban/try again to widen my palette.

A service announcement

DO NOT sign up for Cold Stone Creamery's birthday club;

print out your free birthday ice cream coupon;

fully intend to cash it in;

and forget to use it before it expires.

It makes the world WEEP at the sheer waste.

:(

I hate groupwork

Current mood: seething rage!

Partner projects suck! School is obviously not the real world! Especially in night classes!

Just for once, I was hoping that I wouldn't have to do waaaaaay more than my half of a group project.

Sigh.

Practicing

I've taken to trying to wear jewelry again. Just because it looks nice, I have quite a bit of it, and I might as well wear it instead of worshipping it in the box. I've found that metal is good to futz with, particularly when I'm agitated, as it keeps me relatively calm, even when I want to run over/reach through the phone and smack/poke in the eye/hiss at/stomp on the foot of the person who's (currently) making me CRAZY.

Taming the beast

With colder weather comes the return of the scales. My eczema is back, in full itching, stinging, and cracking force. So far I've been trying to self-heal with religious application of thick moisturizers and hydrocortisone cream. Carmex, an old-school but effective unguent, works surprisingly well in a pinch. I'm getting used to having permanently sticky forearms, and I hope that ruining my sweaters is worth it in angry scale abatement.

Itch.

Scratch.

Whimper.

Oh gawd

I am old. The last year of my twenties has arrived! I'm amazed (that I made it this far), grateful (for the same), and more than a bit daunted (about how to properly appreciate this final year).

So, to celebrate while sick, I kick off this last year of glory with a few bottles of wine, a turkey pot pie (homemade!), a good movie, and great company. Oh, and a tiny Carvel cake. It isn't a birthday without the Carvel cake!

I want to do this year justice and I think this is a fine way to start! To making the most of every moment!! (Clink)

No way, sick again?

I'm getting tired (HA! but not.) of this flu thing. It's been quite the drag on my fall. I know, I know, get a godd*mned flu shot. I'd meant to, but I was in a meeting when they came to my office, whine, whine. Clearly, there are several different strains of it going around, anyway. Still, I recognize that being sick makes me childishly fitful and complainy, so I apologize again to all those who have to suffer around me.

I do, however, have a new plan for attacking my sickness. MORE WINE. It's not original, but it might just work. Or keep me buzzed enough to be pleasant. Either way it's a win-win solution.

My ovaries don't hurt, per se

Current mood: contemplative, considering

Cute, really nice, sweet, gurgly, adorable babies are not exactly falling from the sky or being found under cabbage patches, but they do seem to abound in my life all of a sudden. I have an elfin chicklet of a niece, a fat, happy, burbler of a nephew, and numerous pretty friends' babies to be enchanted by. Birthin', child care, and infertility (I have weird blog tastes) terms are common vocabulary now, and my closet is filled with pastel gifts intended for both actual and theoretical children. I enjoy running after the walkers, cuddling the lab babies, and cooing in ridiculous baby talk (can't help it, I swear!). I can change a diaper, warm a bottle, sort baby laundry, and sterilize with the best of them. I've been spit up on, covered in questionable fluids, taken away chewed-up food from, and been made sick by children. Short of raising them myself, I've been exposed to enough childhood vagaries to think that I'm ready to do it myself.

Except.

I don't want them. Some are surprised that I've made it through my 2Xth year without being overcome with the baby hunger. Others counsel to "get it over with" before the child-lust that's sure to come makes me crazy. Since I've been terribly, terribly average in many things, I, too, am surprised that I've not yet been struck dumb with biologically-induced longing for sweet motherhood. Nature, after all, is catching up with me, deferred prima para age in the U.S. notwithstanding, and my mother's warning against "waiting too long" started years ago.

I want them some day, I think. I've always imagined my (long in the) future self with a traditional family (complete with puppy, though sans white picket fence, and once in a while, including a pony). Sometimes, though, I look around at all this child-wealth around me and think that they will be sufficient. I love these kids, but I really treasure my sleep and free time, and the money shot of childbirth from Knocked Up didn't exactly leave me with a burning desire to experience it firsthand. In addition, my personal experience with mothers doesn't leave me warm and fuzzy enough to actually entice me into a parallel existence. I wonder if I have what it takes to flout custom and culture and be content with perpetual aunt-hood. Is that even what I want? I would like to be comfortable with the idea, if only to be supportive of those who have chosen that life, but I'm not sure it's for me, either.

They say you just "know" when you're ready to spawn. I hope I know, definitively either way, fairly soon, so the actual decision is already made for me. In the meantime, there are plenty of beautiful kiddies to play with!

Thanksgiving dinner 2007

Turkey day rundown:

T succumbed to blogland peer pressure and got a fresh turkey. I was actually worried about this, because we've been eating fat- and salt-injected Butterballs quite happily for the past few years, and also because Chef used red onions and scallions to stuff it. I rubbed a LOT of salt and spices into that not-so-big (12-pounder) boy, pulled out the scallions, let the usual stick and half of butter under the skin work its magic, and it turned out just fine.

The au jus was coming together beautifully, browning to a deep caramel color and full-bodied MEAT! flavor. I kept adding stock to ensure that we would have enough for our jus drinkers, but sadly, most of it was lost to the Great Pan Tipping of 2007 :( Still, we caught enough that everyone could drench their everything in butter turkey jus.

Mexican shrimp was really a treat entree for the shellfish-eating folks ("you mean we can have shrimp on Thanksgiving now??!!") Just lime zest + juice and butter, as far as I could tell, and all the fishy folks seemed to like them.

Very small antipasti plate this year, with eggplant slices, mozzarella balls, and some olives. Much better portion size, as there was enough tart, vinegary stuff to tease the palate, but not enough to go too much to waste (like other years.)

Bourdain's mushroom soup really is super easy (just whole button mushrooms, stock, butter, sherry, onions, salt and pepper - everything I use in the sauteed mushrooms, but blended up with lots of liquid to make soup) and quite delicious, even if (because...) a MAJOR component is Lots Of Butter. The mushroom flavor is intense and I can attest to the fact that it only improves with age. Remember to serve HOT! Everyone liked this, including the baby, though not with the raves that it deserved.

Because I didn't get to make butternut soup and I didn't feel like reprising the risotto of last year (too much work), I sauteed up some diced butternut squash with garlic, onions, and olive oil. Lots of stirring to make it all soft, but I really like these. One medium squash is enough, as others don't seem to be quite as fond of them as I am, but everyone did take and eat some. A mouthful of harvest flavor, and a very pretty color.

I thought I'd left the potatoes too long to boil in the crab pot (only one big enough to boil a whole bag of potatoes, plus it has the colander pull-out. THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD IDEA, because draining the potatoes usually involves a large percentage threat of burns and the wrong kind of excitement.), but it turns out the extra water was key for making fluffy, almost whipped potatoes. The texture was excellently creamy this year, and not only due to our utter abandon in incorporating a mixture of fats (sour cream, butter, and milk).

Cranberry relish presented a nice complement to the table in color, taste, and texture. The shredded cranberries, apples, oranges, and pineapple were a wee bit too tart, in my opinion (maybe use sweeter apples? More jello flavoring?) but were very well received and will definitely be back on the table next year with a few tweaks. Also fun, I got to use my food processor (received as a Bday gift maybe 2 years ago??) for the first time!! Now that it is no longer shiny, new, and scary, I can use it regularly!!!

The green beans, sauteed with garlic in olive oil and "au jus," finished with toasted almonds slices, took forever to cook down, and were still pretty crisp when they were served. Maybe make less, slightly more cooked, next year? I might want to try a fresh green bean casserole. Also, note to self, watch almonds toasting Like A Hawk. You'd think 2 pans of burnt almond slivers would be lesson enough, but an extra reminder doesn't hurt...

Back due to popular demand, the mushrooms, steakhouse style, sauteed in olive oil with onions, garlic, sherry, and finished with butter, salt, and pepper were so good that that they were the only dish actually finished. I let those suckers reduce four times, and the flavor was so concentrated by tabletime that people actually exclaimed at their goodness. Yeah!!!

Sweet potatoes, roasted in foil with the turkey, on a cookie sheet to catch the drippings (we really do get smarter and wiser every year) were meltingly soft. We were also smart enough to buy individual sweet potatoes this year, instead of getting the whole box (because it's on sale!!!), which inevitably rot in subsequent days.

Green and yellow squash, sauteed simply as slices in olive oil, salt, and pepper, were barely eaten. The color is nice on the table, but that's not enough! I think I will drop them next year.

There was bread at my table! Fresh rolls, to be precise. I was roundly forced to eat my words (happily, as it turned out), that "Asian people don't eat bread." Everyone, including the baby, LOVED the rolls, they looked fantastic, and made the house smell like a bakery. They were GREAT for dipping in the jus and the soup. The best addition of 2007.

Dessert was very low key, and mostly not consumed, as everyone was crazy full. The pumpkin pies got some attention, as they deserved (again, everybody likes them but me), and the pairing overwhipped cream, almost butter, was nice and light (as it were). We did find that the pies were double custards, as we'd used the pumpkin PIE cans of Libby's rather than just the pumpkin puree. Oops! Remember to read the labels! My apple cake did NOT turn out as well as last year (needed more molasses topping), so while it looked nice, it was barely touched. The Tiramisu cake from Alpine looked very pretty, was mostly cream, and didn't have nearly enough espresso flavor to make it worth my while :(

All in all, not a bad spread. It was nice having another sous chef in the kitchen to order about. Some well-liked newcomers, and many old favorites - exactly what a Thanksgiving meal is all about!!!

Addendum: Later I told my mom about the ~ 2 lbs of butter we went through and she actually gagged at the thought. Hee!

November is the buying month

Current mood: chagrined but pleased

Usually, I don't buy a lot of things for myself, outside of necessities and good food (which, I'll admit, covers a wide spectrum of luxuries). While I am extremely covetous by nature, I'm not a terribly driven impulse buyer (excepting again, for food), unless, for example, I'm spending a day at the outlets specifically to Buy Stuff. Plus, I have a nearly all-consuming love for the bargain. Coupons and % off signs make me happy.

However.

During my birthday month, I tend to be a wee bit indulgent. Things I've been eyeing all year suddenly seem that much more reasonable for actual purchase. I research a mite more thoroughly on the interwebs, looking for a good deal. I go to stores more often and allow my browser's eye to catch on items I want that ordinarily wouldn't interest me for purchase. I plunk down my credit card with great abandon, justifying each find as a bargain, and every unusual expenditure as "a birthday present to myself, part x." Internet shopping, the personal QVC of the modern age, is particularly easy and enticing. If you have your credit card # memorized, you don't even have to think twice before you've checked out! (Yes, I recognize that this isn't always a good thing.)

This year has been no exception. A lot of items that I've been casually viewing have made there way to my doorstep (Clothes! Shoes! Fancy soap! Theater tix!). A new downfall, however, is Amazon lightning deals. For a limited time, they slash prices on a certain number of units of an item and put them up for sale. If I'm quick enough, only me and my closest however many units of friends will get this super low, low price! Huzzah! For example, a 5-piece Le Creuset bundle for $249. So cheap! So amazing! Like, easily flip on Ebay if I didn't love my new cookware amazing! (I didn't get that set, but only because I didn't find out in time.)

I signed up for the lightning deal email as soon as I found out about it, and I bought the item from the first alert. I was both excited, and sort of felt like a chump, but come on, it was the collector's set for Buffy! If that wasn't Amazon speaking directly in my ear, I don't know what is!!!

San Francisco Airport, however

SFO is a haven of fun and food. My terminal had a great variety of tasty treats (more than decent looking and smelling dim sum, soup, sushi, noodle bowls, wood-fired pizza, pastries, and on and on) and two See's candy booths, as well as an entire See's store. Because I was on the hunt for caramels and there was no caramel-specific gift box at the booths, I hoofed it over to CA's premier touristy candy store and made my own selection of fresh, sugary goodies (receiving a free sample in the process - ummmm).

There were quite a few stores worth browsing in (jewelry, knick-knacks, clothing), but I spent most of my layover in a Brookstone. Originally, I'd wondered what I would do with a 3-hour morning layover. In fact, a) I believed that I'd use every minute of it on fog delays, which, thankfully, did not happen, b) found that, besides random potential Xmas gifts, there are a LOT of models of massage chairs to try at Brookstone, and c) discovered, happily, that in the early morning, not that many people are fighting to use them. Thus, the hours passed very quickly and pleasantly...

(There are chairs with areas for strapping in and massaging/squeezing your arms and feet! Heavenly!)

What kind of girl do I look like?

Apparently, I appear to be quite prissy and stuffy, at least until you get to know me. Then, you will want to invite me to tour (read: harass the owners of) commercial pot farms (perfectly legal, supposedly, but worth keeping an official eye on) with you...

Also, I guess I look like the kind of girl that would carry an extra pack of cigarettes while working out in the hotel gym. You know, just in case.

The sketchiest airport, ever

The Arcata-Eureka airport was an eye-opening experience into municipal airports. The plane pulled up in an actual parking lot! There weren't any other planes, no ramps, trucks, carts, beeping or flashing things, no dude waving the flags, no orange cones...not much of anything, really, so there was a creepy, otherworldly feeling that we'd just pulled up in the middle of nowhere. Which, uh, wasn't exactly wrong.

The terminal building, which looked suspiciously like a ski lodge, had unfinished concrete floors, two airline counters, one gate, and no baggage claim. The drill was to go outside and stand in the rain while they pulled your luggage (in theory anyway, as mine Was Not There) off the baggage trailer. The rental car places were all staffed by one person! I saw a LOT of flannel, more than I've seen in one place since the late '90s.

At least you don't have to get there 2 + hours early to go through the check in process...

Looming

So, I now have more floor space than I did before I moved all the way in. The only problem is, I had to sacrifice nearly all of the wall space. I thought the TV loomed, large...well, I didn't know the half of it!!!

Organization is nice and all, but this mammoth furniture goes all the way from floor to ceiling! Not quite how I'd pictured it. The things we do in the name of efficiency...

(But it is nice to have all of the junk off the floor.)

This too, shall pass

Soon, I hope. The role of Moody Soret*ts Mcyuckytummy doesn't really become me...

Goodbye, old friend

My stalwart soldier since we met at my 16th natal celebration, you have served me well for, er...many years.

I'm sad to see you go, but it's (some say well past) time for us to part. Apparently, the kids really aren't calling them "boomboxes" anymore.

Be well. I'm sure you'll make some...sob...other girl very happy.

That was weird

I was dropping off a pile o' stuff at Goodwill, when the donation attendant strolled up to me with a twinkle in his eye.

"Let me help you with that." (He takes my armful of home goods and steps in close.) "Ahyew mawed?"

Oh, thanks. Um, what?

(Walking in step with me.) "Are you mahyied?"

Sorry, pardon?

(Laughingly) "Are. You. Married!"

Oh! Uh, yeah. I mean, no! Um, ah, I mean, sort of? Uhhh, no.

He smiles and gently says, "You just look so sweet and happy!"

I run away.

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Context, of a sort. I'm pretty much afraid of strangers, especially strange men. When I'm approached like that in public, I generally freeze and then blurt out, once I'm sure I'm being hit on, that "I have a boyfriend!" That statement, plus the confusion and fear in my eyes, usually drives them off right quick. This time, however, he confused me with his question! I wanted to say my usual line, but it didn't work with his delivery! Eek, what to do!!?? Plus, I couldn't understand what he was saying. Awkward.

All moved in!!!!!

Current mood: unnerved, slightly jubilant, and disbelieving

It finally happened.

This was the last box.

Everything has a place.

It feels weird. For the record, just like at my last residence (three years!), I'd never intended to move in all of my stuff, unpack all of my boxes, etc. Messiness and stacked, full cartons don't bother me. Obviously. But, apparently, it bothers other people. (Sillies!)

Still, it feels good.

Too much fun!

Lars and the Real Girl, the most unexpectedly enjoyed, excellent date film since Stranger Than Fiction.

The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, which was way better than I'd expected, even from the nosebleed seats. Great ensemble show! Though I wish my immediately identifiable doppelganger wasn't the "I speak SIX languages!" girl.

Fish sandwiches and rum cake and punch, oh my!

A visit to Ikea, to fetch the new addition to the family.

Dave and Busters. Curling my hand into a claw of ultimate destruction! (Of dinosaurs and Borg.)

Comparing the end of Infernal Affairs to The Departed. (The Departed wins by a hair, because of the final scene. Go Marky Mark!)

Games! Enough to make me cry! (I am not a good loser.)

A new bookshelf arises! Stuff from the floor moves on up!

Cooking TWO soups (lentil and fish chowda) for the week. This is definitely soup weather!. Ummmmm......

Playing tennis - it is cold enough that the balls don't really bounce anymore, but still fun. Even if I can see my breath on the air. Which is probably why I shouldn't have worn a tank top and shorts to play. Oh well.

(Wow, we got a lot done this weekend.)

Really? All the time?

Sometimes while watching TV, I'm drawn into the trials and tribulations of the pretty people's "lives." Other times, I'm distracted by everybody's (women, men, little girls, "ugly" people, excepting "Ugly Betty," but even those are perfect in a supposedly grotesque fashion) perfect, perfect eyebrows. How are we going to take these peoples' drama seriously when they always have the time to draw in/pluck/shape perfect brows??!!

Merrily, merrily!

We finally used the gift tickets that had been moldering (and thankfully, not lost under piles of my junk) to see a show over at the New! and Improved! Signature Theater. They have a reputation as being dirty Sondheim-ophiles, and, because one of my great sadnesses about moving to DC when I did, other than not buying a home immediately, was to have missed the big Sondheim festival in summer of '02, I've tried to hit the one-Sondheim-a-season that they generally perform. Last year was Assassins, which, while spare, was interesting, thought definitely not my favorite. This year's Merrily We Roll Along got mixed reviews, but, The List! Of Sondheim Shows I haven't seen! Must be faithfully chipped away! And so we went (thanks, L&C!!)

The new space is really nice. It's slightly bigger, but still a blackbox that can't seat more than a few hundred people, so retains the intimacy of the former theater. The staging was well thought out, as they made the most of the balcony arrangement by having a grand staircase for many of the entrances. In the brief glimpse of Into the Woods that I saw last season, they did something similar with the vertical space. Very cool.

I can see why this is reputed to be one of his most uneven shows. The story, about the friendship and the musical-writing process, is very meta, which must be handled delicately, humorously, or is best left the well alone. The tone was pretty much dead on earnest, which was slightly irksome at times and did nothing to countermand the idea that Theater Folks are ridiculously self-absorbed.

The action rolls backwards in time, tracing the path of three friends at the dissolution point in their lifelong friendship, back to its inception. A neat idea, but lacking the emotional resonance present when a story is told in linear progressive fashion (there IS a reason that we do that!). The reprises of songs from "before" (i.e., not yet heard) don't hit with as much force, because while you feel that they might be important, you're not sure until later in the show, when the original is sung. There's a fun, "AHA!" moment, and then a moment of "Oh!" pathos, but it doesn't mean quite as much as it could have.

The costumes were zany and glitzy and very of the 70s (eyepopping!), most of the acting was quite good, lots of sharp and funny lyrics and lines, and a couple of genuinely astounding songs - Bobby and Jackie and Jack and Franklin Shepard, Inc. The "going back in time" motif, with the poor backup dancers/characters doing their best Austin Powers club scene impressions, was cute but silly. The most impressive thing about the back-up cast was the way they held themselves still as background scenery as nightclub lounge people.

I like the happy ending, though. Because they end at the highest moment of hope and promise, even though you know the end of their path, you can leave in a good mood, whistling the jaunty signature tune (that they sung over and over and over and over, and which stuck in my head for WEEKS!). (There's nothing quite like leaving a show right after a funeral scene. Even though the deaths of Eva and Juan Peron were the best things that could happen, it really dampens the spirits of the theatergoer.)

October 2007 travel notes

Boring trip, which is a good thing. Last time I went on this exact trip, with the same person, there were...fireworks. I'll take the boring! We were so overly polite to each other that it was almost a dance of manners, so that was funny. Sort of.

Found a guy's passport at the waiting area near the gate. Hope he was done with his trip! That pretty much set the standard of the rest of my trip, because no matter what happened, it couldn't be as bad as his day likely was if he hadn't done all his checking in :(

A cancelled flight, of course!!!! But I made it there the same day as planned (albeit much, much later), so can't complain. Too loudly.

They still serve free food on Delta! To people in Economy class! I got a tiny box of raisins, some crackers, (chemical, but not terribly chemical-tasting) cheese spread, a shortbread cookie, and a biscuit. Glory be, what riches!

Factory visits weren't particularly interesting. Same old, same old.

Rain in Monterey, so no beach view. Sad, because it is one of the most beautiful places in California that I've been to, and I'm really starting to rack up the Cali points...

Commercial flower fields were pretty, though. As far as the eye can see...

Consolation prize

The one good thing about going in to work on the weekend?

Pajamas.

:)

'Tis the season

Currently: Yum!!

Oh, Honeycrisp apple! One bite, and I am transported to a land of...honeyed sweetness. Bright, refreshing, and naturally sugary tart! That first bite simply revels in...crispness. Each bit is crunchily chewy, bursting with clean, brisk flavor and a pleasingly (crisp! again! because they are no appropriate synonyms for "crisp" to convey the exact texture) firm, yet-not-too-hard (granny smith, this means you!) texture.

Huh.

Well played, apple-naming people.

Brilliance?

This is why they pay those guys who went to schools of hotel management the bug bucks:

and the close-up:

Now, if they could just figure out a way to get the hotel staff to put the right pillows in the designated cases...

Some assembly required

Mating! Ten ways! Is HARD!

So, the wardrobe is not quite as tall as my ceiling, but is tall enough that it could not be assembled on the ground and then tilted up against the wall. Instead, the first half was put together on the floor, but the other two pieces were joined while the base was standing up. Now, mating 5 screws and dowels at the bottom of an 8-foot board is difficult, especially when you are holding it from behind, unable to see, and trying to follow someone else's enthusiastic but ultimately-not-specific-enough directions. Picture this, however - trying to mate 10 screw and dowel ports while holding a heavy, 4-foot board over your head with your arms outstretched, eight feet in the air, with no direction whatsoever. Awesome, right??!! Did I mention that we were putting together two adjoining wardrobes?

Good car!

We went to Ikea so make some big (as in large) purchases, but were a little fuzzy on the details about getting everything home. Turns out, wardrobes as big as a walk-in closets take up a lot of space, even in unassembled form.

This isn't the actual car, but you get the idea...

We made a Focus unicorn!!! Or a narwhal.

Someone mocked my (albeit slightly sarcastic) idea that we'd have to arrange the boxes to go through the sun roof. Since driving with the back of a hatchback open is a scary, scary business, this was the only way to bring home our haul in one trip. We still had to take most of the planks out of the boxes to make it all fit! The diagonal boards and boxes took up most of the room in the car, so we had to scoot up veeeery close to the dashboard. And then drive extremely slowly home. And then unload into the house, piece by piece, for nearly an hour, well into the twilight.

We were well pleased when we got it all in and found out that we had not bought a piece of furniture taller than my ceiling :)

Gypped

I'm not the really type of girl who enjoys discussing sparkly shit. Rings are nice and all, and I'm pleased to admire your newly-acquired (or newly-polished, or antique, or WHATEVER) ice or other random bauble for the moment, but I SO DO NOT want to talk about settings, and the 4Cs, art deco vs. classic, and the proper degree of obsequiousness in waitpeople, the best temperature to put you in the mood for jewelery shopping, and the like.

On the other hand, I'm willing to put up with much in order to suck up to the people who decide whether or not I deserve to have new office furniture. My chair is of the 70s in a rather less-than-cool way, and I was hoping to trade up for a newer, leather-er model that just happened to be unused in the untenanted offices down the way. We plopped ourselves down in the chairs, oohed and ahhed at their clear superiority, and I, desperate to make a pleasant small talk impression on the gatekeeper, made an innocent inquiry regarding her shiny hand decoration:

Oh, squeal! New fiancee! Happiness and joy!

[interest and felicitations]

The first ring didn't cut it. Here's why.

[my seriously? eyebrows were smoothed down into sympathy and admiration]

This is how I picked the new, perfect ring.

[frozen, pasted smile]

5 digits he spent on me!!!

[I'm all for glee, but under the circumstances...]

But there's one more I have my eye on...

[OMG]

What do you think?

[babble]

etc.

FOR AN HOUR.

That I could have billed.

And no, I didn't even get my chair. Life is grotesquely unfair.

M&W

Once you allow yourself to commit to keeping a white car (even semi!) clean, you are letting yourself in for a world of misery and woe.

Especially if you happen to park under extremely sticky sap-ariffic trees plagued by patchy black fungi. Which transfers to paint.

Done

Mood: It feels surreal, like it never really happened.

I dropped off the hardcopies, which I most emphatically did NOT make extras for myself, to keep in perpetuity in my basement.

I delivered the electronic version of the final draft and the appendices.

He shook my hand.

Congratulations were tendered.

Even though he says he'll take care of any last minute formatting, typos, TOC regeneration, etc., I simply don't believe, and that is kind of sad. This paper has been hanging over my head (guillotine fear!) for so long, that even though I've been celebrating some draft milestones along the way, I don't feel like it's really over.

(Of course, that's probably because I still have to lock horns with my committee to ensure that they accept the BFB as my capstone paper, and then write an analytical summary of WHY I HATED THIS PROCESS - which, I'm actually looking forward to doing - after I win. One potential committee member has already bitten the dust over this controversy.)

Soon, though...

Making the bed

...is an interesting strategy for staying out of it. I'm still not sure I approve of the practice, however, as a messy bed is just so "climb on in!" inviting. Which, I know, is the whole point (though it doesn't hurt that I don't really find any aesthetic pleasure in a neatly made bed), but still, seems a tad Puritan for me...

Still sick

Question from my coworker, through the glass window looking into my office, once I'd dragged my tired a** back to work after taking a few days off to cough in(to) my pajamas, but was nice/cautious enough to keep my door firmly closed:

"Are you still radioactive?" (accompanied by exaggerated hand gestures and concerned mouthing of syllables)

In a word, YES.

:(

Factory update

Oh yeah, forgot to update on the neat factories I visited. I love seeing things being made!

Best of the trip: seeing nacho cheese being squeezed into big (several gallon) bags. Partly plastic-looking, partly disgusting, partly pure awesome! I now know where Taco Bell gets its orange cheese and it's not exactly pretty...

Also interesting, seeing the insides of a Pepsi-bottling plant. Towers (several stories) of soda pallets is an intimidating sight! I tried freshly-bottled Squirt! (It's okay. I prefer Slice or Sprite.)

Assorted metalworking places, including a 55-gallon drum maker. There, were got/had to step directly over the assembly lines to walk around the plant. You had to carefully time your step across the line, or else be whacked by a freshly-painted barrel!

A feed-making operation (very dusty, with powdered grain everywhere and constantly waving off of buzzy flies) and its neighboring ethanol plant. Great synergy.

There has to be a travel story, right?

But of course! My flight from Phoenix to Fresno, which actually originated in California, was cancelled at the last minute, the hub system thus stranding me out of the state I'd started and wanted to end up in. Naturally, the hotel where they stashed me for the night had broken air conditioning. In Arizona. Since I like to sleep all year long in frigid temperatures and buried under a thick layer of blankets, the stress and heat was an ideal mix for a sleepless night, or exactly the kind of night you wish to spend before flying off, early in the morning, to arrive several hours late at your one-day meeting. Sigh.

The flight home, however, long, was an exercise in best-case scenario perfection. I was actually afraid that they wouldn't let me on the plane, as I was looking extremely ill and obviously hacking out my lungs. (I learned on this trip that I am absolute asshat with perfect disregard in personally contributing to deteriorating public health, because I am only concerned about spreading pestilence among my loved ones. To the folks that I contaminated: sorry, but I probably caught it from you, so welcome back to the never-ending circle of plague.) Luckily, I was allowed on and even snagged a seat in first class for the long flight back to the east coast. The kindly stewardsfolk kept me supplied with a steady stream of orange juice mixed with ginger ale all through the night. (GOD, I HATE RED EYES.) (Upon reflection, first class, with its limited access to other passengers, ready supply of liquids, shortened wait for the restroom, and cabin full of the people most likely to have easy access to the finest health care on the planet, is an excellent way to travel while ill.) When I got to JFK, my bags were some of the first luggage off the plane and a towncar driver snagged me the moment I walked through the security doors. Ironically, he had to drive me past my original destination on the way to the Long Island airport. (I'd decided to skip family time to avoid spreading disease among my people and fly the extra leg straight home.) (By the way, flying while congested and headachy is pure torture, as the pressure changes feel like they will shatter-squeeze your skull to pieces.) There, Southwest had me on the first flight back home for an extremely reasonable, bought-at-the-airport (first time for everything!) fare. (Air travel really is amazing these days, as you can walk up to the counter and literally go anywhere in the world. Holy cow!) I was met at the airport by the most personal of car services and was whisked home, with a brief stop for some longed-for and most restorative breakfast pho, with a minimum fuss and fanfare.

Later, my sister told me that, knowing my luck, she was amazed that the new and improved travel plans actually came through without a hitch. Believe me, SO WAS I. I am so grateful to the travel gods, for being spared me from their blackest of humor on the most crucial of days.

Thank you, Olive Garden

You took me in when I was far away from home, a sick stranger in a strip-malled land. When the cheerfully vacant, brightly-smiling waitress, unfazed by my obvious illness and exhaustion, promised to "take care of me," I almost cried in relief. The never-ending soup bowl would have come back replenished, fast and furious, if I had needed it. Your people checked on me every few moments to see if I could tackle more soup or needed a topping off on the cold, life-sustaining water I was sucking down at an alarming rate. The soup itself, that hot, salty nectar of the hearth gods, fulfilled every promise of the first food I had eaten in two days. The buttered breadsticks, waving companionably from their basket, didn't demand attention or project offense when I nibbled disinterestedly on only one bite. The bustling efficiency in the delivery of massive quantities of food swirled around me, lending comfort and normalcy to my nauseous and dizzied self. My waitress' sweetly honest concern, projected throughout the meal, and her well-wishes, tendered before she checked the amount of the tip, buoyed me for the drive back to the hotel and the physical ordeal in the days to come. The line out the door at I left at 6 PM assured me that I had made the right choice, the choice of the people.

Impressions from TJ

The complete lack of zoning is startling to an American eye. The houses are packed on the mountainsides, the streets wind crazily around islands of buildings, the architecture is, for the most part, drab, and simply unpretty. One side of a hill may be the wealthiest section of town, but the other side features a deeply rutted, dirt road dotted with large trash (refrigerators! dead animals!) and tire construction (structures made out of used tires).

We poked at a furry "log" on the beach. It really did look like wood, even if the flies seemed to find it inordinately interesting. Luckily, I wasn't the one who touched it, only to find out that were were harassing a poor, dead, seal.

The color palette is different. Lots of browns and reds and oranges. Very little green, as there are no trees and very little vegetation, except on the golf course. Also, the dust! Is everywhere! Coating everything, including your tongue.

Mexican food in Mexico is good. The variations in the endless tortilla and the salsas are surprisingly satisfying as a table snack and stewed meats can be tasty and delicious.

The prostitutes were surprisingly ordinary. At least in Amsterdam, there is a sort of glamour (or at least, better lighting) in working your own window. Some of the women working the street were dressed rather conservatively, and others were working the same streetcorner, within several feet of each other. I wonder if that leads to catfights? Or if it is better for gossip and passing away the boredom of the day?

Illegal crossing of small children! Guess the lone jeep on border control wasn't as concerned about kite chasing-induced crossings as adults making a break for the border.

Mariachi abounds, from the street bands that approach with business cards in hand while you're driving along the city streets, to the loud blasting from restaurant jukeboxes. Since I don't particularly like this genre, even to the point of finding it difficult to understand why other people do, I find it interesting that bands can sustain themselves by hanging out on street corners much like...day laborers, waiting to be whisked away to play at a party at a moment's notice.

The border beach is beautiful and kind of deserted. There is a boardwalk that is mostly empty of customers, which I find odd on a lovely weekend day. A brief rainstorm comes in from the islands, but blows over quickly, leaving behind gorgeous, sunny weather sparkling on clean, damp sands. The pylons marking the border seem only to serve as a token barrier, and a night swim seems like an easy way to cross the border.

Travel, even day travel, in the company of a child is daunting. A brief glimpse is all it takes to appreciate the fortitude of seasoned parents. On the other hand, sharing the sights with a cute child makes for a ton of picture opportunities and completely changes the experience of site-seeing, often bring it down to a 2-and-a-half-foot level.

A new country!

What's (pretty much) the first thing an American should do once she crosses the border? Visit it and stare longingly across towards home, of course!

I might not have gotten very far from the U.S., never being more than a few miles from the border, but Tijuana is alien enough in layout, composition, color, and...well, flavor, that I would've never confused it with home. The stark noncomprehension of language, the badgering of the street and stall merchants (man, was it great to be shopping back in San Diego!), the order and array of the sights and sounds, all smacked of a foreign experience. I didn't have the inclination or opportunity to go on a "stupid American does the illegal delights of Mexico" tour, I but I got plenty of local grit (literally - dusty!) and color (lots of orange and tan and red) just driving around the city, visiting the border, and going trinket shopping. Also, sleeping in a barred castle on the hill of the very rich added to the overall ambiance of "different."

Which contrasted all the more with the experience inside the house, where the familiar furniture, games, Internet, people, and food (hello, Trader Joe's!) all reassured that nothing had really changed :)

So this is morning

Currently: yawn

You know how, once the fall hits, the bed is utterly delicious and inviting at all times? It's a snuggle den of ultimate comfort and tranquility and sweet, sweet, warmth? Well, that makes it super more wicked difficult to get out of in the morning, particularly if you're accustomed to lolling around until Pacific Coast time.

*******************

The light at this time of day sure is pretty.

*******************

Showering is an interesting technique in trying to wake up, but getting out of the warmth of the shower is worse than climbing out of the haven of the bed because you are All Wet and it is Damn Cold Out There!!!!! I am rather prunelike this morning.

*******************

Huh, you can go fast enough on this road that it needs a speed trap?

*******************

Since I beat a bunch of people into the office when I come in around 10, I think it's going to be pretty gravelike here for awhile...

*******************

Darn, hunger is a function of when I get up, not the time of day :(

The winds of change

Current mood: mixed feelings about copious change

There were only two things I wanted to do when I moved into my house two years ago. No, unpacking wasn't one of them. Obviously. I wanted a curved shower curtain rod and coat hooks for the hall. It took a little while (and no, I haven't moved all the way in yet, so quit yer askin'), but the wind of change recently decided to sweep through the house and there have been some interesting new developments around here:

Worship the new shower rod! I HEART the new shower rod! Even if it is made of crappy plastic and will probably sag and fall down one day with a derisive CRASH while I am in the shower and have just finished getting soapy...I still love it!!!!!! Also, the shower curtain is new and was looooong overdue.

More decorations for the house! Though I like to keep spartan walls, I have to admit that these additions (the plates were mine, but I would never have thought in a zillion years to hang them on the wall, especially in the kitchen. Kitchens don't need decoration, right??!!) are quite pleasing to the eye.

There are suddenly a LOT more games around here. I suppose I'll have to find a place to put them, because Some People seem to think that "around" or "on the floor" or "on the couch" are not appropriate storage areas.

The TV of doom!!! Still not used to this. I keep thinking it will jump off its stand and attack, and I find its looming presence very threatening. In theory, I like the idea of watching TV in bed, but wasn't that the whole point of putting a bed in the living room?

More changes in the kitchen. The spice rack is looking rather full these days, eh? That's because there are now double, and even triple of some of the same spices!!!! Guess some things are universal. New lights! And the crack in the ceiling is gone!! These are unabashed Good Changes. These feelings are at all not hurt by the recent death of the previous kitchen light and the hideousness that is not having light in the kitchen. This toaster oven supersedes my old toaster and the fact that it can make pizza taste new again is reason enough welcome it with an open mouth!

Ah yes, the much-anticipated coat rack. Which is, for the season, a bag rack. Look at all my pretty purses!!! Not really loving the green, but white was too much much of a pain (there are eleventy billion shades of white in my house and matching them is Just Too Hard). It is not set low enough to stab me in the eye or the back of my head. I've checked - many times.

Finally, new animal denizens. These guys keep each other company and are no trouble at all :)

Whew! Long post, right? Pictures notwithstanding? Well, that represents the Very Large amount of change that has taken place in my living space in a Very Short space of time. Since change is not at all my forte, I think I'm handling it well. That is to say, I haven't melted down or imploded - yet.