Nothing to report except that I have nothing to report. All of my time and energy for the last six weeks or so has been completely consumed with finding a house. Our lease is up in mid-July and Will and I are both tired of being cramped. We've had good times in this apartment, and I think it's still the cutest apartment I've ever seen, but it's still. an. apartment. We're piled on top of each other in the office, and we're still sleeping on just a mattress and box spring because our bedroom is so small there's not really any room for both our dressers and a large bed frame. Not to mention it would be nice to be able to use the dining room table again to eat on instead of its current function as a pig pedestal. This morning we signed offer letter papers for the fourth time. Our realtor has been an absolute doll and we couldn't be more pleased with her, but time is wearing on and I just want to find and claim my home.
I'm having fun scouring craigslist for furniture, but it's hard to envision what I'll buy since I don't know where we'll be living yet. If we get the house we offered for, I'm going to use the formal dining room as my workroom/library. I spotted the cutest contemporary chaise. I'm dreaming of lying there like Lady Bountiful surrounded by my books, sewing projects, and piano. I know that's truly the impractical dream of a childless woman, but if Will gets his office space, why shouldn't I have my library? It'll all go out the window eventually, of course. But for the meantime, I can't interpret every tummyache as a sign of pregnancy. That's a quick and easy way to go completely nuts, especially since we're taking a laissez-faire approach to getting me knocked up.
So we're supposed to hear by Sunday evening whether our offer was accepted. I think our realtor wants to wrap this up as badly as we do. She's acting very determined lately. Something to pray about.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
A Tale of Two Piggies, Among Other Things....
Time to shake the dust off and post again. I’m a bad blog-keeper these days because life has a way of coming along and embroiling one so very badly. First of all, our family has expanded: we now have two guinea pigs! No, nothing human yet; we’re working on that. We’re also in the process of buying a house.
Friday is very disgruntled about the cute little interloper (named Saturday), who joined us about two weeks ago. We had just made an offer on a house right next to work and were kicking around the idea of getting a dog. Will suggested we visit the SPCA to see what they had even though we knew we wouldn’t be able to adopt a dog until at least July. We walked in the door, and there, on the table nearest the door, was a delicate little female piggy! They were calling her Bella, and we had to have her, if only to rescue her from the Twilight name. It doesn’t hurt any that she’s practically the reincarnation of my beloved (and long gone) Shui, both in looks and personality. Saturday is an energetic little creature with a black head and rump, white middle. So imagine a hairy Oreo cookie with ears and claws. She’s a smooth coated pig, as opposed to Friday’s Abyssinian whorls. We figure she’s only a few months old.
I began the introductions by bathing them together so they’d smell the same, hoping that the experience would make them bond out of fear, if nothing else. Then I wrapped them in the same towel and held them on my lap together. Finally, I cleaned the big cage thoroughly so it would smell unfamiliar to both pigs and plopped them in. All was quiet for about ten minutes until Friday figured out what I was up to. She gave me a long, disgusted look. It very plainly said “Either take the new kid away or make her shut up. I’m NOT sharing my cabbage.” Saturday was happily sniffing around and wheeking/chittering to herself non-stop (she’s very vocal). Then Friday lunged at her and started chasing her up and down the cage nipping her rump. She was also making pig noises that don’t translate well…okay, they do, but they’re not repeatable. If guinea pigs could swear…. Not good. I left them in there since Friday wasn’t drawing blood to see if they’d settle down. No dice. Friday would retreat to the smaller pigloo to sulk, or they’d nap curled up next to each other, but as soon as Friday emerged or they woke up, back to chasing and nipping. We separated them, since we didn’t bring Saturday home just to be harassed by a crabby roommate. We’ll work out the cage situation after we move. I still hope we can house them together. Friday really should give Saturday a chance. Yes, she’s younger, cuter, and thinner, but she doesn’t know what cabbage is. She’ll eat the store-bought treats Friday won’t touch, and Friday can keep all her cabbage to herself. Besides, if Friday keeps being hostile, she’s only going to look like a bully. Saturday is half her length and one third of her weight. Friday should pick on someone her own size. Friday v. a tank. That might be fair.
However, our housing situation comes first. Unfortunately, the house we chose isn’t anywhere near work or Will’s taekwondo. I turned over what felt like every rock trying to get something close to work, but no dice. The area we were looking is becoming trendy, but is working its way up from old and blighted. Prices reflect the trendiness, houses are still relatively crummy, and crime is still being cleaned up. I was satisfied with the neighborhood of the one nice house we found, but it’s moot because our best offer on that one wasn’t accepted. Very disappointing. Our realtor suggested we look at a bank-owned property in Summerville, and we grudgingly agreed because the house was brick and the price was ridiculously low. By this time, Will was done looking at houses and just wanted to settle on something. So right now we’re working with the bank and its contractors to get the place fixed up so we can buy it because the bank won’t sell us the house in its current 1970s-with-rodents condition. Yes, the commute is going to stink, but I believe the house will be everything we wanted once it’s fixed up. I’m excited to be choosing colors and materials. I’m a bit of a frustrated decorator, and Mom would never let me practice on her house, probably because I had a new “great-havetodoitrightnow!” idea every fifteen minutes. Will is excited about having the attic room wired with Cat 5 and Cat 6 cables for his man cave/office/excuse to buy those Left 4 Dead posters I won’t let him have now. I’m excited about having a designated sewing room. I’m not sewing right now because my little table is squeezed up on the end of the unholy coffee table-tv cabinet Frankensteinian thing in the living room. In the winter it was great to be so toasty, but now I’m not too keen to sew with my elbows in the fireplace. Best of all, yesterday Mom asked me how long after we move in should she wait to ship my piano? I cannot WAIT to get my piano back! My fingers have been mothballed since I left for college. I’m far from the days when I’d provide two solid hours of dinner music for Christmas parties. However, since we all blanched at the thought of getting a 53 inch Yamaha upright into a second floor, one bedroom apartment, finger rustication was for the best.
So lots of interesting things going on, but the result is that I’m dizzily chasing myself around. Posting may continue to be sporadic.
Upcoming travel: July 4th with the Crabbes at Ridgehaven. They just met Will’s sister Sophy, who’s camp counseling for the summer.
Mid-July after move-in in VA with my beloved friend Jennifer (of Intellectual Neophyte fame), whom I consider a sister. I’m going to make this happen, Jenn. Don’t lose heart.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
When Mully Grumbies Attack
Today is the new worst day of my life. It’s the sort of day where, if I’m going to go to all the trouble of keeping breathing, I want to be compensated for it. That’s right, I’d charge God overtime. I may even demand extra days off and spa coupons if this keeps up. If Will were around, I’d be clinging to his leg like a whiny barnacle. The sad thing is, my life couldn’t be going better, but it’s amazing how physical discomfort can trash everything. I have a full blown case of what my late Uncle Buddy called the “mully grumbies.” The mully grumbies is a vicious mood disease that can only be cured by hanging the afflicted upside down and shaking her vigorously by the ankles. Since I’m at work, my cure is going to have to wait.
Still, I do think the angst is justified. Try having what the cheerful Scottish nurse called “a raging UTI, love,” and see how you like it. Then, when you start feeling a smidgen better and are blessing the marvel of antibiotics, life drops the proverbial grand piano on your head and you realize Old Faithful is about to blow. For those of you who have minimal-pain periods or are male (shouldn’t there be a circle of hell devoted to both of those crimes?), let me give a very graphic description. Imagine a tray of biscuit dough. Nice, inoffensive biscuit dough. Biscuit dough with clean karma. It’s never slapped a baby or said anything nasty about anybody’s tacky prom pictures. That dough is your innards. Next, sprinkle that dough with a lethal assortment of thumb tacks, two inch nails, and rusty razor blades. Season to taste with motion sickness. Now, ever so gently, roll that dough into a cylinder. Here’s where it gets fun. Take a baseball bat, poker, rolling pin, mace, or other weapon of your choice, and BEAT THE DAYLIGHTS out of that dough. That is what cramps feel like when you have dysmenorrhea.
Even though I feel like doom on the half shell, I am trying to focus on the things that aren’t making me hurt. Like the fact that Will dropped by my work this morning to share his Coolatta with me. Like my Little Yellow iPod. I drove home for lunch this afternoon and on the way back, somebody apparently declared it monsoon season because I was creeping along the highway with negligible visibility in the downpour. Suddenly, lightning cracked close to my car. My first thought was, lightning can hit the car, but it can’t fry my iPod. The Castlevania Playground remix is the only thing keeping me from shaving my head and walling myself into a cell like some medieval anchoress. Will’s perky video game remixes are keeping me from wallowing in bleakness too much. Although with the low barometric pressure, everybody at work is so testy, I doubt I’m standing out. Oh well, maybe all the rain will coax my snow pea vines to flower. A chow mien full of home-grown snow peas would be a fine thing indeed.
Another thing I’m very happy about is bravissimo.com. I just found out about this company yesterday and I’m already obsessed with it. Bravissimo sells tops by cup size! This is genius! I’ve been saying for years that somebody ought to, because uniformly cutting clothing for a B cup is lunacy when the average American woman is a C. Read that somewhere, anyway, and I believe it. Bravissimo caters to the D cup+ market (but not plus-sized. Sizing runs from a US 4-ish to a US 12-ish, if I figured the UK size conversion correctly), and their stuff is fashionable, but not too trendy, just the way I like it. The models all have builds very similar to mine so I didn’t have to guess what I’d look like in the clothes. The pricing was equivalent to Ann Taylor: a little expensive, but doable. I’d much rather pay more for one blouse that fits than buy three or four that gape at the bustline. As soon as I get paid again, I will probably place an order. I’m dazzled by the opportunity to have matching lingerie sets! (A frustration of having a plus-sized boobage and misses-sized rumpage) Button-down blouses that don’t require a camisole underneath because the buttons might pop off if I try to button them over my mountainous outcroppings! Dresses I don’t have to take in at the waist because I had to buy the next size up! The head swims with possibilities!
All that retail goodness is definitely lifting my spirits. Today wasn’t a total loss at work, either. I turned in two documents several hours ahead of the deadline. The work day is almost over. And I’m remembering that I have Haagen Dazs coffee-and-almond ice cream bars in the freezer at home. I’m not usually the “eat to cope” type, but some days….
Still, I do think the angst is justified. Try having what the cheerful Scottish nurse called “a raging UTI, love,” and see how you like it. Then, when you start feeling a smidgen better and are blessing the marvel of antibiotics, life drops the proverbial grand piano on your head and you realize Old Faithful is about to blow. For those of you who have minimal-pain periods or are male (shouldn’t there be a circle of hell devoted to both of those crimes?), let me give a very graphic description. Imagine a tray of biscuit dough. Nice, inoffensive biscuit dough. Biscuit dough with clean karma. It’s never slapped a baby or said anything nasty about anybody’s tacky prom pictures. That dough is your innards. Next, sprinkle that dough with a lethal assortment of thumb tacks, two inch nails, and rusty razor blades. Season to taste with motion sickness. Now, ever so gently, roll that dough into a cylinder. Here’s where it gets fun. Take a baseball bat, poker, rolling pin, mace, or other weapon of your choice, and BEAT THE DAYLIGHTS out of that dough. That is what cramps feel like when you have dysmenorrhea.
Even though I feel like doom on the half shell, I am trying to focus on the things that aren’t making me hurt. Like the fact that Will dropped by my work this morning to share his Coolatta with me. Like my Little Yellow iPod. I drove home for lunch this afternoon and on the way back, somebody apparently declared it monsoon season because I was creeping along the highway with negligible visibility in the downpour. Suddenly, lightning cracked close to my car. My first thought was, lightning can hit the car, but it can’t fry my iPod. The Castlevania Playground remix is the only thing keeping me from shaving my head and walling myself into a cell like some medieval anchoress. Will’s perky video game remixes are keeping me from wallowing in bleakness too much. Although with the low barometric pressure, everybody at work is so testy, I doubt I’m standing out. Oh well, maybe all the rain will coax my snow pea vines to flower. A chow mien full of home-grown snow peas would be a fine thing indeed.
Another thing I’m very happy about is bravissimo.com. I just found out about this company yesterday and I’m already obsessed with it. Bravissimo sells tops by cup size! This is genius! I’ve been saying for years that somebody ought to, because uniformly cutting clothing for a B cup is lunacy when the average American woman is a C. Read that somewhere, anyway, and I believe it. Bravissimo caters to the D cup+ market (but not plus-sized. Sizing runs from a US 4-ish to a US 12-ish, if I figured the UK size conversion correctly), and their stuff is fashionable, but not too trendy, just the way I like it. The models all have builds very similar to mine so I didn’t have to guess what I’d look like in the clothes. The pricing was equivalent to Ann Taylor: a little expensive, but doable. I’d much rather pay more for one blouse that fits than buy three or four that gape at the bustline. As soon as I get paid again, I will probably place an order. I’m dazzled by the opportunity to have matching lingerie sets! (A frustration of having a plus-sized boobage and misses-sized rumpage) Button-down blouses that don’t require a camisole underneath because the buttons might pop off if I try to button them over my mountainous outcroppings! Dresses I don’t have to take in at the waist because I had to buy the next size up! The head swims with possibilities!
All that retail goodness is definitely lifting my spirits. Today wasn’t a total loss at work, either. I turned in two documents several hours ahead of the deadline. The work day is almost over. And I’m remembering that I have Haagen Dazs coffee-and-almond ice cream bars in the freezer at home. I’m not usually the “eat to cope” type, but some days….
Monday, April 20, 2009
Pass the Ammunition
The world is changing. The poster boy is definitely President Obama. No matter what one thinks of his policies, there’s no denying that he’s ushering in an era where ideas formerly labeled “liberal” are going to be mainstreamed.
Change is going to be felt in churches as well. Old ways of witnessing (EE, etc) are not going to work with young people. Why? The Bible isn’t respected anymore. At best, it’s equated with every other religious text and viewed as a relic of ancient superstitions. At worst, it’s viewed as a textbook for madmen. The church as an institution has largely discredited itself in the eyes of young people. They see the infighting among denominations over (seemingly) minute and meaningless distinctions. They see the highly-publicized sex scandals. And most damagingly, they see the Christians of their acquaintance as ignorant, anti-intellectual, and judgmental.
Christians have had it easy for too long. We’ve cruise-controlled our faith in previous eras where everyone was at least a Deist, went to church on Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday and respected the Bible. The current generation is completely unfamiliar with the Bible, doesn’t believe in God (and doesn’t want to), and knows nothing of any sacred holidays.
Will has had an ongoing discussion with a young English gay man in the xkcd IRC channel. Julian went to Sunday school as a child, but now considers himself an atheist. He accepts nothing that cannot be proved by science. I think Julian is probably typical of the way the world has bent. Arguments from Scripture will no longer work, except to clear up misconceptions about not eating shellfish and not wearing poly-blend socks. Whenever somebody wants to make fun of Christians, they inevitably go for the Levitical law. They don’t know enough about Scripture to know that most of the Levitical law was rescinded in Acts 15—and when we point that out, the reaction is “Well, it’s all [baloney] (sic) anyway, so why does it matter?”
Will is still talking to Julian about various religious topics, especially homosexuality. I’ve had my own share of conversations with various online acquaintances. What we’ve learned from these encounters is how incredibly vital it is to know what you believe and why you believe it, and to be able to explain yourself without using Scripture or Christian buzzwords. There are a lot of hostile people out there who will rip you to shreds if you waffle just the slightest bit. Also, when you hit a dead end, be willing to say that you don’t understand something, but wiser heads than you have taken a stab at it—so know your Church Fathers so you have references to back you up. Be ready to admit your doubts and failings. The slightest whiff of hypocrisy will send a non-believer packing. And really, isn’t it time Christians stopped being fake with each other as well?
My goal in talking to those people is not to convert them. The Lord knows their hearts and the elect are pre-destined. My goal is to give an accurate representation of the truth I believe and to plant that seed that not all Christians are stupid and scary. And I really wonder if any un-churched young people do come to the Lord, whether they will eschew the conservative denominations? I really think that issues like the condemnation of homosexual practice and the ban on women’s ordination will prove to be too alienating for my generation, who grew up with CEO mothers and openly gay and bisexual friends. I have a hard time with the ban on female clergy myself. I know many ministers’ wives who are better speakers than their husbands and it really bothers me that they must take a supporting role. However, there are things in the Bible I don’t understand and don’t like, but they are there for a reason and I must trust that the omniscient Lord knows better than I do. When put that way, the question becomes laughable. Me? Know better than God? Ha! So I abide.
We sideline ourselves when we care more about how fellow believers keep the Sabbath (to eat out or not?), etc., than whether the Gospel is being preached to a world that needs it, but doesn’t want it. Christians need to stop chewing over Roast Brethren for Sunday lunch. We must get over ourselves and get back to work.
Change is going to be felt in churches as well. Old ways of witnessing (EE, etc) are not going to work with young people. Why? The Bible isn’t respected anymore. At best, it’s equated with every other religious text and viewed as a relic of ancient superstitions. At worst, it’s viewed as a textbook for madmen. The church as an institution has largely discredited itself in the eyes of young people. They see the infighting among denominations over (seemingly) minute and meaningless distinctions. They see the highly-publicized sex scandals. And most damagingly, they see the Christians of their acquaintance as ignorant, anti-intellectual, and judgmental.
Christians have had it easy for too long. We’ve cruise-controlled our faith in previous eras where everyone was at least a Deist, went to church on Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday and respected the Bible. The current generation is completely unfamiliar with the Bible, doesn’t believe in God (and doesn’t want to), and knows nothing of any sacred holidays.
Will has had an ongoing discussion with a young English gay man in the xkcd IRC channel. Julian went to Sunday school as a child, but now considers himself an atheist. He accepts nothing that cannot be proved by science. I think Julian is probably typical of the way the world has bent. Arguments from Scripture will no longer work, except to clear up misconceptions about not eating shellfish and not wearing poly-blend socks. Whenever somebody wants to make fun of Christians, they inevitably go for the Levitical law. They don’t know enough about Scripture to know that most of the Levitical law was rescinded in Acts 15—and when we point that out, the reaction is “Well, it’s all [baloney] (sic) anyway, so why does it matter?”
Will is still talking to Julian about various religious topics, especially homosexuality. I’ve had my own share of conversations with various online acquaintances. What we’ve learned from these encounters is how incredibly vital it is to know what you believe and why you believe it, and to be able to explain yourself without using Scripture or Christian buzzwords. There are a lot of hostile people out there who will rip you to shreds if you waffle just the slightest bit. Also, when you hit a dead end, be willing to say that you don’t understand something, but wiser heads than you have taken a stab at it—so know your Church Fathers so you have references to back you up. Be ready to admit your doubts and failings. The slightest whiff of hypocrisy will send a non-believer packing. And really, isn’t it time Christians stopped being fake with each other as well?
My goal in talking to those people is not to convert them. The Lord knows their hearts and the elect are pre-destined. My goal is to give an accurate representation of the truth I believe and to plant that seed that not all Christians are stupid and scary. And I really wonder if any un-churched young people do come to the Lord, whether they will eschew the conservative denominations? I really think that issues like the condemnation of homosexual practice and the ban on women’s ordination will prove to be too alienating for my generation, who grew up with CEO mothers and openly gay and bisexual friends. I have a hard time with the ban on female clergy myself. I know many ministers’ wives who are better speakers than their husbands and it really bothers me that they must take a supporting role. However, there are things in the Bible I don’t understand and don’t like, but they are there for a reason and I must trust that the omniscient Lord knows better than I do. When put that way, the question becomes laughable. Me? Know better than God? Ha! So I abide.
We sideline ourselves when we care more about how fellow believers keep the Sabbath (to eat out or not?), etc., than whether the Gospel is being preached to a world that needs it, but doesn’t want it. Christians need to stop chewing over Roast Brethren for Sunday lunch. We must get over ourselves and get back to work.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Friday Complains
Dear Mistress Anna and Master Will,
This is Friday, your poor tormented piggy! I believe that I must protest your recent abuse of my person. Recently I was in my home doing piggy business when suddenly, the top of my home was ripped off, and monstrous hands grabbed me and took me into a strange land and then I was put down!
There were two huge monsters close by making horrible sounds that came from large oval places in their faces, but I could not make out any piggy language at all. To my piggy ears, it sounded like gaseous belching from a sick volcano! My little piggy heart was frightened, but there was no place for me to hide!
I tried to calm myself by nibbling on a strange plant, but I was so frightened that my taste buds were numb! Besides, would you want to chew on a peace lily?
Then one of the monsters stood up and made a grab for me! Thankfully, I was not eaten, but placed back into my home. It resembled my home, but everything had changed! The smells were different! It was cleaner than before, but at least there was shelter where I could hide from the gaze of those two monsters!
I just want my mistress and master to be informed that I formally protest the abuse that I suffered, and that if it happens again and I survive, I will be forced to lodge an official complaint with the SPCA!!
Sincerely yours,
Friday, the abused piggy
(written by Dad)
This is Friday, your poor tormented piggy! I believe that I must protest your recent abuse of my person. Recently I was in my home doing piggy business when suddenly, the top of my home was ripped off, and monstrous hands grabbed me and took me into a strange land and then I was put down!
There were two huge monsters close by making horrible sounds that came from large oval places in their faces, but I could not make out any piggy language at all. To my piggy ears, it sounded like gaseous belching from a sick volcano! My little piggy heart was frightened, but there was no place for me to hide!
I tried to calm myself by nibbling on a strange plant, but I was so frightened that my taste buds were numb! Besides, would you want to chew on a peace lily?
Then one of the monsters stood up and made a grab for me! Thankfully, I was not eaten, but placed back into my home. It resembled my home, but everything had changed! The smells were different! It was cleaner than before, but at least there was shelter where I could hide from the gaze of those two monsters!
I just want my mistress and master to be informed that I formally protest the abuse that I suffered, and that if it happens again and I survive, I will be forced to lodge an official complaint with the SPCA!!
Sincerely yours,
Friday, the abused piggy
(written by Dad)
Friday Gets a Reply
Dear Friday,
Perhaps the Monsters are actually not malevolent! Since they did not require the exhausting scaling of any mountains or the swimming of rivers, and since they provided sustenance in the large place, they may be regarded with less alarm. However, you were right not to entrust yourself wholly to them. Forgive the lack of delicacy, but I understand that in some places Monsters actually eat some of our number. Indeed, they think we are a delicacy. Perish the thought! Happily that did not happen to me, and I met a natural demise.
Keep me posted on the Most Latest Developments,
the Ghost of Shui,
the last High Pig Counselor
(written by Mom)
Perhaps the Monsters are actually not malevolent! Since they did not require the exhausting scaling of any mountains or the swimming of rivers, and since they provided sustenance in the large place, they may be regarded with less alarm. However, you were right not to entrust yourself wholly to them. Forgive the lack of delicacy, but I understand that in some places Monsters actually eat some of our number. Indeed, they think we are a delicacy. Perish the thought! Happily that did not happen to me, and I met a natural demise.
Keep me posted on the Most Latest Developments,
the Ghost of Shui,
the last High Pig Counselor
(written by Mom)
Friday, April 3, 2009
Friday in the Wild
After work this afternoon, I was debating whether to take a nap or do chores before Will came home. I did neither; instead I made coffee and took a John Grisham book and a pillow out on the deck to enjoy the soft sun (and gloat over my sprouting snow peas). When Will came home, I proposed we bring Friday the guinea pig (and a bag of Doritos) out with us. We watched her nose around for about an hour, chew on my peace lily, etc. before cleaning her cage and putting her back in. She now has a well-pollinated belly. Ahhh, Spring. Sometime later, I found this half-chewed communique in her pigloo.
To the High Pig Council:
My trials continue. At roughly 18:00 hours the pink dome I dwell in was lifted off me. I scampered for the hay log, determined to make it difficult for the Monsters to get at me. To my surprise, the hay log had already been removed, along with the tall white grid that forms the top part of my prison. I had no place to go! The fearsome Hand scooped me up and carried me many pig-lengths, passing through a giant clear portal. New smells assaulted me and a breeze ruffled my crest. The Hand put me down. I smelled something familiar. There were four dried out carrots in front of me, but I did not give in to instinct. I splayed out my hind legs and glared all around in a display of defiance. Nothing happened. Then I saw that the white grid had re-appeared and was stretched length-wise to enclose a much larger space than my prison. The Monster had settled itself in the corner and sat motionless. It appeared to be ignoring me. Soon a larger Monster joined it. I heard the rustling of a bag. I refused to wheek. They were not going to get any satisfaction out of me! The Monsters removed something flat and crunchy out of the bag. They ate those things and drank from oddly-shaped vessels that lacked the practicality or elegance of the bottle in my prison. I crept close and sniffed the liquid inside. It was dark brown and smelled bitter. Deciding it was of no interest to me, I explored the area. The Monsters made no move to stop me, beyond making the loud noises that serve as their communication. (Thus far, they have made no effort to learn Piglish, and interpret my demands for release as requests for food.) While my back was turned, a pile of delicious clover appeared next to the carrots. I was not distracted from my duty. I sniffed everything I could see. There were some large vessels with plant matter growing in them. Some of the plant matter was just within the reach of my snout, and for scientific purposes, I sampled it. It appeared to be a peace lily. When I had explored the entire area, only then did I tentatively taste the provisions that had been left for me. They were not tainted, so I tucked in, periodically doing a perimeter sweep. All this time, the Monsters moved little, and did not touch me... [the next section is missing and the paper is gnawed.]
...returned to cage. I will ponder this development and try to determine if there is any chance of escape. Please advise further.
Signed,
Agent Friday
To the High Pig Council:
My trials continue. At roughly 18:00 hours the pink dome I dwell in was lifted off me. I scampered for the hay log, determined to make it difficult for the Monsters to get at me. To my surprise, the hay log had already been removed, along with the tall white grid that forms the top part of my prison. I had no place to go! The fearsome Hand scooped me up and carried me many pig-lengths, passing through a giant clear portal. New smells assaulted me and a breeze ruffled my crest. The Hand put me down. I smelled something familiar. There were four dried out carrots in front of me, but I did not give in to instinct. I splayed out my hind legs and glared all around in a display of defiance. Nothing happened. Then I saw that the white grid had re-appeared and was stretched length-wise to enclose a much larger space than my prison. The Monster had settled itself in the corner and sat motionless. It appeared to be ignoring me. Soon a larger Monster joined it. I heard the rustling of a bag. I refused to wheek. They were not going to get any satisfaction out of me! The Monsters removed something flat and crunchy out of the bag. They ate those things and drank from oddly-shaped vessels that lacked the practicality or elegance of the bottle in my prison. I crept close and sniffed the liquid inside. It was dark brown and smelled bitter. Deciding it was of no interest to me, I explored the area. The Monsters made no move to stop me, beyond making the loud noises that serve as their communication. (Thus far, they have made no effort to learn Piglish, and interpret my demands for release as requests for food.) While my back was turned, a pile of delicious clover appeared next to the carrots. I was not distracted from my duty. I sniffed everything I could see. There were some large vessels with plant matter growing in them. Some of the plant matter was just within the reach of my snout, and for scientific purposes, I sampled it. It appeared to be a peace lily. When I had explored the entire area, only then did I tentatively taste the provisions that had been left for me. They were not tainted, so I tucked in, periodically doing a perimeter sweep. All this time, the Monsters moved little, and did not touch me... [the next section is missing and the paper is gnawed.]
...returned to cage. I will ponder this development and try to determine if there is any chance of escape. Please advise further.
Signed,
Agent Friday
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