I stopped liking my hair the day I set foot in seventh grade in a new school, new state, new continent. Rows of identically layered, poker-straight, blonde ponytails swiveled to give me a cold onceover. I failed the test. At 12 years old, I was nearly finished growing, but I still had my messy, childish, wavy hair that I brushed once in the morning and forgot about unless forcibly reminded. No bangs. No layers. No natural (or ruthlessly Sun-Inned) blonde coloring. At thirteen, I cut myself wispy bangs in the hurried five minutes in the bathroom after PE class. I didn’t own a round brush or a straightening iron; didn’t even know what either of them was for. Hair horns ensued. Mom was no help whatsoever since her own poker-straight hair looked much the same whether air-dried or styled. The only clue was the presence or absence of mousse-crunchy strands. She didn’t understand my horror of my hair. “People pay a lot of money for waves like yours,” she consistently pointed out. I didn’t care if it was true. I wanted that perfectly-layered, high ponytail, tied with a black satin ribbon a scant few atoms wide, just like the other girls. (Of course, I wanted to be thin and athletic like them too, and see how that turned out!)
At 14 I cut my hair above my shoulders. This was my first major cut, and I chose the layered bob everyone else had. I’d never had anything beyond a half inch trim before, and my hair was just halfway down my chest. Even though the cut transformed my head into a Mardi Gras of curls, I liked the cut. I wouldn’t have hair below my shoulders again until I was 25.
College led to the epiphanies of the round brush and straightening iron. Had some vaguely mullet-like cuts in there, but they weren’t that unflattering once I tamed the frizzies. I got married at age 20 with my hair just below my jawline, which was unbelievably chic with my grandmother’s Juliet Cap veil, circa 1932.
Now at 26, my hair is experiencing the recession. I haven’t cut it since a half-hearted reshaping in January that I paid too much for. I have a long side bang I cut myself. The rest of my head has reverted to the messy, childish waves I used to hate. The tips of my grown-out inverted bob are just stretching below my collarbone. My husband loves my longer hair, which I find bemusing since it was much more flattering and stylish shorter. Must be a primal male thing. I’ll take the attention, though. After all, as a married woman, whom do I need to impress with my beauty? None but him. Today, I realized that my scanty braids were just long enough to climb up the sides of my head for an almost-there German milkmaid look. I pinned my hair up and stood in front of Will. When he glanced up from his iPhone zombie smashing, his eyes glowed. I never got a look like that with a sassier cut. So we’ll see how long I can go until the next cut. Part of me is curious to see my genetically pre-programmed maximum length. Another part of me misses the frothy curls. But I keep reminding myself that “people pay a lot of money for waves like mine. “ Thanks, Mom. You got through to me and it only took a decade!
Friday, October 22, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Snow (Hey Oh)
Snow was in the forecast for Friday, Feb 12. I admitted skepticism, considering that the coast of South Carolina is one of the least likely places on earth for snow. Considering that last year it snowed in Daytona while we had warmish weather. When I left work around 4:30 on Friday, the wind was picking up, but the temperature was a solid ten degrees too warm. Probably not going to happen, I told myself. Best not to get any hopes up. However, by the time I picked Will up from work, it was quite cold. And then it started to rain on the way home. After an hour of rain, we had Snow. I was in the kitchen rolling spring rolls for our Chinese New Year dinner when the neighbor boy pounded on the door. We opened the door and crept out on the porch, awed by the snowfall’s beauty. There was already at least an inch on the car, and the footprints on our front steps were swiftly filling in.
It took a moment to believe what we were seeing, but only a moment. Seconds later, we were gloved, booted, and be-hatted (me), dashing out into the wintry night. It was incredibly satisfying to pelt the 15 year old boy next door with snow balls (I firmly believe teenagers should have things thrown at them as often as possible.).
After getting socked in the thigh by an ice ball Will ducked, I was done with the snow ball fight. So I disengaged and moved to the demilitarized zone, i.e. the end of the driveway. I spun around, feeling the snow brush against my face. And here’s where the night got all romance novel-y. I was caught in strong arms mid spin and shyly peeked up from under my hat brim at my William. He said slowly, “You are so adorable” and kissed me. And then we kissed again to make sure we liked it. Oh yeah. That’s an item off my bucket list.
I scampered back inside not long after that, turned on the Olympic opening ceremony and fried the spring rolls. My first attempt at spring rolls turned out beautifully, by the way. I made about 16, and probably ate 9 or 10 of them. I’m not going to do that again, but spring rolls are such a treat, and they tasted so authentic and fried things go bad fast and, and…Yeah, I paid for it, but it was worth it. With the spring rolls, I served “froggy food,” a stir-fried soy bean (edamame) and pork mixture over rice. Just a little feast for Chinese New Year. Xin nian kuai le and gong xi fa cai!
I went to bed that evening starry-eyed with a belly full of grease. Life was good. The snow stopped falling around 1 am. 4 inches total. Magical.
Saturday morning, I woke up just long enough to push Will out of bed so he could go to Taekwondo. About an hour later I woke up to find a very sheepish William offering me a bowl of cheerios, a strawberry yogurt, and a mug of tea. Breakfast in bed! It turned out that the gym was closed due to the snowfall, and the roads were still slick. I loitered in bed a little longer, but couldn’t stand the inactivity and got to work. I had already taped off the master bath; now it was time to paint. While I brushed the dusty plum color on the walls, I had a very cute view. Will had obviously taken a cue from Friday the guinea pig and was snoozing with just the ends of his hair sticking out. I admit I took some pictures. Blackmail may be forthcoming. Painting the bathroom took about two hours, then I moved on to cleaning the living room, watching the Olympics, and burning things. I’m embarrassed to admit that the front left corner of the living room was still covered in fir branches I cut off the Christmas tree to use for tinder. Ouch. It was appropriately cold, so I kept a toasty fire going all afternoon, burning broken boards from TKD, fir branches and junk mail. My pyromania is satisfied…for now. I played a little WoW and made Will help me hang a shelf in the dining room. By mid-evening the paint dried enough to finally hang the huge round mirrors I bought in August(!) I also swapped out the old paint-spattered switch plates for brushed nickel and put up two black and white art photos my dad took –one of a fern draped over bamboo, and the other of a snail shell encased in concrete. Because snails are totally what someone thinks of when they think of a bathroom. There! Voila! Finished! I promptly collapsed into a hot bath to enjoy the spa-like ambiance (and new paint smell).
After all that physical labor, it was hard to get moving Sunday. We were very late to church. Will’s nose twitched longingly as we walked past a favorite restaurant: Jestine’s Kitchen. After church, I noted that the line to get in was not that long, and we could at least see what the specials were. He nodded vehemently. The specials were pot roast (yum!) and catfish (yum for Will!), so we waited in line, flirting shamelessly with each other. It was windy and cold, but I sure didn’t feel it. During lunch, Will casually mentioned that his phone was very busted, and the Apple store was right around the corner. I laughed, knowing he’d been dying to get an iPhone but wanted to wait until his current phone was good and dead. The surprise was not that he got an iPhone, but that he wanted to get me one too. So now we have black and white, bride and groom iPhones. This is truly a luxury I didn’t know I couldn’t do without until I had one. I love it!!!
After the spending orgy at the Apple Store, Will dropped me off at home for a nap. He went out again on his own and got me hot pink roses and a white case for my iPhone. And then he made lasagna from scratch for dinner! This after I said I didn’t want to do much for Valentine’s Day! What a man I’ve got! What a great, romantic, productive weekend we have.
Sadly, the next home improvement project on my plate is painting the master bedroom. I have a lovely warm gray picked out, but I’m quailing at the scope of it. Five windows and five doors to tape around. Urg. I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon, but when I get to it, it’s gonna look great. Our duvet is eggplant velvet, and I’m going to mix that with crisp whites and apple green. That should be very sharp, but first, I could use some sleep, because all this happiness is very exhausting.
It took a moment to believe what we were seeing, but only a moment. Seconds later, we were gloved, booted, and be-hatted (me), dashing out into the wintry night. It was incredibly satisfying to pelt the 15 year old boy next door with snow balls (I firmly believe teenagers should have things thrown at them as often as possible.).
After getting socked in the thigh by an ice ball Will ducked, I was done with the snow ball fight. So I disengaged and moved to the demilitarized zone, i.e. the end of the driveway. I spun around, feeling the snow brush against my face. And here’s where the night got all romance novel-y. I was caught in strong arms mid spin and shyly peeked up from under my hat brim at my William. He said slowly, “You are so adorable” and kissed me. And then we kissed again to make sure we liked it. Oh yeah. That’s an item off my bucket list.
I scampered back inside not long after that, turned on the Olympic opening ceremony and fried the spring rolls. My first attempt at spring rolls turned out beautifully, by the way. I made about 16, and probably ate 9 or 10 of them. I’m not going to do that again, but spring rolls are such a treat, and they tasted so authentic and fried things go bad fast and, and…Yeah, I paid for it, but it was worth it. With the spring rolls, I served “froggy food,” a stir-fried soy bean (edamame) and pork mixture over rice. Just a little feast for Chinese New Year. Xin nian kuai le and gong xi fa cai!
I went to bed that evening starry-eyed with a belly full of grease. Life was good. The snow stopped falling around 1 am. 4 inches total. Magical.
Saturday morning, I woke up just long enough to push Will out of bed so he could go to Taekwondo. About an hour later I woke up to find a very sheepish William offering me a bowl of cheerios, a strawberry yogurt, and a mug of tea. Breakfast in bed! It turned out that the gym was closed due to the snowfall, and the roads were still slick. I loitered in bed a little longer, but couldn’t stand the inactivity and got to work. I had already taped off the master bath; now it was time to paint. While I brushed the dusty plum color on the walls, I had a very cute view. Will had obviously taken a cue from Friday the guinea pig and was snoozing with just the ends of his hair sticking out. I admit I took some pictures. Blackmail may be forthcoming. Painting the bathroom took about two hours, then I moved on to cleaning the living room, watching the Olympics, and burning things. I’m embarrassed to admit that the front left corner of the living room was still covered in fir branches I cut off the Christmas tree to use for tinder. Ouch. It was appropriately cold, so I kept a toasty fire going all afternoon, burning broken boards from TKD, fir branches and junk mail. My pyromania is satisfied…for now. I played a little WoW and made Will help me hang a shelf in the dining room. By mid-evening the paint dried enough to finally hang the huge round mirrors I bought in August(!) I also swapped out the old paint-spattered switch plates for brushed nickel and put up two black and white art photos my dad took –one of a fern draped over bamboo, and the other of a snail shell encased in concrete. Because snails are totally what someone thinks of when they think of a bathroom. There! Voila! Finished! I promptly collapsed into a hot bath to enjoy the spa-like ambiance (and new paint smell).
After all that physical labor, it was hard to get moving Sunday. We were very late to church. Will’s nose twitched longingly as we walked past a favorite restaurant: Jestine’s Kitchen. After church, I noted that the line to get in was not that long, and we could at least see what the specials were. He nodded vehemently. The specials were pot roast (yum!) and catfish (yum for Will!), so we waited in line, flirting shamelessly with each other. It was windy and cold, but I sure didn’t feel it. During lunch, Will casually mentioned that his phone was very busted, and the Apple store was right around the corner. I laughed, knowing he’d been dying to get an iPhone but wanted to wait until his current phone was good and dead. The surprise was not that he got an iPhone, but that he wanted to get me one too. So now we have black and white, bride and groom iPhones. This is truly a luxury I didn’t know I couldn’t do without until I had one. I love it!!!
After the spending orgy at the Apple Store, Will dropped me off at home for a nap. He went out again on his own and got me hot pink roses and a white case for my iPhone. And then he made lasagna from scratch for dinner! This after I said I didn’t want to do much for Valentine’s Day! What a man I’ve got! What a great, romantic, productive weekend we have.
Sadly, the next home improvement project on my plate is painting the master bedroom. I have a lovely warm gray picked out, but I’m quailing at the scope of it. Five windows and five doors to tape around. Urg. I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon, but when I get to it, it’s gonna look great. Our duvet is eggplant velvet, and I’m going to mix that with crisp whites and apple green. That should be very sharp, but first, I could use some sleep, because all this happiness is very exhausting.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Defiance, Compliance...Poop?
February 3rd, Will and I started obedience class for Toby and Frankie. This has been a long time coming, as we've had Toby since September 09 and have had plenty of time to observe and deplore his issues. Frankie came home with us December 30, 2009, and we're still figuring him out. He was a stray, so we're not sure what he knows. Furthermore, he was sick the entire first month we had him, and sickness tends to have a deleterious effect on bowel control. There were some unfortunate consequences for the kitchen floor. Sigh I've been watching him like a hawk, and I definitely don't trust him yet. I guess all this clean up has been good for me. Poop really icks me out. Maybe having dogs is supposed to desensitize me before we have kids. Gross.
The class was held at the Charleston Animal Society on Remount Rd, about five minutes away from our home. That's a good thing, too, because Frankie is afraid of riding in the car, and always raises a fuss. I drove, with Toby in the front seat, and Will and Frankie in the back. Will had both leashes and was coordinating the dogs like that old America's Funniest Home Videos clip where the couple has broken windshield wipers in a rainstorm. The woman ties twine to the blades, and through cracked windows, pulls the wipers back and forth manually. I never got why that clip won. It would have been funnier with two squirming, crying 50 lb mutts instead of windshield wipers.
With a mishap or two, we (Okay, I was the one having trouble. I had a leash with an excited, pulling mutt on the end of it, my purse, and two medical folders in my hands) made it through the door. There were probably eight other puppies. I was worried that Toby and Frankie would be much too large, but there was a sheepdog-type thing, and a year-old labrador mix that were about the same size. I had to laugh when the lab, named Will, was parked next to human Will and Toby. Canine Will was black, with a huge white blaze on his chest and face. The resemblance was uncanny. After the class, Will and I joked that canine Will had his looks and my personality. Whenever I looked at the dog, he was lying down, slobbering cordially. My kind of guy.
Two of the small puppies stood out to me as well: pretty little girls named Izzy and Reesie. Reesie was no doubt named for a peanut butter cup. If I were to guess, I'd say her ancestry was chocolate lab with maybe pit bull? She had a gorgeous, brindled orange-and-brown coat, and her tough-looking owner had decked her out in a pink and brown collar-the same paw-print pattern as Frankie's green and brown collar. I detected a softy.
Izzy was a proud little German Shepherd with a light tan coat and a delicately shaded black snout. Whenever she got a little slack on the leash, she dove to the end of the tether nose first and plopped on her belly with a surprised look. I hope I get the chance to scoop her up during the class, because she's going to be too heavy to carry pretty soon, and I'm dying to give her a good ear rub and chin tickle.
The class covered sit-stays, the "leave it!" command and how to let your dog meet another dog. Frankie sat like a champion, which amused me because at home, he's a slow, apathetic sitter. I guess he was showing off, or the super cheapy string cheese we used is his heart's greatest desire. Or something. At least he liked that. I don't blame him for being uninspired by the hot dogs we also cut up for treats. I wouldn't have touched those either. 88c a pack off-off-brand? Blech. At least my dog has good(ish) taste. We're going to have to practice "leave it" at home with a variety of tasty objects. Frankie has already eaten one of my shoes, and the dogs together shredded an old book with a cloth cover. Thank goodness it wasn't one I was attached to, but I was pretty mad that they made a point of taking it out of the basket on the bookcase. I guess the cloth cover had an interesting smell or flavor? Who knows? I turn to my default answer: Dogs are dumb.
Though my session with Frankie went swimmingly, Will had a war on his hands with Toby. Every time I looked across the room at them, Toby was straining at the end of his leash. He would not listen, he would not sit, he could have cared less about the treats, and every time Will forced eye contact, the expression in Toby's eyes was a hard, bright "[screw] you." I swear that beast slid out of his mongrel mama smoking a cigar. His entire attitude since we've had him has been "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?" He's very strong-willed and high energy. The only thing we've found to calm him down has been schlepping two cans of tomatoes in his saddlebags. I guess that fulfills some psychological need deep in his little canine hindbrain. Too bad we can't take him to class loaded up and strapped in. Sigh. Dogs.
The class ended with a five minute play period off-leash. The puppies slithered across the tile floor quite endearingly. Toby went off by himself after a few cursory sniffs. What's wrong with him? Did he get a cat soul? Frankie went over and made friends with canine Will. I'm sure when they separate the dogs into play groups, Frankie and Will are going to be placed together. And why not? They're big enough to handle each other. A little more running around, and then the excitement got to Frankie and he dropped 4 huge nuggets on the floor. I was so embarrassed. Those tiny puppies made it through an hour, and my nearly 2 year old dog is the one to lose it. The trainers advised us to just not feed them at all next Wednesday so they're hungry for treats and we won't have a reprise. Poop. Why'd it have to be poop?
The class was held at the Charleston Animal Society on Remount Rd, about five minutes away from our home. That's a good thing, too, because Frankie is afraid of riding in the car, and always raises a fuss. I drove, with Toby in the front seat, and Will and Frankie in the back. Will had both leashes and was coordinating the dogs like that old America's Funniest Home Videos clip where the couple has broken windshield wipers in a rainstorm. The woman ties twine to the blades, and through cracked windows, pulls the wipers back and forth manually. I never got why that clip won. It would have been funnier with two squirming, crying 50 lb mutts instead of windshield wipers.
With a mishap or two, we (Okay, I was the one having trouble. I had a leash with an excited, pulling mutt on the end of it, my purse, and two medical folders in my hands) made it through the door. There were probably eight other puppies. I was worried that Toby and Frankie would be much too large, but there was a sheepdog-type thing, and a year-old labrador mix that were about the same size. I had to laugh when the lab, named Will, was parked next to human Will and Toby. Canine Will was black, with a huge white blaze on his chest and face. The resemblance was uncanny. After the class, Will and I joked that canine Will had his looks and my personality. Whenever I looked at the dog, he was lying down, slobbering cordially. My kind of guy.
Two of the small puppies stood out to me as well: pretty little girls named Izzy and Reesie. Reesie was no doubt named for a peanut butter cup. If I were to guess, I'd say her ancestry was chocolate lab with maybe pit bull? She had a gorgeous, brindled orange-and-brown coat, and her tough-looking owner had decked her out in a pink and brown collar-the same paw-print pattern as Frankie's green and brown collar. I detected a softy.
Izzy was a proud little German Shepherd with a light tan coat and a delicately shaded black snout. Whenever she got a little slack on the leash, she dove to the end of the tether nose first and plopped on her belly with a surprised look. I hope I get the chance to scoop her up during the class, because she's going to be too heavy to carry pretty soon, and I'm dying to give her a good ear rub and chin tickle.
The class covered sit-stays, the "leave it!" command and how to let your dog meet another dog. Frankie sat like a champion, which amused me because at home, he's a slow, apathetic sitter. I guess he was showing off, or the super cheapy string cheese we used is his heart's greatest desire. Or something. At least he liked that. I don't blame him for being uninspired by the hot dogs we also cut up for treats. I wouldn't have touched those either. 88c a pack off-off-brand? Blech. At least my dog has good(ish) taste. We're going to have to practice "leave it" at home with a variety of tasty objects. Frankie has already eaten one of my shoes, and the dogs together shredded an old book with a cloth cover. Thank goodness it wasn't one I was attached to, but I was pretty mad that they made a point of taking it out of the basket on the bookcase. I guess the cloth cover had an interesting smell or flavor? Who knows? I turn to my default answer: Dogs are dumb.
Though my session with Frankie went swimmingly, Will had a war on his hands with Toby. Every time I looked across the room at them, Toby was straining at the end of his leash. He would not listen, he would not sit, he could have cared less about the treats, and every time Will forced eye contact, the expression in Toby's eyes was a hard, bright "[screw] you." I swear that beast slid out of his mongrel mama smoking a cigar. His entire attitude since we've had him has been "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?" He's very strong-willed and high energy. The only thing we've found to calm him down has been schlepping two cans of tomatoes in his saddlebags. I guess that fulfills some psychological need deep in his little canine hindbrain. Too bad we can't take him to class loaded up and strapped in. Sigh. Dogs.
The class ended with a five minute play period off-leash. The puppies slithered across the tile floor quite endearingly. Toby went off by himself after a few cursory sniffs. What's wrong with him? Did he get a cat soul? Frankie went over and made friends with canine Will. I'm sure when they separate the dogs into play groups, Frankie and Will are going to be placed together. And why not? They're big enough to handle each other. A little more running around, and then the excitement got to Frankie and he dropped 4 huge nuggets on the floor. I was so embarrassed. Those tiny puppies made it through an hour, and my nearly 2 year old dog is the one to lose it. The trainers advised us to just not feed them at all next Wednesday so they're hungry for treats and we won't have a reprise. Poop. Why'd it have to be poop?
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Haiti
God rest the souls of those who perished in the earthquake. And may he give peace, comfort, and strength to those who survived and are suffering. May help come quickly.
Friday, December 11, 2009
2 Talents, or 5?
The other day, Boundless blog asked what our talents were and are we wasting them? Ouch. Yes. I'm a writer, a pianist and singer-though I don't compose, an expert seamstress, and fledgling illustrator. Do I really do those things? Not really. I don't belong to the church choir because they have a glut of women, and this is probably my ego talking, but nobody in the choir reads music and I think I would be frustrated pretty quickly. There’s no way this isn’t going to sound proud, but I am certainly more advanced technically, and I know from experience I would have a hard time being patient when I've had so many years of musical training and it comes so easily to me. I've also seen many times when an average church choir gets one person who's had training and has a fantastic voice (not talking about myself here in respect to the voice. My voice is pleasant, but it's not remarkable). That person tends to have all the music built around them, whether it was their intention or not. They end up singing everything and will either get burned out or develop an inflated view of their talent, and it crowds out the dedicated, so-so people who are trying to serve.
I do miss singing very badly. I loved getting into a really technically difficult piece and mastering it. Our college Chorale director was always very exacting and pulled feats of beauty out of us we didn’t know we were capable of. If the dust ever settles (ha), I’d love to audition for the annual Messiah performance at the Citadel. I would probably have an advantage since I already know it well; the only difficulty is my voice. It’s smoky, and ill-suited to the baroque choral music I love so much. I have a strong suspicion that the college director only kept me around because he liked me and knew I’d turn in a solid performance with perfect rehearsal attendance-and those are good reasons-but probably not good enough for a professional orchestra director.
As far as writing goes, I wrote prolifically in high school and college, and then tapered off since I got married. I find the Muse doesn't visit much when I'm happy, since my genius, like a dung beetle, always fed on big juicy piles of angst. I have a novelette to finish. I started it in high school and never really had any good inspiration for it. It was supposed to cap off a trilogy, and I never could get that into it. The first two were much more fun. My college roommate and I started a story about a tribe of Celtic-ish women warriors that got bogged down in the middle and ground to a halt when we both graduated. Could finish that, but I have a strong suspicion I (we?) was only writing it to keep my mind off my lack of dating prospects at the time.
Am I sewing? I should be. I want to be, but I'm not. In our new house, I finally have the space to spread my work out. I have a half dozen projects in planning stages or unfinished, and a big stack of mending and alterations. But there's always something to cook or clean, and by the time I'm done with my chores, I'm too tired to do much of anything.
Am I drawing? I need to be. I signed an illustration contract in October and haven't accomplished much. Right around Thanksgiving I discovered I have an overactive thyroid that's sucking all the energy out of me. After work, it's all I can do to throw a load of wash in, fix a quick stir fry, and collapse on the couch. I must push through the fatigue and make myself draw, however, because my author is counting on me.
I do miss singing very badly. I loved getting into a really technically difficult piece and mastering it. Our college Chorale director was always very exacting and pulled feats of beauty out of us we didn’t know we were capable of. If the dust ever settles (ha), I’d love to audition for the annual Messiah performance at the Citadel. I would probably have an advantage since I already know it well; the only difficulty is my voice. It’s smoky, and ill-suited to the baroque choral music I love so much. I have a strong suspicion that the college director only kept me around because he liked me and knew I’d turn in a solid performance with perfect rehearsal attendance-and those are good reasons-but probably not good enough for a professional orchestra director.
As far as writing goes, I wrote prolifically in high school and college, and then tapered off since I got married. I find the Muse doesn't visit much when I'm happy, since my genius, like a dung beetle, always fed on big juicy piles of angst. I have a novelette to finish. I started it in high school and never really had any good inspiration for it. It was supposed to cap off a trilogy, and I never could get that into it. The first two were much more fun. My college roommate and I started a story about a tribe of Celtic-ish women warriors that got bogged down in the middle and ground to a halt when we both graduated. Could finish that, but I have a strong suspicion I (we?) was only writing it to keep my mind off my lack of dating prospects at the time.
Am I sewing? I should be. I want to be, but I'm not. In our new house, I finally have the space to spread my work out. I have a half dozen projects in planning stages or unfinished, and a big stack of mending and alterations. But there's always something to cook or clean, and by the time I'm done with my chores, I'm too tired to do much of anything.
Am I drawing? I need to be. I signed an illustration contract in October and haven't accomplished much. Right around Thanksgiving I discovered I have an overactive thyroid that's sucking all the energy out of me. After work, it's all I can do to throw a load of wash in, fix a quick stir fry, and collapse on the couch. I must push through the fatigue and make myself draw, however, because my author is counting on me.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Tobosthenes the Biter of Men
It's sad that I have to be prodded to keep posting on MLV. In my defense, I've been insanely busy lately, though not too busy to re-read some hoary old novels I probably should have memorized by now.
Tonight, I'm supervising Will cleaning up the office. I'm also playing with Tobosthenes the Biter of Men. It's a good thing he's cute. *Mumbles indistinct threats* I know he's a puppy and he's going to do these things, but the not-so-little doggy is driving me nuts. He also farts. And by farts, I mean he emits a poisonous miasma from his tailpipe that could be classified as a biohazard. Hazmat suit, please! However, I am fond of the muttling, in spite of his very obvious (and painful) flaws. He's putting on weight nicely. I figure he's gained 8-10 pounds and has definitely gotten taller in the two months or so we've had him. Every evening I call him in, he seems subtly bigger. Is that how my mom looked at me when I was ten? We've guess that his physical maturity in human years should put him at the same level of coordination as a 10 year old boy. Which means he can barely walk without running into something. And by walk, I mean skidding at top speed, front legs splayed out, eyes full of panic. Dog fails at hardwood floors. The funniest example was one night when Will was at Taekwondo, Evan was on the laptop in the living room, and I was coming in from the kitchen to the living room. Toby was doing laps around the couch at top speed. He circled the coffee table and headed toward me. I sidestepped, but unfortunately didn't get out of the way fast enough. He crashed into my knees, nearly knocking me over, then picked himself up and did another lap. By the time he was done with his lap, I was standing by the back door, holding it open. Toby slid across the linoleum, gathered his hind legs for one enormous leap, sailed out the back door and belly flopped onto the pavement. He immediately bounced up, looking delighted with himself and the whole world. The expression on his face said "Ahhh, this is the life." Whatever you say, dog. Belly flopping on concrete isn't for me.
As hazardous as it is, I'm discovering a sick desire to mess with the dog. Fully protected, of course, in TKD sparring helmet and leather gardening gloves. Just loudly saying GAHBLEAHBLEAHBLEAH makes him totally freak out, spinning in puppy pirouettes with jaws wide and teeth gleaming. If I'm far enough out of range, this is hilarious. If not, ouch. I'll be nursing the scratches for the next three days. He's also terrified of the dust mop. I discovered this purely by accident when I was sweeping up the sand that came off our bicycle tires. He started running around yipping in panic. I couldn't believe a stalwart, manly pup like Toby would be afraid of something that sweeps smoothly and silently, but he is. I haven't exactly chased him with it (and boy am I lying right now), but I have been sweeping more than usual. As my dear friend Annie would say, I'm *so* going to hell.
I must admit I like Toby best when he's snoring at my feet while I watch TV. He's a great foot warmer, and it's cathartic to stroke his snoring head. I love his silky ears and his little puppy snores. However, if he doesn't shape up as he grows, especially if we have a kid, I'm sending him one way in a box with no airholes to Florida. My father in law seemed totally besotted by the pup, and they have more time than we do to train him and play with him. We'll see how it plays out.
Tonight, I'm supervising Will cleaning up the office. I'm also playing with Tobosthenes the Biter of Men. It's a good thing he's cute. *Mumbles indistinct threats* I know he's a puppy and he's going to do these things, but the not-so-little doggy is driving me nuts. He also farts. And by farts, I mean he emits a poisonous miasma from his tailpipe that could be classified as a biohazard. Hazmat suit, please! However, I am fond of the muttling, in spite of his very obvious (and painful) flaws. He's putting on weight nicely. I figure he's gained 8-10 pounds and has definitely gotten taller in the two months or so we've had him. Every evening I call him in, he seems subtly bigger. Is that how my mom looked at me when I was ten? We've guess that his physical maturity in human years should put him at the same level of coordination as a 10 year old boy. Which means he can barely walk without running into something. And by walk, I mean skidding at top speed, front legs splayed out, eyes full of panic. Dog fails at hardwood floors. The funniest example was one night when Will was at Taekwondo, Evan was on the laptop in the living room, and I was coming in from the kitchen to the living room. Toby was doing laps around the couch at top speed. He circled the coffee table and headed toward me. I sidestepped, but unfortunately didn't get out of the way fast enough. He crashed into my knees, nearly knocking me over, then picked himself up and did another lap. By the time he was done with his lap, I was standing by the back door, holding it open. Toby slid across the linoleum, gathered his hind legs for one enormous leap, sailed out the back door and belly flopped onto the pavement. He immediately bounced up, looking delighted with himself and the whole world. The expression on his face said "Ahhh, this is the life." Whatever you say, dog. Belly flopping on concrete isn't for me.
As hazardous as it is, I'm discovering a sick desire to mess with the dog. Fully protected, of course, in TKD sparring helmet and leather gardening gloves. Just loudly saying GAHBLEAHBLEAHBLEAH makes him totally freak out, spinning in puppy pirouettes with jaws wide and teeth gleaming. If I'm far enough out of range, this is hilarious. If not, ouch. I'll be nursing the scratches for the next three days. He's also terrified of the dust mop. I discovered this purely by accident when I was sweeping up the sand that came off our bicycle tires. He started running around yipping in panic. I couldn't believe a stalwart, manly pup like Toby would be afraid of something that sweeps smoothly and silently, but he is. I haven't exactly chased him with it (and boy am I lying right now), but I have been sweeping more than usual. As my dear friend Annie would say, I'm *so* going to hell.
I must admit I like Toby best when he's snoring at my feet while I watch TV. He's a great foot warmer, and it's cathartic to stroke his snoring head. I love his silky ears and his little puppy snores. However, if he doesn't shape up as he grows, especially if we have a kid, I'm sending him one way in a box with no airholes to Florida. My father in law seemed totally besotted by the pup, and they have more time than we do to train him and play with him. We'll see how it plays out.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Hungry for Fall
Let me bend my back now and take the beatings from certain persons who have been after me to update my blog for the last month. I'm looking at you, Work Buddy.
The last 7 weeks have galloped by with the tick-tack of Toby's claws on my hardwood floors. Yes, there is now a Toby. Since we closed on our house we've acquired a roommate, a puppy, and some bicycles. We've broken the lawnmower and put some hammer head-sized holes in the closet wall trying to hang a shelf that just didn't want to stay up. We've hosted Will's parents, a birthday party, and a gaming night that wasn't supposed to go to 3 am, but did.
We now have our 4th anniversary behind us, my birthday on the tenth, and the weather has almost been "chillish." Because I am always mildly hungry, my attention turns to the delights of autumn food. Not the candy apples and funnel cakes of county fairs, though those definitely factor in, but cold weather comfort food to make at home. With 30 minutes left on the clock, hungry and bored, I clicked over to Real Simple's recipe tab. Found a mouth-watering recipe for macaroni and cauliflower casserole. I'm eager to make it for Will since, like many young men, he could eat macaroni and cheese 2 meals a day, 6 days a week (Sunday being reserved for roast and leftover roast for supper).
When the in-laws visited, my mother in law gave us a white ceramic pumpkin cookie jar and a dairy-free pumpkin cookie recipe. I'm excited to make that, since pumpkin is one of my favorite flavors, along with hazelnut, and let's face it, soy sauce.
I'm also remembering with growling stomach, a fantastic white chili a hallmate made for all of us my senior year of college. I've Googled white chili recipes, but can't seem to find one that doesn't heavily rely on hot peppers. The crazy thing is, I don't really like chili because of the mushy texture of the beans, but that chili was just so good-and it could have been that we used Fritos for spoons-that I really want to try it again as the weather changes.
I'm covered for cold weather lunch options. Madra Rua, the local Irish pub, has Angus burgers with inch and a half thick patties and steaming shepherd's pie. EVO, the foodie pizza place, has carrot-ginger bisque that is a little overwhelming on its own, but when sopped up with the house focaccia bread, is absolutely sublime. Unfortunately, I first tried it at the end of July when it was too hot to appreciate it properly. I'm waiting until mid-November to order it again; it should be just the thing then.
Eating out is all very well, but I cherish daydreams of going for a long walk in the crisp air, then coming home to a warm house to make hot chocolate and eat pumpkin cookies, or of pulling pies out of the oven as the Man and Roommate of the house trudge in with the Christmas tree. Sometimes you just have to make the food yourself and experience the satisfaction of feeding your own.
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