Cop-Out Photo Post

I think I've had a post like this already, but somebody did ask for pictures, and it's been another crazy week, so here you go, Lindsay! This is Matthew the day of his baptism. He looks very much like Daniel at his baptism, but Daniel was several weeks older. Rosie and Anthony and the boys flew to Idaho yesterday for Anthony's parents' 40th wedding anniversary celebration, so they had the baptism earlier than they would have otherwise. But since Daniel came early and Matthew was overdue, both boys were about the same size. And in ten or fifteen years, nobody will be able to tell the pictures apart. Already we are doing it by what background and which outfit!


This next one is Matthew on Thursday the 14th. I think his new nickname should be "Chubster." He was 8# 1oz. at birth, 8# 3oz. at his four day checkup, and 9# 10 oz. at two weeks. This is a day short of three weeks. Ten and a half pounds, anybody??

This is Rosie with Matthew, at Arwen's house. Although I came home on Friday, (the day Matthew was two weeks old) it was only to help Maggie and Katie pack up their stuff to fly off to college in Florida tomorrow. Since Maggie was scheduled to take the GRE on Friday (yesterday), we drove both girls and a LOT of stuff to Arwen's on Thursday. Arwen and Bryan will take them to the airport tomorrow, after they have (we hope!) consolidated their stuff into two suitcases and a carry-on each. And since due to the rising cost of flying, we won't see them again until Christmas, the whole family except George/Brandon came over for dinner.


There's nothing like a couple of nephews to take your mind off the GRE!!

I Should Have Known Better...

Somehow I believed that even though I am spending the week at Rosie's house helping her with Daniel and Matthew since Anthony is done with paternity leave, I would be able to post. I am typing this with one hand standing up holding Matthew while Rosie is in the shower. See you next week!

Welcome, Matthew Benedict!

Rosie had her baby Friday evening. She had, slow, boring, not-quite-labor all day, and then a very lively time from about 6PM onward until Matthew was born about 10:15. I drove down to be with her in labor, but this is the last grandchild birth I'll try to attend. Sad-but-true fact -- I'm just getting too old. She and Anthony sent me away just about the time things picked up, because it was obvious that I was approaching "basket case" from fatigue. But they did superbly on their own, and Matthew is a sweetie!!

And there is something I'm not too old for -- holding the baby!

Pet Pictures as Per Request

Callebaut above, Joe below






And two of Lucas with Tommy

Response to "George"

As some of you may have seen in the comments, my older son "George" chose to take issue with how I named the pets in the previous post. He said:

"I find it somewhat ridiculous, mother, that you have no problem openly naming Lucas, or putting quotation marks around "Joe", as some sort of pseudo-pseudonym, yet feel the need to fake the nickname of our first dog, Callebaut, aka Cal. Not "Bo", Cal. And while I'm not sure what Uncle Bo called his childhood pet, I'm betting it wasn't "Cal". This internet anonymity stuff is a bit odd, I know, but the 35,600 Google results for "callebaut dog" aren't likely to lead anyone to find out who were really are."

So, for clarity --

Dear Only-slightly-pseudonymous George,

You are absolutely right! I should have just used the real names. But I wanted to avoid explaining how each animal was named, so I started with a never-used call name, and went downhill from there. I was just too lazy to fix it.

So the real names, in order, are:
Calico Snifter Boogie -- a beagle of high lineage but unfortunate "printed' pattern on his nose.
Callebaut -- a half-Aussie shepherd/ half chocolate Lab who was too classy to be called Hershey or Nestle
Aborigine Joe -- never called anything but "Joe" (or "Joe-dog" by Daniel and Camilla), half Aussie shepherd, half black Lab (we think)
Lucas -- a cute little black and white no-breed kitten

And by the way, son, if you don't stop picking on me (and your sister), I will tell the whole world that you don't have a weird name like your siblings, but are actually something totally commonplace and boring, like "Brandon". ;-D

Love you!

Mom

The Tail of a Cat

I have never wanted a cat. Or a dog, either. Or a gerbil or a bird or any other kind of a pet, for that matter. I had one week's custody of the class hamster in third grade. He bit me! And I had one or two ill-fated turtles, before they stopped selling them in every dime store for fear of salmonella, and once an Easter chick that everybody knew from the start was destined to wind up in my grandparents' chicken yard, to provide eggs or meat depending on its gender.

But I didn't mind. My friends read dog stories, or horse stories, or both. I read mysteries, or ballet stories. And anyway, I was "allergic to animal dander." My brother, however, minded a lot. He NEEDED a dog. And so my parents got him a beagle puppy, who lived strictly outdoors, in respect for my allergies. When "Cal" died when my brother was in high school, he was never replaced.

Many years later (he was forty-two), my brother married a lovely lady who was a cat person. It was understood that if he wanted her, Gypsy was part of the deal. And as Gypsy moved on to cat heaven, she was replaced by Samantha and Thomasina. One of them (I can only tell which under direct coaching) has adopted my brother. And the other one (I think) usually deigns to jump on me a couple of times whenever I visit. I have always considered that cat exposure enough for me. I choose not to remember that my allergies have departed along with my NOT LAMENTED allergy to chocolate.

However. . . . I also married, a man whose family had a succession of both cats and dogs all through his childhood, and even after he left home. And he is observant enough to know that I don't have my chocolate allergy any more. So ten or so years ago, when our children begged for a dog, I was outvoted seven to one. I could have cast a veto, but I was assured that they were old enough to take care of a dog, and I wouldn't have to do anything. That was as true as most such promises are. But I kind of got used to "Bo", and when he had to be put down because of lymphoma after only four years, I sent a baggie of cheese and chocolate -- his favorites -- along with the brave souls who were taking him to the vet.

We were pet-free for about a year after that, but I, at least, am incapable of telling a group of wistful children "Nope, no dog again ever." We eventually adopted "Joe", who has been a member of our family ever since. He is definitely Roger's dog, which is good because walking him makes my sedentary computer guru get some exercise. But not so good is the fact that when we want to make a weekend trip out of town to visit the grandchildren we have to find someone to take care of him. We have some awesome friends and neighbors who are willing to do this, but as the kids leave home and the grandchildren multiply we'll want to be gone more often, so we had determined -- no more pets.

Allow me to backtrack a little . I have not yet finished writing the Mom's-eye-view of Katie, our fifth. And I haven't begun at all on Tommy, our youngest. This has partly been because I've realized that they are still living through the parts of life I've described for the others. But I need to give Tommy a couple of sentences here.

Tommy is smart, articulate, computer-savvy, and self-confident. He gets his good looks from his dad, and his pig-headed stubbornness from me. He is wonderful with Daniel and Camilla; patient, kind and willing to have their kind of fun. And a couple of months ago, he got himself into hot water. It wasn't a big deal, really. I almost had a sense of relief that now we knew what the "wrinkle" in raising this one was, since each of the other five had had one. (Some of them I've mentioned here, some not.) But the result was that he wasn't too happy with us for while.

But ten days ago Tommy came into the room where I was ironing with an interesting smile on his face. "Hello, dear beautiful sweet intelligent mother.." Can you tell where this is going? He wanted to know if he could adopt a kitten! He and Katie assured me that the kitten was free (true), that it had had all its shots (not true), and that they would do all the work and pay all the expenses (true so far, except that sometimes I have to open a door that we keep closed in the summer for cooling so that Lucas can reach his litter box.) Obviously, I eventually I said yes.

And I'm very glad I did. Tommy, who begged us for a little brother or sister until it became obvious that it wasn't going to happen, now has something younger and smaller to care for. He spent his entire last paycheck on Lucas' vet visit. He wakes up reasonably cheerful in the morning to the sound of a bell on a collar. He cleans the litter box without being reminded.

Of course, right now, Tommy, like all red-blooded American boys, is taking a Sunday afternoon nap. And Lucas, who seems to have an insatiable urge to be "UP" as high as possible, has made his way onto my desk and is blocking my view of the monitor as has chases his tail. I still don't have any desire for a pet. But I guess I don't mind being entertained by somebody else's!

Wednesday Afternoons

(This is the post that was percolating when I pinched my finger into a giant blood-blister trying to remodel a lampshade. All better now. AND the lampshade works just fine.)

I am a creature of habit. My kids would probably tell you that I am rigid and stuck in a rut, and Roger will politely say that I'm "not as spontaneous" as he is, but the truth is that I am just more comfortable when I have a general idea of what's coming on any given day. For the next year! We have a giant wall calendar in our kitchen that literally has "Major Grocery Shopping" written on every other Thursday from here through December -- which is when it ends -- with deviations for things like Thanksgiving. Somewhere on September is written "buy new planning calendar", because I need a while to get all the birthdays and regular monthly meetings and grocery days and suchlike transferred before November, so that I can start writing in things for January as soon as I find out about them. I prefer to believe I am organized! ;-D

So it should be no surprise to you that I have a regular weekly "plan of action". Sundays are big family breakfast, mass (unless choir sings on Saturday night), dinner, and our couples' group once a month. Monday is music planning stuff, or sewing, or nasty big jobs like cleaning out the basement. (The rationale is that I'll be well rested after the weekend.) Tuesday is laundry, ironing, and menu planning and grocery list. Wednesday is changing beds, sheet and towel laundry, and bathroom cleaning. Thursday is grocery shopping (and maybe some random stuff like mending on non-major shopping weeks), and choir practice in the evening. Friday is more laundry and ironing, plus going over the schedule for the upcoming week. And I usually cook an extra-nice dinner because some of the family fasts breakfast and lunch most Fridays. Saturday is mopping, vacuuming, housecleaning. Lather, rinse, repeat.

To be perfectly honest, most weeks are not that cut-and-dried. This week, for example, I did grocery planning on Monday because we have a funeral to attend on Tuesday. And in the summer, the kids do more of the work than during the school year. And when that next grandbaby arrives, I'm out of here no matter what day of the week it is.... But getting back to what I was saying, I like knowing what's on my agenda for any given day.

Those of you who work outside the home probably are thinking "That's all she does?!! I do all that stuff in my evenings!" But I promise you I don't sit around and eat bonbons and watch soap operas. For one thing, we don't have a television. For another thing, I need to be frugal with my grocery money, so I cook mostly from scratch and spend several hours with the weekly ads figuring out which of the things I need are cheapest where this week. (I have a regular route that includes five to eight stores on one loop with no gas wasted. When we had six kids at home "major shopping" took about five hours, with another two or so for putting things away.) But I spend $160 a week for our current family of four, including all paper, cleaning, and hygiene supplies, which is only $16 more than the government's "Thrifty" plan for just food. And we eat VERY well. I could probably cut back to below the thrifty level, and we'd still be healthy and happy. I'd just have to bake cookies more often instead of buying them!

When I had six kids at home, especially when all of them were under twelve, the weekly schedule listed above took ALL my time. In fact, at that point I didn't have time for choir. The kids started helping as soon as they were able, but some things (changing the sheets on top bunks for example) were just not in their ability range. And that Wednesday list of beds, bathrooms, laundry took the whole day.

Somewhere along the line, though, it got easier. Even when a kid can't make a top bunk, he can strip it. And when older siblings can entertain younger ones, you stand a chance of getting a bathroom cleaned all in one shot, instead of stopping several times for childcare responsibilities. About the time Tommy started kindergarten, I discovered that I could (usually) get out of the house for a Wednesday mid-morning Eucharist. I would then grab a Coke or a mocha at the Tim Hortons' drive-thru, pick up Tommy, and finish my work. Later, when he was gone all day (waaah, all of my kids are gone!), I had a mental breakthrough. If I worked REALLY hard I could finish all the work (except maybe folding that last load of towels) before time to leave for the noon service. And then I'd be free until school was out. To go to the library. To go sit by the river and watch the freighters go by. To hit Barnes and Noble, make a list of new books to look for at the library (frugal? me??), and get a real mocha in the cafe. Heaven!!

Tommy will be a junior next year. He's the only kid without a driver's license. It's been years since I needed to be home by the time school let out. I can go places any day of the week, and I often do. But I still clean bathrooms like a dervish on Wednesday mornings, because Wednesday afternoons?? They're all mine!

Just in Case You Didn't Notice . . . .

When I got home from the weekend, I was too tired out from having fun with Daniel and Camilla to do a proper post. But I did manage to change my blog header. Did you notice?

I am now the grandmother of FOUR! Arwen and Bryan let us know that Camilla will have a sibling, due in February. Hurrah! Rosie and I wouldn't mind at all if we had to share our birthday. Maggie thinks that she should get to share hers, since we already have someone to share with. Actually, any February birthday will be fine! (And as Tommy's birthday is at the end of January, that's a possibility too.)

New grandbaby! Thank You, God!

Where I'm spending my weekend

I have an actual post percolating, but I hurt my finger while trying to modify a $6 lampshade to fit an antique lamp that only $60 lampshades fit, and I'm typing with three fingers instead of my usual four. But I'm going to have a great weekend hanging out with these folks and their parents, and will be back next week, unless Daniel's baby sister or brother arrives!

Rain

Right now it is not raining here. I am assured by Roger – and also by weather.com – that this is a temporary condition. It was raining earlier, complete with thunder, lightning, and some substantial hailstones. About ten minutes ago the sun came out. But it is gray again, and the windows which we reopened will need to be closed again.

In C.S. Lewis' That Hideous Strength, which for many reasons is one of my favorite books, the characters Camilla and Arthur Dennison relate that one of the reasons they got married was that they both like weather. Not any special kind of weather, just weather in general. Camilla says that most children like weather, and playing in it, until the adults force them not to. I am not sure that I liked weather as a child, but it is definitely true that one of the reasons I regularly give for liking living in Michigan is the experience of all four seasons. Summer thunderstorms, winter snow, wind, heat, cold; I want them all in my life.

As an adult, rain is the weather I probably appreciate least. It can make grocery shopping a trial. My exercise walk is even less pleasant in the rain. I really hate rain spots on my glasses. And yet ... one of the best memories I have of the camp where I spent parts of twelve summers, first as a camper, then on staff, is a walk in the rain.

That particular summer, my first on staff, the staffers were divided into two groups. For two weeks one group were counselors, spending from Sunday afternoon to Saturday morning riding herd on “cabin groups” of campers. The other group served as support staff, cooking and serving meals, cleaning bathrooms, mowing grass. After two weeks the groups switched.

This particular week I was on kitchen duty, which was the longest working day. In the kitchen by 6AM, breakfast on the table by 7:45. Clean up from breakfast, start lunch – and some of the dinner prep as well. Serve lunch (12 noon sharp), then clean up. And then you were free for a couple of hours, until 4PM for serving dinner at five thirty. (I don't mean to imply that this was drudgery. Actually, we played music, and talked, and had a generally good time. But it was long.)

We were free to do whatever we liked during our off hours, which usually boiled down to sleeping and/or swimming in the pool/lying in the sun. But this particular day it was raining, with enough chance of lightning that the pool was closed. And Anna and I weren't sleepy.

This was before the days of lightweight plastic ponchos and raincoats. Such things were made of treated fabric, even canvas, and they were heavy. Plastic trash bags, however, were new and wonderful and easily available in the kitchen. Anna and I grabbed a couple, poked holes for our heads, and spent our free hours running, laughing, singing and playing in the rain. We got back to the cabin just in time to put on dry sneakers and report for dinner duty. Our hair was wet, but since this was, after all, a (rather rustic) camp, that was fine.

I find it intriguing that of all the many many hours I spent at camp, these two rainy ones come to the top of my mind most often. Maybe I should take off my glasses, grab a trash bag, and go!

(As predicted, it's raining again.)

Take Me Out to the Ballgame!

When I was a kid I loved baseball. My brother and I had our favorite teams, with player pictures hung on our bedroom walls in the shape of ballfields. His teams were the Yankees and Giants, mine were the Dodgers and Mets. We had countless arguments about whose teams were better, but since in those days the only inter-league games were the World Series, and not more than one of our teams -- usually the Yankees* -- ever reached that level at the same time, such disputes were purely theoretical.

We read baseball stories, notably John Tunis' The Kid from Tompkinsville series. My favorite was The Kid Comes Back. We went to occasional Baltimore Orioles games, mostly at the instigation of my Aunt Ethel. Aunt Ethel was my mom's older sister, and I have countless memories of her sitting in front of the TV, watching the Orioles play, knitting away at her current project and keeping score at the same time. I learned a lot of baseball terminology from her. One of the saddest things of her descent in to Alzheimers was when she could no longer follow a baseball game.

And then, well, I grew up. I moved from Oriole territory to the mid-west, and we decided not to have a television in our house. For a few years our congregation had a church-league softball team (for which I was scorekeeper), but that ended when Rosie was a baby. Baseball scores in the newspaper are not the same, and the only MLB [Major League Baseball] team in Michigan is the Detroit Tigers, about whom I care very little, and who play in the middle of a scary city. Since my reading of the sports pages is limited to a glance at the front of the section, I knew two player names, and that's about it. Baseball became a very marginal, almost forgotten part of my life.

Until last Friday night. A friend of the family has occasional access to a set of corporate season tickets, and six weeks or so ago we made plans for him, Roger, me, and Katie to attend the Tigers/Dodgers game at Comerica Park. It sounded like a fun time with a friend, but right up until Thursday I was waffling about actually going, since "I didn't care that much about baseball anymore," it was supposed to rain, and Tommy needed transport to and from an end-of-the-school-year party. Roger finally persuaded me to go, since Tommy had arranged to get a ride from a friend, but I tossed the afghan I'm crocheting for Rosie and Anthony's coming baby into my backpack, figuring I'd have something interesting to do.

We got to Detroit about 30 minutes after stadium opening time, and parked our car in a not-too-near but not-too-far $10 game-night empty lot parking area. I was glad I had packed umbrellas, since it was misting lightly. We walked the several blocks to the stadium, and our friend suggested that we get something to eat at Hockeytown Cafe (warning--link has sound), across the street from the stadium. As usual, I was unimpressed by another sports bar, but the food was acceptable, despite no T in the BLT/Club because of the salmonella scare. By the time we finished, about 40 min before game time, it was raining, hard.

We decided to go over to the stadium and get our tickets scanned so we would be eligible for rain checks. Since we were in, we walked around to our assigned section, and decided to stand by the entry-way to our seats (between two hot dog stands!) to see if the rain would let up. It was actually quite pleasant -- there was a breeze from the field, which can be seen very well from the whole concessions/walkway ring. In the Orioles old park -- since replaced -- you could only see the field from the seats proper. About 10 minutes before scheduled game time, we noticed that the rain had tapered to a mist. Since I had brought rags to dry our seats, we decided to go and sit in them (with our umbrellas) and see what happened.

The seats were amazing! Fourteen rows back, right behind the home dugout. Aunt Ethel always preferred the view over the plate, and our budget was NOT corporate, so I'd never before been in the "good" seats. By the time we'd been in them 15 minutes the rain had totally stopped, and the grounds crew came out to uncover the infield. For about 2 minutes we wondered what they were going to do with all the water standing on the tarp. The answer -- dump it on the outfield! By then the scoreboard showed that the game would begin about one hour late, and it was a good choice; there was no more rain that evening.

I had decided before we took our seats that I wouldn't bother getting out my crocheting, because I didn't want to get it wet. But during the extra time of the delay, I pulled it out. By the time of the National Anthem, I had finished a row and a half. And then the game began. For the first inning, I divided my attention, looking up for the pitch and then down at my afghan. But somewhere along the line -- maybe it was the first line drive third baseman Guillen snared too fast for me to see -- I remembered: THIS is what I love about baseball. Not the team or player stats; not loyalty to any particular team. What I loved , and to my astonishment still love, is the actual game play itself. Long flies caught just short of the fence. The batter acting irate if a pitch comes too close. The tag -- or missed tag -- on the steal to second or third. I just love baseball.

Roger, who has always been little mystified by my baseball knowledge (football is his game), was glad to hear that my rediscovered passion is not for the Tigers, but for baseball. We are already researching going to see the Lansing Lugnuts, where the best (non-suite) seats in the house cost $9. I can't wait!

And, oh yeah, the afghan? Despite getting caught up in the game, I still finished 6 rows. Aunt Ethel would have been proud.

* Although the 1969 Series, where the Mets "lost last place", lives so clearly in my memory that when I saw the movie Frequency, and the date flashed on the screen at the beginning of the movie, I knew exactly what was going on on that day.

Happy Birthday Daniel!

My grandson turned two today! Despite the early morning wake-up call and long drive, being there for Daniel's birth was, as I mentioned here (scroll down), one of the high points of my life. And the two years have simply flown. Then he looked like this; now he looks like this -- all boy and marvelous.

Happy birthday, grandson!

IRL

I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with the acronym that titles this post. Most of you probably do know URL, which stands for "Uniform Resource Locater", and is what any techno-geek you may know will call the address of this blog, or anything else on the internet. (When I asked Roger a little while ago exactly what the letters stood for, so that I could use them in this post, I got a three-minute discussion of why they're called that, and how it's supposed to work but doesn't always. TooMuchInformation, to use another acronym!)

IRL, on the other hand, is a blog and text-message abbreviation which stands for "In Real Life." I know most of the people on my blogroll only from the internet, but obviously I know Arwen IRL, since she's my daughter! One of the benefits of meeting people online, however, is that if you really hit it off and find you have a lot in common, you can meet IRL. This is not without its dangers, of course, since people can lie on the internet, but adults who have a common interest in knitting, or theology, or literature, or whatever, are in my (NSH) opinion less likely to actually meet up with a weirdo than kids who just want to meet a "friend".

Arwen has met several online friends IRL, and a couple of them have become the kind of friends that you take an airplane trip to visit, and stay in their house, and invite to your in-laws condo, and generally do all the things with that you do with any real friend. I, however, (partly since I am newer to blogging) had never done so before yesterday.

But yesterday I hopped in my car and drove the 90 minutes (or two hours home during rush hour :-( ) to Arwen's town to meet up with "Liz." Liz doesn't appear on my blogroll, because hers is password protected. Arwen and I have been reading her for several years, since before her password, and leaving comments of the kind that caused her to deem us nice enough people to be let in to a blog that's now family and IRL friends only. Thanks, Liz, for the compliment! Liz normally lives half a continent away, but is doing a three month training stint in a city only 2 1/2 hours from Arwen. So we decided to meet up in Arwen's town due to the logistics of transporting Camilla, who is an important part of the package. It was wonderful!

Liz is just like her online personality -- I hope I am, too; I know Arwen is! -- and we chatted about this, that, and the other thing for five hours. And then I had to head home for choir practice and Liz had to go in the opposite direction for what I hope was a hot date! Since she returns to her home state in three weeks, I don't know if we'll have another chance to meet her IRL. But I surely am glad we had this one!

Note to all 3 of my readers -- if you ever expect to be in Michigan, email me and we''ll see if we can work something out!

Disclaimer from last post -- It appears that a lot of DaVinci's Notebook's songs are raunchier than I would care to listen to. Rats, and I'm sorry if I steered you in the wrong direction.

Random 2.0

Maggie is home from college, and she and I were talking this morning before she headed out to help with her best friend from high school's engagement party. Maggie is part of the reason this couple is engaged -- there was a time when they weren't talking to each other, but they were both talking to her. Whatever the problem was (and I have absolutely no idea), Maggie's good sense and insight helped them work it out. I'm excited for them!

Anyway, I was sitting at the computer (playing Peggle, of course) and mentioned to Maggie that I should post to this blog, but I didn't always feel like I had the time or energy to do anything but ramble. Her response was "But Mom, at least when you ramble it's coherent and has proper grammar and spelling, so it's still easy to read." So I'm rambling!

Katie's graduation from high school is next Tuesday, and we will have the joy and pleasure of having all our children there, even George. Slightly to my surprise, he chose to take his summer leave now, instead of at his birthday in August. And Arwen, Bryan, and Camilla, and Rosie, Anthony and Daniel will be making the 90+ minute drive to be here. And then they'll all come again on the weekend so that we can celebrate Fathers' Day a week early. Rumor is that Anthony is bringing steaks "imported" from his family's ranch in Idaho, so we will eat well!

I also have a new musical group that I need to learn more about. This morning while Katie was mopping the kitchen floor, she put on some music from George's iPod, and I discovered that DaVinci's Notebook, whose Title of the Song I have always found wonderful and hilarious, is totally a capella -- I'm a big Rockapella fan, (and also The Swingle Singers, for anybody that old) -- so I've got to hear more. I may have a new favorite!

Random Explanations

I would try to explain why the Katie#4 post is still not done, except that anything I said would be an out-and-out lie ("Giant tarantulas ate our house!") or a rationalization ("Well, um, I'm not sleeping very well because of the hot flashes, and so when I sit down to the computer I really NEED to play more Peggle because that rests my brain and anyway... You get the idea.)

But the truth of the matter is that I simply haven't disciplined myself to sit down and keep writing. I am a slacker in this area. Which is no surprise; I have always been a slacker in some area or other, and as I gain discipline in one place, it pops up somewhere else. But I am RESOLVED to conquer it here. [I think I've said that at least once already :-( ]

In place, therefore, of the next installment of Katie (on which I will work after I post this) I am going to list all the extra things I've been doing that I could but won't use as excuses.

1) cooking several meals for the judges and officials when my kids' band hosted the state festival
2) the very next day, singing in the choir at two masses, because our parish splits first communion to make room for all the relatives
3) attending the out-of-town wedding of a dear family friend
4) goofing off playing Peggle.

These are obviously not good enough excuses. So I'll be back.

AArgh!

I had the Katie #4 post half done, and Blogger ate it! Grrrrr! Sigh. I guess I need to get into the habit of working in Word and doing copy/paste, although I always have to re-format when I do. But it's coming, it's coming.

AArrgh!!

Ten to One Meme -- The Finale

List THREE pieces of your furniture you'd like to replace.

1. Our sofas. They match, so I’m going to count them as one. They are beyond beat-up and dog-chewed, and even the “new” slipcovers are getting tattered, but I refuse to buy new until know what our post-buyout house will be like.

2. My bedside table. It’s a used-to-be-painted particleboard thing that once belonged to a friend of mine when I was single. I haven’t replaced it because I’ve never seen anything I liked/could afford that would fit in the narrow spot available in our current house.

3. Our porch chairs. They’re fake Adirondack chairs made of molded plastic, and half of them are cracked, so that you can’t sit with your head back.

Name TWO skills and/or personality traits which you are still developing.

1. Seeing from the other person’s point of view.

2. Doing the right thing when it takes effort.

Find (or recite if you're just that good) ONE quotation that expresses something you find profoundly true.

This is more “profoundly beautiful” than profoundly true, but it’s my favorite quote of all time. It's from Chapter 4 ("The Field of Cormallen") of the last "book" of The Lord of the Rings, and if you've never read the whole thing, getting to this quote is a good reason to take a stab at it.

“And all the host laughed and wept, and in the midst of their merriment and tears the clear voice of the minstrel rose like silver and gold, and all men were hushed. And he sang to them, now in the Elven-tongue, now in the speech of the West, until their hearts, wounded with sweet words, overflowed, and their joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to regions where pain and delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness.”

I take that back. It’s ALSO profoundly true.

THE END! I won't tag anyone, but do the meme yourself if you feel like it, in whole or in part, on your own blog or in the comments section here. I'd love to read your responses.

Ten to One Meme -- Days 6 & 7

Wow, have I messed up! I never got here yesterday -- I was cooking all day for this great weekend with Arwen and Rosie and their families -- and it appears that I titled two posts "Day 4". (I'm going to fix that after I post this. So here are two for the price of one..

List FIVE movies you have seen at least FIVE times and/or would be willing to watch at least FIVE times in the future.
1. Sabrina (the newer one with Harrison Ford) (swoon)
2. You've Got Mail With my daughters, I have most of #’s 1 and 2 memorized.

3. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe We are a Lewis and Tolkien family.

4. Curly Top (or anything else Shirley Temple) These were on TV every Sunday afternoon when I was growing up

5. White Christmas I can’t believe Arwen missed this one. The most awesome time was when a local theater showed it on the big screen.

Name FOUR features of your own body that you like.
1. Blue eyes
2. Long fingers
3. Eyebrows Some of my kids got their dad’s family uni-brow, poor things.
4. Ankles

Ten to One Meme -- Day 5

Name SIX of your own acquired skills or personality traits of which you are proud. (Brag on yourself, dude! Own it!)

1. My prodigious vocabulary. I play Free Rice in the mid-50's.

2. The ability to cook without a recipe and alter and invent recipes for things that taste good.

3. The ability to read quickly, and remember a lot of it. ("Garbage-can memory")

4. Being able to sew things without the precise pattern I need. I’m not as good as those old-fashioned seamstresses who could measure you and cut all your clothes to fit, but I can get whatever sleeves/neckline/skirt I want.

5. My musical memory. I'm not a great musician, but if I've heard it, I probably remember it.

6. My test-taking knack

Ten to One Meme -- Day 4

New grandbaby is due in early July. Last time Daniel came almost five weeks early; this time Rosie'll probably go three weeks over and drive herself and us crazy.

List SEVEN tasks you'd be happy never to have to do again.

1. De-crudding the shower walls. I clean bathrooms regularly, and I don’t mind wiping them down, but they really need to invent shower walls that repel soap scum.

2. Recaulking the bathroom, or cleaning the caulk.. Once they get the soap repellent down, they should figure out how to make bathrooms all in one piece. The cracks are what make the cleaning hard.

3.. Cleaning the oven with that smelly stuff. One of the first things I bought after I got the money I inherited from my parents was a new flat-top stove with a self-cleaning oven. No regrets.

4. Clean up after the dog in the yard. I wasn’t the one who wanted the dog. (To be fair, the kids are supposed to do it, but it’s never all cleaned up, because somehow some of it is always invisible to non-mature eyes.)

5. Make phone calls to strangers for any organization. I will cook a full meal from scratch for 125 people before I will make five phone calls asking for donations.

6. Deal with head lice. (Knock on wood!) The time we had our visit from those nasty critters, I was clinically anxious but undiagnosed, which made it 500 times harder, but it’s a lot of work no matter how you slice it.

7. Clean out the basement after a sewer backup. This was 6 weeks before Arwen’s wedding. Ugh!