« 2005 September | Main | 2005 July »
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
One Home Safe, One to Go
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Salon des Petits Artistes d'Argile
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Stay Away from the Violins - They're a Bit on the Ripe Side
Was I Saying Something?
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
The Perfect Toy
Summertime... and the Living is Bug-free
Thursday, August 11, 2005
I Still Can't Think of One.
Passages
Friday, August 05, 2005
Live Free or Die
Starting to Get My Feet on the Ground
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Literal Bouncing off the Walls
Fitting it all in
One Home Safe, One to Go
My cousin Brian's girlfriend Valerie, a
1L at Tulane, is home safe in
Florida.
Repeated calls to my friend Stephanie in Baton Rouge have given me an undesired familiarity with busy signals and the three-tone "All circuits are busy" message.
My thoughts are with all who are grieving and wondering.
Repeated calls to my friend Stephanie in Baton Rouge have given me an undesired familiarity with busy signals and the three-tone "All circuits are busy" message.
My thoughts are with all who are grieving and wondering.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Salon des Petits Artistes d'Argile
My friend Sophie's kids are just way too cool. View the slideshow
at 1 second per.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Stay Away from the Violins - They're a Bit on the Ripe Side
Was I Saying Something?
Oy. Monday: tired. Tuesday: tired with
lots of meetings. 4:30 Wednesday morning: DOG BARF! As usual, MacIntosh has
exquisite timing.
So we're ramming around here like aimless ball bearings, running a bit on the late side and waiting for the dog to actually eat his breakfast (poor darling is picking at it - while he's not generally a chow hound, he usually manages to eat everything in his bowl relatively expeditiously). This has thrown a monkey wrench into our usual interlocking morning routine: not a precision display by normal standards, but certainly a feat of engineering by sleepy, half-caffeinated, early-morning Smith household standards.
At least Toshie managed to avoid barfing in a pair of suede shoes and my suitcase, both of which were standing not inches from the first payload. You take the small blessings you can get in this life.
Is it Friday yet?
So we're ramming around here like aimless ball bearings, running a bit on the late side and waiting for the dog to actually eat his breakfast (poor darling is picking at it - while he's not generally a chow hound, he usually manages to eat everything in his bowl relatively expeditiously). This has thrown a monkey wrench into our usual interlocking morning routine: not a precision display by normal standards, but certainly a feat of engineering by sleepy, half-caffeinated, early-morning Smith household standards.
At least Toshie managed to avoid barfing in a pair of suede shoes and my suitcase, both of which were standing not inches from the first payload. You take the small blessings you can get in this life.
Is it Friday yet?
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
The Perfect Toy
Summertime... and the Living is Bug-free
Six-thirty and we are cranky, stuffy,
and sneezy* here at Heroine/Terrorist central (I suppose it could be worse -
I could be married to a cranky, stuffy, sneezy eleven-month-old terrorist).
The sneeziness is a result of a great deal of dust. The dust is the result of the termite man drilling hundreds of holes in our foundation yesterday. The drilling is a result of evil bugs trying to eat our house. And that is why our checking account is lighter today than it was yesterday, and another reason for the crankiness.
I feel the need to write more, as I have just written a footnote that is longer than the main entry. However, I have to get showered and go to work. I have to pay off my termite bill.
*Having typed that, I now have visions of more Dwarfs. So, in Mimi Smartypants fashion, I shall tell you a footnote story. When I was in law school, I participated in the legal clinic. It just so happened that I was the only woman that semester in a group of eight. It was inevitable, I suppose, that people started calling me "Snow White." After I acquired this nickname, my colleague Mike and I started assigning dwarf-names to the other student attorneys. We had gotten past the easily assignable ones (Happy, Dopey, Grumpy, etc.) and were trying to shoehorn the rest into our scheme. One of our other colleagues, a bit of a moody, melodramatic type, came along and gruffly asked what we were doing. We told him, and he demanded to know what his dwarf-name was. "I don't know," responded Mike, "There wasn't a dwarf called 'Brooding.'"
The sneeziness is a result of a great deal of dust. The dust is the result of the termite man drilling hundreds of holes in our foundation yesterday. The drilling is a result of evil bugs trying to eat our house. And that is why our checking account is lighter today than it was yesterday, and another reason for the crankiness.
I feel the need to write more, as I have just written a footnote that is longer than the main entry. However, I have to get showered and go to work. I have to pay off my termite bill.
*Having typed that, I now have visions of more Dwarfs. So, in Mimi Smartypants fashion, I shall tell you a footnote story. When I was in law school, I participated in the legal clinic. It just so happened that I was the only woman that semester in a group of eight. It was inevitable, I suppose, that people started calling me "Snow White." After I acquired this nickname, my colleague Mike and I started assigning dwarf-names to the other student attorneys. We had gotten past the easily assignable ones (Happy, Dopey, Grumpy, etc.) and were trying to shoehorn the rest into our scheme. One of our other colleagues, a bit of a moody, melodramatic type, came along and gruffly asked what we were doing. We told him, and he demanded to know what his dwarf-name was. "I don't know," responded Mike, "There wasn't a dwarf called 'Brooding.'"
Thursday, August 11, 2005
I Still Can't Think of One.
Others have a "favorite
word," though.
Passages
John is upstairs, putting on a suit.
This is not normal workaday attire for my man, but he is going to a funeral
today. His boss, Marla, died on Tuesday after what the newsfolk call "a long
battle with cancer."
I've thought a lot about that word "battle" being applied to illness lately. I suppose on a cellular level, it is in fact a battle. But the body's generals can be a diffuse, uncontrolled lot, and the soldiers can be capricious and inclined to inflict "friendly fire." And, at least in the individual battles, our side always loses in the end. Some of the greater wars have been won - at least temporarily - in some vaccinated areas.
But cancer. The very word kind of stops us in our tracks. It's the Attila, the Alexander of disease. It strikes dread even in its mildest form. Cancer has such a near association with death in so many ears. And its "therapy" can be so wasting, so horrible: Mi Lai all over again.
I never met Marla. But from what I hear, she fought well. Farewell, soldier. For you, the battle is over. May your rest truly have peace.
I've thought a lot about that word "battle" being applied to illness lately. I suppose on a cellular level, it is in fact a battle. But the body's generals can be a diffuse, uncontrolled lot, and the soldiers can be capricious and inclined to inflict "friendly fire." And, at least in the individual battles, our side always loses in the end. Some of the greater wars have been won - at least temporarily - in some vaccinated areas.
But cancer. The very word kind of stops us in our tracks. It's the Attila, the Alexander of disease. It strikes dread even in its mildest form. Cancer has such a near association with death in so many ears. And its "therapy" can be so wasting, so horrible: Mi Lai all over again.
I never met Marla. But from what I hear, she fought well. Farewell, soldier. For you, the battle is over. May your rest truly have peace.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Live Free or Die
Starting to Get My Feet on the Ground
Things are starting to make a bit more
sense at work, and I am starting to feel a bit more under control. Of course,
it's probably unwise to relax completely. I should take a cue from Dash, who is
always on guard in case the dog is about to decide to play. Playing, of course,
means the cat gets chased until he decides it's time for the speedway to run in
reverse.
After all, it is summer and there is almost always less going on in the summer. The speedway always lurks and I don't want it to catch me by surprise.
After all, it is summer and there is almost always less going on in the summer. The speedway always lurks and I don't want it to catch me by surprise.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Literal Bouncing off the Walls
View this flickr slideshow at about 2 seconds per.
Totally worksafe, unless you will get in trouble for laughing out
loud.
Fitting it all in
I still haven't figured out my morning
routine. Daily Yoga has gone by the boards, and blogging has clearly not been a
priority.
I get up early - with a longish commute ahead of me, I have an hour and a half between rising from my bed and walking out the door. This means I have an hour and some to get breakfast and do whatever else I wish to do with that precious time. It has not been spent in any productive fashion, that's for sure. Mostly I have been doing three things: blog-reading, coffee-drinking, and sleepily blinking.
I am not a morning person, you see. I am not as bad as I was when I was a small child, wandering around still half-asleep while on my feet and earning myself the nickname, "Grandma Murd" from my parents (seriously - they would do a play-by-play commentary track of my progress in the morning in high, creaky granny voices: Oooh - Grandma Murd is moving pretty slow this morning. Yep, she's in especially bad form this morning... They kept this up until the day I cried and everyone - including me - felt very guilty).
Comparatively speaking, Grandma Murd has found the fountain of youth. I actually wake up before I stagger out of bed these days and I am more or less fully awake in less than ten minutes. Compared to my elementary school days, when I mastered the trick of semi-cognitive somnambulation, this is progress.
I will figure this out yet. It just may take some time.
I get up early - with a longish commute ahead of me, I have an hour and a half between rising from my bed and walking out the door. This means I have an hour and some to get breakfast and do whatever else I wish to do with that precious time. It has not been spent in any productive fashion, that's for sure. Mostly I have been doing three things: blog-reading, coffee-drinking, and sleepily blinking.
I am not a morning person, you see. I am not as bad as I was when I was a small child, wandering around still half-asleep while on my feet and earning myself the nickname, "Grandma Murd" from my parents (seriously - they would do a play-by-play commentary track of my progress in the morning in high, creaky granny voices: Oooh - Grandma Murd is moving pretty slow this morning. Yep, she's in especially bad form this morning... They kept this up until the day I cried and everyone - including me - felt very guilty).
Comparatively speaking, Grandma Murd has found the fountain of youth. I actually wake up before I stagger out of bed these days and I am more or less fully awake in less than ten minutes. Compared to my elementary school days, when I mastered the trick of semi-cognitive somnambulation, this is progress.
I will figure this out yet. It just may take some time.