Go away trick-or-treaters

Because I am tired of answering the doorbell and shoving the kittens off my as soon as they settle in.

SECRETS SECRETS
Anyone who knows me knows that I like to find out how people work. Why they do certain things. What events in their past have informed who they are. Not everyone shares my curiosity, and it’s interesting to see what kind of people volunteer stuff about themselves and what kind of people wait to be asked. But even the most loquacious won’t volunteer everything… and will wait to be asked or for it to come up before sharing. That made me think about my own “right questions”… the ones that few ask but if they did they’d learn a lot. It’s not like I’m harboring state secrets, and I’m not asking to be grilled. I just think it’s interesting… those questions. What’s on your list?

BOOKITY BOOKITY
Due Preparations for the Plague suckered me into reading and liking an international suspense book [by Janette Turner Hospital, fiction, story about an ’87 hijacking and the children who survived and their search for answers twenty years later.]

Better Off made me want to barter everything in trade and abandon cash [by Eric Brende, nonfiction, about a man and his wife living off the grid.]

Smart Women by Judy Blume made me want to write, because Blume is so adept at creating realistic and compelling characters [about two divorced women, their kids, and their complicated relationships with their ex-husbands.]

Whale Talk made excellent car listening, being light and fast-paced [by Chris Crutcher (young adult novel about a guy who starts a renegade swim team at his school and battles racist jocks.]

Summer at Gaglow made me want sisters but not the ones in the book because they were mean. [by Esther Freud, fiction, Germany, pre- and post-WWII life concerning three sisters at the family’s country estate.]

Right now I’m reading The Best American Travel Writing 2005, and it’s quite good so far, although I was so disappointed to open it up and see only one female author. I’m so sick of that.

The good life

Suckers, I thought, as I took off running down the road. All of those people who at 9 a.m. are chained to their desks. Sure, that's me every other day of the work week, but today I am living the good life. Wake at 7:30, watch gray flat sky slowly intensify with color. Read for an hour from the cozy enclave of my bed. Finally get up and head out for a run, set free with the knowledge that there is nowhere I have to be.

I'm at the cabin, again, and if I weren't on dial-up I'd link that back to other cabin entries. Grizz came up early with me last night, as to get some of the nice, relaxing, quiet part of the weekend along with the fun, crazy part that will start when our nine other weekend guests arrive later today. Not that Grizz and I didn't have fun, sharing some aged provolone and drinks while reminiscing about college... our worst semesters, the random people we thought were cute until we actually got to know them, mistaken illusions we had about ourselves.

Well... I'm off to enjoy the good life. Tea, perhaps. Knitting. Finishing my mystery novel (set in Yorkshire, to get me in the mood). And certainly a nap.

He exists!

I haven't mentioned Husband in a while. In fact, you may be thinking.... What ever happened to Husband? Is he OK? Well, I'm glad to report he is just fine. Quite busy, unfortunately, with that thing called "work," which is keeping him gone in the evenings. I find myself quite lonesome for him while he's gone... but mysteriously, when he returns, I often turn into Bad Wife, reminding him of chores and being annoying. Why is this, I ask. As I never know quite when he'll arrive I cannot have his drink prepared for him like a proper Wife. And I'm afraid my heels were tossed in the shoe basket hours ago, and instead of dressing nicely I am in clothes that one could sleep in.
But married life is indeed good. I'm amazed at how much we're still figuring out about ourselves.

Boo

I've never been one for Halloween. Sure, I like the individually-wrapped Reese's, but orange and black have never been my colors, and I have never been really into dressing up.

Halloween: A brief history

Age 4: Boogeymonster, which from the picture, somehow required a headdress that you had to blow up.

Age 6: Pumpkin. Gorgeous handmade costume made by my grandma. Some classmate wore it the next year when he showed up to school with no costume and my mom, helpful room mother that she was, pulled it out of her things and loaned it to him for the day.

Age 9: Not really sure... it just involved a lot of that greasepaint makeup that you could buy in those little crayons. Maybe "punk rocker."

Age 11: This is where Halloween really falls apart for me. I wanted to go trick-or-treating with my friend Sheila from the east side of town, and my parents wouldn't let me because her neighborhood wasn't that great (looking back, they were right). Defeated, I went alone (well, my dad tagged along and walked on the street) wearing a pumpkin T-shirt and my favorite black Guess? jeans. I got a lot of candy that year.

Age 15: Impromptu trick-or-treating with my friend Vanessa. As I had just come from my shift as a candy-striper... I went as a candy-striper. It was sort of sad to see the gentle reproving looks from people.

Now that I'm older, Halloween's a bit more appealing. Pumpkin-flavored things are yummy. Scary movies are fun. And candy always sweetens the deal.

When kittens attack

When I got home today, this is what greeted me:

Curious yet wary, I followed the trail of paper bits...and found:

Right: One decimated roll of toilet paper (rest of roll is MIA).
Left: One teething cat.

That cloying Swiss Miss

Today I got the brilliant idea to eat a cocoa packet dry.
I had just had lunch and had drank a whole Nalgene bottle (lunch was a bit salty), so felt overhydrated and thought dry cocoa would hit the spot.
Mmm. Boy did it. It even had those little mini-marshmallows that dissolve instantly when you add hot water.
It was soooo good that I wanted just a bit more... so I opened another packet.
Halfway through I’d hit the wall.
I never want dry cocoa or possibly even cocoa again.

I'm not the new me

Do you spend a lot of time thinking about what you eat?

I pressed my index finger next to the sign's question until my gym buddy had finished reading it. Although I'd quickly dismissed the first two questions on the "Do you have an eating disorder sign" posted in the locker room, the third question caught me. While neither of us had anything near an eating disorder, it made me sick to think about how much mental energy we and most women devote daily to just thinking about food and exercise.

I just read I'm not the new me by Wendy McClure. McClure, a self-described "fat girl," struggles to lose weight while defending herself against stereotypes, such as that people who are overweight have low self esteem. There's a great scene when she's trying to recalibrate her bathroom scale and she ends up breaking it, and gets pissed and starts smacking it around, and then realizes what a perfect Made-for-TV-movie moment this is - fat girl finally loses it and takes it out on her scale.

The book is wickedly funny and I recommend it highly (although the ending is tough. The book manages to avoid ending in a cliche, but you also realize how satisfying those cliches are and how much you long for them). But it also made me really sad how much thinking it all required... and how easy it is to slip into that dangerous vortex where your daily happiness level is determined by how much you ate or exercised.

Which all made me wonder... maybe the secret to body image contentedness is not embarking on a new plan or making new charts, but thinking less about it all.

I need structure

On my first day off I kicked ass. I went to Target, Home Depot, the fabric store, the drycleaner. I cleaned the bathroom, organized files, cleaned the office closet. I paid bills, bought stamps, checked my account. I went running and gave myself a facial. I mended pants and created a master list of friend and family birthdays.

On my second day off, I took a nap at 10 a.m. I stared at nothing for an hour. I bought a lunch I wasn't hungry for. Once I got going, I bought yarn for my next knitting project (leg warmers) and sat watching bad TV for hours while knitting on the yellow scarf.

I don't think I'd make a very good stay-at-home mom.

Almond, beechnut, cashew

Almond, beechnut, cashew...

When I can't sleep, I play head games.

I started doing this in high school, during debate season. We'd compete on Friday nights and all day Saturday, and during the night in between I'd lie awake, brain still on hyper-drive and nerves still jangled, worried about who I'd have to debate against the next day. Since I have always loved word games, I started forcing myself to play the alphabet game.

Margaret Atwood, Judy Blume, Truman Capote...

You know the one, pick a category, any category, and start with A. Some nights I'd go several rounds.

When I got better, I'd fall asleep by K.

I had another game in my repertoire, the one where you start with a topic, like licorice, and see what word/phrase pops into your head, like, makes-my-jaw-hurt, and keep going and going... headache, sleep, can't sleep, stupid debate, I can't believe we lost that last round... but you can see why the game sucked: it always led back to whatever I was trying to escape.

Auburn, Burnt Sienna , Chestnut...

Now, many years later, I've gotten quite good and have exhausted the list of potential categories. And making up creative categories, like "things that make me happy," doesn't work.

My favorite was the time I got Husband in on the game and we played smoothie names.

Alohaberry Luau, Banana-rama ding-dong,,Choco Making Me Crazy...

My Husband, the marathoner

Husband ran a marathon today. It was amazing. I am so in awe of him.
I kept being overcome with emotion seeing all the people struggling mentally and physically and wanting it so bad, and all the people rallying to support them... I had to finally stop looking people in their faces to focus on finding Husband, because I almost missed him the first time.
The whole day was like the anti-State Fair - a great community get-together, but instead of eating all day you run or run around cheering for people who are running. I saw tons of people I knew, including an old college podmate, a guy I went to high school with, and the boy I used to kiss in preschool (who now bears a striking resemblance to Teen Wolf).
We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening lazing around and eating. It's 8:24 now and Husband is in bed! I keep wanting to check his pulse or make sure he's breathing. I think I read too many articles about hyponatremia.

My cat threw up on my houseguest

Actually, he threw up on my houseguest’s bedding...but maybe that’s worse.

I thought I spelled something pukey last night with my uber-sensitive-woman’s-nose, but a quick search revealed nothing.

When I came downstairs this morning I saw the guest room’s bedclothes piled up in the hall. Please don’t be pee. Please don’t be pee, I pleaded as I searched frantically for the wet spot. (The cats haven’t recreationally peed yet, but cats’ previous behavior is never a reliable predictor of their future behavior.) Nope, it was a nice slime of puke on the fitted sheet. The morning got even better when I went to turn on the washer and nothing happened. Spin dial, select load level, pull. Nothing. I tried the dryer. Nothing too! I flipped the circuit breaker and we were washing with gas.

What a nightmare. The cats have only puked one other time... but they seem to have a knack for selecting terrible locations.

Mincemeat: Never a good idea

Fall! I've missed you so. It actually felt GOOD to wear real shoes and socks today. I can clomp down the stairs, legs flailing about like a puppet, instead of stepping carefully, toes gripping clammy leather.

Husband and I watched prime time CSI last night--it was an event! We had feeling-sorry-for-ourselves-too-all-of-the-above-to-cook pizza while we watched. You know how most mystery series fail because after some point it becomes unbelievable that there would be so many murders in one town? Well, the creators of CSI were brilliant when they set their show in Las Vegas. The week after week of slimy bastards, vengeful wives, and low-class hustlers are totally believable!

Where are all the books recommendations that I couldn’t care less about, you ask? Well, I’ve been reading titles more frequently found under BEACH READS than RECOMMENDED READING, so I’ll get back to you when there is something to write about. But in place of books, I have TRIVIA.

DID YOU KNOW
Mincemeat is one of many dishes that was created to be heavily spiced in order to hide the rotting meat that was a reality of dinner tables in Marco Polo-era England?

Before the Atlantic slave trade, the English didn’t drink coffee or tea? Of course tea and coffee had to be imported as well, but it was sugar that made tea and coffee palatable to the English and led to its popularity, making tea the quintessential English beverage, ironic since tea comes from China or India and sugar came from the West Indies.

SHORT BITS
My hair is no longer a source of woe. I heart Laughing Cow cheese and hate Mt. Olive pickles (I shown have known – olive, pickle, They Are Not The Same). Husband is going to be gone Saturday night and I keep finding myself thinking...only Saturday night? That doesn’t quite seem long enough. I got all geared up for finishing projects and having the cats all to myself that I forgot it's going to be only twenty-four hours or so.

Siamese in more than name only

Can-do

My first attempt at canning - success! I was inspired by the selection of jams at the craft fair to turn our surplus of peppers into jam (technically jelly). I was a little nervous to try canning because I didn't have any of the proper equipment and I'm kind of cavalier about recipes, but all three jars both sealed and set! (Just ignore the pepper bits all jumbled up at the top.) Now all I need is some cream cheese and crackers.

Purple mascara

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I play favorites with the kittens. Cadbury’s dog-like enthusiasm, affection, and big nose win me over every time. I love Stilton too, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes my attention to him is more... obligatory, more of an “Oh hey Stilton. I like you too!” kind of thing. Do parents have secret favorites with their children, too? I didn’t think so before, but I do now. It’s easy to love two things a lot but hard to love them equally all the time.

I sometimes feel like a kid playing dress up at work. When I’m on the phone with someone who doesn’t know me personally and they’re taking my opinion really seriously and trying to curry favor, I feel like I’ve fooled them.

Speaking of dress-up, I had my makeup done today at an Aveda event, and it’s driving me crazy. I couldn’t even wait until I was out of eyesight of the stylist to wipe off the bright gooey smear of lipstick/gloss. Ugg. And the eye makeup! White eyeliner with purple shadow, both over and under my eyes, and dark purple mascara... do I look like someone who would wear purple mascara? I hardly wear black mascara! I suppose it’s good to be pushed out of one’s makeup comfort zone once in awhile. I did like the tinted moisturizer and powder, and eye shadow (in smaller quantities).

Making farm kids cry

TUNNEL LOVE
I love driving through tunnels.
I go through two every day on my commute, and while I'm usually plotting my post-tunnel lane change, every once in a while I remember where I am at and get a little thrill.
I'm not sure why... it's sort of big city savvy Mary Tyler Moore thing. I can navigate insane freeway passages that would make farm kids cry.

REOCCURING DREAMS
I make it a practice not to share my dreams*, because I read somewhere that no one really cares about other people's dreams, and I think that's pretty true. But I do think reoccuring dreams are interesting... those dreams you watch over and over like a bad rerun of Saved by the Bell (I suppose "bad" is redudant). This is all prompted by the recent revisiting of my number one reoccuring dream: encountering raging impassable rapids while canoeing on some remote river.The sense of hopeless despair and impending death usually jars me out of sleep and spares me from having to witness my own demise.

CRAFT FAIRING AND LIKING IT
This weekend I'm going to a small town arts and crafts fair... and I'm excited about it. It's girls' weekend at the H house, when my mom, two aunts, and grandma get together and act like kids again, and I tag along for the fun. After packing as many finds as we can into the van, we're heading up to the cabin. I'm hoping to get a lot of knitting done during the long rides, since scarf weather is nearly here (Hurrah!)

*OK, I did share that one about Kate Spade. But it was an aside.

“Sorry I’ve been a bitch” cake

I'm back! On Tuesday morning, two weeks after returning from vacation, I finally felt back to my old self. It took a few random acts of kindness, including a “Sorry I’ve been a bitch” French yogurt cake, but it feels great to be back. Good riddance crabby post-vacation self!

When will I stop being mistaken for an 18-year-old? Women-friends, I am pleading for honesty: Is there anything I can do? A new haircut? Different makeup? I know I have a "youthful" face that people tell me I will come to love in ten years, but really. It's hard to think that people take you seriously at work when you are mistaken for an 18-year-old.

Current obsessed with: Ben Gibbard’s song, “You remind me of home.” I haven’t been this desiring of constant repeat play since last winter and the Postal Service’s “The district sleeps alone tonight.” Also: pudding pops -- mmm! I don't know where you went, but I'm glad to have you back.

Those damn funeral processions get me every time

I try to give off a tough exterior, but I'm as Husband said once, I'm "surprisingly emotionally available." Translation: I am brought to tears easily. Not in the boo-hoo playground crybaby way, but in the overcome-by-humanity tear-up that I'm usually able to hide. Here’s a list of things that have made my eyes well up/cry in the last week:
- Viewing photos of friend with her brand new baby boy
- Reading about Katrina destruction
- Friend sharing a story that had nothing to do with me but that made her eyes well up
- Watching The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (don’t be fooled by its silly exterior)

I also dependably well up/cry:
At funeral processions
At weddings, graduations, and funerals, even if I didn’t really know them
At cheesy but earnest displays of patriotism
Whenever anyone asks me how I’m doing when they know I’m not doing too well
At music of all kinds, especially odd but poignant Dar Williams songs, such as “The Babysitter’s Here,” and “The Christians and the Pagans.”

I'll stop there, but it's a pretty long list. Those damn funeral processions get me every time.

Black days and Beets

In The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, the protagonist, Christopher, an autistic boy, knows the day is going to be bad when he sees four yellow cars. ("Four yellow cars in a row made it a Black Day, which is a day when I don't speak to anyone and sit on my own reading books and don't eat my lunch and Take No Risks."*) My omen is when the word game of the day on m-w.com is Bee-cubed (shudder). But today it’s Dictionary Devil day, my favorite, and a sure sign of a good day if I’ve ever seen one.

My cousin’s best friend and brother live in Bay St. Louis, and she hasn’t heard from them yet. I can’t comprehend the scope of the devastation.

On a much lighter note the kittens are wrecking havoc on our home in their own way. The tally so far is three pairs of headphones, cords chewed through; two large glasses; and one bowl... and they’ve only been able to jump on to the kitchen counters for a little over a week. I was so angry after the bowl incident because they insisted on playing with the shards as I tried to clean it up (look, a new toy!) that I had to lock them upstairs until I was done. I’ve now approved judicious use of the faucet spray attachment on all occasions.

BEETS, BEETS, the magical vegetable,
THE MORE YOU EAT the more stained red your kitchen (and pee) is,
THE MORE YOU EAT the more you despise those little rattails they come with,
SO EAT MORE BEETS (’cause their tasty and in season!) with every meal!

*I've found myself longing to declare Black Days recently. Except my version includes lunch, a heating pad, and maybe a few good movies.

Steam heat

I am consumed by thoughts of having my own sauna. You know when I wanted a pool? Yeah, now I want a sauna, in a little cedar shack in the back of the yard. I’d use it all the time, I swear. I can’t decide whether it should be stove-heated or electric... maybe have the option for both? Think how great my complexion would look. Surely it’s cheaper than the fancy moisturizers and facials I will someday require?