I'm feeling much better now

Vindication! The completely ineffective ranch owners were found to be to blame! The cowboys maintain their dignity and walk away with the true loyalty to the project! Hooray, Mrs. Cooke got called out by the assessors! Now, not to say the cowboys weren't jerks to the Cooke daughters, but I can't blame them too much based on the way Mr. Cooke treated them.

And someone seems to insinuate that this brief obsession is no better than watching American Idol. I beg to differ! This is a historical experiment! This is mind-expanding! This is PBS! This isn't Fox and really, really bad, OLD pop music! I am a completely sane, intelligent woman! I am in full control of my mental faculties! I have always been seriously interested in history, espeically this time period as a child! I am not responding emotionally! -- even though, given the option, I would have voted Mrs. Cooke off the island and laughed at her retreating back!

:)

And on the 8th day, Ayzair finished reading

I have read the Pentateuch! That's Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. And let me tell you, it was a slog. I'm taking an old testament "class" with some friends, and I vowed to myself to actually read the Bible and not just the textbook. I'm sure some day I'll go back through bits of Genesis and Exodus, but really, the other three aren't of much use unless you're an ancient Israelite priest, and that's not me. But at least I've read it and know what's in there for myself. Now, Leviticus did have the priestly blessing, which is lovely, and Numbers had the Shema, but that's about all I took away. My "favorite" passage? Hmm, here's an example: Leviticus 4:5-7 "Then the anointed priest shall take some of the bull's blood and carry it into the Tent of Meeting. He is to dip his finger into the blood and sprinkle some of it seven times before the LORD, in front of the curtain of the sanctuary. The priest shall then put some of the blood on the horns of the altar of fragrant incense that is before the LORD in the Tent of Meeting. The rest of the bull's blood he shall pour out at the base of the altar of burnt offering at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting." Mmmm, blood. That's pleasant. And instructions like this were written out for the various types of sacrifices, as well as who was to make each of such sacrifices, when they were to make them, and then for good measure, it was all repeated at least two more times. Thankfully, Pastor Ray doesn't generally bring sacrificial animals to service anymore, though he did have the kids baaaing during the children's sermon Sunday ...

Somebody get a rope

Would someone puh-leeeze get Mr. Cooke a backbone?! And someone needs to MUZZLE Mrs. Cooke! I wish Brad were here to share my indignation at the idiotic ranch owners on Texas Ranch House, but at least I know Jenny will be online at some point with an "Amen!"

(By the way, this rant as of the end of part 3 of 4, after the mess with the Comanche and Maura.)

Yee-haw!

Hooray for the wonders of PBS! Brad has been on his first big business trip this week (poor baby, golf in Myrtle Beach), and I had been afraid I would be at a loss as to how to fill my evenings -- ie., I would wind up flipping between various forms of drivel on TV and never reading or engaging my mind. Well, I'm still not reading, but at least I've got Texas Ranch House! I realize I'm actually a week behind on this since it debuted last week, but the Charlotte station is either replaying it or didn't show it last week, and I'm grateful.

I love these kind of shows. My favorite has been Frontier House, being the most interesting from a straight survival point of view. Colonial House was certainly a revealing look at the 17th century, but the show itself devolved into lots of people whining. Why were the women surprised they were second-class citizens in the 1600s? Somehow the people always forget they're supposed to accept the rules of the time period. My sister-in-law-in-law (what do you call your sister's husband's sister?) has expounded on this failing, even if I can't read all of her postings since they're spoilers -- though it should surprise no one that none of the casts ever makes the grade for suriving in real life.

From the BBC, the originators of this historical re-enactment concept, came Manor House, which was fascinating in that the "masters" thoroughly bought into the upstairs/downstairs division. Totally normal 21st century people feeling they are above other middle class people simply because they're acting the part of servants. A very interesting social experiment. I haven't seen Regency House Party or 1900 House, though I just bumped the latter up to the top of my Netflix queue and should be enjoying it by Wednesday. That was the first one and will hopefully be the purest and least theatrical.

Ahh, public television. How lovely.

Salaam alaykum

I just finished yet another book, this time "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini. I had long seen this book on the best-seller list back in my days as book editor, and I have a strange fascination with Central Asia, in particular Iran (especially after "Reading Lolita in Tehran"). I didn't know enough about Afghanistan to even know what to think of it, which of course intrigued me. This novel is a fascinating look at an extremely different culture, from Afghanistan in 1973 to Afghan ex-pats 2002. All I'd ever really known of Afghanistan was burqas, the destruction of the Buddha statues, and the pictures of an unimaginably desolate, bombed-to-hell Kabul. This story tells of a vibrant Kabul covered in trees, full of music and fruit and intricate relationships. The later descriptions of the droughts, the Russians, the Taliban are absolutely heartbreaking. Kabul might not have been cutting edges, but it sounds like it wasn't quite as medieval as we were led to believe. What happens to the characters themselves is equally heartbreaking, though I have the (mis)fortune of being able to predict story lines, and I guessed the book's major twist about 200 pages before it was revealed. I would highly recommend this book to people as engrossed by different cultures as I am.

A Tree Grows in Dorset

Abbey is either napping or quiety on her way to doing so, so I've settled in to blog with a cup of coffee. Raspberry coffee. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this. It smells good, but it's coffee. The combination may not be a winner.

I have lately found myself watching "Masterpiece Theatre" on Sunday nights, inevitably while I iron. Some may say I'm much too young for this, but hey, it's good, and the film is usually a period piece, which is one of those fool-proof genres for me. Well, except "The Count of Monte Cristo", which was a nightmarish disaster.

Anyway, last night was "Under the Greenwood Tree", a Thomas Hardy novel I had never heard of. (Looking at that Hardy site, damn, the man was prolific!) The movie had all the Hardy trappings: set in Wessex; honest, salt-of-the earth villagers; questionably motivated "modern" men; the charming local tradition, here a church choir; the sinister symbol of industrialization, here a harmonium, which of course replaced the choir; and a love affair doomed by class. And when I saw the lovely Dick Dewey (coincidentally, exactly what I would have thought Jude in "Jude the Obscure" looked like), I SO wanted the love affair to work, even if the heroine wasn't the greatest. But it's Hardy, right? Surely, following the model of poor Tess and Jude, there would be death and tragedy? Wait, the evil modern men are going away! The class issue is being forgotten! They're getting MARRIED! Hooray! I guess Hardy was a bit of a sentamentalist in his early years. Of course, I haven't read the actual novel, so maybe it was sanitized for TV. Don't want to upset all those little old ladies watching their evening PBS.

Marginalia

You may have noticed (though probably not since I never pay attention to it) that my "What I'm Reading" has been changing at a break-neck pace this week. Amazing, I know! Big margins and less than 120 pages can do that.

The first one I tackled was "Les Combustibles" by Amelie Nothomb, a prominent modern French writer. This play fit well with what I know of French drama, at least from the past century. Just three characters in one room with very few props and no action beyond talking. The main thrust of the plot: In a city under siege, a professor, his assistant and a student are essentially trapped living together. It's winter and they have no more fuel. But they do have a huge, well-stocked bookcase. They turn the question "What book would you take on a desert island?" into "What one book would you save from the flames?" I was very hopeful that this might be another "Huis Clos" by Sartre ("No Exit" in English), but it didn't quite muster the same impact. It would still be interesting to see performed, though.

From that cheerful topic, I moved on to "Night" by Elie Wiesel. Frankly, a blog is not the proper place to discuss this book. It would seem too flippant. Suffice it to say, a very powerful book. I certainly wish I'd been chosen for this group in ninth grade rather than getting stuck with "The Old Man and the Sea" by Hemingway. The book was not surprising in its content, though, after my trip to Dachau. Each voice gives new pain and power to this tragedy, but nothing will compare to staring into the open maw of a crematory oven. This can't be forgotten. If you ever go to Germany, you really should visit a camp. And you should read this book.

On a different tangent ...

The public library in Bethune, France, was named La Mediatheque Elie Wiesel (no thumping dance music). I was always a mite confused by that, but apparently he wrote "Night" in French, feeling that the Yiddish words were corrupted by the Holocaust. That is something I love about the French, though; public institutions are named after important figures in art and literature. The high school I lived at was named after Andre Malraux, a poet. A school down the street was named for Salvador Allende -- okay, not arts, but how interesting to name something for a Chilean. And of course, there was everyone's favorite currency, the 50 franc note with St.-Exupery and the Little Prince on it.

The Spirit moves me to sit and be quiet, thanks

We were in North Myrtle Beach this past weekend and picked a church at random for Easter service. We needed to leave after lunch, so a 9:30 service made the most sense. Of course, the church my in-laws had chosen held a contemporary service at that time, but I really didn't think much of it. Well, as my father-in-law noted, "The only thing Presbyterian about that was the final blessing."

I'm not trying to be critical of people who attend contemporary services. The worshippers at this service were obviously very moved and energized by the Christian pop music and PowerPoint presentation. I'm sure I would have gotten a bit more out of it if I had at least been familiar with the music. But I was out of my comfort zone, which only serves to make me feel awkward, not inspired. I'm just not used to watching a performance at church. I felt like it was a concert by the main singer, who was excellent and obviously full of Spirit, but I got distracted watching her rather than thinking about God.

And what can I say, I missed my favorite "Jesus Christ is Risen Today". One of the most awe-inspiring moments of my life was Easter 2000, when my high school best friend and I emerged from Via della Conciliazione onto a packed St. Peter's Square just as an English choir filled the air with that hymn.

But this contemporary service got me thinking about the kind of Christian I am. While I could never be comfortable waving my hands in the air and inserting "Thank you, Father God" at every breath, I do somewhat envy these people. I have seldom, if ever, been ecstatic like that. I'm actually probably a pretty lousy "worshipper." I don't think that's how I approach church. When I go to a service, I am searching for insight and comfort, ideally an overflowing sense of peace. I am contemplative, not energetic. I'm looking for inspiration, but inspiration to apply to life, not just for it's own sake. I want to be challenged mentally and emotionally by a sermon, but I guess the kind that reach me don't lend themselves to shouts of "Amen!" I don't really think in terms of praise but of a feeling of oneness with God. Maybe I'm not looking at worship the right way, but I do know I've felt a few moments of truly holy peace.

There's a small, ancient church in the Roman neighborhood of Trastevere, Santa Maria in Trastevere, one of the few vestiges of medieval Rome that wasn't sugar-coated in baroque by a pope. The interior was far quieter than most other Roman church, and the altar was backdropped by a gorgeous 12th century mosaic. I sat toward the back of the sanctuary to take it all in, and the clouds outside parted to let light shine through a window and bathe me in pure gold.

At my wedding, when the priest wrapped his stole around Brad's and my hands and pronounced us husband and wife, a wave of absolute calm and contentment washed over me from the top of my head to my feet. I knew we were blessed.

I may not experience ecstasy, but I'm as solid as I can be in my faith thanks to these moments and a few others. Simple joy and peace may not be all that God encompasses, but they're enough for me.

Where does he get those wonderful toys?

You know, I've never seen any incarnation of "Batman." Doesn't feel like a big loss in my life.

Anyway, a friend has introduced me to a fabulous little addiction. Bibliophil has to be the most intoxicating fun for English majors and other obsessive readers. It's a site where you can catalog and rate books you read, keep track of books you want to read and/or buy, get suggestions on books you might like, be happily voyeristic of other people's reading habits and just in general revel in the vast quantity of books out there. I've just started my library, but it's already be highly entertaining. Thinking of my most recently read books led to thinking of all-time favorites led to beloved childhood stories led to what I read in high school led to what I read in Modern Fiction led to ... And I haven't even scratched the surface of my main bookshelf! Granted, Carrots (the fiancee of a friend of Brad's) is a PhD student at Rice and no doubt could put my puny little BA list to shame, but still, how fun!

Thanks for the opinions

Guess I'll keep 'em! Thanks -- I'm very decisive in most other areas of life, but I guess there's just something stressful about an accessory you'll wear 18 hours a day.


I'll be heading out of town for the Easter weekend, down to Myrtle Beach (and some of you know what fun that will be). When I return, I have resolved to write something a wee bit deep and meaningful rather than just post funny pictures of my kid. Of course, whether that will happen remains to be seen!

Happy Easter!

Well?

glasses
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

I've got 30 days if I want to change these new glasses. What do you think? Cool and stylish? Too dark? What? And yes, this was taken at the end of the day, so no comments about the hair.

Dust off that hyperlink

Years Reading has lived to blog again! Not that I have much room to comment on his current question, but perhaps some of you do and might not think to check his long-dormant space for a while.

Here comes Abbey Cottontail

Egghunt
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Oh, those preschool teachers and their wonderful crafts! Today was Abigail's Easter egg hunt at school, and she was very excited and very cute -- when she could see, that is.

Neither Accurate Nor Original

I just finished reading Bill Bryson's "Neither Here Nor There: Travels in Europe." I am a big fan of Bryson, especially "A Walk in the Woods" and "The Mother Tongue," but quite sadly I have to say I'm not a huge fan of this one. Sure, he gives some interesting descriptions of places in Europe I'll surely never go, but he's so blatantly stereotypical in his perceptions of people. He writes the French off completely as arrogant and self-centered, all based on Paris, which ticks me off immeasureably. I hate when people base their idea of the French on waiters in the Latin Quarter. Try going to a restaurant off Times Square and see if they're just fawning over obnoxious tourists there, too. Anyway, he does this with other nationalities, too, like calling the Austrians rednecks and assuming that all Swedes are blond, and that just gets old. As does his obsession with how expensive everything is. Okay, this is Europe in 1990, I believe, which was more expensive than the U.S. or probably England, where he was living when he wrote this, but he's constantly harping on how he's being ripped off for bad food. Hyperbole doesn't make for convincing travel writing. I also got very sick of his constant comments about how fat he'd gotten. Great. So stop smoking and drinking too much. I don't need to hear about it.

All that said, I still highly recommend "A Walk in the Woods" and "I'm a Stranger Here Myself" for extremely interesting observations about the U.S. And of course "The Mother Tongue" is a fascinating, hysterical look at English.

I've got my hands full

Time for more pictures, and I think these show what a charming little girl I'm raising :)

Okay, funny thing about these first two is that while, yes, I own a yoga ball, I've never actually used it as such. It was free from my health insurer, but I found it very confusing. Abbey quickly dubbed it Big Ball and has pretty much just rolled it around the house and tried to throw it and asked me to bounce her on it. So how she figured out the following stance eludes me.

Yoga1
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Yoga2
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

And here, we have the Fairy Princess, complete with wings you can't see in this picture. The streamers are extra, and of course, a red bobble hat is much better than a tiara. I personally like how well she's ignoring Dick Cheney in the background (I believe this is about the time he shot up his poor hunting buddy).

Fairy1
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Fairy2
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Ah, parenthood, what fun. Especially when all bodily fluids are back in their proper places.

On a completely unrelated note, I thought I'd share about an interesting beverage I've discovered (a pleasant surprise, rather than a negative one). IZZE is a very tasty fruit juice and sparkling water combination. I picked up the pomegrante and was pleasantly surprised, though $5 for four bottles is quite steep. Harris Teeter also had clementine (the world's best citrus fruit), blueberry and blackberry. Yum. I highly recommend it for a guilt-free splurge.

Round 2

Geez, now Brad. Funny, I don't remember studying to be a nurse.

That's enough, thanks

This has been such a pleasant week. Sunday night, Abigail came over to me wimpering, just wanting to be held. A few minutes later, I received my first shower of most definitely not water. Ick. Ick. Ick. Rotavirus (follow link only if you have a strong stomach) is finally abating from my little one. While I can't imagine what the poor thing has been going through -- especially since she'd never thrown up before and was very disturbed by it -- this is a most unpleasant disease to watch. A week after seeing my child just about out run my mom's 10-year-old neighbor after 15 minutes of laps around the house, she has spend the past three-plus days lying limp on the floor watching PBS. She even watched "Mister Rogers," she was that listless. But thankfully, the bizarre little stories about potato chips being doors and sandwiches mountains and so forth have returned and Abbey's even been laughing. God bless the makers of Pedialyte.

Movement on my stodgy stack

You may have noticed an alarming trend on this self-described booklover's blog: the same book listed as what I'm reading for months. Sad but true, "Cloud Atlas" by David Mitchell languished on my bedside table for far too long. I read the first chapter, "The Pacific Journal of Adam Ewing," back in at least December and found it mildly interesting but not really my thing. I glanced quickly at the second chapter, "Letters from Zedelghem," and wasn't enthusiastic about devouring the book. (Each chapter ends unfinished.) I don't do well reading journals and letters for some reason; I just don't find them as compelling as dialog and straightforward plot development. So the poor book sat there until after the New Year. I finally got into "Letters" and was more entertained, certainly impressed with Mitchell's ability to create such different, convincing voices. Chapter three, "Half Lives," completely sucked me in, but I was alarmed when the chapter cut off right after a character's death. Wait, I was really interested! What happened next?! How annoying! I flipped to the next chapter, "The Ghastly Ordeal of Timothy Cavendish," and wasn't sure if I wanted to start right in. I kept flipping. Chapter five, "An Orison of Sonmi-451." Chapter six, "Sloosha's Crossin' An' Ev'rythin' After." Chapter seven, "Orison of Sonmi-451." Hold on, they repeat?! This book is a wonderful double helix, twisting back on itself and continuing the interrupted stories?! God bless the postmodernists and they're unconventional novel forms! If only I'd noticed this right away, I would've gobbled it up!

Needless to say, I now adore this book. Each chapter flirts with the earlier ones, touching on recurring themes and sights, even people. Mitchell is truly amazing with characterization and absolutely master's each genre. He's also a hell of a lot better than Joyce at writing in dialect with invented words, proving a point, and still actually being entertaining and LEGIBLE. (Bad English major!) I highly recommend this book if you're a fan of postmodernism or even just fabulous fiction. Smitty, give it a try. A., you'd love it.

Far from stodgy stacks

At my alma mater, the library was a nightmarish example of bad '70s architecture. Even worse, the English and French literature were buried, literally, on the second-to-lowest floor underground. Worn, mottled red industrial carpeting combined with that dank subterranian feeling to give an overall icky feeling. I didn't voluntarily spend much free time there.

However, I would gladly spend scads of free time in the Parisian libraries. Be sure to watch the multimedia slideshow and look for the Biblioteque Ste.-Genevieve. Gorgeous. Add these to my list of new things to do in Paris whenever I finally get back over there.

On a side note, I'll be trotting off the the lovely Florida Panhandle tomorrow, so I'll probably be silent for another week. I'm looking forward to a good dose of mothering and shopping and warm weather, but thanks to my sinus infection, I'm not looking forward to the actual travel with Abigail. At least she's ecstatic about getting to fly in an airplane. Almost as good as Christmas.

At-home relaxation -- POP!

You might think that this post would be about the nice massage I had yesterday. Quite relaxing, though using an unusual, um, shaking technique?

No, this relaxation method is even more affordable. Step one: buy 10 feet of bubble wrap, the large bubble variety. (Or purchase something online and wait for it to be delivered) Step two: unfurl the wrap and lay it like a red carpet through your living room. Step three: walk slowly down the wrap, letting your body weight shift from side to side. You get the stress relief of the popping mixed with the nifty massage on your feet and the plain old childish joy of bubble wrap. For a moderate aerobic workout, consider swapping step three with playing tag with a 3-year-old. I have a feeling that will be reprised after naptime.

Damn that radio song, man

A friend and I were talking about music yesterday, specifically what we listened to at different points in our lives. This was a particularly interesting conversation considering were we also talking with a friend who's about a decade older than us and remembered being big into Blondie. A. was talking about who had what CDs on her freshman-year hall (circa 1994), and while I liked the music she mentioned, they weren't the CDs I had -- or at least weren't in heavy rotation at the time. Of course, my mind then went crazy thinking about what CDs I liked then and images that I associated with specific songs, keeping me well occupied on my trip back home from north Charlotte. So I thought I'd spead the discussion to you lovely readers. What were you listening to your freshman year of college? And it certainly doesn't have to be just popular music -- hint, hint, Smitty with your Philip Glass and Rambling Speech with your "Yente" soundtrack. I'd be especially interested in hearing from the Dunces and my mom -- I know you figured out how to comment at least once!

To get things started, my favorite CDs in 1995:

• Barenaked Ladies, "Maybe You Should Drive" -- Heard them live on WYEP in high school and thought they were hilarious -- you've gotta love the Canadian "sorry"; favorite tracks: "Jane", "You Will Be Waiting" and "Little Tiny Song"


• Better Than Ezra, "Deluxe" -- Very vivid associations with "This Time of Year" and that autumn, both doing homework in the dorm and walking around campus


• Blue Traveler, "Four" -- I adored "Just Wait" and "The Mountains Win Again"


• Dave Matthews Band, "Under the Table and Dreaming" -- especially "Satelite" and "Lover Lay Down," which I associate with Pensacola Beach, for some reason


• Jump, Little Children, "Licorice Tea Demos" -- I think I've covered this


• REM, "Green," "Document" and "Automatic For the People" -- I'm pretty sure they still would have been in rotation given I saw them in concert the day after graduation


• They Might Be Giants, "John Henry" and "Flood" -- Knew Rambling Speech and I would be friends when I heard "Flood" start up in the room next door


• Weezer, "Weezer" -- I taped this from my roommate shortly after arriving on campus and always had it on in the car; loved "The Sweater Song"

Probably not a comprehensive list. Sadly short on female singers, though they featured more prominantly in high school and later college -- Tori Amos, 10,000 Maniacs and Natalie Merchant, Fiona Apple, Sarah McLaughlin, Jewel. At least this list isn't embarassing like a junior high list would be -- I'll 'fess up to Boyz II Men since a. admitted to Paula Abdul!

Later addendum:
As I got in my car to drive to Spanish class, I remembered another frequently listened-to group: Rusted Root, "When I Woke." I also heard them on WYEP -- a hippie, world music band from western Pennsylvania? -- and taped it off someone in college. Perhaps Smitty, since I recall him exuberantly saying, "Simians, away!" I listened to this a lot in the car, though really, it makes no sense for me. The music doesn't match anything else I ever listened to, and I'd stick out like a giant, preppy thumb at a concert. But it's so much fun to listen to, even if I have no idea what the lead singer is saying!

Slightly unsettling

frosty
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

What might this be? A strange cult practice, perhaps associated with the Flying Spaghetti Monster? A large purple alien landing on another planet with the local inhabitants unable to restrain their curiosity? A message from an ancient people, akin to Stonehenge?

Or perhaps just my daughter's perpetual fascination with "Frosty the Snowman", in particular with recreating the scene where Frosty is first built, receives his magic hat and announces, "Happy birthday!" (Seen here, the bathtub version) This same formation has occured with stuffed animals, Little People, even food. It's like every day is Christmas -- or at least a poorly animated 1960s TV special version of it.

The hilarity continues

Okay, this guy has a site of all KINDS of ironic commentary! Wheeee, who needs housework?!

Weapons of mass congelation

You know, most food products never really need to congeal. That's even an upleasant word to say. Now, I am okay with plain old Jell-O, Jell-O fruit salads and even jigglers. Adding bananas, pineapple, etc. or even mini marshmallows or cream cheese, all fine within reason. That really yummy pie my mom makes with Jell-O and CoolWhip, none of which may actually be able to be classified as food, that's just wonderful. But there are many congealed things that are simply wrong: aspic, Jell-O salad not of the fruit variety -- don't offer me lime Jell-O with grated carrots, call it Congealed Salad and try to convince me it's a vegetable -- and dishes including the following ingredients: olives, kidney beans, hot dogs, corned beef, and I have no earthly idea.

Making regrettable gasping, dorky noises of laughter

Oh. my. god. And, yes, I must be that Valley Girl about it. This site is HYSTERICAL. If you don't at least find it mildly amusing, I obviously don't know you, so you should go away and stop reading about my family! Thanks, a., I knew you needed a blog.

Today brought to you by chocolate

Though of course, I doubt I'll be getting any of the heavenly dark stuff today, for which I thank my husband. But wow, chocolate. I love chocolate. Dark chocolate, please, and none of that Hershey crap. I love chocolate so much that it actually prompted me to read the Business page today in The Charlotte Observer. Apparently there's a new franchise hitting the streets: chocolate cafes. Get together with your girlfriends for truffles or fondue or just gourmet chocolate in a coffeehouse setting, how fabulous! My "bible study" group would have a field day! "Dead Sea Scrolls, yadda, yadda -- ooh, try this hazelnut-creme filled, triple-chocolate dipped truffle!!" Between discussions about food and babies, there's precious little said about religion sometimes ...

And speaking of a fellow chocaholic classmate, tumnus is now Coffee and Drivel on a much happier Blogger site. Two posts in a week, it's encouraging!

The dark mind of journalism

Okay, does it make me severely dark and twisted that I find it absolutely hysterical that Dick Cheney just accidentally shot his hunting buddy? I feel awful for the guy, hope he fully recovers, but I'm sorry, it makes me laugh.

A new convert

Everyone, say hello to tumnus. Otherwise known as the mysterious a., I'm publicizing her debut to coerce her into posting lots! Now that we're both officially stay-home mommies again (or will be as of 10 tonight), maybe we can get some fabulously deep discusions going about the nature of motherhood and womanhood and chocolate-adict-hood.

Mini Me

Abigail glasses
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Sometimes, no matter how hard you swim, there's no escaping the gene pool. No only did Abigail have her mommy's history working against her, but also being preemie made her almost guaranteed to have glasses. But isn't she cute?

Invasion of the body snatchers, ya'll

Okay, whoever has my child, I'd like her back. Abigail woke up today magically speaking Hick. Seriously, she sounds like she's from Pelzer, or the lovely hamlet of Sharon here in York County (pronounced Shay-run). She's been saying thay-ut (that) and bay-uth (bath) and hay-ouse (house) and hey-ulp (help). It's really strange. Brad has a Southern accent, but nothing stronger than saying bol and ol for boil and oil. His mother's fairly country, but not too bad. One of her preschool teachers has an average Rock Hill accent, and the other's from Charleston. Where is this coming from? And why over night? Yesterday, she was wearing a hat. Today, a hay-ut. And six months ago, she sounded like she was from Long Island. Maybe this means she'll be good with languages and accents like her mommy.

Okay, one more for today

One her way upstairs for her nap today, Abigail said, "Eating makes me happy. And life makes me happy." What a fabulous philosophy!

And for more in the kids-say-the-darnedest-things category, a few weeks ago, Abigail was getting into something she wasn't supposed to, and Brad told her to stop. Her response? "Oh, Daddy, you're being over-sensative this morning." That's a paraphrase of one of her Berenstain Bear books, but still, how did she think of that?!

Like new

Another oddity that I saw yesterday at Winthrop: A for sale flier on a hallway bulletin board. "That's not unusual," you say. Yes, colleges are papered with "Roomate needed" or "Books for sale" or "Summer work opportunity" which winds up being door-to-door selling knives, but this one was unique. Honestly, it might not have been too out of place in certain buildings at Clemson, but not in the language and math building at Winthrop: A John Deere tractor.

Can you hear me now?

Okay, I'm supposed to be cleaning a bathroom and buying a new car battery, but I want to get this down before I forget because it was such an interesting moment to observe.

I was walking to my Spanish class yesterday, crossing the commuter parking lot, when I heard a girl across the aisle from me talking on her cell phone. She told the listener where she was, and then started to offer advice on how to lessen the severity of a cold. I wasn't really listening, it was just a plug for Zicam. Actually, I was lusting after her sweater. Ah, it was fabulous. Dark charcoal torso and turtleneck, with dusty pink arms down to just below the elbow, where there were multicolored stripes the rest of the way. I need that sweater. Even more than I need the Twister purse some girl carries that has a class near mine. But I digress. Anyway, just as I rounded a car a few steps behind her, I saw her chatting away and midsentence flip the phone closed, look at the girl on the sidewalk, who simulaneously flipped her phone closed, and continue her conversation without missing a beat. It was amazing choreography. Of course, why they needed a 1 minute conversation on a cell phone rather than just meeting up is a bit of a mystery, but it was amazing to witness.

It was also a bit sad, though. When I walk around campus, all the kiddies are on their cell phone or have iPods in their ears. I can't help but think of the Seashells in Farenheit 451. Very, very few people are talking to each other. I'm surprised the girls I saw didn't keep talking on their phones as they walked together. Back in the dark ages of my undergrad experience, we actually talked to our friends or just THOUGHT as we walked. And all the interesting overheard conversations these people are missing out on. I remember walking in front of Cooper Library one day with one of you lovely readers, though I don't remember who, and we were behind two frat boys who aparently learned their rhetorical skills from the Smurfs. "Man, that f*er has the best f*ing s*it I've f*ing seen. F*. It's f*ing great. I'm not f*ing kidding. F*itty f*itty f* f* ..." And more to that effect. I think these two fine scholars then turned into the library, at which time my friend and I burst into hysterics. And today's college kids are missing such comedy.

Chewandswallow

There is a new favorite book at the Williams' household: "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs." While the repetition can get a bit wearying, there is simply no better children's book than this. The drawings are fabulous, and you have to love a book that teaches kids absurd humor. I loved this book as a kid, and when we first cracked it open for Abigail a few weeks ago, the pictures brought back so many memories! Baseball players snacking on pie, a mother running from giant doughnuts, a man lying squished under a huge hamburger, the houses made out of stale bread at the end ... Every child needs to learn very early on about irony. Hopefully we're on the successful path of instilling the proper appreciation of humor so she can later enjoy "The Princess Bride" and "Monty Python." Every mother's dream.

And aparently there's a sequel! Any one ever read "Pickles to Pittsburgh"? Based on the name alone, I'm intrigued.

Cooking with children

While at my mother's for the holidays, Grandma Roberta and Abigail decided to make cutout cookies. It would make a good flip book :)

cookies2
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

cookies3
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

cookies4
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

cookies5
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

cookies7
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

cookies9
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

The latest addiction

Are any of you on Netflix? I have recently signed up, only four movies a month which means it will take forever to get through the drama and foreign-film heavy queue. This also means I have discovered the joys of having "Friends" on Netflix, offering the opportunity to yell at friends and coworkers things like, "What?! You mean you hated 'High Fidelity' and loved 'Being John Malkovic'? What are you smoking?!" So who all is on, so I can be incredibly nosey and look deep into the inner-psyche of your movie watching habits?

By the way, my most recently watched film was "The Chorus," a French film set just after the war in a boarding school for delinquents and orphans. The premise is that a failed musician comes to the school to work as a -- ugh, how to translate this idea? -- a "surveillant," someone who watches the boys during study hall, recess, at night in the dorms, etc. He then gets the idea to start a chorus for the boys, which of course in movie-land works like a charm and improves the lives of the boys. Maybe a bit optimistic, but how WONDERFUL!! A belief in the redemptive power of the arts and education reminiscent of "Dead Poets Society." This was a great, great, great film, won the Oscar for best foreign film a couple years ago. I more than highly recommend it.

It's a beautiful day, dammit

You know, 70 degrees, sunny and gorgeous blue sky makes for a wonderful day -- in APRIL. Mother Nature needs a wake up call, because this is January. I have two lovely new wool turtleneck sweaters that are screaming to be worn, which isn't an unreasonable demand even if this is South Carolina. Even South Carolina gets winter, albeit brief. Must I remind you, Mommy Nature Dearest, that two years ago you dumped two feet of snow on this exact-same town? Can I get just a couple inches of that? Or even just 45 for a high? If I must put up with the steam bath you call summer, can't I at least enjoy a nice nip in the air?

Move over, mascot

Meet Clemson.

Clemson
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Clemson was a kids meal plastic Furby which saved our sanity during our recent trip to Florida. Now Clemson and her friend Roger, also a girl and purple and orange, continue to play major rolls in Abigail's imaginative play. At first, Abigail refused to allow Clemson to be named as such, or even named Tiger, despite her obvious tiger stripes and appropriate coloring. But eventually the name grew on her, so now we have Clemson, who is a "player," excelling in football, basketball and soccer. When Abigail grows up, she has said she wants to play football with Clemson. And I say more power to her!

Young tiger fan
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Book It!

As I planned to add well before a. ever put her $.02 in, I of course read countless children's books in 2005. Seriously, I have no idea how many. Not only do we have dozens and dozens at home, but the library is an exciting day trip for a 3-year-old, where we read books in addition to the ones checked out. Given the sheer quantity of kiddie lit read every day, I'll just keep this to the most popular -- ie., most repeated -- titles, in no particular order:

• "Richard Scarry's Best First Book Ever" -- made newly annoying now that Abigail asks what each character is saying, and Scarry packs the pages


• "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town" -- the song, illustrated by Steven Kellog


• "The Night Before Christmas" -- Clement Moore's "A Visit From St. Nicholas," illustrated by Mary Engelbreit


• "One Little, Two Little, Three Little Pilgrims" -- also sung


• "The Plumply, Dumply Pumpkin"


• Any number of Berenstain Bear books -- my childhood favorites -- side note, how sad that Stan recently died


• "Franklin Goes to School"


• "My First 100 Words in French and English"

Now, if anyone has a suggestion as to how to get a child to come up with what characters might be saying on her OWN, that would be much appreciated!

Literary allusion

He's my husband, so I can steal his ideas, right? Actually, I thought a review of books read over the past year would be a gratifying exercise, so here you go:

Fiction

• "The House of Spirits" -- Isabel Allende -- very good, but a bit hard to stay enthralled


• "Farenheit 451" -- Ray Bradbury -- hardly the first time through, but how can you not repeatedly devour this book?


• "The Mists of Avalon" -- Marion Zimmer Bradley -- interested for the first 300 pages or so, but then I got tired of it. Not a huge fantasy fan


• "Angels & Demons" -- Dan Brown -- a page-turner, but no where near as good as Da Vinci


• "The Red Tent" -- Anita Diamant -- this fabulous book reduced me to tears -- again


• "As Hot As It Was, You Ought To Thank Me" -- Nanci Kincaid -- a surprisingly good book that I fully intended to review and never did


• "Cloud Atlas" -- David Mitchell -- in progress, and a very interesting read, but I'm not good at tearing through non-narrative books


• "Gilead" -- Marilynne Robinson -- wonderful characterization, though I'm not sure it merited the Pulitzer

Non-fiction

• "Asi Es" -- my Spanish textbook that I don't feel like looking for the author of


• "The New Testament: A Student's Introduction" -- Stephen Harris -- it's so nice having a Harvard educated friend who offers essentially free religious studies classes


• "The Old Testament: An introduction to the Hebrew Bible" -- Stephen Harris

"I'm going to make the needy eat."

Hopefully this is a sign that I'm at least doing something right as a parent. For about 20 minutes this morning, Abigail wanted to play the hot new game that is sweeping the nation: "Help the needy." To play this, Mommy had to hold a bucket, wear a Santa hat and ring a bell. Abigail then proceded to drop in "money" (toppings from her wooden pizza set) one at a time, often taking on personas of different children, and saying, "Merry Christmas!"

Deja vu

Well, I think I just resigned again. If you can call what I did in October resigning. Funny, though, since I did it on the phone from home and may not see either my direct boss or managing editor again, it doesn't feel like resigning, just stopping. Odd.

I have been working Saturday and Sunday nights for the past two months-ish, and I thought the understanding was that I wouldn't work Saturdays after the new year. Understandably, they want a fourth copy editor on Saturdays, and my offer to work two a month didn't fly. I knew it was a long shot, but I'm just not willing to give up any semblance of a family life. With Brad working a "normal human schedule", i.e. 8 to 5, Monday through Friday, that meant we didn't have a day in the week where we could do something as a family. That just wasn't going to fly. And as I've said before, I wanted to stop copy editing (second-read, layout) and working second shift anyway. I liked ciy editing (first-read, working with reporters), but it was also a path to night work for several years.

So I've quit. I think I've done it on good terms, and I'm fairly certain they still think highly of me and understand my motives. My M.E. said they'd be open to talking about freelance writing opportunities after they fill my copy desk position, and I know they use freelancers for this family life weekly insert they've started doing. Hopefully I can sell them some Hispanic stories as well.

I knew things were very sketchy and unofficial back in October, and I was afraid we were all thinking different things for my future, but ultimately this is for the best. At most I was going to stick with part-time for a few months, just to get the full experience with city editing. But freelance will probably lead me more in the direction I want to go ultimately, and I'm happy to be staying home with Abigail, being able to do more mom things that I've wanted to do. I never planned to work full time until she was in kindergarten anyway. But it still feels weird to quit. But at least we're finally to where that's an option.

Santa Claus is coming to town

Santa2005
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Aww... isn't she cute? Isn't this a wonderful overpriced picture of her with a man we do not know? I remember the days of the off-color polaroids when I was a kid, but now it's all digital and you can buy a full school-picture style portrait package and it costs no less than $14 to get any kind of print or CD! Okay, sure, you can just have your kid meet Santa with no picture, but then he might be a tad surly, and no one wants that. So instead, we opted for the Web- and e-mail-friendly version, with the "promise" not to print it out at home :)

Thankfully, at 3, Abigail is not yet caught up in the uber-materialism of Christmas. Santa is bringing her presents, she knows, but she also doesn't have a mile-long list she's expecting. (The benefits of watching only PBS) What does she want? A penguin. And no, she hasn't seen "March of the Penguins." Don't quite know where she got that from, and heck if I can find a stuffed penguin anywhere but on the Net, but I'll take it.

And now, for good measure, a few family shots. (It's so helpful to know photojournalists and not have to depend on Sears ...) These are from Thanksgiving weekend.

abbey fountain
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

heather abbey fountain
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Move over, Tiny Tim

We took Abigail to her first parade last night, the Rock Hill Holiday Parade. Let me tell you, for a small city, they put on a big parade. That thing took more than an hour to pass us by. There were the three high school bands as well as a rather sad Christian school band and loads of floats of varying quality put on by Parks and Rec, banks, realty companies and hospice. Now, nothing says Merry Christmas like a hospice float.

Abigail was incredibly excited about the whole thing and started off very enthusiastically wishing everything multiple Merry Christmases. It went from "Merry Cwistmas!!!" to "Merry Cwistmas!" to "Merry Cwistmas." to a snarly "Merry Cwist--mas." When the parade slowed down, as they always do, she even threw in a lovely "Get out of the way!" That elicited a little chat about being nice, and the "Merry Cwistmases" resumed a bit of their holiday spirit for a while, but just a while.

Being a small city, there were plenty of political types toodling down the road in small vehicles. The final county councilman to pass us by was rather late in the parade, closing in on what is normally bedtime, and the "Merry Cwistmas" had turned a bit fussy again, mixed with questions about the location of her blankie (at home, doh!). Well, when Mr. Councilman passed by, Brad tried to perk her up again by energetically telling her, "Say Merry Chrismas to the politician, Abigail!" So in all her Grinchiness, our darling let out "Merry Cwist--mas, politician!" in a rather "Go to hell" tone of voice. It was priceless.

But she did have a wonderful time. I think Santa was a letdown -- not a very impressive float -- but the marching bands were a big hit, especially the one band that got stuck in front of us for a few minutes and was actually playing most of the time. We picked a spot just before the turn on to Main Street, so most groups were saving their stuff for the big crowd, but not Northwestern High. They played for us lowly sidestreet folks, had a cool drum cadence and had the best music. Definitely win my vote for best in town. Please, no Rock Hill High hate mail.

This morning was the great tree excursion, which was much fun. We went out to a tree farm, even though we wound up getting a pre-cut Frasier fir, but we wanted the atmosphere. Free hot chocolate and marshmallows for just $1 to roast over the bonfire -- how great is that? Our little pyro in training loved the fire, calling it camping. She just sat on a stump holding a stick toward the fire, grinning.

Ah Christmas, what better way is there to keep a small child eternally entertained?

Out with an accoustic bang

After my disappointment at the October Jump, Little Children show, my hopes were astronomically high for last night's concert.

They were exceeded.

What a fabulous show, what a fabulous venue, what a fabulous band that I will miss incredibly.

Jump played an hour-and-a-half accoustic set at The Neighborhood Theater that just blew me away. This one was right up there with the Oct. 1998 show in Athens, maybe even better since what I especially love about Jump is their varied use of instruments and gorgeous melodies. The core five musicians were backed by a six-piece string group and an electric organ, and the music filled the theater (thankfully not just a club, an actual old movie theater). They played essentially every mellow song from "Vertigo" and "Between the Dim and the Dark." While I do love a high-energy Jump song, nothing beats Jay Clifford's voice soaring above guitar, bass and cello.

The opener, the As Is Group, didn't really match Jump's music, but they were okay. Sort of improv jazz, which I've never been able to get into. But the organist from that group is also in Rosebud with Jay, and they did a couple of their songs

About two-thirds through the show, Matt Bivins broke out his penny whistle and they brought their violinist friend Amanda forward for an Irish song about a man who loses his daughter that reduced me to tears. Then the focus went back to just Jay, and he played not even a full measure before I recognized the highlight of my night: "Cathedrals." I had been crushed in October when they didn't play this, and last night's version was beautiful, so beautiful I cried. Cried because the music is stunning, but also because of all my memories associated with this band and this song. I used the chorus as an epigram once in college, and it's just so perfect for much of my life: "In the cathedrals of New York and Rome/ there is a feeling that you should just go home/ and spend a lifetime finding out just where that is." The next song was an Appalachian tune, "Copper Kettle," that was a lot of fun, followed by a jig by Matt and Amanda, and then they played a song I'd never heard before, "The Way They Dance." Jay called it the official wedding song, and it really is just about the most perfect first dance song I've ever heard (though Dave Matthews "Crush" will always have a special place in my heart). The song, all about how you can see how in love a couple is by the way they dance, was simple and beautiful, made that much more charming by the couple that were obviously reliving their first dance in the aisle next to us. Probably the best straight 20 minutes of Jump I've seen.

The whole show was great. The band was well suited to the theater and were obviously enjoying themselves -- each other, the music, the audience. Their personalities really shined, even by how they were dressed: Jay, the moody romantic one wearing jeans, a loosely knotted tie and corduroy jacket; Jonathan, the happy, energetic bassist wearing a three-piece suit, bowtie and bowler; Matt, the overtly sexual one a bit toned down in shirt and tie but not in how he moved; Ward the serious cellist ignoring trying to be cool by just wearing a t-shirt; and Evan, the quiety, slightly odd drummer, well, looking like a quiet drummer that you kind of forget to notice.

It's been so much fun to watch this band develop and mature. I'm secretly glad they never got beyond regional because it kept their shows so intimate and the fans so connected. I'm seriously going to miss seeing them live. Here's hoping they miss it too and tour together again beyond Charleston.

C-L-E-M in cadence count!

Okay, so it wasn't pretty, but at least South Carolina will be Clemson orange for another year. And hey, the boys behaved themselves this time. So hooray! Go Tigers!

And did anyone else find the recording of the rooster crowing to be rather inane? I mean, ooooh, scary. It sounds like Grandpa walked into the coop with some corn and the chickens got excited. I'd never want to be alone in a room with a gamecock, but it's not the most intimidating mascot.

It is too bad I don't work every day anymore. One of my bosses is a die-hard Carolina fan, and it would have been fun to mock him Monday :)

La folie continue

While the French riots are calming somewhat, an article I read tonight said there were clashes with police today in Lyon in the Place Bellecour, right smack in the heart of the city, France's third-largest and where I studied for a summer. Wild.

lyon_bellecour
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Okay, and I couldn't pass this one up

You Are French Food

Snobby yet ubiquitous. People act like they understand you more than they actually do.

What Kind of Food Are You?

It's been too quiet in quiz world

Your Hair Should Be Purple

Intense, thoughtful, and unconventional. You're always philosophizing and inspiring others with your insights.

What's Your Funky Inner Hair Color?

Autumn photos

Time for a few pictures of the munchkin.

This first one, to her arachnaphobic mother's delight, is Abigail and said mother as "scary spiders." They make the cutest stuff at her preschool. She was adorable running around with this on for a few minutes, then she decided it was much better to take it off and chase people with it, shaking it and saying, "Scary spider's got you!"

spider
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Here's Abigail climbing "my grandfather's mountain." It's actually a trail leading from an overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway that offers a fabulous view of the actual Grandfather Mountain. Beacon Heights Trail is 1400 ft. long and ascends to 4,620 ft. I'm sure it only takes an able-bodied adult 15 minutes, but my 3-year-old only took 40! She really was a little mountain goat, jumping from rock to root to rock -- we didn't put her on this one, Grandma was just acting as a safety net.

mountain
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

And here are Brad and Abigail at the top. While beautiful, it was unfortunately an overcast afternoon. I'm sure it's stunning on a clear day. But nothing's sunnier than that little smile! Looks like mommy's got a hiking buddy!

beacon
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

La France en flamme

I am simply astounded by what is happening in France right now. I simply cannot reconcile this violence with that country. Granted, I was never in the ZUPs (zone urbane publique or something like that -- the projects), though when I did pass them on the train they were depressing as heck, but still. This is France.

When I was there in 1999, not long after Columbine, my students were dumbfounded by the violence in America. You could write that off as the naievete of small-town kids, but the riots have reached Lens, not 15 minutes by train from my town, Bethune. And that's just according to a map of the 20 or so most serious riots -- there were riots in 300 towns yesterday. And while Bethune wasn't a hotbed of immigrant unrest -- or of many immigrants period -- it was certainly an economically depressed area in its own right. I tend to think of that region as the West Virginia of France, lots of closed coal mines. There certainly could have been small skirmishes there. Hooded thugs and fires in the Grand'Place -- I can't even picture it.

Of course, I had heard of the racism in France. I only had one first-generation French student, but I had known a man of Algerian descent in 1997 (Dex may remember him, the guy that was dating that rather ditsy girl Jenny in Lyon), and he had talked about the difficulties he faced. And I had met a fellow teaching assistant who had been placed in the Lille suburb of Roubaix. That place was known to be dangerous, you just didn't voluntarily go to Roubaix. Students regularly threatened that teacher, and he'd even had chairs thrown at him. I think he was teaching middle school -- and we were just the conversational English teachers, with no real grading power.

(Time for a sidenote with a completely different tone: In Bethune, the Grand'Place is dominated by a medieval bell tower, Le Beffroi. It was one of the few things to survive a 1918 bombardment [the rest of the square was rebuilt]. And apparently, it just became a UNESCO world history site! Go little Bethune!)

Beffroi de Bethune
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

30 rears its ugly head

Tonight we took Abigail trick-or-treating, which was hugely exciting. We managed to convince her to ditch the ghost costume with its disconcerting lack of peripheral vision for her fairy princess outfit, and she looked great. (Pictures coming someday -- we really should get a digital camera) She excitedly shouted "Trick or treat!" at the homeowners and fellow candy-hunters alike and left each stoop with either a "Thank you!" or "Happy Halloween!" or "Let's get MORE candy!" We only hit about a dozen houses, after which she cheerfully returned to Nana and Pops' house to enjoy her blue sucker. But next year, man, it's going to be on. I have visions of her taking off down the street and dragging us for blocks ...

The title of this post, though, comes from my trip back to work. I inched back through the neighborhood, scanning the curbs for small flying objects known as children, and then got stuck behind some preteens. Two of them moved over to the middle the road, which would've allowed me to pass, but the other one just waltzed his way down the street, occasionally staggering like a hunchback. He'd fling his candy bag out and twirl around, fully aware of my presence, then take a few teasing steps toward the curb before flailing back out into the street. Stupid kid, I almost called his bluff on one and started to speed up to pass before slamming on the brakes. Well, they finally meandered far enough up a wider stretch of road that I could pass -- at which point I rolled down my window and screeched out in my cold-damaged voice like an old crone "Pay attention to the cars, you kids are going to get hurt!" And of course, the only response my well-intentioned bit of fuddy-duddiness received was cackles of glee that they had ticked off an old person.

Yep, just two more years to 30.

"I'm not dead yet!"

Now to make sure John Cleese doesn't come out and thump them over the head with his club ...

Jump lives! Well, they're at least doing a few more shows this fall, including an accoustic show in Charlotte. This makes me very happy! I didn't want the era to end with a less-than-memorable show. And they're excellent accoustic.

One of the perks of going part time will be weeknight freedom. When I found that show, I cruised through the rest of the schedule at the Neighborhood Theatre and became very excited about many of the bands/performers -- and I realized that I could theoretically go to these concerts without completely rescheduling my life! Of course, The Avett Bros. are playing New Year's Eve, and I'm not sure I could realistically call our Christmas trip to Florida short just to come back in time for that. And the only thing on Thanksgiving weekend at this apparent bluegrass inspired hot-spot? Edwin McCain. Doubt that would excite my visiting sister or her Dunce very much.

the times, they are a-changin'

Life in the Williams household is an interesting thing. I get a promotion. We say, okay, we'll stay here and Brad will freelance for a few months. Brad starts to get freelance work. Then out of the blue he gets a job offer from a local engineering firm. The offer doubles our income and gives him much-needed direct experience. And I quit my job.

Craziness.

Well, I didn't really. I refuse to put Abigail in day care, so I am going part time. At least through the end of the year, I'll work the weekends and the occasional day during the week when people are on vacation. Then after the holidays, I think the plan is to keep me as city editor on Sundays (the promotion) and allow me to work on building a Hispanic beat from home, maybe writing a couple articles per month. It's very unexpected, but at least all I lose is design shifts, which I didn't want to keep anyway. I wanted to transition off the copy desk by the time Abigail hit kindergarten and try reporting, so it's an early reprieve from second shift.

And hooray, we'll have some spending money! We can buy our own clothes! We can visit my sister in London! I don't have to get an ulcer at the middle of each month, holding my breath until the next paycheck! We're even saying crazy things like a house!

And to the Elm Street family, this means we'll actually be able to attend gatherings!

Will wonders never cease?

No relation to my parenting abilities

Three-year-olds are interesting creatures. Abigail has recently taken to playing with dolls, especially making them dance. Most of her dolls are on the floppy side, so this makes for much fun as their limbs flap about. She's also picked up on the idea of dancing and then "freezing" when the music stops. So she'll hum away, making you act out a "friend" while she makes the "teacher" dance. Then she'll scream freeze, and all the dolls must immediately fall down. If they don't, the "teacher" proceeds to body slam each of them to the table, with total disregard to the state of her parents' knuckles. I did not teach her this, and it makes me wonder about exactly what goes on at the lovely little church preschool. You know, you can't trust those Epsicopalians, damn liberals ...

Watchtowers and waterfalls

There's just something about the sight of hazy blue peaks rolling into the distance that lifts my soul and carries it off to the horizon, where my cares fade into the mist.

The other half and I just returned from two days in southwestern North Carolina among foliage and old friends. I have only been to the mountains once since having Abigail and haven't been hiking since I was pregnant. I'm sure it sounds melodramatic, but I have felt empty without seeing the mountains. Some fundamental part of me responds to the mountains unlike anything else in nature, and I become giddy at the first glimpse. I feel God there more than anywhere else. Yesterday I gazed up at the yellow poplars reaching up to the sky, and it seemed their branches were raised in praise, thanking God for the incredible beauty scattered all around them.

Beaches are nice, beaches are relaxing, but beaches are boring after about three hours. In the mountains, I am constantly finding something new to marvel at, a new trail I want to follow. I saw a bright pink mushroom along one trail, and canary-hued maple leave resting on a wet, black log on another. Walking along one river, the rhododendron leaves and roots were so thick on the path that they swam in front of my eyes, a dancing collage of brown and orange and yellow. I feel inspired and cleansed and new.

I also feel reconnected to "family". We live such an isolated life, spending most of our time in our little nuclear family of three. Since I work second shift and weekends, we have very little oportunity to tap into other peoples' ideas and thoughts and laughter. And the past two days, I got to fully be myself with decade-old friends. Yes, we talked about college, but we also talked about our blood families, our Elm Street family, our individual concerns and hopes and opinions about the world. We drank fancy beer and ate falling apart pork roast and inhaled the quintessential October flavors of pumpkin spice coffee (well, Brad and I did). Perhaps most rewarding, I got to see that my friends are actually friends with my husband.

And I get to do it again next week with my mother. It's a good fall.

Intrigued

Okay, so my favorite band is done. It's very depressing, there are no tour dates on their Web site anymore. Sniff.

BUT, the singer and the cellist are doing solo work, and aparently the drummer, all-around-instrumentalist and bassist are in Bill Carson and His Checkered Past. Now, I haven't been able to listen to the scant three clips on their site yet, but the site design has me very hopeful. And I want to remember them for future experimentation, hence this post.

Hence why I am also mentioning Cary Ann Hearst. Jump has long referenced her, and I believe I spot some of them in the photo on her entry site. Unfortunately, I guess her site doesn't like Macs because I can't get any farther than that. So something else to check up on at home. (What, I blog from work? NEVER!)

I have the best idea...

Okay, Halloween is approaching. Whenever I ask Abigail, what she wants to be, she just says a ghost. But I want something more creative. I want something fun for the whole family. And from a co-worker's passing comment tonight, I got a brainstorm! A eureka moment!

Blue's Clues.

costume

Not just a costume for Abigail, but all of us. Brad could be Joe

blues_preschool

and I could be Miss Marigold, the fabulously stylish preschool teacher.

marigold

Actually, Brad could be Joe's predecessor, Steve, who wore stripped rugby shirts -- of which Brad has the appropriate rainbow of colors! It's PERFECT! And Abbey already does a great Blue impression (though mine's better ...).

Oh, the agony of stiffling laughter at work

Oh, dear God! I have found the most hysterical site Go fug yourself -- well, it's hysterical if you're like me and my co-worker who love to ridicule celebrities. I don't know what it is -- hatred of all things talentless-pop, revulsion at self-serving celebutaunts (isn't that a great word?), disbelief that people can live in such shallow little bubbles -- but, damn, it's fun to make fun of the Paris Hiltons in this world. Ripping apart clothing at awards shows is highly entertaining -- plus they allow you to ignore the awards show itself and mock everything it stands for. And these ladies have made mockery of these lovely specimens of socitey an artform. And this was pointed out to me in a Wall Stree Journal article, no less!

How quickly she grows

Abigail was gone all weekend to the beach with Nana and Pops. It was very nice not having a child to be responsible for, especially since I had a cold and could sleep as much as I wanted. I started to get anxious today when she was supposed to be getting home, but overall, I wasn't desperately sad that she wasn't there. It's exhausting working and trying to be somewhat of a stay-home mom, so sleep was very nice.

But when I went home for dinner tonight and saw that sweet little girl running to me, I realized how empty life is without her -- even well rested. I just wanted to hold her close for a long time, though of course she's three, and staying still isn't her strong suit. But she did give me a glorious, exuberant hug when I got home, saying joyfully, "I missed (and here, I expected "you, Mommy!") 'Dragon Tales'!" She then jumped down and ran back to the TV. Don't I feel loved! At least Brad's in the same boat. When she went running to him with a giant hug, all she said was, "Where's Mommy?" But she's a very happy kid, so we don't doubt she likes us.

When she is gone, even just for a few days, it seems like she grows exponentially. She just seems bigger, able to speak better. My little baby no longer. I even donated her stroller to a Hurricane Katrina evacuee family last week. Heck if she'll be inclined to sit still rather than walk anymore!

Still Jumping in my memories

A large part of my youth took a bow and exited stage left last night.

I went to my likely last-ever Jump, Little Children concert last night. I had a great time, laughing with Brad and hearing some great music, but it was a bittersweet evening.

I first discovered JLC driving home for the first time freshman year of college, Thanksgiving 1995. I was somewhere on I-85 in north Georgia and had picked up an Athens station. It was a live, in-studio session with a band with an unlikely combination of instruments: upright bass, cello, harmonica, accordion ... They were playing this wonderful song that belted out "Whoever you are you've gone to far 'cause I need my precious peace and (in a whipser) quiet." I heard one more song, which I later learned was "Dancing Virginia," and found out they were JLC from Charleston. Then I lost the station. When I got back to school, I went straight out to Manifest and picked up Licorice Tea Demos and fell in love. "Quiet," "Dancing Virginia," "Opium," "Smiling Down" ... I don't think I disliked a single song. And it didn't hurt that a friend had also just discovered them from crew, or that my suitemate dug it, too.

My first JLC show was on the shore of Lake Hartwell, where I picked up a shirt and all of the band members signatures. Wish I still had that. I also tried to be cool and talk to the bassist, which probably failed completely, but that didn't stop me from trying at later shows. I went to eight in all, which I didn't realize until I tallied them all up yesterday: Lake Hartwell, The Handlebar in Greenville, CenterCity Fest in Charlotte, a place in Athens I don't remember the name of, Tiger Town Tavern in Clemson, a place in Greenville I don't remember the name of, a double-header at the Visualite in Charlotte, and Tremont in Charlotte. I think three of those were within one 12 month span my senior year. My favorite was probably Athens, where they played for more than two hours and showed a home-made slasher flick, though I also loved the Tiger Town show right before graduation, where I somewhat successfully chatted with the cellist about Europe.

Sadly, this show didn't rank really high. Maybe the club was too hot, maybe it's because Charlotte sucks and has no soul, but they were lacking in their trademark energy. The basisst didn't really jump, the cellist didn't do bizarre things with his tongue, the lead singer hardly spoke. They seemed really distant from the crowd, a huge departure from normal. They played great, and the crazy one that plays all the weird instruments read a story I'd put on the "yearbook" on their website, but it was still a let down. They didn't play anything from Licorice Tea or Buzz. Very, very disappointing. I have never been to a show where they didn't end with "Opium" or I didn't get to jump up and down and do the moon dance with "Smiling Down." And no "Cathedrals"! They seemed in a big rush to get it over with, not a good impression to leave with dedicated fans on a farewell tour. At the other shows, you could tell that performing was the biggest joy in their lives.

Jump was the soundtrack to my youth. Watching them take a final bow last night, I honestly felt an era in my life was ending.

Lovely Rita, meter maid

Just to keep the theme going, Aunt Joyce and Uncle Tom evacuated their Houston-area home at midnight Monday, along with their younger daughter Nikki, older dauther Amy and her family, and poor cousin Lea, who was sent to Houston after her college in Gulfport was wiped out. They're safely ensconsed in a Dallas-area hotel, though of course Houston doesn't seem likely to take the brunt of Rita. At least they left early and weren't stuck in the nightmarish traffic.

Now, what's next -- a tornado plowing through Aunt Kay and Uncle Dave in Illinois?

From Lowly beginnings

When you have a 3-year-old, you find yourself being tormented with the very thing you loved/tormented your parents with as a child. Currently, Abigail is fixated on The Berenstain Bears, which was probably my favorite picture book series. Not a huge consolation when having to read "Messy Room" for the millionth time, but still, nice to see the generations build upon each other.

The previous favorite implement of torture was Richard Scarry's "Best First Book Ever." I'm sure we all remember the precocious humor of Richard Scarry (visit this incredibly funny bio, it's great!) -- and the seemingly infinite words on the page labeling everything. Good ol' Lowly Worm and Huckle Cat. My personal favorite as a child was "Busy, Busy World," where Scarry explored countries from Ireland to Algeria to China. (Sadly, it appears this book is too politically incorrect and has been pulled from print. Guess I'll have to eBay it!) It's amazing now to realize how young my fascination with travel and culture began. Those drawings were probably what first put into my head that there was a great big world out there I needed to visit. I still want to see Morrocco -- where I firmly believe I'll meet a fez-wearing dog named Couscous.

La nueva profesora

I have neglected to follow through with the last chapter in the Spanish class saga. I added back the class and now thoroughly enjoy it. The new professor is very engaging, very personable, and most of all, so very competent. She had a Spanish grandfather, lived a while in Spain as a kid, did her master's in Spain, and is mistaken for a Spaniard when she visits. That's a very good sign. And she's German, which of course means she's amazing at languages. I'll definitely learn a lot now -- and enjoy myself doing it.

Ah, those endearing milestones

I am so proud of my little girl. She's 3 years old now, and it's just a joy to watch her. Well, when she's not whining at me all the way through Wal-Mart. But it's fascinating to see her grow into a little girl from a toddler, and her latest achievements are very exciting. (Attention, new photos at end of post.)

The most recent was yesterday. Abigail, in all her sweetness, pushed over her milk at dinner. Mommy and Daddy had been in a rather involved conversation, and she'd had enough. Well, so have Mommy and Daddy of the milk being knocked over. This incident was met with much vociferous scolding and the revocation of ice cream for desert. This is a serious consequence, perhaps the most in her little life. Kid loves ice cream. So she started crying, screaming, giant crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks. Mommy and Daddy just kept repeating, "No. You know not to knock over your milk. No ice cream," and clearing the table, ignoring the tantrum as we've read in countless advice articles. And you know what, damned if it didn't work! Abigail calmed herself down and then came sniffling over to me and said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I didn't mean to knock over my milk (which she pronounces adorably as 'nilk')." Regaining of self-control AND a spontaneous apology. And she never again asked for ice cream, quite contentedly getting back in her booster seat and eating a clementine. I was amazed. I almost wanted to reward her with ice cream ...

The much more monumentous accomplishment is often met with groans from my coworkers, but it is by far the most exciting thing to happen to me in year. Drum roll, please ...

My child is potty trained.

YES!!!! IT'S THRILLING!!!! Pretty soon I will no longer have to talk about pee-pee and poo-poo in everyday conversation! We will no longer go through Resolve like water!

This has been quite the process, largely because Mommy and Daddy have been very lazy and haven't pushed her. So finally, about four weeks ago, we just got rid of diapers during waking hours. Cold turkey -- and much cold pee on the carpet. She knew what to do and that she wasn't doing it, but she just didn't care. She'd be dancing around the room, crossing her legs, obviously in discomfort, but you'd put her on the potty and read three books and she'd never go. Very frustrating. But then, during her third birthday party, I coaxed her into the bathroom, away from the bustle of family. We didn't even get halfway through a book when I heard a beautiful tinkling sound. ... She looked up at me with wide-eyed wonder and said, "Mommy, I went pee-pee." I gave her a huge hug and told her how proud I was, and then we ran out into the living room where she anounced gleefully, at the top of her lungs, "Everybody, I WENT PEE-PEE!" And a huge cheer goes up from the crowd ...

Since then, about a week and a half, we got her to go about once every three days. Then something aparently clicked three days ago, and she's now been consistently going before naptime and bedtime for me. And today, she even told me she needed to go. I'm so happy I could cry.

And now the photos:

"I love my party hat."

Abigial chose the theme for her party by herself, Winnie the Pooh. She wore this hat for at least an hour and had a line under her chin for the rest of the night to prove it. Mommy came up with a lovely honey pot shaped layer cake, which Abbey proclaimed was a square cake and would hear nothing of this honey pot business.

Presents!

This kid made out like a bandit. Grandma was an especially generous sucker.

My box

Just thought this was a funny face -- not unlike ones I made myself at her age, the "Expression of the day."

The new tricycle

What a way to end a party, get a new set of wheels. And Nana and Pops chose a particularly cool retro Radio Flyer trike.

Update

For what it's worth, the fate of those I knew in the path of Katrina:

Katrinna's Mandeville, La., apartment had some water damage, but from the storm, not flooding, and her cat was safely rescued and taken back to Greer a couple days after the storm. Poor Trinna, this wasn't her August. She also had surgery for endometriosis, during which they discovered she had cancer in her appendix. She turns 29 Wednesday. Thankfully, the cancer had not spread, but she still has to have more surgery to remove other bits of her person to prevent the cancer from coming back. Then comes a storm that will no doubt be mentioned every time she introduces herself for decades.

Aunt Debbie and Uncle Ken fared remarkably well. They had minimal damage to their Gulfport home and were ready to welcome their flooded-out brother's family with their two generators. They already have their land-line phone back, and the nearby Sam's reoppened on a limited basis a few days ago. I'm sure they're still quite hot, and it can't be pleasant bathing and doing laundry in a swimming pool, but not bad at all, considering. My cousin Lea is heading to our aunt's house in Houston to enroll in college there since her communinty college is probably not in the greatest shape.

And mom was peachy, though she had to fly to and drive from Tallahassee on her way back to Pensacola from the big 3rd birthday party last weekend. She was out of power for maybe 12 hours, not even enough time for all the air conditioning to wear off.