Where I was

A newspaper friend of mine was asked to talk about her Sept. 11 memories for her official blog. Many of her memories echoed mine, and I naturally started replaying that day in my head.

After working second shift the night before, I was sleeping in to my normal 10 or so when I heard my phone ring. I ignored it, then it rang again. I finally got up and checked the message. It was another newspaper friend, Meg, saying very shakily, "Turn on the TV. Something terrible has happened." I switched it on, and there was smoke billowing over New York, both towers collapsed. I called Meg and we talked/sat in stunned silence for an hour or so. I remember thinking, "Oh God, how many people could have been in there?"

Around noon I pulled myself together for a shower and went ahead to a dentist appointment. I wasn't needed at work yet and frankly was too stunned to know what else to do. The radio in the waiting room was tuned to news, which was even eerier without pictures. Then I was called back and greeted by a cheerful hygienist who chirped, "How are you today?" Uh, a bit disturbed, actually. "Why? Oh, yeah, isn't it awful?" That's putting it mildly. After my cleaning, I went to my church to pray for a while before reporting to the newsroom. I don't even know if I prayed consciously or if I just repeated "Help us" over and over.

I got to the newsroom early, and it was sheer chaos. They were just finishing up the special edition, and I was immediately put to work reading wire stories and going through pictures. And it seems that's what I did for the next eight days straight. Everyone was bombarded with images and stories in those days, but you have no idea how many more there were. We had to filter through them all, decide which were the most powerful, which were the most compelling, which were too gruesome to print. Thousands of pictures. News alerts every two minutes as the information trickled in. You couldn't actually lay out a page until nearly deadline because the stories kept changing. We never stopped; the adrenaline dripped from the walls. And when I went home, all I did was switch on the TV and watch more. I couldn't stop the horror. (Newseum.org has a gallery of front pages from that day.)

I remember calling my sister in London, probably the next day. I tried to get a free circuit for more than two hours. We were both so relieved to hear from each other, even though neither of us were directly affected. Amanda had been in New York not a week before, had even stopped in the Krispy Kreme in the World Trade Center on something like the 9th. We talked for at least an hour even though I didn't have an international plan. You just had to reach out to your family.

I don't think anyone in the newsroom was able to actually process what was happening for days. We were constant motion. You couldn't let emotion take over or you wouldn't be able to function. I remember all the copy editors gathering in the graphic artists' room one evening a few days into it, theoretically to get on the same page about who was working what overtime (I normally had Wednesdays and Thursdays off -- that didn't happen), but what we did was finally talk about how all of this information overload was affecting us. What images were haunting us. How we weren't separating from it at home. We were four women, all under 30, watching history in a tailspin.

It all finally became too much for me that Saturday -- I know because I remember the t-shirt I was wearing. The Associated Press had just that evening started to release the pictures of people jumping from the top of the towers, the fuzzy closeups of people stripped to their underwear because of the unbearable heat. The pictures of faces peering out over the smoke, judging what was the worse way to die. And I saw the picture of a man and woman holding hands as they jumped. I still cry when I think of that picture, my whole body is tingling even now. I had to run away from that, had to leave work for a while. Brad walked me out to my car, and I just broke down and sobbed on him for several minutes. I think we made a pact not to turn on the TV that night.

What's strange is that before that day, had you asked me to describe the World Trade Center, I don't think I could have. I don't think I even knew what that phrase meant. I remember seeing the towers from an airplane while making a connection in Newark, remember the little thrill of thinking, "That's New York!," but the fact they were the World Trade Center may have been acknowledged by the pilot, not me. Amazing how something I didn't really know existed is now such a touchstone in my life.

So that's where I was; where were you?

Pass the dutchie on the lefthand side

A movie is going to be filmed in my humble little town -- the third in one month! -- and it's going to star Cheech Marin and two "even bigger stars." I find that very amusing :)

Not quite so girlie

I've already finished "Anne of Green Gables," and while it may just be young adult lit, it got some very adult thoughts going through my head.

The book is set about 1870 in a farming community on Prince Edward Island. While I know it glosses over the hardships of Victorian life, I find myself wishing my life was more like that. I'm a very smart woman, but they had so much practical knowledge. They canned, made all their breads, raised their livestock, grew their vegetables, and could name just about any plant under the sun. They were so connected to the natural world, to the rhythms of the seasons and the weather. I'm amazed by the lavish descriptions of little hollows and wooded paths, even when I can't begin to picture the fauna they're talking about. If some monumental natural disaster or nuclear winter ever occured that shut down our interstate/international economy, I would probably wind up among the dead. All I can grow is zinnias and petunias, and while I make a lot of my food from scratch, I'd hardly know where to begin if I couldn't buy my staples at a megastore. Our Earth has just become earth; we have lost so much wisdom and destroyed so many resources by our vanity and ignorance.

I also found myself wondering at the blackness or their nights. We had Abigail out a bit late last night, and when we got out of the car at home, I eagerly pointed out a star, which she doesn't often see. Of course, I knew that given our well lit parking lot, that sparkle was no doubt a satelite. My poor little girl has no idea what the actual sky looks like -- she was no doubt very confused when we went to a planetarium a while back. I myself have a very limited concept of the sky. I know the main constellations and a few minor ones thanks to a very late night under the stars on a Clemson rugby field. And I have seen the Milky Way and understand its monniker: The Buxton clan held a party for my grandpa's 80th birthday more than 10 years ago now, way out at the ancestral homestead in rural Missouri. My sister and I had just come back from an evening in St. Louis, and we were transfixed in the driveway by the stars. My suburban youth gave me no inkling that so much existed overhead.

We're so isolated in our modern world, it's scary. We have bottles and cans full of chemicals guaranteed to clean our homes, but what are they doing to us? We exercise in gyms, maybe stopping at a park to walk, but we have no idea what the world around is actually like. It's so sad.

But despite it's wholesome lifestyle and oodles of romanticism, I won't be finishing the Anne series again. The first book is always my favorite, follwed by the eighth, and I just don't have time to read all the others in between. I skimmed "Anne of Avonlea," and while I remember every scene, it just didn't call to me like "Green Gables." So away they go again on a shelf, waiting for my little one to hit about 10 and discover their magic. But time for just one more quote, one of my favorites and why I always thought I was a romantic (until I encountered Byron's "Don Juan"):

"... perhaps ... perhaps ... love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath." -- Anne of Avonlea

Wonders of Wally World

Bath time is approaching quickly, but I just had to share what I saw today in line at Wal-Mart. I saw light up plastic shoes -- on an adult. Clear plastic flip-flops with sparkles in the straps and two-inch stiletto heels that lit up as the woman walked. Ah, yes, Wal-Mart.

Separately, there is a brand new, enormous miracle of ultra plush squishyness in my room where the board-hard, squeaky implement of torture used to be! Hooray for my first good night's sleep in four years!

The White Way of Delight

Male readers, you may want to just skip this post. Female readers, I'm so happy to know all my girls will understand perfectly!

Sigh, I just love "Anne." I just love it. I'm already up to chapter 4, and it's even better the 12th time. The descriptive language, the charming Prince Edward Island, the precocious Anne. I want Abigail to grow up to be a black-haried Anne. Not Diana, mind you, much too pragmatic, that Diana. I want her to be Anne with all her dreaminess and love of nature and big words and love of books and idealism and optimism and drama and ... God, I love "Anne."

Heck, I want to be Anne. To look like Megan Follows, to marry Gilbert, to live the romanticized 19th century life, to believe in wood nymphs and fairies, to have children like Walter and Rilla (hard to say when I cried more, when Matthew died or when Walter did). Sigh.

I'm going to be talking like a Victorian lunatic for days now. What a great book.

So who wants to plan a trip to P.E.I.? Dead serious about that, say in two years? All out girlie road trip? We could all braid our hair and run around scaring Canadians!

Beta blahs

There's a reason we got rid of Beta VCRs, right? I'm still awaiting a reason not to get rid of this Beta Blogger! I'm in the middle of a post with pictures from Abigail's birthday, but Flickr can't find my blog now that I changed to Beta. And you can't change back! Grrr.

Anyway, to tide you over, I offer yesterday's phrase from "Forgotten English": with squirrel, a euphemism for being pregnant from the good ol' hillbilly days in the Ozarks -- which means it probably still exists out there. Thought that would be of particular interest to ams. Maybe you could be with hedgehog :)

Also, I think I'm going to yet again abandon my poor French novel unstarted. All this reminiscing about books has me eyeing "Anne" again ...

Later: Oh, screw this new Blogger!!! And I can't go back!!! It's screwed up my lovely book links and I don't know how to make it link to images!! I hate when software tries to be smarter than you are and make you do something you don't want it to do! I know HTML, dammit, let me use it!!!!

Even later: Now Firefox has decided to forget that I have been using it for two years. I just had to create a profile and the damn thing at all my bookmarks! ARGH, TECHNOLOGY!

What big eyes you have

I just watched "Everything is Illuminated" and am now thoroughly in love with that film. It was visually amazing, Ukraine is gorgeous. The soundtrack was a wonderful mix of Jewish klezmer and Ukrainian hip hop or ska or something and all sorts of other great tidbits. The character Alex was highly amusing, especially his take on American hip hop culture, and there was plenty of eclectic humor throughout. And I found the ending to be pleasantly unexpected -- though I guess you "pleasant" may not be the most apropriate word. I fully recommend it if you like slightly disjointed post-modern stories.

Of course, I'm now dying to know if Jonathan Safran Foer is really that bizarre.

I always hated tag ...

... but this involves books, so you know I have to do it. And I'm not even technically related!

1. One book that changed your life?

Perhaps not very profound, I'd have to say "Anne of Green Gables" by L.M. Montgomery. While I always loved reading, that's what fully put literature on a pedestal for me and inspired the English-majorness. I could also add "Busy, Busy World" by Richard Scarry, which very well may have given me that first glimpse of a tantalizing wider world.

2. One book you have read more than once?

Most notably, the entire "Anne" series eleven times, as well as "Emily of New Moon" and the rest of that series. My large collection of Berenstain Bears was probably my first obsession, followed by "Little House on the Prairie" et al. at least five times.

Oh, and I have reread as an adult! "The Red Tent" by Anita Diamant is an amazing take on the often overlooked women of the early bible.

3. One book you would want on a desert island?

Um, um, um -- that's hard! I'd tire of the same fiction over and over, so I guess I'll be good and say the Bible.

4. One book that made you laugh?

"The Mother Tongue" by Bill Bryson is a hoot for any language fiend. Yes, I know he's not 100% correct, but it's still loaded with amazing facts and humor.

5. One book that made you cry?

I love books that make me cry, so there have been many in this category. I know I openly bawled at the end of "Anne of Green Gables," "The Red Tent," and "A Prayer for Owen Meany" by John Irving.

6. One book you wish had been written?

What a good question. Perhaps a gospel from the point of view of Mary or Mary Magdalene. Yes, there's an apocryphal version accredited to the latter, but a canonical version would be nice.

7. One book you wish had never been written?

Not that I have anything against Edith Wharton, but "Ethan Frome" was the bane of my 11th grade existance. How my self-destructing, Elmer Fudd look-alike teacher could take more than two months on a novella is beyond me.

8. One book you are currently reading?

"Change Me Into Zeus's Daughter" by Barbara Robinette Moss for a book club I'll never actually attend. So far it's mainly making me mad that the mother wouldn't leave her husband to protect her seven kids.

9. One book you have been meaning to read?

There are so many on this list. Too many to name, and some of which would be embarassing to admit are still lingering on my to-do list.

10. Now tag five people.

They'll love me for this, I'm sure, but Carrots, Smitty, Coffee, Rambling and Years.

Exorcist in training

Abigail yet again turned to her trusty crucifix last night to ward of the evil in her little world. This time it was the thunderstorm that spoiled our planned trip to a nearby lake. She stood in the doorway with daddy, held out the cross (actually a very dried up cross made from a Palm Sunday palm from years ago) and declared, "See, the storm is going away!" Boom, crash, fat raindrops start falling. Well, it was a good try. At least it shows she took the "Jesus calming the storm" children's sermon to heart.

Mixed messages

I just finished "Life of Pi" by Yann Martel. It was a very interesting story of the survival of a castaway, though rather gory at times, and made me think about to what lengths I would go to live. Sadly, I'm not moved to say much more about it, though I wish Smitty weren't quite so far away so we could talk about it.

Next up is a French novel, "Le sabotage amoureux" by Amelie Nothomb. French publishing is interesting. The book I bought is a high quality paperback, their version of a hardback, which is so intelligent. Who really wants to pay for a hardback? But it's strange how large their margins are, how big the type. This is really a novella, padded out to 186 pages. And French titles run up the spine, rather than down it as in English. Does anyone know what other countries/languages do?

And my final comment for the night, I played my flute for the first time in years today, and it was so enjoyable! I've played it maybe two other times since Abigail was born, but really all I was able to do was sound out some kids songs and play school fight songs for her to dance to. Today, though, she was at Nana's and I could pull out my old classical works. I'm not exactly a virtuoso, but my fingers haven't forgotten what to do. It was so relaxing and refreshing, feeling myself sway a bit along with the crescendos and decrescendos, my fingers fly through glissandos and trills. I should do that more often.

Ja, ist gut!

From time to time, Abigail will take extra long naps, which means mommy gets to watch a bit of Globe Trekker, the not-too-meddled with new version of Lonely Planet (which thankfully still has everyone's favorite traveler, Ian). And then Abigail often wakes up groggy and hot and needs time to wake up, so mommy can watch even more travel TV! This has the benefit of introducing her to a love of travel -- as evidenced by her wistful statement "I want to go to Paris when I'm big" -- and a perhaps not so beneficial side, as I saw a couple days ago.

The episode was about cool festivals around the world, and she was relaxing while they talked about Oktoberfest. At first, she was excited about the carnival rides, asking if that was the county fair I promised to take her to this fall. When told it was a far away city called Munich, she asked what else is there. When told a castle (which I know there's not, but you don't get all thrilled about cathedrals when you're 3), she asked incredulously, "A real one not made of paper?" Wide-eyed joy at the thought of castles and kings and queens and so forth. But of course, the TV show didn't just show rides. It showed many drunken people holding gigantic steins of beer. So my little darling looks up at me and asks, "When I'm big, will I be able to drink?" Uh, er, well, um, "Y-e-e-e-e-s, sweetie, when you're a lot bigger." Quick, I need more pictures of the ferris wheels! What did I get? A Mexican town's celebration of the Day of the Dead. Hmmm, time to turn off the TV.

Happy Fourth!

About a week ago, Brad and I took off for a wonderful mini-vacation in Asheville to celebrate our fourth anniversary. I did all the planning and Brad did all the driving, so it worked out well!

First we headed northward to the Yadkin Valley in North Carolina. I'm sure I drove past here once for a day hike with friends, but we were totally unprepared for how beautiful the drive was off the interstate. We took off on a state highway that coursed through a valley between foothill mountains. The way was dotted with adorable white houses, most of which seemed to have a horse pen in their yard. And the weather was beautiful; we'd finally escaped the Charlotte smog and found a perfect blue sky marbled with clouds.

winery
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

There was of course a purpose for our wanderings, the Raffaldini Vineyards. The setting was obviously stunning, the wines were quite tasty (I especially liked the Vermentino, a slightly minerally white) and we struck up a two hour conversation with a couple of baby boomers, a Wake Forest professor and his wife, a Hospice volunteer. We were obviously in very different stages in life, but it was a surprisingly pleasant and engaging coversation -- and I think we were all happy after three glasses of wine and summer sun.

Brad swore he was sober, so we finally headed west to Asheville for the night. It had been years since I'd been there, but I could so easily live in that city! We stayed in one of the many bed and breakfasts in the historic Montford district, which was of course charming. This was our room, and I was quite proud of myself for picking it!

We trooped off to dinner at The Flying Frog Cafe, which was fabulous. The restaurant is strange mix of upscale American, French, German and Indian cuisine. Where else could Brad have enjoyed his bratwurst and I have scraped up every drop of the sauce from my lamb korma zaffrani? The decor was also an interesting blend of styles; one section had huge, comfy couches, another open section had tables with carved chairs, and we were in a secluded set of tables, each draped to look almost like a Moroccan tent. And, to keep the eclectic feel high, there was our waiter. I never got his name, but I refered to him as Dieter. He had severe German-style glasses and close-cropped hair, and he never smiled. Up loomed this grim figure, who sternly stated -- not asked -- "I hope you are having a pleasant evening." I found him highly amusing, no doubt a very troubled and misunderstood artist who was forced to sell his soul by serving us bourgeois cretins. But he saved the best for last. As he brought out my quite delicious banana cake, he looked directly at us and asked, "Would you like to see the plate trick?" The plate trick, how can we refuse?! So our already rather strange waiter took the great big leap to bizarre as he rotated his wrist, then his elbow, then his shoulder to take my dessert on a mystifying route to the table. Who needs entertainment?!

The next day, after breakfast and not-nearly-as-pleasant chat with the boomers at our B&B, we wandered around Asheville briefly before heading off to hike. Ah, the art nouveau and deco architecture! The art and antique galleries! The fascinating people watching! What a great city.

triplefalls
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

But the mountains were calling, so off we went to DuPont State Forest for a 3 mile hike of three different waterfalls (seen here, Triple Falls). The park is just outside Brevard, and I highly recommend it if you're around Asheville or even Greenville. At first, the weather was gorgeous, probably in the 80s. As we went up in elevation, though, so did the temperatures, and on our way to High Falls, we were dripping. If only we'd had our swimsuits like the rest of the hikers we saw! Each of the falls had a great swimming hole, especially the smaller Hooker Falls. The trails had some pretty steep sections, but we figured if the 70-something couple we passed could do it, so could we. I was satisfyingly tired when we were done.

Then, sadly, it was time to head back down the mountain, which we did via U.S. 176 and S.C. 11, quite the nice drive. Until Gaffney, that is, and no, not just because of the Peachoid (see also here, here and here). In the course of conversation, Brad innocently said, "So, you'll be 29 Sunday, huh?" at which point I let out a blood-curdling scream! No, not about the age, really. We were driving with the windows cracked, and I was holding the top of my window when I must have been struck by a giant cicada or something. It hurt a bit but mainly scared the crap out of me! I didn't know if it had come in the car, and as I was desperately searching the floorboard, I hear Brad yell, "Ow! What the hell was that?!" He was also hit, this time in the ear and by a small beetle that did wind up in the back seat. We thought we were in for some kind of freak insect storm and quickly put up the windows, though thankfully we were spared a barrage of goo on the windshield. I never did find my cicada ...

After that, the trip ended uneventfully, though it felt like a heck of a lot more than a day and a half.

princess
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

And where was our dear child for all of this? Down at the beach with Nana and Pops, having a wonderful time. But here are a few pictures for good measure. This one probably from June, and the one below from a strawberry picking trip with Grandma back in May. Isn't she cute?

berries
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Mommyflix

Our YMCA is ridiculously expensive, so I'm going to try out some workout videos from Netflix to see if there's anything I can tolerate. Well, a bellydance video linked to Carmen Electra workout videos, including striptease and lap dance. I did not add those to my queue (sorry, dear), but I did find it interesting that another title under "Members who watched this also enjoyed" was a Baby Einstein video. Hmmm, wonder what general population is trying to lose weight, reinvent their sex lives and eek out some sanity? :)

By the way, ams, I have two great Baby Einstein DVDs if you'd be interested at some point. Abbey outgrew them a long time ago, but they were good for at least a shower!

Interpreter of Maladies

I just finished "Interpreter of Maladies," a Pulitzer Prize-winning collection of short stories by Jhumpa Lahiri. As I worked my way through the collection, I was amazed at how human her characters were. Yes, all the stories centered around Indians, though only a few were set in India, but other than adding interesting details and flavor, these stories could have been about anyone. She has an incredible talent for believable voices and relationships. Most of the stories ended rather cynically, but I guess that's life. Not really tragic, not really sad, just flawed. I thoroughly enjoyed "A Temporary Matter," the first story in the collection, which Brad has already addressed very well. I also thought "The Third and Final Continent" was particularly good characterization, following an Indian man as he first arrives in Boston and meets his 103-year-old landlord. You could really picture the characters' mannerisms and hear the ever-so-slight awkwardness of phrasing of a non-native English speaker even after four decades. Excellent.

Exactly what doctrine is this?

After a successful week at VBS, Abigail has taken "God is love" to heart. The week had an archaeological theme, and she loves her little "treasures," especially the tiny magnifying glass, as well as the small wooden cross. Which she put to good use the other night. Brad had just announced it was time for bedtime stories when our adorable daughter brandished her cross, holding it at arm's length toward her father, as you would do to fend off a vampire, and said, "Jesus loves you! You can't say that to me!"

What, no garlic in that little treasure chest?

This consumer's report

Time for my own product review. While not as exciting to the common 20-something as a new Mac, I have a new toy. A new vacuum!! Now we are so happy, we do the dance of joy!

It's a lovely red Kenmore, which is absolutely leaps and bounds ahead of my old vacuum, that which shall not be named. I had to empty the canister after every room -- and I've now vacuumed two days in a row! How exciting. How disturbing, too. What kind of filth were we living in the past few years, the exact years that my child was most likely to be playing on the floor? But hooray for my Kenmore, which has a lovely self-propelled action and very easy canister removal and replacement, plus a snazzy little flicky thing for cleaning out the hepa filter. A definite thumbs up.

More posts on the way. Long holiday weekend + visiting mother = several thoughts not put down on "paper."

Hear the Eco?

I recently read "The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana" by Umberto Eco. I highly recommend this book, especially if you love to play with the meanings of words and the concept of memory versus reality. But rather than repeat myself on here, just check out my review from my old paper.

I can't believe the news today

One of Brad's friends found a hilarious little movie clip of Bush singing "Sunday Bloody Sunday" -- made entirely out of snippets from State of the Union addresses. The Web site it's from confuses me (how sad), but you can see the whole thing on here.

Word of the day

Brad has a wonderful tear-off calendar called "Forgotten English." Today's word: tyromancy -- divining by the coagulation of cheese. Yummy.

Welcome to the jungle

Some of you may remember my scenic, swamp-side abode from college. Perfectly decent townhouse, other than the pesky tendancy toward water leakage. Do you also remember our neighbors, the charming fellows with the 5-foot long iguana and beat up old Ranger with Danzig sticker? And the really bad cover band? (as Angela wraps her arms protectively around her unborn child just at the thought) Okay, living next to a band sucked in college. Living next to a band NOW is really not cool. For the past two days, my nice, quiet naptimes have been interrupted by a bass next door. He sounds like a decent musician, but it's a bass. It's repetitive. It's annoying. And it's amped right next to my bedroom. Grrr.

This is why I'm nervous at the idea of buying a townhouse.

Gee, thanks

I love broadcast journalists. They're so amusing. From the local phenomenon of chins that is Bob Pearse right on up to Brian Williams on NBC. Last night, while reporting on Warren Buffet's decision to give away the GDP of a small country -- heck, a mid-sized country, even -- there were some very interesting word choices. Like "beloved Omaha." I'm not sure even hometown boy Buffet would have put that phrase together, unless he followed it up with "steaks." I mean, it's Omaha. I'm sure it's a decent place to live, but it even sounds funny.

Then came the discussion of what impact such philanthropy might have. NBC's number crunchers were obviously having a wonderful time. First came "enough to buy cervical cancer vaccine for every woman in Bangladesh." Hmm, unusual choice of country, but I'm sure Bangladeshis will be delighted not to get that cancer. Then came "enough to buy a computer for every person in the Congo." This statement juxtaposed with pictures of barefoot Congolese in straw huts. Now, call me crazy, but I think the Congolese might like some of those vaccines before a computer. Or mosquito nets to keep their children from dying of malaria. Or even electricity might be nice. But I'm sure until then they could make lovely planters out of their PCs.

Disclaimer: The author is not criticizing philanthropy. It's wonderful. I'm just criticizing NBC's attempt to put that much money into absurd perspective.

Downtime

Ah, the sweetness that is vacation bible school has begun. A whole week of mornings to myself, all while my child has a blast, so no guilt! Hooray! Of course, this means VBS music will become the soundtrack to our lives for a while, but oh well. At least Abigail will have fond memories of silly songs that theoretically translate into faith. I remember one about the devil sitting on a tack and the accompanying hilarity at getting to leap out of my chair and shout "NO!" I don't remember anything else about the song, barely even the tune, but ah, VBS was fun.

Once more with feeling

To return to an evidently popular theme, Abigail's new Ariel bath toy arrived today. She's thrilled, and we're doomed to at least one solid evening of "Part of Your World" over and over again. But, for the sake of Sea Wees fans everywhere (and aparently they are everywhere, I've never had so many comments!), this toy is no where near as cool. Hmm, I may have to play with eBay some more and try to luck out on a deal. Or for those who may be in search of gift ideas, a certain small someone does turn 4 pretty soon ...

If I had a million dollars

Can I be this guy when I grow up? I've always said my dream job would be a travel writer for the New York Times, but this is the ultimate: travel around the world on the cheap, with your articles and pictures published once a week in the Times. Wow.

I know, I know, I have a child and husband that I love and lofty goals of buying a house in a year, so travel isn't high on my agenda (other than mooching off my sister). The mystique of wandering around Europe with a travel guide and a rail pass is still powerful, though. Travel would be no where near as cheap as the good ol' days before hitting 26, but at least I'd have a small scattering of people to stay with for free. Sigh, that old idea of returning to the States, learning Spanish, then cavorting off for another year teaching English abroad is so distant. Damn the reality of growing up!

Oh, and we wouldn't have to eat Kraft dinner -- but we would!

Superficial tourism

Sadly, Madeline in London doesn't quite live up to the standards set by the original and Madeline and the Bad Hat and Madeline's Rescue. Perhaps dear old Ludwig Bemelmans wasn't as familiar with London or was just getting old, but the rhyme and meter aren't nearly as tight, he filches a couple lines from Mother Goose, and the drawings are much less indicative of London. I had hoped to use the book as a mini-travel guide for Abigail, but he doesn't depict many landmarks, and when he does, they are so sketchy they're hard to identify.

The others, especially the original, are full of fabulous little snapshots of Paris. All the major landmarks, the famous parks, even recongnizable markets. The other day, I was watching a few minutes of a France travel show, and Abigail perked up at the sight of the Eiffel Tower. She asked what it was, and after I told her, said, "That's near the old house in Paris that was covered with vines!" Look, my darlings, what bliss, what joy! Azyzair has a little francophile! She then said, "When I'm bigger, I'll get to go to Paris." Damn straight. Hopefully when she's about seven, we'll take off, a few key phrases and "Madeline" in hand, touring around Paris, no doubt at half past nine.

Overthrow the monarchy!

Down with the Disney princesses!

Okay, okay, I don't really have anything against them personally. I was quite the Disney movie watcher as a kid, especially "The Little Mermaid" and "Aladdin." But honestly, if I never have to see/reinact anything with Ariel or Cinderella again, I'll die happy.

Abigail, at not-quite-four, has practically memorized "Cinderella" and the part of "The Little Mermaid" we'll let her watch (through "Under the Sea" -- that movie is a lot scarier and more violent that I remember at 10!). Yesterday, I think we had to play out evil stepsisters ripping up Cinderella's dress, "Bippity Boppity Boo," the ball, the loss of the slipper, and the fitting of said slipper about 10 times consecutively. And you can't deviate from the script. One false word, you get "Noooo! Do it right!" And trips to the pool and baths and playing in her kiddie pool all result in recreating Ariel singing "Part of Your World" -- including the destruction of Eric's ship and his rescue. I've got some truly hilarious home movies of this if anyone knows how to blog those.

I confess, it's fun singing "Bippity Boppity Boo." I've also bought an Ariel bath toy, if only to stop making my child play out the scenes with her washcloth. I shouldn't be that stingy! Plus I adored my Sea Wees when I was little, so I won't begrudge her mermaid bath fun. But really, it's just too much! I learned those movies verbatim as a child, I don't need to prove the fact to myself again!

And my mother-in-law wants to indoctrinate her in ALL the movies in order to take her to Disney World! Lord help me! I'd actually have to WATCH most of them repeatedly to have my lines correct for the later playtime ...

Of course, in my search for a general princess link, I came across this quiz: I'm Pocahontas. Not a bad princess to be, really. Independent, intelligent, in touch with nature, not wearing a big ball gown. I could've handled being Mulan, too, she can kick some butt.

And ladies, follow that Sea Wees link. This woman collects all the main '80s toys, and it was amazing to see some I'd totally forgotten about and feel that strange wave of recognition come over me. Remember Poochie? And I think a Fluppy Pup was my first independent toy purchase. Look at the pictures and enjoy the bizarre trip through associations with childhood memory.

My state is insane

I've always joked about the politics of my adopted state, but recent moves by my Legislature now make me want to cry. They have gotten rid of property taxes for homeowners. Woo-hoo! Great! But wait, 60 percent of that went to public schools. That's okay, they say, we'll make it up with a one-cent increase in state sales tax. All right! That's smart! But wait, I live in a border county. People already flock here from Charlotte for lower property taxes, but they still work and do all their shopping in Charlotte. Think that will change? Whoops, there goes all the revenue for schools! And they were already so stellar! And what if people actually STOP spending on credit and the economy adjusts downward? Do we really need to entrust our education system to consumer apetites?

Now, I'm not great at finding links, and for some reason this issue is being more fickle than it should be, but here's one related story from my local paper. And there was a pretty decent editorial Sunday, but of course the link doesn't work. Oh well, I'm sure the tech savvy can find out more!

At least it wasn't a flag cake

Disclaimer: No actual food was harmed in the making of these desserts.

I've never been an overtly patriotic person. Sure, America's great, but so are lots of other countries -- a few of which we could learn from. This past weekend we didn't do anything special, really, though we pulled out Abigail's kiddie pool for the first time this season, and I made fajitas in a nod to the start of summer. But something in me must have been longing for the cookouts of my childhood, for the hamburgers and potato chips and much-disdained baked beans and especially the desserts. Desserts of the Jell-O and Cool Whip variety. Desserts in all their fruity, cold, gelatinous glory.

Now, yes, I've ranted about the perils of gelatin as cuisine, but even then I included an out for dessert. And something in me really, really wanted a pie. A lime pie, complete with zest, so it wasn't a total cooking cop-out. It was an alarming shade of green and had a tinge-too-artificial flavor, but still good. While I was on a roll, I made Strawberry Delight Squares. I don't know what I grew up calling these, but there's Jell-O and cream cheese and a crushed pretzel crust, which was the ingredient that sounded so appealing. There's just something about sweet and salty together. Sadly, since I was veering from the official recipe, my crust didn't really set right and the squares have to be eaten with a spoon, but again, quite yummy. And I did add orange zest to this one, again to pretend I wasn't completely selling out.

So, even though I wasn't being particularly mindfull of our war dead, at least I was being full-on American this weekend. But fear not, the Fourth of July won't lead to this:

Unappetizing seconds

Sadly, "Pickles to Pittsburgh" is a dissapointing sequel to "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs". It's not a in itself a bad book, just not up to the level of its predecessor. The drawings aren't nearly as meticulous or intricately humorous, and the writting not quite as witty. And it doesn't really mention the 'Burgh at all! Oh well, it's still cute and just on loan from the library. After a couple weeks, we'll just stick to the original.

Pre-emptive strike

I had a gloriously girly experience yesterday while at the local mall. The mall has a fabulous kiddie play area, which was where Abigail and I were headed when a faux-ethnic purse caught my eye. It was in a surfer/skater teenage clothing store, which isn't exactly my normal couture, but I decided to give it a shot. While I didn't get the original purse, I found a cute one with some decorative buttons sewn on the outside. Then the sales-slacker (is associate really fitting when the guy had greasy dyed-black hair, black finernails and numerous tatoos?) informed me that the clearance accessories were buy one, get one free. And the heavens opened and an angel choir broke into song. How exciting! I've been lugging around a rather unattractive canvas tote, whose lining promptly ripped the day after I bought it, and I normally can't find a thing I like since I don't carry around half my home in my purse. But this place had cute stuff! So I am the proud owner of two cute purses, plus the little one my sister gave me a while back that's good for the occasional date.

Of course, one purse just happened to be made by Billabong, and the name happens to be on the outside, though I don't think too obviously. Brad, however, found this hysterical and said the word "bong" so many times over dinner that Abigail eventually piped up and repeated him quite delightedly -- unnerving what she picks up on sometimes! So, to head off the teasing post he threatened, I give you the billabong.

It's f'ntastic

And no, I wasn't trying to swear. I was attempting to imitate the British accent and overuse of large adjectives -- which is hard to do on an American blog -- because I have finished watching 1900 House. What a wonderful show after Texas Ranch House! Now, dear reader, do not despair. I will one day write about things other than PBS programming, but please indulge me one last time.

As the original in this genre of reality show, I had high expectations that this series would be less over-dramatized than the others, and I was pleased to find that true. The first episode was particularly fascinating, all about how they actually refurbished an old London house and the difficulties of that and of finding period clothes, tools, knicknacks, etc. Really much more revealing than just starting with the people being plopped down in the setting. While the rest of the show was quite interesting, and I certainly wouldn't want to be a Victorian woman, this first episode was definitely my favorite, largely because the house was a dead ringer for my sister's pre-David abode (Can't remember the address. Not Kimberly Gardens, the other one off Green Lanes). Amanda's house had exactly the same facade (I remember sleeping on a futon near the bay window, trying to ignore the noise of the lorries outside). Inside, the initial layout seemed the same, just flipped, though of course Amanda and her roommate just lived in the bottom floor as the house had been converted into flats. The "front parlor" still had the fireplace and big rosette at the light fixture, and the double door to the "back parlor" was still there. The rest of the flat was a kind of confusing layout, with I guess the second half of the back parlor being turned into a bedroom and then a mish-mash of bathroom and kitchen where the old kitchen was. Amusingly, I think Amanda's room was the scullery. It was certainly shoved to the back, as befitting my sister the lowly scullery maid :)

Speaking of meine schwester, she and Mr. Dunce will officially become British subjects tomorrow morning. God save the Queen! Didn't my sister do a wonderful job improving my family's gene pool? :) Anyway, congratulations to the new Brits!

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

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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

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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 :)

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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.

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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!

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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