Batten Down The Hatches!

We can't whine about having to drive on snowy roads because we only have a mile or so of road, and there isn't anywhere to go in Frenchboro.

What we DO have to whine about, however, is this:

Gusts up to 55! That should be fun!

(And that is total crap that Wednesday's seas will be 2-4. Nice try, guys.
Clearly The Big Guy has gotten to the People At Noaa.)

Fortunately, it's warm (actually, it's hot- I keep opening the patio door) in my house, we've got more food than we can eat leftover from the Christmas Extravaganza (I'm going to have to freeze the baked stuff shrimp as there is NO WAY we can eat it all), and we have plenty of new toys to keep us occupied.

So, this is what it's like to be a bum! I could get used to this, hanging with my peeps all day!

I hope you all got a Snow Day out of this Blizzard, and are safely at home doing the same!

Am I the only one who wants to thump her chest today?

This is the closest I can get to keeping them safe; keeping them warm.

Adventures in Paradise

And In The Wild:

Adventures in Paradise!

picture by Shanti, Adventures in Paradise

I love his huge smile.

Enjoy guys, consider yourselves hugged.

Happy Merry!

John Belushi

Yesterday, a friend posted a random comment on Facebook about a Joe Cocker song, which led me to this clip of and old Saturday Night Live skit. (And an afternoon of You Tube surfing for those old skits. Gilda. Chevy. Dan. John. Lorraine. THE BEST!)
God, I miss those guys.




Did he nail it? YOU be the judge!




My kids watched this with me, and were both befuddled as to the lyrics. "But WHY is he singing about wonder bread? And liver??"
Drugs, Honey. That is why we know now NOT to take drugs. Back then, they didn't know how bad it was for you.
And then I listed off a few people we know in real life who are burnouts, and The Things nodded their full understanding.

Let's hope the lesson sticks.

In the meantime, I will lament the loss of some of my favorite comics.
FYI, Joe Cocker is still among us!

Bursting With Pride: Shanti's Tale

   Once upon a time there was a little girl named Shanti. Shanti grew up and joined the US Navy. She toiled long and hard, was sent to amazing places, and lived aboard ships for months at a time.
Ships. Giant Navy ships. With hundreds of other sailors. For months at a time.
And Shanti loved every minute of it.

She worked her way through the ship's ranks, earning the respect of her peers and her Commanding Officers.

I would like to share with you where she is today:

picture from Shanti's blog, Adventures In Paradise

That's Shanti, sitting in the CAPTAIN'S CHAIR OF THE USS DECATUR!


Dudes, I'm all proud of myself for getting through the day without eating one of my neighbors, and getting dinner on the table at a reasonable time.

She's the COMMANDING OFFICER OF THE USS DECATUR.

I can't even begin to imagine how she feels.
And her Mom, Lynn,  was there for the ceremony- how fabulous is that??!!??

Shanti is chronicling what she can of her current deployment to the Persian Gulf on her blog. The pictures are amazing, and the USS DECATUR is astounding.

We outfitted Shanti's entire crew with wool hats for christmas this year, and are looking to cover the heads of far more sailors next year.

This was a ginormous undertaking, with more donations of time, energy, and monetary resources than you would think.

My great thanks to Lynne for organizing this monumental effort, DHL for donating the shipping costs, Shanti's Dad for providing transportation for one leg of the journey, and of course, to the hundreds of knitters who made hats, stores who donated yarn, Signature Needle Arts (yup- I bought a pair for myself, partly to show my appreciation to Cathy for her generous donation of support, and mostly partly out of pure selfishness), the many school children who made cards and sent letters, and all the volunteers who helped pack all the gifts up for shipping.
Whew!

Shanti, words cannot describe how proud and honored I am to have you in our country's service.
Give 'em Hell, Girl!

Enjoy!

I dig this out every year...and I would love to credit the author, but, alas, I came across it in a random email about 10 years ago, and have no way of knowing from whence it came.

And it may just be my disturbed sense of humor, but I think they get funnier every year!


CHRISTMAS CAROLS FOR THE PSYCHOLOGICALLY CHALLENGED


1) Schizophrenia---- Do You Hear What I Hear, the Voices, the Voices?

2) Amnesia-- I Don't Remember If I'll be Home for Christmas

3) Narcissistic-- Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me

4) Manic-- Deck The Halls And Walls And House And Lawn And Streets And
Stores And Office And Town And Cars And Buses And Trucks And Trees And
Fire Hydrants And...........

5) Multiple Personality Disorder----We Three Queens Disoriented Are

6) Paranoid---Santa Claus Is Coming To Get Us

7) Borderline Personality Disorder--- You Better Watch Out, You Better
not Shout, I'm Gonna Cry, and I'll not Tell You Why

8) Full Personality Disorder--- Thoughts of Roasting You On an Open Fire

9) Obsessive Compulsive Disorder---Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells Jingle
Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle
Bells, Jingle Blls, Jingle Bells

10) Agoraphobia---I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day But Wouldn't Leave
My House

11) Senile Dementia---Walking In a Winter Wonderland Miles from My House
in My Slippers and Robe

12) Oppositional Defiant Disorder---I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus So I
Burned Down the House

13) Social Anxiety Disorder---Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
While I Sit Here and Hyperventilate

14) Attention Deficit Disorder--We Wish You......Hey Look!! It's
Snowing!!!


p.s. I can place myself in 7 of the 14 categories on any given day. So much fun!

Cute Things

The stilettos came. I have no words.

They are...they're...just....gorgeous!

And, sniff, I only got to hold them in my hot little hands for a moment, when I realized they are 4 inches and my Options are 5 inches and I never thought to measure because they looked like they could be 4 inches...
and they don't fit in my hand.

I could probably get used to the inch less...maybe.  (Ladies, do I even have to make the joke??)

So. I emailed. Can we switch these out?
Absolutely. Get new ones out to you in short order.
Awesome!


In the meantime I am distracting myself making super-cute things like this:



My kingdom for a red pompom! We scoured the house; no red yarn, no pompoms we could steal off something else. I had to send it off pompom-less. So sad.


To go on a super-cut thing like this:




Guess which one I wanted to keep.

It's that time again...

     Last night I went to bed rather late. I was tired. (I'm re-writing a pattern. Why? Because I liked the pattern, but it's an adult size, and I need it to fit a kid. And to add insult to injury, it calls for fingering weight yarn, and I want to use worsted. So, really, I'm writing a pattern. Just nod your head and pass me that wine bottle and nobody will get hurt.)

   So it was late. I was frustrated, I had just found out that I cannot count to ten, a fact I've lived my entire life not realizing (but yarn does not lie. Oh No. It does not.).

I found myself in the kitchen. (This is nothing new. I'm like a  homing pigeon.)
I couldn't remember why I went to the kitchen, so I browsed around a bit. Out of sheer habit, I started to make a cup of coffee. It was 3am. I had no intention of pulling an all-nighter, so I didn't need coffee.

While putting away all the coffee paraphernalia, I spilled sugar on the counter.

Now brace yourselves, because this is highly unusual for me:
     I left it there.

I did. I walked away. I was so tired I was stumbling, and I hadn't reached that place in the pattern that I wanted to (failure...), and I couldn't think or see...so I just went to bed.

This morning, I came downstairs to find the kids hunting for something. The pillows on the couch were overturned, a laundry basket had been rifled (grrrr), and they were both attacking the bookcases with gusto.

Fearing multi-legged critters that would facilitate the hasty hiring of a U-Haul, I screamed, "WHAT!!! WHAT IS IT??!!!! SHOULD WE CALL SOMEONE????!!!!!!!!"

Thing Two looked at me like I have six heads and said, all calm-like,
 "Henry's back. We're trying to find where he hid."



Oh, Game ON, my little ones.

Turkey Day!!

A day to be thankful for what we have, who we have in our lives, and what we've accomplished.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Fog Is Lifting

This is me today:

http://hungoverowls.tumblr.com/

“Alright. It’s cool. I am in control of my brain again. This can work.”

It's been a long and tumultuous week out here on the Island of Misfit Toys. So intense, that I thought it was just a weekend that I'd lost , but as it turns out...it was a whole week.

All's well that ends well, however.

Just another week of my life that I can't get back again. Another week that my kids spent in the corners of the house while I orchestrated and planned and organized with a telephone stuck in my ear or a computer on my lap. 

Shhhh, kids! Mommy's on the phone with somebody Very Important. Don't interrupt. Be very quiet! No, It's not Oprah this time!

Just another day at the office. Oh, a week. Oh, and I don't get paid for any of it.

I know it's futile to make demands, but Heaven? The spot I have reserved  better come with one Mother of a supply of chocolate and wine, and there better be some massaging action in that there chair. Got that?

It's 11am on Tuesday morning. I've yet to start cooking for the Thanksgiving Feast.

But the excitement is building to epic proportions. There will be turkey! With gravy! And stuffing! A cornucopia of vegetables! And Oh My Goodness, Pies marching in a line across the table!

Yeah, Baby! It's Thanksgiving.

And we've got a lot to be thankful for this year.

I just ordered my birthday prezzie. The Big Guy will not recognize the importance of these words...but all you knitters out there will: Signature Arts Stilettos.

I know!!!!

Shhhh. He loves me. Let's not jeopardize that by telling him what those are, 'kay?

NOT a morning person.

Seriously. This is me EVERY SINGLE MORNING.

hungover owls

No alcohol necessary.

Food Chain

I woke up this morning to the unmistakable sound of crowing.

Rooster crowing.

Under my bedroom window. A rooster.
On my deck.

I do not have chickens. Well, until today.

I explained to him that he was close, but not at his house. I also explained my dislike of germs, including his poop, which I could see he was thinking of expelling on my deck.

Lastly, I explained how I am a huge fan of chicken, which includes roosters. Roasted.
And that I'm a very good shot.

Which I proved with the Super Soaker.

He won't be back.

You know you're in for a great day when the first thing you do is hunt a chicken with a squirt gun.
Good times.

Going for the Gold

There was a dude who lived here a few years ago who moved onto the island and never left, for like, six years.

I kid you not.

He was relatively sane, too, which I could never understand.

I mean, I go long stretches, but six years? He left maybe 4 times in six years.

I'm in the middle of a long stretch right now.
12 weeks.

Twelve weeks of "Can you pick me up some milk, coffee, and um, a clothes dryer?"

I caught myself rocking back and forth today, staring into space.

It's time.

I'm not even in the running for a bronze.


I believe I now hold the title as She Who Never Leaves The Island. I've outlasted  them all. And it's only the beginning of November.

Growing Pains

My kids.

My kids came to me tonight, claiming their independence.
Not moving out or anything, because, you know, I can cook very well. And I take requests.
No, we are going away for the weekend.
Tonight they wanted to pack their own bags.

First, I laughed, because I'm super-supportive of their growth and abilities. High-five!

They're used to this reaction. They waited me out with looks of barely contained impatience.
Then they ran off to their rooms, and I heard drawers slamming and the unmistakable sound of clothes plopping on the floor.

It took Thing One about 5 minutes to return with a cardboard box my Mother had given her to hold pictures, bulging  and threatening to explode.
She instructed me not to open it because it took her a long time to get it to shut, and assured me she had the requisite amount of socks, underwear and a toothbrush.

Thing Two emerged two hours later with a train and a Hot Wheels car.
I took him back into his room, and had him pick out the required clothing. I made him stuff them into his bag himself.
I suspect he will be the child I  will be booting out the door at 30.

After the kids went to bed, I gathered all our crap in one place. There's a lot of crap.

Kids= one bag each and a sleeping bag. (Or, one bag, and one 8x10x3 cardboard memory box in the shape of a suitcase that isn't going to make it off the ferry before exploding)

Me= 1 rolling suitcase, 1 knitting bag that will never see the light of day but must travel with me just in case, the diaper bag (shut up.), a canvas bag with food, gifts, and stuff to be returned, a bunch of empty canvas bags The Big Guy was supposed to bring to the mainland three times and didn't, one booster seat, and a cooler.

That's traveling light.

And that's when it occurred to me that I'd never checked Thing One's packing job.

Now, it's not like we're going to Camp, where socks and underwear and sweatshirts are imperative, irreplaceable, and otherwise unobtainable due to the lack of stores.
Anything she forgot we can easily obtain.
But.
But, really? I'm really not going to see what she brought?

There's every possibility that she packed 2 pair of PJ's, a change of underwear, and four dolls.

I didn't check.
I'm going through with it.

I can do this. She will learn from this.

I'm bringing my Ativan.

Heeeere we go!

I just watched Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with my son.

Better than winning the election

Yesterday, amid manning the Post Office and the Election Polls, I received a wonderful message from a fellow blogger.

She felt compelled to give me an award.

I know!!

Thank You, JuleeQue. You are too kind.

I will be visiting Greece for the next 6 weeks, virtually, through Julie.
Which is awesome, because I know I would have 'bathroom issues' over there.

My Dad went to Italy a few years ago, and hotel accommodations were handled by Somebody Else.
The area they visited (which shall remain nameless) was quaint and picturesque, and charged 25 cents a square for toilet paper.

My Dad promptly located a Hilton in a heavy tourist area.

I was traumatized just hearing this. I can never go to Italy. 

Apparently, it's much the same all over Europe. I will stay stateside, where I can flush with abandon.

I hope Julie documents everything she sees and eats (I'm all about the food), and has the time of her life!

www.juleeque.blogspot.com

p.s. My Mother's account of Singapore and China was even worse (in terms of bathroom, um, facilities. If by facilities you mean 'ditch'. )
All Hail Sir John Harington, inventor of the flush toilet...and my hero!

Warning:these are addictive!

I email this link almost daily to a few friends who are known to, um, imbibe frequently.


And I've been known to post them on Facebook from time to time.

They beg to be shared, if only for the coolness of the owls, and the expressions on their owl-faces.

Hungover Owls.

I don't know where they get these pictures, but the captions are priceless!

I did. Have you?

I am only one,

But still I am one.

I cannot do everything,

But still I can do something;

And because I cannot do everything

I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.

Edward Everett Hale

Now, go vote!

In with the new

We tried. We soaked. We cleaned. We bleached.

It had given all it had.

It didn't make it.

The Big Guy went to the attic and resurrected this antique, yet functional machine.

I said, "Did you wash that before you made that pot of coffee?"

He said, "You cleaned it before you packed it away." (Duh.)

Translation= NO

I wasn't drinking my beloved coffee from a machine that hadn't seen bleach in four years.

I went cold turkey until...

the new one arrived.

And All Is Right With The World.

Mother Nature Calls Trumps

Late last night, after all my minions were safely tucked away into their beds, I snuggled up on the couch with 864 pages of Comprehensive Panning materials that had to be read by today.

I can't tell you how exciting it was.
Fortunately, there was a fabulous movie on, so I watched while I, er, read. Skimmed. Perused.

The movie, In Her Mother's Footsteps, was awesome. Not a slasher/bloody/gory flick, but raging Alfred Hitchcock-like suspense.
While I enjoy a severed head as much as the next guy, Alfred Hitchcock knew how to make you scream without the gore. And that's pretty cool.

It ended at midnight. Another one followed.
I missed the name of the second movie, but it was lame, and the mind-numbing comprehensive Planning materials I was mired in had me nodding off...

When suddenly...

Something jolted me awake!
A flash of light. A ghost?
The tv?

A quick look at the tv proved that not to be it.
And then, an thunderous clap of...thunder.

It's a good thing I don't have bladder control issues.

But I did scream and wake up Thing Two.

p.s. I didn't make it through the comp Plan materials.

Need an Intervention

I have overdosed on horror movies this week.

The entire set of Friday the 13th. I actually lost count, and can't remember if there were 9 or 10.
Prom Night.
The Hitcher.
The Hills Have Eyes. 1 and 2.
Joyride 1 and 2.
Deep Blue Sea.
The Devil's Rejects.
House of Wax.

There were actually more. I don't want to humiliate myself any further.

Thing One is a wanna-be Horror Movie Junkie, like her Mama.
She came home from school the other day, all cocky, sashaying through the door, "Oh, we watched a horror movie this afternoon. It was cool."

It was Michael Jackson's Thriller video.
Cool?  Yes.
Horror movie? No.

My boys took off for the weekend with the ATV to do a little trail riding and partridge hunting.

That left my girl and I, home alone, with full access to the remote control.
We had work to do, baking to do, candy to make, school events to attend, and had a party at our house...but once all was quiet and clean, we lit candles, shut all the lights and headed for the couch.

We watched kid-friendly horror flicks (Scary Godmother's Halloween Spooktacular, The Boy Who Cried Werewolf) Thursday and Friday night.

Saturday night, she was feeling brave.
Jason, The final Chapter  (you promise??) was just starting. Regular tv. No nakedness and the actual stabby parts were cut out. (This made me mad all week, but was the only reason I agreed to her request.)

She asked if she could watch. I told her it was up to her, and we could change it if it was too scary.
I value the little sleep I get, and there is NO ROOM in our bed for visitors.
The kid was twitching during the credits. She made it 5 minutes, which was 2 murders.

She is not ready.

And so I continue to watch alone. It's scarier that way.


p.s. Best movie of the week: The Hitcher. This is actually a remake, with Sophia Bush. The original starred Rutger Hauer, who is scary all by himself. It. Was. Awesome.

p.p.s. Worst movie: House of Wax. Painful. Paris Hilton should thank her lucky stars her family has money, and is willing to give her any.

p.p.p.s. Most traumatizing: The Hills Have Eyes (1). I am still not able to watch the whole thing. This was my third attempt. It's starting to get embarrassing.

Also, 'Friday the 13th' movie-makers? Please find something else to do. That's done. Seriously.

Knitting as Art

I stand in awe.

The attention to detail is astounding, right down to the spinous processes on the cervical vertebrae.

I know, Zonda and I are the only ones who get what that means. Just smile and nod.

And trust us, it's impressive.

Thanks for sharing, Grace!

In Loving Memory

Smart AND Beautiful

I love smart people. Just saying.

They come up with things like this:

The Postal Service's latest and greatest contribution to society!

I'm pretty sure that's the most awesome thing I've seen this year, Michelle Obama's wardrobe aside.

Available now at USPS.com, and local post offices everywhere.

(This is not a paid advertisement. The USPS doesn't know or care who I am, though they very well should. I just like to show you great things, and I have great respect for smart people who come up with great things!)

Keurig and My Third Boob

I love my Keurig. I would marry it if it would take out the trash.

But.
But it's not Pulling It's Weight around here of late.

There is weak coffee. Half-filled cups of coffee. Not very hot coffee.
And a very annoying message on the screen screaming "DE-SCALE" in a hugely passive-aggressive way.

This afternoon, while doing 45 other things, I went to make a 6th cup of coffee.
Don't judge me.
I pressed the button. Nothing came out.

Ack!

Keurig is on strike! Must to quickly DE-SCALE!

There is nothing quick about this process. It requires standing in front of said machine for an hour, pressing the button for cup after cup of hot water.
Difficult? No.
Time consuming and mind-numbing? Hell, yes.

I reached for the handy dandy trusty bottle of vinegar kept on hand for just such occasions...and it wasn't there.

What was there, however, was C.L.R.
And y'all, I needed a cup of coffee BADLY.

So I dumped in a Bit O' CLR, and ran the machine through 5 changes of water.

I think I can still taste it.

But this is possibly because I stood at the machine for an hour while water boiled through it, right?

I googled side effects of ingesting CLR with coffee.
Couldn't find anything definitive.

So I'm waiting to see if I will grow a third boob, or a second head.
'Cause that's what I need, more maintenance.
Maybe it'll just be gas with oily discharge. (Hello, Alli! Lovely commercial!)

p.s. I get BIG POINTS for not using The Big Guy as a guinea pig.
Though I probably LOSE points because he wasn't home to try it out on. And I totally would have.

Perspective

 Mom, what are YOU going to be for Halloween?

Disenchanted and Disillusioned.



Oh.

Does it come with a sword?

A Wave Of Light

October 15th is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.

The statistics are staggering.

The loss can be devastating.

Please join us in remembering all pregnancies and infants lost in an effort to heal and be comforted in a time of pain and heartache, and to have hope for the future.

My friend Rob, a minister for the non profit organization Maine Seacoast Mission, introduced my family to the Peace Candle many moons ago.
Each evening at dinner we lit a giant 3 wick candle to celebrate peace.
It was a lovely effect.

Until Thing One, who was about three years old, began belting out Happy Birthday at the top of her lungs like Ethel Merman. Every night. During dinner.
And Thing Two tried to knock over the flame...with his hands.
And the curious cat, who was nothing but flammable fur with limbs, wanted to rub against the candle. On the kitchen table.

We were not a candle household at the time.
We had to pack them away. This stung, because previously I was a bit of a candle fanatic.

The cat is gone, and the kids are old enough to know how to act around a lit flame (which apparently means blow it out), so candles have begun to reappear around Chez Rozenski.
We've brought back the Peace Candle.
It's still a lovely effect.

Won't you join us on October 15th at 7pm, as we create a Wave of Light all over the world?

October15th.com

p.s. Candles are now available with batteries!

Brace Yourselves For The Awesomeness:

I know.

I walked in, saw it,  fainted, revived, fainted again, and tried to fuse myself to it so I wouldn't have to leave.

Unfortunately, it lives in my friend Cindy's kitchen, and I have two rather loud kids who are never NOT by my side.

She'd notice us.

You should see the rest of her house.

If I ever run away, you should totally look there first.

(Remember that stove I told you about in Mrs. W's house? The one that lived next door to us when I was a kid? Totally looked like this, except it was gas. Are you feeling the love??)

Making Memories

My friend Jessica came over to play last night, and we did this:



Homemade pierogi.

Jessica's family makes them by the ton every Christmas.
We decided to surprise The Big Guy, who has begged me to make them for him for 20 years.
I refuse, because what he really wants are his Grandmother's pierogi (and Babka), and nothing less will satisfy. Having never made them myself, I don't like the odds.

Jessica's family recipe sounded very much like the Rozenski version, with a potato and cheese filling.
(We couldn't find Farmer's cheese up here in the wilds of Maine and subbed cheddar. Worked great.)



The technique was certainly the same, and Jess made it fun!

The Things were perplexed: how is it that Jess is in the kitchen, and Mom's still upright?
She's even smiling and laughing!
How can this be?? Nobody gets in this kitchen...NOBODY!

Ah...unless they make pierogi. From scratch. And are willing to share tricks.



I'm not stupid, I got my slave labor involved.
This way they can make them for us every Easter, while we relax in the living room.
Yeah, right.



This kid is the Dough Queen. At the ripe age of 9, she has mastered pizza fritta, gnocchi, and now pierogi.
Fringe benefits of being the daughter of an Italian and a Polack, and the daughter of a Bakery owner.
I'm cutting her loose with my cinnamon roll dough next weekend.



Jessica has lots of patience. There was much hand-washing involved.
Like, "Did you just touch your face? GO WASH!"
And, "Did I just see you wipe your hands on your pants??? GO WASH!"
The kids are missing layers of skin, and the Scooby Doo soap dispenser is empty.



At one point the rolling pin was in the living room, watching a Pink Panther cartoon.



We made A LOT of pierogi.



We just kept filling pans.



When we started frying them, we were all overcome by hunger and began eating them right from the pan. Something about the smell of the onions frying in butter makes me weak in the knees.



They were worth every time-consuming, messy minute.
Melt-in-your-mouth-good. Authentically good.
Rozenski-recipe good, according to The Big Guy. High praise, indeed!



Thank You, Jess, for sharing your recipe, and for sharing your evening with us.

I wonder if she does Babka?

Looking for Mr. Goodbar

Or, Mr. Goodyarn.

I am in need of suggestions, my friends.

I have two baby sweaters just begging to be knit, and they are crying for cotton.

A rugged, withstanding cotton, to be sure...but also a baby friendly, machine washable, soft cotton.

What are your favorites?
What have you used and loved?
What would you never touch again, even with the threat of [insert your own creepy neuroses here] looming?

Mission Falls 1824?
Fantasy Naturale?
Wildflower?
Cotton Ease?

I'll take pros and cons for any and all you can think of!

Now I must crow a bit, because I'm just so darn proud:




I can now Cable Without A Needle.

Yeah, I know...big deal.
It is. I knit this particular cuff...wait for it...six times.

I should be embarrassed to even say it.

This is Kristen Kapur's Mystery Sock pattern for this year.
I always learn a new trick doing her patterns, and I always love the results!



And I always do them in two's.

Yup, six times I knit those cuffs.
That's determination.

But I tell you what...the rest of that leg had better be smooth sailing. My brain hurts.

(The red is Sundara's Fire Studies; the purple is Yarn Pirate's purple semi-solid. Both extremely yummy.)

Because I Can...

Michelle and Doug brought me these:



I was ecstatic.

Kay brought me these:



I had to fight The Big Guy and Thing One for these. They won.
They ate 6 of them for lunch.

I fished out all the ripe ones, and did this:



Then I did this:



Resulting in this:



This will get boiled down, and canned.

I love to can!


These are next.



I'm sure they won't be as good as Ralph's.
If they're close, I'll be happy.

I love that it doesn't matter that we can't grow a tomato on the island to save our lives because we have friends who can!

Thank you Kay and Michelle and Doug!

Mystery Sock 2010

It's October 1st.

And that can only mean one thing, in my house:
   Kirsten Kapur's Mystery Sock-a-long-a-palooza!

I was aided and abetted nicely by Sundara, who saw fit to mark down some of her delicious yarn, just in time.


"Fire Studies"


I know!



The pattern for the cuff is up, but I can't start just yet...I'm furiously working on a birthday present for some old fart that lives nearby.

It's October, Ladies. You know what I'm going to remind you to do, don't you?

GO GET A MAMMOGRAM.
You can drink wine when you get home. It's totally allowed, and as my former patients were always instructed, totally recommended.

I remember a group of five women who all booked their mammos together, one right after another, a year in advance. They came in together, took over the waiting room being all loud and sassy (had us all in stitches), had their mammos done one at a time, and then went out for, well, what constituted a Night On The Town in Calais, Maine.
They were a hoot!
We all looked forward to their annual visit.
I can't think of a better way to have a screening done.


More talk about breastages later this week- stay tuned!

Biohazard

My boys are back from the moose hunt. I barely got a glance at my Little Guy, as he reached out the truck window for his backpack and was whisked off to school to finish out the day.
I'm not sure how he did; I talked to him at 10pm when they got back from the moose tagging station, and they were up at 3:30 for the long drive home.

When I finally got my hands on him at dinnertime, I stripped him on the spot and herded him to the shower.

"Awwww, Moooom...Do I have to???"


"YES!" Thing One and I yelled, in unison.

"But I just put on new underwear this morning!"



eeek.

They've been gone for 6 days. I asked for all the dirty clothes and was handed a plastic Hannaford sack. It wasn't full.
I'm not even sorting it. I'm just dumping it in the machine with a bottle of bleach.

It's for the best.

I could never be a slacker

How do people do it, staying home all day?

There is NOTHING worth watching on tv (at night, either).
Everybody else is AT WORK.

Really, all there is to do is...eat.

Let's recap the damage I did today, shall we?

My day started with a dire choice: shower, or coffee. I chose the former. It was not a wise choice.
By the time I got home from work at noon, I was a raving ravenous monster.

In short order, I polished off 3 ginormous (Not kidding here, I made these with an ice cream scoop. They're as big as your head.) chocolate chip cookies and a big glass of milk.

While I munched and dunked the cookies, and snorted the crumbs, I unearthed 2 lobster tails in the fridge. They quickly became mixed with Ritz crackers, butter, pepper and garlic.
While that warmed up in the oven, I ate a bowl of cereal. It was available.
I realized how inefficient it was to run the oven for that small bowl of stuffing, so I threw some chicken in to bake, though Miss Thing had already chosen burgers for dinner.
I know, I saw the warning sign, too, but chose to ignore it.

Sure enough, I ate one of the chicken breasts after I chowed down the stuffing. Thing One is getting the rest of them for dinner.

By the end of my marathon, it was 1pm.

I'm now full to the gills, and the thought of food is making my eyeballs bulge.

Except, curiously, I have a craving for Cream of Wheat.


Where'd I put that bottle of pepto??

Good Times.

Teal Toes!

VeryCoolPhoto used with permission from Jen M. Thanks, Jen!

September is Ovarian Cancer Awareness month. I know it's the 27th. I'm just squeakin' it in.

Be Aware. Be alert. Be vigilant.

Know the signs.

Teal is the color associated with Ovarian Cancer. (Who gets to choose the colors? I want that job!)

As I'm a pink-or-beige nail polish kinda gal, if I showed up with Teal Toes, my neighbors would think I flipped my lid and would be scanning my body for tattoos and piercings and go looking for bodies in my basement. They will not find tattoos or piercings, thus leading to discussion of ovarian cancer. No comment on the bodies in the basement. I'm scared to go down there, there could be anything in there. 

Yes, I've lived in this house for 14 years and have never seen the basement crawl space. Is that not normal?

Check out Teal Toes for more information; what a great way to get people talking!

Go meet Jennie. Put a beautiful face to the ugly words Ovarian Cancer. She'll tell you what it's all about, making you laugh and cry along the way.
She'll make you remember that the words you see on your screen represent a woman somewhere, dealing with a situation that shouldn't exist.

It's a good day for chocolate chip cookies. If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen.

Christopher Walken is an Alien

I'm pretty sure, anyway.




This song needs a little more Cow Bell.

I SO want to to party with this guy.

The Darndest Thing

I may have just experienced a miracle.

Or a Freak Of Nature. Actually, if it was a miracle, I'm entirely let down, and well, kind of peeved (nicer way of saying 'Highly Pissed Off'), because, well, you'll see.

Way back in January, I did something to my knee.

What I did was kneel on it, and my knee said something entirely unrepeatable in polite company and refused to work correctly for a few weeks.

This has everything to do with the size of my ass, and not much to do with the fortitude of said knee.

Poor thing hasn't been right since. There is creaking and groaning and crackling, and sometimes a little popping kind of sensation.

Being the Master of Denial (I live on a rock 8 miles out to sea, y'all, and hate boats), I found some extremely effective ways of dealing with these symptoms.

I crank up the ipod.

And I don't hear the noises.

This works well for cars, too, should you want to adopt my system.

Just a little bit ago, I stepped out of the shower.

Yes, I routinely shower around midnight.

And I slipped.

Badly.

Somehow, I didn't break my neck. And Thank God and Al Gore* there were no cameras to document the sight.

And whaddaya know? My knee feels awesome.

AWESOME.

There's no clicking!

No popping!

No pain!

Is it a miracle?

I'm going to go with Freak of Nature. Save the miracles for cures for Cancer and Diabetes, and Substance Abuse, where we really need them.

By the way, I can totally almost do a side split.

I know! I had no idea, either.

There is every chance that I will wake up in the morning with a leg that belongs on an elephant, black and blue clear to my hip, and completely unable to walk.

But for now...I rejoice!

*I'm so used to thanking God and Al Gore for the internet (because, you know, Al invented it and all) that I add Al in there all the time now. I know, it nauseates me as well. Need to break that habit, pronto.

Rocky Horror Picture Show

Firstly, you simply must go see these.

I am in love with those little buggers. I want to make them by the dozen.

With my luck, and penchant for horror movies, they'll come to life, grow fangs, and gnaw me to death.

Sorry, I was attacked by a cricket last night, and may have PTSD.

It's not a laughing matter; even The Big Guy has conceded that bugs which ignore every other human on Earth seem to seek me out. A spider once jumped four feet to land on me. Damn thing cleared a puddle and everything.

But enough about my neuroses.

Or maybe not.

Because I have found fuel.

It's called lace.

And it is the equivalent of throwing gasoline on a fire for my OCD.

Exhibit A:

(excerpt from Cubist Sock, by Cookie A. Pub. in KnittingDaily.com)

Oh. See, my fingers get all tingly when I see all those stitches lining up so perfectly orderly!

And not in that Oh Crap I Think I'm Having A Stroke way.

Yes...gasoline on a fire.

Swallowtail.

This is next. Right after I finish these:

Cookie A's Cubist socks.

Good Lord Almighty.

The girl's a genius. And I am completely smitten by the way the ssk's and yo's and k2T's make little orderly triangles appear as if by magic.

It's magic!

Maybe it'll show up better on the blockers.

I'll try it once I've finished turning the heel. Only about 10 more rows.

This concludes today's discussion of Marissa's Neurotic Behaviour.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's dose, tentatively titled:

There Is Dust On My Bathroom Ceiling Light And I Can't Reach It, And Cannot Rest While It Is There. Send Help.

This may be a two part series; last night I dreamt the dust came to life, grew fangs and claws and was headed upstairs to get me.

Don't laugh- when I was last pregnant, I woke my husband up in the middle of the night and told him I'd leave him if he didn't pull the fridge out for me so I could clean behind it. He put me off for almost a week; I was a wreck. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. That Which Lurked In The Depths haunted me.

When he finally pulled it out and we saw what was there, I wanted to move.

But that night, after a major scrubbing session, All Was Right With The World, and I slept like a baby.

I know. You totally wish you were me.