All my life, I've wanted to serve jury duty.
Yes, I know that usually you just sit there forever in the waiting room, doing nothing. And you don't get paid for it (at least, not really).
But it's a service to your community and your country, and I've always felt that service was a good thing. Paying back your community for all the things it provides you is something you should do, willingly and with a sense of satisfaction.
And if I actually got to serve on a jury, even better. I'd be a good jury member. I'm fairly bright, I am fairly logical, I'm big on details, I respect at least the ideal of the law and justice, and I'm relatively driven to be as fair as possible to all sides. I enjoy doing things I'm good at.
And I've worked from home for most of the last two decades, and have a flexible schedule, so it wouldn't inconvenience me in the least to serve, other than perhaps a certain soreness in the back or knees from sitting all day.
During the last two decades my husband has worked either two jobs (sometimes two full time jobs) or one job with 10-hour days. He has been called to jury duty twice in that time. It's been a huge sacrifice for him, and although he is mindful of his duty, he really would have preferred not to have to take the time from work. Our finances have never been what you'd call comfortable, so it was a bit of a hardship for the family.
Now my 21-year-old son has been called.
I have never been called. Not once. And at this point I'm not likely to be allowed to serve, even if I am called before I fall off the perch - my physical condition would now prevent me from eligibility.
Figures.**
**At least in this case, as the quote goes, the law is an ass. Why can't people volunteer to be on a 'will call' list for service when their time is flexible? Then if they are summoned again when it's less convenient, they can be excused on the basis that they have served in the last four years. It would be so much easier for people, and the courts would have to deal with fewer whiners and shirkers, saving time and frustration for everyone. I'm just saying...
Showing posts with label Irony. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Irony. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Poor Old Kitty
We have had one type and size of cat for 15 years or so: small, feisty, pretty, dignified (for the most part, except when hysterically clumsy) and quite the character.
She was well into adulthood when we got her in 1996, and so now she is an elder kitty, deserving of respect and care.
Unfortunately, for the last few months she has been unable to adequately clean herself, and has developed mats that were outrunning my ability to comb out. It would take me half an hour of fighting with her to get one mat cleared, and the next day there would be two to take its place.
It got to the point where it just couldn't be comfortable for her, poor old thing, and I was concerned that she might develop some sort of skin issue that would cause her actual pain. So off we took her to the groomers, and gave her a 'Lion Cut'.
She won't let me take a photo of her in this condition - she is currently in a state of High Dudgeon.
Can't say that I blame her. Her head is literally twice as big as her body. Poor old thing, she deserves her dignity, and instead she looks entirely ridiculous. And pitiful - she is SO thin and bony.
I think of the three, she prefers being old and arthritic to being an object of ridicule. Too unfair that she has to put up with all three.
I can relate.
She was well into adulthood when we got her in 1996, and so now she is an elder kitty, deserving of respect and care.
Unfortunately, for the last few months she has been unable to adequately clean herself, and has developed mats that were outrunning my ability to comb out. It would take me half an hour of fighting with her to get one mat cleared, and the next day there would be two to take its place.
It got to the point where it just couldn't be comfortable for her, poor old thing, and I was concerned that she might develop some sort of skin issue that would cause her actual pain. So off we took her to the groomers, and gave her a 'Lion Cut'.
Can't say that I blame her. Her head is literally twice as big as her body. Poor old thing, she deserves her dignity, and instead she looks entirely ridiculous. And pitiful - she is SO thin and bony.
I think of the three, she prefers being old and arthritic to being an object of ridicule. Too unfair that she has to put up with all three.
I can relate.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Why Can't We All Just Get Along?
My new roommates have taken to fighting constantly, and it's driving me batty.
It doesn't help that the heating ducts create a magnifying resonance to their voices, so that I can hear them swearing at each other very clearly from nearly anywhere in the house.
I guess it's their business if they want to beat up on each other (I can hear the blows falling), but it would help if they weren't so da*ned shrill.
I wish the cat would put a stop to it, but she's old and deaf, and sleeps right through the altercations.
Sometimes I hate winter.
Stupid mice.
It doesn't help that the heating ducts create a magnifying resonance to their voices, so that I can hear them swearing at each other very clearly from nearly anywhere in the house.
I guess it's their business if they want to beat up on each other (I can hear the blows falling), but it would help if they weren't so da*ned shrill.
I wish the cat would put a stop to it, but she's old and deaf, and sleeps right through the altercations.
Sometimes I hate winter.
Stupid mice.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Nets That Catch Minnows But Not Sharks
A long time ago I let you know about the FCC rules that now dictate that if a blogger (such as myself) were to get a free sample of - let's say yarn, for argument's sake - and were then to mention that yarn or brand name on my blog, I must also clearly post that I have profited from my relationship with that maker. Even if I recommend that yarn because I truly believe it's a wonderful product; even if I have in the past refrained from recommending other yarns that were sent to me as free samples.
Well, my darling readers, evidently we unpaid bloggers are held to standards that your highly paid newscasts and talk shows can blithely disregard. They can run what amounts to extended paid advertising, pretend it's legitimate 'news' (often under the guise of 'consumer interest' stories), and never reveal to the audience that they are watching commercials for products, rather than unbiased reportage.
You can read further about this in the L.A. Times here and here.
Aren't you glad that you have huge staffs of tax-paid governmental employees - many of whom have bigger paychecks and better benefits than you do - ever on the alert to protect you from the predatory minnows of the blogosphere? If you keep your eyes on that, you might not feel the shark gnawing on your leg quite so keenly...
Well, my darling readers, evidently we unpaid bloggers are held to standards that your highly paid newscasts and talk shows can blithely disregard. They can run what amounts to extended paid advertising, pretend it's legitimate 'news' (often under the guise of 'consumer interest' stories), and never reveal to the audience that they are watching commercials for products, rather than unbiased reportage.
You can read further about this in the L.A. Times here and here.
Aren't you glad that you have huge staffs of tax-paid governmental employees - many of whom have bigger paychecks and better benefits than you do - ever on the alert to protect you from the predatory minnows of the blogosphere? If you keep your eyes on that, you might not feel the shark gnawing on your leg quite so keenly...
Sunday, September 5, 2010
I'm Glad We're Not Their Problem (Any More)
My son was homeschooled after his fifth grade year, and now he is in college. So it's been quite a while since we've darkened the door of a public school for any reason not involving governmental elections.
But when my son was in grade school, I spent a few years with our inner-city school district, teaching kindergartners to read and sometimes dealing with the EBD (Emotional/Behavior Disorder) kids. I spent some of that time in the Principal's office, dealing with the kids sent there by various teachers for disciplinary issues of one sort or another - disruption of class, fighting, stealing, cutting class, refusal to participate, sassing or hitting the teacher. There I often had the privilege (koff, koff) of meeting the child's parents/guardians, and listening to their interchanges with teachers and with the principal himself.
My experience is that for the most part, kids with discipline and/or EBD issues have absolutely no problem functioning well when given an environment in which there are consistently applied expectations and boundaries. Even kids with neurological issues - although many of the kids with EBD/discipline problems were actually very bright, indeed. In fact, the disciplinary problems were usually the sharp-witted ones.
It was unfortunately a rare occasion, indeed, where the parent called into the principal's office behaved better than the child in question. Once or twice a year a parent would sit quietly through the explanation for why they had been summoned, then apologize and offer an explanation for the child's state of mind, or ask for advice. Occasionally the parent would offer excuses having to do with a neurological condition, often blithely stating that nothing could therefore be done about the issue. But for the most part, the parent would blame the teacher, school policy, other kids, the homework, the babysitter, the government - anyone but the adults who theoretically were actually raising the child in question.
Usually this blaming process involved raised and snarling parental voices; sometimes it also involved banging or flinging of objects and pointed flouncing from the premises with the added punctuation of a slammed door. And unfortunately everyone was aware that it would probably involve the child ending up back in the office many more times before their school career was done.
Which is why the following comes as no surprise. Except in its honesty and lack of political correctness... I can't imagine the litigation-fearing schools of the U.S. would dare do any such thing.
Thanks to Susan T.R. for bringing this to my attention!
But when my son was in grade school, I spent a few years with our inner-city school district, teaching kindergartners to read and sometimes dealing with the EBD (Emotional/Behavior Disorder) kids. I spent some of that time in the Principal's office, dealing with the kids sent there by various teachers for disciplinary issues of one sort or another - disruption of class, fighting, stealing, cutting class, refusal to participate, sassing or hitting the teacher. There I often had the privilege (koff, koff) of meeting the child's parents/guardians, and listening to their interchanges with teachers and with the principal himself.
My experience is that for the most part, kids with discipline and/or EBD issues have absolutely no problem functioning well when given an environment in which there are consistently applied expectations and boundaries. Even kids with neurological issues - although many of the kids with EBD/discipline problems were actually very bright, indeed. In fact, the disciplinary problems were usually the sharp-witted ones.
It was unfortunately a rare occasion, indeed, where the parent called into the principal's office behaved better than the child in question. Once or twice a year a parent would sit quietly through the explanation for why they had been summoned, then apologize and offer an explanation for the child's state of mind, or ask for advice. Occasionally the parent would offer excuses having to do with a neurological condition, often blithely stating that nothing could therefore be done about the issue. But for the most part, the parent would blame the teacher, school policy, other kids, the homework, the babysitter, the government - anyone but the adults who theoretically were actually raising the child in question.
Usually this blaming process involved raised and snarling parental voices; sometimes it also involved banging or flinging of objects and pointed flouncing from the premises with the added punctuation of a slammed door. And unfortunately everyone was aware that it would probably involve the child ending up back in the office many more times before their school career was done.
Which is why the following comes as no surprise. Except in its honesty and lack of political correctness... I can't imagine the litigation-fearing schools of the U.S. would dare do any such thing.
Thanks to Susan T.R. for bringing this to my attention!
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Brown, Brown, Brown...
I WISH I had something brilliant to say. But it's been a bit boring around here.
Well, not completely boring. After all,
I unexpectedly received a truly fabulous bouquet from my generous (and beautiful) cousin and auntie...
I've spun some Just For Fun yarn...
I've hung around with two of my lovely women friends and with my particularly lovely mother...
So that was all interesting to me, although it's not all that interesting to the innocent bystander, I'm sure.
I've done the mundane workaday sorts of Mom stuff and Wife stuff, as well, but that would be even less interesting to the reader. It was not particularly enthralling for me, either. There's just so much thrill one can get out of grocery shopping and paying bills (or putting them aside and fretting about them).
But lately it seems to me that I've mostly been endlessly spinning brown alpaca fleece. Brown alpaca fleece that has small bits of VM that I have to laboriously pick out of my yarn every couple inches or so. At least, I pick out the bits that get caught in the yarn. A lot of it just falls out of the fiber as I spin, so that I and the surrounding square footage end up covered in a brown snow of grot.
Vegetable matter, for those non-fiber folks amongst my readers, is what we fiber folks call the bits of grass and burrs and other stuff that ends up in fiber when the animal who used to wear it lived on the actual dirt-enhanced Earth, rather than on a fluffy pink cloud.
Not that I'd mind getting a bit of fluffy pink cloud caught up in my fiber. It would add visual interest. This fiber is pretty much uniformly brown. Not a lot of variation. It's not that it's a bad brown, or anything. But I've never been a fan of brown, and this alpaca is really determinedly set in its basic unsubtle brownness. If it wasn't for the fact that leaving the VM in would render the yarn fit only for a particularly penitent knitter bent on knitting the equivalent of a Hair Shirt, I would leave the grass and burrs in, to lend a bit of color.
In my infinite wisdom, when starting this project out I decided to continue in my largely unsuccessful attempts to learn the art of Navajo Plying. Navajo Plying gives you a 3-ply yarn (one with bumps and weird spots, if the spinner is me), which means that the yarn can be pretty darned chunky if you don't spin the original singles fairly finely. Chunky plain brown yarn is pretty useless, IMO, and the shorter length involved wouldn't give me the practice at Navajo Plying that I need in order to master the skill. So I am laboriously spinning (and picking through) a large bobbin full of miles and miles and miles of lace-weight brown.
It's taking forever. I may expire of fiber-induced ennui. And the worst thing is that I know that once I get through with that, I will then be facing miles and miles and miles of brown that needs laborious and inept plying. At which point I will have a skein of lumpy, weird, puritanical yarn that nobody in their right minds would want to actually use, much less buy.
Clearly I am driven by some psychological compulsion to continue with this dreary and seemingly endless pas de deux with the drab Willi of brown, brown, brown...
I hope it's a reflection of newly-forged virtues of Persistence and Determination or perhaps some slightly nutty form of Optimism (maybe it will turn out better than I expect?), rather than an indication of a compulsive mood disorder or creeping fiber-induced insanity.
In the meantime, I will never get on to something more interesting if I don't get on with it. You stay here to keep an eye on things. If I don't come out in a week or so, call for help.
Well, not completely boring. After all,
I unexpectedly received a truly fabulous bouquet from my generous (and beautiful) cousin and auntie...
I've spun some Just For Fun yarn...
I've hung around with two of my lovely women friends and with my particularly lovely mother...
So that was all interesting to me, although it's not all that interesting to the innocent bystander, I'm sure.
I've done the mundane workaday sorts of Mom stuff and Wife stuff, as well, but that would be even less interesting to the reader. It was not particularly enthralling for me, either. There's just so much thrill one can get out of grocery shopping and paying bills (or putting them aside and fretting about them).
But lately it seems to me that I've mostly been endlessly spinning brown alpaca fleece. Brown alpaca fleece that has small bits of VM that I have to laboriously pick out of my yarn every couple inches or so. At least, I pick out the bits that get caught in the yarn. A lot of it just falls out of the fiber as I spin, so that I and the surrounding square footage end up covered in a brown snow of grot.
Vegetable matter, for those non-fiber folks amongst my readers, is what we fiber folks call the bits of grass and burrs and other stuff that ends up in fiber when the animal who used to wear it lived on the actual dirt-enhanced Earth, rather than on a fluffy pink cloud.
Not that I'd mind getting a bit of fluffy pink cloud caught up in my fiber. It would add visual interest. This fiber is pretty much uniformly brown. Not a lot of variation. It's not that it's a bad brown, or anything. But I've never been a fan of brown, and this alpaca is really determinedly set in its basic unsubtle brownness. If it wasn't for the fact that leaving the VM in would render the yarn fit only for a particularly penitent knitter bent on knitting the equivalent of a Hair Shirt, I would leave the grass and burrs in, to lend a bit of color.
In my infinite wisdom, when starting this project out I decided to continue in my largely unsuccessful attempts to learn the art of Navajo Plying. Navajo Plying gives you a 3-ply yarn (one with bumps and weird spots, if the spinner is me), which means that the yarn can be pretty darned chunky if you don't spin the original singles fairly finely. Chunky plain brown yarn is pretty useless, IMO, and the shorter length involved wouldn't give me the practice at Navajo Plying that I need in order to master the skill. So I am laboriously spinning (and picking through) a large bobbin full of miles and miles and miles of lace-weight brown.
It's taking forever. I may expire of fiber-induced ennui. And the worst thing is that I know that once I get through with that, I will then be facing miles and miles and miles of brown that needs laborious and inept plying. At which point I will have a skein of lumpy, weird, puritanical yarn that nobody in their right minds would want to actually use, much less buy.
Clearly I am driven by some psychological compulsion to continue with this dreary and seemingly endless pas de deux with the drab Willi of brown, brown, brown...
I hope it's a reflection of newly-forged virtues of Persistence and Determination or perhaps some slightly nutty form of Optimism (maybe it will turn out better than I expect?), rather than an indication of a compulsive mood disorder or creeping fiber-induced insanity.
In the meantime, I will never get on to something more interesting if I don't get on with it. You stay here to keep an eye on things. If I don't come out in a week or so, call for help.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Good Question
A lovely blogger friend asks why people attempting to blow up planes don't realize that they are going to be taken down and thoroughly pummeled by their fellow passengers before being handed over to the penal system. Good question...
I haven't really thought about that, although certainly she has a point. I've always supposed that the point for them lays more in scaring people and adding to the annoying layers of bureaucracy that clog up the system and slow things down and generally keep people's stress and fear levels optimized. They want us to feel vulnerable and small and weak. Most of all, they want us to think about them, which we mostly wouldn't do if we weren't afraid that they were going to murder us while we were going about our business-as-usual. If that is your goal, it doesn't matter that much whether your Representative (whether he truly was sent by you or not) succeeds in blowing himself up, or whether he merely gets thoroughly roughed up and sent to prison. The goal is met either way.
I have a different question - one directed in our direction, rather than theirs. I'd like to know why our airports have been effectively frozen at Threat Level Orange for nine years, even at times when they have known that attack plans were being made, or when an incident like the recent one occurs. What is the point of having 'levels' if we never go from one to the other? It's not a Warning if it stays so steady and familiar that it becomes mere wallpaper. If we never have low-threat periods during which we can aim our travel plans, if we only go to red once a nuclear attack has been actually launched - which is evidently the only thing that could knock the system from its current level - doesn't that sort of negate the purpose?
"Warning, we already blew up, and you are currently a cloud of radioactive dust blowing past this sign. Thank you for your attention, have a nice day."
I haven't really thought about that, although certainly she has a point. I've always supposed that the point for them lays more in scaring people and adding to the annoying layers of bureaucracy that clog up the system and slow things down and generally keep people's stress and fear levels optimized. They want us to feel vulnerable and small and weak. Most of all, they want us to think about them, which we mostly wouldn't do if we weren't afraid that they were going to murder us while we were going about our business-as-usual. If that is your goal, it doesn't matter that much whether your Representative (whether he truly was sent by you or not) succeeds in blowing himself up, or whether he merely gets thoroughly roughed up and sent to prison. The goal is met either way.
I have a different question - one directed in our direction, rather than theirs. I'd like to know why our airports have been effectively frozen at Threat Level Orange for nine years, even at times when they have known that attack plans were being made, or when an incident like the recent one occurs. What is the point of having 'levels' if we never go from one to the other? It's not a Warning if it stays so steady and familiar that it becomes mere wallpaper. If we never have low-threat periods during which we can aim our travel plans, if we only go to red once a nuclear attack has been actually launched - which is evidently the only thing that could knock the system from its current level - doesn't that sort of negate the purpose?
"Warning, we already blew up, and you are currently a cloud of radioactive dust blowing past this sign. Thank you for your attention, have a nice day."
Friday, December 11, 2009
Once a Mom, Always a Mom
My dear friend Elizabeth sent me this, and it is SO funny. All moms of proto-adults can relate, I think, or even those of us who have observed the birds in our yards who are closely followed by their seemingly full-grown yet open-mawed offspring. Obviously this is a case of late-term adoption by a mother who just can't seem to loosen the metaphorical apron strings... very funny!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Vacation, All I Ever Wanted...
The dear hubby and I have never had a Real Vacation together.
Well, okay, not exactly true.
We spent one night at a B&B in Stockholm, Wisconsin for our fifth anniversary, which was nice. We saw an eagle, strolled through a couple art/craft/'antique' stores, lusted after a few really lovely Amish quilts, and ate some very nice ice cream. We highly recommend Stockholm, WI to anyone interested, although the quilts are no longer there.
For our 'honeymoon' we went to Madison overnight to visit a friend who turned out to be too busy to spend time with us, so we shared one night in the guest-room twin bed (I was 5 months pregnant and still had all-day morning sickness, so you can imagine how thrilling that was) and then we high-tailed it back home, with a brief stopover at House On the Rock (see below). Whee.
We once spent a few days at Rose Lake with Scott's relatives. Bren loved being with his cousins, which is great. But it was very hot, the relatives understandably wanted to spend all their time with their coolers and the beautiful lake, and I'm allergic to the sun (really - I get hives). So I was stuck alone inside the small 2-room (tv-less, a/c-less) cabin-without-a-view with not much to do except read, sweep sand off the floor, and frown at crossword puzzles. Scott would have kept me company at least part of the time, but early on he jumped into the lake with his keys in his pocket... well, they were in his pocket when he went in. Naturally he had to make the 6 hour drive back home in a borrowed car so that he could break into the house and get my keys*, then drive another 6 hours back again. So the next day was taken up by his being exhausted and cranky.
Naturally, that was the day our nephew stepped on Scott's lost keys while diving off the dock, and kindly retrieved them.
We drove to Chicago for a couple days when Bren was 6, to visit my grandmother. We 'camped out' on her living room floor, naively looking forward to seeing the Art Institute, the Science & Industry Museum, the Shedd Aquarium, the Field Museum, and the Adler Planetarium (the last two were closed for some reason, I don't remember why).
Unfortunately, I can't count that as a vacation. Just as we started the trip, Bren entered his exciting 'Rules Don't Apply To Me' stage, and evidently the Rules included the ones about not hitting, biting, screaming, throwing things, or tearing things apart. So the entire trip involved hurriedly and forcibly dragging our miniature Berserker through museums/parks/stores while every security guard in the place followed us hissing 'Don't Touch!! Don't Touch!!' (loudly, so as to be heard above the shrieking) whenever we strayed close enough to a display to actually see it. We also took a boat tour past Navy Pier, but the only thing I remember about that is struggling with the temptation to just let the kid fling himself over the side and pretend I didn't notice.
Less 'vacation' than 'parental trial by fire'.**
We once went to the Wisconsin Dells with our darling boy, off-season. He was 7 or so then, and something more approximating a Human Being. Everything was closed except for one PuttPutt Golf course, a horse-drawn cart tour, the Ducks, and (Best Of All) the tackily-yet-fabulously fascinating House On The Rock. Even those were closing that week, but we got in under the wire. We spent a day at HOTR (it takes most of a day to really appreciate it), a half day in the Dells, with the night at a motel with a small indoor water park where the slides were under construction, but there were some floating 'islands' and a basketball hoop in the pool. The kid was thrilled, we were happy... good times. But not a lot of vacation time for 20 years of marriage and parenthood.***
But that is the sum and total of vacations that Scott & I have had in our nearly 30 years together. My birthday is coming up, as is our 20th wedding anniversary, and the future is looking a bit more scary and unknowable than it did a year ago. So we decided that we would go to the Black Hills (Bren has already been there with my parents, so he won't feel too deprived), have a week of relatively cheap fun, then get home in time for me to zoom off for the Infinite Boundaries retreat.
Yup. A week of vacation for us both, and then an extra few days of a sort of spiritual/emotional/vacation thing for me alone. Not easy, probably, but something I needed, and I felt really lucky to have the opportunity.
It's been a long time since we've had something fun to look forward to. We were pretty excited.
Until this weekend, when the car imploded.
Just the sound of it started a leak in our bank account. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's going to be a choice: either car or trips, but not both. And we are practical people at heart, so of course the car is going to win.
Drat.
*Yes, I HAVE learned to never save myself the trouble of dragging my keys around on vacation. Thanks for asking.
**This stage was blessedly short, curtailed by our agreeing that we would all stop living by Rules until Bren decided to reinstate them. This quickly led to his realization that it was rules that make grown up people cook meals and go to the park and share with smaller, weaker persons. Rules started looking pretty good, after all...
***Do not feel sorry for the kid. He is an Only Grandchild on my side, and so he has seen a great deal of the U.S. and Europe with his doting grandparents. We feel very lucky, both for the wonderful opportunities those trips gave Bren and for the bit of Peace and Quiet it gave us once in a while.****
****To be fair to Bren, the Chicago Experience was an anomaly, which is why we were so ill-prepared for it. He's been a challenging kid in some ways, as most children are, but we feel we've been very lucky, kid-wise. He's mostly been a joy to have around, and a great traveling companion. We don't plan on bringing him back for a refund any time soon.
Well, okay, not exactly true.
We spent one night at a B&B in Stockholm, Wisconsin for our fifth anniversary, which was nice. We saw an eagle, strolled through a couple art/craft/'antique' stores, lusted after a few really lovely Amish quilts, and ate some very nice ice cream. We highly recommend Stockholm, WI to anyone interested, although the quilts are no longer there.
For our 'honeymoon' we went to Madison overnight to visit a friend who turned out to be too busy to spend time with us, so we shared one night in the guest-room twin bed (I was 5 months pregnant and still had all-day morning sickness, so you can imagine how thrilling that was) and then we high-tailed it back home, with a brief stopover at House On the Rock (see below). Whee.
We once spent a few days at Rose Lake with Scott's relatives. Bren loved being with his cousins, which is great. But it was very hot, the relatives understandably wanted to spend all their time with their coolers and the beautiful lake, and I'm allergic to the sun (really - I get hives). So I was stuck alone inside the small 2-room (tv-less, a/c-less) cabin-without-a-view with not much to do except read, sweep sand off the floor, and frown at crossword puzzles. Scott would have kept me company at least part of the time, but early on he jumped into the lake with his keys in his pocket... well, they were in his pocket when he went in. Naturally he had to make the 6 hour drive back home in a borrowed car so that he could break into the house and get my keys*, then drive another 6 hours back again. So the next day was taken up by his being exhausted and cranky.
Naturally, that was the day our nephew stepped on Scott's lost keys while diving off the dock, and kindly retrieved them.
We drove to Chicago for a couple days when Bren was 6, to visit my grandmother. We 'camped out' on her living room floor, naively looking forward to seeing the Art Institute, the Science & Industry Museum, the Shedd Aquarium, the Field Museum, and the Adler Planetarium (the last two were closed for some reason, I don't remember why).
Unfortunately, I can't count that as a vacation. Just as we started the trip, Bren entered his exciting 'Rules Don't Apply To Me' stage, and evidently the Rules included the ones about not hitting, biting, screaming, throwing things, or tearing things apart. So the entire trip involved hurriedly and forcibly dragging our miniature Berserker through museums/parks/stores while every security guard in the place followed us hissing 'Don't Touch!! Don't Touch!!' (loudly, so as to be heard above the shrieking) whenever we strayed close enough to a display to actually see it. We also took a boat tour past Navy Pier, but the only thing I remember about that is struggling with the temptation to just let the kid fling himself over the side and pretend I didn't notice.
Less 'vacation' than 'parental trial by fire'.**
We once went to the Wisconsin Dells with our darling boy, off-season. He was 7 or so then, and something more approximating a Human Being. Everything was closed except for one PuttPutt Golf course, a horse-drawn cart tour, the Ducks, and (Best Of All) the tackily-yet-fabulously fascinating House On The Rock. Even those were closing that week, but we got in under the wire. We spent a day at HOTR (it takes most of a day to really appreciate it), a half day in the Dells, with the night at a motel with a small indoor water park where the slides were under construction, but there were some floating 'islands' and a basketball hoop in the pool. The kid was thrilled, we were happy... good times. But not a lot of vacation time for 20 years of marriage and parenthood.***
But that is the sum and total of vacations that Scott & I have had in our nearly 30 years together. My birthday is coming up, as is our 20th wedding anniversary, and the future is looking a bit more scary and unknowable than it did a year ago. So we decided that we would go to the Black Hills (Bren has already been there with my parents, so he won't feel too deprived), have a week of relatively cheap fun, then get home in time for me to zoom off for the Infinite Boundaries retreat.
Yup. A week of vacation for us both, and then an extra few days of a sort of spiritual/emotional/vacation thing for me alone. Not easy, probably, but something I needed, and I felt really lucky to have the opportunity.
It's been a long time since we've had something fun to look forward to. We were pretty excited.
Until this weekend, when the car imploded.
Just the sound of it started a leak in our bank account. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's going to be a choice: either car or trips, but not both. And we are practical people at heart, so of course the car is going to win.
Drat.
*Yes, I HAVE learned to never save myself the trouble of dragging my keys around on vacation. Thanks for asking.
**This stage was blessedly short, curtailed by our agreeing that we would all stop living by Rules until Bren decided to reinstate them. This quickly led to his realization that it was rules that make grown up people cook meals and go to the park and share with smaller, weaker persons. Rules started looking pretty good, after all...
***Do not feel sorry for the kid. He is an Only Grandchild on my side, and so he has seen a great deal of the U.S. and Europe with his doting grandparents. We feel very lucky, both for the wonderful opportunities those trips gave Bren and for the bit of Peace and Quiet it gave us once in a while.****
****To be fair to Bren, the Chicago Experience was an anomaly, which is why we were so ill-prepared for it. He's been a challenging kid in some ways, as most children are, but we feel we've been very lucky, kid-wise. He's mostly been a joy to have around, and a great traveling companion. We don't plan on bringing him back for a refund any time soon.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Brilliant
The sun is shining, the birds are singing, it's a beautiful day and I'm about to go to the Textile Center with some lovely friends, so life is good.
Let's add a bit of laughter to that. Here is one of my favorite comedians - well, possibly my very favorite comedian, actually. He does intellectual comedy, he does physical comedy, he's literate and loves history and is tremendously talented. Also as a private person, he is shy and tends towards being a bit morose. So obviously we have a lot in common.
Anyway, here's just one bit he's done. If you go to YouTube and look up 'Rowan Atkinson', there's lots more to be enjoyed there. And of course, watch the 'Black Adder' series if you haven't already. While you are at it, check out Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie, who aren't as reliable, but have their moments.
Enjoy!
Let's add a bit of laughter to that. Here is one of my favorite comedians - well, possibly my very favorite comedian, actually. He does intellectual comedy, he does physical comedy, he's literate and loves history and is tremendously talented. Also as a private person, he is shy and tends towards being a bit morose. So obviously we have a lot in common.
Anyway, here's just one bit he's done. If you go to YouTube and look up 'Rowan Atkinson', there's lots more to be enjoyed there. And of course, watch the 'Black Adder' series if you haven't already. While you are at it, check out Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie, who aren't as reliable, but have their moments.
Enjoy!
Sunday, January 11, 2009
On Being the Cobbler
Here I am, a spinner and knitter - and I have been suffering the pains of freezing fingers all winter so far, because I don't have a pair of mittens or gloves!
I feel as though I don't have the yarn, which is ironic. But I feel as though the yarn I've spun is too precious to waste on myself - I want to share it!
I only have one bit of commercial yarn, and it's so BORING, just one flat color (but a deep intense color that would not lend itself well to dyeing experiments)... and I don't have a mitten pattern that appeals to me for yarn in one flat color, or have enough to allow for lots of big fun cables. Plus the resulting mitten would be too thin to be effective in our MN cold snaps.
I do have a bit of fiber on the wheel (thank you, Debi M.!), and I'm experimenting with different spinning techniques. I am hoping that something fun will come out of it - it won't be skillfully spun enough to sell, but hopefully it will be usable enough to make mittens of. Unfortunately, I am spinning so slowly that the yarn might not be done by the end of winter... especially since I am likely to be interrupted by the (possibly simultaneous) mastectomy and hysterectomy, and expect to not be in spinning shape for at least six weeks.
I may have to make do with the thin commercial yarn, if I can get going fast enough.
Fast. Me.
HA!!!
I may have to make do with either being the Cobbler (along with his family, if you want to be nitpicky), or being the proud owner of The Emperor's New Mittens...
I feel as though I don't have the yarn, which is ironic. But I feel as though the yarn I've spun is too precious to waste on myself - I want to share it!
I only have one bit of commercial yarn, and it's so BORING, just one flat color (but a deep intense color that would not lend itself well to dyeing experiments)... and I don't have a mitten pattern that appeals to me for yarn in one flat color, or have enough to allow for lots of big fun cables. Plus the resulting mitten would be too thin to be effective in our MN cold snaps.
I do have a bit of fiber on the wheel (thank you, Debi M.!), and I'm experimenting with different spinning techniques. I am hoping that something fun will come out of it - it won't be skillfully spun enough to sell, but hopefully it will be usable enough to make mittens of. Unfortunately, I am spinning so slowly that the yarn might not be done by the end of winter... especially since I am likely to be interrupted by the (possibly simultaneous) mastectomy and hysterectomy, and expect to not be in spinning shape for at least six weeks.
I may have to make do with the thin commercial yarn, if I can get going fast enough.
Fast. Me.
HA!!!
I may have to make do with either being the Cobbler (along with his family, if you want to be nitpicky), or being the proud owner of The Emperor's New Mittens...
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Yes, I Am Talking To You
Okay, children, I know that many of you somehow managed to get out of school having failed to have comprehended the majesty, the power, the sweeping scope and pure entertainment of that least beloved of subjects:
Yes, I am talking to you. Admit it, you thought history was dry and dull and something to be avoided whenever possible.
Well, put those preconceptions away, boys and girls - because as you are about to find, History can be both inspiring and hilarious!
(History is also apparently full of expletives and a bit of self-induced nausea; don't say we didn't warn you...)
HISTORY
Yes, I am talking to you. Admit it, you thought history was dry and dull and something to be avoided whenever possible.
Well, put those preconceptions away, boys and girls - because as you are about to find, History can be both inspiring and hilarious!
(History is also apparently full of expletives and a bit of self-induced nausea; don't say we didn't warn you...)
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Another Obnoxious Post
Yup, the election is rolling up and over us any second now, and in the spirit of poxing both their houses, I give you another musical tribute to all our political friends in high places (warning: the following is not completely devoid of rudeness, although there's only one semi-swear-word. But it is rude to everyone, so at least it's fair, and I like fairness. I like fairies and unicorns, too.)
Really, I can't be trusted. It's this or crying, and I hate when my eyes get all burn-y like that...
Really, I can't be trusted. It's this or crying, and I hate when my eyes get all burn-y like that...
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Totally Obnoxious Post
For those of you who aren't Carol and haven't had kids in the last 7 or so years and didn't catch the bad joke in my last post, here's the reference. Before you subject yourself, do take the title of this post seriously. If you do subject yourself, don't feel obligated to listen to the whole thing - at about 1:30 it just repeats itself.
Don't say you weren't warned.
For those of you who are voting on the lefthand side of the presidential ticket in just a few days, here is a little extra, just for fun:
Okay, that's enough now, don't you think?
Go play outside. I'll still be here when you get back.
Don't say you weren't warned.
For those of you who are voting on the lefthand side of the presidential ticket in just a few days, here is a little extra, just for fun:
Okay, that's enough now, don't you think?
Go play outside. I'll still be here when you get back.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Irony: Ha, Ha
I have a particularly spectacular case of Turf Toe, except that I injured *both* joints in my toe rather than just the joint at the base. It is rather spectacular - I should make some rovings using those colors. No, wait, I have!
It is laughably (ow! ow!) ironic that I would get an injury generally attributed to athletes...
The Universe has something against my left foot. In the past two weeks or so I have gotten not one, but three pieces of glass stuck in it (once was at someone else's house), and now this.
Can one limb have its very own karma? What is the foot trying to say to me? What is the Universe trying to say to the foot? Or is it just an opportunity for the right foot to feel smug and superior? Are they feuding while I am asleep?
So I'm keeping my foot elevated and icing it occasionally, which is going to slow down the spinning process a bit - sorry Carol. I promise to work on the fiber as soon as I can! I am, however, getting some knitting in for Mitch Carlson's benefit auction on Oct. 18, which I will write about soon. If you have any items that you would be willing to donate, keep that in mind later this week!
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