This is my friend Colleen. We like to joke that the Land baron and I are her token liberal friends. She's an amzing woman in so many ways, but especially in all that she tries to do for our veterans. We may not see eye to eye very often in the political arena, but I have a tremendous amount of respect that she works so hard to make sure the next generation appreciates some of the sacrifIces that have been made by those who have come before us.
Take a look at this.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Saturday, November 10, 2007
The New Neighbors
Pickle discovered our new neighbors last weekend sitting in one of our trees in the back yard:
Admittedly, these are not spectacular pictures, but if you never been to our house, these trees are well over 100 years old and very, very tall. This is as good as my zoom lens gets.
As near as we can figure, they are red-shouldered hawks. They are large birds. They are loud birds. They are extremely cool birds.
We've seen one hanging out in a mud puddle in the road after a big storm last week, probably looking for frogs. Today Pickle discovered one sitting on the top porch of the house across the street. I don't have any idea how long it was there but when Pickle showed me, it took off and swooped into the field behind our house. Later when we left the house, it was on a powerline in the field looking for dinner, I imagine.
I don't know if we are a stop-over to someplace warmer for the winter, or if this particular pair is from up north and we are the southern destination. Maybe they've decided to call our little corner of the world home too. Whatever the reason for their presence, I'm happy they are here.
It's impossible to bring them a plate of cookies, so I hope they feel welcome. I'd love for them to stick around for a while.
Admittedly, these are not spectacular pictures, but if you never been to our house, these trees are well over 100 years old and very, very tall. This is as good as my zoom lens gets.
As near as we can figure, they are red-shouldered hawks. They are large birds. They are loud birds. They are extremely cool birds.
We've seen one hanging out in a mud puddle in the road after a big storm last week, probably looking for frogs. Today Pickle discovered one sitting on the top porch of the house across the street. I don't have any idea how long it was there but when Pickle showed me, it took off and swooped into the field behind our house. Later when we left the house, it was on a powerline in the field looking for dinner, I imagine.
I don't know if we are a stop-over to someplace warmer for the winter, or if this particular pair is from up north and we are the southern destination. Maybe they've decided to call our little corner of the world home too. Whatever the reason for their presence, I'm happy they are here.
It's impossible to bring them a plate of cookies, so I hope they feel welcome. I'd love for them to stick around for a while.
Friday, November 9, 2007
'Tis The Season
Pepper, who is two, told me today thay she didn't want to sit on Santa's lap this holiday season. Instead she wants to take him out to dinner.
I like the way this girl thinks.
I like the way this girl thinks.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Me and St. Francis Are Tight
Driving to pick up the Pickle and the Pepper this afternoon, I came off the highway and was sitting at a light on this incredibly busy street when I noticed a small kitten and a woman walking behind it along the sidewalk. My initial thought was "Why on earth is walking that kitten on this busy street without a leash?"
Then my heart sank as I realized she was carefully, slowly chasing the kitten because it had gotten loose. Her dilemma was that if she moved too quickly the kitten might dart into the street or under a chain link fence that lined the edge of the sidewalk. I watched her grab at the kitten a couple of times and miss; the kitten started moving faster. She started walking faster...with one last grab, the kitten freaked out, and started running toward the street, she blocked it and it tried stuffing itself under the fence. Just as she almost had it; it would run off erratically again. I couldn't handle it. I had my eyes covered and I was yelling, "No, no, no!" Needless to say, I am not good under pressure in general.
Now growing up Catholic and going to Catholic school until 8th grade means that regardless of where you go in your life, there are certain elements of Catholicism that stay with you. For me, it's the saints. When I lose something, the first thing I do is ask St. Anthony to help me find it. On the rare occasion that I perform anymore, I ask St. Cecilia to help me get through it. I'm not saying that these saints have nothing better to do with their day than help me find my car keys, but I will say that more times than I can count a crazy idea comes to me right after I pray for intercession, and yes, in fact, somehow my car keys ended up in the freezer.
So as I was sitting in my car in fetal position with a green light ahead of me, and cars beginning their procession towards the next intersection, I couldn't handle the stress of this maniacal kitten any longer. Just as she was about to run out into the street to certain squishdom, I reflexively yelled, "St. Francis, do SOMETHING!"
No sooner were the words out of my mouth than that kitten dead stopped. Not slowed down, not stopped because something blocked it's path...just stopped. And in that second, the woman was able to snatch the little thing up and head back to her own car several yards down the street.
Now don't expect that if you pray to St. Anthony to return the family dog that ran away twelve years ago that he's going to show up on your porch next week. (Although in 1st grade,, my dog Bowser ran away and after three days of Sister Sophie having my class pray to St. Anthony, he did show up in our yard, filthy, full of burdocks but thrilled to see us.) But today, a kitten, on the verge of ending it's own little tiny life was saved at the last second when a tiny little person on this planet who doesn't claim to have all the answers cried out in fear and desperation and the Universe in it's own way, answered.
I'm just saying....
Then my heart sank as I realized she was carefully, slowly chasing the kitten because it had gotten loose. Her dilemma was that if she moved too quickly the kitten might dart into the street or under a chain link fence that lined the edge of the sidewalk. I watched her grab at the kitten a couple of times and miss; the kitten started moving faster. She started walking faster...with one last grab, the kitten freaked out, and started running toward the street, she blocked it and it tried stuffing itself under the fence. Just as she almost had it; it would run off erratically again. I couldn't handle it. I had my eyes covered and I was yelling, "No, no, no!" Needless to say, I am not good under pressure in general.
Now growing up Catholic and going to Catholic school until 8th grade means that regardless of where you go in your life, there are certain elements of Catholicism that stay with you. For me, it's the saints. When I lose something, the first thing I do is ask St. Anthony to help me find it. On the rare occasion that I perform anymore, I ask St. Cecilia to help me get through it. I'm not saying that these saints have nothing better to do with their day than help me find my car keys, but I will say that more times than I can count a crazy idea comes to me right after I pray for intercession, and yes, in fact, somehow my car keys ended up in the freezer.
So as I was sitting in my car in fetal position with a green light ahead of me, and cars beginning their procession towards the next intersection, I couldn't handle the stress of this maniacal kitten any longer. Just as she was about to run out into the street to certain squishdom, I reflexively yelled, "St. Francis, do SOMETHING!"
No sooner were the words out of my mouth than that kitten dead stopped. Not slowed down, not stopped because something blocked it's path...just stopped. And in that second, the woman was able to snatch the little thing up and head back to her own car several yards down the street.
Now don't expect that if you pray to St. Anthony to return the family dog that ran away twelve years ago that he's going to show up on your porch next week. (Although in 1st grade,, my dog Bowser ran away and after three days of Sister Sophie having my class pray to St. Anthony, he did show up in our yard, filthy, full of burdocks but thrilled to see us.) But today, a kitten, on the verge of ending it's own little tiny life was saved at the last second when a tiny little person on this planet who doesn't claim to have all the answers cried out in fear and desperation and the Universe in it's own way, answered.
I'm just saying....
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
The Grinch Who Stole Christmas
Apparently, my children will be getting string, a couple of sticks and maybe a shiny rock or two for Christmas as it appears that every toy on the commercial market today is actually some sort of deathtrap exported out of China. It reminds me of the old Saturday Night Live Skit where Dan Akroyd is the unscrupulous toy maker selling such treasures as "Bag of Glass" or "Board with Nails Sticking Out of It." I'm sure you could find it at Youtube if you want to watch it. It's a classic.
Pickle had her heart set on Aquadots...so that's out. Polly Pockets? Nope. Dora/Elmo/Fisher Price/Mattel - not on your life.
In general, we don't buy a lot of toys. If you ask the Land Baron, we have too many as is. I know lots of parents who buy something for their children every time they go out shopping - or that a trip to Toys R Us is a form of entertainment. I won't even step foot in that place. I loathe everything about it. Occasionally there is a small toy as a special treat, but mostly, just Christmas and birthdays. It's my little stand against consumerism. I am inconsistent and don't always follow this rule but at least having the rule gives me a goal to strive towards. I suppose if I had a 3,500 square foot house I might not notice all the stuff, but since space is a premium in our little corner of the neighborhood, everything in the house better be put to good use. Otherwise it's just taking up premium real estate.
The dilemma for me is that while I hate all that plastic, mass-marketed stuff, my oldest daughter doesn't. Luckily, a used toy is often just as good as a new one. Several of her toys were acquired through Freecycle and Craigslist. A few others I picked up at consignment shops. I feel a little bit better knowing that we're recycling some of this plastic and will eventually also pass them along to another child to love as well. And Pickle & Pepper do have the largest dress-up box of any of their friends. Plus, send them outside into the yard and they make up wonderful games and interesting stories.
While I would love to buy handmade, wooden, paper and cloth toys exclusively, it is a costly process. I try to balance it all out a bit by buying from a wonderful locally owned toy shop in the area. They carry almost none of the typical mass-marketed toys and buy toys that use natural products. But again, it can be expensive. The simple answer is to just have less but better toys. In a culture like ours, however, sometimes the sheer number of ponies you have brings the greater joy.
But this year the debacle that is the toy industry may just put me over the edge. The girls may in fact unwrap boxes filled with shells and pebbles and sticks - they might not like it, but at least I know that the worse they can do is poke their eyes out.
Seems like a better gamble than buying a toy from a mass retailer.
Pickle had her heart set on Aquadots...so that's out. Polly Pockets? Nope. Dora/Elmo/Fisher Price/Mattel - not on your life.
In general, we don't buy a lot of toys. If you ask the Land Baron, we have too many as is. I know lots of parents who buy something for their children every time they go out shopping - or that a trip to Toys R Us is a form of entertainment. I won't even step foot in that place. I loathe everything about it. Occasionally there is a small toy as a special treat, but mostly, just Christmas and birthdays. It's my little stand against consumerism. I am inconsistent and don't always follow this rule but at least having the rule gives me a goal to strive towards. I suppose if I had a 3,500 square foot house I might not notice all the stuff, but since space is a premium in our little corner of the neighborhood, everything in the house better be put to good use. Otherwise it's just taking up premium real estate.
The dilemma for me is that while I hate all that plastic, mass-marketed stuff, my oldest daughter doesn't. Luckily, a used toy is often just as good as a new one. Several of her toys were acquired through Freecycle and Craigslist. A few others I picked up at consignment shops. I feel a little bit better knowing that we're recycling some of this plastic and will eventually also pass them along to another child to love as well. And Pickle & Pepper do have the largest dress-up box of any of their friends. Plus, send them outside into the yard and they make up wonderful games and interesting stories.
While I would love to buy handmade, wooden, paper and cloth toys exclusively, it is a costly process. I try to balance it all out a bit by buying from a wonderful locally owned toy shop in the area. They carry almost none of the typical mass-marketed toys and buy toys that use natural products. But again, it can be expensive. The simple answer is to just have less but better toys. In a culture like ours, however, sometimes the sheer number of ponies you have brings the greater joy.
But this year the debacle that is the toy industry may just put me over the edge. The girls may in fact unwrap boxes filled with shells and pebbles and sticks - they might not like it, but at least I know that the worse they can do is poke their eyes out.
Seems like a better gamble than buying a toy from a mass retailer.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Grateful
Like many writers, I have a fairly well defined obsession with notebooks. I can't help myself. I am always on the lookout for the "perfect notebook," whatever that is. It doesn't matter if I'm at Walgreens or a high-end stationary store - the siren call of notebooks beckons me as soon as I walk through the door.
And don't get me started on pens or office supplies. I go almost apoplectic just walking in there. Over the years, I've amassed a rather large and eclectic collection of notebooks. I use different notebooks for different tasks- one to write morning pages, one to write character ideas, one to specifically journal in. And I can't tell you what makes me attracted to a particular notebook - my tastes run the gamut from unlined, expensive art paper to lined $.39 notebooks with a plain green cover. My attraction to notebooks is like abstract art - I can't describe what I like, but I know it when I see it. About a month ago, I found this notebook in a lovely store in Clarksville, called Nest:
Believe me when I say that this photo doesn't do it justice. I saw it and I literally had a visceral reaction to it. I picked it up and literally starting crying. Why would I cry holding a notebook you ask? I have no frickin idea- I just did. And I had to have it. So I bought it and brought it home and then...it sat. Unused. Occasionally I'd pick it up and hold it and try to discern what to use it for. And I got nothing, except that it had to hold something beautiful. Then I'd put it down and leave it untouched.
Until Sunday when I finally realized what purpose this beautiful, delicate, spiritual notebook was destined for. It has become a gratitude journal. I've never kept one before, I never needed to - I was well aware of all that I had to be grateful for and I've always been the eternal optimist. And then this year tackled me, kicked my in the kidneys and left me for dead on the curb. And suddenly it's become hard for me to see how much I really have.
So this little journal has now become a big part of my life. And it feels right.
And don't get me started on pens or office supplies. I go almost apoplectic just walking in there. Over the years, I've amassed a rather large and eclectic collection of notebooks. I use different notebooks for different tasks- one to write morning pages, one to write character ideas, one to specifically journal in. And I can't tell you what makes me attracted to a particular notebook - my tastes run the gamut from unlined, expensive art paper to lined $.39 notebooks with a plain green cover. My attraction to notebooks is like abstract art - I can't describe what I like, but I know it when I see it. About a month ago, I found this notebook in a lovely store in Clarksville, called Nest:
Believe me when I say that this photo doesn't do it justice. I saw it and I literally had a visceral reaction to it. I picked it up and literally starting crying. Why would I cry holding a notebook you ask? I have no frickin idea- I just did. And I had to have it. So I bought it and brought it home and then...it sat. Unused. Occasionally I'd pick it up and hold it and try to discern what to use it for. And I got nothing, except that it had to hold something beautiful. Then I'd put it down and leave it untouched.
Until Sunday when I finally realized what purpose this beautiful, delicate, spiritual notebook was destined for. It has become a gratitude journal. I've never kept one before, I never needed to - I was well aware of all that I had to be grateful for and I've always been the eternal optimist. And then this year tackled me, kicked my in the kidneys and left me for dead on the curb. And suddenly it's become hard for me to see how much I really have.
So this little journal has now become a big part of my life. And it feels right.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Take Your Pickle to Work Day
Pickle was off from school today while her teachers prepped for parent conferences at the end of the week. The Land Baron worked at the hospital all day and I didn't want to use one of my precious few days off so, we packed up a bag full of distractions and off we went.
First stop- Baltimore Coffee & Tea- a lovely new coffee place across from the mall. They made a lukewarm hot chocolate for the Pepper - which is a brilliant idea because 1) she could drink it right away and it didn't need to be an exercise in delayed gratification and B) they don't get their asses sued when some child scalds themselves. Seems like a win-win to me.
So with warm beverages in hand we went to the office. Pickle has been excited for days. She couldn't wait to see what it was like at a real office where grown-ups do actual work.
If I was a betting woman, I would have given her 2-2.5 hours max before boredom set in and she'd start asking "Is it almost time to go yet" every 1.3 seconds. But she was a trooper. She played on the Internet and colored and cut things out and helped me open the mail and watched a DVD. She even helped me walk the bosses dog as an extra-special treat.
As a side note, I have to say that although I truly enjoy having the dog come to work on the rare occasions when my boss brings him in, I can't help thinking that the reason I went back to work in the first place was to clean up less poop during my day. But since I am often the only one in the office and everyone else (including my boss) is out working with clients, it's a worthwhile trade for the companionship and the chance to get a little fresh air in my mornings.
Pickle really only started bouncing off the walls about ten minutes before we left. She was ready for some running around time - as, aren't we all at the end of a work day.
Her favorite part of the day was when we both got our lunches out and sat at the conference table in my bosses office eating from our lunch bags and flipping through a magazine together as all good lunch buddies should.
But I think she was a touch disappointed that there was less excitement than she imagined. I don't know what she was expecting but I don't think it was the sight of her mother sitting at a computer, typing away--which is what I do at home most of the time anyway. I think she thought adults at work led interesting lives full of movement and energy and who knows what. Now she knows that I'm basically the same person both places.
Maybe I can convince her I'm an international spy and this is just my cover...
First stop- Baltimore Coffee & Tea- a lovely new coffee place across from the mall. They made a lukewarm hot chocolate for the Pepper - which is a brilliant idea because 1) she could drink it right away and it didn't need to be an exercise in delayed gratification and B) they don't get their asses sued when some child scalds themselves. Seems like a win-win to me.
So with warm beverages in hand we went to the office. Pickle has been excited for days. She couldn't wait to see what it was like at a real office where grown-ups do actual work.
If I was a betting woman, I would have given her 2-2.5 hours max before boredom set in and she'd start asking "Is it almost time to go yet" every 1.3 seconds. But she was a trooper. She played on the Internet and colored and cut things out and helped me open the mail and watched a DVD. She even helped me walk the bosses dog as an extra-special treat.
As a side note, I have to say that although I truly enjoy having the dog come to work on the rare occasions when my boss brings him in, I can't help thinking that the reason I went back to work in the first place was to clean up less poop during my day. But since I am often the only one in the office and everyone else (including my boss) is out working with clients, it's a worthwhile trade for the companionship and the chance to get a little fresh air in my mornings.
Pickle really only started bouncing off the walls about ten minutes before we left. She was ready for some running around time - as, aren't we all at the end of a work day.
Her favorite part of the day was when we both got our lunches out and sat at the conference table in my bosses office eating from our lunch bags and flipping through a magazine together as all good lunch buddies should.
But I think she was a touch disappointed that there was less excitement than she imagined. I don't know what she was expecting but I don't think it was the sight of her mother sitting at a computer, typing away--which is what I do at home most of the time anyway. I think she thought adults at work led interesting lives full of movement and energy and who knows what. Now she knows that I'm basically the same person both places.
Maybe I can convince her I'm an international spy and this is just my cover...
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