Day 28 JP and the hair

In a dream, I was talking to JP in his lab.  There was some small talk and then he said, “So, are you ready?”
I said, “Yeah!” and I propped my leg up on the table.  I pulled my pant leg up and revealed a Very Hairy leg.  I mean, I am a hairy girl, but this leg … even I was impressed with the quantity and quality of the hair presented on my leg.  It was black and full, and glossy- like a well-fed and groomed gorilla’s leg.

JP said, “It looks great! Just go down the hall and turn left.  My lab tech is in a room on the right.  He will wax your legs.”

I said, “Okay,” then I started walking toward the lab tech/leg waxer.

In my dream at this point, the situation struck me as a little odd. 

First of all, in real life I’ve visited JP’s lab approximately never times, also I don’t have well-groomed gorilla leg hair in real life. 

In my dream, I rationalized the situation by telling myself, even though I didn’t really know why I was letting JP’s lab tech wax my legs, I’m sure it was of some benefit to JP and his research.  He was probably researching how to cure male pattern baldness, and something about my luxurious leg hair and follicles was going to lead him to a glorious insight about how to stimulate inactive scalp hair follicles and ‘cure’ baldness once and for all! 

Why would I think this?

JP was bald when I met him.  We were in our 20s.  It is unusual for a man in his 20s to be bald, but since he was already bald when I met him, I never thought it was unusual for him.  When I think about JP now- I don’t remember him by what he looked like.  I remember him by our interactions, and his attributes I noticed because of those interactions.

I think everyone would agree that JP was (and still is I’m sure) very smart. Back then he was studying biochemistry and working in a cancer research lab. I think fewer people knew that JP’s first language was not English.  Although he seemed to perceive in himself some deficiency in English, in fact, his pronunciation was American native-English-speaker and his spoken and literary vocabulary and fluency were by far better than most US-born university graduates. He came across as well read in not only science but also religion, philosophy, social theory and of course general world knowledge. (Which again is far better than can be said for most US-born university graduates.) 

JP was funny and curious, and most importantly- JP was kind, and I’m sure he still is.

I am an introvert and JP was an introvert; so, it seems odd to me that the first memories that came to me when I started thinking about JP were all at parties.

-------------------------------------

JP and I are at a party.  We are sitting on the floor in a corner from which we can see both the front door and the center of the room.  We are talking to each other about the people we know and the people we don’t know.  We are making observations about what is happening and predicting what will happen next.  He says, “What do you think will happen if I go over there and . . .”  He proposes some outlandish course of action and sets in for that action before I answer.

JP was willing to watch, discuss and take action too.

----------------------

JP and I are at a (different) party.  I’m sitting on a sofa.  He’s sitting on a stool in the center of the room.  I watch as people he knows and people he doesn’t know walk up to him and chat, as though he is some sort of interactive display at a museum.  I notice one particularly long conversation with a girl we’ve just met.  As I walk by to get a drink, I hear a bit of their conversation.

JP says, “Oh really?  That’s interesting, can you tell me more about that?”

She says, “Yes, it means . . .” and she proceeds to expound in great, and somewhat inaccurate detail about a topic which I know full well he knows more about than most people in the room, including the new girl.

When I walk past again, I catch his eye. There’s a sparkle there; he is really enjoying this conversation.

When they are finished, I go back to his ‘interactive display’ and say, “Why did you ask her to explain more about a topic you know more about than she does?”

He says, “I wanted to know what she knew.  I wanted to know her perspective.  I knew it would be different from mine.”

I say, “Did you learn something?”

“Oh yes,” he replies, “I learned so much.”

“I don’t suppose you told her you have taken several classes on that subject?” I ask.

“No,” he says, “no need for that.”

JP made it a point to have time to listen to other people, even when he knew what they were probably going to say.

-------------------------

JP and I are at Mardi Gras in New Orleans. We are standing shoulder to shoulder in the French Quarter with thousands of drunk people.  Our feet are planted on the pavement, but the crowd is undulating like a flag in the wind.  I look at him wondering to myself “What are we doing here?”  He looks at me like he knows what I’m thinking but doesn’t know the answer.

JP pretty much always up for an adventure.

---------------------------

‘Crazy Betty,’ my roommate is hysterical when I walk in the apartment.  She says, “I think a terrorist called us!” 

It’s late in 2001 and she’s already told me she thinks I might work for the CIA. I denied it of course, but isn’t that exactly what a CIA agent would do?  I calmly ask, “Oh? Why do you think that?” 

She says, “Listen to this phone message!”  She hits play.  It’s JP ranting something in Arabic, laughing manically and hanging up.

I cover my mouth the hide the smile. I cough.  “It was probably just a wrong number,” I say.

She looks skeptical.

JP was a cheeky monkey.

------------------------------

I’m standing next to JP at a party.  Someone walks up and introduces herself.  She says, “Hi my name is  …”

He says, “Hi, this is Shannon, and my name is K…”

She says, “K…” rolling the name she’s never encountered before around her tongue.

I just look at him.

The girl walks away.  I say, “Why did you tell her your name is “K…?”

He says, “Because, that’s my name.”

I say, “Then why have I been calling you JP all this time?”

He says, “That was my nickname, but I think I’ll go by my name now.”

“Did you just decide that right now?” I’m somewhat incredulous about this name revelation.

“Yeah,” he says, and walks off.

JP was unexpected on a regular basis.

----------------------------------------

In my dream, I walked into the room where the lab tech had his back to me.  He didn’t notice me, and suddenly I got the feeling that the whole situation was really weird.  Why was I getting my furry leg waxed by a lab tech?  I walked out of the room before he noticed me.

When I got back into the hall JP was walking towards me.  He said, “What’s going on?” 

I was embarrassed.  I wanted to help him, but it was all so strange. 

I said, “Oh, I wasn’t sure if this was the right room.” 

He said, “Yes, come on, I’ll introduce you!”

We went into the room and while he was introducing me to the lab tech his boss walked into the room.  His boss was praising him and telling him how happy he was about this hair research.

I thought again this must have something to do with male pattern baldness, but when I looked at the three men in the room, they all had beautifully full heads of hair. 

Then I thought, ‘I was wrong to suppose this was about selfish ambition or personal benefit,’

and I also thought, ‘has he always had that hair?’

and I also thought, ‘that’s really nice hair.’

The ‘procedure’ was accomplished as planned, and I gave my goodbyes to the tech.  On my way out I passed a lecture hall.  The boss-guy was presenting a case study. I stopped by the door and heard him talking about a terrible disease.  Hundreds of people had already died, and many more would die if they could not find a cure.  The only thing that all the victims had in common was unexplained hair loss.  He was very excited to announce that he and his staff were currently conducting research using healthy (glossy, furry-monkey-leg-hair) donated fresh hair follicles to crack the case.

And so- I learned, do not assume you know the whole story. You will rarely know the whole story- unless it is your story. 

It’s okay to ask. 

It’s also okay for the answer to be, ‘I’m not ready to share right now.’

It’s okay to get your monkey-leg-hair waxed by a lab tech in the name of research.

day 27 cinnamon

The children of an English Teacher:

L: How do you spell 'pool?'
E: P -o-o
L: O?
E: O-o
L: O-o?
E: Yes, O-o
L: Oh! O.  Hey, 'oh' and 'o' are the same, but not the same.
E: Yeah, they're synomoms.
L: They are not cinnamons!
E: I didn't say cinnamons! I said synomoms!
L: What's a synomom?
E: It's when two words sound the same, but they have different meanings.
L: Oh! That's good.

Me listening from the front seat: This is wrong on so many levels.

day 26 that's true

I haven't been feeling great lately and had not eaten a lot,  so I was a little hungry.  I was standing in line.  The woman behind me was talking, "blah-blah-blah-taco." 
My stomach said, "Yes, that's true."
My brain said, "Oh you don't!"
Stomach plaintively said, "taco."
Brain said, "NO! we have leftovers at home!"
Stomach growled, "Taco!"
Brain would not give in, "So Many Leftovers!"
Stomach was sullen.
Brain thought she had a good compromise.
The 'leftovers' turned out to be rum raisin ice cream and Totinos pizza rolls.

Stomach; however, has not forgotten.  "Yes, that's true."

DAY 25 PARENTAL APPROVAL RATING: LOW

The parental approval rating is currently LOW for the middle child who is upset because; 1. I'm not magic 2. I didn't fix the unfixable thing 3. I lost her fitted sheet (I don't know...) 4. it's an hour and a half past bedtime, and she can't find broccoli (which is her favorite stuffed toy.) The rating is only slightly higher for the oldest because I didn't let them sleep in the living room even though they "don't have school tomorrow and it's a special day since it is Lailah's birthday!" (all in one breath)  It's at about 50 percent for the baby at the moment but is predicted to plummet once I take action to put her in bed.

A bad chest cold- hey I just learned that bronchitis is a chest cold.  Yesterday  a nurse in the family said, "Sounds like you might be getting bronchitis!"  I said, "I hope not!  It's just a bad cold."  I thought bronchitis was something much worse than a cold- but I just learned from WEB MD that it is the same as a chest cold- she was right- bronchitis it is- bleh.

It's fall break for me and the girls today and tomorrow. 
D came home and said, "You kept them all day?"
I said, "Yeah." 
He said, "Why didn't you take them to daycare?" 
I said, 'I wasn't thinking straight." 
He said, "Yeah I noticed that you took them for a walk ... in the rain." 
I said, "Well, it was a warm sprinkle, but again, not thinking straight."

 “When you are a Bear of Very Little Brain, and you Think of Things, you find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside you is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it.”

Winnie-the-Pooh Quotes by A.A. Milne - Goodreads

day 24 girl with cat

Girl with Cat by Ammi Phillips  1814

I've been to the Amon Carter Museum several times.  Sometimes this portrait is displayed.  I love it.
The first time I saw it I saw a description that said something to the effect that in the early 1800s there were traveling artists who would paint portraits.  Of course, the artists who were very good could charge more, so they had the upper-class clientele. The ones who were not so good could still find work in the middle class.  Many times the name of the artist was unknown for these middle-class artists. 
This piece was attributed to Ammi Philips- who was a traveling artist.  I'm sure the art people to grouped this painting with Ammi Philips' other works know more about technique and style than I do, but, I didn't see any other portraits which have been attributed to him with these crazy eyes.

The first time I saw it I thought, "Whoa! Look at those crazy eyes on that girl."  I wonder if she really had those crazy eyes, or if the painter was having a really bad day and said, 'Screw it! That's as good as it gets!'" Then I looked at the cat's eyes and I felt it was more likely the second option. That cat has creepy-people eyes. 

I don't know where that girl is looking, or why one eye is bigger.  Maybe she really did look like that- bless her.  It's just that usually artists would romanticize portraits.  They would fix flaws, but this artist's 'leitmotif' (I just learned that word, it means "a recurrent theme throughout a musical or literary composition, associated with a particular person, idea, or situation.") was that he would create “correct likenesses.” 

If this is a 'correct likeness' I guess I'm more worried about the cat than the girl.


1815c MaryAnn Gale

Also attributed to Phillips.   Same chair, similar curtain, strong jaw, but much less crazy-in-the-eyes, although I suppose the right one does look bigger than the left. Looks like her cat ran away.


1820c Nancy Caldwell Church Robinson

Look at her with the book, the chair and the curtain, no cat and really normal-looking eyes!  I totally believe she looked like this.

day 23 5:23 am

There is no good reason to be awake at 5:23 am. The problem is I've been awake for much longer than that- but since I don't have a working watch, my phone wasn't charged and Alexa thought I said, "Set an alarm for 5:15" instead of  "5:50" I decided to get up.

Maybe it's anxiety.  I don't have it together.  I can't get it together.  Every time I even start to get my crap together someone comes along and scatters the crap to the four corners.  That's not even metaphorical. I mean literally, boxes of junk I've gathered to throw away, donate, sort through to redistribute in more logical places- scattered by someone- usually a very short and cute someone, but also sometimes just by me because I'm looking for something frantically.

Laundry, dishes, dirty bathrooms- toys everywhere and of course the scattered junk.  So, when I get up early, what do I do to alleviate the anxiety?  Blog of course.  I have goals to meet.

I'll do useful things too- I'm already charging my phone and my watch.  I'll make some tea and maybe fold some laundry.  It's almost time to get up anyway.

day 22 30 days 365 days

I started my 30 day challenge at the beginning of November last year- this is my pathetic chance to actually finish my 30 days before the end of a year.  I have 20+ days to think of and write 9 more blogs. It's possible.
Ha!
Make that 8 more blogs- I'm counting this one!
There are no further details.  This is my game-my made up rules!

day 21 be nice

Last night I had one of those dreams that keeps you thinking about it all day.  

       I’ve had all kinds of dreams that do this to me.  I’ve had prophetic dreams, dreams which contained people, places or things which symbolized issues and concerns I was facing and dreams like this.  They are dreams from which I wake up with a realization.  I know the realization will be something that I’ll need to ponder- really consider carefully- and possibly take action on.

Last night I dreamed many things- a jumble of places and faces- but one part of the dream has had me thinking.  I dreamed of an old friend.  It is a repeat version of a dream I’ve had several times before. I dreamed that quite by accident I ran into a friend from many years ago.

Now, there are friends you have for many years- whom you love. There are friends who come and go- whom you have loved. Then, no matter how brief the time you spend together, or no matter how long you’ve been apart, there are friends whom you have loved and love- dearly.  It’s an indefinite love- you can’t put your finger on what it was that bound you together in the first place.  It’s improbable. It’s a friendship that was and is and is to come- Seeing this friend in my dreams is a glimpse of heaven- since that is the next place I expect to see him.

In the dream I was walking into a building; he was walking out. He was looking down, so I saw him first.  I stepped into his path and when he looked up I knew he recognized me. I was pleased in the dream because it’s been a really long time. What my dream-self did not register was the look of social panic he expressed, the awkwardness of his greeting, the unstated desire to be anywhere but standing in front of me.

That was it.

I woke up and my conscious brain began to understand what my unconscious brain was trying to tell me.

It was a process- When I first woke up I thought as I have in the past, ‘Well, it was nice to see him again.’

As I thought about it later in the morning-  I realized that he had been trying to avoid me.  I didn’t really like that idea.  I was still thinking about it halfway through the day when I realized that all my dreams that included him were similar, and one of those similarities was that he was trying to avoid me. In the past that had not really bothered me, but today I found myself greatly affected by the idea.

Here I am- all offended  by my unconscious brain’s imagined meeting with a representation of a dude who is just out there somewhere, minding his own business, busy with his own life, and not worried about people he hasn't seen in a million years - neither is he concerned for how my feelings were hurt by what never happed- or that  I was blaming him for it all day.

So now I’m all down about being avoided, and I remember something he used to say.

I would say, “See you tomorrow.”

He would cheerfully say, “Not if I see you first!” and flash a dazzling smile.

Well- there are some people who say things like that and flash a smile- and you know they are kidding.

There are other people who say things like that and you wonder if you have miscalculated the true nature of the relationship.

I had always assumed he was the first kind of person, but now I was beginning to wonder …

Finally, on my way home from work- I began to understand the dream(s); my feelings, and more about life and God in general.

I believe God was showing me what most people feel when they are avoided. Why would God need to show me that? Well probably because I avoid most people a lot of the time.  I also rarely mind being avoided- since if someone else is going to the trouble of avoiding me, it means I don’t need to go to the trouble of avoiding them.  I’m what normal humans call anti-social.  I think it runs in the family.  The struggle is real for extreme introverts. It’s probably the only thing I’m extreme about.  I know many people would say that doesn’t describe me at all.  That’s because I’ve used all my social energies interacting with them (usually at work) so the rest of the time I’m all, “Go away—forever, but not really because I love you. But still-- go away-- for now.”

The take away is this:

I should, (must) make an effort to stop avoiding people. It may make them feel sad, unsure of themselves and relationships in general. So- you know-

Be Nice.

That’s it.

It’s not always deep and dark.  Sometimes it is easy and it just takes a while to get through to my silly brain.

It was and is and is still to come on the other side- I hope that is still true for you.  I truly have all the best wishes and feelings for you- I'm over my bad imaginary situations feelings.  :)
Philos, friend.

day 20- facebook memories

 I stole this from my own facebook-
In academic circles it is self-plagiarism- how stupid ... but not getting into that- 
THIS

Shannon Dawn Burnham

August 9, 2018 · 

Last Christmas

Me: Girls, go find that pumpkin you took upstairs.
Girls : What pumpkin?
Me: The one we had to buy at Thanksgiving because I cooked the Halloween one.

They look at me like I'm crazy. Like they weren't the ones who took the pumpkin upstairs and slept with it like it was a stuffed animal. Like they weren't the ones who had taken all the decorative pumpkins and gourds to make a pumpkin family. They look at me like I'm asking them to recite the names of all the people who drown when the Titanic sank.

Me: Girls, I have all the pumpkins and gourds except one. Now go find it before it gets moldy and ruins your stuff.

They go off to their impossible task.
They come back.

Girls : It's not there.

Daniel goes up with them makes them look through every box and bin.
They all say it's not there.
While cleaning my office today I found the pumpkin.

I FOUND THE PUMPKIN!
Grossly mysterious.

day 19 baby cat

Each girl has had an animal name.  From the time they were little babies, it was just a nickname that I called them.
The first one was a baby monkey- her bright eyes and expressive face said "monkey" to me.
The second one was a baby bird- (an angry bird) she was always squawking at me for more food.
The third one is a baby cat- she is excellent at both adoring you and ignoring you. She will curl up next to you with all the love, and she'll knock things off the table just to see what will happen next.

The baby cat has been sick for about a week- for about a week she has been my constant companion.  Whatever she's doing, she's doing it right next to me.  Eating, sleeping, crying, screaming, spitting out medication- by my side all the way.  She will sometimes allow her father to take over- but then back to me.

Since she's been sick, her sleep schedule has been way off- but today she woke up at a normal time, and she was ready for a nap at a normal time- the problem was I wasn't quite ready- so she wandered off down the hall by herself.  I heard her in the bedroom, "Mama! Mama!"  By the time I got down the hall she had climbed in bed, tucked herself in, and gone to sleep.

She's feeling better, but still not 100%.

day 18 another time, jonny

It was another dream . . . a dream of an old friend.  A friend from another time- another century- a time when writing letters was a non-retro form of communication- a sweet time.

So- JonnyReb this is how we met again this morning.  We were at an event- in a way -an event for you.  You were leaving with a group for a medical mission. 

I was part of a support group. We saw each other and wanted to talk, but there were so many people, we didn't have the opportunity.  It's not that we couldn't talk in front of other people, what would we have to say except, "Long time!" "What have you been doing?" "It's good to see you!" and "Have I told you today that you're my friend?" It's been a long time sweet friend.

Finally, just before you left there was a moment for a smile and a hug, "Goodbye, good to see you."
"I've missed you, good luck." And through the exchange, we knew so much more about one another.  We knew so much had changed for each of us.  We were living different lives.  We were so different then- and now even more so. 

What did we have?

That's a sad realization for anyone at any time. 

But it wasn't as sad as it might have been.  Even in the dream, I knew- there's a season for everything.  Some seasons are long, some are short.  A short season of friendship is sweet.  A life long relationship is sweet.  The little one, who spent a miserable weekend with raging ear infections in both ears, still hot with fever, snuggled up next to me in the bed- she's sweet.  The losses and the gains, the wins and defeats, the ups and downs, and all the plateaus- work together to make one sweet life.  Sometimes bittersweet, sometimes hard to swallow- always what's mine and what I can make of it, regardless of what others decide to do, what judgments they make about me or what I do, even the mistakes I make- all together to make life

sweet.

day 17 dream a little dream

Every vacation day seems to have its own reasons to stay in bed a little longer- we got to bed late, my little one had a bad dream and couldn't get back to sleep, but this morning it was a dream that kept me in bed. 

I was dreaming about my little boy.  He was blue eyes and blonde hair.  His little round face smiled at me, he was about three years old and he was beautiful. 

In the dream, I could see him and I could touch him.  I was his mama, but he wasn't mine.  His eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed- he had a fever.  I needed to hold him, but he wasn't mine.  I couldn't take him home. 

I wanted to give him a gift to keep him company in the place that wasn't home, not my home, not our home.  I wanted to give him a toy to hold, but I didn't know what to give him.  I didn't know what he liked. How can a mother not know what her son likes?  I had to ask his caretaker- a kind sympathetic man.  I had to ask, "Does my boy like trucks? dinosaurs? sharks? What does he like?  Why don't I know?  I should know!  I'm his mother.  I should know what he likes!"

The man said, "He will like what you give him.  He'll like anything you want to give him."

I woke up, but I closed my eyes again.  I needed to see him again.  I needed to give him something to hold- because I can't hold him.

I wish I could have held him- even in a little dream.

Day 16 not evil hair

My seven-year-old was chattering to me the other day. She jumps from topic to topic like a squirrel on crack, so sometimes I give up on following the flow of consciousness she's producing.  I heard her say, "I like your hair." 
I said, "Thanks."
She said, " ... chatter, chatter, chatter, but it doesn't mean you're evil."
Me: "Wait, what?  Did you just say I was evil?"
Her: "No, I said you're not evil, because of your hair."
Me: "Why would my hair be evil."
Her: "Well, you have the white stripe."
Me: "Yeah- I do."
Her: "The evil people on TV have a white stripe in their hair."
Me: "They
do?"
Her: "Yeah, but you aren't evil.  You are nice, except when you are mean to me."
Me: "Wait, what? ..."

day 15- 10,000 bees not in the greenhouse

In my imagination, I'm a gardener.  I grow tomatoes and peppers, sunflowers, and rather ambitiously I even grow (in my very fertile imagination) loofas.  I just found out a few years ago that you could grow loofas in a garden.  I had previously thought them to be a rather unfortunate sea creature who had given its life in the name of exfoliation.

In my reality, I'm a serial plant killer.  Every year I either plant seeds or buy a few plants.  My seeds sprout dutifully, then the carnage.  I occasionally coax a plant into flowering. I very rarely manage to convince a plant to produce fruit.  I generally end the summer with a 'crop' of two small tomatoes and a shriveled up (single) okra finger.

I bought a composter a few years ago.  I composted all kinds of stuff.  I wasn't a good compost master.  I would forget to add 'browns.'  I would forget to add water. I would put in large bits of stuff.  (I kind of wanted to know what would happen to them.)  There were maggots in my compost- I don't know if that was good or not.  I should have given it a starter, I should have given it worms.  I should have cared ... meh.  I'm a terrible composter.

I bought a small collapsible greenhouse this spring.  We got it put together and placed neatly outside my kitchen window where I could attend to it more easily than the composter (which was inconveniently out in the back yard.)  I had a few dead plants in there.  It was made out of plastic canvas, and metal rods.  It was very tent-like.  It had been blown around in the wind a few times, so it was anchored down with two cinder blocks.  I hadn't used it much in the spring, as we were late in getting it ready, but I thought surely I'll have use for it in the fall when the temps start dipping and I need a place to keep my not-dead-yet plants covered.

Last week I learned there was a beehive of probably 10,000 bees living in my composter.  While I don't know the exact date of my last interaction with the composter, I know it was between 6-8 weeks ago.  Bees can swarm and start creating their hive in a matter of days- so even if it hadn't been that long this could have happened when I wasn't looking.  Once we realized the bees had moved in I called a bee remover (and keeper).  When he saw my composter he said, "Oh, those are good little composters, but they are even better bee hives!"  and "this is probably the 8th removal I've made from models just like that."  and "I can take the bees out, but most likely other bees will move in, since they will smell the last bees and figure it is a good place."  Ugh!  For $50 and the cost of the composter, my bees have been moved to a nearby farm to live happily ever after.

The story of the greenhouse is less redemptive.  I went outside this morning after a 'microburst' wind storm last night.  and I saw a cinder block in the place where my greenhouse used to be.  Just one cinder block, and no greenhouse.  It wasn't blown over, or broken, or blown out of place, it was straight up gone.  My husband drove all over the neighborhood looking for my greenhouse.  It was not in our yard, the neighbors' yards, the street, the drainage ditch, it was not here, it was not there, NO! it was not anywhere!

What this means to me is that either 1. I should give up gardening or 2. find a way to get a better greenhouse and a better composter.  (And figure out a way to stop murdering my plant babies.)

DAY 14 SHORT STORIES

Many years ago I bought a book called Zombies vs Unicorns.  I bought it because it was called Zombies vs Unicorns. I was sure that I needed that book on my bookshelf regardless of its content.  The title was enough for me.  The cover is pretty great too.  Not so long ago I decided I should read this very amusingly titled book.  I opened it up to find it was a collection of short stories which alternated between zombies and unicorns.  Well, short stories have never been my favorite sort of reading, but I started in any way. Each story is prefaced by a note from the editors commenting on which side of the zombie/unicorn battle has a better chance and briefly commenting on the merit of the content of the story as it supports one side or the other. 

The first story, "Highest Justice," by Garth Nix is about a unicorn which can bring life back to the dead.  At first, the dead person seems whole and hale, but as time passes the blessing is reduced and the dead begins to fall back into decay becoming a zombie. I thought that was a pretty clever start.  There was a virgin princess, a dead queen, and a cheat king- all great stuff- and it wrapped up nicely at the end.

It was in the second story when I started to remember that I never really liked short story collections.

"Love Will Tear Us Apart," by Alaya Johnson was about a young zombie who was only partially infected- he wanted to eat people, but he could control his hunger for a time-- ok.  The descriptions of the zombie hunger were clever.  Since he was a lucid zombie (good twist) he could talk about his feelings and desires.  The zombie character was well developed. The love interest and disapproving dad combo a bit week.  I was disappointed by the ending. The ending could have been the beginning of another
story or book, but I wouldn't have committed to reading it. 

"Purity Test," by Naomi Novik was a tongue-in-cheek story about a modern day unicorn who went to NYC to find a virgin to help him rescue the kidnapped baby unicorns, which were being held in the basement of a brownstone.  She kept trying to tell the unicorn she wasn't a virgin, but instead, she was a down-on-her-luck, drunk, veteran.  "La-la-la!"  shouted the unicorn.  Not knowing is half the battle. It didn't require much investment.  The story was funny and short, the characters were sarcastic and piquant.  The ending was not unexpected, but it did wrap up the story satisfactorily. 

"Bougainvillea" was a really good read about an island population which was ruthless in its attempts to keep the community alive and keep the zombie hordes out.  The characters and setting are well developed and I thought, 'I would read a book of this.'  So, when the ending came I was disappointed not because the story was lacking, but because I wished there were more.

"A Thousand Flowers" by Margo Lanagan would have certainly been my favorite if I had not read the preface. I felt betrayed by one piece of information- which if I had not known would have made a beautiful surprise ending. I will say no more so as not to ruin it for you if you want to read it yourself.

"Children of the Revolution" - meh. I mean the writing was okay the generalizations may be more appealing to a younger audience- but the storyline was expected and the ending was a big disappointment to me.  I was reading the story to find the answer to a different question than the one the ending provided.

I'm halfway through the book.  I just finished "The Care and Feeding of Your Baby Killer Unicorn."  I enjoyed this story.  The author puts an interesting twist on the unicorn myth. The world is one I would like to see explored in a novel form.  The story ends as if it were the beginning of another story.  UGH!  Come on Diana Peterfreund!  You left me hanging! 

And I can finally articulate why I've never enjoyed reading short stories.  The ones which aren't good or even mediocre have wasted my time.  Why did I  invest my time in this story with underdeveloped characters, a predictable storyline and an unsatisfying ending?  I feel disappointed.

The good ones draw me in quickly.  I feel involved and invested in this story.  I love the character development, the story is interesting, the setting is unique.  When I get the end I want more!  I feel disappointed because it is over.

The great ones have witty, full characters, a storyline which keeps me guessing, a setting that is beautifully described, and a twisty- unexpected, fulfilling and perfect in its completeness ending (which nobody has ruined by pushing out details in the preface.)

And for me- these stories are very difficult to find- I'm not sure it is worth wading through an anthology of short stories to discover the one which I find great.

Day 13

A conversation with my preschooler about black history month (before I knew it was a conversation about black history month)

Her: My teacher said I could be Rosie Barker.

Me: Who’s Rosie Barker?

Her: She was a woman who got in the wrong lane.

Me: She got in the wrong lane?  What does that mean?

Her: She was supposed to be in the black lane, but she got in the white lane.  Then the police arrested her.

Me: Do you mean Rosa Parks?

Her: That’s what I said.  My teacher said I could be her, and I got a cookie because I was paying attention.

Me: Oh- that’s good.

Her: Conner got to be the other one.

Me: What other one?

Her: The first one.

Me: I don’t know what you mean.

Her: He lived in the white house.

Me: You mean the president?  George Washington?

Her: No.  My friend Trinity was going to be him.  She got a cookie for paying attention too.  But she didn’t want to be him.  She wanted to me Michelle- because she’s a girl.

Me: Trinity was Michelle  . . . . Obama?

Her: Yes, and Conner was the other one, but he didn’t get a cookie.

Me: Conner was President Obama right?

Her: Yeah- that, but he’s a boy.

day 12 the perfect day

Today is the perfect day to stay in bed.  I got up this morning to take the girls to school.  I noticed the very winter weather of 33 degrees and raining.  There was a light film of ice on my car, and beautiful, crystal drop-cicles forming on the tree branches.  I considered a little exploratory shopping- but settled on going home and getting back in bed.  I slept for another 3 and a half hours and when I got up the winter rain was still pattering on the windows and roof.  The tree branches are still weighed down with a thousand little prisms, the temperature is still just above snow.

Today may be an excellent day to try out one of those curbside pickup services at the grocery store tool.  Truly, when one has no agenda- every day holds all the promise you could desire.

DAY 11 Megalodon attack

I could call this day two of vacation bed ...  but let's move on. 
Here is a conversation between my 5-year-old and 6-year-old girls while in the car yesterday.  Unfortunately, I do not have visuals to accompany this post.

6:  What's that?
5:. It's an  'X.'
6: No, it's not.  an 'X' does this, that is a 'K.'
5: Oh- I wanted to make an 'X'
6: What's that?
5: That's my friend Journey.
6: What happened to her?
5: She got attacked by a shark. (very matter of fact storytelling)
6: (excited by this news)  What kind of shark?!
5: A megalodon.
6: A megalodon!  Did she cry?
5: No.
6: NO!  What? What did she do?  (seems pretty concerned about this situation)
5: She just called her mom.
6:  Called her mom!?  No way!  She would have died!  She has to go to the hospital! 
5:  Nope, she just called her mom.
6:  That's not real. Anyway, megalodons aren't alive anymore. (somewhat perturbed by this story)
5:  (nothing to say) (totally indifferent to her sister's rollercoaster emotions)
6: What's wrong with Journey's eyes?
5: Shark bite.
6: What kind of shark? Was it the megalodon again?
5:  No, I don't know,  just a shark, a grey and white one.
6: Grey and white?  Maybe it was a GREAT WHITE SHARK! (very excited about this idea)
5: Maybe, yeah- it probably was a great white. (willing to concede)
6:  What's that?
5: It's a 'Y.'
6: I don't think so, 'Ys' so down like this.  That's an 'X.'
5: Oh, ok. I thought it was a 'Y.'

My question as I was driving was first, "Megalodon? really?" and second- what the heck kind of picture did my child draw?  I know it clearly included another child who had endured multiple shark attacks and a few misshapen letters of the alphabet, but what else was going on? Most girls just draw rainbows and flowers!

Imagination is wonderful. :)

DAY 10 vacation bed

I had a really hard time getting out of bed this morning.  There were a lot of factors at work.  The biggest factor being I AM A LAZY PERSON.  Sure, I've been sick (with a cold) for a while.  I'm tired in general, I'm on vacation, I totally lack motivation, I knew there was nothing I HAD to do, my bed was so warm and comfy.  So, after I did get up at 6:00 and bundle the kids all off to school and daycare, I went back to bed at 7:30ish and didn't get up until almost 11:00.  But, it is still morning, so I can claim I got up this morning . . . 
Sometimes I think I would like to be a housewife- then I have days like this and I think, I wouldn't be so good at it after all- I would just be in bed all the time. :) Now I'm up- I have a list, and here we goooo!

Day 9 work clothes

Did I come to work today wearing blue monkey socks, black sweat pants, a purple tank top under an orange blouse, with a pink scarf and a blue sweater?  The answer is yes. 

The reason is that I just don't care.  I am experiencing my yearly cold/allergies-  which if left unchecked will turn into a respritory infection. 

I'm coughing and snotting, I'm hot and cold, I'm tired and I have a sore throat.  I've lost my voice, which is bad news for a teacher- and I just have to make it through next week to recieve my much anticipated break. 

** counting the days **

day 8 Thanksgiving 2018

Worst 30-day

challenge blogger ever!

I actually totally forgot about my 30-day challenge.  That’s how I am.  (*squirrel*) So easily distracted. 

I had 24 people over for Thanksgiving.  1- 13 pound turkey- fried, 2 racks of ribs-smoked, 1- 12 pound ham- precooked- barely warm-  74 rolls,  3 kinds of cranberry sauce, carrots,  mashed potatoes, broccoli rice (cheese) casserole, spinach casserole, candied sweet potatoes, roasted brussels sprouts, cornbread dressing, and ‘frog eye salad’  all before be started  on the 2 pumpkin pies, pecan pie, apple pie, pumpkin bread, and cookies. All made possible by a bottle and a half of wine- shared by only my sister-in-law and me.

Actually, it was all potluck style- which in my opinion is the only way to host Thanksgiving.  

day 7 tiny shoes

My niece recently lost her son.  He was born way too soon.  He lived only a few hours and passed to heaven from his mama's arms.  She grieves deeply for him.  She grieves in a way only a mother who has lost a baby can understand.  Fathers grieve, and grandparents grieve, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins all grieve.  Friends and other family members grieve with a mother- but a mother's grief is a hole that can never be filled.  It is literally an emptiness inside of her.  It is empty in her womb and empty in her breasts.  Her arms are empty, but her heart is so full to bursting.  It is full of indescribable sorrow that makes her forget to breathe, it is full of anger, and questions and it is so full of love for the tiny person she carried inside her body.   She loved him because he was.  She loved every moment of him.

Then he was gone.  He shouldn't be gone.

He shouldn't be gone.

Today I was at the thrift store.  I saw a tiny pair of baby boy shoes.  They looked new, but they were stiff with age. I wanted to buy them, but I put them back on the shelf.

They broke my heart.

I had a son who never wore shoes.

My grief lives in me.  It's not always raw- as it was at first.  It can still take me down.

He shouldn't be gone.

Michael Eugene Burnham 2.8.16

Day 6 Advent boxes

When all the school supplies were on clearance I had this great idea.  I should get all the kids crayons, markers, colored pencils, pencils, a drawing pad, glue etc and give them an "Art Advent" box for Christmas.  I tell you I am full of excellent ideas that require quite a lot of prep work.  So, I spend much of my weekend sorting tiny buttons and pompoms into project size containers.  I think it will be fun for the kids, and me as I'm *planning* on making instructional videos for most of the projects.  I think each video will be less than five minutes. 

There are many things to do this time of year- I would like to find a good Santa for pictures- ASAP after Thanksgiving so that I can get them some pictures printed and send out Christmas cards earlyish this year.  I always get about halfway through and say 'screw it- I don't even care anymore.'  But- baby's first Christmas and all- gotta make the effort.

Soon it will be time to get out the Christmas tree(s) and nativity sets.  I've got a thing about trees.  I resist getting a big tree (it's always little people with little fingers wanting to touch things and pull them down- I might be able to do it next year.) So- I have full on collection of little trees. It's like a mini forest up in here by the time we're done.  I also collect nativities- I think there were a dozen plus up last year.  I'll clear off the bookshelves and the mantle for them.

I've already got my Christmas socks on.  I start legit Christmas shopping in July.  This is what it's all about.

day 5 FAIL

So- 30 day challenge- who said it had to be 30 days in a row?  Well- probably me.  That was the intention. 

The other day when I realized that I had forgotten to write, after I had snuggled into my bed, before I closed my eyes,  I thought, 'Some people would get out of bed and grab the computer and get to writing. . . some people would do that ... not me (close my eyes).  Never me.'

Then the next night when I realize again that I had forgotten to write again, after I turned off the light, before I had gotten in bed, I though 'Some people would turn the light back on and go grab the computer and get writing  . . . some people would do that . . . not me (get in bed). Never me.'

Oh what would I have written? 

I should have a list so I don't forget my ideas:
Being the dummy in the room
My burden of stuff
Gill Village and government cheese

I'll need to think of more, because at it turnes out, not every day is an adventure.

day 4 midterm elections

Voted.  Talked to the girls about voting.  Maybe they will grow up to be more politically active citizens than their mother.

Going to bed- gotta go to bed- politics wear me out.

Palpable not the same as a papal bull.

day three: pumpkin spice chai latte

I was wandering through the grocery store the other day when I saw on the shelf "Pumpkin Spice Chai Latte Concentrate."

It has natural AND other flavors. 

Now- I'm not always a pumpkin spice gal- but I am a chai latte gal, and this chai concentrate was marked as $1.00.  I thought, 'for $1.00 I'm willing to try pumpkin spice chai.'

So, I brought it home, I poured myself a glass, and I latte-ed it up.  I walked into the living room and announced, "This is a pumpkin spice chai latte." 
My husband said, "You are so white."
I said, "Yup!"
I sat down and took a sip. 
I immediately questioned my whiteness.  I mean, I know what the DNA tests said and all, but this pumpkin spice thing seemed like a pretty legit test of white-middle-class-American-ness.

I wasn't passing the pumpkin spice test.
This stuff was so bad. 
It made me think that possibly everything I thought I knew about myself was wrong. 
But the crazy thing was -I kept drinking it.  I drank it to the halfway point thinking- 'Maybe it will get better,' 'I need to finish this or else I've wasted a glass of milk,' and 'This tastes like a chemical pumpkin threw up in a cup of liquid that was trying really hard to be Indian chai.'

Then- miraculously at the halfway point (maybe because some discerning brain cells and taste buds died) I started thinking, 'It's not that bad.'  'It's only as bad as regular chai concentrate.' 'Pumpkin spice, you don't un-define me!'

Then I thought, 'Wait, what just happened to me?  Who am I?  Who was I before?  Who have I become?  I certainly was not born into pumpkin spice latte concentrate.  Or was I? '

I question now if I can go through all that again for another glass.  Maybe it should be named "Emotional rollercoaster of undefining everything you ever thought you were, then turning it around and reasserting that original assessment of self, but leaving questions about self-identification pumpkin spice latte concentrate."

FYI I am a chai snob, sometimes I gotta slum it. I usually regret it soon afterward.

day 2- the ketchup of God

Little known facts about ketchup- it was originally a Chinese fish sauce- made from the brine of pickled fish.  It migrated to England where the main ingredient became mushrooms-  Later in the American colonies, tomato ketchup became the in thing.  Recipes until the 1850s included anchovies.

Ugh!

Of all things- I have to say anything even remotely fish is kryptonite to me.

Fortunately for me and my fries, ketchup is now blissfully fish free.  But this does answer of my old questions as to why some packaging says "tomato ketchup"  as if there were another kind of ketchup.

How very American of me.

To the point---

My church asked that we bring some nonperishable foods to service today to share with a family in which both parents had recently lost their jobs.  I was looking in the pantry this morning to see what I could share that wasn't too weird, or out of date.  The "New England Clam Chowder" from  2012- nope.  Saurkraut- nope.  Keylime jelly?  Probably not. 

I pushed the ketchup aside.  I picked out some green beans, some pineapple, moved the ketchup out of the way again.  I asked myself-"should I put that ketchup in?" 
Then I answered myself with, "No, I need that ketchup, I'll find something else for them."  I put in some macaroni noodles, pushed the ketchup aside, a few cans of soup, pushed the ketchup aside.

Then I looked at the ketchup again.  It was looking back at me, as if to say, "I think I should go."
I said, "No, you're my ketchup.  I need you.  I'm almost out!"
It said, "You don't need me, you need to learn to give away more than what you don't want.  You need to give things that others need."

I'm all, "Ugh!  Fine!  Get in the bag, ketchup!"

Did that family NEED ketchup?  I'm going to tell myself yes.

More importantly, I NEEDED to be reminded to do what I tell my children to do daily.  LISTEN and OBEY.  I know that if I had a strong, inexplicable urge to do/not do something- it's not really inexplicable.  It's God saying- LISTEN and OBEY.

Even when it's "just" ketchup.

30 day challege

I decided to give myself a thirty-day challenge starting November 1. Obviously, it's already been challenging, since it is now November 3 and I'm just now starting my thirty-day challenge.   Since November is 'write a novel' month I thought a great thirty-day challenge would be to write a blog entry every day for thirty days. 

Thirty days can start any day- so here I begin.

On Halloween day Eowyn said, "Tomorrow is the Day of the Dead."
I said, "Yup."
She said, "So, what are we going to do about it?"
I said, "Nothing."
She said, "Why not!?"
I said, "Because We're not Mexican."
She said, "But, I speak Spanish!"
I said, "Oh- right, so what do you think we should do about it?"
She said, "We'll need orange flowers, some special food and I think we should watch Coco."
I said, "Oh, so what kind of special food should we get?"
She said,  "Tacos."
I said, "I think I can deal with tacos and Coco. Is that enough?"
She said, "Yeah!  That sounds great!"

And so it was- tacos and Coco. 

Then I talked to my students about Day of the Dead they said, it is really two day, November 1 and 2.  So, last night we had a second movie night and watched The Book of Life. 

Maybe next year we can be more on top of things- do a little more research- get some flowers, go to a graveyard- make some sugar skulls. 

Someday we'll go to Mexico to see the celebration.

I dream of roaches

So I had this dream the other night: 

There was a giant (like six inches long) roach crawling on my wall.  I wasn’t scared.  I was kind of mad at it.  It crawled to a doorway, pointed it’s butt to the floor and pooped.  Not a tiny roach sized poop, but a big juicy child size one.  It splatted on the floor. I said, “You better pick that up!”  The roach turned into a boy.    He glared at me, but pick up the poop.  As he walked toward the trash he squished the poop in his hand.  Then he turned around and looked at me and threw the poop down on the floor.

Ugh!

I told D about the ‘magical pooping roach’ dream.  I kept thinking about it all day. What could it mean?  Nothing good for sure- roaches and poop (and bad children) what good could come of it?  I decided to look up the symbolism of roaches in dreams.  There were quite a lot of roach dreams scenarios listed.  Unbelievably, I found this.

https://www.auntyflo.com/dream-dictionary/roach-cockroach

What does seeing a cockroach pooping in your dream signify? Poop is considered as a symbol of cleaning up your life. Therefore to dream of cockroaches and feces denotes prosperity, wealth, and financial security.  A dream where you see a cockroach pooping means that you are going to meet with a gracious and powerful individual who will take care of you together with your family.  Your financial burden is going to be lifted up even though it is not clear what these individuals will want from you.

Followed immediately by this:

Dreaming of a person turning into cockroaches? As symbols, cockroaches can represent dirt and undesirable qualities.  To see your family members turning into cockroaches, it signifies negative energies which could be affecting relationships in life. On a positive, a cockroach represents resilience and longevity. In this dream scenario, this could mean that you are going to be strengthened as a family after facing a period of challenges which will make you to bond with each other and appreciate one another. To see a person change into a cockroach indicates that you need to think of good ideas to overcome problems.

The internet has an answer for everything.

The age of Alexa

Four months ago we turn three rooms in our house to ‘smart rooms’ with Alexa controlled lights. They still have to turn on the lights at the light switch in every other room.

When we got home from church last Sunday we discovered the internet was out.

 WWWWHHHHAAAATTT!!!!???
That’s what my kids were thinking.
They said, ‘Can we use our Kindles?’
I said, ‘Sure, but they aren’t going to do what you want, because the internet is out.’
Them: ‘It will be fine!’
Me: ‘OK’
2.3 minutes later
Them: ‘This thing isn’t working!’
Them: ‘Can we watch Netflix?’
Me: ‘The internet is out.’
Them: ‘Can we watch a movie?’
Me: ‘The internet is out.’ (we only have streaming movies)
Them: ‘We want to call Noni on Alexa!’
Me: ‘The internet is out.’
Them: ‘Alexa, how long is the internet going to be out?’
Alexa: ‘I’m having trouble connecting right now.’
Them: ‘Ugh!’
Me: ‘Go turn on that light for me.’
Them: ‘What light?’
Me: ‘The living room light.’
Them: ‘Why doesn’t Alexa do it?’
Me: ‘The INTERNET IS OUT! Now go turn on the light!’
Them: ‘I don’t know how to turn on the light.’
Me: ‘Yes you do!  Go flip the light switch.’
Them: ‘What’s a light switch?’
Me: ‘That white rectangle right there by the door.’
Them: ‘This thing?’
She looks at me with this disgusted expression on her face, as if to say, “Mother, dare you turn my good upbringing to ruination by asking me to do such a plebian act as ‘turning on a light’ with my own hand?”
Me: ‘Yes! Touch it.’
The lights come on.
Them: ‘Wow!’ Honestly surprised by this turn of events.
Me: Get out of here!

waiting for the locksmith

Yesterday I locked my keys in my car.  It's not easy with a keyless entry system, but I've managed it more than once.  The first time my small children were buckled in their seatbelts and the remote start was on.  Some kind firemen helped me out of a jam that time.  It's a Ford with an entry code which I didn't know at the time.  I got the code, and promptly forgot all about it- until yesterday when I realized that it was also locked in my car.  Useful.

While I waited for the locksmith to come break into my car I was thinking about my first car, my 1980 Toyota Celica. I thought of it because I used to lock myself out of that car all the time.  I learned early on that it wasn't really a problem though because any similar make and year's car would open my doors.  Yeah, it made me feel super secure- any late 70s to mid 80s Toyota or Honda key could open my door.  Yeah, it also solved my problems several times.

After I started thinking about that little key detail, it made me start thinking about all the adventures I had in my first car.

What was your first car?  What adventures did you have?  You should take some time to write it down, or otherwise record it.

I remember my grandfather telling me about his first car.  I don't remember what the exact car was, but it was an early model Ford (of course.)  He said he would have to crank it up every time he wanted to start it. If he went too fast, which he loved to do, the wheels would literally fly off.

Imagine what your grandkids will think of your first car stories.

just a day at the park

I took the girls to the park yesterday. I was sitting on a bench reading a book when two boys about 11 years old rode up on their bikes.  The first one said, “We can’t find our mom.  Have you seen her?” 

I said, “What does she look like?”

The very white skinned, blond haired boy said, “She’s wearing a black and white striped shirt, and she has black hair, and she’s black.”

In my mind: ‘What  ….?!  How …. ?!  Doesn’t matter.’

Outloud: “Sorry, I haven’t seen her.”

Boy: “You haven’t seen her?  She was climbing a tree, and she fell out.  We rode our bikes to go get help.  When we came back we couldn’t find her.  You didn’t see anybody fall out of a tree?”

In my mind: ‘Curiouser and curiouser …’

Outloud: “No, you should probably ask someone who has been here longer. I just got here.”

Boy:  “We just can’t find him.  Well, he’s really our dad. We just say mom because he looks like a woman.  He’s transgender.”

In my mind:  ‘Two very white boys can’t find their black transgender dad who fell out of a tree at the park… where are my children?  Is this some kind of distraction tactic so some  nutball can steal my children?’

Scanning and finding my children playing…

Outloud:  “No- I haven’t seen anything like that.”

Boy: “Okay, we’ll keep looking.”

Is this grammar okay?

Sometimes as instructors we hear, see, say things and think, 'Is that real?  Can I say that? Would anyone else say that?  There must be a grammar rule about that."

Here's the questions a fellow instructor said one of her students had written this sentence for future perfect: "I will have been done by 3:00."  She was questioning if that sentence was grammatically correct.  She knew you can say "I will have finished by 3:00" but the part that was throwing her off was the "been done."  The question was, does that "been" make it passive?

Another instructor said, No- that's not a good sentence.  I said, Yes, it's a good sentence.
Here's why:
You can say "I will be done."  'I' is the subject, 'will' is the future marker, 'be' is the main verb and 'done' is an adjective.  It is similar to "I will be happy."
Seems like the same should be said for "I will have been done by 3:00."  'I' is subject 'will is the future marker, 'have' + past participle of the main verb 'be' is perfect, 'done' is adjective 'by 3:00' is a prepositional phrase.

They both looked at me quite skeptically and walked away.

I said, "I would say it! (if I ever used future perfect.)

Virginity test

I was about 8 weeks pregnant.  I went to the doctor for my first check pregnancy check up and the nurse did her normal weight, blood pressure, questions about medications, then right before I left the room she said,
"Do you want  to do the virginity test?"
I narrowed my eyes thinking, 'it seems a little late for that!' But knowing how often I mis-hear things I said, "I'm sorry, what?"
She looked a me a little skeptically- and repeated, "Do you want to do the Progenity test? It's a genetics test for the baby."
I said, "Oh! Yeah- yeah that sounds fine."

lazy knitter

Here's a vignette of me at the height of my laziness.  I've been crocheting a lot lately. I want to knit something small and easy.  I look around the chair where I'm sitting.  I see a pair of size 5 needles. That's pretty small.  I look again.  I see a ball of white acrylic yarn I bought to finish a crochet project (that I'm currently not finishing). It will work for these needles. I pick up my laptop, which is also near my chair. I don't want to do anything so drastic as stand up, or go to the next room for heaven's sake.  I find a free pattern for a bear online. No printing- knitting from the screen- I start "nervous movie knitting" to Rouge One. Nervous knitting is when I am watching a movie that's kind of intense, and knitting something not so intense at the same time.  I give 2/3 attention to the movie and 1/3 attention to the knitting. Sure I miss a few details in the movie, and I may lose count of my stitches- but I feel pretty accomplished by the end of the movie if I haven't completely lost the plot and/or my place in the pattern.  I got almost a quarter of a bear out of that movie.

Learning about my father

I have always had a very minimal interest in my father. Today I learned his middle name was Martin, he was barely taller than me, and he had brown eyes. How unexpected.

the cano talker

When Eowyn was 1.5-2 years old she was a talker.  (She still is.) She talked about everything.  I wrote down some of the more ridiculous conversations. She talked about bananas and babies and kitties and trucks.  I remembered last night she also talked about volcanos.  She was really concerned about volcanos and what destruction might come as a result of an erupting volcano.  I'm not really sure why this was such a big concern considering we live in Texas, where as far as I know, there are not, nor have there ever been any volcanos.
We would be driving down the highway, and she would see a huge pile of dirt which was going to be used for construction and say, "Mama! cano!"
And I would say, "No, that's just a pile of dirt."
To which she would reply, "No! Cano!"
I knew better than to continue an argument with a two-year-old so I would say, "Okay, it's a cano."
She would be very worried and say, "I too like canos!" I don't know why, but "too" often took the place of a negative marker for her. I would say, "Yes, I know.  But don't worry, that cano won't get you."
She would say, "Canos (s)carry!  I too like canos!"

I  didn't know her being so verbal at that age was unusual until I met more 1.5-2 year olds.  Many of them are still working on answering questions like, "What does a cow say?" I had a child worried about the danger of volcanic activity in the area.

At the doctor's office they ask developmental questions like, "Can your child use original  sentences of three or more words?" I remember sitting in the office thinking about that question.  I was running through some of the most common things she would say.  I decided she could, but wasn't convinced that I had heard much evidence of it.

That evening when we got home she walked into the dining room and said, "I wanna sit in my highchair and eat apple." I thought, 'well, at least I gave the right answer on the doctor's form."

This past week we had this conversation.
"Mama, your arms are a little bit fat."
"I know.  I need to go on a diet."
"What's that?"
"It's when you don't eat any candy or cake or desert."
"Oh! I'm sorry!" (very heartfelt)
"Mama, when it's your birthday, and you have a cake if you are unfat you can eat it, but if you aren't unfat you can just look at it okay?"
"Okay."

#Nuggets from my children

It would be incorrect to say that Lailah doesn't talk as much as Eowyn.  She does talk just as much, she uses far more made up words, and the real words she does use are sometimes hard to decipher- but she does talk/verbalize easily as much.

Sometimes while we are watching TV she's just sitting on the sofa humming.  Not humming tune, really just buzzing.  Making noise- sometimes robot noises "beep-bloop-bloop-beep."  Sometimes she will come up with an urgent story which must needs be told- about a purple dragon.

If you ask her who ate the last cookie, or how her toy got broken, she's say, "Maybe it was a monster."

She decided just after her third birthday that she would be potty trained, but before that she flat out refused to participate in the training exercises which I wanted her to perform.  I tried to transition her to pull-ups by telling her that diapers were for babies.  "Do you want to be a baby."
Lailah, "yes!"
Me, "No! You want to be a big girl!"
Lailah, "No, me baby!"
Me, "Well, no more diapers. You are going to wear these pull-ups now!"
Lailah, "That diaper!"
Me, "No it's not!  It's like panties see!" (Showing her how pull-ups are connected at the sides and diapers are not connected."
Lailah, "Do this," (pulls the pull-up sides apart at the velcro seams) "now it diaper!"
Me, "Give me that!  This is a pull-up!"

Jacket

I found a dog.  She was running around on the road- she looked hungry and it was cold outside, so I picked her up.  She came right to me.  I put up some posters, I took her to the vet to see if she had a chip.  (No.) I even posted her picture on craigslist. I got several calls "That's not my dog, but if you don't find her people, I'd like to take her."
My children pretty much immediately said the same thing.
Eowyn said,  "Mama, can I name her?"
I said, "Well, she's not really our dog, so when we find her family we will give her back."
Eowyn: I know, but she needs a name now.
Me: Okay, what do you want to name her?
Eowyn: How about Red.
Me: But she's white and brown, why would you name her Red?
Eowyn: Okay, then let's name her Jacket.
Me: Jacket?
Eowyn: Yeah!
Me: Okay?

 Now we have Jacket, who is super cute, but NOT HOUSE TRAINED at all. Pooping on the floor makes her so less cute.

I have a hard time remembering Jacket's name.  Our friend has a similar looking dog named Patches. Sometimes she is Patches-
Biscuit, Jumper, Pocket, Brisket, Cookie, Locket, Packet! What is that dog's name again?
Jacket.
Welcome Jacket.  I think she's a Papillion or Papillion mix.

animal heads

Despite the fact that heads, indeed any body parts without the remainder of the body, freak me out, I bought this book.  It was the zebra.  The zebra calls to me.  I must have a crocheted zebra head mounted on a wall.  Then, possibly I must have a unicorn head mounted on another wall.

I am one week into my winter break, and I have accomplished (satisfactorily) very little.

I'm supposed to be packing, sorting, cleaning ... instead I have finished a baby blanket, two doll sized sweaters, and the head, arms, and legs of a smallish gold monster.  I would have done his body, but I've packed my stuffing.  I must stuff the head before I go on with the body.

I have ordered and received several books instructing me on how  to create incredibly useless items (see left.)  I need to continue to remind myself that I should certainly have less, but I keep buying more.
Then I end up with a crochet zebra head on my wall. Life is weird.

not the dishes

Today I did not do the dishes as I had planned. (as I have put it off far too long) Instead, I spent way too long cruising the internet for information about my maternal grandmother's family. What I've learned- most of what I thought I knew was wrong.  Wrong-wrong-wrong.  Not that I knew much.

My grandmother's name was Barbara Ellen (Beebe) Hindle.  She was born in 1925.

Her father's name was Schuyler (Dutch name pronounced Skyler) Porter Beebe (1905) He was born in PA.

Her mother's name was Hazel (Roberts) Beebe (1904)

My grandmother had one brother Schuler Lyle Beebe (1929) and one sister- Diana (Beebe)Williams I (I don't remember if that is the correct or only married name for her.(1938)

Schuyler Porter's father's name was Porter J. Beebe. He was born n NY in 1830.
He had two wives and five children listed in the census reports between 1870-1870.

 I believe three of the children died young- and I'm not sure about the fifth as she had a different last name.  Maybe she was the child of his second wife from a first marriage.

His first wife's name was Cynthia, or Cyntha or Syntha depending on where you look. Her children were Jennie, Charles, and Syntha.

His second wife's name was Julia, or Julie Anne, or Julieanna, or Anna depending on where you looked. Schuyler (my great grandfather) and Pearl H. Morey were listed as her children in the 1910 census, but only Schuyler was listed in the 1920 census.

I believe Julieanna was Dutch, spoke German, and taught her son Schuyler to speak and/or understand German. Julieanna was about 30 years younger than Porter J. Beebe.

Porter J. Beebe seemed to be quite a character.  I'm interested in learning more about him.

His father's name was William Beebe. He was a blacksmith. He was born in VT.
His mother's name was Cyrena (Maxon) Beebe. She was from NY-but was of Scottish heritage.

William's father's name was Ebenezer Beebe.  That is where I lost the trail.

Beebe is an English name which means "beekeeper."

Among the fist Beebes listed in the USA was John Beebe in New England in 1668.

I bought a DNA test kit to spit in and find out what kind of mutt I am.  I'm hoping it's not going to come back with 'you're white dummy!'  As far as I know I am all European (East) and Brittish Isles.  I think it would be great if I had some unexpected African, Native American or anything other than European.

I've always felt pretty white though.