Journal of a Working Mom, or, Up From Sloth

Century

2009-08-18T18:37:00.000-07:00

My grandmother, Mary Alice Bookhart, would have turned 100 today.

Blah Blah

2009-07-28T17:57:00.000-07:00

Since I last checked my blog, my dashboard grew a new tab called "Monetize." I'm intrigued only because I'm curious as to what ads would run. If it's anything like FaceSpace, you'd be seeing ads for teeth whiteners and alternatives to Botox right now. And that would be about as depressing as they are on FaceSpace--yes, I know I'm OLD dammit, I don't have to be continually reminded of it with your sneaky targeted ads! Show me an ad for some kind of hipster band or trendy clothing store and I might actually click on the link because I'd be so grateful not to be taken for an old person!

I read somewhere that the most famous of mommy bloggers--you know who I'm talking about, and I think she's GREAT--makes $40K/month. Though she has THOUSANDS of readers and I have maybe 15. (Not to mention the talent thing.)

Not much else going on here. I think I'm used to the heat--what else can you do? It's not like it's going to get cooler in AUGUST, or even September, so I think we just have to deal until it finally breaks in mid-October. For a while, I was staying indoors and making sure I never went out without water and all that, and now I'm just living my life as usual.

We have spent more time swimming this summer, though. It's been nice because this time last year H.M. was just on the cusp of learning to swim and, while she could swim, looked like she was drowning while doing it. Which was a bit unnerving. This year she has it down pat and swims like a fish.

I have a post half-written in my head about heaven. So look for that.

I'm BAAACK!

2009-07-16T19:31:00.001-07:00

Hello! Howya been?

Hot? As hell? Me too. I got two words for you: prickly heat. Yes, something I thought was a malady of infants and perhaps very old people. But I managed to get it, and have been an itchy, welty mess for going on a week now. I have tried everything--lotions, powder, collodial oatmeal baths, antihistamines--and I can keep it at bay for a little while, but short of staying indoors until the heat breaks (October, perhaps?) I may be stuck with it.

So, anyhoo, sorry for the long delay. I never intended to let this blog go, but life has been eventful lately and I just couldn't bring myself to write about it all. Plus I have come to the conclusion that writing is a muscle and unless you exercise it regularly, it's very easy to get out of shape.

Nevertheless, now that my life is a little more settled, I'm going to try to start writing again.

First big news: I have a new job. When last I left you, dear readers, I had applied for a position and was in limbo, not knowing what would happen with it. Well, over the course of what felt like FOREVER, I had one interview, and then a second interview, and then an actual job offer. YES! As some of you may remember from last year, much had occurred at my little non-profit, and I had hoped that things would get better and they appeared to for a little while, but then they got worse again, and I stopped believing that I would ever be able to salvage any of the once-warm feelings I had for the place. So, it was time to start looking again. And, lo and behold! A State job turned up that is a combination of my 2 previous careers: librarian and development/communications officer.

How could a girl refuse?

So I'm one week in at my new place of employment, and am cautiously optimistic. No job is perfect, of course, but it seems like the kind of place where I can settle in, do good work, and live my life outside of 8-5.

Other big news that occurred over the same time period: a close family member (not in my household, but close) was diagnosed with a terrible, horrible, no-good, incurable, degenerative disease. The kind of disease where I had to give serious thought to how I might have to stop working and become a caregiver. I found that I just couldn't allow myself to think about it too much, as I was already tied up in knots re. the job situation and my head might have exploded if I really thought about the future too much. (And the future is grim, dear readers. Where I may be in 5 or so years may have to be the subject of a completely different blog.)

HOWEVER. There are drugs to treat this disease and said family member is responding wonderfully. In such a way that this person is surprising her or his doctor's. It feels like a glorious reprieve, though we have no way of knowing how long it will last.

And if I'm being coy it's because this family member has chosen not to share this diagnosis with others outside immediate family and close friends for the time being. And I have to respect that choice. If you aren't looking for symptoms, it's not that obvious in day-to-day interactions.

So, yes, life has been interesting. In other news, the kiddos are fine. Her Majesty starts kindergarten in 5 weeks, and I have only one daycare payment left. FOREVER. We are doing the summer camp shuffle with Wonder Boy (who should now be called Wonder Pre-Adolescent) which is only challenging in that I planned summer camp when I was working in one location and am now working in an entirely different location so have much more driving at rush hour than I was anticipating. (My afternoons over the last 2 weeks? Driving from my temporary offices at I-35 and 290, to W.B.'s Magic Camp in deep East Austin off Cesar Chavez to Her Majesty's daycare at 34th and Mopac. And then home to South Austin. Yes, I am beat down at the end of the day.)

Pod is fine. His band has put the finishing touches on a CD they've been working on for 9 (?) months, and it sounds terrific. Produced by a guy who recently moved to C. TX from Chicago and who was part of the music scene there--was friends with Jay Bennett and all that. The CD sounds great.

Well, that's it. That's my exciting life. I'll be back with new stories and adventures directly.

I Just Want to Be Friends

2009-04-25T08:19:00.000-07:00

"So, blog, I think we need a little time apart. I need some time on my own and I think we should start seeing other social media. I've made some new friends--you know them, Facebook and Twitter?--and I'm kind of hanging out with them these days. Let's just take a break for a while and see what happens, umkay?"

Seriously, dear readers, this is not the end. I just need a short break. There's a LOT of stuff up in the air right now that I can't share with you, as much as I 'd like to. I suspect that in another month or two things will be more settled and I can start writing again. Just not right now.

I'll be back...

Blegh!

2009-04-08T12:44:00.000-07:00

Oh, dear readers, I have just had my first television interview. If "visibly nervous" and "addled" was the look was I going for, I succeeded admirably. I'm not saying which station it was for or when it's airing, no way. Because I have friends--and you know who you are--who will find the most unflattering clip of me in the interview and make sure that it gets circulated to everyone who knows me.

If you happen to see the interview, lie to me and tell me I was great.

Also I caught sight of myself in the monitor and I looked like Jabba the Hutt.

Emoticom time.

\:-<

Run, Don't Walk

2009-03-31T17:22:00.000-07:00

To your locally-owned record store and purchase the new Decemberists album. Jaysus, it's good. Here's a review:

Library Books

2009-03-25T17:32:00.001-07:00

The central branch of the Austin Public Library is closed for about six weeks while they do some repairs so I'm venturing out to other branches on my lunch hour. I've discovered a tiny branch in a crappy strip mall at the corner of Oltorf and S. Congress that has a really good selection of new books. I mentioned this to the librarian there today and he said that the branch was moving to the old p.o. at S. 5th and Mary and was trying what he called a "bookstore model"--that is, the branch was going to be devoted almost exclusively to new books. I love this idea.

I know at least 2 readers who are public library devotees like me and who live in S. Austin--this is a head's up if you hadn't already heard.

So, this is what I checked out today:

Stuff White People Like, by Christian Lander. Based on the website. I know that some people hate this site and other people love it. I have to say that based on this line in #10, Wes Anderson Movies, "White people love Wes Anderson movies more than they love their kids," I'm digging it.
Awesome, by Jack Pendarvis. I'm not entirely sure what this is about. Giants? Semen-powered cars? I can't quite tell, but it's logrolled by Barry Hannah and George Saunders which is promising. And I liked the cover.
Nose Down, Eyes Up, by Merrill Markoe. It's a dog book. I think she has a blog because her name is familiar and I associate it with funny. We'll see.
The Urban Hermit, by Sam MacDonald. Memoir about a guy who tries to live on $8.00 and 800 calories a day. Neal Pollack calls it, "like a weight-loss manual written by Hunter Thompson," which made me cackle.
Unimagined: A Muslim Boy Meets the West, by Imran Ahmad. Title pretty much says it all. Logrolled by one of my favorite British comedy writers, Sue Townsend. (BTW, if you haven't read Sue Townsend's Adrian Mole Diaries, go out immediately and buy them.)
Undress Me in the Temple of Heaven, by Susan Jane Gilman. MH, is it you who loved Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress? Same author, new memoir.
More Information Than You Require, by John Hodgman. 'Nuff said.
Vampyres of Hollywood, by Adrienne Barbeau and Michael Scott. If I had noticed that Adrienne Barbeau was one of the authors when I picked it up, I probably would have put it right back. (Not that I don't think Adrienne Barbeau is awesome, but I don't tend to read fiction written by movie stars, only their autobiographies.) I'm also very suspicious of this whole "let's take every genre and add vampires" shtick in popular lit. But I do love a good Hollywood story. So I'll try it. (PS--this was VERY good.)
Beat the Reaper, by Josh Bazell. Medical thriller, I think. Looks a little more literate than most.

In other news, I bought an IPhone. (Thank you IRS refund!) I like it so much I want to French-kiss it.

A Cautionary Tale (Long Post Warning)

2009-03-18T19:05:00.000-07:00

First, I must begin with the purse.

Many many years ago--possibly 1987 or so--I ran across the perfect club-going purse at Banana Republic. Tiny, with a buckle on the front and a long strap to wear across one's body. Ideal for clubs where you didn't want to leave your purse just sitting somewhere when "How Soon is Now" came on and you wanted to dance. Exactly the right size to hold driver's license, some money, your keys and a pack of smokes. I bought two, one in black and one in tan. Anyone who knows me from back in the day will probably remember those purses.

And, because I never throw away accessories, I held onto them after my clubbing days were long behind me. Because I thought, someday these might come in handy again.

Flash forward to 2009. The hubster and kiddos are out of town and I am on mine ownself and am taking in SXSW for the first time in years. Last night, a late night show at Pangaea (sp?) to see Gomez and the Decemberists. (Fantastic, BTW.) And, tonight, a meeting with some gal pals at the Pop Culture Press party at Dog and Duck to enjoy some good beer (Magic Hat, not readily available in Austin, a friend tells me, but very tasty) and live music, including a band I had completely forgotten, That Petrol Emotion (successor band to The Undertones, y'all!).

So I dig out my little black purse. Still perfect, now fits my drivers license, cell phone, passkey to get into my office garage, money, check card, gadget that unlocks my car, business cards, a pack of smokes, and a few other necessary odds and ends. And I'm delighted to be wearing it again, and am even thinking about how I can call it "vintage" I walk from my office to Dog and Duck after work today.

Sooo, after the 10 block walk to Dog and Duck, my tiny bladder is demanding immediate relief so I avail myself of the portapotties set up outside the show. (Inside bathroom is closed, yes, I checked).

And because the purse hangs down low, I remove it and set it on the tiny ledge in the portapotty and turn around to, well, do my business.

And that's when it happens...

I stepped on the ping-pong ball.

No wait, that's Auntie Mame, sorry.

I hear, ker thunk, SPLASH.

Did you just say, "oh NO?"

And I say, oh yes.

My purse FELL IN THE PORTAPOTTY. Yes, in there with that blue liquid with all the filth and the toilet paper and the cigarette butts and God knows what else.

And in my purse was all my money, the passkey to get in the garage where my car was parked, my drivers license, the gadget that unlocks my car, my check card, my cell phone, and my cigarettes.

Well, what would YOU do?

First I yelled, "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH FUCK!"

And, then, dear readers, I fished my purse out. Yes, with my hands.

I had no choice.

(Those of you who are dry-heaving by now should probably just not read the rest of this.)

So, in the grand scheme of things, the portpotty was not as, um, befouled as some that I have been in. And my purse, thank GOD, um, floated on top.

So God help me, I reached in, grabbed it, and threw it to one side. Which was a bit, um, splashy.

And then I inspected the damage.

Actual purse itself, dry.

The strap?

DRENCHED. Disgusting.

I used up all of the remaining toilet paper to dry off the strap. And then I gingerly carried my purse out of the portpotty from hell and asked the people selling beer if they had any hand santizer.

So when my friend Jaye found me I was busily scrubbing the strap down and trying to clean off my hands like I was Lady Macbeth.

I deposited the befouled purse on a picnic table in the direct sunlight for the duration. Kept an eye on it, but really? If you wanted to steal it? I say, have at it! Enjoy the syphillis you catch from it!

So, now I'm home and the purse is empty and lying on the floor of the bathroom. Some of you are saying, just throw the damn thing away. But I've had so many adventures wearing it! Including, now, dropping it in a portapotty. And it's vintage! Maybe it could be disinfected and saved somehow? Because I might need it again?

As for me, I'm needing a shower.

For Movie Buffs Only

2009-03-13T16:52:00.000-07:00

Oh, dear readers, I scarce know how to say this.

When someone says, "Joan Cusack," what do you picture?

Well, this is what I picture:

And later, in the same movie:

(For those of you not obsessed with John Hughes teenage movies from the '80s, this was one of her first film roles in Sixteen Candles. Which also featured her little brother John Cusack as one of Farmer Ted's geek friends.)

But, anyway, in the mental picture of her I carry around in my head, she is in high school. And then later in some other good films, a grown-up, but still youngish woman.

Soooo, I took the afternoon off today just 'cause and decided I wanted a light, fluffy, girl movie. So went to see Confessions of a Shopaholic in part because I loves me some Isla Fisher.

The movie was meh. Very predictable, and, even fashion-challenged moi can spot a Patricia Fields-costumed outfit from a mile away. (I'm a little tired of them, frankly.)

But here's the part that made me feel sad. And elderly. Joan Cusack plays ISLA FISHER'S FUCKING MOTHER. Not older sister, not young hip aunt, not slightly older coworker, but HER MOTHER.

I just couldn't get my head around it. It wasn't just that she was playing a mom, it was that she was playing the mother of a grown woman.

She wasn't a character in her own right, she was just the "mom" character in every other "girl meets boy" story you've ever seen.

I can't even pretend to be young anymore, I am so old that the ingenues of my youth are playing the mothers of the ingenues of today.

The mind boggles.

(And I'm not even going to mention the fact that Julie Hagerty plays the love interest's elderly secretary. Oh wait, I just did.)

Jonesin' for Some Live Music

2009-03-12T18:24:00.000-07:00

This awesome cover song showed up on my Bookhart radio on Pandora.com and it made me jones for a kick-ass, live, loud, hard rocking experience.

Perhaps something is in the cards? Next week, perhaps?

Random Link

2009-03-06T17:15:00.001-08:00

This blog post made me laugh so hard that I almost peed myself.

Hooray!

2009-03-05T19:54:00.001-08:00

We got word that Her Majesty's school transfer request was approved by the powers-that-be at AISD. So this fall, she will start kindergarten at the same elementary school that Wonder Boy attends. And for one glorious year--before W.B. enters the dreaded middle school--we'll be dropping the kiddos off and picking them up at the same school. This will cut my commute time in half. Woohoo!

Seriously, we've been so happy at this school. I hope, really hope, that it will be the right school for H.M as it has been for W.B.

She is over the moon with excitement. I'm over the moon with excitement. She was born about 3 months after W.B. started kindergarten there, so she has been watched over by the teachers and staff since she was an infant. She already knows the hallways, the playgrounds, and (importantly) where the bathrooms are. She is going to kick fucking ass in kindergarten.

I can't wait.

2009-03-03T18:15:00.000-08:00

So, it's March already, hmmm? When did time start moving so quickly? One day you're 30 and looking great and the next day (or so it seems) you're wondering where all that loose skin on your hands came from and why you are suddenly appearing jowly around the neck.

On that note, it's now TUESDAY and I was planning to post about my weekend on SUNDAY but never got around to it. And it was a very lovely weekend--could the weather have been nicer? I thoroughly enjoyed what appears to have been the last cold front before spring. On Saturday I spent hours in the front yard beating back a few years worth of overgrowth in our front quote unquote garden. I remember wanting to do this last spring--honestly? the last time I actually looked out there--and not being able to find our clippers so blew it off. This year I went to Home Despot and bought some new clippers and went to work. I filled seven or eight bags full of weeds, oniony-smelling grass, and yards and yards of rose bush. I will never plant another rose bush--they take over everything and then are a bloody pain (literally) to dispose of. Once I hacked through the mess, I found a dead oleander bush (bleached white by the sun) and several tiny skulls (rats and birds, mostly) that were obviously the handiwork of the late lamented Scamper.

So, front garden? Cleared. Beat back. Mulched. Really, you wouldn't recognize it. And ready for a new season of planting--I'm thinking rosemary and lavender. W.B. suggested sunflowers and I think that's a fine idea.

But oy vey, my arm and leg and back muscles? I could scarcely move on Sunday.

And what better thing to do on a windy Sunday but attend the Zilker Park Kite Fest? Pod was off recording (the Dentones CD is close to completion, I think), so I took a chance and took both kids by mine ownself. (By taking a chance I mean that I was mentally picturing both children running off in opposite directions after their kites and being swallowed up forever in a sea of humanity, dogs, and kites.) But we made it down there and had a blast. 95% of Austin was there, it seemed. I saw several people I knew but was never able to complete any conversations as I was constantly chasing after the kiddos and/or trying to untangle their kites. Slightly nerve-wracking on my end but well worth it.

All in all, a lovely weekend. I even squeezed in a massage late Saturday, which did much to soothe my sore muscles and general tension.

Back to the grind and the office this week. My research project is on hiatus until April. It was fun to pretend to be a student for a while, and I'm left wondering if someday I might go back to school to pursue that Ph.D. that seemed so intimidating fifteen years ago. We shall see. If I could just do the research and write a dissertation, it would be a breeze, but realistically, classes? Homework? I'm torn.

But this wouldn't happen until the kiddos were done with school so I've got some time to think about it.

Awesomeness

2009-02-28T12:29:00.000-08:00

Because I had never before even considered the idea of camouflage-themed weddings, I must direct your attention to tackyweddings.com. Also, girls, you will thank your lucky stars that you never ended up in some of the bridesmaid's dresses that are featured herein.

I Had a Poster of This Dude in My Bedroom in 83

2009-02-27T17:47:00.000-08:00

White Wedding: Literal Video Version - watch more funny videos

Note to Self: Tomorrow, Bring Backpack

2009-02-18T19:08:00.001-08:00

Dear Readers, today I spent the first of several days back at my old stomping grounds at UT. Where I spent my undergraduate years (85-89), my in-between first-job-out-of-college years (89-90), my graduate school years (91-93), and my first professional years (94-97).

About a year ago, I applied for a 4-week sabbatical program run by a humanities group at UT that is aimed at non-profit employees who are seeking to pursue a research project of some kind. Usually, the project is to have some direct benefit to the organization where they work. It comes with an official faculty advisor, full access to the UT libraries, your own UT ID, and funds to support being away from the office for 180 hours. And I got it!

Today was my first official day away from the office "on sabbatical" (I like saying that). And, being that it was my old stomping grounds, stomp I did. I stomped from the Dobie Parking Garage to PCL, from PCL to the Union (where, I am sad to inform you, the old general Union store is now a Starbucks), from the Union to a coffeehouse on the Drag, and from the Drag to the State Capitol where I had a committee hearing to attend (this was work-related) and back to PCL.

I had forgotten how much walking you have to do at UT. And how many long lines there are. And, um, the bureaucracy involved to get something simple accomplished. Like getting a locker in the library. That's a post in itself, I promise.

Still, it was fun. I relish the opportunity of immersing myself in my research project, to spending some quality time in the library following leads and tracking down information, to synthesizing said information, and to developing a final product (article? presentation? who can say?). At some point, it appears that, no matter what I'm doing, I will always be a librarian.

Also, it was strange. The campus just hasn't changed that much--in some ways, it was eerie. I saw several familiar faces, and I couldn't decide what was freakier: that they were still there 20 years later, or, that possibly, they were the children of the people I remember from 1985. Also the buildings were unchanged--so that I could remind myself, "oh yeah, I can take this shortcut through this building on the South Mall and get there much faster."

My IPod cooperated for the day, playing on shuffle The Reivers, Kathy McCarty, Tom Tom Club, Billy Bragg, and Love and Rockets.

So, for the next 2 weeks (and another 2 in April), I get to pretend I'm a student again. I wore work clothes today, but tomorrow am donning jeans, a baggy Tshirt, and tennis shoes. I pulled my backpack out of storage and will jam it full of books, notebooks, and my laptop. This time, I will wear it over both shoulders--this a decided improvement in student life from the 80s, when we slung it over one shoulder to appear cool (and wrecked our backs in the process).

I'll keep you informed.

Kind of Like Your Own Personal Mixtape

2009-02-17T19:48:00.000-08:00

Some of the stuff I've recently downloaded:

And, of course, the inimitable Flight of the Conchords. God it was hard to pick just one.

Oh, what the hell...

I'm Still Here

2009-02-14T18:00:00.000-08:00

I've been the recipient of a few worried emails, but no worries, we're still here and doing fine. I'm just not blogging much. Actually I've been scarcely using the computer at all in the evenings--a quick look at one or two snarky celebrity gossip sites, a cursory check on FaceSpace, and then back to compulsive reading. I'm making several runs a week to the library at this point. I've just been feeling antisocial and need to have my nose buried in a book once the kiddos go to bed. Poor Pod, I've practically ignored him.

But, just to assure you all that I haven't died, here are a few bullet points of note:

I've spent the last few months planning a special event at work. I made all the food arrangements, planned a 45-minute long program, arranged for speakers, wrote speeches, oversaw the design and production of invitations/signage/handouts, made childcare arrangements, etc. and so forth. All of which culminated last night in a sit-down steak-and-rubber chicken dinner for 300-plus at a faintsy hotel. I'm pleased to report that the evening went well, and I was relieved and happy to be able to tuck into the hotel bar with a Sam Adams at the end of the evening. Special event planning is not my forte, but it comes with the new job description.
With that in mind, I woke up on Wednesday morning feeling a tickle in my throat and the beginnings of a head cold/allergy attack/sinus infection/that thing that everyone else in Austin has. I willed myself not to get sick until after last night's event, and was successful -- I seem to be able to do this occasionally. But, last night, when I got home, it all fell apart, and today, dear readers, I am sick.
Despite my hacking and coughing and sniffly nose, we decided to head over to the awesome (!) new (!) grocery store that has opened just three blocks (!) from our house today. Really, it's within walking distance, and we may have to walk there from here on out because parking was a freaking nightmare. Way too few spaces (as was pointed out by my blogging bud Karla May when we discussed news of this addition to the 'hood a few months ago). Nice store, though--it's as close to a Trader Joe's as I've seen in Austin. Not so big as Whole Foods or that other store, actually a little smaller than Sun Harvest (also close by), about half of the store is produce, a good meat section (we predict more grilling in the evenings), some interesting store brands, a moderate beer selection (not impressive, but adequate), a nice selection of wines for the cheapskate (but not for the wino), a little bit of everything else. It will be very easy for us to make it our local bodega. I'm glad to have it in the neighborhood.
Speaking of the 'hood, can I give a shout-out to my favorite quickie mart--Live Oak Market? This place is the motherfucking bomb, and the place where I bought my new favorite bumper sticker: Keep South Austin Even Weirder. They have all kinds of locally produced foods, a great beer selection, and will make you a cinnamon roll the size of your fist. If you live in South Austin, and need to stop at a quickie mart occasionally, patronize this place. Not the Valero across the street, not the 7-11 about a mile farther south. Stop in--they will treat you like a friend. And they're always jamming some amazing music in there.
I've downloaded a shitload of music lately. This includes albums by Army Navy, Mates of State, Andrew Bird, LadyHawke, The Weepies, Of Montreal, Flight of the Conchords, The National, plus some free compilations courtesy of EMusic. But what I want to know is: where did all the Tom Lehrer in my Music Library come from?
I was part of a group that presented findings and recommendations to a joint meeting of the local school board and City Council members at City Hall a few weeks ago. It made me indescribably happy that, as I was walking from my office to City Hall for this important grown-up presentation, the song "Jizz in my Pants" came on my IPod. Perfect.

All caught up. I'm taking my sniffly ass to bed.

Why I'm Thankful for FaceSpace

2009-01-29T21:01:00.000-08:00

Oh, dear readers, my heart is full.

Once, a long time ago, I had a best friend named Rebecca. From grades 1-5, we lived near one another, hung out together, played games together, and our parents were friends. We were thick as thieves. She is my one clear happy memory of my childhood in New Orleans.

In grade six, I moved to another school. In grade eight, to another state.

We lost touch. Sometime in high school she lost both her parents tragically and was moved somewhere else, far out of my ability to stay in touch.

And I always wondered where she was. And I desperately hoped she was OK.

Thirty or so years passed. I did the occasional Google search but, not knowing where she lived, I had no luck.

On Tuesday of this week, she found my mom on FaceSpace. (Yes, my mother has a FaceSpace page). And then we found each other. And it turns out she had been looking for me too.

On Tuesday night we stayed up late chatting online. As she said, "it was like putting on a old shoe that still fits." We couldn't stop talking.

As an only child, there's a lot of my childhood that I don't have in common with anyone else. But she remembered! She remembered what my childhood home looked like, just as I remember hers. She remembers the parties our parents attended, and what we did to keep ourselves amused while they ate and drank past midnight. She remembers what I loved as a child. I didn't think there was anyone else who had these memories, but she does.

I feel like I've been given a great gift. I'm so happy to have found her.

Like I said, my heart is full.

Beautiful Song

2009-01-26T20:19:00.000-08:00

This song found its way onto my IPod, I know not how, but it's absolutely wonderful:

Po, this one made me think of you.

2009-01-25T14:56:00.000-08:00

Wow! People are interested in my sourdough starter--I've been deluged with requests for it (if 3 people count as a deluge). I'm all, baking expert, moi?

I'm still growing the starter base, which I prepared with a friend and split in half when it was ready to use. So, for those of you who can't wait (or who don't live in Austin and can't drop by for a cup or so), here's the starter recipe:

Sourdough Starter
1/2 teaspoon sugar
1 package active dry yeast
2 1/2 cups fully warm water (105-115 degrees)
1 cup instant nonfat dry milk powder
2 tablespoons sugar
4 cups all-purpose flour

In a small bowl dissolve 1/2 teaspoon sugar, yeast, and fully warm water. When yeast begins to bubble up and rise, pour mixture into a 2 1/2 quarter glass, enamel, or stainless steel bowl, and gradually stir in milk powder, 2 tablespoons sugar, and flour until batter is smooth. Cover loosely and let stand in a warm place for 3 to 4 days. When batter rises up to top of bowl, stir down. This first day watch carefully so that it does not overflow. Place a large plastic piece or newspaper beneath the bowl to prevent unnecessary cleaning up. After 3 or 4 days, cover bowl loosely and store in refrigerator.

To keep the starter alive, once or twice a week add:

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup milk
1/4 cup sugar
(Halve this for a small family)

Mix well and keep refrigerated.

If you do make this and want the recipes that go along with it--which include the rolls, pancakes, a terrific cinnamon cake, and some kind of bread involving cherries and buttermilk that doesn't look all that appetizing but who can say--let me know off-line, or leave a comment with your email address.

I have to acknowledge this book and its author, who, as you may recall, gifted my mother with this starter as a wedding gift in 1960.

(And as a nifty aside, the author's grandson was my escort at my debut. We were briefly an item, which made both our grandmothers rabidly happy. Until a skinny musician came my way, that is.)

Sourdough Muffins, 2.0

2009-01-24T07:26:00.001-08:00

They tasted like my childhood.

What I Meant When I Said the Cat Would Be OK

2009-01-22T18:54:00.000-08:00

"Oh, mama, that bad cat tried to get me and I ran away and he bit me on the boe-boe!"

That was the official diagnosis of the vet.

Our sole surviving cat, Mr. Whiskers (so named by Wonder Boy, and yes, it is a ridiculous name), has possibly lost his last nerve after having been attacked by a tomcat, bit on the upper tail, which festered, abcessed, and needed emergency surgery in order to be cleaned and brought right. Poor guy has had half of the hair on his tail shaved (an observation: unhaired cats' tails look somewhat rat-like) and has a large, um, oozy wound, that is to be cleaned twice daily. Even worse, he has been subjected to the further indignity of having to be pilled daily. And we have put the kibosh on his leaving the house--which he is desperate to do--until the large oozy wound has healed.

He is not happy.

None of us are happy. The children are, frankly, horrified by the appearance of the oozy wound and had to be reminded that Mr. Whiskers was not to be shunned but was to be treated gently and with sweetness, as befits any invalid.

I myself am horrified by the appearance of the oozy wound and the fact that said wound is being rubbed up against our furniture, our beds, and our floors.

That said, he appears to be recovering, though the vet warned us that healing would be slow.

I'm not at all sure that he will recover emotionally. Now that I've become, instead of that hand that pets him and feeds him, the hand that puts smelly medicine on his "boe-boe" and grabs him when he's unprepared and holds him down while Pod stuffs a butter-covered pill down his throat.

All the more reason for him to try to bolt out the door every time it opens.

I am re-evaluating our fitness to be pet owners.

What Came Before

2009-01-20T20:45:00.000-08:00

Bookhart says, thank you Dr. King. Thank you Michael Schwerner, Andrew Goodman, and James Chaney. Thank you Emmitt Till. Thank you Rosa Parks. Thank you Jon Daniels. Thank you Viola Liuzza. Thank you Medgar Evers. Thank you Birmingham 4. Thank you SNCC. Thank you CORE. Thank you NAACP. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I Am Boring, Yellow

2009-01-19T13:55:00.000-08:00

"You better start posting again," Pod warns me, somewhat severely. "Otherwise you'll lose all your readership."

"But I don't have anything to write about," I whine.

And therein lies the problem. I'm worried that I'm out of things to say, that I've told all my stories, that my creative juices are dried up.

Mostly, there's just not a lot going on. I work five days a week, spend Saturday looking for something stimulating to do with the kiddos, and then use Sunday for housecleaning and preparing for the work week. Occasionally I get to go out with my awesome friends, and very occasionally I get to leave town, but honestly? There's just not a lot to report. My life is pretty pedestrian.

So, when I do have a day that has two events that are out of the ordinary, I don't know what to do--I have too much to write about. My cup runneth over.

Morning: As it was MLK Day, both Wonder Boy and and Pod and I had a holiday. (Her Majesty's daycare NEVER shuts, which is awesome). W.B. and I decided that it would be a good time to start working on his history project that is due in early February. Everyone in his class had to choose a President to research and present an oral report on (upon whom to present an oral report?). The students are required to be dressed in appropriate costume and to present 15 visual items (I'm calling it "flair" for the duration) along with their report. Luckily--and completely randomly--W.B. chose Lyndon B. Johnson. I mean, can you imagine trying to find an appropriate costume for Chester A. Arthur or William Henry Harrison? With LBJ, you get a suit, cowboy hat (short-brimmed, Pod would remind me), and boots, and you're done.

Also lucky because we live in a town with a huge repository of LBJ schtuff. Which would be the LBJ Library. Which I haven't visited in years.

So W.B. and I made a trip over there this morning. It was absolutely perfect for him. He knew very little about LBJ and picked him only because his friend Lev said that LBJ was a good president. The Library more than delivered and W.B. walked out of there with a good understanding of Johnson and his Presidency and we were even able to discuss a little bit about quagmires and unintended legacies and bad advising. (Because you know, that never happened again.)

Another thing we learned: Wonder Boy absolutely LOATHES animatronics. He was all psyched to see a presentation titled "The Humor of LBJ," but when it turned out to be an animatronic he decided it was the scariest thing he had ever seen. (It was kind of creepy, actually.) At another point we came across some other reasonably life-like mannequins that could have been animatronic (but weren't) and he immediately backed himself up against a far wall and edged his way along the wall until we were well past them. And he never took his eyes off them, like they might suddenly come alive and attack him. (And don't we all feel that way about animatronics when you come to think of it? And wouldn't you wet your pants in terror if they did?)

He also thought very highly of the Oval Office replica, which I am always amused and slightly perplexed by. Why make a 7/8 scale model? Why not just go the whole 8/8?

So, it was a very good and very productive morning. I'll leave my afternoon adventure for tomorrow (or my next post), but will leave you with this information: the cat will be fine.

An Auspicious Beginning

2009-01-08T16:33:00.000-08:00

I had a great birthday, dear readers. Much, much better than last year's clusterfuck.

I took the day off work and refused to allow myself to think about the office even a little bit. After dropping the kiddos at school, I moseyed over to my favorite breakfast place for a toasted bagel with a thick smearing of peanut butter. I had a little time to kill so I headed over to Target--the only thing open for shopping between 8:30 and 9:30 that I'm aware of--and picked up 2 super-cheap DVDs that I've been meaning to add to my collection. (A Fish Called Wanda and Empire of the Sun, natch). I also talked myself into, and then out of again, purchasing an ITouch. Ooooh boy, do I want one. But do I NEED one? Alas, no.

I next made my way to my 10:00 a.m. massage. Which was wonderful. I asked for deep tissue and was rewarded with much painful digging on and working out of knots in my upper back and between my shoulder blades. Loved it. (I like a little pain with my massage.) I concentrated on breathing and chasing ugly thoughts out of my head.

Next I made my way to the picture show where I saw Slumdog Millionaire. I have a new celebrity crush on Dev Patel. (Um, except when I just now googled him I discover that he was born in 1990. That's just 7 years older than Wonder Boy. Which makes me a perv. So I'll just say I think of him in a friendly way). For those of you planning to see it, be warned that if you have trouble with "kids in peril" stories, as I do, you'll do some squirming in your seat. I'm not sure why I thought it was supposed to be a comedy--I had that dead wrong. Nevertheless, I really liked it. I don't imagine that I'll ever get to Mumbai but I feel like I have a real sense of what that city is like after seeing this movie.

After leaving the movie, I headed over to my favorite thrift store which was, by sheer happenstance, having a 50% off sale. I spent about an hour browsing and bought 2 pairs of pants, 2 work-appropriate skirts, 2 jackets, 3 sweaters, and 4 miscellaneous tops, all for 65 dollah. Total score.

By the time I finished thrifting I needed to return to reality and pick up the kids, oversee homework, make dinner, and start the evening routine. Nevertheless, right now I feel completely relaxed, completely at peace, and ready to start this next year of life.

BLAH blah blah blah

2009-01-05T19:26:00.001-08:00

I put off the starter until next weekend. It involves yeast, with which I am unfamiliar, and a little bit nervous about, and the recipe is all like, keep stirring the starter down for 24 hours and make sure to put some newspaper down if it overflows, and keep in in a warm place for 3-4 days, and I didn't get all the ingredients together until late Sunday afternoon and didn't relish the thought of icky goo taking over my kitchen overnight or while I'm at work, and did I mention I don't like messes?

So, come this Saturday, we're on.

In other news, it's time for my most recent library finds:

Home Girl: Building a Dream House on a Lawless Block, by Judith Matloff. About an American journalist ex-pat who moves to West Harlem with her Dutch husband and refurbishes a house in a gentrifying neighborhood. Of note, as I picked up this book to read it tonight, a bookmark from Recycled Books in DENTON FUCKING TEXAS fell out. Where my husband is from. Where his band is named after. How random is that?

The Butt, by Will Self. About a guy trying to quit smoking. It's Will Self, it must be funny. After all, he's the "the British master of the satirical fantasy." According to reviews.

City of Refuge, by Tom Piazza. A post-Katrina New Orleans novel. Piazza also wrote Why New Orleans Matters.

Wrong Guys: Murder, False Confessions, and the Norfolk Four, by Tom Well and Richard A. Leo. Because I like a true crime novel every once in a while. Good reviews.

Crucial Conversations: Tools for Talking When Stakes are High, by Kerry Patterson et al. Ummm, this one is for work.

The Unthinkable: Who Survives When Disaster Strikes and Why, by Amanda Ripley. Come on, you're not interested in this?

Backstabbing for Beginners: My Crash Course in International Diplomacy, by Michael Soussan. Dude works for the UN--intrigue and absurdity follows.

In Search of Bill Clinton, by John D. Gartner. Psychological insight into a President--possibly interesting.

Drink: A Cultural History of Alcohol, by Iain Gately. Couldn't pass this title up.

Can I recommend? If you are not a regular library visitor, consider getting a library card. It's all free books! For free! You don't have to buy them first! And if you don't like the book you checked out, just return it! You didn't pay for it--you just get another one that grabs your attention. They are ALL FREE.

Peace out.

Sourdough

2009-01-04T07:24:00.001-08:00

In 1960 my mother received a batch of sourdough starter as a wedding gift. It came from an old family friend who was well-known for her cooking and entertaining--in fact, Southern Living published one of her cookbooks in the 1970s. No small accomplishment, that.

Does everyone know what a starter is, BTW?

The sourdough starter, which was completely unrelated to the San Francisco kind, had a pale pasty look, a soupy consistency, a sweetish-sour odor, and needed to be fed weekly with milk, sugar, and flour. And my mother kept that starter going for decades, even as she moved from Jackson to New Orleans to Berkeley, California (where my dad attended grad school) and back to New Orleans and ultimately back home to Jackson again. That sourdough starter made the most delicious rolls EVAH. And coffeecake.

Mmmmm, coffeecake.

When I first set up housekeeping in Austin, Mom brought me a cup of starter and I loved being able to make sourdough rolls when the mood was upon me and I faithfully fed that starter every week for about a year.

And then I started forgetting to feed it. I'd go 2, then 3 weeks, and then I'd be out of sugar or something, and then it got shoved to the back of the refrigerator and forgotten about and then I just ignored it long enough to kill it dead.

In the meantime, Mom had downsized her own lifestyle, cut out all superfluous cooking, and let her starter go as well.

After 40 years, there we were, starter-less.

And I've missed my sourdough rolls and coffeecake.

So, you can only imagine my joy when I was leafing idly through Mrs. Cheney's cookbook--for I do in fact own a copy--and found not only a recipe to create the starter and the recipes for the rolls and the coffee-cake, but several other recipes using the starter that I had never seen before.

Kick fucking ass.

I'm restarting the starter, baby.

Another YouTube Find

2009-01-02T16:52:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite bands from the '80s:

Love love love the bass line on this.

Note: the video is mislabeled. It's fIREHOSE, not Firehouse. If you like this song ("Brave Captain"), then go download the song "Chemical Wire" immediately.

See Ya 2008

2009-01-01T07:38:00.000-08:00

Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

Happy New Year and all that jazz. I have many resolutions for the new year, including being a better blogger. My others seem to be the same resolutions year after year after year:

Quit smoking -- I fell off the wagon one motherfucking day after I posted about being smoke-free for a month. I'm making another effort in the next week or so, this time with online help and a book, in addition to the magical Chantix. I hate hate hate the thought that I might not be able to quit on my own, but I am now willing to start trying anything and everything, even if it includes an online support group.
Lose weight--duh.
Find an exercise routine I can live with--duh.

The other big one is a kind of nebulous "give myself the freedom to spend a little money/time/effort on things that make me happy" as opposed to playing the martyr mother/wife/employee all the time. I'm not quite sure how this is going to happen, but I am committed to spending more time with my friends, to pampering myself more, and to saying yes to more opportunities and no to more bullshit.

So there ya go.

Happy 2009, dear readers.

Merry Public Access Christmas

2008-12-24T07:22:00.000-08:00

Thanks, Boing Boing.

Two-Timer

2008-12-22T17:28:00.000-08:00

I am neglecting my blog in favor of my Facespace page--it appears that there is only so much time in the day for Internetting. I'm putting "be a better blogger" on my list of resolutions for the New Year. See you in 09!

In Which Her Majesty's Inner-Most Desire is Revealed

2008-12-13T07:21:00.000-08:00

SETTING: In the car on the way to school and work, Friday morning.

Me: So, Your Majesty, what do you want to be when you grow up?

H.M. (very matter of fact): I wanna 'troll the world.

Me (not sure what she said): You want to what the world?

H.M.: Troll the world!

Me: You want to travel the world?

H.M.: NO! TROLL the WORLD!!!

Wonder Boy (resignedly): She means control the world, Mom.

Me: You want to control the world?

H.M. (again, very matter of fact): Yes.

I'm not sure that this bodes well for the teenage years.

Yo yo yo it's my 700th post, beeyotches

2008-12-09T20:43:00.000-08:00

Idn't this purty? One of my favorite Beatles songs, performed on a ukelele:

The Things You Learn at the Doctor's Office

2008-12-03T18:12:00.000-08:00

Today I had my annual physical and what Karla and I refer to as "the poke."

I love my GP--she's unflappable, answers my panicky questions in a way that is both reassuring and not at all condescending, and doesn't give me unnecessary grief. She does, however, seem to consider herself a teaching doctor, so it is not unusual for there to be a med student or nurse-in-training trailing along or attempting, somewhat nervously, to take a medical history and listen to my pulse.

Sooo, today, there was a med student, evacuated from Galveston, trying to do some of his rotations in Austin. He was adorable for an infant, somewhat resembling Kal Penn (who I've had the tiniest of crushes on since Harold and Kumar Get Stoned a Lot and Visit White Castle), and was clearly pretty untested. As he was trying to take my blood pressure, the velcro on the cuff got caught on his silk tie and pretty much ruined it.

He grimaced, tossed his tie over his shoulder, and said to me, "they grade us for looking professional. But this keeps happening to my ties!"

Thus, the ice was broken. I suggested that he try bow ties, which pretty clearly horrified him, and this led us into a discussion of med school fraternities, which I had not previously known the existence of, and he mentioned that there was one called the "Bow Tie Club" or something like that. He even mentioned that the medical fraternities had houses, where, he said, "it's where everyone goes to..." and then trailed off, realizing that he was in the presence of a much-older woman who might not remember the purpose of fraternity houses, even med school ones.

I supplied, "to drink?"

And this reassured him and he went onto regale me about a certain fraternity (not the above-mentioned one) that was the subject of an urban legend. The story goes that many years back, the house in question had a thriving sideline business of providing abortions in one of their backrooms. Which I found fascinating. I would totally incorporate this into a short story if I were a fiction writer.

So, there we were, buddies at this point, when the doctor came in and decided that the student was going to shadow my examination.

Thus, I ended up, in the stirrups, while she explained what she was doing, showed him what she was looking for--as in, "see, there's her cervix"--and generally used me as a lesson point.

I didn't mind. After Wonder Boy's birth, where as I was pushing him out about a hundred medical students rushed into my room to witness the event, I'm a lot less inhibited about doctors, even baby ones, seeing my bits and pieces. I found it kind of amusing.

I guess I have to be grateful that he was only observing and that she didn't ask him to do the Pap smear for practice.

I'm Ready for a Break

2008-11-30T07:43:00.001-08:00

Home Again

2008-11-29T19:10:00.001-08:00

Two more posts before November ends. (And with it, NaBloPoMo. Woohoo!). I'm not quite sure where 2008 went, but I'll be glad to see the end of it. On the plus side, we elected a president. Which is a big thing that kind of dwarves all my piddly, personal shit. But, dear readers, it's been a tough year--one of those years where nothing came easily, where we lost some loved ones, where I had to fight for stuff, some of which I got, and some of which I didn't. I've had to do a lot of inner exploring this year--to find the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other on some days, to learn to call bullshit when I saw it, to start to believe in myself and my own capabilities, and to try to work around a white-hot core of anger within me that I've only recently been able to identify. And that anger? It's buried deep--I've got a fur piece to travel before I will be able to let it go and see the world in all sweetness and light. But it explains everything.

So, 2009? Watch out. I'm pissed and I'm taking no more prisoners. Especially no longer myself.

Black Friday

2008-11-28T15:04:00.000-08:00

Who are these people who are mobbing Wal-Marts at 6 a.m. on the Friday after Thanksgiving? Where do they come from? What do they want? I can't imagine wanting to get anywhere near a shopping mall or a discount store today--this is my version of Hell.

My niece works at one of the big boxes here in Denton and had to be at work at 4 a.m. in preparation for the rush. For what purpose? Getting 50% off Guitar Hero?

Stay the fuck home, people. DON'T buy, or buy local this year.

Sheesh.

Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T07:52:00.000-08:00

Happy Turkey/Tofurkey Day to all. Hope you all stuff yourselves silly.

Pretty Sure This Guy Didn't Vote for Obama

2008-11-26T19:07:00.000-08:00

Shockingly offensive bumper sticker seen today (NOT in Austin):

"NEVER apologize for being WHITE."

With a Confederate flag background.

Dude gave me the heebie-jeebies. If he's saying something like that on his pickup in front of God and everyone, what is he saying in the privacy of his own home?

By the way, I hereby nominate the Wednesday before Thanksgiving as the worst possible day to drive on I-35. Imagine one unbroken line of bumper-to-bumper, stop-and-start, never exceeding 30 mph, rush hour traffic starting in Austin and not ending until the I35 split north of Hillsboro. What was normally a 4-hour drive took close to 7 today. Can you imagine the state of our nerves right now? I need a Xanax.

2008-11-25T18:35:00.000-08:00

I totally stole this link from The Presurfer, but I'm uninspired tonight and it's worth it.

Who knew there were so many dance bands from Sweden in the 70s?

Please don't just scroll quickly through the webpage until you reach the end. Savor each picture. Enjoy the clothing, the hair styles, the cheesy expressions, the awkward poses, and the fact that there's always one person in each band who is hideously, gloriously uglier than the rest. Case in point--guy from Hick here on the bottom right.

My vote for best band name in the set: The Bob Candys.

Best Friend/Worst Enemy

2008-11-24T17:32:00.000-08:00

It's been 4 weeks since my last cigarette.

I wish I could say that I was thrilled to make it this far.

I've made it this far five or six times already.

Mostly, when I think about it--and by it, I mean this quit--I'm annoyed and little pissed off.

That said, 95% of the time I don't think about smoking at all.

BUT, since I had already limited the amount of time that I did smoke to such a small window each day--at night, once the kids were in bed, on the back porch, with a book and a glass (or 3) of wine, plus the occasional raucous Girls Night Out--it's not all that different.

But I deeply miss my evening routine. I'm having to abstain from drinking for the immediate future because it's such a trigger. I had a glass of wine at a work-related event the other night, and had to restrain myself from following the catering staff back behind the building and cadging a smoke from them. Because they taking smoke breaks and I could smell it.

But I did resist.

I know it's time. It's been time. I feel all kinds of guilt and shame and self-loathing when I am smoking, but nevertheless this quit has left me feeling diminished and not quite myself.

Since I'm forking out quite a bit of money for chemical enhancements to help me stay quit, I guess I'll soldier on. For now.

But I'm not promising shit.

2008-11-23T07:19:00.000-08:00

Actually date night wasn't bad at all. We snuggled up under a blanket on the couch in the new "TV Room," turned off all the lights, and watched Hellboy II. I was a little lost because I've only seen bits and pieces of the first Hellboy, and I have some quibbles with the plot and dialogue but, man, I love watching everything that comes out of Guillermo Del Toro's head. That guy is sick, and I mean that in the nicest possible way.

Not quite dinner and a movie at the Alamo, but it came close.

As regards the rest of the weekend, am I the only mom who finds that it's almost impossible to keep up with all the chores that need to get done in the space of 2 days? Groceries, laundry, cleaning, birthday party gifts, birthday parties (kid ones, not awesome grown-up ones like Lady Mags' last Friday), picking up of discarded socks, shoes, clothes and toys, preparation of food for the upcoming week, various and sundry errands, and all the other little things that come up? And we don't even do soccer or baseball--I don't even know where those would fit. Is it a working mom thing, or is every mother exhausted by Sunday night? My weekends used to be all about relaxation, now they are all about just catching up.

LAMF

2008-11-22T17:56:00.001-08:00

Tonight Pod and I have a "date." What that means is that after we put the kiddos to bed, we're going to watch a Netflix movie.

Another exciting Saturday night.

Blogging from a Party

2008-11-21T18:08:00.000-08:00

I'm at Lady Mags and Lee's right now, celebrating Lady Mags' birthday, yet am so committed to NaBloPoMo that I just kicked a 3-year-old off a Teletubbies website so that I could post.

'Cuz I don't think I'll be in any shape to write once I get home tonight.

Many, many of my blogging buddies are here--including Karla May, Po, Bob Noxious, the afore-mentioned Lady Mags and Lee, plus various husbands, wives, and about a billion kiddos running about like crazy. (In fact, I haven't seen mine in about an hour. Where are they? Hmmm.)

The karaoke machine is on, people are singing to "Living on a Prayer," the beer is great in quality and quantity, life is good.

Wonder Boy Moves up to PG

2008-11-20T19:31:00.000-08:00

Wonder Boy has a new favoritist movie. He describes it as:

"It's about this really artistic kid."

"His best friend has a mustache."

"He dances really well."

"He draws mythical creatures."

Also W.B.'s become a lot more sarcastic lately.

Is it obvious?

Bad T-Shirts

2008-11-19T18:30:00.001-08:00

New Orleans is kind of famous for selling unfunny gag T-shirts. They were selling them when I was a child roaming about the Quarter (and, boy, did my parents have a lot of 'splaining to do from time to time), and they are selling them now. I can't tell you how many versions of this T-shirt I saw, also this one, and this one. Hardy har har. Yawn.

But then I came across one SO repulsive that I had to take a picture of it. Just look and see if you find it as appalling as I did:

I just can't imagine the person who would put their sweet and innocent baby daughter into something like this. Even ironically. It makes me throw up in my mouth a little.

Anyone find this even a tad amusing?

I Worked a 14 1/2 Hour Today

2008-11-18T20:32:00.000-08:00

So just go here for a song I like. That's the best I can do.

Home Again

2008-11-17T18:42:00.001-08:00

Ooof, I never want to eat again. God, we ate a lot. Gumbo and jambalaya and barbecue shrimp and red beans and beignets and French bread.

So, I made it back safely from the Big Easy--seemingly the only person on the flight out of New Orleans who was not hungover--and am feeling somewhat bittersweet about the whole trip. Of course it was great fun to be with my mom, who knows the Quarter, and in fact most of the city, like the back of her hand. We explored old stomping grounds, from when she and my dad lived in the Quarter as newlyweds (near the corner of Dumaine and Bourbon, for those of you who know the city), and from when I was born and lived near Tulane and, later, uptown.

However, I found myself holding my emotions in check for much of the visit. One was the damage. I'd say that about 75% of the part of New Orleans that most people see is back--the Quarter, the Avenue, the Garden District, all of that looks pretty good. But, from my perspective, even in those heavily trafficked areas, it's a little less crowded and a little more subdued. There's a seriousness of purpose that I saw among the people who stayed--to rebuild and to recover--that muted the 24-hour party atmosphere of the pre-Katrina New Orleans.

The closest analogy I can draw is what happened to the gay community when AIDS hit. Does this make sense to anyone? Late 70s, all fun and games. Mid-80s, ACTUP and die-ins and hard-core political activism.

But, in the areas less traveled by tourists, things are worse. Blocks of abandoned houses, blocks of abandoned stores, empty houses covered with vines, houses that burned down and have never been cleared, lots and lots of boarded up windows, lots of spray painted signs from the search and rescue efforts, and lots of closed schools. There are definite signs of life--and we saw lots of newly painted houses in really wonderful vibrant colors--but it will be a while before the city truly recovers.

So that made me a little sad.

Also, I was intensely nostalgic for most of the trip. Going to New Orleans felt like going home. I felt like I was home the whole time. The houses, the streets, the trees, the way the sky looked, the flowering plants (oh God, the bougainvillea), the smells, the sounds, the accents, the way the sidewalks felt under my feet--it was all just intensely familiar. I knew it all. New Orleans--with its history, its characters, its funky, tatty charm, its debauchery, its rituals, its art, its caste system, all of it--formed me into the person I became.

I've made Austin my home for more than 20 years and love this city dearly. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about how lucky I am to live here. (Really. I love it here that much). But I rediscovered my roots on this trip and proudly call myself a native New Orleanian.

Another Song

2008-11-16T05:58:00.001-08:00

Karla May first played this Eliza Gilkyson song for me, and, even though it was written about the tsunami a few years back, it is evocative of Katrina as well:

And it's really freaking beautiful.

Big Easy, Day Two

2008-11-15T16:06:00.001-08:00

I'm tired, y'all!

Mom and I walked all over the French Quarter and back today, stopping for a huge breakfast at a restaurant that's been around forever called the Coffee Pot (grits and biscuits--yay!), beignets, an oyster po-boy at Acme Oyster Bar (I had the gumbo, as oysters make me say "ick"), and then shopped shopped shopped. I'm feeling a little panicky about how much money I've spent, but I've covered all the bases (kiddos, Pod, office staff, and some small stuff for me) so can consider myself "done."

Tomorrow we hit some museums--Mom is very excited about the Ogden Museum of Southern Art--and we'll ride the streetcar and see where it takes us.

EVERYTHING I've eaten on this visit has been wonderful, BTW.

Stealth Blogging

2008-11-14T17:50:00.001-08:00

Am in New Orleans with mom. Eating good food, enjoying the sights, and falling back in love with the city. Had lunch at Camellia Grill and a fabulous dinner at Maspero's.

Still more damage from Katrina than you might expect, especially those spray-painted "X"s on houses from the search efforts--they are EVERYWHERE. But spirit of the city is still here, just a little more muted than before.

Today we drove around familiar places from my childhood and other significant neighborhoods--Treme, Marigny, and Lakefront (very sad, the latter). Tomorrow we plan to walk the Quarter until we fall over.

It's Friday night, 8:00 p.m., we're staying in the Quarter, and we are already in our jammies. Feeling only slightly pathetic about this.

More Music

2008-11-13T04:52:00.000-08:00

I'll do my best to post over the next four days, but I'm going to be traveling with my mom, who may or may not know about my blog. (And if she does know, she's never said anything to me about it, not even a resigned reference to all the cussin'.) If I can get away and post on the sly, I will.

Here's another song I love:

That's Flogging Molly there. Yesterday's was Tinariwen, singing in (I think) Tamashek.

Uninspired

2008-11-12T17:55:00.000-08:00

I'm not up for posting anything substantive tonight, but in the spirit of NaBloPoMo, I'll leave you with a video of a song I like.

More favorites to follow on days when I have nothing to say.

Work

2008-11-11T17:54:00.000-08:00

So, technically my promotion doesn't start until Jan. 1. After 1/1, I'm NOT going to be grant-writing anymore, which is a relief because I have been doing nothing BUT grant-writing for 4 solid years and frankly, I'm a lil burned out. (I've written something like 110 proposals in 4 years, But who's counting? I have fucking mastered grant-writing.) As things stand right now, I'll be moving out of Development and into the loosey-goosey world of Communications.

It was a tough year for me professionally. It became increasingly apparent all year that:

I had outgrown my job
I couldn't stay in that position as things were without losing my mind
Development just isn't my calling, or probably not
I have some interest and talent in the area of Communications
I do want to end up running a non-profit, someday, maybe, but anyway:
I don't see my career path as a straight and narrow road; I anticipate lots of twists and turns that will ultimately lead me exactly to where I need to be
It was time for something to happen.

And, lo and behold, that something happened at the non-profit that I love so much. I am thrilled by the opportunity to become our Communications Officer. And excited about taking on a new challenge and learning lots of new stuff. (And only a little scared shitless).

As I figured out nos. 1-7 over the year, I actually did engage in a little job-hunting. And came very close to accepting a position elsewhere. And here's the kicker: even though I didn't take that job, they invited me to join their Board. And although this is the year I'm saying no, I decided to say yes to this one. Because it's too good to pass up.

You can call me a slut if you want for saying yes. It's a fair cop.

One of These Things Is Not Like the Other

2008-11-10T16:53:00.000-08:00

Very little to report today.

Got up.

Showered and got dressed.

Made breakfast for the kiddos.

Packed lunches.

Drove kiddos to school.

Ate breakfast at the local bagelry and read the paper.

Went to work.

Got a promotion.

Sat in meetings.

Got some work done.

Came home.

Made dinner for the kiddos.

Cajoled kiddos into bath and/or shower.

Tried to think about something to blog about.

Couldn't think of anything.

Allowed Pod to supervise tooth brushing.

Kids' bedtime approaching.

May read for a while.

Bedtime soon.

2008-11-09T15:53:00.001-08:00

This weekend we:

Did seven loads of laundry (whites, darks, lights, towels, sheets, blankets, and that extra load of all the stuff that got missed the first time)
Folded and put away seven loads of laundry
Cleaned the bathrooms
Dusted
Cleaned both kids' rooms
Put fresh sheets on everyone's bed
Did the weekly grocery shopping
Rearranged the living room several times until it was almost, but not exactly, right
Went to Garden Ridge looking for something specific and I am NEVER GOING BACK I HATE THAT PLACE
Braved the crowds at Linens'n'Shit (it's going out of business, BTW) and bought the perfect can opener and bread box (I have always wanted a bread box)
Bought fabric
Bought a decorative pillow
Recovered 2 chairs for the living room
Cleaned and hung an antique carriage lamp in the living room and it's looks loverly (done by Pod, but I told him where)
Had a mild asthma attack after churning up decades-old dirt on vintage chairs and an antique lamp and had to go lie down for a few minutes
Hung a poster of Robert Johnson in the hallway (also done by Pod)
Put those little soft pads on the inside of cabinets so they don't bang when you close them (formal name: defusers, if you're looking for them, and trust me, go straight to Home Despot because they are not at Garden Ridge or Hobby Lobby or your neighborhood hardware store or even at the local fabric shop, I KNOW WHEREOF I SPEAK)
Moved several pieces of furniture to the garage for ultimate housing in the attic (including an antique chair ruined by our dead cat)
Put out several decorative pots, vases, and other breakable items that had been put "away" when Her Majesty became a toddler
Decided that moving the TV out of the living room and into the back bedroom was the best thing we have ever done to our house
Reclaimed our living room for grownups
Watched "This Movie is Not Yet Rated"
Found and reserved a spot for Her Majesty's birthday party
Ordered Her Majesty's birthday cake
Gave some thought to party favors for Her Majesty's birthday party
Downloaded a shitload of music, and in doing so was thrilled to discover 2 long-lost songs from my college years that I have been looking for ("Stray" by Fetchin' Bones, and "Stop It" by Pylon), also Shearwater, Patti Smith, TV on the Radio, Smog, and Bad Livers
FORGOT to eat lunch today
Started packing for a trip next weekend
Mowed the lawn (this was exclusively Pod)
Practiced with Wonder Boy on his bike (again, exclusively Pod, and in case you're wondering, Her Majesty is refusing to try again after the broken arm incident)
Let the kiddos watch entirely too much TV, but whatareyougoingtodo

I'm sleeping well tonight, dear readers.

Love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night

2008-11-08T07:55:00.000-08:00

Jules at Better Living Through Sarcasm sent me a link to a new MTV website where all they play is--wait for it--music videos! Imagine, MTV playing music videos!

This is the first music video I remember seeing. It's still better than half the crap that's being produced today.

Queen |MTV Music

Movie Night

2008-11-07T18:43:00.001-08:00

Just a little head's up for you parents out there:

Spirited Away is just about the perfect movie for an 11-year-old, but it will scare the shit out of a 4-year-old.

The 41-year-old in the house enjoyed it greatly.

Wonder Boy and I are now on an official Miyazaki kick.

New Addition

2008-11-06T18:43:00.001-08:00

We have a new addition to the household!

This was Pod's mom's piano, now ours. (Pod wants you to know that it's a 1941 Chickering & Sons that belonged to his grandmother). It's quite beautiful and looks lovely in our house. The challenge is rearranging our living room, and neither of us is any good at decorating. Anyone want to come over and help?

Last Night

2008-11-05T16:31:00.000-08:00

Mostly, I cried. And cried and cried and cried.

Let me first say that Barack Obama inspired me in a way that no other politician ever has. It was his intelligence, his worldview, his personal and professional background, his eloquence, the way he ran his campaign, his vision, his humor, his family, the way he articulated what has happened to this country over the last 8 years and by the way he spoke about what makes America special--not the "Country First" America of a fearful people clinging to their guns and religion, frankly --but the America that is a beacon for the rest of the world, that embraces those huddled masses yearning to breathe free, that is a glorious quilt of black, brown, yellow, red, white, straight, gay, religious, non-religious, middle class, rich, poor, and a country that aspires to be a place where anyone can follow their own dream and succeed (or not) on their own terms.

And, of course, I'm a Democrat to my very core so there wasn't much doubt that I would vote for him. Just as I had voted (half-heartedly) for Kerry and (slightly more enthusiastically) for Gore.

But what made me cry so hard last night was not that. It was the fact that I am the daughter of 2 people who grew up in Mississippi in the 1950s. And that, even though I was born at the tail end of the civil right era, I've been a student of the movement for years. It is the historical era that I am most fascinated by and whose leaders inspire me almost more than any other.

So, last night, when the networks declared Barack Obama the next president of the United States, I thought about these people, who are my heroes:

Michael Schwerner, James Chaney, and Andrew Goodman. 3 civil rights workers murdered in Philadelphia, Mississippi, in 1964 while trying to register people to vote.

Jonathan Daniels. An Episcopal seminarian murdered in Alabama in 1965 for his civil rights work, including trying to integrate a local church.

Rosa Parks, who said "no" and sparked a movement.

Medgar Evers, NAACP field secretary, shot to death in his driveway in Jackson, Mississippi, in 1963.

Fannie Lou Hamer, a sharecropper turned civil rights activist who turned up at the 1964 Democratic National Convention and demanded a seat to protest the segregated Mississippi delegation.

And, of course:

Something changed in America last night. Something that was built on the sacrifices of these men and woman and a hundred others who are no longer remembered. A barrier was broken. A paradigm shifted. A historical movement was vindicated.

And that's why I cried for an hour and a half.

2008-11-04T17:46:00.000-08:00

Wonder Boy got a 100 on his diorama!

No commentary tonight--I'm just watching and counting and watching and counting.

See you tomorrow. I HOPE for CHANGE.

Election

2008-11-03T17:25:00.000-08:00

Is everyone else as anxious about tomorrow's election as I am? I am all jumpy and twitchy, keeping my fingers crossed, worried that something will go wrong, and trying hard as hell not to look at the polls every five minutes. I don't expect getting much sleep tomorrow night.

Tonight, I am helping Wonder Boy write a paper on the Anasazi Indians for a class tomorrow. Apparently he had received an assignment to build a diorama and write a paper on a Native American tribe about 3 weeks ago but neglected to inform us until last Thursday, when he said, "Oh no! I think my diorama is due tomorrow!"

Panic ensued.

We finally located the assignment in the mess that is his backpack and discovered that the project was in fact, due tomorrow (Tuesday). But he couldn't remember the tribe he was assigned to research. He was sent to school on Friday with very specific instructions to find out what tribe he was supposed to be reporting on. Did this happen? NO. So because it was the weekend and the only time to build the damn diorama was Saturday afternoon, we randomly picked a tribe that seemed interesting and I'm hoping it will suffice for the assignment.

This is life with a child with poor executive function.

The diorama didn't turn out too bad, IMO. And the paper is pretty good.

Except that both printers are out of ink...

Dammitalltohell.

PS--Don't forget to VOTE tomorrow.

No Comment

2008-11-02T08:10:00.000-08:00

...except that Wonder Boy wandered in while I was watching the clip and was outraged. I mean, wanting to call the police on her for child abuse.

And So It Begins

2008-11-01T06:57:00.000-07:00

Here I go, NaBloPoMo, with my first entry for the month. I think I'll ease into it with some bullet points:

Last night's Halloween involved neither outrageous costumes nor the consumption of large amounts of alcohol, sadly. (Ah, I miss my 20s). Instead, we took Wonder Boy and Her Majesty to some friends' house for trick or treating with a rather large group of 9-11 year- old boys. Imagine, if you will, 3 adults trying to control 8 big kids in the dark -- all but one dressed in varying stages of black -- all bursting with energy and trying to run willy-nilly from house to house and across the street and back -- plus a little ballerina doing her best to keep up with the big boys. It brought out all my OCD tendencies--"do we have nine kids? 123456789, OK we have nine. OK kids! Next house! Do we still have nine? 123456789. Hey you! Ninja boy! You're going the wrong way! Come back! Do we still have all nine?"
And the one big kid not dressed in some form of black? Wonder Boy. Who decided this year that he wanted to be a Whoopee Cushion for Halloween. I shit you not, a whoopee cushion. He and Pod found a ginormous piece of styrofoam, painted it whoopee cushion pink (and apparently there is such a color in the spray paint aisle), cut out space for W.B.'s head and hands, and decorated it to look just like a whoopee cushion. No sound effects, though, which was, frankly, fine with me. That boy.
I am not above going through my children's Halloween bags when they are not looking and taking out my favorite candies. Just so you know.
In other news, I am sick as a DOG. I stayed home from work on Thursday, with the intention of lazing around in bed, periodically checking in with the office from my laptop and maybe watching one of the 2 Netflix movies sitting on my nightstand (Chalk and Rashomon, natch) but instead went immediately back to sleep after dropping the kiddos off at school. I didn't wake up until 4:00 p.m., which was exaccle the time I needed to get back in the car and pick them up. And as it was the day before Halloween and we still hadn't bought pumpkins, we had to stop at the grocery store to find some (and let me tell you that the pumpkin pickings the day before Halloween are pretty fucking slim), after which I got home and went right back to bed. I'm still not quite myself. Gals from last weekend's debauchery at the lake? Hope I didn't infect you. I think I already gave it to Pod.
Speaking of Pod, we had our 14th wedding anniversary on Wednesday. All we did was Indian takeaway, but still, it was nice. He gave me flowers and I gave him a Rufus Wainwright CD (really, the boy cannot get enough of Rufus these days).
And, while we're on the subject of music, my band of the week is "The Lonelyhearts." Check out Disaster Footage at Night. A little The National, a little Neil Young, a little Velvet Underground, engaging literate lyrics, strong melodies, and I loves me some Hammond organ.
Not a bad start for Day One, huh? See y'all tomorrow!

I'm Going For It

2008-10-28T18:48:00.000-07:00

It's time for me to get my ass in gear. Look for me on November 1.

Nina Hagen, Just 'Cuz

2008-10-21T20:28:00.000-07:00

Cuz I finally found the version of the song I was looking for:

And cuz she is wearing either a codpiece, or a merkin, or a strap-on. You tell me.

It's Time to VOTE

2008-10-19T06:55:00.001-07:00

I have vivid memories of my mom taking me with her to the polls on election day. She wasn't particularly politically active, but she always voted, and I tagged along, begging her to tell me who she voted for (she kept mum), and wishing I could step behind the curtain and cast my own ballot. I had already figured out my political leanings in my early teens (I remember being among a handful of students who didn't vote for Reagan in a mock election in 1980), and I registered to vote at 18. It's always been something I've taken seriously, and, though I've missed some of the smaller elections here and there, I've never not been registered and I've always believed voting to be both a privilege and a duty.

Election Day is 16 days away. I don't know that I've ever felt that an election was more critical to the future of this country. Early voting in central Texas starts on Monday--here is a list of early voting locations, a sample ballot for Travis County, and the League of Women Voters' (which I keep meaning to join) Voters Guide. And if you are like me and never keep up with the smaller races, and are of a progressive bent, it never hurts to have a list of endorsements from like-minded people.

Vote.

Vote.

Vote.

And bring your kids along.

2008: The Year of Suck

2008-10-13T17:00:00.000-07:00

Our cat Scamper died today.

Pod says that the stars in our family are aligned in the House of Turd.

Long story short: Scamper developed a dreadful swelling in the abdomen over the weekend, we took him to the vet first thing this morning, the vet said he needed surgery, and when she opened him up she discovered that the problem was not fixable--a hernia had developed that had cut off circulation to much of his intestine and had killed it. The vet said that it was amazing that he had been able to function so well for so long. He was only 2 years old, and he was a kick-ass, shelter-adopted, bird-hunting, attention-loving, entire neighborhood-roaming cat. And you know what was funny? As tough as he was, his vocal chords never developed properly, so he always had a tiny little high-pitched "mew" instead of a full-throated "MEOW." Kind of like the Mike Tyson of kitty cats.

Scamper was more my cat than anyone else's in the family. He was the tiniest kitty that we found at the shelter, which, I later learned, is kind of notorious for not being able to care for animals properly. (He was one of about 40 cats in a single-wide and was competing for food and space with fully-grown alley cats, and I can only blame that experience for a life-long tendency to hog the bowl at feeding time and to gulp down anything that came his way.) He came to us with every communicable disease that a cat can get and I don't think he would have survived if we hadn't brought him home. I was his "mom"--as much as you can be to a cat-- and it was me that he made biscuits on and me that he followed around the house and me that he constantly sought for head-and ear-rubbing.

He also had a tendency to fart when he was very relaxed. And he could clear a room. I've not yet met anyone else with a farting cat.

I think he and I both knew that things were not going to be OK. He spent both Saturday and Sunday night curled up with me in bed, and I spent hours rubbing his face and ears and stroking him. If I removed my hand, he would reach out with his paw and move my hand back to his face again. He must have been in a lot of pain but he purred and purred and purred and slept peacefully at my side.

I took the kids to a park today to tell them because I wanted them to feel the wind in their face when they thought about Scamper. I think his small spirit, in whatever form it has taken, is now hunting the wind and the air.

RIP Scamper.

Are You Ready for Some Football?

2008-10-10T20:25:00.000-07:00

A conversation in the car a few years ago--

Wonder Boy: Mom?

Me: Yes?

W.B.: Are we Longhorns?

Me: (flummoxed) Um, well, I guess technically we are--because your dad and I went to school at UT. So, um, yes. But we're not big Longhorn sports fans.

Despite spending my adolescence in a state where football is king (Ole Miss v. State? HUGE fucking rivalry there), and coming to Texas where football is king, I never really developed an interest in it. Or in any sports, for that matter. I went to one UT game in my freshman year, mainly because I thought I had to, but soon thereafter discovered Les Amis and Quack's and independent movies on campus and live music, and decisively and scornfully turned my back on football and other sports.

It helped that I met and married a man who loathed football. I mean, LOATHED it. So we felt pretty free to be scornful of it together.

And, eventually, as we moved farther and farther away from campus, it became easy to ignore the UT football season together. We stopped living in the part of town that is affected by home games, so you could easily forget that one was going on, unless you accidentally got caught in traffic on game day. (And then we would BITCH and BITCH about it.) We would both ostentatiously remove the sports section of the paper and set it aside with the classifieds and the circulars. We scoffed at the high salaries paid to the coaches, and the easy ride the athletes got, and their fancy training buildings.

And soon, it fell off our radar completely. We no longer even thought about the fact that we took out the sports section of the paper--it was just part of the morning ritual. If the conversation turned to sports at a party, I would wander off to join another conversation. (I also do this when people start talking about interest rates or their 401(k)--BORING). It just wasn't a part of my life at all.

I honestly have very little memory of some huge national championship that the Longhorns won a few years ago. I didn't actually know it had happened until some friends blogged about it.

But then. Last fall, I volunteered to help out at a concession stand at the UT stadium to help raise money for W.B.'s school. And it was kind of interesting--I didn't watch the game, but it was fun to watch the crowds and I enjoyed the sheer spectacle of it. I love figuring out that the Cokes I was selling--many of which were ordered as, "give me a big cup full of ice, and fill it halfway with Coke,"--were setups. That pleased me.

And then, Lady Mags invited me to watch the Missouri/Kansas game sometime last fall. And gave an interesting historical analysis of why the rivalry was so intense. And I went, not knowing what to expect.

And it was fun. I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to the game necessarily, but it was great hanging out with my friends and talking and laughing and maybe having a little drinkie to go with it all.

And at some point later that fall I ended up at another game-watching party. And it was the same--laughing with friends, letting the children run around, periodically looking at the television, and imbibing some good snackie food and a toddy or three.

Eventually I started dragging Pod along. (This from a man who said he would rather eat a Vaseline sandwich than attend a football game.) We even managed to cadge an invite to a Superbowl party back in January, and again, it was great fun. Not because of the actual game watching, per se, but because of the cameraderie and the tasty snacks and, quite frankly, the analysis of the commercials and half-time show.

I still don't understand the game. I have likened it to watching a foreign film without subtitles--occasionally I can figure out what's happening ("Look! A big guy is running towards the goal holding the football whilst being chased by other big guys.") but the nuances--the scrimmages, the downs, the penalty kicks, the statistics--are meaningless to me.

But I like the party that surrounds a game. I like hanging out with my friends, I admit to taking sides (and if it's not one of "my" teams* playing, I can be counted upon to root for the underdog), and I like the fact that usually my kiddos get to hang out with the kiddos of my old college drinking buddies for a few hours while I shoot the shit with my buds and occasionally check the score.

So, the question is: am I ready for some football? And the answer is, surprisingly, yes. (Karla, you can pick your jaw up from the floor now.) Tomorrow Chez Bookhart will be watching the UT/OU game at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Bob Noxious and I'm looking forward to it.**

*As far as "my teams" go, I'm only interested in universities that I feel some actual connection to. Most significantly, Texas, and to a lesser extent, Ole Miss. Also Illinois and Michigan because some people I love went there. Or, in a pinch, because they are from a state I have actually lived in or because I respect their academics. So far, professional football leaves me cold, though I have a nebulous allegiance to the New Orleans (S)A'ints because I'm from there.

**Though some things never change. Pod just wandered in and asked if I would mind if he attended an live simulcast performance of an opera at the Met on Saturday instead of the game. (My answer: of course.) That boy.

Madness

2008-10-09T20:09:00.001-07:00

As I suspected he might, Wonder Boy loved this:

See if you can watch this all the way through without grinning.

The Year I'm Saying No

2008-10-08T17:13:00.001-07:00

About this time last year, I realized I was seriously overextended. Besides the whole 40-hour a week career thing, and the 24-hour-a-day parenting thing, I was chairing the Board at Her Majesty's daycare, and had discovered that the City Task Force I had joined was turning into much more of a time and energy commitment than I had even dreamed it might be. Foolish me, I had thought that I would get to sit in the back at meetings and learn how a Task Force operated, never dreaming that I would end up having to chair meetings that were -- gasp! -- televised.

All this after concluding a 10-year commitment to an all-woman organization that shall remain nameless because people tend to associate it with tea parties and galas, and it's really not like that at all. And always feeling that, as a working mom, I have to make up for the fact that I'm not at Wonder Boy's school when the final bell rings. As a result, I always take on all requests made to me. Selling gift wrap? Sure, I'll buy some. Need a room mother? Sure! Someone to paint faces at the fair? Of course! Need me to bake a cake for a party and it's due tomorrow at 8 a.m.? No problem! Someone to help monitor the field trip? You betcha!

Damn straight I was frazzled.

Slowly, slowly, my obligations cleared. I concluded my Board term at Her Majesty's daycare right about the time I decided that I wanted her somewhere else anyway. The Task Force was only charged to last one year,* and anyway the Council Member who created it was not re-elected. And by late spring the most intense part of it was drawing to a close. (And at some point I'll regale you with the fun fun fun of serving on a Task Force Subcommittee where the only member who could be reliably counted upon to show up was yourself.)

And then life and work kept me overwhelmed this summer. And as the dust has cleared, I decided something. This is the year (and our family follows the academic calendar these days) that I say "no." Without guilt. Even if I think I might want to volunteer to do something--and I like to volunteer--I will say no.

And it's wonderful.

Bake sale at school? No. A meeting of the most devoted Task Force members to lobby for implementation of our recommendations? No. Room monitor needed? No. The Food Bank needs volunteers? Sorry, no. No. No. No. Not this year, I can say in all honesty.

This is the year that I say yes to myself. That I spend the little free time that I have (and there ain't much of it, to be sure) on myself. On getting healthy, on moderating my bad habits, on finding an exercise program that doesn't bore me to tears, on taking a yoga class or a writing class or a Spanish class, on remembering that I like to walk, on reconnecting with my fabulous friends.

This is long overdue. I'm not sure why I didn't think I deserved this before now.

Need my help? Ask me again next year.

*Though I have now learned that once you join a City Task Force, you could still be called upon at any time thereafter to present your findings to the new City Manager or the Council. They don't tell you when you sign on that your service is never really over. A warning to you, dear readers.

2008-10-08T04:39:00.001-07:00

I promise you that this doll won't be turning up in Her Majesty's stocking on Christmas morning:

Mildly NSFW.

Gloves Off

2008-10-05T19:48:00.001-07:00

You know what sexism is? Sexism is refusing to ask a woman candidate hard questions for fear that she might not be up to the task of answering them. For giving her "space" to answer only the questions that she has been prepped for beforehand. For not questioning her associates and her judgement, even if it relates to her family. For not going after her for drawing obvious blanks when asked even EASY questions--for the record, I read The New Yorker, the Statesman, the Chronicle, CNN, BBC, Huff Post, and a few others. For not saying, "that's a beauty queen answer, Sarah, please give me some specifics."

So, Sarah (can I call you Sarah?), here are my questions:

Why did you think that it was a good idea to accept the offer of Vice-fucking-Presidency when you knew that your underaged teenage daughter was pregnant? And for not revealing this fact until it was blatantly obvious that her bump could no longer be hidden? Did you think that people wouldn't notice? Did you think that your daughter might find it a bit humiliating to be under the media microscope at this particular point in her life?
What is up with the fact that, while pregnant with your last child (allegedly), you broke your waters in Texas, went on to give a speech, flew back to Alaska (and switched planes, apparently) without informing the flight crew that you were in labor, then drove to your podunk hometown that does not have a neonatal ICU, to deliver a special-needs baby? Please tell me how this is evidence of good judgement on your part.
Tell me specifically how being the mayor of a small town means that you are qualified to be a heart beat's away from running the entire country. And, while you were mayor, what prompted you to ask the librarian about banning books? Please provide me with the context of your request and provide documentation,if you were asking on behalf of other people in your community, as you have stated, what their specific concerns were.
Please show me proof that the so-called liberal media is biased against you. Do you think that you are being singled out for special persecution? Please explain, Sarah.
What was going through your mind when members of your church were speaking in tongues?
Have you ever met any African-Americans? Are you familiar with Plessy v. Ferguson? Brown v. Board of Education?
Do you know any Jews? Asians? Hispanics?
And, by the way, what's up with your husband being involved in an Alaskan-secessionist organization? Surely you need to answer this if you are accusing your rival of "consorting with terrorists" because he happened to live down the street and occasionally swapped hellos with a 1960s Weatherman radical. Do you see any similarities, Sarah?
Why is the "Troopergate" investigation being stonewalled? Why are you and your husband refusing to cooperate?
If Roe v. Wade is overturned, what should be penalties be? Specifically, for the woman seeking the abortion? What about for the doctor who performs it? Prison? The death penalty? You tell me, Sarah.
If you were, God forbid, without health insurance, would McCain's health plan be enough to cover all the costs for your special-needs child?
Do you even know what "Maverick" means?
Do you really think that winking to the crowd at a debate is effective? Winking?
Do you really think you are qualified for this position? Really, Sarah, are you equipped for the task?
Really, I think you are a chump, Sarah Palin.

Honestly, dear readers, if McCain/Palin wins this election then we deserve everything that's coming to us.

Pod's Mom

2008-09-30T18:18:00.000-07:00

Pod's mom died a week ago. Many of you dear readers knew that she had been sick for some time. She was hospitalized back in June, and never recovered her strength. She spent her last days surrounded by people who loved her.

Nita was a diva in the authentic sense of the word--that is, an actual opera singer--and she was also exuberant, funny, tolerant, and loving. She opened up her home and her heart to me from the moment I first met her, and I was lucky to have her as a mother-in-law.

Here are some interesting facts about Nita:

She was born and raised in Dallas, and as a child lived so close to the Dallas Zoo in Oak Cliff that she could hear the lions roaring through her open windows at night.
She was the first vocalist to win the prestigious G.B. Dealey Award for Musical Performance, which had previously only been awarded to pianists (including 2 years prior, a precocious Van Cliburn.)
She was featured as a soloist with the Dallas Symphony, Wichita Falls Symphony, Corpus Christi Symphony, Fort Worth Opera, and many others.
She studied at the Royal Academy of Music in London in the late 50s.
She and Pod's dad toured the Southwest in the early 60s performing 17th and 18th century songs (she singing, him on the harpsichord or organ) in period dress.
She loved a bawdy song.
She loved to sing bawdy songs.
She would occasionally don a wig with long blond braids, a metal breastplate, and a Viking helmet to sing bawdy songs.
She and Pod's dad threw some awesome parties in the 70s.
Pod's dad and she traveled to Europe as frequently as they could so that Pod's dad could play the organ at churches throughout England, France, and Germany, and she could bitch about how many steps they had to climb to get to them. She loved Paris, London, and Bergen.
She was married for 48 years to a man as passionate about music as she was, raised 2 fine sons, and taught music and technique to hundreds of aspiring vocalists at one of the best music schools in the country.

The qualities that I fell for in Pod--an intense dedication and love for music, a dry sense of humor, a big-heartedness, not to mention those big blue eyes--all came from her.

Pod and I wanted to share something of her with you. Here is a clip of her singing Sibelius' Varen flyktar hastigt:

And here's a link to a translation of the lyrics, which stunned us when we found them. (Because I was like, all, Si-WHO-lius?, since I'm kind of a philistine when it comes to classical music.)

Pod sends his thanks to all who have sent cards and well wishes.

Yes, More Youtube

2008-09-19T22:06:00.000-07:00

Lots of complicated shit going on right now, too much to blog about--either I could write for 4 hours straight, or I could say nothing. I'm hopeful that in a few weeks things will have settled down and I can post something substantial. Right now, though, I'm going with Youtube posts and inconsequential links.

This is a song from the album I am listening to obsessively right now, which suits my mood perfectly.

Bundle of Joey

2008-09-17T16:42:00.000-07:00

Bwah ha ha ha!

I Was Waiting for This

2008-09-14T07:57:00.001-07:00

It Goes to 11

2008-09-10T18:43:00.000-07:00

Wonder Boy turned eleven today. Eleven! How did that happen? I've been noticing that the kids in his class are in transition, leaving big-kiddom behind and entering into early adolescence. There are a couple of really tall girls in his class already sporting training bras (or needing to), as well as a couple of boys who look like miniature teenagers with floppy hair, baggy shirts, and a studied expression of nonchalance. OTOH, there are kiddos like W.B. and most of his friends who still look and act and think like kids. Strange. I'm trying very hard not to hear the thundering hooves of the Apocolypse approaching--that is, the teenage years.

W.B. had a great birthday. We offered him a choice--either a big gift and a small party, or a small gift and a big party, and, having something specific in mind, he chose the big gift--a Nintendo DS. The birthday party I am throwing together at the last minute with the absolute minimum of children, hastily ordered pizza and a homemade cake. No themed plates and napkins, no pinata (well, probably not), no party games, no decorations, no recurrance of last year's "Lord of the Flies" party. (On the other hand, Her Majesty has been talking of almost nothing but her upcoming birthday party, where she wants one cake for the girls, and another for the boys, and for the girls to sit at a special table and the boys to sit at "the green one," whatever that means. So she gets the big party. Hopefully. If I can find the right venue, because I'm NOT having 30 preschoolers in my house and giving them cake and ice cream. Because my head might explode.)

In other news, the nickel-and-diming has already started at school. Friday is "Custodian Appreciation Day" and we are requested to bring our favorite family dish preferably prepared with child as helper the night before so that he/she will feel a part of the event. Um, a little more advance notice would have helped, especially as Mom is going drinking with her girlfriends on Thursday night so won't be doing any cooking. Plates and napkins, anyone? In after-school care they are having Pizza Day and can I please remember to bring $3.00? And I can't forget the $4.50 for the recorder for music class. Please, school! Coordinate your efforts, and let me write one big check at the beginning of the school year and be done with it. (Lady Mags, is it your daughter's school that does this? Because that idea ROCKS.)

So, happy birthday Wonder Boy. I love your kindness, your worldview, your unbelievably creative imagination, your love for your family, your obsession with Pokemon, and your as yet unsullied belief in the concept of fairness and the basic goodness of people.

Shitty Day

2008-09-09T20:45:00.001-07:00

Sometimes only the classics will soothe my savage breast:

And Now For Something Completely Different

2008-09-03T19:48:00.000-07:00

Serious topic, funny video.

Best line: "Yo, where my bees at?"

And, sorry, but I don't hate the music either.

Unwanted Excitement

2008-09-02T17:27:00.000-07:00

Her Majesty fell off her bike yesterday and broke her arm.

She's only recently graduated from the toddler-sized "pretend" bike to an actual kid-sized one with training wheels. She's been doing fantastically well, pedalling hard to keep up with brother Wonder Boy, so it was a great shock to all of us when she careened out of control, fell over, and stopped the bike (and herself) by landing on her elbow.

Ouch.

It was immediately apparent that something was terribly wrong with her arm--despite a brief hope that a washcloth and antiseptic would make it all better, this was not going to be a cosmetic fix. So, Pod stayed home to keep up with W.B. (who is biking circles around all of us, BTW) while I made the drive to the new Dell Children's Hospital with Her Majesty, who was grimacing in pain every time we hit a bump and had started shivering ominously.

When we hit the ER, the nurse called out, "let this one in first--she has an obvious deformity!" Actually she said this twice--once on the way in and once to another nurse, and that phrase is going to stick with me (that is, haunt me) for a while.

Hours later, after Her Majesty had been doped up on morphine and subjected to an IV and X-Rayed and had fallen asleep, a review of the X-Rays revealed that this break needed more than just a cast--she needed pins so that the bones would set properly. (I forget the technical name, but it's the second most common type of arm break). So, at 11 p.m. at night, we were admitted into the hospital to spend the night and scheduled for orthopedic surgery the following morning at 7:00 a.m. (which would be today, the day that I am now writing this).

After hurriedly depositing W.B. at school this morning, Pod joined me at the hospital while Her Majesty was in surgery. She went through it wonderfully, is sporting a fuchsia cast from hand to shoulder, and has instructions to keep her arm elevated for the next 2-3 days (like that's going to be easy). We were released mid-afternoon. She's been a trouper about the whole thing--kids are amazingly resilient. She'll have the cast for 3 weeks, will have to endure a terrible office visit to have the cast and pins (!) removed, and then wear a sling for another 3 weeks. And no climbing, no swimming, no jumping, and no riding on things with wheels for 2 months, at least. So, no trip to Schlitterbahn next weekend (as planned), no camping in 2 weeks (as planned), no classmate's birthday party at the bouncy place (as planned). We'll have to find other, less active, pursuits to stay busy.

But we're home, thank goodness.

Can I give some advice to parents out there? Make sure your kid is wearing a helmet if you are bike riding. Not just because it will keep them from spilling their brains out on the street, but because if you do have an accident and have to go the hospital, you will be asked over and over and over again if your child was wearing a helmet. And it's really nice to be able to answer "yes." Trust me on this.

From the Archives, ca. 1975

2008-09-01T10:19:00.001-07:00

My dad recently gave me a box of old photographs, clippings, playbills, drawings, cards, college applications, stories, and other odds and ends from me that he had saved over the years. Here's a picture of me at 8 or 9 that I've never seen before.

My hair was redder than I remember.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

2008-08-30T07:06:00.000-07:00

I don't get on my political soapbox much, but can I just say that I am flat-out appalled by McCain's choice of VP? Does he (and his Republican strategists) live in some kind of parallel universe where someone this inexperienced and this parochial would be even remotely qualified to lead this country in a time of national economic crisis and while we are still technically at war? Not to mention in the midst of her very own ethics investigation? And other things that may well prove to be gossip so I won't repeat them?

Are we supposed to act like we should take this poor, desperate, pandering decision seriously? That just because she and I happen to have the same kind of plumbing that I would automatically fall in line to support her?

I think the stakes for this election just got much, much more serious.

From the Archives, ca. 1985

2008-08-25T17:12:00.000-07:00

I found this awesome high school picture whilst looking for pictures for my FaceSpace page. From L to R: Gatling Gun, me, Slow-tasha, and Carrots. I have absolutely no idea where we were or what all those little white containers are. But we all look happy (drunk), n'est-ce pas?

What I'm Listening to this Month

2008-08-18T16:36:00.000-07:00

From far away:

And from rah chere in Austin:

Sunday Morning Surprise

2008-08-17T13:29:00.001-07:00

"Mom! Mom! There's a fire in the kitchen!"

Let me tell you that NOTHING will wake you up from a sound sleep faster than your child running in yelling this.

It was only a small fire in the toaster oven, easily snuffed out once the plug was pulled. (Thank goodness.) This toaster oven is on its last legs, and I've been babying it along, because my last toaster oven lasted from 1985 to approximately 2003, and this one cannot be dying after only 5 years. (Because then I would have to rant about how they don't make things like they used to, and I'm much too young to go down that road.) Wonder Boy has been learning to make his own breakfast--which I applaud, in theory, because the prospect of sleeping in on the weekends for the first time since 1997 is awfully nice--but hasn't yet learned that if you load down a bagel with peanut butter before you toast it, then gobs of peanut butter and loose bagel may drop down on the heating filament and ignite.

I think he knows that now.

What was actually worse was the state of the kitchen after all the excitement died down. It looked like Wonder Boy had gotten into a battle with the peanut butter jar and lost. There was peanut butter everywhere--on the faucet, on the floor, all over an entire roll of paper towels, on the cabinets--I eventually found it smeared in his underpants and I don't even want to know how that happened.

Now peanut butter is one of my favorite things in the whole world. But putting your hand into a big glob of it when you are turning on the hot water in the kitchen is pretty damn gross. It's not easy to clean up either.

I've taken some steel wool to the toaster oven and am keeping my fingers crossed that we can get a few more months out of it. But I'm keeping unplugged in between uses just in case.

[Later]

So, not half an hour ago, just as I was finishing up this post, Her Majesty wanders in with a peculiar expression on her face and tells me that she just shoved a piece of paper up her nose. It doesn't hurt, she reports, but it feels a little funny. So I dig out a flashlight and peer up her nose and, sure enough, there's a wad of paper wedged WAY back there. Absolutely too far back to get out with fingers. So, a dilemma:

Should we go to the Emergency Room? It's one of those things I've heard that you're supposed to do if your child puts something up their nose, but it doesn't really seem to be an emergency, and I'm pretty experienced with ERs by now and know that this would be a super low priority we would likely be there several hours.
Can it just wait until Monday and I'll call the doctor's office then? Or will the paper work itself so far back into her nasal cavity that she'll need surgery and I'll blame myself for it for the rest of my life? Or will it get wet and swell up and DISFIGURE her?
Should I get the tweezers out and try to fish it out myself? Possibly Wonder Boy can hold the flashlight while I'm digging around in there. Then realize: amateur plus pointy tweezers plus wiggly 4-year-old plus delicate nasal cavity equals DISASTER. No, worse, BLOOD and DISASTER.
Should I call the pediatrician to find out if this is an emergency or no? This seems a reasonable option, but of course it's Sunday and a pain to get a call back. I do call the service but then find out that the office charges $15 per after-hours call and get a big miffed and hang up, thinking, well fuck that.

So I try to encourage Her Majesty to work the paper out on her own. She's blowing her nose repeatedly and after about 10 minutes a GINORMOUS piece of paper flies out of her left nostril. It's so big that I would never in a million years think that she could have gotten it up there. Or even thought--hmm, that's a big piece of paper, maybe I'll stuff it up my nose.

In the meanwhile, I almost burn down the house again because I forget about the rice that's just starting to boil on the stovetop while I am solving the paper-up-nose crisis and it scorches and smokes.

I'm in the bedroom now, lights off, recovering. The kids can watch Nick Jr. for the rest of the day and I won't even mind.

Reason #397 Why I Love Austin

2008-08-15T10:36:00.001-07:00

On my lunch break today, I saw a guy riding a bike exactly like the ones pictured below:

Down Congress Avenue!

What made it even better was that the dude was dressed like a hard-core Tour de France cycler, and bore an expression of grim determination on his face like he was actually using this contraption for serious exercise.

Awesome.

Summer Blahs

2008-08-14T18:21:00.000-07:00

This week has gone by unexpectedly fast—and I’m not sure why. I found myself overcome with work-related anxiety and panic on Monday and literally could not go into the office. Very strange, and unprecedented in my working life. I’m not one of those people who allow themselves the luxury of “mental health” days but in this case I actually needed one. With about a half-day of sleep, and some comfort reading (ie., the re-reading of some old favorites), I was better and was able to head in on Tuesday, complete a significant proposal on Wednesday, and use today to get myself organized in the face of looming deadlines at the end of the month. Things at work continue to improve, albeit more slowly than I would like. I’m feeling more hopeful than I have in a long time.

I wish I had something, anything of note to report. Unlike some people I know and love, my life is super boring. I’m not watching the Olympics, I’m not watching Mad Men, I’m not watching Battlestar. I'm doing as little as possible to avoid sweating. It’s the dog fucking days of summer. I have some personal improvement plans percolating in my brain, which I’ll share when I’m ready—maybe once the school year starts.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

2008-08-11T12:54:00.001-07:00

Lady Mags already posted on our recent long weekend at the Texas coast--which means I don't have to!

Here's a brief glimpse of the backdrop of our trip:

Again with the Bullety Point Things

2008-08-06T17:25:00.000-07:00

At long last, I can reveal Pod's adventure last weekend. Go here to read all about it and watch the day-long debauchery--my guy is the one in the LBJ cowboy hat. And happy 40th to Lee, who I've known since his 20th.

An interesting weather note: when it's been 105 for days at a time, and suddenly it's only 90 out? It feels like fall. Thanks, Edouard, for giving us a break.
Two houses on my block went up for sale last week and both sold in less than 5 days. The MLS listing for one described it as being "in trendy [my neighborhood]." I wonder what this portends.
We received notice this week that the monthly tuition for Her Majesty's nursery school is going up considerably in September. I thought back and have determined that we are now paying $150 more a month for childcare than we were at this time last year. This was the result of incremental increases across two schools, but nevertheless, it's pinching me tightly. Especially when coupled with our increasing grocery bills (up approximately $100/month, though buying only necessities now, no fun stuff) and gas (up approximately $80/month). In short, all my discretionary income is now gone. Things will improve when H.M. starts public kindergarten, but right now I'm facing a solid year of penury.
Wonder Boy has watched both National Treasure and National Treasure 2 in the last two weeks and went crazy for them. I mean, batshit, jumping up and down, yelling at the screen, pumping his fists in the air crazy. If you have a child who likes mysteries, hidden clues, and buried treasure, but isn't up for the intensity/violence of the Indiana Jones movies, I highly recommend them. I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Nic Cage because of Valley Girl (though I still haven't quite forgiven him for Leaving Las Vegas, which is possibly the most depressing movie ever made), but I'm a little concerned by the white Chicklet teeth he has acquired. Really, they are unsettlingly large. The Nic Cage I knew and loved back in the day had a charming snaggle-tooth grin. Still, he has a new fan in Wonder Boy.
Don’t miss this link!
You have no idea how happy I am to be on the cusp of a 4-day weekend. No freaking idea.

It's Nice to be a Lunatic

2008-08-03T11:26:00.000-07:00

This one is for Gatling Gun:

Melting

2008-08-02T09:13:00.001-07:00

Cripes, it's hot. I don't mean to post about something as mundane as the weather but I will say this summer will go down in Bookhart family history as the year that we never went outside. My kiddos are watching way too much TV but, frankly, I am not up to running around in the 100 degree heat unless a swimming pool is involved. And, as is my custom in the summer, I am gaining weight due to inactivity and general sloth, which makes me disinclined to want to put on a swimsuit. I am consoling myself with the belief that a little TV on the weekends isn't going to turn my kids' brains into mush.

In the meanwhile, I've been compulsively checking out books from the library every few days--the nearest I get to shopping these days. At one point, I had 40(!) books checked out, but I'm making myself return most of them unread. Because I really don't need 40 library books. It's a little crazy to have 40 books checked out.

But I'm catching up on mysteries and memoirs--my favorite light reading--and was thrilled to stumble across this book a few days ago.
I've been a little obsessed with the Evelyn Nesbit/Harry K. Thaw/Stanford White affair since Ragtime made its way to HBO in my formative years. So therefore I ended up watching it eleventy million times because it was always on. That is, when they weren't showing Romancing the Stone. Which they showed eleventy million and one times.

Why the obsession? I mean, look at this woman:
(Actually, girl--she was about 16 or so at the time this photo was taken so you dirty old men out there better rezip your pants.) This picture was taken in 1901--1901!!! She is breathtakingly beautiful. The whole story, the personalities, the scandal, the murder, the window it opens on turn of the 20th century New York, it just fascinates me.

So that's what I'll be reading this steamy Saturday night. Pod is on an adventure, which will be described on another friend's blog in a day or two. I'll be sure to add a link when it's up.

FaceSpace

2008-07-28T17:37:00.000-07:00

So, erm, I kind of joined one of those social networking sites this weekend. And now I'm trying to figure out the point of it, besides adding as many friends as you can (which is kind of like junior high--what if all my friends have 57 friends and I only get 10? Does that mean I'm not popular?) Besides the adding friends thing and the occasionally saying "hello" on a friend's site, does it do anything else?

I did track down one junior high school friend and one high school "friend" -- I use quotations because he wasn't actually a friend in high school (me drama geek, him football hero), but he's the only other person on the site from my high school class (except someone who says he was class of '85, but wasn't because there were only 49 of us and I don't recognize the name, the dirty liar).

So what am I going to do with this secondary online identity? I need guidance.

I'm Confused

2008-07-24T10:20:00.000-07:00

Did they misspell Pabst intentionally?

Or not?

Overheard in the Back Seat

2008-07-22T08:47:00.001-07:00

Setting: MOPAC at 5:30 p.m. Her Majesty has been picked up from daycare wearing something made out of construction paper around her wrist. Wonder Boy notices it for the first time.

Wonder Boy: Hey cool bracelet!

Her Majesty: It’s a watch.

W.B.: That’s not a watch, it’s a bracelet.

H.M.: It’s a watch.

W.B.: It’s not a watch—a watch has numbers on it.

H.M.: (after a pause) It’s a watch.

W.B.: No, it’s a bracelet.

H.M.: It’s a watch.

W.B.: It’s a bracelet.

H.M.: It’s a watch.

W.B.: It’s not a watch! It’s a bracelet.

H.M.: It’s a watch.

W.B.: It’s a bracelet.

H.M.: (singing) It’s a watch!

W.B.: Bracelet.

H.M.: Watch.

W.B.: (quieter this time) Bracelet.

H.M.: Watch.

W.B.: (even quieter) Bracelet.

H.M.: Watch.

Pause.

W.B.: OK, it’s a watch.

H.M.: It’s not a watch! It’s a transformer!

W.B.: Cool! Can you turn me into Pikachu?

Random Bullety-Point Things

2008-07-21T17:28:00.000-07:00

Last night Pod and I were discussing the (lack of) insect infestation in our house, mainly because we had just seen an ad for this show, after having watched several episodes of this surprisingly addictive show. Though we get the occasional misdirected stinkbug and there was last year's horrifying flea infestation, I was quick to point out that I had never seen a cockroach in our house in 7 years. (And I am shit scared of cockroaches.) So guess what was wriggling its lengthy feelers at me this morning when I turned on the light in the kitchen?
I have been raving to all my friends with little ones about the movie My Neighbor Totoro, which was recommended in this article. Loved it. Very gentle, humorous, and beautifully animated. Wonderful for siblings because it's all about 2 sisters' relationship. (Also about mythical woodsprites of varying sizes. And a catbus. And, um, a mother with tuberculosis.) Do yourself a favor and track it down, even the Disney-dubbed version that the purists sneer at.
Speaking of, I joined Netflix about 3 months ago and have over 250 movies in my queue, which would be all the movies I missed after I reproduced ten years ago.
Things at work are slowly improving. As a result, I seem to be emerging from this peculiar funk that I've been in for several months, which consisted of about 30% anxiety, 30% depression, 30% anger, and 10% alcohol. Really, I was a little bit nuts for a while. I am starting to think about taking some time this fall and spring to really work on getting healthy--up from sloth, as it were--by finding some kind of exercise that doesn't bore me silly, reducing or eliminating the bad stuff I ingest, and making a conscious effort to carve out some space around the chaos that is my daily life to breathe and be at peace.
Wonder Boy started 2 weeks of Magic Camp today so that he can become a sickly, unemployed amateur children's magician. One of the (many) things I love about living in Austin is that there is a camp specifically for kiddos like W.B.--geeks in training, as it were--whereas if we were in a smaller town all we could hope for was some kind of sports camp for boys.
One of my most favoritist bands was the subject of a long article in Sunday's Statesman. Buried deep in the article is this little nugget of information: some members of the band are coming to Austin for a few months to work on new material! Which means that maybe, finally, I can see them perform! Oh happy day.

In Which I Reveal My Total Dorkiness

2008-07-17T16:28:00.000-07:00

I could have been exercising, I could have been creating precious memories with my children, I could have been learning Spanish, but instead I spent entirely too much time this evening on this site. Also this one.

Back in the Fold

2008-07-13T18:09:00.000-07:00

I had the same pair of twin beds throughout my entire childhood. No matter where we lived--New Orleans, Austin, New Orleans again, and Jackson, Mihhihhippi--I used the same frames as either bunkbeds or twin beds. They were easily convertible, depending on mood, age, and room size. I knew the curve of the headboards intimately, the noise they made when I jumped into them (or on them), and can vividly recall the shade of pale yellow they were painted for most of my childhood.

After high school graduation, as I packed up to go to UT, my mother decided to move into a smaller place. Not a bad idea, as I was going to be far away and only home for the holidays. (And after the first year, I was hardly home at all). All she needed was one bedroom and a sofa-bed for my infrequent appearances and she would be fine. So, we didn't need the twin beds anymore. In those years my mother ran with a younger set (she still does, now that I think about it) and in that set was a woman who bartended at the coolest bar in Jackson, was newly married and pregnant, and could use a set of beds for children. So they were passed along to this young couple and honestly, I didn't think about them again.

Flash forward 15 or so years. Pod and his bandmates were slowly coming together again--after a few years adrift thanks to marriage, babies, careers, life in other words-- to form what would become The Dentones. Alain, the drummer (and coincidentally, someone who Pod has known since they were toddlers, as their moms are great friends) got their first gig at a party for a coworker. I missed the show for some reason, but after their small acoustic set, Pod struck up a conversation with some of Alain's coworkers. And one of them was from Jackson. Pod said, "you must know my mother-in-law because she knows everyone in Jackson." (This is true. I mean, literally, she knows everyone in Jackson.) And as it turned out, this coworker of Alain's did in fact know my mother, said immediately, "you must be married to Bookhart," and then mentioned that he and his wife had some twin beds that once belonged to me.

Small world. Tiny world.

So, over the past few years, we've seen this very nice couple at Dentones gigs, and a few weeks back, they happened to mention that their oldest daughter (now 18) would be going off to college in the fall, and would we be interested in having the twin beds back?

Um, hell yeah. Hay-yull yeah. We've been wanting bunk beds for Wonder Boy for years but somehow never got around to buying them. If the money was there, the inclination wasn't and if the inclination was there, the money wasn't.

I mentioned this with some excitement to my mother (because, as any one who has seen my house knows, the Bookhart family only buys new furniture if we can't inherit it) and she dropped a bombshell on me. Did I know that not only were these my twin beds but they had also been my father's as a child?

Um, no, I hadn't known that. So I was even more excited.

This Saturday, this couple borrowed a truck and brought over the beds. I thought we might repaint them, but Wonder Boy was over the moon about them, they were in lovely shape, so we decided to set them up right away. And as I was looking at the various pieces I noticed that one of the slats bore a very old shipping label from a company in Memphis. And in very faded copperplate handwriting was the address where they were sent. Which was "To: Mr. H.H. [my maiden name], Alexandria." H.H. being my paternal grandfather in Alexandria, Louisiana, where my dad was born and where he lived until about 1942 or so, when H.H. (Hubert Hudson, also known as "Pat") died at a very young age.

So there, a clear provenance for the beds. Also, a chance for me to think about my grandfather (who, obviously, I only know from photographs) buying his young son--my father--a brand-new bunkbed. And of the love he must have had for my father, and the pride he must have had when they arrived. (Because this was the late 30s/early 40s, not the most prosperous time in the Deep South.)

So now, they are back in the family, in Wonder Boy's room, and he loves them.

I cannot tell you how happy this confluence of events has made me.

Busted

2008-07-08T21:07:00.001-07:00

This wasn't us! I swear!

As if we'd be caught dead in a SUV.