Maybe it should be drunk tank. Cripes.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Dunk Tank.
Not a typo. For the love of Jane, what on earth would possess me to volunteer to sit in a dunk tank during Homecoming week, in Minnesota, outside, when the high is supposed to be 57 degrees? Why I ask you, I beseech you.........WHY? I'll let you know how it goes tomorrow.......if I make it. I already have kids saying they are bringing in bags of cash. Great. Fantastic. You played baseball? A pitcher? STAR pitcher, you say? Wonderful. Congratulations.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Gladiators.
Ah. Il Colesseo. The Colosseum. Home of the Gladiators, Christians, Lions, Slaves and Russell Crowe. Even though it is in different shape than it once was in its heyday; it still is magical. You can picture it, your mind's eye filling in the floor, seating area and imagining it as it once was.Further, thinking about what actually took place there gets your mind thinking. Horrible, tragic ends of lives were met here. Without most spectators blinking an eye, I can imagine. We in modern, more "civilized" times, cluck our tongues at the barbarian-ness of it all. I say, judge not lest you be judged, Mr. and Mrs. 21st century.
We still are fascinated by others' suffering. Financial ruin, celebrity fallings and missteps, humiliation of the mighty and not so mighty. Look at our abundance of reality TV for the sake of real and created drama, often consisting of one's humiliation, shame, or misfortune. Is it all an attempt to make us feel better about our lives in some small (I use this both figuratively and literally)way? Natural disasters, the war, your neighbor's dirty, ugly secret.
I think that might be a small corner of the reason that we got rid of TV. News, reality TV, vapid sitcoms, whatever. The argument could be made that if you don't say anything, it won't change. Couldn't getting rid of it all together being a statement in and of itself?
Teenagers beating up older people caught on video camera, school shootings, celebrities who are famous for being famous or drinking/drugs or misbehaving, whatever it is. It is enough to just want to move to somewhere else.
But....we can't and we don't, for the most part. We play the hand we are dealt. And there is goodness in the world, their is righteousness here, and there is kindness. Check this out if you get a change today. I mean, chance. Hmmmm. Maybe if you need a change today?
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Never, Ever Run Away. Capital R, Capital A.
We are going to step in the way back machine to revisit an episode from childhood. It is not morbid, not disturbing, nor anything that will make you silently weep for me. Nothing like that. I must have been 4 or 5, maybe 6 but probably no older and was mad at my mother for some reason. Perhaps I was not allowed to do something or I had gotten scolded for something I probably shouldn't have been doing...the reason, specifically, escapes me. It may or may not be selective memory at this point in time. So. I decided that I wasn't going to put up with it anymore and I was running away. Overreaction? Yes. Melodramatic? Check. True? Yep.
I had at the time a suitcase (I believe it was called a train make up case or something) that was little, opened at the top like a jewelry box, had satin lining the top and bottom and had a mirror installed inside the top lid. It was blue and it....was....cool. So, it became my Running Away Bag. Now, the letters have changed at this point as I have created....already....different dramatic scenarios in my head. Running away, making it on my own, I'll show Mom, maybe making it big in Hollywood, being taken in by a mega wealthy kind family, you get the picture. So.
I pack my Running Away Bag with the absolute essentials according to a 4/5/6 year old. Toothbrush (dental hygiene always important...you'll note I forgot the toothpaste.), Barbie Doll WITH a change of clothes, coloring book and crayons (not the big 64 pack, just the regular 12 count box) and a change of underwear. Probably a cookie or two. Or ten.
I walked across the backyard, through the neighbor's back yard and realized, as I was walking down the next street over....I had to go to the bathroom. Uh-oh. Not BATHROOM, just bathroom. Now the dilemma begins. I was mad at my mom, and a stubborn brat that day. I had never gone poddy outside, so that would be interesting. But...I was mad at my Mom and I was determined I was not going back to the house. I had made a clean break, always look forward, there is no going back (Mind you, I was two backyards away...it wasn't like I had walked miles and miles.)
At that time, the other side of the street was still prairie grass and no houses. The grasses were tall, I was shorter than I am now....I could do it. Big girls went poddy outside if they had to go. I was an independent woman, no one could tell me what to do, NO ONE was the boss of me! So, across the street I went. I found a clump of tallish grass, pulled down my shorts and worried (But not too much) about peeing on my shoes and started peeing. Buzzing ensued. Huh?
Seems I had taken up camp right on top of a ground hornets' nest.....or whatever flying, stinging insect lives in the ground. RIPPED my pants back up, running and screaming the whole way (across the street and two backyards) home, followed by---what I imagine today a cloud that looks like the cloud that follows Pigpen in the Peanuts---screaming and crying for my Mom.
Who, quite frankly, could have been a little more relieved to see me after I had Run Away. Yes, she had no idea that I had, in fact, Run Away, but she could have "sensed" it, grieved, sat on the back step (if we had a back step) crying and wringing out her handkerchief scanning the horizons for her lost, beloved daughter. (Really....it is pretty shocking my mom is not a drinker. I cannot fathom dealing with my drama from her perspective.) So. Let's just say that absolutely none of that scene happened.
What did happen was she started screaming at me and (from my perspective) slapping the crap out of my arm, my head, my back, my stomach. I am thinking, "What gives? How the hell did she know I was even Running Away?" From her perspective: Daughter. Running at her. Screaming bloody murder. Crying like all get out. Bees/hornets/stinging things sticking out of her skin, flying all around her. WHAT THE HELL DID SHE GET INTO??
She is screaming in a continuous rotation, "WHAT?!?!? What happened? Where are all these coming from? WHAT??? I can't understand you when you are crying and screaming!! Get inside! Go! Go! Get inside!" Repeat. All the while, me with the wailing siren kid scream of unintelligent babbling. Maybe a air-sucking sob or two. Or ten.
At this point, we are now inside the house, with the swarm still swarming. My mom has a flyswatter in one hand, a dishtowel in the other, flailing around like some sort of Transformer Superhero who secret skill is Windmill Arms of Death. (Still screaming at me: WHAT DID YOU GET INTO???) Little bastards never knew what hit them. She swats at me, she swats at the air, she swats at the ceiling, the door, the chair, the stove. They were everywhere. Me still crying, sobbing, sucking in air, standing in the middle of the room, arms hanging limply at my side, snot running down my face, bees/hornets/stinging things buzzing around me and occasionally dive bombing my head.
Once Windmill has gotten most of them, we are headed towards the bathroom, maybe it was the bedroom. I am still screaming/crying/sobbing. Clothes off. Still screaming. They were inside my shirt, in my hair, thankfully, I don't remember any in my shorts or grunders. That would have been...not good. My mom is checking me over for stingers still sticking out, and I am instructed to get into bed. She leaves and comes back with a bowl with baking soda and water mixed into a paste.
Later, I am laying in bed arms and legs spread out, covered in white baking soda paste-y dots all over---mostly arms and legs but also my stomach and neck....and face....and feet. My mom pissed as hell that I scared the bejeezus out of her with my screaming and crying and swarm of pain following after me. When I confessed to running away, she softened up. I think she was confused and I can no longer remember the reason for the Running Away in the first place, so I don't remember her reaction to that information.
She stayed with me for a while until I fell asleep (worn out from all that Drama.), caressing my head (where there wasn't a paste-y dot), soothing me and telling me it would be okay. Occasionally, she would have to climb up on the bed to swat at a errant insect buzzing up in the corner of the ceiling.
I am picturing my dad coming home from work and asking how our day was and getting this story, peeking in on me playing on my floor with my Barbies, covered in baking soda paste dots. Ahhhh, parenthood. At this point, my younger brother was around, I don't remember what he was doing. but from my mom's perspective, two kids and the Flying Stinging Insect Incident makes for an unusual (Usual??) day. If I was five or six, then she could have possible been pregnant with my younger brother or he was a very tiny baby.
Really. I am surprised my mom doesn't drink.
I had at the time a suitcase (I believe it was called a train make up case or something) that was little, opened at the top like a jewelry box, had satin lining the top and bottom and had a mirror installed inside the top lid. It was blue and it....was....cool. So, it became my Running Away Bag. Now, the letters have changed at this point as I have created....already....different dramatic scenarios in my head. Running away, making it on my own, I'll show Mom, maybe making it big in Hollywood, being taken in by a mega wealthy kind family, you get the picture. So.
I pack my Running Away Bag with the absolute essentials according to a 4/5/6 year old. Toothbrush (dental hygiene always important...you'll note I forgot the toothpaste.), Barbie Doll WITH a change of clothes, coloring book and crayons (not the big 64 pack, just the regular 12 count box) and a change of underwear. Probably a cookie or two. Or ten.
I walked across the backyard, through the neighbor's back yard and realized, as I was walking down the next street over....I had to go to the bathroom. Uh-oh. Not BATHROOM, just bathroom. Now the dilemma begins. I was mad at my mom, and a stubborn brat that day. I had never gone poddy outside, so that would be interesting. But...I was mad at my Mom and I was determined I was not going back to the house. I had made a clean break, always look forward, there is no going back (Mind you, I was two backyards away...it wasn't like I had walked miles and miles.)
At that time, the other side of the street was still prairie grass and no houses. The grasses were tall, I was shorter than I am now....I could do it. Big girls went poddy outside if they had to go. I was an independent woman, no one could tell me what to do, NO ONE was the boss of me! So, across the street I went. I found a clump of tallish grass, pulled down my shorts and worried (But not too much) about peeing on my shoes and started peeing. Buzzing ensued. Huh?
Seems I had taken up camp right on top of a ground hornets' nest.....or whatever flying, stinging insect lives in the ground. RIPPED my pants back up, running and screaming the whole way (across the street and two backyards) home, followed by---what I imagine today a cloud that looks like the cloud that follows Pigpen in the Peanuts---screaming and crying for my Mom.
Who, quite frankly, could have been a little more relieved to see me after I had Run Away. Yes, she had no idea that I had, in fact, Run Away, but she could have "sensed" it, grieved, sat on the back step (if we had a back step) crying and wringing out her handkerchief scanning the horizons for her lost, beloved daughter. (Really....it is pretty shocking my mom is not a drinker. I cannot fathom dealing with my drama from her perspective.) So. Let's just say that absolutely none of that scene happened.
What did happen was she started screaming at me and (from my perspective) slapping the crap out of my arm, my head, my back, my stomach. I am thinking, "What gives? How the hell did she know I was even Running Away?" From her perspective: Daughter. Running at her. Screaming bloody murder. Crying like all get out. Bees/hornets/stinging things sticking out of her skin, flying all around her. WHAT THE HELL DID SHE GET INTO??
She is screaming in a continuous rotation, "WHAT?!?!? What happened? Where are all these coming from? WHAT??? I can't understand you when you are crying and screaming!! Get inside! Go! Go! Get inside!" Repeat. All the while, me with the wailing siren kid scream of unintelligent babbling. Maybe a air-sucking sob or two. Or ten.
At this point, we are now inside the house, with the swarm still swarming. My mom has a flyswatter in one hand, a dishtowel in the other, flailing around like some sort of Transformer Superhero who secret skill is Windmill Arms of Death. (Still screaming at me: WHAT DID YOU GET INTO???) Little bastards never knew what hit them. She swats at me, she swats at the air, she swats at the ceiling, the door, the chair, the stove. They were everywhere. Me still crying, sobbing, sucking in air, standing in the middle of the room, arms hanging limply at my side, snot running down my face, bees/hornets/stinging things buzzing around me and occasionally dive bombing my head.
Once Windmill has gotten most of them, we are headed towards the bathroom, maybe it was the bedroom. I am still screaming/crying/sobbing. Clothes off. Still screaming. They were inside my shirt, in my hair, thankfully, I don't remember any in my shorts or grunders. That would have been...not good. My mom is checking me over for stingers still sticking out, and I am instructed to get into bed. She leaves and comes back with a bowl with baking soda and water mixed into a paste.
Later, I am laying in bed arms and legs spread out, covered in white baking soda paste-y dots all over---mostly arms and legs but also my stomach and neck....and face....and feet. My mom pissed as hell that I scared the bejeezus out of her with my screaming and crying and swarm of pain following after me. When I confessed to running away, she softened up. I think she was confused and I can no longer remember the reason for the Running Away in the first place, so I don't remember her reaction to that information.
She stayed with me for a while until I fell asleep (worn out from all that Drama.), caressing my head (where there wasn't a paste-y dot), soothing me and telling me it would be okay. Occasionally, she would have to climb up on the bed to swat at a errant insect buzzing up in the corner of the ceiling.
I am picturing my dad coming home from work and asking how our day was and getting this story, peeking in on me playing on my floor with my Barbies, covered in baking soda paste dots. Ahhhh, parenthood. At this point, my younger brother was around, I don't remember what he was doing. but from my mom's perspective, two kids and the Flying Stinging Insect Incident makes for an unusual (Usual??) day. If I was five or six, then she could have possible been pregnant with my younger brother or he was a very tiny baby.
Really. I am surprised my mom doesn't drink.
Friday, September 26, 2008
She Surfaces....
I feel as though I have been underwater and far, far away. It has been two...three(?!?!) days since I last blogged. If you're Catholic, you KNOW you just thought of confessions. (I was raised Catholic and actually lied in my first official confession. I guess I was already doomed to hell after that...anything subsequent is just icing, right??) I didn't realize how much I missed checking in with you.
Why the delay? Well, there were stitches to remove from my head, a birthday dinner to prepare and serve, and yep.......already.......wait, wait for it.....Parent Teacher Conferences last night until 8pm. Plus, and here is where you will be jealous of my superior intelligence.....back at school this morning at 7:15---after a 12.5 hours day yesterday. I decided to crack down on foot dragging test maker uppers. Those students that delay and delay hoping the test that they skipped in the first place will go away. I gave a test on Wednesday and told kids they could make it up Thursday as I would already be at school for conferences. But, I had to offer a morning option for those with jobs and extra curriculars. So, I just tacked on the next morning. Without thinking. Friday morning. After conferences. Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice. I was the one who was dragging.
So, I shall complete a meme I lifted from Goldfish, who lifted it from Sunshine ( I feel like I am talking about the Strawberry Shortcake Mafia....I am no better with the appellation of So There Then Gal). It looked fun, you and I can get reacquainted and we shall merrily go forth. Thanks Goldfish (And indirectly Sunshine).
1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME (first pet, current car): Sparky Cavalier
2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME (fave ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe): Chocolate Slide..wait. That sounds way too close to a bathroom incident...I'm gonna lie (It's not like it will be the first time.) Chocolate Mule
3. YOUR NATIVE AMERICAN NAME (favorite color, favorite animal): Green Dog
4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME (middle name, city where you were born): Marie Edina
5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME (the first three letters of your last name, first two of your first name): Berhe
6. SUPERHERO NAME (2nd favorite color, favorite drink): Yellow Sparkling Water (SERIOUSLY?!?!?! Why the bathroom theme??)
7. NASCAR NAME (the first names of your grandfathers): Matt Reinhard
8. STRIPPER NAME ( the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy): Beautiful Swedish Fish (STU-pid.)
9. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME (your fifth grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter): Schmidt San Diego
10. SPY NAME (your favorite season/holiday, flower): Spring Poppy
11. CARTOON NAME (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now): Watermelon Jeans
12. HIPPIE NAME (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree): Oatmeal Linden
Over and out.
Why the delay? Well, there were stitches to remove from my head, a birthday dinner to prepare and serve, and yep.......already.......wait, wait for it.....Parent Teacher Conferences last night until 8pm. Plus, and here is where you will be jealous of my superior intelligence.....back at school this morning at 7:15---after a 12.5 hours day yesterday. I decided to crack down on foot dragging test maker uppers. Those students that delay and delay hoping the test that they skipped in the first place will go away. I gave a test on Wednesday and told kids they could make it up Thursday as I would already be at school for conferences. But, I had to offer a morning option for those with jobs and extra curriculars. So, I just tacked on the next morning. Without thinking. Friday morning. After conferences. Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice. I was the one who was dragging.
So, I shall complete a meme I lifted from Goldfish, who lifted it from Sunshine ( I feel like I am talking about the Strawberry Shortcake Mafia....I am no better with the appellation of So There Then Gal). It looked fun, you and I can get reacquainted and we shall merrily go forth. Thanks Goldfish (And indirectly Sunshine).
1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME (first pet, current car): Sparky Cavalier
2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME (fave ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe): Chocolate Slide..wait. That sounds way too close to a bathroom incident...I'm gonna lie (It's not like it will be the first time.) Chocolate Mule
3. YOUR NATIVE AMERICAN NAME (favorite color, favorite animal): Green Dog
4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME (middle name, city where you were born): Marie Edina
5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME (the first three letters of your last name, first two of your first name): Berhe
6. SUPERHERO NAME (2nd favorite color, favorite drink): Yellow Sparkling Water (SERIOUSLY?!?!?! Why the bathroom theme??)
7. NASCAR NAME (the first names of your grandfathers): Matt Reinhard
8. STRIPPER NAME ( the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy): Beautiful Swedish Fish (STU-pid.)
9. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME (your fifth grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter): Schmidt San Diego
10. SPY NAME (your favorite season/holiday, flower): Spring Poppy
11. CARTOON NAME (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now): Watermelon Jeans
12. HIPPIE NAME (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree): Oatmeal Linden
Over and out.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Ruined Names...
One of the casualties of being a teacher is that names get ruined.....forever. If we had decided to have kids, we'd be severely limited for name choices. There are names that I will never be able to utter without a student's face flashing in front of my eyes. Sorry to break it to ya, but it is almost never the good kids that stick out this way. It is the kids that make me question my sanity in career choices on a daily basis, if not a minute by minute crisis intervention inside my head. Those are always the ones whose names I remember.
There are also the multiples. I usually have a couple Brittanys ( or Britany or Britney or Brittney....arrgh.) in a quarter, if not a class period. Then there are the Ashleys, Amandas, and Alyssas. Kaylas, Kylies, and don't even get me started on the Kristen/Kirsten conundrum.
Boys are usually pretty straight forward: tons of Mike/Michaels, many Jakes, Joshs or Jacks, each class is always good for a Cody/Kody or two and maybe a Casey for good measure. I realize names are cyclical...but from a teacher viewpoint.....they all hit at once and I feel like a frazzled parent somedays that runs through all the kids' names (and sometimes the pets' names as well) before they hit on the right name for the kids that they are talking to or yelling at depending on the situation.
Can we just make a rule that you spell your name in a manner that doesn't take me twelve minutes to sound out like a first grader before I figure it out... Ctefani? I realize that you are forming your identity, but I am less concerned with how you are spelling your name today/this week and more concerned with how you are doing with the curriculum. Sorry. ( Disclaimer: I have never had a student with this spelling, I actually knew someone who spelled it this way when I was in junior high. I wonder if that was a phase or if she is still spelling it that way?)
There are also the multiples. I usually have a couple Brittanys ( or Britany or Britney or Brittney....arrgh.) in a quarter, if not a class period. Then there are the Ashleys, Amandas, and Alyssas. Kaylas, Kylies, and don't even get me started on the Kristen/Kirsten conundrum.
Boys are usually pretty straight forward: tons of Mike/Michaels, many Jakes, Joshs or Jacks, each class is always good for a Cody/Kody or two and maybe a Casey for good measure. I realize names are cyclical...but from a teacher viewpoint.....they all hit at once and I feel like a frazzled parent somedays that runs through all the kids' names (and sometimes the pets' names as well) before they hit on the right name for the kids that they are talking to or yelling at depending on the situation.
Can we just make a rule that you spell your name in a manner that doesn't take me twelve minutes to sound out like a first grader before I figure it out... Ctefani? I realize that you are forming your identity, but I am less concerned with how you are spelling your name today/this week and more concerned with how you are doing with the curriculum. Sorry. ( Disclaimer: I have never had a student with this spelling, I actually knew someone who spelled it this way when I was in junior high. I wonder if that was a phase or if she is still spelling it that way?)
Monday, September 22, 2008
Drama Queen....
When it comes to the botanical world....I love myself some drama. Sure it can be said that everything doesn't have to be all showy....take a look at vegetables. Great for you...good looking? Not so much. Although, I do like the look of carrot tops, for some reason.
Nope. For me, the bigger the drama, the more I usually like it. I like the unique, I like the colorful, fragrance.....I have never really been into smell. In fact, if it "smells" I probably won't like it, with a few exceptions. Roses? Sure, they are pretty to look at, but the smell turns me off of growing them. It's too powerful, don't like it. Marigolds have a double whammy against them, as do geraniums--in my book. It may be the reason is that everyone and their Aunt Gertrude has them, I don't really like the tiny petals and I think they reek. They stink to my nose parts.
These above are zinnias, but not ones that I have ever grown. I like them because they aren't trying to be showy. I know I just said I like showy, but I am capricious, I can change on a dime, at the drop of a hat. I might like this in a flower garden of just green flowers. For....wait for it...the dramatic impact of a variety of flowers all in the same color family.
This one I believe is called something like "Angel's Halo". It is a green bush/tree that has a wispy-flowery-stem-y thing most of the summer. Then in fall, the berries arrive in this floating halo configuration. I really like it, it makes me want to eat the juicy berries, but I would probably die. Actually I have no idea if they are poisonous, I just wanted you to think I live on the edge of danger most of the time...even on my walks.
These are globe amaranth. I just like them because they look like Dr. Seuss flowers. Or gumdrops. Or both. I like their compact simplicity.
I can't remember what these are, I looked at the label tags that you can see, but have since forgotten. I like the drama of a mass of color. Bright, obnoxious color. The kind you can't ignore.
Here's are some up closer. I want to say Mexican something something for the name, but who knows? I cold be totally making it up. Wouldn't be the first time.
This is one of my all time faves. Morning glories. They bloom in the morning and are a vine that crawls over anything and everything. It is pretty much a weed. But I like it.
This is a variety of hibiscus that can grown here and weather the winter. I don't know that I would choose white if it were going into my garden, but it might be kind of cool if it glowed in the night light.I really don't like most flowers that smell. Except lavender, I do like lavender. And wisteria. In small doses. I don't know what it is about smells. I hate, hate, hate going down the laundry detergent aisle at the store. All the scented stuff. I have to breathe through my mouth.
Air fresheners. Don't get me started. I get car sick when I am in my dad's car because he always has some sort of air freshener hanging somewhere.
Drama. If I can't find it, I create it.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
A Good Day.
No one says that anymore. "A good day to you, sir." "It was a good day." Today...today was a good day. For no particular reason, which is the best kind of good days. I walked with my mom and her friend this morning--a beautiful morn, crisp-ish, fall weather, yet warm enough to wear shorts, bright sun, fall leaves beginning to appear yet summer flowers sort of still blooming. Then I went to the co-op to buy bread flour because we are out and they sell it in bulk. I love the bulk food section at the co-op. All these things that I might like to try, but you know what.........I don't have to buy a big honking bag of it. I can take a taste size portion. It just makes so much sense.
Then to the cobbler. No one says cobbler anymore unless they are talking about desserts. I am here to bring it back. It just seems so much more civilized to say cobbler rather than shoe repair guy. Then, home to clean, roast more peppers, cook steel cut oatmeal for the week (We reheat it each morning: supes dupes good.), pickled some eggs (I hope these turn out better than the last...they were gross. Way too sweet, like there was a cinnamon or clove flavor or something. Ish.), still doing laundry, work on the powerball project, went to the goodwill to drop some stuff off, made pizza dough for supper, dug up the rosemary plant from the garden to pot so I can have it indoors this winter, walked Sophs, and just in general puttered. Tonight, we eat homemade pizza with homemade pepperoni and fresh mozzarella and roasted peppers. Then, we'll maybe watch a movie and just enjoy the evening. Tomorrow we are off to Fargo for family portraits, so it is good I got all that done. I am gonna gag pretty soon with all this positiveness oozing from me. But I do love me a productive day of puttering. Things that needed to be done, but that I was in the mood to do; serendipity, my friends, serendipity.
You can bet your sweet ass I made a list, though.
Then to the cobbler. No one says cobbler anymore unless they are talking about desserts. I am here to bring it back. It just seems so much more civilized to say cobbler rather than shoe repair guy. Then, home to clean, roast more peppers, cook steel cut oatmeal for the week (We reheat it each morning: supes dupes good.), pickled some eggs (I hope these turn out better than the last...they were gross. Way too sweet, like there was a cinnamon or clove flavor or something. Ish.), still doing laundry, work on the powerball project, went to the goodwill to drop some stuff off, made pizza dough for supper, dug up the rosemary plant from the garden to pot so I can have it indoors this winter, walked Sophs, and just in general puttered. Tonight, we eat homemade pizza with homemade pepperoni and fresh mozzarella and roasted peppers. Then, we'll maybe watch a movie and just enjoy the evening. Tomorrow we are off to Fargo for family portraits, so it is good I got all that done. I am gonna gag pretty soon with all this positiveness oozing from me. But I do love me a productive day of puttering. Things that needed to be done, but that I was in the mood to do; serendipity, my friends, serendipity.
You can bet your sweet ass I made a list, though.
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