Hurricane Season officially ends at midnight tonight.
As hundreds of thousands of Floridians breathe a sigh of relief, I wonder, "What about the Butterfly Effect?"
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Saturday, November 27, 2004
Read aloud
Uncle Tom's Cabin is not a great book for pre-bedtime reading. You already knew that?
What was I thinking?
Out comes Little Lord Fauntleroy instead.
What was I thinking?
Out comes Little Lord Fauntleroy instead.
Post Game Analysis
Gravy successful.
Stain removal successful.
This year as it was just G, the kids, and me, I stuck to the tried and true, unlike years past where I pull a Martha Stewart and whip up a few non-traditional items. Like the year my poor father couldn't get over the fact that there were no mashed potatoes on the menu. Instead I offered him a delectable Pommes Anna. That didn't cut it.
"Sweet potatoes or sweet potato casserole with the marshmallows on top?"
"Sweet potato fritters."
"Cranberry jelly?" desperately hoping for his jiggling magenta can-shaped lump.
"Cranberry and mango relish. Yes, Dad, those are pieces of jalapeno in there..."
One thing that remains the same no matter the menu: stuffing, always Pepperidge Farm, herbed, in the bag. I have been known on occasion to get slightly creative, hiding tasty tidbits in there and maybe combining a bag of Pepperidge Farm cornbread variety, but that's it. The stuffing is sacred. As a child I loved it right out of the turkey, but these days, it's prepared separately. Food borne illness be damned, I've just seen too much of the inside of a turkey to want to put my precious dressing in there.
And lastly, the turkey scene in this trailer comes to mind.
Stain removal successful.
This year as it was just G, the kids, and me, I stuck to the tried and true, unlike years past where I pull a Martha Stewart and whip up a few non-traditional items. Like the year my poor father couldn't get over the fact that there were no mashed potatoes on the menu. Instead I offered him a delectable Pommes Anna. That didn't cut it.
"Sweet potatoes or sweet potato casserole with the marshmallows on top?"
"Sweet potato fritters."
"Cranberry jelly?" desperately hoping for his jiggling magenta can-shaped lump.
"Cranberry and mango relish. Yes, Dad, those are pieces of jalapeno in there..."
One thing that remains the same no matter the menu: stuffing, always Pepperidge Farm, herbed, in the bag. I have been known on occasion to get slightly creative, hiding tasty tidbits in there and maybe combining a bag of Pepperidge Farm cornbread variety, but that's it. The stuffing is sacred. As a child I loved it right out of the turkey, but these days, it's prepared separately. Food borne illness be damned, I've just seen too much of the inside of a turkey to want to put my precious dressing in there.
And lastly, the turkey scene in this trailer comes to mind.
Pay no attention to that meter over there...
It's way off. I'm rushing to finish the last 8,000 or so words that Word claims I still have left.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Happy Thanksgiving
There's a lull in the activity here, turkey's done, cooling before cutting; potatoes are boiled and ready for mashing; green beans were steamed and bathed in ice water yesterday, ready for a quick stirfry in some garlic and olive oil; stuffing's done, biscuits set to pop in the oven. Everythings's a go.
Yesterday was a squishy, squooshy, squash day. Two small pumpkins were roasted and mashed for the two pies we whipped up. Too many acorn squashes roasted and mashed for another side dish that I will probably be the only one partaking of. The food will be gone soon, but I don't believe we will ever see the end of the seeds. Darn slippery things ended up everywhere. I just found one in my bathroom, and there's yet another on the floor next to the dishwasher, a spot I have personally cleaned up at least twice since this morning.
This year, I will overcome a giant cooking hurdle, drumstick, er, drumroll please...
Gravy. Giblet gravy.
This was the only part of Thanksgiving my paternal grandmother participated in. It was always perfection. I have never tasted a more heavenly, savory gravy, ever. My mother comes in a distant second, having learned at her mother-in-law's elbow, but is always flustered and complaining about how overly complicated the whole process is. Or maybe it was just because she had her mother-in-law breathing down her neck and must relive the trauma every year. Last night Grammy came to me in a dream and confessed that she had been kidding all those years, "It's really easy, give it a try! I just liked to watch your mother get all nervous and upset!" I should have known, Grammy.
Of course now, Stinky Turkey Mom has showered and dressed, and will be attempting to splash around in a big pan of grease in her nice clean clothes.
This is one of my favorite holidays. Food and television. What an awesome combination. Dinner preparations are well under way during the Macy's Parade broadcast, and we are always reminded how the weather in NYC is inevitably better than the one time we actually got to see the parade in person, standing right on the Nasdaq corner on top of a plywood fruit stand my brother and husband thoughtfully swiped for our viewing pleasure. It was in the teens that day, so windy they were threatening to cancel the balloons, and we were in the shade. These Florida people, what a bunch of crybabies.
It just wouldn't be a real holiday without some live entertainment now, would it? Our special guest this morning is our six year old neighbor, Dalton, who arrived shirtless to show off his new tattoos. They're fake, you always have to look very closely around here, though, but they look authentic. And somehow he and his grandma know exactly where real thugs should wear them: on his neck, forearms, and a giant one that covers most of his back. He came back a few minutes later in his rapper clothes and has been dancing up a storm in our living room. Imagine a cross between Nancy's Sluggo and The Incredibles' Syndrome...
My last Thanksgiving thought, before I go stain myself silly, is that PETA should quit wasting their time harping about the luckless turkeys involved in today's festivities, and should instead turn their attention on a more heinous animal related holiday tradition, The National Dog Show, which has for the last several years been airing immediately after Macy's parade.
Gobble, gobble.
Yesterday was a squishy, squooshy, squash day. Two small pumpkins were roasted and mashed for the two pies we whipped up. Too many acorn squashes roasted and mashed for another side dish that I will probably be the only one partaking of. The food will be gone soon, but I don't believe we will ever see the end of the seeds. Darn slippery things ended up everywhere. I just found one in my bathroom, and there's yet another on the floor next to the dishwasher, a spot I have personally cleaned up at least twice since this morning.
This year, I will overcome a giant cooking hurdle, drumstick, er, drumroll please...
Gravy. Giblet gravy.
This was the only part of Thanksgiving my paternal grandmother participated in. It was always perfection. I have never tasted a more heavenly, savory gravy, ever. My mother comes in a distant second, having learned at her mother-in-law's elbow, but is always flustered and complaining about how overly complicated the whole process is. Or maybe it was just because she had her mother-in-law breathing down her neck and must relive the trauma every year. Last night Grammy came to me in a dream and confessed that she had been kidding all those years, "It's really easy, give it a try! I just liked to watch your mother get all nervous and upset!" I should have known, Grammy.
Of course now, Stinky Turkey Mom has showered and dressed, and will be attempting to splash around in a big pan of grease in her nice clean clothes.
This is one of my favorite holidays. Food and television. What an awesome combination. Dinner preparations are well under way during the Macy's Parade broadcast, and we are always reminded how the weather in NYC is inevitably better than the one time we actually got to see the parade in person, standing right on the Nasdaq corner on top of a plywood fruit stand my brother and husband thoughtfully swiped for our viewing pleasure. It was in the teens that day, so windy they were threatening to cancel the balloons, and we were in the shade. These Florida people, what a bunch of crybabies.
It just wouldn't be a real holiday without some live entertainment now, would it? Our special guest this morning is our six year old neighbor, Dalton, who arrived shirtless to show off his new tattoos. They're fake, you always have to look very closely around here, though, but they look authentic. And somehow he and his grandma know exactly where real thugs should wear them: on his neck, forearms, and a giant one that covers most of his back. He came back a few minutes later in his rapper clothes and has been dancing up a storm in our living room. Imagine a cross between Nancy's Sluggo and The Incredibles' Syndrome...
My last Thanksgiving thought, before I go stain myself silly, is that PETA should quit wasting their time harping about the luckless turkeys involved in today's festivities, and should instead turn their attention on a more heinous animal related holiday tradition, The National Dog Show, which has for the last several years been airing immediately after Macy's parade.
Gobble, gobble.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Subversive
I am secretly exerting my influence, systematically attempting to take control of a small private school from within by revolutionizing their curriculum choices.
Dad and I are thoroughly impressed with the preschool L is attending. She is absolutely thriving. It has turned out to be such a good thing that we are wavering on our relocation plans, thinking we will go ahead and build ourselves a house on the four acres here in Punta Gorda (keeping the island, too.) She loves her teacher, her friends, her swim coach. This week she hit a milestone and moved into her first workbook, Primary Phonics, an Educators Publishing Service product. Over the five-day holiday her teacher assigned six pages of homework in the book. She had completed five before dinner tonight. I tried to stop her after three, it was exhausting me to watch, her four year old fine motor skills lagging behind her mental agility, but she insisted. It is amazing to see her reading and writing sentences on her own.
The school continues on up through 12th grade, and the idea of enrolling the older two keeps tempting me. I want to be sure first, of course, that the curricula they offer meshes with what I have been teaching.
Latin - They teach it, but what text? Must speak with Latin teacher. Plenty of research material to share.
Math - Currently using ABeka, but the math teacher told me today she is contemplating a switch to Saxon next year. My recommendation in favor of Saxon was taken into consideration.
English - Not sure what they are using. My aim is to assist them in their selection and make sure writing is a strong part of the program.
Logic/Rhetoric - A classical-styled school must-have. Again, I plan to foist my preferences upon them.
Back at the beginning of the school year, I found two glaring red flags which caused me extreme enrollment unease: excessive typos in an in-house produced information packet for the older grades, and Creation Science. My plan for these minor stumbling blocks will be to voluntarily edit and rewrite their materials, and allow for plenty of eye-rolling.
The principal has already expressed interest in The Well Trained Mind, now I will encourage him to read Climbing Parnassus, too.
If I am successful in manipulating their curriculum, I will gladly send the girls in the fall. If not, then we keep on.
Am I so self-important that I think I can really influence their selections? No. I learned at our last school that it is very easy to effect change in a small learning environment, squeaky wheel or not. This student body is even smaller, the senior class this year totals eight, and with enrollment down as a result of the hurricanes, they are hungry for tuition money. It all boils down to the green stuff.
Dad and I are thoroughly impressed with the preschool L is attending. She is absolutely thriving. It has turned out to be such a good thing that we are wavering on our relocation plans, thinking we will go ahead and build ourselves a house on the four acres here in Punta Gorda (keeping the island, too.) She loves her teacher, her friends, her swim coach. This week she hit a milestone and moved into her first workbook, Primary Phonics, an Educators Publishing Service product. Over the five-day holiday her teacher assigned six pages of homework in the book. She had completed five before dinner tonight. I tried to stop her after three, it was exhausting me to watch, her four year old fine motor skills lagging behind her mental agility, but she insisted. It is amazing to see her reading and writing sentences on her own.
The school continues on up through 12th grade, and the idea of enrolling the older two keeps tempting me. I want to be sure first, of course, that the curricula they offer meshes with what I have been teaching.
Latin - They teach it, but what text? Must speak with Latin teacher. Plenty of research material to share.
Math - Currently using ABeka, but the math teacher told me today she is contemplating a switch to Saxon next year. My recommendation in favor of Saxon was taken into consideration.
English - Not sure what they are using. My aim is to assist them in their selection and make sure writing is a strong part of the program.
Logic/Rhetoric - A classical-styled school must-have. Again, I plan to foist my preferences upon them.
Back at the beginning of the school year, I found two glaring red flags which caused me extreme enrollment unease: excessive typos in an in-house produced information packet for the older grades, and Creation Science. My plan for these minor stumbling blocks will be to voluntarily edit and rewrite their materials, and allow for plenty of eye-rolling.
The principal has already expressed interest in The Well Trained Mind, now I will encourage him to read Climbing Parnassus, too.
If I am successful in manipulating their curriculum, I will gladly send the girls in the fall. If not, then we keep on.
Am I so self-important that I think I can really influence their selections? No. I learned at our last school that it is very easy to effect change in a small learning environment, squeaky wheel or not. This student body is even smaller, the senior class this year totals eight, and with enrollment down as a result of the hurricanes, they are hungry for tuition money. It all boils down to the green stuff.
Monday, November 22, 2004
(Shuffle, shuffle)
That's the sound of our schedule being rearranged.
S absconded with Little Women. I gave her the option of continuing to read it alone or allowing us to return to it as our read-aloud selection. Uncle Tom's Cabin was suggested as an alternative book for its relevance to her current interest in the slavery themed Historiclay production.
A compromise was reached as evidenced by the sidebar.
Because I had been looking forward to reading Little Women myself, one of those treasured works of fiction I seem to have missed in my youth, I decided to check out my own copy this morning at the library. G, not to be left out either, checked out the Whole Story Series edition of Little Women.
The Whole Story Series of books appealed to me once upon a time for the marginal tidbits, but I could never get past the sneaking suspicion that they were abridged versions, in spite of what the covers claim. For G though, they are a good fit. There was mostly silence in the car on the way home from the library but for her occasional bursts of, "Listen to what Jo said...!"
S absconded with Little Women. I gave her the option of continuing to read it alone or allowing us to return to it as our read-aloud selection. Uncle Tom's Cabin was suggested as an alternative book for its relevance to her current interest in the slavery themed Historiclay production.
A compromise was reached as evidenced by the sidebar.
Because I had been looking forward to reading Little Women myself, one of those treasured works of fiction I seem to have missed in my youth, I decided to check out my own copy this morning at the library. G, not to be left out either, checked out the Whole Story Series edition of Little Women.
The Whole Story Series of books appealed to me once upon a time for the marginal tidbits, but I could never get past the sneaking suspicion that they were abridged versions, in spite of what the covers claim. For G though, they are a good fit. There was mostly silence in the car on the way home from the library but for her occasional bursts of, "Listen to what Jo said...!"
Sunday, November 21, 2004
The night before last, G was headed back from the east coast with the two older girls. The plan was that I would have some clothes packed for everyone, then L and I would meet them somewhere along the way for dinner and we would all continue on to the marina and out to the island.
Poor L fell fast asleep on the couch waiting for their call. We opted instead for them to stop by the house, collect their clothes, and L and I would head out the next morning, Saturday, and meet them at the marina.
It was a great opportunity to get some work done on my writing.
Our house sits directly beside its twin, also built by our landlord and inhabited now by his accountant. She had initially purchased it as an investment, for rental income, but with her primary and another rental residence destroyed by Hurricane Charley, she's moved her extended family in.
They were out on their deck enjoying a barbecue. It seemed really loud. It sounded like they were on our deck. I imagined they had boarded our deck like pirates across a gangway. Then I heard and felt a large thump. Someone was having a party on our deck. When I gathered up the courage to peek out the sliding glass door, which I was sitting in front of, I saw a big, fat raccoon trying desperately to open the container of cat food L had left out earlier.
When he saw me through the glass, he took off. I went outside to bring in the cat food. He hadn't climbed down the railing like I figured and I surprised him coming around the corner. He ran right between my legs. I was lucky he didn't decide to take refuge under my skirt, climbing my legs like a tree.
The adrenaline rush boosted my word count substantially.
Poor L fell fast asleep on the couch waiting for their call. We opted instead for them to stop by the house, collect their clothes, and L and I would head out the next morning, Saturday, and meet them at the marina.
It was a great opportunity to get some work done on my writing.
Our house sits directly beside its twin, also built by our landlord and inhabited now by his accountant. She had initially purchased it as an investment, for rental income, but with her primary and another rental residence destroyed by Hurricane Charley, she's moved her extended family in.
They were out on their deck enjoying a barbecue. It seemed really loud. It sounded like they were on our deck. I imagined they had boarded our deck like pirates across a gangway. Then I heard and felt a large thump. Someone was having a party on our deck. When I gathered up the courage to peek out the sliding glass door, which I was sitting in front of, I saw a big, fat raccoon trying desperately to open the container of cat food L had left out earlier.
When he saw me through the glass, he took off. I went outside to bring in the cat food. He hadn't climbed down the railing like I figured and I surprised him coming around the corner. He ran right between my legs. I was lucky he didn't decide to take refuge under my skirt, climbing my legs like a tree.
The adrenaline rush boosted my word count substantially.
Friday, November 19, 2004
Oh yeah, gettin' close... (See meter below)
In a frenetic burst of creativity, what comes after spending your entire morning in various auto repair facilities, I managed about 4,000 words, pulling myself out of my one day hole and raring a full day ahead of schedule.
This would not have been possible had not my wonderful, helpful husband allowed the girls to accompany him to work today.
----
S and G's stop action play is still evolving. With one pirate completed, S, changed the direction of the production from Treasure Island, to a show about slavery. She has been poring over the collection of books we have on hand, If You Traveled on the Underground Railroad, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave: Written by Himself, Many Thousand Gone: African Americans from Slavery to Freedom, Follow the Drinking Gourd, and Wanted Dead or Alive: The True Story of Harriet Tubman, researching her newest story. This latest venture will not be a "Palm Tree Production," but will be credited under the title of her latest production company, "Historiclay."
If I'm able to dig out my old copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin, she would no doubt devour it. If I can't locate it, off to the library first thing in the morning.
In a frenetic burst of creativity, what comes after spending your entire morning in various auto repair facilities, I managed about 4,000 words, pulling myself out of my one day hole and raring a full day ahead of schedule.
This would not have been possible had not my wonderful, helpful husband allowed the girls to accompany him to work today.
----
S and G's stop action play is still evolving. With one pirate completed, S, changed the direction of the production from Treasure Island, to a show about slavery. She has been poring over the collection of books we have on hand, If You Traveled on the Underground Railroad, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave: Written by Himself, Many Thousand Gone: African Americans from Slavery to Freedom, Follow the Drinking Gourd, and Wanted Dead or Alive: The True Story of Harriet Tubman, researching her newest story. This latest venture will not be a "Palm Tree Production," but will be credited under the title of her latest production company, "Historiclay."
If I'm able to dig out my old copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin, she would no doubt devour it. If I can't locate it, off to the library first thing in the morning.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Progress
----
I did it again. Last night we finished reading Treasure Island, well, that's what the kids told me this morning anyway. I looked back at the last chapter and did not recall any of it, but they were able to accurately fill me in on the last leg of the voyage of the Hispaniola. They told me I did it with all character voices, right down to Captain Flint's final squawks, "Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!" I reread the last six pages or so this morning.
Next up, Little Women.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Today, after finishing Math And English, I let the kids off the hook. I have a novel to finish you know.
They are currently in S's bedroom, with the classical music radio station cranking, crafting their characters for a claymation production of our soon to be finished read aloud, Treasure Island, inspired by the recent viewing of our newly purchased DVD, The Nightmare Before Christmas.
They are currently in S's bedroom, with the classical music radio station cranking, crafting their characters for a claymation production of our soon to be finished read aloud, Treasure Island, inspired by the recent viewing of our newly purchased DVD, The Nightmare Before Christmas.
Monday, November 15, 2004
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Sex, Sushi, Socializing, and a Sacrament
This weekend G and I were discussing the topics that are always on our minds: Where are we going to live? Move back to the east coast, or halfway around the world? Is there a way to avoid the cultural decay that surrounds us? Location, location, location?
SEX
Saturday evening started out well. The kids were invited for a sleepover at Nanny and Papa’s on our trip over to the east coast for our nephew’s baptism. With G commuting back and forth across the state almost daily, often the only time we're in the same place at the same time is when we finally flop into bed at the end of a long day, and usually, one of us is already asleep. We always have company. I never knew there was a term for it until I began frequenting various parenting boards, but we have a family bed apparently, and not by choice; on the island we sleep on the living room futon and in Punta Gorda the bedroom door doesn’t have a lock. Big design flaw. So, anyway, Mom and Dad got a hotel room.
SUSHI
Later, over Tuna Tataki, sashimi, and a spicy tuna roll, with a few drinks under our belts, we had almost reasoned ourselves into a return to Fort Lauderdale. We’ll all jump back into the family real estate business and reorganize so that it’s not such a hillbilly operation. With 30 years in business and a host of regular investors and projects, at least seven of us with active sales licenses, one an attorney and one a general contractor, plus two brokers, we should really be able to make things hum. G’s mom needs him, his brother needs him, their poor, overworked office manager needs me, the kids need their extended family. We can tolerate the crime, the crowds, the crappiness. Let’s do it!
SOCIALIZING
We hit our next stop, we have to maximize our free time you understand, dropping in fashionably late to a friend’s surprise birthday party. The timing was perfect, the band was cranked up, Hollywood’s Finest were on the scene waiting for the noise ordinance to take effect and make some arrests, everybody was in high spirits. It was the typical suburban horror show, insipid conversation and manifestations of mid-life crises galore. G promised to order a shipping container first thing Monday morning.
SACRAMENT
And like a bad Ronco commercial, a redundant statement perhaps, “But wait! There’s more!” Today, completely sober again, brunch with my family and my brother’s in-laws after the baptism. This would have been a better time to get loaded. G, Britcom fan that he is, determined that I am related to Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced “Bouquet” from “Keeping Up Appearances.”) I always thought my parentage might be linked to Rube Goldberg, but I think G is on to something. Mid to Low Prole.
---
Is running away from a situation a bad thing? Or instead, is it moving toward a good thing?
---
Another Charlie Manson White Album moment courtesy of the folks at Mental Multivitamin:
1) Researching the seven basic plots to incorporate into NaNoWriMo project
2) Replies from the (e)mailbag. Here though, in Florida, city or country, I glimpse a vast cultural wasteland. Also weighing the pros and cons of moving from very multicultural South Florida to either Australia (91.4% white) or New Zealand (73.8% white.) Does assuming there are pros make me a racist?
3) Bertrand Russell’s quote, tempered by the closing line
Thanks for making me think, guys.
SEX
Saturday evening started out well. The kids were invited for a sleepover at Nanny and Papa’s on our trip over to the east coast for our nephew’s baptism. With G commuting back and forth across the state almost daily, often the only time we're in the same place at the same time is when we finally flop into bed at the end of a long day, and usually, one of us is already asleep. We always have company. I never knew there was a term for it until I began frequenting various parenting boards, but we have a family bed apparently, and not by choice; on the island we sleep on the living room futon and in Punta Gorda the bedroom door doesn’t have a lock. Big design flaw. So, anyway, Mom and Dad got a hotel room.
SUSHI
Later, over Tuna Tataki, sashimi, and a spicy tuna roll, with a few drinks under our belts, we had almost reasoned ourselves into a return to Fort Lauderdale. We’ll all jump back into the family real estate business and reorganize so that it’s not such a hillbilly operation. With 30 years in business and a host of regular investors and projects, at least seven of us with active sales licenses, one an attorney and one a general contractor, plus two brokers, we should really be able to make things hum. G’s mom needs him, his brother needs him, their poor, overworked office manager needs me, the kids need their extended family. We can tolerate the crime, the crowds, the crappiness. Let’s do it!
SOCIALIZING
We hit our next stop, we have to maximize our free time you understand, dropping in fashionably late to a friend’s surprise birthday party. The timing was perfect, the band was cranked up, Hollywood’s Finest were on the scene waiting for the noise ordinance to take effect and make some arrests, everybody was in high spirits. It was the typical suburban horror show, insipid conversation and manifestations of mid-life crises galore. G promised to order a shipping container first thing Monday morning.
SACRAMENT
And like a bad Ronco commercial, a redundant statement perhaps, “But wait! There’s more!” Today, completely sober again, brunch with my family and my brother’s in-laws after the baptism. This would have been a better time to get loaded. G, Britcom fan that he is, determined that I am related to Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced “Bouquet” from “Keeping Up Appearances.”) I always thought my parentage might be linked to Rube Goldberg, but I think G is on to something. Mid to Low Prole.
---
Is running away from a situation a bad thing? Or instead, is it moving toward a good thing?
---
Another Charlie Manson White Album moment courtesy of the folks at Mental Multivitamin:
1) Researching the seven basic plots to incorporate into NaNoWriMo project
2) Replies from the (e)mailbag. Here though, in Florida, city or country, I glimpse a vast cultural wasteland. Also weighing the pros and cons of moving from very multicultural South Florida to either Australia (91.4% white) or New Zealand (73.8% white.) Does assuming there are pros make me a racist?
3) Bertrand Russell’s quote, tempered by the closing line
Thanks for making me think, guys.
Friday, November 12, 2004
Bad Mommy
I suppose it's a good thing that I never chose the path to charity work. Once upon a time I thought it would be my life's mission to operate a small orphanage. How noble of me. Tonight I realize that it would have been a disaster. I am the old woman who lives in a shoe.
One of the side effects of the medication my little charge takes is hyperactivity. Last night she dropped right off to sleep after supper, tonight she is rocking and rolling, jumping, thrashing, and singing in bed, just feet away from where my own sleep-challenged tot peacefully rests. I just dosed her with her cold medication, not that her cough is all that bad, but in hopes that it will knock her out.
----
NaNoWriMo is chugging along with a current word count of 18,162, just slightly ahead of schedule. It is truly dreadful stuff. My daughter suggested writing a stuttering character into the story, an idea I briefly considered, because in my case, it's all about the word count.
One of the side effects of the medication my little charge takes is hyperactivity. Last night she dropped right off to sleep after supper, tonight she is rocking and rolling, jumping, thrashing, and singing in bed, just feet away from where my own sleep-challenged tot peacefully rests. I just dosed her with her cold medication, not that her cough is all that bad, but in hopes that it will knock her out.
----
NaNoWriMo is chugging along with a current word count of 18,162, just slightly ahead of schedule. It is truly dreadful stuff. My daughter suggested writing a stuttering character into the story, an idea I briefly considered, because in my case, it's all about the word count.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
I had forgotten all the bathing suits when we left the island Sunday, and since the girls have been taking swimming Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, we were forced to make an emergency trip out there Monday to recover the suits, and, unfortunately, have an impromptu funeral for one of the octupi. While we were there, S picked up a handful of booklets from our spring trip to Washington D.C., given to us when we visited the offices of E. Clay Shaw, our local (east coast) representative.
She excitedly flipped through the first one, The Constitution of the United States of America, and began asking one question after another. I explained how the Constitution defines the make-up of our government, the distributions of power, and details the rights that each of us have as Americans.
"This is a very important book, Mom!"
"It is. You should definitely be familiar with your rights."
"They should make a book like this and give them out free to everybody!"
"Well, they do, honey, that's how we got ours."
"Then they should make everybody read it!"
"Yep."
She excitedly flipped through the first one, The Constitution of the United States of America, and began asking one question after another. I explained how the Constitution defines the make-up of our government, the distributions of power, and details the rights that each of us have as Americans.
"This is a very important book, Mom!"
"It is. You should definitely be familiar with your rights."
"They should make a book like this and give them out free to everybody!"
"Well, they do, honey, that's how we got ours."
"Then they should make everybody read it!"
"Yep."
Monday, November 08, 2004
Christmas gifts Part 2
I have decided that everybody on my shopping list will receive one of these this year. Or maybe this. Why? Because they probably don't have one yet, and it sums up my holiday sentiments.
----
Plans are finalized. Thursday through Saturday I will be babysitting my friend's child! This may not be a big deal for most of you, but:
1) I intensely dislike responsibility
2) Putting up with children other than my own is difficult at best
3) I have a novel to write
4) The poor thing has serious, scary medical issues
I know CPR, I can follow her meds schedule, I can dial 9-1-1, which are all requirements for this child. I admit celebrating my first child's first birthday because the said child survived ONE WHOLE YEAR under my care, unlike the Sea Monkeys and the hamster and the frogs. And she didn't even have instructions.
This will be a nerve-wracking week.
----
Plans are finalized. Thursday through Saturday I will be babysitting my friend's child! This may not be a big deal for most of you, but:
1) I intensely dislike responsibility
2) Putting up with children other than my own is difficult at best
3) I have a novel to write
4) The poor thing has serious, scary medical issues
I know CPR, I can follow her meds schedule, I can dial 9-1-1, which are all requirements for this child. I admit celebrating my first child's first birthday because the said child survived ONE WHOLE YEAR under my care, unlike the Sea Monkeys and the hamster and the frogs. And she didn't even have instructions.
This will be a nerve-wracking week.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Brainstorm
Thanks to a bug in my ear, from the concierge over at Itinerary of Marlette and Guisseppe, I have a great idea for all those Christmas present idea requests that are starting to come in.
Plants.
We love plants. Fruit trees, flowering shrubs, shade trees, you name it, if it's tropical or subtropical, we love it. The best part about tropical gardening is that you can't hardly kill the stuff. Find the right spot for the plant and you're all set.
That's the kind of gardener I am. Just don't get me any orchids, please. Oh, some people have tried to assure me that they are easy, I did have one native species that stayed healthy for almost five years, but I'm an orchid killer, and in the end, that one's not going to make it either, because they all require even minimal care.
Daughter G once requested a chenille plant for her birthday, deciding after a visit to the Edison and Ford Winter Estates that was her all-time favorite plant. I am happy to say that after being transplanted twice, it is now thriving out on the island.
I'm making a list and checking it twice...
Gumbo Limbo
Mango
Live Oak
Hibiscus
Paurotis Palm
Bottle Palm
Coconut Palm
Key Lime
Grapefruit
Giant White Bird of Paradise
Passion Vine
Lignum Vitae
That should get them started.
Here's a great site for information on Florida plants. I tried to link to individual plant photos but it defaults back to the main page, so you'll have to look them up yourself.
----
Our read-aloud, Treasure Island, has been on hiatus, so tonight I will make a conscious effort to pick it up and get through a few more chapters. The closest we came to any literature this week was the Quixote brand chorizo sausages G threw in to the pot of gumbo he made last night.
Plants.
We love plants. Fruit trees, flowering shrubs, shade trees, you name it, if it's tropical or subtropical, we love it. The best part about tropical gardening is that you can't hardly kill the stuff. Find the right spot for the plant and you're all set.
That's the kind of gardener I am. Just don't get me any orchids, please. Oh, some people have tried to assure me that they are easy, I did have one native species that stayed healthy for almost five years, but I'm an orchid killer, and in the end, that one's not going to make it either, because they all require even minimal care.
Daughter G once requested a chenille plant for her birthday, deciding after a visit to the Edison and Ford Winter Estates that was her all-time favorite plant. I am happy to say that after being transplanted twice, it is now thriving out on the island.
I'm making a list and checking it twice...
Gumbo Limbo
Mango
Live Oak
Hibiscus
Paurotis Palm
Bottle Palm
Coconut Palm
Key Lime
Grapefruit
Giant White Bird of Paradise
Passion Vine
Lignum Vitae
That should get them started.
Here's a great site for information on Florida plants. I tried to link to individual plant photos but it defaults back to the main page, so you'll have to look them up yourself.
----
Our read-aloud, Treasure Island, has been on hiatus, so tonight I will make a conscious effort to pick it up and get through a few more chapters. The closest we came to any literature this week was the Quixote brand chorizo sausages G threw in to the pot of gumbo he made last night.
Friday, November 05, 2004
Yeah, what she said.
----
Day 3 NaNoWriMo
Need to make my word count goal for today. This might be a tricky proposition at 11:21 PM. Time for a DoubleShot.
I feel as if my head is in a juicer. In the last 24 hours, I have considered ripping off plots from old television shows, having my characters wake up somewhere else. Dorothy does Dallas?
----
Climbing Parnassus is a most informative read, and surprisingly, neither dull nor difficult. It's so interesting, in fact, that I have dog-eared nearly every page and dulled my pencil underlining. It's been slow going with many other concurrent projects, but I'll definitely have comments coming.
----
Day 3 NaNoWriMo
Need to make my word count goal for today. This might be a tricky proposition at 11:21 PM. Time for a DoubleShot.
I feel as if my head is in a juicer. In the last 24 hours, I have considered ripping off plots from old television shows, having my characters wake up somewhere else. Dorothy does Dallas?
----
Climbing Parnassus is a most informative read, and surprisingly, neither dull nor difficult. It's so interesting, in fact, that I have dog-eared nearly every page and dulled my pencil underlining. It's been slow going with many other concurrent projects, but I'll definitely have comments coming.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Results
You won’t hear me gripe about election results. I never thought it would turn out the way I wanted, so, no surprises there. My kids however, are very disturbed.
“Oh, great, we’ll get bombed!”
“Nah, Little Gasparilla Island is probably not high on terrorists’ list of potential targets, and there’s not really enough of Punta Gorda left to bother with.”
“We’ll get drafted!”
“I don’t think anyone would allow that, honey, but if it happens, we’ll work around it.”
“Yeah, like, we’ll just tell them we’re gay!”
“See, girls, maybe it’s a good thing Bush was reelected.”
They don’t get it from me, I swear.
“Oh, great, we’ll get bombed!”
“Nah, Little Gasparilla Island is probably not high on terrorists’ list of potential targets, and there’s not really enough of Punta Gorda left to bother with.”
“We’ll get drafted!”
“I don’t think anyone would allow that, honey, but if it happens, we’ll work around it.”
“Yeah, like, we’ll just tell them we’re gay!”
“See, girls, maybe it’s a good thing Bush was reelected.”
They don’t get it from me, I swear.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Giving it a try...
Jumping in late, as usual, but I jam under deadlines. This is the perfect thing for my short attention span. I am notorious for picking up a skill or hobby and once having accomplished it, dropping it in favor of some new, untried craft.
My mother's favorite line, "Oh! You should make those and sell them!" uttered perhaps in the hope that one day I will have a real job, never inspired me on to mass production of my miscellaneous creations. Most just weren't economically feasible. I always thought though, that writing was the one product with the highest potential return and the lowest initial investment. Let's see.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Bittersweet
Last night's haul was lighter than years past.
Back in Hollywood, on Harrison Street, it took hours for us to walk the five blocks from our house to my brother-in-law's. There was always a gang of us, friends, neighbors, relatives, dragging coolers for the adults and wagons for the kids. Neighbors had performing magicians and clowns (tricks), cotton candy and snowcone machines, beer on tap for parents (treats), and tons of candy for the busloads of people who would visit our broad, well lighted historic boulevard. It was a giant street party where we would bump into more friends and drag the whole motley crew back to our house for a post trick-or-treating respite.
This year we decided to join the crowds that descend on the historic homes in downtown Punta Gorda. Only, there weren't as many as there used to be, both in terms of crowds and historic homes. It took just under one hour to cover the two main drags and five cross streets. Still, the houses that remain standing gave their all for the local kids, decorating their yards to the hilt. It was very moving to see vacant, condemned homes decked out in their spookiest, and recently cleared lots where former homeowners had placed giant tombstones marked with their addresses and "RIP", after losing their battle against the elements and the wrecking ball. It was even more moving to see the costumed owners of these properties standing out in front of their destroyed homes giving out candy in spite of it all.
Back in Hollywood, on Harrison Street, it took hours for us to walk the five blocks from our house to my brother-in-law's. There was always a gang of us, friends, neighbors, relatives, dragging coolers for the adults and wagons for the kids. Neighbors had performing magicians and clowns (tricks), cotton candy and snowcone machines, beer on tap for parents (treats), and tons of candy for the busloads of people who would visit our broad, well lighted historic boulevard. It was a giant street party where we would bump into more friends and drag the whole motley crew back to our house for a post trick-or-treating respite.
This year we decided to join the crowds that descend on the historic homes in downtown Punta Gorda. Only, there weren't as many as there used to be, both in terms of crowds and historic homes. It took just under one hour to cover the two main drags and five cross streets. Still, the houses that remain standing gave their all for the local kids, decorating their yards to the hilt. It was very moving to see vacant, condemned homes decked out in their spookiest, and recently cleared lots where former homeowners had placed giant tombstones marked with their addresses and "RIP", after losing their battle against the elements and the wrecking ball. It was even more moving to see the costumed owners of these properties standing out in front of their destroyed homes giving out candy in spite of it all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
