Shatterday

Way More Misfit

Sue will be none too pleased.

Christmas Weepies

This, a wee holiday short from CBS in 1966, choked me up a little this morning. Sniff.

Tiny Bubbles

As a person who puts very little stock into the concept that a standardized test is a reasonable means by which to measure a person's general intelligence, in fact as a person who is fairly vocal about the nonsense that is standardized testing, it was odd to trundle my daughter off to a three hour standardized test this morning. Even more odd was that the testing site was at the very school I was kicked out of in 9th grade (though if you ask my mother, she says, "You weren't kicked out. It was just suggested you find another school to go to.").

My daughter, and yes, thank goodness for this, my daughter kind of likes tests and structure and hard work and I can almost guarantee she will never be kicked out of any school, since the most hell-raising she has done to date is saying the word "crap" once last summer (after which she gasped and apologized forty times). It vexes her that I find all this amusing, this role-reversal thing, the fact that me, the very bad kid, has her, the very good kid. Sometimes my bad kid does things to annoy her good kid, like knocking on the window of the test room and taking her picture while she was supposed to be getting set up.

After a bit Jaime and I left her alone and set off to wander around and play with the camera in the rain.

Then we went Christmas shopping,  where I might have picked up some hair dye and a chin strap (that picture up there is pretty sobering), but whatever. Carson emerged happy enough after hours of filling in bubbles and she told us about the "not favorite" essay topic, the eight grade level math questions, the boy who went around talking to everyone about slip knots, and how, of all the hundreds of vocabulary word flash cards she made between last summer and now, only one of them was on her test. We'll get the results in two weeks, and they'll be sent to the schools to which she's applying, and pretty soon, by March, we'll figure out what's next for us all.

A Little More

On Monday I took advantage of the very cold and rainy day by getting out all the Christmas boxes. I have a very special memory of coming home from school on a rainy December day to find that my Mom had decorated the house. I wanted Carson to have that same memory. 

 

We won't be getting our tree until the 19th or 20th, but there are plenty of things to look at until then.

Rainy Day Niko

Yesterday was far colder and wetter than any day so far in Niko's short life. You probably know that he is neither lap cat nor window ornament; Niko's primary goal each day is to be outside causing trouble. Except yesterday--somehow he knew not to bother. It was unusual and kind of sweet to have him hunkering around the house, although once the rain stopped? He zoomed out and away from us and his cozy blanket as fast as he could.

Little Signs

Weekly Wash

One of the things about me (notice I didn't qualify it by saying it was a "good" or a "bad" thing, because it's both)...anyway, one of the things about me is that I love little bowls and dishes. I have way more than I could ever use, but they call to me, from dirty shelves at the thrift store, from the bottom of a barrel at the church rummage, from someone's sidewalk on big trash night. Carson seems to fancy herself on Intervention Patrol--whenever she spies me picking up a new little dish, she calmly but sternly takes it out of my hand and places it back on the shelf. I then send her off to look at tee shirts while I put the little dish in my shopping basket, under a sweater or something.

Having a lot of vessels makes for a lot of weekly washing, because little dishes and bowls are not cute at all if they're dusty. When I wonder to myself why cleaning the bathroom takes an hour, here's why. These are all in my bathroom, attempting to serve some kind of purpose. But right this second they're sparkling clean and full of promise, which is exactly how they make me happiest.

Baking

Pumpkin cheesecake

Persimmon bread

Most Wonderful Time

Yes, indeed, friends and neighbors, it's time once again for
The Christmas ipod!

Thanksgiving 2009

This year, for the first time ever, we stayed home, just the three of us.

 

I made the meal, Carson was in charge of the table, Jaime did house prep and dish-washing. We dressed up and toasted each other and smiled a lot. It was perfect.

While we are grateful for a whole lot, I think we are most thankful for this little family.

Hasty Pudding

At Carson's school, each class has a study theme for the year which builds out the curriculum in as many ways as the teacher can imagine. This year, Beez's class theme is "The Birth of America," complete with the truth (yay!) about colonialism, witch trials, slavery, and more. At the beginning of the year, classes go through a sometimes tedious process of voting on their class name, after which they figure out a class tee shirt. The class decided to call themselves "Hasty Pudding" and guess who drew the image for the shirt?

Gone

Cars and I took a quick trip to Portland, 24 hours really, all told. Still, no matter how short, it's still Portland, and it's still unfettered time with Beez, which, you know, nothing could be finer. 

Despite the hurry-hurry of the trip, we still made time for soup at Vita, a brisk walk under blustery skies, fifteen minutes on the swings in Grant Park, coffee with Kate, and general Portland admiration.

 

 

We spent much too much time at PDX last night, as our rental car return time/flight departure time did not coincide the way one might wish. We chose to use our extra hours sampling all the many and varied ways a person can ingest caffeine in an airport.

By 11 we were home, by 11:30 Cars was out like a light, and at 10:00 this morning she and I head to Palm Springs for a weekend swim meet. Hi Jaime! Bye Jaime! I'm tired.

The Grassy Knoll

Julie's Birthday on The Knoll

People always say that it's harder to go out and make new friends when you are an adult. I completely agreed with that until I had a child. With a child you are pretty much forced into small talk with strangers at school, sports, parties, parks; eventually, you'll connect with a few of those strangers and a friendship begins. We have been lucky enough to find a handful of kindred spirits along our path at Carson's school (waving at y'all), but on an every day basis, Lord knows what I would do without my swim posse.

My swim friends, we are tight. It was an almost instant thing, as it sometimes goes, and as such, intense and bright. The girls, who are all now in different practice groups, love and support one another, the dads in the group hang out in the dad pod, and us, the moms? We yak, we complain, we yell, we cry, we celebrate, we text and call and email and drink beer. We park our chairs on the hill above the pool. We call it The Grassy Knoll. So far nobody's been shot.

The knoll is something of its own phenom. In the summer, when the rest of Pasadena is sweltering at 105 degrees, the knoll is a sweet and breezy 80. In the winter, it's windy, sharp, and colder than the rest of the planet. The knoll has its own language and traditions and rules. I'm going to guess that if anyone would look up at the knoll when we are all up there, they would be either appalled, scared, or both. We're a noisy, silly bunch, settled into our camp chairs with books or knitting or ipods, chasing the younger kids around, making snide remarks about almost everything, and pouring our hearts out to each other.

It's almost too cold for the knoll right now. I talk to my knoll pals many times a day anyway, so there's that, but I'm really looking forward to spring when it's not dark anymore and you don't need five blankets, a parka, and a hat just to sit for an hour. We could skip it all together, but..there's something about the knoll that calls out. Wes and I have dubbed it The Knell of the Knoll. Indeed.

Tea Time

Friday, 2:00 am

Meg, mostly asleep: Jaime.
Jaime, more than mostly asleep: It's raining?
Meg: Sounds nice.
Jaime: zawww

Friday, 6:30 am

By the time I actually got up, the rain had stopped. But the lovely patter of actual rain that stirred us from sleep was enough to make everyone feel cozy and mysterious for the rest of the day. Fixing up a big thermos of jasmine tea was in order.

Walnuts

I am over my head in love with walnuts lately, particularly if they're toasted. I'm adding handfuls to everything and no matter what, I toast them before, even if they're about to be baked. I've tossed them into cookies, salads, stir-fries, grains, and my mouth; now, it's time for a loaf of bread.

Whole Wheat Walnut Bread

This is one of those no-knead bread recipes, where you up the amount of liquid, rise the dough for a crazy amount of time (four hours!), form it into a ball, rise again, and then bake. I was skeptical since yeast doughs aren't my forte, but. But! You could die from such swell bread. Well, die or consume the whole loaf by yourself in three days, which is what I did, because Jaime and Carson don't much care for walnuts, so too bad, so sad, more for me. I used really good fleur de sel and toasted walnut oil (again with the toasted!) to make the flavors pop, which turned me into a baking queen in my own head. Anyway, the recipe is from Love Soup, a book I have used incessantly since I bought it last month. I recommend the book, the bread, and toasted walnuts all with a high little edge of fanaticism.

Ladies and Gentlemen, May I Present to You

The New and Improved Niko

He purrs! He cuddles! He sleeps a whole lot! He hangs around the house and lounges in the sun! He gazes at you halfway lovingly when you walk by! He got into a big old fight and had to go to the vet to get cleaned up and medicated, and then he got a cold, but whatever! He got humbled and chiple and now he's been a regular cat for a whole week!

Dweebs

Back in my day, the twinsy thing stopped being cool in, what, 3rd grade? I'm almost certain that this fact holds true today, and the enforcers are likely more strident and mean. But do my favorite girls care? No! You have to love that.

When I dropped The Little Mrs. at home later that evening, her mom looked at them and said, "Dweebs!"

They nodded and smiled and agreed.

But just in case, they're honing their self-defense skills, here against Jaime, the Patron Saint of Dweebs.

Tea Doctors

The after school trip to our neighborhood coffee joint has been getting more complicated.

Something as simple as a small chai latte invites all manner of doctoring.

Sprinkle, stir. Squirt, stir. Taste, stir. Sprinkle, discuss. Stir. Taste. Stir. Squirt.

By the time they were done with the add-ons and augmentations, the formerly empty shop had filled up.

So they had to share one chair outside.

Open Up

I was kind of shocked to discover how hard it suddenly is to unwrap and open a new CD; it took me at least ten minutes to get this one out of its case. At first I couldn't figure out what my problem was until I realized it had been a year or more since I even encountered an unopened CD. Yes, it's true: I've gone primarily digital. Which makes me sad, sort of, but perhaps will stave off the arthritis?

Gailie's Saddest Day

Gailie spies her beloved UPS driver, she with the long braids and endless supply of Milkbones, delivering something next door.

Alas

No Milkbones today

The saddest day indeed.

Saturday Cooking

There was Sabi & Fadi's Halloween potluck to attend last night, so here I am preparing cranberry jalapeno dipping sauce for butternut spring rolls, which turned out fine, if a little skimpy on the butternut. Lots of basil and toasted pepitas stepped in. The sauce was delightful.

Halloween was mellow, sweet. Carson amassed heaps of contraband and out of all that I get my pick of Dum-Dums: cream soda, root beer, butterscotch being my favorites. The girls raked in $50 for Unicef, too, which made them proud.

And now, it's November.

Waiting for Jen at Lunch

My new-ish affection for the self-timer is getting dumb. Here we are waiting for my sister to get from the airport to lunch.  My sister from Oklahoma! I had to try and pack so much missing and love into a few huge hugs. I'd add the picture I took of all of us but Jaime, ew, made a creepy face and jacked it up.
 

Breakfast

Oatmeal, apples, walnuts & agave

Colors

This year, Cars and The Little Mrs. decided to be colors for Halloween, purple and yellow, respectively. They did a trial run last night for Carsy's annual school Halloween party.

Dookie

So here's a story.

I like Tuesdays, because on Tuesday mornings I meet my friends Karen and her hubba-hubba husky Sakari for a brisk walk down at the Rose Bowl, a place, it seems, to which I am tethered at all hours of daylight and sometimes beyond, but that's not the point of this story.

Karen and I talk and talk and talk and talk and walk and grouse and tell each other things we wouldn't tell anyone else, hardly, and it gets engrossing and so sometimes, in and among all those compelling moments, we make decisions that might otherwise, on a day when we are not totally involved in hearing aloud the woes of ourselves and each other, have been more carefully baked. This is why I put my fob key in my bra.

An aside: even though I treated myself to a few new bras somewhat recently, they are not quite as snug as they used to be.

I put my fob in my bra because when I walk with Karen I like to tote along as little as possible. I can't stand having my pockets loaded, if I even have a pocket; stuff like cell phone, water, keys, and the like drag me down and make me bulky, so I lock it all up in my car and just take my little fob, which is quite manageable cupped in the palm of my hand. Until I have to go pee, in which case the fob goes in my bra, for but a minute or two.

 

I put the fob in my bra when I go pee because it's a park bathroom and, you know. You all know park bathrooms. They're not latrines, per se, but they might as well be. I didn't want to have to put my key down on the park bathroom stall floor. Ew. So I did pee and during the contortions I find necessary in order to flush the latrine-like toilet in the park bathroom without actually touching the flusher with my hand, I heard a splish!plink!sliiiide just like that. I looked at the latrine-like toilet bowl. Nothing. I felt my bra. Nothing.

 

I am in the latrine-like park bathroom stall looking down the tiny hole of a public toilet for my car key. I shout to Karen to please come in and lend me moral support. She obliged me, and with her presence as a source of strength and comfort, I stuck my hand down the hole of a public park bathroom toilet.

"Aw, lookit the dookie coming up!" shouted Karen. "Man!"

I am not entirely sure what happened after that, because I had to transport my mind to somewhere else, a place where my hand was not crammed down a dark toilet hole that was as slimy and textural as algae covered rocks in a stagnant creek on a hot day. Fifteen minutes later, I emerge triumphant, my dripping fob intact, my hands drenched to the forearm, my ego and dignity pretty much shot to shit for the next, say, twenty five years. Karen wisely ducked out of hugging me goodbye.

I ran to the locker room in the aquatic center and spent the next ten minutes trying to scald my hands and arms off my body. After the scalding I soaped up to the elbows and scrubbed like a surgeon for another ten minutes. Then I scrubbed my fob with soap and it occurred to me that after all this, I was probably ruining my key in all that water anyway, but that was too depressing a thought so I went back to imagining myself a surgeon. There was a big lady swim club getting showered and dressed in the locker room while I was doing all this and after awhile I noticed them all sort of staring. That's when I left.

My key thankfully worked enough to open my trunk, where I threw it behind my first aid kit. I had a spare fob in my purse (another long story) so I used that to get my car going, fast, up the hill and home. Once I got there I took off my shoes and socks and threw them in the trash. I know, but before you say anything, these were my really old trainers with a whole plethora of holes, so. After that I took off all my clothes on the porch. I was planning to throw those away, too, but Jaime reminded me, as I stood naked in the doorway, that this is my favorite over-shirt

and the pants are brand new and the tee shirt is Carson's.

So they're now balled up and on the back deck.

My advice to you is, if you lose weight, buy new bras. Also, if you need to do something disgusting and fetid, bring a friend like Karen, whose shouting about dookie was completely unhelpful, but whose subsequent email, later that day, referring to me as a poop-covered inspiration, made me feel kind of heroic, if a little malodorous.

And More, and a Revelation

Jaime, Cars and I did the lazy Saturday stroll up the street to our teeny local thrift store, which is run by so many lovely, earnest, 80 year old volunteers that you are never in want of a conversation about weather, news, what you're buying, or gossip about the other 80 year old volunteers. It's hard to walk out empty-handed, but yesterday was kind of a gold mine.

Even more exciting than my treasures was Carson finally dipping into thrift store fever wholeheartedly; this trip was transforming for her. She meandered, gasped, poked, sifted, and took her time checking everything out. She's been patient and mildly curious for 11 years, but now, I think, she understands, and thus, is hooked. For some of us, it's the thrill of unearthing something beautiful, for others, it's the bargain aspect or the notion of reuse, recycle. For Carson, her joy seems to be rooted in stories and histories--whose was this? How old is it? How can I use it now? What was it meant for? Why did someone give it away? She found an old case of miniature office supplies yesterday (.50!) and spent the better part of an hour cleaning, polishing, testing stuff out. She also got a rolling massage thingie for .30, which has been used on all of us many times so far.

So am I encouraging a new member of The Useless Ephemera Society? Perhaps. But I'm also watching a curious, busy girl, enchanted and intrigued by the mysteries of old stuff, something so close to my heart that I feel...proud. Is that kind of dumb?

Friday Treasures

The week I got canned, I made a list of things I felt I had to pretty much give up, or at least severely limit. I'm glad to announce that while some sacrifices have indeed been made (for instance, I had to cut my coffee budget in half, because when you're unemployed, $80 a month on beans seems just dumb), but other things? They happen. Not as often, but that makes them more exciting. Like visiting Kelly the waxing lady, or our now-becoming-regular Friday morning jaunts to one of the two thrift stores that happen to be on our route when we pick up the pizza for the school's weekly pizza lunch.

Yesterday's haul included these sweetie-pie finds--the great radio (works perfectly!) to replace my beautiful 50s console that blew out last week, an incredible! I'm still gazing at it! Japanese apron, which fully wraps around and is thick and reversible. I am agog over it and plan to wear it over a white skirt today. And then there's the seagulls. When I got them home I realized there isn't really a way to hang them on a wall. I have no clue where or how to place them. But they make me happy, and they make me think of Rashie, and she and Carson and Jaime and Mary "you pick up?" will know why.

Cha. So gorgeous.

Curious Aspects of The Unemployed

I have 45 days of laid-offedness under my belt, time during which I have changed, a little, I think, from who I was as a working person to who I now am as, well, a not working person. The changes are subtle, mostly, although the one that people keep talking about is weight loss (again!), because they love me and they're worried. I have analyzed the situation and think I've dropped some recent lbs because a) I am more active than I used to be (a flexible schedule makes for more time to exercise); b) I'm sitting on my ass lots less (too-da-loo, ugly veneer desk and slow, old PC) and c) far less mindless snacking, in fact, none at all. I'm sure my body will get adjusted to these changes and level out, but I will have to say I hope that happens soon because I am running out of pants that fit.

Speaking of eating, another change is the whole phenomenon of lunching at home. I can't tell you how much I enjoy it. Most often it's leftovers from the night before, but it's the counter time I covet--on my stool, with a few cookbooks and index cards, figuring out dinner, making shopping lists, reading the mail.

This is cauliflower bisque from Anna Thomas's great new soup cookbook, adorned with a whole heap of toasted pecans and minced chives.  When I'm alone, who's going to notice if I have more nuts than soup?

Further discovery, although given my nature, it's not necessarily surprising: I function best under a little pressure and with a lot of structure, thus a weekly schedule that is vital to my sense of order and meaning and I like that. I mean, I mess with it a little and I try not to be too harsh on myself if things don't always go the way the schedule mandates, but still, it keeps me humble and on task. And it's kind of fun, which brings me to another new world.

Domesticity. I love home and hearth and have always treated both with reverence, but frankly I worried myself a little as I was bargain shopping for mops this Monday. I find myself smiling in not a wry way when I toast the coconut to top Carson's berries for her after school snack. I made a rotation schedule for the washing of the bath towels. Thursday cleaning takes me an average of five hours. I am, in a phrase, all assed up about the housefrau gig. This is a job for my therapist, or would be, could I afford that at the moment. I would really rather be putting more of these Herculean efforts into a volunteer stint at our local farmed animal sanctuary, but I haven't made the call yet. I'm still infatuated with my apron and my cheap but efficient new mop. It's time for lunch, anyway.

Viejo

We commissioned Carson to capture Jaime and me in portrait on the happy occasion of Jaime's 50th, which was yesterday. This was the least blurry and the only one that actually had both of us in frame, so. The rest of the day involved roaming the Saturday market with my parents, hanging out with Ann and Sophia, making Jaime's birthday pie, walking to the pumpkin festival, and eventually heading to Hollywood for an Ethiopian feast and birthday trip to Amoeba.

50 years has its own funky stigma. I've known Jaime for over half of that time and can say with conviction that he's the same fellow I laughed and drank beer with when I was 17, plus a few gray hairs, pounds, and mortgages. He's laid back and even tempered and jolly and humble and neighborly. He can sing along with all the songs on every Ray Coniff Christmas album. He will always swoon over any dinner I cook and never, ever fails to make me feel lovely and sexy and important. We have been a couple-couple for almost ten years and I am greatly looking forward to the next ten and the next 50.

Happy day, Viejo.

Oven and Stove

I am using both oven and stove quite a lot these days, during this wee cold snap; a marked departure from the cold platters we called dinner more often than not in September. Soups, particularly have come back in a big way, and baking has, too, which means extra exercise, of course. Cause and effect indeed. 

Cars and I get home from the pool around 7:00 every evening. We're both cold and Bee is famished, so a waiting pot of gingery butternut squash soup was kind of thrilling on Tuesday. In the afternoon I roasted up three squash, caramelized an onion, added ginger, garlic, the teeniest bit of lemongrass, and a few cups of water, blended it up, added maple syrup and a pinch of cayenne to bring out the sweetness, and let it rest while Carson swam. When we got home all I had to do was heat it up, give it a big squeeze of lime juice, and finish with toasted pumpkin seeds on top, along with a drizzle of olive oil. Greens wilted with warm balsamic mushrooms and that's that. Fall makes me really happy.