Thursday, November 26, 2015

Happy T-Day



Seattle, Day One

1. Watching the sunset from the top of the Space Needle is pretty cool.

2. In reference to item 1, okay, it was spectacular.

3. Anyone who thinks fondue is dead should go to The Melting Pot and find out how sadly mistaken they are. Fondue is alive and well and melty and delicious. And fun. 

4. Michael and Liz, otherwise known as my Beamish Boy and my Darling Dilly, have a ridiculously fluffly and adorable puppy named Gimli.

5. The Kirkland Arts Center has some terrific art that you can actually buy.

6. In reference to item 5, you can also take classes there and learn how to create art. And it's located in an awesome historical building. Oh, and Liz works there so we got a private tour.

7. Lunch at Google* is delicious and totally freaking free. As is the coffee and snacks. I want to move in there.

8. In reference to item 7, this is only true if you work there or are a guest of someone who works there. Which Michael does.

9. If it hasn't become obvious to you yet, Google has a very friendly vibe and I want to work there despite not possessing skills that would qualify me for employment.

10. Under the right circumstances, the phrase FISH SANDWICH! can be pretty fucking hilarious.

*I tried to post a link to Google but it simply redirects you to the Google search page. Not that anyone needs to have Google explained to them. Well, I sort of do but that's beside the point. And a link to Wikipedia that explains what Google is seemed just plain silly.

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Banjo Schematic


What Reid does at the bar when he's bored. Waiting for me to drink my pint of water after I've consumed a pint of beer.

Smartypants Status: Verified


You're unbelievably intelligent! Your friends are impressed with your amazing treasure trove of knowledge. You know the answers to just about any question, and you're always on hand with a helpful remark. Your IQ is just as high as the smartest people who've ever lived! You're a true genius! Share your results on Facebook now, and show your friends how high your IQ is!

I really must stop with the quizzes and vacuum. And pack. And clean out the refrigerator. And continue to apologize to Newton for abandoning him to a pet sitter for the next ten days.

Thoughts This Sunday Morning

I saw and shared this essay by Lorelle Saxena on Facebook this morning. What she expresses is what so many of the privileged need to hear. Are you one of the privileged? I feel that I am, and if you stop to contemplate whether or not you are privileged then you probably are, too. 

I'm done with polite, apolitical vaguebooking right now. There are so many smugly hateful messages on my Facebook feed, and I'm not going to get into it with each and every one of you, but here is the bottom line:
There is no reason, not one single reason, why I deserve shelter, food, stability, safety, health, or your regard any more than any given Syrian refugee. Not one reason. My home, my education, my business; the way I look, the way I talk; the fact that I come home to a safe, whole, healthy family every day--every one of those things is a privilege that I fell into by the random circumstance of being born in this country to parents who valued academic achievement. I, or you, could have just as easily been born in Syria, or Burkina Faso, or Afghanistan. Do you really think that you're a different kind of human being than the refugees? Do you think your privilege is earned?
I know: you've worked hard for what you have. I have, too. But have we worked harder than the refugees worked for the lives that were destroyed? Do we love our children more than they do; would we grieve harder if a civil war took them away from us? And how long do you believe it would take for a bomb to destroy everything safe about your life?
Compared to most people in the world, you and I are rich with privilege, much of it just because we were lucky enough to be born in a country fat with it. I woke up early this morning and made organic, whole-grain muffins for my son, then dressed him in warm clothes, put sunscreen on his little face, strapped and buckled him into his bike seat and rode along peaceful streets to deliver him at his warm, nurturing preschool. There were so many levels on which I was able to protect him. Every breath of this morning was a privilege. Meanwhile millions of children who months ago had bedrooms and dinner tables and doctors and schools are sleeping directly on the ground, their parents unable to secure shelter or food for them, much less healthcare or education.
And no, that is not your fault. But that's not the same as it not being our responsibility. We have everything we need and then so much on top of that, and we can choose to exemplify to our own children one of two courses of action: we can open our clutched fists and share with our fellow humans all the abundance that exists here--or we can hoard it, greedy and bloated and fearful.
These are families like yours. Thinking they might have connections to terrorist factions is as rational as thinking you might be a terrorist because Timothy McVeigh was American. Half of the refugees are children. What is it in you that can close your eyes to other human beings, especially human beings that are small and hungry and cold?
I'm not asking you to give half of everything you have to help them, or to turn your backyard into a tent city, or to donate to causes that support efforts to protect these very vulnerable people. I'm asking you not to hate them because they need something you have. I'm asking you to recognize that the fear being built around the refugees is less about American security and more about American greed. I'm asking you to be a human being that understands every human being has basic needs and that the lucky among us can afford to share our luck to ease suffering. I'm asking you to stop thinking, posting, politicizing around the idea that we just can't help before we've taken care of our own.
Because there is no such thing as "our own." Every human is our own. Every hungry child, grieving mother, frightened husband, weary grandmother is our own. Nobody gets to pretend our world is a different world from the world that creates civil wars and bombs and hunger. We are all toeing this same precarious, shifting tightrope of a life. Anyone can fall at any time. All there is to catch us is each other.

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Charge!

While weeding through Michael's stuff in an effort to determine what should make the trip with us I found this. In 1994, when he was all of six years old, he received a pre-approved application in the mail for a Citibank Visa credit card. I thought it would be fun to send it in. So he filled out the brief application form and signed it in a large, scrawly fashion, rather typical for a first grader. Some weeks later this was the reply he received.



He dealt with the rejection quite well. I think it would have been fun to go shopping. It's never too early to start building a good credit history.

Another Butter Battle



Pink & Her Dad


So touching to see father and famous daughter performing such a personal song together. It also speaks to me as a child of the 60's. I remember so clearly doing fractions homework as the Huntley-Brinkley report blared in the background from our b&w tv. They led each broadcast with the casualty numbers from Vietnam. So impersonal, so cold. It's in the personal stories from those fortunate enough to return that quietly reveal the damage done. How does anyone ever recover. 

Friday, November 20, 2015

Tiara Triplets


This is so long overdue. I meant to post this right after Miss Martine's birthday way back in June. To have posted earlier would have spoiled the birthday surprise. And that just won't do. Behold, the Sparkle Princess counterparts to my sisters and me. Whom I miss terribly. Snow White remains with me while Belle has gone to Arizona to live with Martine and Ariel is with Miss Pam. All I have to say is, the Pez dispensers needed company.

Orchid You Not


I love it when the garnishes are edible. Jill ate hers. I brought mine home. I have no idea if there is a deeper meaning here.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

More to Worry About

It's called blepharospasm if it occurs in both eyes. If it occurs in just one eye it's something to worry about. Great. My twitch switches eyes. They never twitch at the same time. The article doesn't really address this variation. This is why I drink.

Rory Selfie



Sounds Good to Me


If a fortune cookie says so, who am I to argue.

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Clears Out the Cobwebs


After going through boxes of the elder son's stuff to determine what makes the cut for the trip to Seattle, I found a summer beer lurking in the back of the basement fridge. Sigh. It tastes like summer. Which, if you were wondering, is only about 31 weeks away. In these parts, warmer weather starts a good ten to twelve weeks prior to the official arrival of summer on the Solstice in June. I don't know about you, but until then I'm indulging in the darker beers and sturdy red wines. Cheers.

Last Wednesday Night


Waiting patiently for our place in line to meet the Bloggess. In the cup is a delightful coffee concoction called a Black Forest latte. It was a good drink. It was a good night.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Favorite Things


This is a thing. Seriously. The scent consists of a combination of sandalwood and vanilla and musk essences. NOT MADE WITH ACTUAL KITTEN WHISKERS! Considering that one of my favorite candles at Bath & Body Works is their sandalwood vanilla flavor, this might be quite tolerable. I'm dreaming of a purple Christmas. Decorating-wise, anyway.

Monday, November 16, 2015

Breakfast Before Bloggess


Coffee. And an enormous muffin that I started to eat but did not finish until I returned to South Dakota. Yes, children, it really was that big. Pumpkin with a dollop of cream cheese icing. The line no longer exists between muffin and cupcake. It was obliterated long ago.


Andrea enjoys her orange juice. No chance of scurvy on this trip.


This wasn't breakfast but a beverage stop the day before. Shocking, isn't it, that Andrea would snap a selfie with this much derided red cup? She is a rebel.

On Victor Street


After breakfast but before the museum, we took a side tour to Aurora and found one of my childhood homes. Andrea was kind enough to snap a photo.


Flash back to nearly fifty years ago and here I am with my sibs in front of that very house! Yes. I really am that fucking old.

At The Denver Museum of Nature & Science


We had some time to kill before the book signing, and what better way to kill something than with poison. At The Denver Museum of Nature & Science, of course.


Posing with my favorite femme fatale in the history of poison, Lucrezia Borgia. She was the daughter of a Pope. Really. Pope Alexander VI. By his mistress of longest association, Vannozza dei Cattanei. If you wish to attain such a distinction, it seems you must begin tending to the Pope's many needs when he is a mere Cardinal. Then prostitute your daughter as a poisonous political pawn. History is a scary thing.


During this demonstration of the evolution of forensic science, children learned not only about poison, but also profanity.

Photo credit -- Andrea


At Asbury Provisions


So we had dinner at Asbury Provisions. I highly recommend the fish tacos and roasted baby beet salad. On the extreme side of delish.


You know that beer you drink after a long day on the road? A most satisfying beer. A close second to the obvious beer in the hammock after mowing the lawn on a hot summer day beer. This is Grist Touchline English Brown Ale. The shoe fit, so I drank it. Or something.

Photo credit -- Andrea


Two Cats Walk Into a Bar...



Sunday, November 15, 2015

Meeting the Bloggess


There we are. Jenny and me. The Bloggess meets the Recalcitrant Goddess. It was magical. And Furiously Happy.


Monday, November 9, 2015

A Mere 48 Hours From Now...

The Goddess meets the Bloggess. In Denver at The Tattered Cover Book Store. I just hope I don't squeal and babble on like the idiot fangirl that I am. Good thing Andrea will be there to keep me in line. Wait. She's a squealy babbling fangirl, too! This could be trouble. In the best possible way.

Saturday, November 7, 2015

Friday, November 6, 2015

La Batería Muerta


Well. It seems the nearly nine year old battery in my car is kaput. Not bad for original equipment. Considering South Dakota winters, I'd say this battery has done outstanding work. Though buying a car battery isn't nearly as much fun as buying shoes. If it was, that would be downright weird.

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Weeds

I have entered the world of Nancy Botwin. Via a warp of some type in the space/time continuum. I don't really want to be here but it seems the only way out is through. Please send Cheetos. I prefer the fried to a crackly crunch variety. Carry on without me, I'll report in when I return. 

Monday, November 2, 2015

Coordinating Leftovers

This never happens. Or almost never. Basmati rice + creamy chicken mushroom soup + bacon. All of them in my refrigerator! When combined and heated have produced the most desirable and delicious of lunches possible in the universe. Making this Monday most tolerable.

Sunday, November 1, 2015

Ten Things About October

1. I got kicked out of a bar for the first time since I was under age.

2. In reference to item 1, the bartender claimed he was on the phone calling the police as we exited.

3. I picked the last two vine-ripened cherry tomatoes whilst being pelted by large, sloppy snowflakes.

4. I have decided that shrimp tacos are my absolute favorite.

5. I have yet to meet an Octoberfest beer that I didn't like.

6. In reference to item 5, the proper zymurgical term for such beers is Marzen style.

7. Back in June it seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to pack away all the winter coats and such as well as most of my sweaters.

8. Because of item 7, and the fact that it is now November, today I rooted around in the garage to locate boxes containing these items.

9. I need to sell this if I have any hopes of parking in the garage this winter.

10. Pretty excited about meeting the Bloggess!