My Favorite Leapling

Normally Tigh celebrates his birthday on March 1st. But this year, because he is one of those rare beings, a Leapling, we shall celebrate today. Yes, he looks quite mature for a 6yo, but that is the way of the Leapling. I baked chocolate chip cookies in his honor. An Irish Car Bomb seems in order.

Ice World

Low-rider pine tree.

Icicle table fringe.

Such Good Friends

Yes, I admit it. I am inconsistent with my friend policy on Facebook. I have some nieces and nephews, but not all. Some cousins, but not others. I have some people I have met just once, but not all. I have some classmates from way back when, but not all. Many are close friends, meaning we actually are friends in the real as well as the online world. Some are casual acquaintances. All are people, for one reason or another, that I would like to stay in contact with. Facebook is an easily accessible forum to accomplish that. Over the three years I have had a Facebook account friends have come and gone. Some have closed their accounts. Some have dropped me for whatever reason they may have, I have dropped some for my own reasons. My count as of today is 111. And I expect the number will probably remain in that neighborhood. I regularly interact with about twenty of them, sporadically another twenty. Leaving seventy or so who are either rarely logged in or who primarily interact with their own smaller circle that I am on the fringes of. I have no desire to weed out those friends, I think that attrition occurs more organically than that. At least for me it does. I have only dropped friends from my list when I truly desire no further contact with them. I have ignored friend requests from only a few people and figure they ought to know why. By the same token, there are a few people who I have sent requests to and have been ignored by. Only a couple of those are a mystery to me. I have my theories. But I really don't know. For the most part I don't take it personally, but I remain curious. In one relationship category I am remarkably consistent. My friends list contains no boyfriends or lovers. Of the past, present, or future varieties. Nary a one. Well, okay. There is one that blurs the line a little, but he's the exception that proves the rule. So when I say that they're friends, I don't mean "friends". At least for today, that is. You never can tell who will show up around that metaphorical corner.

Sometimes...

...they're frogs, even if you never actually meet them. Case in point. A mutual friend who thinks two people ought to meet provides the two people with contact information. Hint. I am actually one of these people. Even though I don't think this is a good match for a number of reasons, in the spirit of keeping an open mind and honoring a fledgling friendship, I make contact via email. I give the man in question my phone number. This was over a month ago, and I still have not received a reply, either to the email or on the phone. Am I surprised? Not really. I expect he had the same inkling I did, that we aren't a good match romantically. Am I disappointed? Only in his lack of courtesy in not replying. I expect he was probably raised better. What's more important, I think, is that this man and I are at very different points on the path of relationship recovery. We are both divorced with similarly aged children whose former spouses are soon to remarry. I am at a point where I am pretty okay, even supportive of the fact that my ex will married in less than a month. It seems that my fix-up is not. So I have learned something about my level of generosity. I know I don't have the patience or the energy to invest in a man who needs a shoulder to cry on. I know this sounds cold, and it's not as though I'm not willing to be there for a significant other once that relationship has developed. All I'm asking is to be able to start out on similar footing, to be at a like degree of healing and readiness. With a great deal of love and support from friends and family and substantial emotional and spiritual work, I'm there already. Bruised yet optimistic. Open but not desperate. Alone but not lonely. I don't think it's too much to ask for Mr. NPbPfM* to be equally situated.

* Mr. Not Perfect but Perfect for Me

Sleeping Tots

Further proof that Reid is most definitely my child. Rendered in ancient black and white, there I am, at not quite the age of two. It seems I discovered I was too tired to go further and just flopped over on the chair. I'm pretty sure those are my grandpa Knut's legs and feet. I have no memory of this event but according to my mother, I could fall asleep pretty much anywhere.

While Michael is busily occupied with whatever it is 6yo boys do, Reid has paused just long enough next to the footstool to realize he's pooped. A talent, no doubt, he inherited from moi.

Silly Girls

Snapped with a Kodak 110 Instamatic employing a glaring flash bar sometime in the late 70's. This is how I always think of being with my sis Martine. Laughing. And I haven't a clue about what. And yes, I have finally figured out how to use the scanner.

Potent Potable Pondering

I have learned this week that a glass of wine is never just a glass of wine. Well, at least this time it wasn't. Now I'm wondering if a beer is ever just a beer. Shots seem to be self-explanatory. Context is everything.

My Selective Hearing

I have been enjoying back episodes of How I Met Your Mother on Netflix. I wasn't consistent catching them the first time they aired so it's been fun. I like to think of Ted, Robin, Lily, Marshall and Barney as my frequent lunch dates. I do not know how they feel about me. But today, while watching Season 4, episode 16, my ears were most painfully assaulted by, no it can't be, how could I have possibly not noticed this before, a laugh track!! I despise the laugh track. I abhor the laugh track. We know when to laugh! We know when something funny happens! Take the hint that we, the audience, don't need a hint! For crying out louder than necessary, how did it take until the 80th episode for me to notice this abomination? For experiment's sake, I scanned back to three earlier shows. And there it was, the dreaded laugh track. Could it be possible that I so deeply dislike the sitcom laugh track that I had tuned it out to avoid being aggravated? I could have very happily remained ignorant. I feel so used.

Finished With Frogs

It seems I am eminently kissable. It just happens. In a sense, then, I am kissing and telling, but I'm not naming names. So don't even pretend to ask. Approximately twice a year when I am out with a friend or friends, I meet a man. Sometimes we are introduced by mutuals, other times we meet in passing. And before the evening is through we end up kissing. Once the smooching commenced five minutes into our brief relationship. Twice, I think liplock occurred midway through the evening. Most of the time, though, the kiss is more towards closing time. Two of them I spent quite a bit of time with and got to know them pretty well. Well enough, alas, to discover they were not the one. While they were all younger than me, one of them was near my age, the rest had ages ranging on down to the mid-twenties. It's flattering and reassuring to feel attractive and approachable. And it's fun. But it occurred to me just last night what was wrong with this picture. They were all frogs. Even the ones I had developed some sort of expectation of a relationship with turned out to be disappointing. Not that I was looking for a prince, just a hope for something meaningful. The thing is, I'm not an instant gratification kind of girl. I enjoy the process of things. To some degree I find it enjoyable to delay gratification. I like the idea of being won over. Wooed. Courted. And I feel like I'm in a place emotionally where this could happen. I'm not talking playing hard to get or making him jump through hoops to get my attention. I'm talking romance, if such a thing still exists. I'm looking forward to the protracted, delicious agony of anticipation. If you ask me, it sounds better than kissing another frog.

Incongruity

This is what happens on a balmy February day when the sensor unit for the digital thermometer is sunbathing.

Switching Up

I am not a Luddite! I am not a grumpy old lady! I am not totally averse to change! Well, maybe a little of the last one. Let me begin by saying I love my morning newspaper. I love how it arrives every day in its little box attached to the pole for my snail mail box. Until a week ago. The Argus Leader revamped their layout, moved things about to other sections, got rid of my beloved tab section that was topical for each day of the week, and stuck my crossword puzzle in the back of the sports section! I was not adjusting well, or at all, to the new format. And I already had full access to the online version. So I decided to skip over the new print format and go directly to online reading. I called subscriber services to drop daily delivery. And it's not nearly as painful as I thought it might be. I did hold out for getting the Sunday edition in print. It just isn't Sunday without a paper. And now that I've been perusing the online paper for over a week, it's actually pretty easy to navigate. And with my new Chromebook that has taken up residence upstairs, easy access is close to the coffee, right where it should be. There is one little thing I can't quite figure out. The Doonesbury comic strip is too blurry to read! How annoying is that! Probably not a conspiracy, but I can't be sure. And since my recent revelation that the world actually doesn't revolve around me, I'm not taking it personally. So I've bookmarked the comics website that has the daily strip. I'd gripe about it, but I'm already online.

TwentySix

This is how I looked twenty-six years ago today. You can't tell, but I'm trembling like a leaf in the wind. Still barely attached to the tree branch. About to break free and fly head first into the next adventure of my life. That adventure called marriage. It lasted twenty years. And produced two wonderful children. This glowing, happy couple, they look like strangers to me. And I suppose in a way they are. I wish I could sit down with then me and have a chat with her. About things to do and not do, things that are important to save and those that are best discarded. About things that should be said and those best left unsaid. I'm still glad that I was married to this man. And equally content that I no longer am. So, onto the next adventure. A little older, a lot wiser. If I ever marry again, I think I'll be better at it. I'll bring less baggage and more generosity. Make effort with how the relationship works from the inside rather than how it looks from the outside. I don't want a fairy tale. Just a second chance.

Not Forgotten

That's my little brother, Cullen. Always unafraid to show his goofy side. The world is a little bit colder place since he left us in May 2009. He would have been 48 years old today. I do hope he's in a place that serves beer and cake. Miss you, Cully. Wish you were here.

Waiting

I have a Chromebook. The Subaru dealership has wifi. This made the extra 45 minutes waiting for the leaking passenger side osv valve to be replaced was pretty tolerable. I would have posted from there but I got distracted. I looked up and realized I was the only one in the waiting room. I grabbed the tv remote! They have like three million cable channels. I found Desperate Housewives! Then I spent the next ten minutes fiddling with the remote trying to figure out how to change the aspect ratio of the screen. Susan and Lynette and Bree looked shorter and wider than usual. Then I came to appreciate this and stopped trying to fix it. Though their foreheads were alarmingly large and I found it disturbing so I went back to Facebook. Where I discovered that the Hegg Brothers were playing at Big Cheese! Which is practically on my way home. Aundrea joined me and we drank beverages and consumed cheesy bread-like thingys. We solved most of the problems of the free world and chatted with cool, witty, bald musicians. The drive home was pleasant and safe with a dry I29, unlike the drive to Sioux Falls yesterday morning, which was slushy with slick spots. Traffic came to nearly a standstill around mile marker 102 where a semi had recently been on fire. The burned out trailer was the variety in which livestock are transported. Maybe I missed the biggest February barbecue in the upper midwest.

Dinner

Valentine dinner with my 19yo son. I must say that sometimes I amaze myself. Angel hair pasta with a lemon butter parmesan sauce. Enhanced with scallops, scallions, broccoli and bacon. Garlic toast on the side. For dessert, fudge marble cake topped with chocolate buttercream frosting and white chocolate shavings. I had a glass of a lovely pinot grigio, Reid went with the 1% milk. I think I need a nap. Maybe I'll just doze off during an appropriately themed movie for the day. With another glass of pinot grigio. John Cusack, here I come.

Conversation Hearts

Jazz at the Pheasant

Talking over loud music is always interesting. When Paul the cute bartender said he didn't celebrate Valentine's Day because he's single, I thought he said he didn't celebrate Valentine's Day because he's cynical. Well. They kind of sound the same. Then he told me where he'd be on Thursday night. I'm so out of practice I can't tell when they're hitting on me. That is, if they actually are.

Soup

It was cold last night. How cold? I don't know the number. It seems that when we get down to single digits, the batteries freeze up in the sensor unit of my digital thermometer. Despite the fact that I forked over the extra cash for the lithium batteries that are recommended for the extreme weather conditions. Not to mention that they'll last 4x longer! That's a quote from the packaging. I expect they might last longer, if only because they're in cold storage. The point is, when it's cold outside, I am often inspired to make soup. Chicken tortilla soup, to be precise. Warm, spicy and delicious. Makes a cold night just a bit more tolerable.

Observation

It's interesting how you still must file with the IRS even though, technically, you have no income.

How Shocking!

Yup. This pretty much sums it up for me. Nothing like a simple graphic to concisely explain a concept. One that some find difficult to comprehend. Any questions?

Yesterday's Lunch

I know. It's fuzzy. I really must take my camera along to lunch so I don't have to resort to my phone camera when the food is unexpectedly beautiful. This was the most colorful lunch I have experienced in my entire life. Cream of asparagus soup. Baby greens, sliced tomato with a tangy vinaigrette. And hiding under the top half of the bun is a luscious crab cake topped with purple cabbage slaw. It was delectable. The perfect condiment on the side was some kind of horseradish-ey, garlicious, mayo based tartar sauce that I could have eaten with a spoon. I refrained from licking the last vestiges of it from its cute little cup. Self control is overrated.

The Twos Have It

Today is the second day of the second week of the second month of the second year of the second decade of the second millennium. Sorry I wasn't paying attention to this numerical oddity at 2:22:22 this morning. Maybe it's a day for second chances. Second thoughts. Revisiting that which is not settled. Twice is nice. Love is always better the second time around. Put on your pink tutu and dance!

The Not Starving Artist

The worst part about whipping cream is when you have to lick the beater. I like to think I suffer for my culinary art.

Startling Revelation Deux

At last! Everything is so much clearer now! Tigh has explained to me that I am actually a gay man who is trapped in a woman's body. No wonder I'm fabulous! No wonder I can decorate! No wonder I can distinguish an Anjou pear from a Bosc or a Bartlett. One thing's sure. I need to work on my abs.

Startling Revelation

Oh! I get it! He doesn't like me! And he was either born without a sense of humor or had it surgically removed when it became inconvenient! This explains so, so much! I thought he was just a jerk! Excusez-moi!!

Not So Scary

Compared to what might have been under the fridge, what I found was mostly ordinary. Residing with the mother of all dust bunnies in the western hemisphere were the following items:

Bottlecaps!

1 beer

1 iced tea

1 orange juice

3 water

8 milk

16 soda

1 toothpick

1 baby aspirin

1 coax -> USB connector

1 small purple faceted plastic bead

1 computer keyboard G key

1 2.5 inch metal spring, likely from a bi-fold door

1 French fry (I think)

1 clothespin

2 mini Christmas ornaments, one star, one snowman

Roku Love

I have a serious relationship with my Roku. Roku brings me Netflix. Which brings me Captain Reynolds. I admit it, I love my Roku. Which is why I was dismayed to discover that my Roku remote, or RoMote, as I like to call her, seemed to be malfunctioning. New batteries! She needs new batteries! A fresh pair of AAA's did not help. I emailed the Roku people with a description of the problem. I had a reply within three hours! Since I am still in warranty, they are sending me a new RoMote! The unfortunate thing is the Roku itself has no buttons on it. Meaning that if I wish to watch tv in the next few days, I must resort to what is available from my pitiful antenna or my personal dvd/video library. Which means I will be fine, shed no tears for me, I have placed this situation in perspective. I can stream Netflix on my computer as well as on my shiny new Chromebook if I become desperate. Then there's this thing called interaction with other people. In person. Being social. I've also been avoiding cleaning my refrigerator. Inside as well as out. And since the cats were both crouched down and peering intently under the fridge a couple of days ago, I expect I should move it away from the wall and see what might be lurking under there. I am afraid.

The Bright Side of Life

In my continuing effort to broaden my younger son's horizon as well as further his classic comedy education, tonight we have viewed Monty Python's Life of Brian together. It has been years since the last time I viewed this rather silly movie. I had totally forgotten that it features full frontal nudity of both the human male and female persuasions. Albeit brief. My 19yo and I have viewed a pickle shot together. And remain pretty comfortable with each other. Proper comedic (ahem) exposure as well as motherhood are not tasks for the faint of heart. And yes, since you asked, this is what attractive single mothers do on Friday night.

Reg Redux

My phone rings. I look quizzically at the screen. Not in my contacts. I answer anyway, mostly because I've had great fun lately reporting telemarketers to the FCC. Somehow they have gotten hold of my cell number, which by the way, is on the Do Not Call List. But it's not an offer to refinance my home or sign up for a new credit card. It's Reg. He was on I29 and saw a sign for Brookings. Made him think of me. We talked for fifteen minutes or so. It was comfortable. Pleasant. No plans were made, no offers extended. Nothing that I must decide. I don't know what it means. Maybe something. Maybe nothing. What I do find interesting is that while I deleted all traces of him from my phone, he clearly kept my number. And I'm annoyed with myself over how I have allowed him to addle my brain once more. The feathered thing flies, it seems, whether you want her to or not.

Five!

Don't know how this one slipped by me, but yesterday was my blog birthday! Yes, indeed, we are five years old. I have nineteen followers! Warmest thanks to those of you who drop by to see what's on my brain, or perhaps what my brain is on at the moment. Even warmer thanks to the ones who comment so I know what's on their brain. Make a wish and blow out the candles!

Anticipation

I am on the brink of old lady-hood. That horizon is nearer every day. I have decided to embrace this imminent state of being and have discovered that I'm already exhibiting some hallmark behaviors. Like hauling out my little zippered coin purse in order to pay in exact change. I'm nearly gleeful about it if I hold up the line for just a few seconds. I believe it was Bette Davis who said getting old wasn't for sissies, so I intend to make it more about being sassy. But I'm holding the line at two cats. For now.