Photo Sunday, home visit edition

My parents bought a coal and wood stove for heat a month or so ago. They have another heating system that they're planning to use when the house is finished, but it's radiant heat. Tubing installed under the subfloor runs hot liquid all through the first floor, and the heat will rise to the second from there. Problem: system has to be completely installed before you can use any of it. So finish it, you say. I agree. Problem: the floor is cherry wood, and the ceiling on the roof (a loft) hasn't been done yet. Scaffolding will scratch the floor if the ceiling's put in after the floor. So install the ceiling, you say. Again, I agree. But my folks have had a number of things happen that they had to address immediately (some of them construction-related, some health-related) that have kept them from finishing the ceiling. So the upshot of this is that for the past three winters they've had two propane space heaters to act as their heat source, augmented by layers of clothing, blankets, and occasionally by a kerosene heater (when they're in the room with it).

You heard me. Three winters. Last year the propane bill was so outrageous, they decided to do something about it. Hence the stove.

In order to install the stove, they had to finish the hardwood floor in the section where it was going to go. They'd already put the boards in, it was just a matter of giving it a few coats of polyurethane. I got to see it for the first time on Thanksgiving day:



Oh, my goodness. I want this floor.

Here's a shot of the dining room on another day from another angle:



I want my hair the color of that floor. I should have taken one just of the floor itself, but didn't think of that until right now.

I was hoping to get one of the stove in action, but totally misunderstood how long it was going to be before it's operational. Not for a week or two. Maybe if I visit sometime this winter I'll get a shot of it. But instead, here's the view off of the porch this morning.



Trees and snow everywhere, from all sides. Here's another one, with the wrought-iron dinner bell I gave Mom as a birthday present a while back:




Side note: Last day of NaBloPoMo! I did it! Yay!

The cat's Christmas present

I have got to do something about this. It's driving me crazy.

It all started back when I lived in the hole-in-the-wall, years and years and years ago. I had two cats then, that's how long ago it was. My tub faucet developed a slight drip. Very slight. I was going to call about it, but then I noticed that the cats (especially Delilah) liked to drink from it. Preferred it to the water bowl, in fact.

Actually, no. It started further (farther? Incidental grammar question for G: Is it farther for distance and further for time? I always forget) back then that. It started with Needles, our very first cat. She discovered that if she sat on the edge of the bathroom sink and stared at her humans expectantly, sooner or later one of them would turn on the tap and let a fine stream of water flow, thereby turning the bathroom sink into Needles' water fountain. Beebop, the dog, watched this and decided what's good enough for the cat was good enough for her. Any time we gave the cat a drink from the sink when the dog was around, we would then have to pull up the stop and fill the sink for the dog, who'd hop up on her hind legs and drink from it.

Fast forward a few years. Needles died (of old age, in her sleep, curled up on the top of the water heater), a pregnant Siamese was left on our doorstep in a cardboard box (someone must've heard we lost our cat), and she gave birth to a litter of kittens, one of whom became mine, another of whom became the father/older brother of the Siamese's next litter of kittens, another of whom is mine. (Yes. You read that right. Delilah's family tree does not fork. We didn't get the boys fixed in time, and we didn't know who the daddy was until every single kitten came out looking like Oreo. Sigh.) This litter of kittens (and the one after it) watched the dog get a drink from the bathroom sink, and decided, much the same way Beebop did, that's what's good enough for her was good enough for them.

And now we get to my bath tub. My cats, up to this point, had been perfectly happy with water from a bowl. Then the tub faucet started to drip, and they drank from that. I couldn't tell whether they stop using the bowl altogether, 'cause water evaporates, see, so I kept filling it.

Things went like this for a while, and everyone was happy. Then my upstairs neighbor's tub developed a leak, and it came through my ceiling. I called the office, and they sent out the maintenance man. This was back when the whole place was taken care of by one grumpy old man who managed to get everything done by himself. When I left, there was a team of very happy-go-lucky idiots who get everything done eventually. Usually. Maybe the old guy was grumpy because he was overworked. So anyway, he fixed the leak in the ceiling, repainted the ceiling and the wall, noticed the dripping tub faucet and fixed it.

And Delilah has never forgiven me for that. Ever. Ten years later, and she still shouts at her water bowl. I wish I could figure out how to record it, because it's a horrible noise, and I want to share. It goes something like this:

"Mow! Mow! MMMMOWWWW! MaWOW-WOW! MAWOW-WOW!MMMMMOW! Mawowowglubglubglub."

Yes. She complains even as she's drinking.

It's not like I leave out filthy water for her. I replace it twice a day. I wash out the bowl every time. And now that we're in the new place, she gets chilled fridge water, just as I do.

Not good enough. Apparently. 'Cause she still howls. In the middle of the night, even. My bedroom is above the kitchen, and my bed is almost directly above her water bowl. When she starts howling in the middle of the night -- and I think she's doing it louder now that we're in a bigger place, to make sure I understand her displeasure -- I lean out of bed and thump on the floor with my fist. It's the only way to shut her up. I've fallen out of bed twice while doing this.

I've tried teaching her to drink from the sink. She wouldn't do it. She wouldn't even attempt to understand what I'm trying to show her. She acted like I was about to drown her. She would rather sit on the edge of the tub, bat her eyelashes at me, and rub the faucet with her face. If I had finer control of the tub faucet, I'd let a little bit run for her, but here's how the stream goes in most tubs, mine included: Nothing, nothing, nothing, Niagara Falls.

About a month ago, the tub faucet started to develop a slow drip. A few days after I noticed it, she did.



I thought, "Hurray! This is what she wants. Now she'll be quiet."

Nope. It's not running fast enough, so she still howls. And it's nice and echo-y in the bathroom. And now thumping my fist on the floor does absolutely nothing but hurt my hand and make me fall out of bed.

So for Christmas, I'm getting her this:


Not the ginger cat, just the water fountain. It has a charcoal filter and a pump that keeps water running continuously. I've already tried one of those self-waterers that looks like a little water cooler. No dice. And if this doesn't shut her up I don't know what will.

Black Friday in the woods

I'm at my folks' not-so-little cabin in the woods. Dad is upstairs with an Amishman named David, putting a hole in the roof for the chimney to a coal and wood stove my parents have bought. At some point they're going to have to go out onto the roof. It's snowing a little, so that should be all kinds of fun. Mom's in the living room, knitting and ignoring the banging from upstairs. Oreo (the cat, Delilah's daddy) is on her lap, under an afghan. I'm at the kitchen table, blogging. Pippin's shut up in the front bedroom so that she stays out of the way of the work. And also because she probably would stand there and growl at David all day.

There are at least eight inches of snow out there. It's probably closer to a foot. Dad just said that over by Ulysses and Bingham the sky was blue and the sun was out. Here where the solar panels need it we aren't getting much sun, so the generator's running. I'm using the battery on the laptop, partly so that I don't siphon off power that we might need later and partly because I don't really trust the generator. It fried my parents' hard drive last winter. Power surge, probably.

I'm using their phone line and an old AOL account of mine that I'm really glad I didn't close. It'd be a shame to get three posts away from the end of NaBloPoMo and miss one because of access problems. It didn't take long for me to forget how long things take with dial-up, though. Click. Wait. Click. Sigh.

The floor in the finished part of the house has been finished itself now. It is gorgeous. It's cherry wood, from trees that grew pretty much right where the wood is laying now. I've taken pictures, and when I get back home I'll post them. Pretty, pretty, pretty. I want hair this color. I wonder if I could take a photo of the floor to a hair dresser and say, "Make it look like this." I'm sure they've had stranger requests.

I made it to almost 8 o'clock before going to bed yesterday. I think I lasted that long because I fell asleep on the couch in the afternoon. Woke up when my sister called to say Happy Thanksgiving. She and Stretch are on a trip to Niagara Falls right now, celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary, which is tomorrow. Hard to believe it's been five years.

And that's it from over here today. If they finish getting the chimney installed and get the stove going, I'll post a shot of that, too.

I am going to be useless by about 4pm

Good morning.

Take a look at the time stamp at the bottom of this post. That is not a mistake. 3:14 in the bleeding a.m. Why am I up this early? Bus leaves in three hours. Taxi was called for 5:30. Traveller's anxiety set in around 9 last night, and will elevate to panic levels around 45 minutes from now. I set three different alarm times on my cell phone (which I'm still using to get myself up in the morning. I've very effectively hidden my alarm clock in one of the still unopened boxes), and then set the timer on the TV as back up. And I set the coffee to brew at 3, in case I needed a smell to wake me.

I beat them all. I was awake for fifteen minutes before the first alarm went off, and I lay there in the dark waiting for it. The cat followed me around for a bit to see what was going on, but has since decided sleep is much more interesting right now.

I don't know why I get so worried about sleeping past the time the bus leaves. In all the years I've traveled, I've never once missed the bus to due oversleeping. I did miss it once because of road conditions. One year before Christmas we got hit with sleet in the wee hours, and it made the roads very slick. Because of that it the taxi was horribly late and we skidded into the terminal parking lot just in time to watch the bus pull away and disappear. I still had a couple of days before Christmas, so it wasn't such a big deal to try again the next day. Mom was relieved, actually, because she was worried about the bus on icy roads, so it wasn't a big deal. Except that yes, the driver made me pay him for the trip back to my apartment even though his lateness was the reason I needed a ride back.

So for reasons I can't explain, here I am at a quarter past dark, nose in my coffee cup, trying to prioritize all the stuff I need to do before I leave. Some of my clothes are still tumbling around in the dryer, so I definitely need to finish packing. Extra food out for cat, check. Turn off coffee pot, not just yet. Change litter box -- need to do that. Hide Christmas presents that are scattered around the living room -- my parents are driving me back here. Mom needs to go to Lowes. At least, that's what she told me. I think it's an excuse, but well, as long as they're headed this way and they don't mind...which reminds me, I need to finish cleaning the upstairs bathroom. Pack up laptop. Will do that after I hit "publish."

The TV just turned itself on. Hurray! I finally figured out how to use the timer!

All right folks, time for me to go. Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it, and happy Thursday to everyone else.

Memory jogging

I'm on vacation today. I don't go to my parents' house until tomorrow, but I wasn't sure about that when I made my vacation request. So I'm spending the day straightening up some, then doing laundry. Nice to be able to take things straight from the dryer and put them in the suitcase without having to drag something across an apartment complex first.

I was reading the comments from the latest post from the Bloggess and someone said they thought "Corpse Honey" would be an excellent band name (you need to read the post to understand what that was about), and suddenly I thought of something that happened years ago:

In Stratford, Ontario on vacation with a friend. Stratford has a h-u-g-e theater festival, mostly Shakespeare (well, it is Stratford after all). As a by-product of this there's a thriving B&B trade. When this festival started over 50 years ago the town passed an ordinance forbidding hotels within city limits. Didn't want destroy the pretty look of the town with towering buildings. Also keeps a lot of the money that's spent there on lodging right there in town, as opposed to going to some chain of hotels. Very smart.

Stratford's also the home of the Ontario Pork Congress. Ham or Hamlet, take your pick.

Anyway, we were staying at a B&B, walking from our lodgings to one of the performances. We crossed a bridge -- over the Avon, of course. The Avon is full of ducks and swans, as well as canoes, kayaks, and paddle boats that can be rented out at a little kiosk off to the left of the bridge somewhere. As we're crossing the bridge, two kayaks pass under us, each being piloted by a young Mennonite girl -- they have a largish Mennonite community up there too.

"Oh, I just thought of an excellent band name," I said to my friend.

"Yes?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage. . .The Kayaking Mennonites!"

She does that fake roar-of-the-crowd noise, then asks,"So what do they play?"

"I'm thinking something along the line of Barenaked Ladies."

Haven't thought of that trip in years. I really would like to go back to Stratford again, but I don't know when I'll have the money to. US dollar has tanked, Canadian dollar is super strong (oil money. I know everyone thinks of the middle east when they froth at the mouth about "foreign oil," but really a lot of our oil comes from Alberta. Hard to get worked up about Canadians, though, isn't it? It's like hating the upstairs neighbors for being quiet), and right now most of my money is going towards my mortgage.

Oh! And I have to go get dressed right now and go in to work anyway, though not for work. I have an overdue library book that I keep forgetting to bring in. Silly. I work there and I can't get my books back on time.

Sorry for the disjointed random feel of this post. That's the way my mind is working today.

Christmas questionnaire

Received a holiday-themed getting-to-know-you style questionnaire in my email. You know the kind I mean? One of those where the sender has answered all the questions and wants you to answer back. Well I replied to her, and then I thought, why don't I put that on my blog?

So here it is. I noticed when I pasted it over that I forgot to answer a few of the questions. Oops. I'll fix that here:

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Both -- depends on the gift, and whether I'm sick of fighting with tape yet.
2. Real tree or Artificial? Well, I don't have one yet, but it will be artificial when I get it.
3. When do you put up the tree? This year: as soon as I buy one. Next year: some time after Thanksgiving. Whenever the mood strikes me.
4. When do you take the tree down? Whenever I get sick of looking at it.
5. Do you like eggnog? Bleah. It's nasty.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? The doll house Uncle Bill made for me by hand. It was based on one in the Little House books -- the one the Ingalls finally moved into as their permanent home. He made all the furniture himself, and drew the floorboards by hand.
7. Hardest person to buy for? Dad.
8. Easiest person to buy for? My sister
9. Do you have a nativity scene? Somewhere. I stopped putting it out 'cause the cats (I had two at the time) kept stealing Baby Jesus and playing soccer with him.
10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Erm. I buy paper ones, address them, stamp them, and then find them two months later. So. Mail?
11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? A Precious Moments figurine. Those little onion-headed dewy-eyed kids are creepy.
12. Favorite Christmas Movie? A Christmas Story ("Fra-Geee-Lay. Must be Italian." "I think that's 'fragile,' honey.")
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? I keep an eye out all year.
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? No. That figurine? The cat broke it. No, she did. Really. She didn't like it any more than I did. I'd set it out on the dresser in an attempt to get over the way it creeped me out. I came home and it was in pieces on the floor. Good cat. She got cat treats for that one.
15 .Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? My mom's homemade fruitcake.
17. Favorite Christmas song? Ding Dong Merrily on High
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Travel
19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer's? Yes: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donder, Blitzen, Rudolph, and Olive.
20. Angel on the tree top or a star? Haven't decided what will be on mine. Star on my Mom's, angel on my sister's.
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? Usually morning, though sometimes Mom would let us open one (that she picked out) on Christmas Eve -- mainly if it was an ornament for the tree or something she wanted us to wear to the Christmas Eve service.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of the year? That it starts so freaking early. This year it didn't even wait for Halloween to be over.
23. Favorite ornament theme or color? Theme: holly and berries; Ornament: my mother has one that's a little nativity scene in a real egg shell. I love that thing.
24. Favorite for Christmas dinner? Well, it's used to be turkey, but last year Stretch did prime rib, and that was pretty dang good.
25. What do you want for Christmas this year? Some rest. And no conversation about politics. And some strawberry motif stuff for my kitchen would be nice.

Anyone else want to do this?

Why I haven't mentioned belly dancing in a while

Well, see, I bought this townhouse. And I spent all my time either packing, cleaning, painting, unpacking, organizing, reorganizing, re-reorganizing (I did the kitchen cabinets three times and I'm still not happy)....and I kinda stopped going to class. But I did intend to go back, once everything calmed down.

And then my teacher moved to Philadelphia.

Waaaaaaah!

Oh, she didn't leave us in the lurch. She has placed us in another instructor's very capable hands. But this instructor has changed the class times, and they don't suit me. There's a beginner's class at 5:30 on Wednesday, and an advanced class at 4 that same day. I work until 5 on the other end of town.

I realize that this is a flimsy excuse. I think I may just be a little resistant to the idea of a new teacher. I've seen her dance, she's very good, so it's not that I don't trust her. It's more that I don't know her. I probably should start out in beginner again, since she may have a different style, and a different set of criteria for what she considers "advanced." I think I might be able to make that class if I flex my work schedule a little. I wish she had something on weekends, but I understand how she would want her weekend to herself.

Alexa is still out there dancing and teaching, she's just doing it in Philly now. I think it was too hard to make ends meet in our little college town. As I said to a former fellow classmate I bumped into last week, "She's too big for us. Philly's about her size."

Here she is dancing at Rakkasah East 2008 last month:



Until I pluck up the courage to go to someone else's class, I'll probably content myself with dancing along to Shimmy (on FitTV) and dance lessons I find on iTunes.

Photo Sunday -- video version

I wonder if Delilah would do this, or if she'd hide from it.

And then there's this cat, who's so used to his owner's roomba that they put a cat bed on top of it:

The last wall

Today (finally) I am attempting the last bit of painting in my house for this year. One corner of the living room still needs a second coat of paint. It didn't get one when I was doing the rest of the room 'cause this is where I shoved everything to get it out of the way last time. I keep saying I'll do that corner "later." Well, I've put it off long enough. Today is "later."

Most of why I kept postponing this is that the TV stand is right in the middle of that section. Here's hoping that the cords and cables are long enough for me to pull things away from the wall without disconnecting everything. And then I have to find places for the assorted junk I've been pretending not to see for months.

So by this evening I shall finally put all the brushes and pans and rollers out in the shed where they belong.

Yay, progress! Time to go change into my painty clothes.

My neighbors across the way love Christmas

They must. Because they started decorating on All Saint's Day. First it was a wreath, then lighted garland round the door and living room window. Then a week later all the bushes got wrapped in Christmas lights. Tonight was the first night it didn't look incongruous, mainly because there was finally snow on the ground.

So far none of the other neighbors have followed suit. I figure they'll wait until after Thanksgiving. I still haven't decided what I'm doing yet. I don't really know how to do outdoor lights. There's an electrical outlet outside by my front door, but do I have to use a special kind of extension cord? I may just skip exterior lights altogether and go with a little electric candle in each window.

Can you see the pumpkins on their doorstep? I think that's a little obligatory nod towards Thanksgiving as they roar past it straight into December.

Short one today

I'm working on another longer post that I'll publish soon. I need pictures, though, and I don't have them yet. So in the mean time, let me show you a couple of blogs I've bumped into.

First, there's Ezra Pound Cake. It's a recipe blog that I found while surfing around on the NaBloPoMo site. The food looks fantastic! I'm scouting around for recipes 'cause next year Thanksgiving is going to be at my place. I know it's early to start. I don't care. I want the menu set and ready to go by next September, so that come November all I have to do is buy the ingredients and get going. I guess this means I'll be cooking all year, trying to find what I want to serve. Anyway, a lot of the recipes here don't have anything to do with Thanksgiving, and I don't care! She had one a last week for a spiced chocolate bread pudding that used pieces of a chocolate chip kugelhopf from a previous entry. Yum! On both counts. I'm getting fat just thinking about it.

And there's Lunch Bag Art. This one got tweeted to me by someone here in town, someone I met at that Tweetmeet a few weeks back. (Did I ever say how that went? No? It was great! Met folks, made friends, am following & being followed by a bunch of interesting people). This artist draws on brown paper bags on his lunch break, and then takes them home and packs his kids' lunches in them the next day. So far this one is my favorite, and I don't even know what The Dreamland Chronicles are.

I've made a few friends through NaBloPoMo, too. Their blogs are on my blogroll now, and you may have seen them in the comments. That'd be Average Jane, The HotchPotchery, and Square One. Hi gang! [waves]

And that's about it for today. I'm starting to hit the NaBloPoMo wall, I think. Only ten days left, and then I can be quiet. Really, it hasn't been that hard so far. Just when I think I have nothing to post about, something happens and I say aha! There's my post!

46% full

Yesterday morning when I was adding the link for the participant blogroll to the BlogSecret post, I looked up and saw a red light on my DVR, the one that usually shows up when it's recording something. Had I scheduled something? I asked myself. So I grabbed the remote and clicked the little button marked "My DVR."

I sure had. It was in the middle of "A Prairie Home Companion."

This DVR thing is a blessing and a curse. When I surf channels and blunder into the middle of a movie that looks interesting, I check the menu to find out when it's on again, pick a time, and tell it to record. I've been doing that a lot lately. But I need to sit down and watch all this stuff now, which I haven't done in a while. And that would be why my DVR status reads as 46% full.

Wanna see what I've got? All righty, here we go. In reverse chronological order, exactly the way the titles scroll down on my TV screen:

• Fringe (yesterday's episode. I have it set to record the whole season)
• House (ditto)
• A Prairie Home Companion
• Dexter (this past Sunday's episode)
• Hot Fuzz
• The Affair of the Necklace
• Fringe (last Tuesday's ep.)
• House (ditto)
• Sweeney Todd: Demon Barber of Fleet Street
  
• The Matrix Reloaded
• Warm Springs
• Elizabeth: The Golden Age
• Moliere
• As You Like It
• Brazil
• Enchanted
• Atonement
• Across the Universe
• Miss Potter
• Becoming Jane

I'm kind of all over the place, aren't I?

[P.S. I came back a few hours later, read the top bit, and decided it needed some work. In case you're visiting twice and are wondering why this looks longer. It is.]

Wow

Just....wow.

I've been spending a lot of time today reading other people's secrets. I'm dazzled by all the bravery, all the things people want to get of their chests.

And then the comments! I've only read a couple of comments that could be construed as negative, but for the most part they were comforting, sympathetic, supportive, offering advice, even. One commenter asked the author of the post she was reading to email her privately if she wanted some one-on-one help with what she's going through.

There's a lot of emotion floating around out there today, gang. I'm gonna go wade through some more of it right now.

BlogSecret: Anonymity

Well, it's the 18th. BlogSecret day. Last Friday I wrote up my secret and sent it out to Nilsa at SoMi. On Sunday evening I received the secret I'm to post. It reproduced below, unedited and unabridged. I haven't even read it yet -- I just cut-and-pasted it over from my email.

-----

Anonymity

I never thought writing an anonymous post would be so difficult - but the opportunity to write about virtually anything was almost overwhelming! Should I talk about that time in college when the paramedics came, or maybe I should write about how hard it's been trying to get pregnant.

Then I realized that, for the most part, my blog already is anonymous. My husband doesn't know about it, nor do any of my friends and only one family member knows - but she stumbled upon it by accident and has since lost interest in reading what is basically a journal (she probably would have killed for the opportunity when we were young). So if I already have anonymity what do I have to tell that I wouldn't want to put on my blog?

And then it hit me, there is one thing that I've never told anyone else. It's the thing that only my husband knows (well a fair number of strangers and court people too, but no one I actually know). We declared bankruptcy this year.

Now you may think that there is no shame in declaring bankruptcy, tons of people do it every year and it's no big deal. And you'd be right, it's probably not a big deal to most people and given the financial situation that we were in we really didn't have another choice. But for me it was a huge deal - it meant that we had failed. We had failed at being adults, at being normal everyday citizens. To me it seemed that we had become those people that couldn't take responsibility for their own lives and had to be rescued by the government. We were taking a hand-out.

I'm assuming that I felt this way because of how I was raised. We were always well-off enough that we never really needed any assistance. Even the times that our family was in a financial hard place, I don't remember my parents having to ask for assistance from family, friends or government. I was raised knowing that you made your bed and you had to sleep in it - so when we had made our financial situation unbearable it still seemed to me that it was our responsibility to fix it, not someone else's.

I've since gotten over that feeling, to a degree. I realize that we really did not have a choice in the matter. It was either declare bankruptcy and save our house or lose everything. I've also accepted the fact that it was not just our fault - sure we had some bad spending habits, but our loss of income and move had severely impacted our ability to pay for things that we had purchased long ago. I also realize that having to declare bankruptcy has made us better at managing our money and we've become more responsible spenders and savers.
The only thing I haven't gotten over is the sense of shame and failure that I still carry with me - and I'm not sure that I should. Shame is a powerful motivator and maybe it can keep me motivated to never let our finances get out of control again.

As for telling anyone else, well, let's just keep that between us for now.

-----

If you want to read more of BlogSecret, SoMi has a participants blogroll posted here.

Update on the Battle of the Tulips

Well, the cayenne pepper stuff seems to be working. I have to reapply after every time it rains, though, or the little thieves come back. And since the mixture has dish soap in it, when it does rain my flowerbed gets a little frothy. Not too much, just a few bubbles around the edges.

It's starting to get very cold out there. Winter is right around the corner. Nobody's told my rosebush that, though. It's still putting out new shoots. I thought if I let the last two blossoms it produced stay on the bush and develop hips it would slow things down a little. Nope. Maybe it's trying to make up for the time it lost before my sister cut all the dead wood off of it back in June.



See? Look at all that new growth. Poor little things are going to get their heads snapped off by the cold pretty soon.

See all the divots in the background? Evidence of the squirrels. If any of my neighbors have seen me out there lately, they must think I'm loony--stomping around in my flowerbed, covering up little attempts at excavation, muttering and spritzing everything with stuff that smells like hot wings. I guess every neighborhood needs a crazy lady, I just never thought the one in mine would be me.

Photo Sunday 2

Last week I promised you proof that I do go outside once in a while. The weather since then hasn't been very cooperative. It's been gray, rainy, and cold all week. Today it even flurried a little.

I did go out today, though, and as I got off the bus I saw what I should be photographing. The sky was gorgeous:



See? And here's one that shows what I got when I pointed the camera almost straight up:



And then, on my way to the parking lot of the shopping center, I saw a little bitty maple (I think), fighting to live in the middle of another shrub, and not quite ready to let go of its leaves:



There you go. I haven't decided yet what I'm taking pictures of next Sunday. I guess it'll be a surprise.

Cue: Carly Simon

So last night I sent my entry to Nilsa of SoMi for BlogSecret.

I'll be getting the secret I'm to post on this blog sometime tomorrow or Monday, along with the address of the blog that will be posting mine. On November 18, the post that you read here will not be from me. I won't have any idea who the author is.

Nilsa has suggested that on the 18th all the participants (nearly 90 of us at last count) go visit and comment on the blogs of at least 5 other participants. I'm guessing that there will be a BlogSecret blogroll on SoMi that day. I'm trying to decide whether I'm also going to go visit my entry see what sort of reaction it gets. It could be anywhere from "This is boring," through "I can relate," all the way up to "You're a bitch."

Too late to worry about it now.

Oh, the title of this post? That's a reference to something my mom used to say when I was younger. Any time we were hanging around waiting for something to happen she'd say, "What we need now is a little Carly Simon." And that is in turn a reference to an old Heinz ketchup commercial that would play "Anticipation" as the ketchup s-l-o-w-l-y poured out of the bottle ('cause it's so thick, y'see).

Throwing down the gauntlet

Our facilities guy here at work is so very full of himself, bless 'im. He just a few moments ago strutted by our cubicles saying to one of the librarians who was walking with him:

"I've been snooping around facilities for over twenty years. There's nothing you can hide from me that I won't find."

After he was safely past, we all started laughing.

"I dunno," I said. "Sounds like he just issued a challenge, doesn't it?"

We're half-jokingly thinking of hiding something in here to see if he can find it. Lana suggested we stash a toaster. Toasters got banned from the building a few years back after burnt bagels in one or another of the break rooms set off the fire alarm twice in one month. Lots of people in here still pine for toast.

Best part? Shortly after making that claim he asked to the room at large, "Hey, where's George [last name deleted]?"

So apparently we can hide George.

1,2,3,4....

There is an ornamental gate on campus, right at the point where the college ends and town begins. It's located in a very central location -- one of the main streets of town empties right into another one right at this gate. All of the bus lines stop there. I guess you could call it the heart of town.

This gate is a popular spot for a number of groups--itinerant preachers (most notably in recent days the one I've dubbed Biblemouth. I've mentioned him before. Three months later, he's still at it) as well as other, more organized religious groups who sing hymns and hand out leaflets to passersby. Fraternities and sororities set up at the gate to fund raise for their charities. On election day last week, people were there organizing rides to the polls for anyone who needed one. Periodically Quakers for Peace stand there protesting the war in Iraq, with signs asking you to "Honk for Peace," and "Bring Them Home Now."

And tonight a huge group of students, some of them members of the LGBT community, stood at that gate with rainbow flags and signs that say "Marriage is a Right" and "Honk for Equality" -- protesting California's Proposition 8. Shouts of "1,2,3,4, open up the closet door! 5,6,7,8, don't assume your kids are straight!" were punctuated by car honks from drivers who read the signs as they went by. The car horns were greeted cheers from the protesters.

Usually the students don't start protesting until spring. Something woke them up early. I wonder if it was the election.

I love watching students protest. They throw themselves into it with such vigor. And I prefer their youthful enthusiasm to some dude in a straw hat screaming through his Bible that we're all going to Hell.

On a completely unrelated note: I've never had fifteen entries in a month before. Woohoo, landmark!

Dancing squirrels, anyone?

If the squirrels I'm at war with would do this for me (preferably when the cat is at the window), I'd have no problem letting them mess with my flowerbed:




Heck, they'd deserve it.