tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13265517831860262362024-03-05T20:36:59.785-08:00Mo-therrr!The mother-blog for mothers of a certain age.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-1235885465612198802011-02-14T10:27:00.000-08:002011-02-14T16:53:40.716-08:00Valentine's DaySurprise! I'm still here!<br /><br />I was a little shocked this morning to look at my old blog and discover it had been three days shy of a year since I last posted. Time flies, or something.<br /><br />Since Valentine's Day has come around again, here are a few thoughts on the holiday:<br /><br />I give my kids gifts on Valentine's Day. This year the gifts included Starbucks gift cards, games, books, and, for my granddaughter, a little figurine of a baby dragon breaking out of its shell. My husband got a card. I might get one, too, if he has time to swing through a card shop before the day ends.<br /><br />For some reason this day for us has always been about kids rather than romance. Partly, I guess, we get all the romance we need in our day-to-day. But there's also the feeling that the most romantic thing we've done has been to produce and raise these kids. They're us, projected into the future.<br /><br />I suspect Valentine's Day makes more people unhappy than happy. As I see it, there are four kinds of people: first there are the newly-in-love who adore the whole concept - a tiny segment of the population of which I have little if any firsthand knowledge. Then there are the ones in a stable relationship who don't do much by way of celebration because, after all, Christmas was just the other day, and who needs another reason to spend money and gain weight? Next up are the people in a relationship - whether happy or not - whose expectations regarding this day are never quite met. And finally, we have the people who aren't in a relationship and who wish they were. For them, this is a day to contemplate their failure to thrive in the world of romance. Sad, and not a good way to spend a day at any time, much less deep in the doldrums of February.<br /><br />On the other hand, it's a very good day for people who sell cards, candy, and flowers. So there's that.<br /><br />I don't know if this is a made-up holiday, or if there was an actual person named Valentine who was so spiritually inspired and inspiring that he was sanctified by the Catholic Church. Kevin Bacon played a terrific Valentine in the movie <span style="font-style:italic;">Tremors,</span> though.<br /><br />I'd love to spend Valentine's Day every year cocooned in front of a crackling fire with a good book and a bottomless pot of hot soup. I suppose it goes back to that 'February doldrums' business. In fact, if it weren't for the money to be made by the romance-merchants, I'd think this holiday was invented to lighten people's spirits in that dark space before spring begins to make itself felt. As a spirit lightener, of course, it's a bit of flop - review long paragraph above. Still, the decorations are red and white. That's gotta count for something.<br /><br />All rightie, then. I've gone on long enough in this vein. If you're in the right frame of mind to enjoy this day then, by all means, have a Happy Valentine's Day. If you're not, my condolences. Next up will be Saint Paddy's Day and green beer and leprechauns, all of which I enjoy, and none of which are likely to inspire another soul-searching ramble like this one. So take heart.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-52037293727942199162010-04-17T12:12:00.000-07:002010-04-17T13:48:28.070-07:00All rightie, then.I installed a chunk of the redwood border with the help of my husband, and I cooked that beef and served it Monday night with polenta, veggies, and a tossed green salad. (What veggies? Hm. Wait a minute, let me think. I believe I steamed a mix of broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, and corn.) As for the high shelves - the cleaning ladies fear them for a reason. Let's not go there.<br /><br />I was looking at the picture I posted of Youngest Daughter and me at the Poppy Preserve, noticing that seven years ago she was still shorter than I am, and I got to thinking. The very next year, in the pictures we took in Italy, we were the same height:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-zEsX7pwvL-cLCz1Br_I_0WCxDSL2MQhm3fgBg75bRWgqUVSwQKnSzjmE-TabQohM7XPTNiYPW20Yazk8oanmSqqx2yimlT7cPV6v9khCQufSxKB4cK_3mrdlbG7lPcpRkVo1uGxO5PY/s1600/DSC01085.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-zEsX7pwvL-cLCz1Br_I_0WCxDSL2MQhm3fgBg75bRWgqUVSwQKnSzjmE-TabQohM7XPTNiYPW20Yazk8oanmSqqx2yimlT7cPV6v9khCQufSxKB4cK_3mrdlbG7lPcpRkVo1uGxO5PY/s320/DSC01085.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461189946894957442" /></a><br /><br />Now, of course, the situation has become simply ridiculous:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_skJpICyromMrZyP1zGxZp6yBkPanIEU4PAUIIaE5tROLH6-n385-8IVvJ8mmY1pYh_xsCRbTXZ8i7zBnycOZWH7hsGuE2-596U6Ka-Cz-1XPEGw3t_NZej0ZF9nLT2kQU2WxdIo-08/s1600/DSC03514.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_skJpICyromMrZyP1zGxZp6yBkPanIEU4PAUIIaE5tROLH6-n385-8IVvJ8mmY1pYh_xsCRbTXZ8i7zBnycOZWH7hsGuE2-596U6Ka-Cz-1XPEGw3t_NZej0ZF9nLT2kQU2WxdIo-08/s320/DSC03514.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461194999847222066" /></a><br /><br />(Yes, she's the tall one in back on the right, and she's hunched down a bit so she can put her chin on her brother's shoulder. Don't ask about the funny hat. It's there for a reason...)<br /><br />But way back at the beginning she was little. When we'd go to the grocery store, she would always step on the rung at the back of the cart, hold onto the handle, and lean against me. I'd push with my arms around her. This went on from the time she got too big for the seat in the cart (maybe when she was three?) until she was so tall I had to hitch my head over to the side to see around her. She must have been seven or eight. At last I told her that she was too big, and she couldn't ride there anymore. She said, "You mean never again?"<br /><br />It still makes me laugh to think of that. I said, "Yeah, that's about it, honey. You aren't going to get any shorter. People grow in just the one direction: up."McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-76253246217367048672010-04-09T08:45:00.000-07:002010-04-09T09:46:33.086-07:00On abandoning a blogYeah, that's what I did and not once, but twice, having also abandoned my highly grumpy and often inappropriate political blog. I didn't abandon my pair of blog-babies for the same set of reasons. Oh, sure, in both cases time got short and I got overwhelmed; but there's more to it than that.<br /><br />I'll blog about the politics over there, but my reasons for not posting here are complicated and have to do with a recurrent suspicion that I really don't know a damn thing about raising kids and that there are better things for me to do than inflict my meanderings on the Internets. I could, for example, work on one of my books. I could dust the high shelves where the cleaning ladies fear to go. I could do some yoga, or even better, some tai chi. I could thaw that good slab of beef, cut it in chunks, and cook it Tuscan-style with red wine, peppercorns, and garlic. I could dig a little trench in front of the roses for the nine-inch-high redwood border I bought <span style="font-style:italic;">last spring</span>.<br /><br />My youngest daughter - the recalcitrant teen - is barreling headlong into adulthood. My eldest daughter is being dragged inexorably towards middle age. My middle kid will soon be Doctor Dave. And although all of these brilliant people spend a large amount of their time here, I'm feeling very empty-nesty, which, coming on the heels of forty years of parenthood, is a bit of an adjustment. In that light, I have found it easier to ignore this blog.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0CsU2aWMlWkFVYp-oB231q9NuHMnW7yBf8JNNcWAIXBCL6an10__cCdMUgVGrZPelEvhWmnjDH-v4I1qxFp9U-ushDNiK-8Otxw3pzcYPMrIQfV0p12q6-mUmLUNt5YgMiWRWUFr2Kw/s1600/DSC00237.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0CsU2aWMlWkFVYp-oB231q9NuHMnW7yBf8JNNcWAIXBCL6an10__cCdMUgVGrZPelEvhWmnjDH-v4I1qxFp9U-ushDNiK-8Otxw3pzcYPMrIQfV0p12q6-mUmLUNt5YgMiWRWUFr2Kw/s320/DSC00237.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458179132576504194" /></a><br /><br />Yeah. Easier, and less threatening. Nobody's perfect. Every parent makes mistakes and it's painful to look back and admit them. You find yourself caught between kicking yourself and grieving for what might have been if only you'd been wiser, more experienced, more patient, more generous. Ack, you think. Let's just move on.<br /><br />On the other hand, chronicling the lessons-learned might make a difference, if not for other parents going forward, then at least for my kids looking back. And there are the laugh-out-loud-funny moments we all shared.<br /><br />So maybe I will still post here. Maybe. First, though, I really need to get that redwood border installed.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-19327705303832068712010-01-15T10:34:00.001-08:002010-01-19T09:31:00.019-08:00Friday dog-blogHere's Roxy, sleeping with her toy on her nose.<br /><br />I'd blog the cat, but she went outside and refuses to come back in. She's mad because Roxy waltzed into the bedroom where she was sleeping. Worse, poor kitty was subjected to a giant brown Roxy-nose sniffing her tummy. Bad scene all around.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoKkjqW7qLLB3vufgRjcEnh-gAYUTnN1HseS0R0U1gjHWUXL-zeuiXX8JFjzgllu8cFFz9kgfSYUEi_0df3f79xzwfhnMBsUEkyncMx6UlGpUbzEegU6HVKvIoTAgMS2_v-s3_tJ4qPXo/s1600-h/DSC03631.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoKkjqW7qLLB3vufgRjcEnh-gAYUTnN1HseS0R0U1gjHWUXL-zeuiXX8JFjzgllu8cFFz9kgfSYUEi_0df3f79xzwfhnMBsUEkyncMx6UlGpUbzEegU6HVKvIoTAgMS2_v-s3_tJ4qPXo/s400/DSC03631.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427037555113752978" /></a><br /><br />What Roxy's <span style="font-style:italic;">really</span> doing in this picture is waiting for someone to try to steal the toy away so that somebody will have to chase somebody else. Her preference, of course, is that when it all settles out, she'll be the one being chased. I'll be the one running after her.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-62160599226617884222010-01-11T16:32:00.000-08:002010-01-11T16:49:22.271-08:00The kitchen is a wrapHere's what we started with:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cv6hL88On-znKO1giyft-A1pFfB2Hxhx9WLKDuPjiLceyjiXq6KperOfoBXtfZljmIuaojLgt3XYBCq4SaMLqVMlwdfyJNCAhvi75xPJsS4BKlwbNeGaHXya8WsxKQN6jLXGfCzejGo/s1600-h/DSC03187.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cv6hL88On-znKO1giyft-A1pFfB2Hxhx9WLKDuPjiLceyjiXq6KperOfoBXtfZljmIuaojLgt3XYBCq4SaMLqVMlwdfyJNCAhvi75xPJsS4BKlwbNeGaHXya8WsxKQN6jLXGfCzejGo/s200/DSC03187.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425644999728171730" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BPhgasNVHt96rB3G1v55XIjeVKoA7M51-s6GoI-7EFeEl-N-N0-QqHPAiLIfQqPYTXDwHXnMcRLcP-j8YJlUcYWF6rA8tKTpXo_n9A89135RIfIf4ShsdvOIomNiU6qkbb0dap02PLU/s1600-h/DSC03189.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BPhgasNVHt96rB3G1v55XIjeVKoA7M51-s6GoI-7EFeEl-N-N0-QqHPAiLIfQqPYTXDwHXnMcRLcP-j8YJlUcYWF6rA8tKTpXo_n9A89135RIfIf4ShsdvOIomNiU6qkbb0dap02PLU/s200/DSC03189.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425645476133335602" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_dlIhaZN35O_OabeyUWtmgJePV644RUInd5f3Y8ZCT8atBNOhmpE6Ycgcw2H100v3hI6tEdLgV-k4FZTRiJCeujo-LnnIHkTOVZTU97oLsmNG1FNZdRVtv86RT4bqBTYrHfceJ2n2qhs/s1600-h/DSC03190.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_dlIhaZN35O_OabeyUWtmgJePV644RUInd5f3Y8ZCT8atBNOhmpE6Ycgcw2H100v3hI6tEdLgV-k4FZTRiJCeujo-LnnIHkTOVZTU97oLsmNG1FNZdRVtv86RT4bqBTYrHfceJ2n2qhs/s200/DSC03190.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425645846292255298" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1fUhx5_BsNxgHY2yne2tYX1WqhkYSPz76Wr8CeA7dnAbBsvgw-6u-dizAPnOXv2mDmVdsUyEmobqr1JOqLpv-I_KoVKWLguuGn3uMtkGPnVbBg0vgxiqpnAeqIXm8f8XUck_3Za3Hi0/s1600-h/DSC03193.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1fUhx5_BsNxgHY2yne2tYX1WqhkYSPz76Wr8CeA7dnAbBsvgw-6u-dizAPnOXv2mDmVdsUyEmobqr1JOqLpv-I_KoVKWLguuGn3uMtkGPnVbBg0vgxiqpnAeqIXm8f8XUck_3Za3Hi0/s200/DSC03193.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425646131664777874" /></a><br /><br />And this, along with an empty savings account and a few more gray hairs, is what we have now:<br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZVOmhDB0Y5kNh_GNQR-WwUnnjH5UOqucotiWewaKpvFiX61ddgaRbrCKGhPd0d3qaVJ9hI5UWx0FYjixfX-OSUPCgDxOTnxuCuGhT8XhYB536JXBAhQ5Ksd7ntR1qmrgzY07kPeDt9c/s1600-h/DSC03612.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZVOmhDB0Y5kNh_GNQR-WwUnnjH5UOqucotiWewaKpvFiX61ddgaRbrCKGhPd0d3qaVJ9hI5UWx0FYjixfX-OSUPCgDxOTnxuCuGhT8XhYB536JXBAhQ5Ksd7ntR1qmrgzY07kPeDt9c/s200/DSC03612.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425647000549795426" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXblb-RgauG3fwjIWoeBrDF5hpL5BvA7MqoAFutD4I4qxci4TCdEKuom-hh1T9pKpMpa_MUkXr-_rl29E2-rUEOiC7BWx6pPrI5U7SJRqvWMaXkYk5GDuRe0J8pyNKYN14qDFVYmHgYh0/s1600-h/DSC03613.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXblb-RgauG3fwjIWoeBrDF5hpL5BvA7MqoAFutD4I4qxci4TCdEKuom-hh1T9pKpMpa_MUkXr-_rl29E2-rUEOiC7BWx6pPrI5U7SJRqvWMaXkYk5GDuRe0J8pyNKYN14qDFVYmHgYh0/s200/DSC03613.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425647343018815250" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihAiFlnkpxiSwd2lrE7mYAhU_Qz1A02uxnNusOfNwGHX0NKVKnXrmQKxz7RNsW6rgynsU-K42tOZtwIKWP7hjUhtyXv689r3YHyXrqyK6VP-fKVA1EyRWyvbssRRSXHLqKR8D8YL42MA/s1600-h/DSC03614.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihAiFlnkpxiSwd2lrE7mYAhU_Qz1A02uxnNusOfNwGHX0NKVKnXrmQKxz7RNsW6rgynsU-K42tOZtwIKWP7hjUhtyXv689r3YHyXrqyK6VP-fKVA1EyRWyvbssRRSXHLqKR8D8YL42MA/s200/DSC03614.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425647712735701778" /></a><br /><br />Yeah. It was worth it.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-56688240361870977932010-01-01T16:45:00.000-08:002010-01-01T17:11:51.392-08:00It's a new yearand let's hope it's a better one than the last. Here are ten of my fondest wishes:<br /><br />1. Newspapers recover. Twenty-four-hour news outlets fail.<br /><br />2. It rains in California. It stops raining in Iowa.<br /><br />3. California calls for a constitutional convention and produces a new constitution which requires a two-thirds majority to amend the constitution and a 50%+1 majority to pass a budget and to raise taxes. Lowering taxes requires a 60% majority. Heh.<br /><br />4. The Supreme Court decides that money does <span style="font-style:italic;">not</span>, in fact, constitute political speech and caps corporate political spending.<br /><br />5. The FCC decides that nudity is not scary, that the word 'fuck' will not harm future generations, and that freedom of speech is not threatened by banning ads which contain demonstrable falsehoods.<br /><br />6. The FDA bans commercials touting prescription drugs.<br /><br />7. Genetically modified foods are found to taste awful. Monsanto gives up its GMA programs and devotes itself to promoting organic gardening.<br /><br />8. No Child Left Behind is amended to require a.) national testing standards and b.) an increase in funding for all schools which fail to meet yearly progress goals.<br /><br />9. Roman Polanski goes to prison.<br /><br />10. Health care reform becomes law, and includes caps on profits by insurance companies and for-profit health-care providers.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-35737646002287674822009-12-31T17:57:00.000-08:002009-12-31T18:21:20.652-08:00On to the new yearand good riddance to the old. I have no idea why 2009 was so awful - it just was. The partisanship from the right which crippled Congress; the hatred and racism spewed over the airwaves by the likes of Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity, and Rush Limbaugh; the idiocy from the left when it became clear that President Obama was only a very smart man and not the magic liberal fairy-godfather they thought they'd elected; and the continuing pressures of recession, high unemployment, and climate change all combined to make everybody in the world crabby, intolerant, and out of sorts.<br /><br />On the bright side are these: George W. Bush is no longer president. We are not dealing with the worldwide economic depression that seemed inevitable a little more than a year ago. Our troops are leaving Iraq; and although Afghanistan is ramping up, there's a time line in place for our involvement there to end as well. Guantanamo is slowly being shut down. We are finally taking climate change seriously. Our government is re-establishing diplomatic ties around the world. Health care reform bills were passed in both the House and the Senate, and need only to be reconciled for at least some of the horrible inequities in our health care system to be addressed.<br /><br />So let's ring in the New Year with hope in our hearts and a renewed will to work to make our world the secure and happy place it can still be.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-6038199829816092232009-12-10T08:41:00.000-08:002009-12-10T09:33:26.564-08:00Why I haven't blogged in a long, long timeI don't really know. Words fail me.<br /><br />Here are some other things I haven't been doing:<br /><br />- Exercising. Really. Not at all. As a result, things that were sagging a bit before now appear to be melting into puddles around my ass and thighs.<br /><br />- Unpacking the last of my kitchen things and storing them in the new cupboards. They don't look like they'll fit and I don't want to deal with the overflow.<br /><br />- Gardening. The tomato vines are drooping in my garden like lost souls.<br /><br />- Removing spots from my carpet. Including two dog-puke stains and three coffee spills. I avert my eyes.<br /><br />- Writing books. Again, words fail me.<br /><br />- Feeling Christmas-y. Though I did decorate, and I've been listening to Christmas music almost exclusively, the anticipation and the wonder elude me.<br /><br />- Watching the news. I can't bear it - all the yammering from talking heads, the spin from so-called journalists, the chasing after stupid stories while the real stuff happens in the shadows. (Really, who - other than his wife - cares if Tiger Woods is a hound-dog instead of a Disney hero? Let's have a comprehensive story on the use of filibusters by the minority in Congress. Contrast and compare with the previous Congress. And if your story shows objectively that one party is more hypocritical and obstructive than the other, don't add some irrelevant nonsense to water your conclusion down.)<br /><br />So. There you have it. I'm not blogging because I'm in a really, really bad mood.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-57760438750969865492009-12-01T15:54:00.001-08:002009-12-01T16:01:28.510-08:00Thanksgiving in the KitchenWe got this far:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZBTKwBJDQc2LIPXKE8IZu9no-NUMqnh4zgae3THB61OZVxjqrHOoHvSAa83NC4u20AOVATl09B3NeyfZtHZG6Lw0SnXMXA1rUj-wBHhjws4DyBRWHiG9JsVGLrWf2bylfN_npmla6-s/s1600/DSC03544.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZBTKwBJDQc2LIPXKE8IZu9no-NUMqnh4zgae3THB61OZVxjqrHOoHvSAa83NC4u20AOVATl09B3NeyfZtHZG6Lw0SnXMXA1rUj-wBHhjws4DyBRWHiG9JsVGLrWf2bylfN_npmla6-s/s200/DSC03544.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410421009918165362" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtTREbnh0X9YDd7o6w35duaKXPZi2M6Q-u1F-VR3G1Oon6mLUk7nqQ8GJxZtBHqew4z7827jmXLZl-bvNNuikLA_dsu669GS76Ne_McYDIb2rNJg3S1fjrUr5MLwZoxA6rDargYWKaXs/s1600/DSC03545.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtTREbnh0X9YDd7o6w35duaKXPZi2M6Q-u1F-VR3G1Oon6mLUk7nqQ8GJxZtBHqew4z7827jmXLZl-bvNNuikLA_dsu669GS76Ne_McYDIb2rNJg3S1fjrUr5MLwZoxA6rDargYWKaXs/s200/DSC03545.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410421006376553810" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSOWYW7ox0AZM5CBtPc_63w9ngQUviccBw1gMLPu2X7hvDlMqr4xwMlo79p57QwRW33hE7ijICX8GXQF5oSBntUvOFMim_foBpBt9hRCD7RvyRlN1eWjwxqI96oOMqSkMde_FfzcEPYAI/s1600/DSC03546.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSOWYW7ox0AZM5CBtPc_63w9ngQUviccBw1gMLPu2X7hvDlMqr4xwMlo79p57QwRW33hE7ijICX8GXQF5oSBntUvOFMim_foBpBt9hRCD7RvyRlN1eWjwxqI96oOMqSkMde_FfzcEPYAI/s200/DSC03546.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410421001292243138" /></a><br /><br />Everything was in place for Thanksgiving, except the tiled backsplash and the range hood. We'd been waiting to take delivery of the accent tile which arrived yesterday. Still on order are three bronze decorative tiles to go above the range, and a panel for the side of the island. Once those come in and are duly installed, we'll really, truly be finished. Our contractor was fabulous!McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-36923555361040500762009-11-20T16:30:00.000-08:002009-11-20T16:56:57.089-08:00UpdateWe're really close, but there was a sad glitch yesterday. First, the good stuff that's finished:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6AsEBGrgb-vY3CFR14KXlAL7Z7Wx3yYf73varzgIaY07um9T_noPUIipzLlR_0c7FE_zywOTFuXnrudLNsoTOoYoDCSwtwfay14WY5iEevkoL5S48ykjD6Uy1ACPzn6jtlkhH6QUb_g/s1600/DSC03488.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6AsEBGrgb-vY3CFR14KXlAL7Z7Wx3yYf73varzgIaY07um9T_noPUIipzLlR_0c7FE_zywOTFuXnrudLNsoTOoYoDCSwtwfay14WY5iEevkoL5S48ykjD6Uy1ACPzn6jtlkhH6QUb_g/s200/DSC03488.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406350942697258962" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_CJ75DHcAAdBsw4KOvEnSCpUTHLm_4AL5pq4q4gIKpt9HTaIosX0o4uCz_8PyeCaV_2oinF0jY6KWt15Bb57Oby3Gv6ZWBU1QQI7H1jdGr3zI0agJPidXxkpo7ngssygt72Wws6AWYc/s1600/DSC03486.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_CJ75DHcAAdBsw4KOvEnSCpUTHLm_4AL5pq4q4gIKpt9HTaIosX0o4uCz_8PyeCaV_2oinF0jY6KWt15Bb57Oby3Gv6ZWBU1QQI7H1jdGr3zI0agJPidXxkpo7ngssygt72Wws6AWYc/s200/DSC03486.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406350934746919218" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Ho8iCgzku9zG4v6QTZI8REZmbV2PiPhk4aWcIFWG2TkFJZSXXNfbMHuHWXObw13BexOnj93pZxoLE7RbNGAc7geWcCa-pvpoCZabJscvRlX2OBprtk1e_41EVX9InOEeZslu_aIr_wI/s1600/DSC03480.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Ho8iCgzku9zG4v6QTZI8REZmbV2PiPhk4aWcIFWG2TkFJZSXXNfbMHuHWXObw13BexOnj93pZxoLE7RbNGAc7geWcCa-pvpoCZabJscvRlX2OBprtk1e_41EVX9InOEeZslu_aIr_wI/s200/DSC03480.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406350926807045074" /></a><br /><br />With the cabinets in and the first appliances installed, it was time for granite. And that's when it happened:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGgJtycWX4fOyMmqO2Hg48f5hyphenhyphentfKIfBVWbjtefbxcZaMP3LMA16XkrW9CkOWwTKXWELG2g1oH8FXXRHTiQI0RJCK5IzSZu7niuV0rDrhnZo2BvCCrgFGToeG9OhrBTzoLNufWd0xwgvE/s1600/DSC03495.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGgJtycWX4fOyMmqO2Hg48f5hyphenhyphentfKIfBVWbjtefbxcZaMP3LMA16XkrW9CkOWwTKXWELG2g1oH8FXXRHTiQI0RJCK5IzSZu7niuV0rDrhnZo2BvCCrgFGToeG9OhrBTzoLNufWd0xwgvE/s200/DSC03495.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406352376711448898" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-YXivtOgHIeb4KX2pLTs3ikiKdijOeJLhd7c1G-UqA8DdtPbf-5szqVcZXN4a3eiZ24qMzVVOU6F44vYehyqt_ZkPLX9XYIKdnNa-iPJg12lQJep-o8pPL2pwSP0mlmOpiC4ePzeORY/s1600/DSC03494.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-YXivtOgHIeb4KX2pLTs3ikiKdijOeJLhd7c1G-UqA8DdtPbf-5szqVcZXN4a3eiZ24qMzVVOU6F44vYehyqt_ZkPLX9XYIKdnNa-iPJg12lQJep-o8pPL2pwSP0mlmOpiC4ePzeORY/s200/DSC03494.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406352369013963266" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXUpbl76N7oeQyM8PponCcVCYQbcsvFwm2WXgBs9_TsBfDytdfGUEpQioPcQ_X3EY7MbSmes2wiZfCYxFS9I0_KmLrkuxcCBnnpSzvsF3OhMLalh5doGvHyzgO_aErsAgTV7VmilfRJk/s1600/DSC03493.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXUpbl76N7oeQyM8PponCcVCYQbcsvFwm2WXgBs9_TsBfDytdfGUEpQioPcQ_X3EY7MbSmes2wiZfCYxFS9I0_KmLrkuxcCBnnpSzvsF3OhMLalh5doGvHyzgO_aErsAgTV7VmilfRJk/s200/DSC03493.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406352362692731650" /></a><br /><br />Yes. The granite <span style="font-style:italic;">broke</span>. That was yesterday. Today the granite guy is back with a new slab and as I type, he's installing again. This time no one can bear to watch. We're hiding in the rec room, waiting for the all-clear.<br /><br />Tomorrow (knock wood) the plumber hooks up the sink and dishwasher. Sometime in the next few days, when the tile arrives, my husband will install the tile and then the range hood will go in. It's unlikely that those two things will happen before Thanksgiving, but as long as I have an oven and a sink, I'll be thankful enough.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-15513135092381331522009-11-13T12:57:00.000-08:002009-11-13T13:33:19.369-08:00Starting to look pretty<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNijCueaK8wxWfrtMtCU0Uln6UKs4lDZ8yJ3wqDe1yKtKSMLA-MIxKmNf0qE1y82fLJUGUqEny2Bl5EU2o0NLqlqjmOs9a5S3TZ8Bz0we9uWFmBdepGPKttcQQuGEd1umr5AZxSL7MsXU/s1600-h/DSC03481.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNijCueaK8wxWfrtMtCU0Uln6UKs4lDZ8yJ3wqDe1yKtKSMLA-MIxKmNf0qE1y82fLJUGUqEny2Bl5EU2o0NLqlqjmOs9a5S3TZ8Bz0we9uWFmBdepGPKttcQQuGEd1umr5AZxSL7MsXU/s200/DSC03481.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403704270362992034" /></a><br />Now, just imagine it with black granite countertops, some kind of pretty tile backsplash, and white appliances.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-62638352449359103942009-11-11T09:24:00.000-08:002009-11-11T10:11:39.758-08:00Moving aheadMore cupboard pix:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOveWfgl-je1cfPG4AG2T-U3xbGk1wGOr2WgihtB4l2MAKXAqHnxAGiPGWzJEDfwjR_MsDcz-hAC0w9_krGX_rQ_zwfBrgxFwm04q87Q41da2apEQQkYIF42fIMwDN5PEHrnRmcZC4INQ/s1600-h/DSC03473.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOveWfgl-je1cfPG4AG2T-U3xbGk1wGOr2WgihtB4l2MAKXAqHnxAGiPGWzJEDfwjR_MsDcz-hAC0w9_krGX_rQ_zwfBrgxFwm04q87Q41da2apEQQkYIF42fIMwDN5PEHrnRmcZC4INQ/s200/DSC03473.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900080203599826" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0eKJWLs02eI0-t3EkmT_TwNiVCe1z5eqW5E9t1QFZL20gvmNoaLHPhgby-jzRe-ZBml0i90C2xScrqkgarwJioReslBE3HDp3PZ813FBPUhn1H2jN60Gqbf5yqgNyhh4HMRAsFDGELvw/s1600-h/DSC03472.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0eKJWLs02eI0-t3EkmT_TwNiVCe1z5eqW5E9t1QFZL20gvmNoaLHPhgby-jzRe-ZBml0i90C2xScrqkgarwJioReslBE3HDp3PZ813FBPUhn1H2jN60Gqbf5yqgNyhh4HMRAsFDGELvw/s200/DSC03472.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402899913792724930" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxVfSURr0pSnHKfQ5rj6msUfrRb0hjVxSrSMBlZdWIwlQdayq7i4qADo5a3glFtQeSM4422oLSGlOP1jMZ9FSXwakruuMmQQllZf3IAZ-mqz8MsJrY8GUoKUsIgX1QCsvyO57pwS1a07E/s1600-h/DSC03474.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxVfSURr0pSnHKfQ5rj6msUfrRb0hjVxSrSMBlZdWIwlQdayq7i4qADo5a3glFtQeSM4422oLSGlOP1jMZ9FSXwakruuMmQQllZf3IAZ-mqz8MsJrY8GUoKUsIgX1QCsvyO57pwS1a07E/s200/DSC03474.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900802082713986" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We're still choosing tile. I got as far as placing an order at a local tile distributor, but I canceled it the next morning when I realized that the granite was thicker than I'd taken into account. Luckily, I'd asked them not to put it through until I called. The salesman was unhappy, but that's life. He asked me to come back in and choose something else, but I declined, saying I wanted to wait until the granite was installed.<br /><br />So. By early next week the cabinets will be complete and the granite will be in. More pix to follow.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-81345117650269236362009-11-05T09:34:00.000-08:002009-11-05T09:44:49.169-08:00Oh, look. It might turn into a kitchen soon!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNKmdS9yuFkvS6b7CJ19W-hd6Om_gLmIqevKV_WXwe1pGzxG02WsaOlnmWr1_iaBWGj6B47HAfkYNWqrH9r87iZTLPQ5do5MnVsP7P0E4d1ZVaIMGvu6jHT1SLSR7QHrQQGwT6VGomKEY/s1600-h/DSC03469.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNKmdS9yuFkvS6b7CJ19W-hd6Om_gLmIqevKV_WXwe1pGzxG02WsaOlnmWr1_iaBWGj6B47HAfkYNWqrH9r87iZTLPQ5do5MnVsP7P0E4d1ZVaIMGvu6jHT1SLSR7QHrQQGwT6VGomKEY/s200/DSC03469.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400676748076799682" border="0" /></a><br />The floors are in,<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx5kSvERJ85WjteCaCY4pd9kbIppP_lB4NknMsZwiNhl0QWtOzxYm47kxp-1ObnI0tcSwLrQ2FcAeQNrKp4gUtorLJ2ti-rlYVxVzE6R5hyphenhyphen4PdWCMAlHLI7WlQG9O-FglEonC7tpM8XCI/s1600-h/DSC03467.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx5kSvERJ85WjteCaCY4pd9kbIppP_lB4NknMsZwiNhl0QWtOzxYm47kxp-1ObnI0tcSwLrQ2FcAeQNrKp4gUtorLJ2ti-rlYVxVzE6R5hyphenhyphen4PdWCMAlHLI7WlQG9O-FglEonC7tpM8XCI/s200/DSC03467.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400675087796187794" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />the paint's dry,<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fzyy5ru8tA1POBK_-6G9lOw_pXCTr7rLQKMP5-9Bc6JLk2wcD6pt-iACGXDhlZlQbJ2SIkAQ5t3ybXL9a1rU9UjWvlZr_Ml-hsgXeRz2j0G-lb2TyqIDYAq-Vcjtd-G8jye00NVNrwU/s1600-h/DSC03470.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fzyy5ru8tA1POBK_-6G9lOw_pXCTr7rLQKMP5-9Bc6JLk2wcD6pt-iACGXDhlZlQbJ2SIkAQ5t3ybXL9a1rU9UjWvlZr_Ml-hsgXeRz2j0G-lb2TyqIDYAq-Vcjtd-G8jye00NVNrwU/s200/DSC03470.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400675603338006498" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />and here come the first cabinets!McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-50207301999730691432009-11-02T11:15:00.000-08:002009-11-13T13:52:59.700-08:00Walls, and Our First HiccupFinally, someone made a mistake! It was easily corrected two days later, but still. It's like the first dent in a brand new car - the pressure's off. We're normal. We had a problem.<br /><br />Here it is, pictorially:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsejPy43w9ib5H-jlXmyHP8k_6rqSH0BexKs1bOSCJ8iXYFLgxVBGzxBnZs9ASczP1ulQnYM1iZRdrZo7_XtDkjGZXRWKQMkdKOxUgLrRq4zFpqw_w_dqo9sTV87AUawjsq-IC2EtQzCE/s1600-h/DSC03453.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsejPy43w9ib5H-jlXmyHP8k_6rqSH0BexKs1bOSCJ8iXYFLgxVBGzxBnZs9ASczP1ulQnYM1iZRdrZo7_XtDkjGZXRWKQMkdKOxUgLrRq4zFpqw_w_dqo9sTV87AUawjsq-IC2EtQzCE/s320/DSC03453.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399588070847736498" border="0" /></a><br />See it? That texture? It was applied to all the walls in the kitchen and extended into the family room in places, where it shared a space with our other, far less textured walls and screamed, "Look at me! I'm not the same!"<br /><br />So our contractor, who really is wonderful, came over to take a look, shook his head sadly, and said of the plasterer, "You'd think he'd have noticed that it didn't match, wouldn't you?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB7ssvw0GGu6RMgbSezGxyf9MIj_m8dnhUs1sVvRIYfGZt8I35e0Gzy_e6k2WBH_IX1UqUCOPUmJyhR2_xtsCtCqp8MbZDM44Pu-MGWXhiykTGmn4guenUaHgrEaciMUi1ITDgZo-KtYI/s1600-h/DSC03460.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB7ssvw0GGu6RMgbSezGxyf9MIj_m8dnhUs1sVvRIYfGZt8I35e0Gzy_e6k2WBH_IX1UqUCOPUmJyhR2_xtsCtCqp8MbZDM44Pu-MGWXhiykTGmn4guenUaHgrEaciMUi1ITDgZo-KtYI/s200/DSC03460.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399589471252972786" border="0" /></a>The next morning two guys showed up with buckets and scrapers, and within about three hours the walls were smooth again. By the end of the day, the kitchen had a coat of paint. It's hard to reproduce the color in a photo, but it's a nice grayish brown with a little green that shows up in sunlight. My daughter-in-law chose it and it looks good.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIxDl8af7uBTX0leOjw4Lk8RTSKFDt67FA7Pxc5-byE-Z4hyphenhyphenRuIzvrY7fBFEtKEd8TSOxb93-PA5vieR0H4ccHW0TtV9QUH5RKYDW5mYY3rY_ZLJn3C8Zu3YRPA4Pv6FcrWhACDLxHSrE/s1600-h/DSC03462.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIxDl8af7uBTX0leOjw4Lk8RTSKFDt67FA7Pxc5-byE-Z4hyphenhyphenRuIzvrY7fBFEtKEd8TSOxb93-PA5vieR0H4ccHW0TtV9QUH5RKYDW5mYY3rY_ZLJn3C8Zu3YRPA4Pv6FcrWhACDLxHSrE/s200/DSC03462.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399590856656400498" border="0" /></a><br />Next up, the new floor, still in cartons here but soon to make its appearance. Once the floor's in, the contractor says, things will go pretty fast. They should have the cabinets in before the weekend. (Unless we have another hiccup. What? It could happen.)McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-17292997782531446482009-10-30T11:26:00.000-07:002009-10-30T11:35:36.699-07:00Look at me! I'm cat-blogging!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjqHTb39JRkUDXV-OXcvc1INmmUq6VYFyu_dg6brNJLbjEpIZD0yAsNzSs49Sh63GM0BsnI8JkJO4fNTcclQQZw1dsbn-VE4Nm8idL0nvLBkPj7IDuISceoU1XqiW7vctr0GUeE7v1x2I/s1600-h/DSC03450.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjqHTb39JRkUDXV-OXcvc1INmmUq6VYFyu_dg6brNJLbjEpIZD0yAsNzSs49Sh63GM0BsnI8JkJO4fNTcclQQZw1dsbn-VE4Nm8idL0nvLBkPj7IDuISceoU1XqiW7vctr0GUeE7v1x2I/s320/DSC03450.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398462778507100338" border="0" /></a><br />But only because Amelie agreed to sleep on the cushions on the rec-room sectional all afternoon, which is something she rarely does. She usually prefers the roof or the balcony to any indoor location.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-21998024466189069792009-10-27T10:50:00.000-07:002009-10-27T11:25:56.258-07:00Pictures of progress<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdt5-YFsv4aXjHz5JgAzyEbwTC_ghFM9crK-71FWvsJVVmB4CVM3kKmkVENjViQ26vEo3piFQjNcQTpf5XobzmuMqxlbxF1yi_aMc50TOYCCd55muTr07mHLKoXQQKt0q-1zn4KdpTTo/s1600-h/DSC03438.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdt5-YFsv4aXjHz5JgAzyEbwTC_ghFM9crK-71FWvsJVVmB4CVM3kKmkVENjViQ26vEo3piFQjNcQTpf5XobzmuMqxlbxF1yi_aMc50TOYCCd55muTr07mHLKoXQQKt0q-1zn4KdpTTo/s200/DSC03438.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397339329952721234" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />The holes in the walls created by demolition have been repaired.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3sdV-c8iCaY0XCySDc1xDQjbU2ZMPPTkRhd49AQP_3MillSP7BDmorLExmiUdbP7tArOBh7ipp6JLsKjGqZ93SzbR4QjlL2M5zOgMoRn3TSim1NhyphenhyphenGXk_l4LMU99wW2m4tMFkHH5NocQ/s1600-h/DSC03439.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3sdV-c8iCaY0XCySDc1xDQjbU2ZMPPTkRhd49AQP_3MillSP7BDmorLExmiUdbP7tArOBh7ipp6JLsKjGqZ93SzbR4QjlL2M5zOgMoRn3TSim1NhyphenhyphenGXk_l4LMU99wW2m4tMFkHH5NocQ/s200/DSC03439.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397339682515082306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />We have a new ceiling, complete with cans for light fixtures.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZi3cdinnLV95vs9KoVqLsZ9EOyqRENwpFmcj_yYcS-VUpQ1r72UHLLz2aVwb6njKAvBosx_HQ8NW1KtFwvbQ7AJA3f7tAAi6-sKIqNHZYyOOgYVFrBNRHtbFgE9KoHDXTdtMlXkVa2KQ/s1600-h/DSC03440.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZi3cdinnLV95vs9KoVqLsZ9EOyqRENwpFmcj_yYcS-VUpQ1r72UHLLz2aVwb6njKAvBosx_HQ8NW1KtFwvbQ7AJA3f7tAAi6-sKIqNHZYyOOgYVFrBNRHtbFgE9KoHDXTdtMlXkVa2KQ/s200/DSC03440.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397343457618733474" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />The old wallpaper is gone, and the wall has been extended to make room for a pantry-sized cabinet.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />All the rough electrical and plumbing is complete, inspected, and approved.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTGgVvDVOrtJ06pmhglfVd8KERPOS84lht2OHU2Gk1cBOpTGYGIBMrMu7rWO_iSyoeBFs3wYIciitmJZKoelV8L-ASss9LD_KrS2Q1rbbxv__CqjAIVpAlzuhKUyHWFomfAfj-lHgChfk/s1600-h/DSC03442.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTGgVvDVOrtJ06pmhglfVd8KERPOS84lht2OHU2Gk1cBOpTGYGIBMrMu7rWO_iSyoeBFs3wYIciitmJZKoelV8L-ASss9LD_KrS2Q1rbbxv__CqjAIVpAlzuhKUyHWFomfAfj-lHgChfk/s200/DSC03442.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397344233059552594" border="0" /></a> See that pipe at the bottom of the wall? That's the gas line for the new stove.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCmYdyQaEksrrCpGth1OpsnRW9MwjfhHyygWWAjI5hnrAL_JE2kJCPnScYK1QbyKmNGIrRFG1eaT0N8PbtoUFwss4DdmpHwIOR1WrN0YwHHAQIu2SFz1lftW8dWqVQ8gkRMJXBY5eZp_w/s1600-h/DSC03443.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCmYdyQaEksrrCpGth1OpsnRW9MwjfhHyygWWAjI5hnrAL_JE2kJCPnScYK1QbyKmNGIrRFG1eaT0N8PbtoUFwss4DdmpHwIOR1WrN0YwHHAQIu2SFz1lftW8dWqVQ8gkRMJXBY5eZp_w/s200/DSC03443.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397345385385473842" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We've chosen our flooring - 3/4" solid maple. Now we just have to finalize our decisions on paint, tile, under-cabinet lighting, and carpet (for the rest of the house, which will be installed as soon as the kitchen is complete.)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Today the plasterer is applying texture to the formerly papered walls and the ceiling, and then they'll be painted (so, I guess I'd better concentrate on those paint chips shown above...) The flooring will be delivered on Thursday, and will be installed at the end of this weekend, or the beginning of next. Cabinets are to be installed late next week.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-92146246980748785842009-10-16T09:36:00.000-07:002009-10-16T10:46:33.453-07:00I thought this would be harderThe remodel, I mean. Except for needing to pour copious amounts of money into the thing, it's going very smoothly. Here's what we've done so far:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyywQLwekrmGBy6YAaKkF0rW87qjwk6sMsVkUPe2e2mlUXzvYf8dL87FF2j1qe4F_xqIE2UtqnaMaCsz0SzmytPW4F29HC8qce7_LuFl_muOnK6Xgcnh05f4NWX20HpAvn3bpmekaK1aw/s1600-h/DSC03387.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyywQLwekrmGBy6YAaKkF0rW87qjwk6sMsVkUPe2e2mlUXzvYf8dL87FF2j1qe4F_xqIE2UtqnaMaCsz0SzmytPW4F29HC8qce7_LuFl_muOnK6Xgcnh05f4NWX20HpAvn3bpmekaK1aw/s320/DSC03387.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393238887106411266" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />We packed up everything in the kitchen and stored it in other parts of the house. Here you see the living room with the kitchen table and three of our thirty-some boxes of kitchen stuff.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3kKUCV6QQTX8Lc3CynvINII4l1ItxWEGfXgQDpcW3qR7Wgw8uBW7tzoT_vURh3e7GRMt2vptuTIy1RZi2o9NjFpz9WmZUMCBIVb0nAiVvPnkst11nIq3Y6OvB01WfAYgruAGlGHD-LA/s1600-h/DSC03391.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3kKUCV6QQTX8Lc3CynvINII4l1ItxWEGfXgQDpcW3qR7Wgw8uBW7tzoT_vURh3e7GRMt2vptuTIy1RZi2o9NjFpz9WmZUMCBIVb0nAiVvPnkst11nIq3Y6OvB01WfAYgruAGlGHD-LA/s200/DSC03391.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393242561891589634" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br />This is my favorite shot of the empty kitchen.<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKOcivDqgIEEAupfFmZxY0ia-xJpndgM3oWHMaZtP1IUWiqJqvIRRpw2ULda_5AWB5dfxS5Jy8ktisgVZMTTdfg6N5-LVwyMtV6rvDuNGs9V-JIvnDU5BOmYC0fDDCqIjaBpJuMAxSic/s1600-h/DSC03435.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKOcivDqgIEEAupfFmZxY0ia-xJpndgM3oWHMaZtP1IUWiqJqvIRRpw2ULda_5AWB5dfxS5Jy8ktisgVZMTTdfg6N5-LVwyMtV6rvDuNGs9V-JIvnDU5BOmYC0fDDCqIjaBpJuMAxSic/s200/DSC03435.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393251409693293266" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcReXNmfvC143eXMdshtntjoKOGH5TX1vbOSOeD1x2e2bRw4bGQbHKsnkTnk647k71I1Q8BCXcFG2EhCVXfxfZ_x_RV6AcVXO2UWbGIjUao8mV42bM8FhEt26Z7EuT_H0AmJZRp5Uflo/s1600-h/DSC03404.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcReXNmfvC143eXMdshtntjoKOGH5TX1vbOSOeD1x2e2bRw4bGQbHKsnkTnk647k71I1Q8BCXcFG2EhCVXfxfZ_x_RV6AcVXO2UWbGIjUao8mV42bM8FhEt26Z7EuT_H0AmJZRp5Uflo/s200/DSC03404.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393255306043447202" border="0" /></a>We made a makeshift kitchen in the rec room downstairs, where I cook sitting in a secretary's chair because leaning over to table-height to chop and stir would most likely leave me crippled.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1cx1cqo-781YQEKO1H20PQYiAf6bsZvxYBToqkGo6hMJ0-qHS9hOjLhtbiXwu5DJLSOkr3EQ-AvhYbHxN_70G0T03mqN4G2He38cuMcQ4THcWxo5kUlLd9Zf7X56Zef127tAUQodamek/s1600-h/DSC03397.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1cx1cqo-781YQEKO1H20PQYiAf6bsZvxYBToqkGo6hMJ0-qHS9hOjLhtbiXwu5DJLSOkr3EQ-AvhYbHxN_70G0T03mqN4G2He38cuMcQ4THcWxo5kUlLd9Zf7X56Zef127tAUQodamek/s200/DSC03397.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393253371779753426" border="0" /></a>Meanwhile, upstairs, a crew demolished the old kitchen<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQVUJFJwn4NpIxOZzoiEGxMtCKo_ytHf1Z3gvqY0eE5JQlFrqqcuFf8QSH9PlL77VL1Jx2OebyPKyATtHXLWRk9i-i74E3qsPabG3CKbqId6PFqop0KiaReJQWqgT9KQfSr6-E725zJzs/s1600-h/DSC03401.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQVUJFJwn4NpIxOZzoiEGxMtCKo_ytHf1Z3gvqY0eE5JQlFrqqcuFf8QSH9PlL77VL1Jx2OebyPKyATtHXLWRk9i-i74E3qsPabG3CKbqId6PFqop0KiaReJQWqgT9KQfSr6-E725zJzs/s200/DSC03401.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393252665729799250" border="0" /></a><br /><br />and we filled the garage with new appliances and cabinets.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Already, the rough electrical and plumbing are done, the walls are patched, and we've passed our first inspection. Today I'm listening to a lot of thumping and banging as the plasterers put in my new ceiling. I keep thinking, <span style="font-style: italic;">Where's the drama?</span> And then I think, <span style="font-style: italic;">Excellent, we have none.</span> So far, so good.<br /></div>McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-19176145164819268392009-10-03T13:27:00.000-07:002009-10-03T15:22:47.974-07:00A Brief History of (our) CatsBefore we had Roxy, we were cat people. We brought a cat with us from the Midwest when we moved to California, and there has been only one catless period in our lives since, during the three years when we lived in a house too close to the Angeles National Forest to keep our cats from becoming dinner for coyotes.<br /><br />I know there are people who really, really don't like cats - usually because they're either allergic to them (and who can love an animal that makes your eyes swell and your sinuses clog?), or they don't understand them. For the cat haters out there, here's the key to understanding: cats aren't sneaky, they're a unique combination of predator and prey. There aren't a lot of animals in that class, but imagine the caution that drives a prey animal (think deer) and the grace and precision of a predator (think wolf). Roll those personalities together, wrap them in silky fur, decorate them with a throaty purr, and you've got a cat.<br /><br />Then there are people who don't like cats because they catch birds. I really don't know what to say to that. My cats have all been in-and-out cats. They've caught some birds, some mice, some rats, some lizards, some grasshoppers, and the occasional moth in their time. It's in their nature and it doesn't bother me, because, as my mother (and probably yours) used to say: I didn't make the world. I just live in it.<br /><br />So. Here's our list so far:<br /><br />Alice came with us from Iowa. She was white with big splotches of pastel orange. She was absolutely trusting - when she had her (only) litter, during a cold Iowa winter, she stacked them (so new they were still blind and trembly) on my stomach one night to keep them warm.<br /><br />Alice was succeeded by Susie and Sheila. Susie sported orange and black polka dots on a field of white. She was our dumbest cat ever, a little nut who liked to nibble on your fingers or your buttons or your shirt or whatever she could get her mouth on. We tried to get her to stop by gently rapping her on the head but she would just put her ears back and go on chewing. Sheila was a gray tabby with a white belly who didn't need anyone to pet her; she'd wriggle the length of her body under any convenient hand over and over again, petting herself.<br /><br />For a very short time - measured in months, I think - Susie and Sheila shared the house with a half-wild silvery-gray tabby named Max. He learned to tolerate us and even seemed to enjoy being petted on occasion, but when we bought a new house, the change proved too much for him. On moving day, as we brought the cats in, Max streaked out the back door and down the driveway to the street where he turned left and trotted away, never to be seen again.<br /><br />Next came Daisy and Gizmo. Daisy was an extravagantly pretty calico with half-a-black-mustache splashed on her face. She had a bad habit of napping in cars parked on our street with their windows down. One day she disappeared, and we always suspected that she accidentally hitched a ride to a new life in one of those cars. Gizmo was a tortoiseshell, black with swirls and flecks of brown and white. She liked to flop down on her side and sleep in the sun. When Eldest Daughter put up a picture of a sleeping Giz in her college dorm room, her friends nicknamed her <span style="font-style: italic;">the roadkill cat</span>.<br /><br />Eventually Giz went to her reward and was replaced by a giant brown tabby named Ratty. He got the name because he was such a sad, ratty-looking thing when we first brought him home; he grew to be a big, lazy lap-cat who purred like an engine and drooled when he was petted. He liked to sleep inside Middle Kid's shirt - with MK still in it - both heads poking out the neck so they looked like some kind of weird two-headed monster.<br /><br />Ratty was joined by a companion cat, Cleo, an eleven-year-old black female who had briefly shared an apartment with ED. Cleo was sweet as she could be, but she had such terrible breath that Tom built a cathouse (I know, I <span style="font-style: italic;">know</span>) for her on the deck. (And yes, Phoebe, we took her to the vet. He said her teeth had so much plaque that the only way to clean them would be to anesthetize her, and at her age, it was too risky.) Cleo and Ratty liked to bat at each other through the french doors that separate the deck from the rest of the house. When Cleo died at the ripe old age of fourteen, Ratty sat by the door for days, waiting for her to come back.<br /><br />After Ratty we took in two kittens - Mia, a brown tabby, and Amelie, a gray-brown tabby with a white belly and legs. Mia never lost her kitten voice and, at seven, still mews as though she were two months old. MK borrowed her one day and never gave her back, so now she lives in Irvine and imagines she's at home there. Amelie is shy and skittish. The only person who can get her to come reliably is Youngest Daughter, although I've found that if I pour food in her bowl she'll hear me from wherever she is in the world, and will be waiting at the door when I go to look for her. It's poor, nervous Amelie who's had to learn to deal with Roxy; she's done it, but she still lets us know it wasn't her choice.<br /><br />I have no idea who our next cat will be. If I could, I'd take one of my dear-departeds back. But the world doesn't work that way, (see above), so all I can say for sure is that there will be another cat, and it will be as individual as its predecessors.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-66040289168492636572009-09-27T12:23:00.000-07:002009-09-27T12:30:19.105-07:00Maybe I should make it a point to open EVERY cupboard once in a while<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPbOCQhbh0hXdQmk8vTlSb0Ogjd0JBsATrQ678xnvv6YeAxGsuJGdMmuRQCxIdEXfCwYuOnHGeG44OZRx1wd41RZKzHIoNK2I2AJ110dKjjtzwDHfPf6y1xyuTSnwD3r-DpKPuW2JzObo/s1600-h/DSC03365.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPbOCQhbh0hXdQmk8vTlSb0Ogjd0JBsATrQ678xnvv6YeAxGsuJGdMmuRQCxIdEXfCwYuOnHGeG44OZRx1wd41RZKzHIoNK2I2AJ110dKjjtzwDHfPf6y1xyuTSnwD3r-DpKPuW2JzObo/s320/DSC03365.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386231290334728034" border="0" /></a><br />because this guy was in the cupboard above the stove which was occupied by the hood vent. The vent itself never fit right and got knocked out of place at some point in the past, so this poor guy must have gotten into the attic and then flew down into that cupboard and got stuck. We never heard or smelled anything, so we have no idea how long he'd been there.<br /><br />Yeah. Yikes. What might we find under the sink?McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-3265482120354726152009-09-24T10:07:00.000-07:002009-09-24T10:57:25.758-07:00Who knew remodeling one room would affect all the others?Before you remodel, you have to get ready to remodel. During the summer we did the shopping part - shopping for contractors, appliances, cabinets, floor coverings, light fixtures, countertops, and even paint. Now the big items are about to be delivered, and we've had to make room for them. We started with the garage.<br /><br />Our garage was a mess. (Parts of it are still a mess, but that's neither here nor there.) We aren't tidy-garage-type-people. We tell our kids we're going to stay in this house until we die of old age because to sell it, we'd have to empty the garage. We haven't parked a car inside the garage in at least three years - and that was only after an incomprehensible fit of tidying which we got over before we had room for the second car.<br /><br />Sadly, with the coming remodel, we have to make room not only for a refrigerator, a range, a dishwasher, a sink, and a garbage disposer; we also have to make room for a terrifying number of pre-made cabinets, along with their attendant doors and trim pieces. We started at the beginning of August by donating some furniture to a rummage sale to benefit a family in our town. We stalled after that, but three weeks ago my husband got inspired by the calendar. After days of sorting and lifting and shifting and moving, countless trips to the curb with junk, plus more trips to Goodwill with usable junk, he has made space for most (we hope) of what will start being delivered tomorrow. So that's good.<br /><br />Inside, I began work on the problems of emptying the kitchen and creating a cookable space somewhere else. The makeshift kitchen will be in our rec room downstairs. In order to achieve that, I had to reclaim Youngest Daughter's craft table, which meant I had to sort through the craft cabinets to make space for the supplies she keeps on her craft table. After days of sorting and discarding, and some necessary furniture rearranging, it's done. I've got a table to put my hot plate, coffee pot, and toaster oven on.<br /><br />To cook, of course, we'll need water. We could use the bathrooms, but none of them has a sink that will easily admit a pot to be filled and my back isn't crazy about the idea of using a bathtub for routine cooking chores, so my husband moved a utility sink from the garage into the laundry room. (Of course, I had to make room in the laundry room for the sink...you see how this goes, right?)<br /><br />Now, to empty the kitchen. First problem - get that big shelving unit out of the breakfast room. (Why it was there is a whole 'nother discussion, and you really don't want to know anyway.) The only place the shelf will fit is in the family room, and then only if we move YD's computer station to her bedroom. This means we have to move the student desk out of her bedroom, which requires days of emptying and sorting and (as usual) throwing stuff away. Last weekend we got the old desk out and the new desk in, and by yesterday we had the books back on the shelves and the pictures back on the walls in her room.<br /><br />Also yesterday I got the shelving unit emptied, moved, and refilled in the family room. The breakfast room suddenly looks huge, which is a comfort. Now all I have to do is put the contents of the kitchen into boxes and move them to my husband's office to be stored until the kitchen is done. To make room in his office, we had to move the weight bench to the deck. To make room for the weight bench, we finally got rid of the last bulky Playskool toys. They'd been outside forever, so I had to scrub them first - a process which involved several close encounters with wildlife of the black-widow-spider variety. But it's done, the toys have been donated, and the weight bench is sitting under the macadamia tree.<br /><br />I bought ten packing boxes at Staples, having told my husband with breezy (and misplaced) confidence, that I thought thirty would do it in the end. Assembled the first box, opened the first cabinet, filled the box with the contents of the first <span style="font-style: italic;">shelf</span> (after throwing a bunch of stuff away), and thought, Oh, shit.<br /><br />So. If I hadn't already spent so much money on appliances and cabinets, I'd be rethinking my position on remodeling. Seriously.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-7555024821969900622009-08-31T10:10:00.000-07:002009-09-01T08:19:34.245-07:00Saved - or NotI was raised a Roman Catholic by devout parents, even attending Catholic schools for thirteen years. My husband was raised in a conservative, fundamentalist household. These disparate experiences produced two people who (all belief aside) share a powerful aversion to organized religion. Naturally, our decisions regarding religious education for our children were informed entirely by this attitude. With that in mind, here are some religious memories and maybe an opinion or two.<br /><br />Once, when she was very young, Eldest Daughter asked me if I would accept Jesus into my heart. It was 6:30 in the morning, I had just crawled out of bed, I had to get to work, and I was really, really tired. "Maybe later," I mumbled.<br />"But, Mom! Don't you want to be saved?"<br />"I have to get ready for work right now," I answered, yawning. I was most of the way back to my bedroom before I realized what we'd said. I wheeled around and padded back down the hall.<br />"Uh, honey? Who have you been talking to?"<br />"Church people. They come around in a bus. They said we have to be saved."<br />"Ah. Well, not everybody believes that."<br />"Do you?"<br />"No. Not really."<br />"Oh. Okay." I don't know if she looked relieved, or if I just remember it that way. I offered to talk later, but she lost interest and was spared my ramblings on the subject.<br /><br />Some years later, in a burst of parental guilt brought on by Middle Kid asking me if I'd ever heard of Noah's Ark, I bought an illustrated children's Bible to read with him. We got through the creation without too much trouble, and Adam and Eve's expulsion from the Garden, and the birth of their sons Cain and Abel. The trouble came after Cain slew Abel, and then ran away to a far land where he met and married a woman-<br />"Where'd <span style="font-style: italic;">she</span> come from?" my son asked. "I thought there weren't any other people yet."<br />"Uh," I said. "Erm. I'm not really sure." (I'm a Catholic girl. We're New Testament people.)<br />"It doesn't make any sense," he said.<br />"Well, maybe we aren't supposed to take it literally."<br />"Huh?"<br />"Hm. Never mind. I think I'll make dinner now."<br />And that was the end of Bible stories for MK.<br /><br />When she was in elementary school, Youngest Daughter used to attend church occasionally with a friend. One day, though, she seemed troubled when she got home. When I asked her about it, she said she didn't want to go anymore.<br />"You don't?" I said. "I thought you liked it."<br />"Not really," she said. "It makes me feel bad."<br />"It does?"<br />"They're always telling us we can't be saved unless we believe in the Lord, and well, I just don't."<br />Uh-oh. That 'saved' thing again. "You know, being saved is a personal thing, honey. There are lots of different ideas about what it means."<br />"But do you believe in Jesus?"<br />"I believe that Jesus wanted us to be nicer to each other. And I think that's a really good idea."<br />"Oh." She wandered off to play. A little later she came back and said, "I still don't want to go anymore."<br />And that was the end of YD's religious career.<br /><br />Recently, I went to a funeral. It was a beautiful funeral, a truly lovely - and loving - celebration of a life cut short. After the eulogies and some wonderful music, the pastor stepped up to give us his pastoral message. "There are two kinds of people here today," he said. "The ones who've been saved and will some day sit at Jesus's right hand in heaven, and the ones who won't."<br />My eyebrows shot up. I turned to the friend I was sitting with and whispered, "Did he just tell us we're going to hell?"<br />"I think he did," she said in a bemused tone.<br />"That's kind of rude," I said.<br />"Yeah. I think so, too."<br />I listened through the rest of the sermon, and the pastor quoted quite a lot of scripture (all New Testament, which was at least <span style="font-style: italic;">something</span>) to support his allegation. I kept waiting for him to get back to the subject at hand - the funeral, the grieving family, the good life the departed had lived. He never did. Apparently he thought the family would be comforted best by knowing that some of their friends were going to hell.<br /><br />Which brings me to a list of theological pet peeves:<br /><br />1. Old Testament 'Christians.' Does not compute. The story of Christianity lies in the New Testament. The Old Testament should be <span style="font-style: italic;">literature</span>.<br /><br />2. People who thank the Lord after every sentence. Please. God already knows how grateful you are, and the rest of us won't think less of you if you keep it to yourself. We promise.<br /><br />3. People who insist on pronouncing judgment on everybody else. Crazy radio personalities, crazy politicians, crazy preachers, crazy people carrying signs displaying their opinions as to where various other people will reside after death. Right back at'cha, folks, because you know what? You're just guessing.<br /><br />4. Relatives who pray for your soul <span style="font-style: italic;">every day</span>, and then tell you about it. What are you supposed to say to that?<br /><br />5. God as the Candyman. Be good, and God will give you everything your heart desires.<br /><br />6. God as the Hairy Thunderer. Be good or God'll getcha.<br /><br />7. Religious enforcers. You know who I mean: the Taliban, extremist Israeli settlers, the likes of Pat Robertson and James Dobson. And who can forget the Spanish Inquisition? Ugh.<br /><br />8. The rapture, and all veiled threats leveled my way with regards to that event. Excuse me. I intend to inherit the earth, so feel free to rapture yourself right outa my way.<br /><br />On the plus side, I've known some very nice - and very conscientious - people in my life, people who seem to take the spirit of their religion to heart. But that's a post for another day.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-52375564971768307792009-08-25T10:43:00.000-07:002009-08-25T11:45:33.857-07:00Stuff we don't have anymoreHere's a short list of things I remember well, but which my kids either don't remember at all, or consider quaint and curious.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Television sets without remote controls</span>: back in the day, we got up to change the channel on the television set. There was no channel surfing during the commercials. And some people ended up watching the same channel all night because nobody wanted to get up.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Party lines</span>: I can't decide if the world is a better place without these, or not. There was so much drama around party lines - sneaking the phone off the cradle and listening in; having conversations interrupted by a crabby neighbor telling us to get off the phone; stopping to chat with your fellow party-liner.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Individual ring tones</span>: I'm not talking <span style="font-style: italic;">Beethoven's Fifth</span>. I'm talking two longs and a short for your house, three shorts for your neighbors', and two shorts and a long for the guy around the corner. Everybody's phone rang every time, and you answered only <span style="font-style: italic;">your</span> ring.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Phones with cords</span>: everybody had a phone table when I was kid, and that's where you sat to talk. Private conversation? Puh-leese - you shouldn't be saying anything you wouldn't say with your mother in the room, anyway.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Phones with rotary dials</span>: I still love the sound and feel of a rotary dial. Each number sounds different because the dial travels a different distance for each number. I remember a movie where a mystery was solved by someone hearing the sound of a number being dialed and later messing around with the rotary dial until they figured out what the number was.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Metal tv stands with wheels</span>: these were flimsy little things which enabled you to roll the tv into the dining room if there was something special on. Of course, this implies that a) tvs were a lot smaller (and they were! Seventeen inches was considered a reasonable size!) and b) you didn't have to worry about plugging the thing into cable. You used your rabbit ears.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Milk boxes</span>: on the porch. For the delivery of milk in bottles with foil caps. The cream floated just under the cap.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pedal-operated sewing machines</span>: I really liked sewing on these. Your ability to control the speed of the machine was nearly infinite, limited only by how fast you could pedal.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Push mowers</span>: I saw a guy mowing his lawn with one of these the other day. I thought, <span style="font-style: italic;">Gosh. He should take better care of his antiques.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Metal garbage cans</span>: I'm sure people still use these somewhere, but in my town it's all big plastic bins provided by the waste removal company. I kinda miss those gun-metal gray cans, with their dents and their lids that didn't fit after the first year or so. Those cans took a lot of punishment - and it showed.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cranks for rolling car windows up</span>: it's all buttons now.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Typewriters</span>: I still have the little green portable I took away to college with me, but the ribbons are a thing of the past.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Slide rule</span>s: yes, I minored in math and I did not own a calculator. When I was in college, a four-function calculator was still a prohibitively-expensive item; I settled for the slide rule and the books of math tables.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Blackboards</span>: and erasers and chalk dust. Last year we got a SmartBoard in the classroom where I tutor - we can now display pages from the computer, or let the kids 'write' on the board and save their writing to a file, or scan text-book pages and display them. No more teachers' pets staying after school to clean the erasers.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bench seats in cars</span>: three in the front, and three (or four) in the back. We used to wage battles for the front seat and the windows. And some poor schmuck (or, in our family two poor schmucks) had to sit in the middle of the back with no view and no air.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Recess</span>: this was the most important part of the school day when I was a kid. It's when all the socializing happened; when relationships formed or fizzled; when dominance issues were resolved. Now recess in 'structured.' Yikes.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-29912358219624652052009-08-21T12:37:00.000-07:002009-08-22T17:40:27.166-07:00The status quo sucksHealth care reform - that's what I'm talking about. Let's have a little honesty on the subject.<br /><br />1. The President has recommended goals for reform, and here they are:<br /><ul><li>No discrimination for pre-existing conditions</li><li>No exorbitant out-of-pocket expenses, deductibles, or co-pays</li><li>No cost-sharing for preventive care</li><li>No dropping of coverage for the seriously ill</li><li>No gender discrimination</li><li>No annual or lifetime caps on coverage</li><li>Extended coverage for young adults</li><li>Guaranteed insurance renewal</li></ul>Raise your hand if you disagree with any of these. And I don't mean you jump three assumptions into the future and disagree with what some sleazy insurance company hack has told you will be the eventual result. Just stick with the facts, ma'am. I'll bet you'd seriously like you some no-pre-existing-condition-discrimination. I know I would, because AGE is a pre-existing condition.<br /><br />2. It's not Obamacare. The President has not proposed a bill. He has left the writing of legislation to the Congress. You may call it Senate-care, or House-care, or Washington-care. Or, like me, you may call it better-than-the-crap-we-have-now. Whatever.<br /><br />3. If you believe that anybody in Washington is planning on killing grandma in order to pay for the plan, then you need help. I hope the coming healthcare reform will cover psychiatric visits so you can become a happier and more grounded person in the near future. Oh, and while we're on the subject, most private plans already cover end-of-life counseling. What are we to make of this?<br /><br />4. If you believe that the government is going to create panels to rule on your treatment options, then remember this: insurance companies have panels to rule on your treatment options. And the people on those panels get bonuses for saving the company money, i.e. denying you treatment. Feel better about the status quo now?<br /><br />5. If you think that a government plan will limit your options, then you might want to check to see what options you have. Hm. Only the ones your company offers, you say? And your company changes those options every year? And none of those options include vision or dental? (And how about that psychiatric treatment?)<br /><br />6. Will you be retiring early? Why not? Uh-huh. You have to wait until you qualify for Medicare, because your company doesn't offer coverage for retirees, and no private insuror will provide coverage to a 59-year-old person. Same here. Sucks, doesn't it?<br /><br />7. Do your young adult children have insurance? Why not? I see - they haven't been able to find jobs with benefits. Well, maybe they should purchase private plans. Yes, I know they'll have to live at home in order to pay their premiums, but that's the way it goes. At least they don't live in a socialist country. Well, except for the socialized fire and police protection, the roads, the schools, and a few other things.<br /><br />8. Do you hate your job? Why not give it up? You could be an entrepreneur, and fulfill your lifelong dream of owning a book store or publishing a weekly newspaper or designing jewelry or writing free-lance software. Oh, I forgot - you can't get health insurance because you have asthma, or a bad back, or acne, or allergies, or menstrual pain, or Type I diabetes, or a congenital heart murmur, or...<br /><br />Well, you get the picture.<br /><br />9. Are you worried about balancing the budget in Washington? What makes you think keeping the status quo will contribute to that goal? Our health care system is on the brink of collapse; it's a huge burden on business right now. If that burden were lifted, businesses would be more competitive in the world market place. Profits and the workforce could grow, which spurs more growth, and improves tax revenues. Stop looking at it as a new cost - it's not. Reform is intended to shift and contain costs. The potential benefit to our economy is huge.<br /><br />Frankly, people, the status quo sucks. We need reform. Stop listening to Glenn Beck and that scary blond woman who was on <span style="font-style: italic;">The Daily Show</span> the other day, and start praying that reform succeeds.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-9769151238474155012009-08-06T14:56:00.000-07:002009-08-06T15:19:36.369-07:00Life gets in the wayof blogging. I'll be splitting my time between traveling and remodeling for the next few weeks. Here's my report on the remodel: we've selected our contractor, laid out the plans for the new kitchen, and chosen our cabinets. We'll place the cabinet order next week (after our trip to San Francisco), which means within four or five weeks, the current kitchen will be demolished.<br /><br />The new kitchen table, which I had intended to order later in the process, arrived today. It's got a nice farmhouse feel to it - rectangular, with the legs set all the way out at the corners so the top doesn't overhang. It can be expanded to seat eight by unfolding a nifty leaf which stores underneath the table top. It's coffee-colored. I've already done a crossword while sitting at it, so it has been appropriately christened into our family.<br /><br />I bought the table now because I gave the old one away, along with the matching hutch, to be used at a rummage sale to raise money to benefit a family in trouble here in my town. In the few days we spent without a table, I discovered that it's really hard to enjoy the newspaper without a place to prop my elbows. So I bought the new one, even though it means moving it when it comes time to empty the kitchen. It's a small sacrifice.<br /><br />So far, nothing awful has happened with respect to our remodel. But that, of course, is because it's way too soon for the adventure to turn dangerous. I'll keep you posted.McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1326551783186026236.post-86874165207603155192009-08-04T14:57:00.000-07:002009-08-04T15:15:01.215-07:00And just like thatthe squirrels are gone. The nuts are gone, too. This hasn't happened before - that the nuts ran out well ahead of the ripening of the avocados. Honestly, I'm thrilled. I can use my deck without having to sweep it twice a day.<br /><br />I suppose this is due to our odd weather, which is an accumulation of several years of odd weather. Odd weather has become the new normal - record highs, record lows, weird storm patterns. I'm not sure we'd recognize the weather we used to call 'usual.' Climate change. There you have it in a nutshell. (Pun intended. I apologize.)McMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00548643357857777810noreply@blogger.com0