Each year, I've done this entry for myself to look back, month by month, and take stock of what happened, how I see it now (after the fact), and how I see things going.
This year, it's honestly impossible to go month by month. The events in my life this year have transpired over the months, overlapping like waves on the shoreline. One would begin to pull back for a while as another one came to the foreground.
Honestly-- I'm fucking exhausted. Thankfully, it's a good exhaustion for the most part. I think upon heading to the New Year's party tonight at our friends' house, I can't help but remark at how completely different things are from last year, when we headed to the same house to celebrate with the same group of friends.
It has been a hard year for so many people that I know, and so many hundreds of thousands that I don't know. 2005 definitely is a year of sadness and pain on a global scale - which makes me all the more squeamish about posting an entry that reflects on my personal year, which was surprisingly good.
I can't ignore reflecting on this, though-- it's been quite possibly the biggest year of change I've had in my life so far.
This year can be summed up for my personal life by three things-
Turning 30
Getting Engaged
Buying a House
Age is a number, or so they say... and perhaps, for most of the years, that's true. I'll call bullshit on that for 30, though. I do feel different at 30 than I did at 29. A lot different. It felt different the morning I woke up on my birthday. My 20's, which were a downright shitty decade of confusion and pain, were over. I was no longer the "kid" at work, or at home. I finally had reached adulthood in my parents eyes, and the need to please them and prove myself to them was no longer the important goal it once was. I met the invisible milestone-- to survive my twenties. Thank Goddess.
Eleven days after my birthday, Erich and I were in the Boston at our annual Geekfest, and decided that we'd go out for dinner Saturday night. What would become known as the Blizzard of 2005 was bearing down on New England, the estimates of snowfall changing by the hour as it approached, each time getting considerably worse.
In the storm's first hours, I experienced my most romantic night to date.
To think that tonight, one year ago, I was nearly in tears on the back porch of Chris and Sara's house, convinced that Erich would never ask me to marry him. (I was, in fact, very drunk... but also very stupid).
Even more amusing, to think that I had been convinced that I'd never marry. Six or seven years ago, Andi, our friend Jenn, and I were sitting in the living room of Andi's parent's house (the last time I've seen either of them in person, oddly), and we were discussing our relationships. Jenn was married. She and her husband were buying a house. Andi was in a relationship (although I can't recall if she was dating her now husband at that point). I was downright bitter and miserable about life, being in the middle of dealing with Yet Another Round of Jason Bullshit, and convinced that I was so worthless as a human being that I would never find anyone. At some point that evening, I recall making a comment that somehow, I always knew I'd never marry.
MmmmHmmm...
That alone should be the event that is used to remind me that I over-react way too often.
Event #3 of the year somewhat put a damper on the wedding plans, of course. We're just now in the initial phases. We'll have a date one of these days. Really. Honest.
*smiles sweetly*
And onto event #3...
365 days, give or take a few hours, ago... buying a house wasn't even on the horizon. Erich and I commented on how we'd LIKE to buy something someday. We'd pick up the flyers in the grocery store for the "for sale by owner" ads, and dream. Deep down, though, we figured we couldn't afford it. At least, not in New England, where we both wanted to stay. It would be years before we'd be able to put any money down on a house. Until then, we'd continue to grab those flyers at the store, discuss the type of houses we liked, and enjoy the wishful thinking.
And then Mid-March comes around, and we decide to throw all of that dreaming out the window as a house... THE house... came out of nowhere.
Here's the fucked up timeline...
Late February, 2005-- Erich makes a mention to Sara (our host for the New Year's Eve parties), that we might be interested in getting a sense of houses in the Providence area, since he liked our friend Frank's house, and was surprised by the price difference.
March 4th-- we head to Pennsylvania for my grandfather's 80th birthday (I put this here to drive the point that on this date, a house wasn't even in our MINDS). That same weekend, Minarae and Petrouchka get engaged.
Thursday, March 10th- Sara (our friend who hosts the New Year's parties) emails Erich a photo and listing of a house in Providence that just came on the market the day before that she thinks we really should see.
Friday, March 11th - I write an entry about things happening, acutely aware that something REALLY HUGE is on the horizon, but I can't figure what.
Sunday, March 13th- We look at the house and really, really like it.
Monday, March 14th- We make an offer on the house at the asking price. Within hours, there are multiple other offers on it, and the house is taken OFF the listing market and put into a "pending" status.
Tuesday, March 15th- Our offer is accepted. Oh wait... shit. There's that whole DOWN PAYMENT issue. Quick, start calling relatives!
April 26th- We close on the house and sign all of the papers.
Seriously-- it's the most fucked up thing ever. I would sit there at the apartment for hours and just stare at the wall.
I definitely don't recommend anyone try this method of house buying. It's not good on the brain.
It makes for some damn great stories and memories, though.
Six months after moving in, I still think we're insane. I often don't feel like enough of a grown-up to handle a house. I still can't believe that I'm a co-owner ON a house. Yet here I am, sitting in my own office, looking out onto my own yard where the New Year's snow is starting to softly fall. The excitement of it just hits me again out of nowhere. I OWN this. This is mine.
It's so fucking cool.
...
Against these things, the rest of my personal year seems so uneventful. THIS is what my life has been this year. I haven't kept in contact with people. I haven't read journals. I haven't made the phone calls or written letters.
And I apologize. I truly do. My introvert brain has simply gone on complete overload this year because it's been such a rollercoaster year of growth for me.
Life comes full circle, doesn't it? Perhaps as I get older, I'll sit on the couch and look back in wonder at 2005, where so many pieces of my life came together and miraculously, how I recognized it as things happened.
It's been one hell of a year.
Happy New Year, everyone. May 2006 be more interesting-- but hopefully calmer -- than 2005.
31 December 2005
30 December 2005
Hairy issues
I have a day off. A glorious, sunny day off... all for me. And said day off will kick off that glorious rare thing-- a four day weekend.
Whee!
Although it's starting off on an awkward note- I've needed a haircut for a while, and decided to trim my bangs up myself, since they need the immediate attention. This is, by the way, something I normally do because my hair is very strong and grows evenly. I've been allowing it to grow so it's longer for my wedding, and almost have it at the bottom of my shoulder blades, where I want it. To do this, though, I need to just let it grow for a while because the original cut had tons of layers in it since my hair was so thick. For eighteen months, I was good about going to the salon every six weeks. Each time, they'd trim it, but add more layers in-- some cuts facing the wrong way, and the stupid ski jump flips started showing up on my ends. I have STICK straight hair, so these cuts really are noticeable. Now it's at the point where I have so many lengths of hair on my head that I can't even get it into a ponytail without all sorts of retarded spikes sticking out. It drives me nuts.
I decided that to fix it, I just need to let it grow for a while. I'll go in sometime this spring to the salon, have the stylist do a straight cut across to clean up all of the ends, and then just continue to let it grow and get maintenance trims every six weeks so it's even and straight and can be put into an "updo" for the wedding if that's what I decide to do.
Anyway... this morning after my shower, I stand in front of the mirror, trimming comb and scissors in hand. Deep breath, even it out... cut.
Well, I trimmed the bangs a tad short. Not horrendously so, but they're about a quarter inch above my eyebrows. I'm kicking myself a bit, but with how fast my hair grows they'll probably be halfway down the lenses of my glasses again by the 10th. Thankfully, our New Year's Eve plans involve hanging out with friends, who already know I'm a goober and a klutz. *shrug*
*sigh*
If I weren't too chicken to grow out my bangs, this wouldn't be a problem...
Whee!
Although it's starting off on an awkward note- I've needed a haircut for a while, and decided to trim my bangs up myself, since they need the immediate attention. This is, by the way, something I normally do because my hair is very strong and grows evenly. I've been allowing it to grow so it's longer for my wedding, and almost have it at the bottom of my shoulder blades, where I want it. To do this, though, I need to just let it grow for a while because the original cut had tons of layers in it since my hair was so thick. For eighteen months, I was good about going to the salon every six weeks. Each time, they'd trim it, but add more layers in-- some cuts facing the wrong way, and the stupid ski jump flips started showing up on my ends. I have STICK straight hair, so these cuts really are noticeable. Now it's at the point where I have so many lengths of hair on my head that I can't even get it into a ponytail without all sorts of retarded spikes sticking out. It drives me nuts.
I decided that to fix it, I just need to let it grow for a while. I'll go in sometime this spring to the salon, have the stylist do a straight cut across to clean up all of the ends, and then just continue to let it grow and get maintenance trims every six weeks so it's even and straight and can be put into an "updo" for the wedding if that's what I decide to do.
Anyway... this morning after my shower, I stand in front of the mirror, trimming comb and scissors in hand. Deep breath, even it out... cut.
Well, I trimmed the bangs a tad short. Not horrendously so, but they're about a quarter inch above my eyebrows. I'm kicking myself a bit, but with how fast my hair grows they'll probably be halfway down the lenses of my glasses again by the 10th. Thankfully, our New Year's Eve plans involve hanging out with friends, who already know I'm a goober and a klutz. *shrug*
*sigh*
If I weren't too chicken to grow out my bangs, this wouldn't be a problem...
29 December 2005
2005 fill in the blanks
In 2005, I gained a fiance, a house, and two cats... and some weight..
I lost that post-collegiate feeling of not having responsibility for anything yet. (aka... twenty-something's over!)
I stopped dealing with tenants next door and downstairs.
I started realizing how much time maintaining a house takes.
I was hugely satisfied by accomplishing two moves (work and home) in the span of a month.
And frustrated by the miscommunication between my boss and me.
I am so embarrassed that I still suck in managing my money.
Once again, I attempted to find something positive every day, and remember to tell Erich I loved him every day.
Once again, I did not exercise as I should.
The biggest physical difference between me last December and this December is I've sadly gained some weight.
The biggest psychological difference between me last December and this December is a lot more stress and frustration, due to my work environment.
I loved spending time with Erich, the cats, and working on my stitching.
Why did I spend even two minutes dealing with J. bullshit.
I should have spent more time contacting my long-distance friends.
I regret buying expensive lunches that I really didn't need, both cost and calorie-wise.
I will never regret buying hired time with a moving company even though with that money I could have bought all of the supplies to strip and paint at least two rooms of the house.
I fret way too much.
I didn't stay in touch enough.
Work drove me crazy.
Was everything crazier than ever last year? Or was it me?
The most relaxing place I went was Maine.
I feel so reflective when I write that down.
Why did I go to that movie that I knew I'd hate just from watching the previews?
The best thing I did for someone else was give a listening ear and a hug when needed.
The best thing I did for myself was realize the problems in my life, and start to work through them to make things better.
The best thing someone did for me was (two things) propose to me; help fund the down payment on the house.
The one thing I'd like to do again, but do it better, is find a better job.
( Fill in the blanks.. courtesy of Chicago Tribune's Mary Schmich )
I lost that post-collegiate feeling of not having responsibility for anything yet. (aka... twenty-something's over!)
I stopped dealing with tenants next door and downstairs.
I started realizing how much time maintaining a house takes.
I was hugely satisfied by accomplishing two moves (work and home) in the span of a month.
And frustrated by the miscommunication between my boss and me.
I am so embarrassed that I still suck in managing my money.
Once again, I attempted to find something positive every day, and remember to tell Erich I loved him every day.
Once again, I did not exercise as I should.
The biggest physical difference between me last December and this December is I've sadly gained some weight.
The biggest psychological difference between me last December and this December is a lot more stress and frustration, due to my work environment.
I loved spending time with Erich, the cats, and working on my stitching.
Why did I spend even two minutes dealing with J. bullshit.
I should have spent more time contacting my long-distance friends.
I regret buying expensive lunches that I really didn't need, both cost and calorie-wise.
I will never regret buying hired time with a moving company even though with that money I could have bought all of the supplies to strip and paint at least two rooms of the house.
I fret way too much.
I didn't stay in touch enough.
Work drove me crazy.
Was everything crazier than ever last year? Or was it me?
The most relaxing place I went was Maine.
I feel so reflective when I write that down.
Why did I go to that movie that I knew I'd hate just from watching the previews?
The best thing I did for someone else was give a listening ear and a hug when needed.
The best thing I did for myself was realize the problems in my life, and start to work through them to make things better.
The best thing someone did for me was (two things) propose to me; help fund the down payment on the house.
The one thing I'd like to do again, but do it better, is find a better job.
( Fill in the blanks.. courtesy of Chicago Tribune's Mary Schmich )
28 December 2005
Only an aquaintance
** removing this entry ***
Andi dropped me a surprised and pained email about this entry. Apparently my thoughts did not translate well to screen, and it misled her to think that I was talking about her no longer being a friend. Because of that, I'm removing the entry-- if she can read it as applying to her, so could a lot of people that it doesn't refer to. Which means I really, really screwed up.
I've sent her an email, but wanted to post this here in case she read it first....
Nothing could be further from the truth that I was talking about you, Andi. You are, and always has been, my sister and closest friend (along now, of course, with Erich). What I'd intended to get across with my entry was that you is the example of a friendship that has not been damaged by time, or distance, or events in our lives. You and I have had bad times, but somehow, we've always worked through it and come out on the end in a position that's arguably stronger than before.
So Andi, no... I apologize for misleading you in my attempt to be vague, and most importantly for the pain it caused you. And hopefully my email to you will clear that up, and also why I was attempting to make the entry vague while also venting my frustration. And also to explain some other things that really needed to be said.
As I mention in the email-- give me the kick in the ass when I'm being one. Because coming from you, I'll definitely be paying attention.
~ Mel.
Andi dropped me a surprised and pained email about this entry. Apparently my thoughts did not translate well to screen, and it misled her to think that I was talking about her no longer being a friend. Because of that, I'm removing the entry-- if she can read it as applying to her, so could a lot of people that it doesn't refer to. Which means I really, really screwed up.
I've sent her an email, but wanted to post this here in case she read it first....
Nothing could be further from the truth that I was talking about you, Andi. You are, and always has been, my sister and closest friend (along now, of course, with Erich). What I'd intended to get across with my entry was that you is the example of a friendship that has not been damaged by time, or distance, or events in our lives. You and I have had bad times, but somehow, we've always worked through it and come out on the end in a position that's arguably stronger than before.
So Andi, no... I apologize for misleading you in my attempt to be vague, and most importantly for the pain it caused you. And hopefully my email to you will clear that up, and also why I was attempting to make the entry vague while also venting my frustration. And also to explain some other things that really needed to be said.
As I mention in the email-- give me the kick in the ass when I'm being one. Because coming from you, I'll definitely be paying attention.
~ Mel.
Mental list
Pay this entry no mind unless you want to see what a slacker I really am for not getting chores done-- I'm just typing this here to keep it handy and not lost on a piece of paper... somewhere...
Kitchen
-------
Dishes
Stove
Counters
Floor
Sort through all papers & recycle
Cans/bottles to recycling
Clean out fridge
Make grocery list for Friday
Reorganize dishes and pots, put back where belong
House chores
-----------
Vaccuum wood floors all rooms
Vaccuum upholstery on couches
Scrub bathroom
Take down tree on Monday & pack up ornaments
Check tree pickup times with Providence waste resources
Order new bottle/can recycle bin
Put away laundry
Take dry cleaning to cleaners (except ren stuff)
Rake remaining leaves on grass
Oil change for Jeep
Finances
---------
Bank deposit
Buy T-pass on Friday
Pay off credit card
pay off car insurance
mortgage check to Erich
bills to go elsewhere
cash in scratch tickets
Contacts/letters/personal
----------
Thank you notes for gifts
Thank you posts for cards on DX
Yahoo group swaps
Postcrossing exchanges
Order replacement battery for laptop
Return Ivanna's call from Tuesday
Find planner binder & set up 2006
Gifts for Yankee swap on New Year's Eve
Contact Sara re: food for NYE
Letter to Andi
Letter to Grandma
Find World's Largest Dungeon notebook & transcribe notes
Mail to mom and Jim
Wedding
----------
Discuss with Erich
Start attendee list
Call Mom
Kitchen
-------
Dishes
Stove
Counters
Floor
Sort through all papers & recycle
Cans/bottles to recycling
Clean out fridge
Make grocery list for Friday
Reorganize dishes and pots, put back where belong
House chores
-----------
Vaccuum wood floors all rooms
Vaccuum upholstery on couches
Scrub bathroom
Take down tree on Monday & pack up ornaments
Check tree pickup times with Providence waste resources
Order new bottle/can recycle bin
Put away laundry
Take dry cleaning to cleaners (except ren stuff)
Rake remaining leaves on grass
Oil change for Jeep
Finances
---------
Bank deposit
Buy T-pass on Friday
Pay off credit card
pay off car insurance
mortgage check to Erich
bills to go elsewhere
cash in scratch tickets
Contacts/letters/personal
----------
Thank you notes for gifts
Thank you posts for cards on DX
Yahoo group swaps
Order replacement battery for laptop
Return Ivanna's call from Tuesday
Find planner binder & set up 2006
Gifts for Yankee swap on New Year's Eve
Letter to Andi
Letter to Grandma
Find World's Largest Dungeon notebook & transcribe notes
Mail to mom and Jim
Wedding
----------
Discuss with Erich
Start attendee list
Call Mom
Boston at Dawn
As an aside- my server provider, Globat, has been annoying the crap out of me this week. They seem to be having server issues, and at times it's been bad enough that I haven't been able to load my own pages. If you haven't been able to read-- this is why. Hopefully the problem is fixed since my pages loaded right away this morning. *sigh*
If you've stopped here to read for Holidailies 2005, you'll want to find me over on Holidailies because I've been linking some older entries on my old journal and LiveJournals to keep my posting count up to date while this has been going on...
Anyway...
It's quarter to eight in the morning, and I'm sitting at my desk at work. When I arrived about 20 minutes ago, the lights were all off in the building, save the emergency exit lights. The sun was just rising, turning all of the building tops a bright, beautiful gold. None of it had hit the street yet.
The lights in the building are still off. I'm fairly comfy by the light of my screen and my desk lamp for now. I'll let the next insane "oh my god why are you here this early?!?" person find the switch. It's probably the person who normally turns them on, anyway. I'd like to be able to make the impression that I'm not yet here so I can get some work done in peace. :)
Mind you, this is the first time I've arrived at this office so early-- it's not something I want to repeat very often. It requires catching the commuter train from Providence at 6:10 in the morning, which also requires me to get out of the house at around 5:45 to get to the station. But Erich had to get in obnoxiously early today to cover a help desk shift at his office, since the vacation schedules have left coverage spotty. At least I can leave work at around 3:15. :)
I enjoyed the walk to work this morning, though. I treated myself to an entirely-too-expensive cup of coffee (Peppermint Mocha) from $tarbuck$ this morning, thoroughly enjoying the fact that there was no line at the counter. Copley Square was seeing signs of life, but nothing like I normally see at 8:45 or 9:30 when I normally get there.
If there is one place in Boston that I truly enjoy just to hang out in, it's Copley Square. It has a wonderful lawn to sprawl on when the weather is warm. A fountain on one side provides another warm, cozy spot for late spring through autumn lunch time. Trinity Church is so beautiful to look at with its ornate brownstone carving. Every time I look at it, I find something new that I swear wasn't there before. I'm also fascinated that such a huge building is supported entirely on sunken wood pilings... but it's the same as anything else in Back Bay built at that time. It's a beautiful church inside, too. I used to attend Sunday services there while I was in college. Being in an Episcopal church gave me some home comfort. The bigger reason, though, was that I loved the hymns being sung to a brass quartet and huge brass organ.
A stack of guard rails are leaning against a pillar in the square-- I presume they're for First Night this weekend, when there usually are two or three impressive ice sculptures out on the lawn of Copley Square for all to admire. The ice hasn't arrived, though-- I wonder when it will show up?
Oop-- someone's turned on all the lights. I guess it's time to get to work...
If you've stopped here to read for Holidailies 2005, you'll want to find me over on Holidailies because I've been linking some older entries on my old journal and LiveJournals to keep my posting count up to date while this has been going on...
Anyway...
It's quarter to eight in the morning, and I'm sitting at my desk at work. When I arrived about 20 minutes ago, the lights were all off in the building, save the emergency exit lights. The sun was just rising, turning all of the building tops a bright, beautiful gold. None of it had hit the street yet.
The lights in the building are still off. I'm fairly comfy by the light of my screen and my desk lamp for now. I'll let the next insane "oh my god why are you here this early?!?" person find the switch. It's probably the person who normally turns them on, anyway. I'd like to be able to make the impression that I'm not yet here so I can get some work done in peace. :)
Mind you, this is the first time I've arrived at this office so early-- it's not something I want to repeat very often. It requires catching the commuter train from Providence at 6:10 in the morning, which also requires me to get out of the house at around 5:45 to get to the station. But Erich had to get in obnoxiously early today to cover a help desk shift at his office, since the vacation schedules have left coverage spotty. At least I can leave work at around 3:15. :)
I enjoyed the walk to work this morning, though. I treated myself to an entirely-too-expensive cup of coffee (Peppermint Mocha) from $tarbuck$ this morning, thoroughly enjoying the fact that there was no line at the counter. Copley Square was seeing signs of life, but nothing like I normally see at 8:45 or 9:30 when I normally get there.
If there is one place in Boston that I truly enjoy just to hang out in, it's Copley Square. It has a wonderful lawn to sprawl on when the weather is warm. A fountain on one side provides another warm, cozy spot for late spring through autumn lunch time. Trinity Church is so beautiful to look at with its ornate brownstone carving. Every time I look at it, I find something new that I swear wasn't there before. I'm also fascinated that such a huge building is supported entirely on sunken wood pilings... but it's the same as anything else in Back Bay built at that time. It's a beautiful church inside, too. I used to attend Sunday services there while I was in college. Being in an Episcopal church gave me some home comfort. The bigger reason, though, was that I loved the hymns being sung to a brass quartet and huge brass organ.
A stack of guard rails are leaning against a pillar in the square-- I presume they're for First Night this weekend, when there usually are two or three impressive ice sculptures out on the lawn of Copley Square for all to admire. The ice hasn't arrived, though-- I wonder when it will show up?
Oop-- someone's turned on all the lights. I guess it's time to get to work...
26 December 2005
Reclaiming time and space
We're having a rather rainy post-Christmas. The snow from two weeks ago is finally being washed away, taking with it the piss-poor job we did in shovelling after the freak snowfall that left everything over a sheet of ice. Needless to say, next time we won't be so lazy about it and let everything freeze. As soon as we get home, out come the snow shovels.
We'd planned on today being a fairly lazy day around the house. Neither of us are gung-ho discount shopper fanatics. Would I mind picking up cheap holiday lights for next year? Nope... but I sure as hell don't want to deal with the hordes of other people out there.
Despite that, we did venture out to Sears briefly. Erich's car has been sitting silent in the driveway since Thanksgiving due to a dead battery, and the weekends were simply too busy to go out and get one. While the automotive section of Sears was fairly busy, it was mostly people taking advantage of the day off to get their oil changed. We got in and out of there fairly quickly.
It's quarter to three. We've done all of our errands. The rest of the day will really be a combination of laundry, kitchen reclaiming after celebrating yesterday, and personal things before the Pats game tonight. Erich's geeking out a bit on World of Warcraft. I'm going to be focusing on finishing up some penpalling swaps that are long overdue that I just haven't had the time or money to get done.
Other than an occasional swap to help cover something on my own lists, I will be quitting for a good portion of 2006. I'm just tired of it. I'm tired of dealing with a good portion of the people who swap via yahoogroups. I suppose it's because I've always been much more laid-back about things since I work full-time and respect those who also do, or who are running a household. But the longer I swap there, the more I see people who seem to have nothing else in their lives except swapping. The more I deal with them, the less interested I am in actually making an effort to swap. So I'm hoping to just get it out the door and focus on stitching-- I get much more enjoyment out if it, anyway.
It's interesting how interests can change. It really is. I never thought I'd be sick of swapping.
We'd planned on today being a fairly lazy day around the house. Neither of us are gung-ho discount shopper fanatics. Would I mind picking up cheap holiday lights for next year? Nope... but I sure as hell don't want to deal with the hordes of other people out there.
Despite that, we did venture out to Sears briefly. Erich's car has been sitting silent in the driveway since Thanksgiving due to a dead battery, and the weekends were simply too busy to go out and get one. While the automotive section of Sears was fairly busy, it was mostly people taking advantage of the day off to get their oil changed. We got in and out of there fairly quickly.
It's quarter to three. We've done all of our errands. The rest of the day will really be a combination of laundry, kitchen reclaiming after celebrating yesterday, and personal things before the Pats game tonight. Erich's geeking out a bit on World of Warcraft. I'm going to be focusing on finishing up some penpalling swaps that are long overdue that I just haven't had the time or money to get done.
Other than an occasional swap to help cover something on my own lists, I will be quitting for a good portion of 2006. I'm just tired of it. I'm tired of dealing with a good portion of the people who swap via yahoogroups. I suppose it's because I've always been much more laid-back about things since I work full-time and respect those who also do, or who are running a household. But the longer I swap there, the more I see people who seem to have nothing else in their lives except swapping. The more I deal with them, the less interested I am in actually making an effort to swap. So I'm hoping to just get it out the door and focus on stitching-- I get much more enjoyment out if it, anyway.
It's interesting how interests can change. It really is. I never thought I'd be sick of swapping.
25 December 2005
A quiet little Christmas
Christmas Day is winding down. The dinner plates are stacked by the sink to be washed. The presents are all opened and gradually moving from under the tree. What was a sunny and relatively warm day has turned to a fairly heavy night rain.
It's been a perfectly relaxing Christmas. I needed this so much, and despite "entertaining" for most of the day, I just feel comfortable and relaxed.
Erich's dad came around 10 a.m. We opened presents over coffee. I was thrilled with everything I received (yay money! yay new iPod!). If they were close enough, the cats were stuck with the bows from presents. We chuckled as we watched them try to figure how to remove them (they did successfully). Breakfast was fried eggs and some of the home-made venison scrapple that Mom and Jim brought early this month.
We watched A Christmas Story, then Serenity, and then most of the Green Bay vs. Chicago game. No stress, no real time table-- we just relaxed and hung out. Around 3:30, Erich called our friend Purkis to see what he was up to and invited him over for dinner and possible late night World of Warcraft goodness. He accepted and showed up about 45 minutes later.
Dinner was great-- cranberry stuffed pork roast with mashed potatoes, rolls, and steamed artichokes. I hadn't had artichokes in so long-- it used to be a common dinner treat growing up. I'm glad I managed to steam them correctly.
Erich's dad left about an hour ago. The guys are hanging out in front of the TV as they play WOW (geeks!). I'll probably do a little stitching and play some Sims before I head to bed. I'm sure the guys will crank a late night of WOW, which is fine... we're not going anywhere tomorrow.
I did miss going to my mom's this year, but it's always crazy and there are so many people. I enjoyed the quiet holiday this year. I definitely needed it.
Hope everyone else had a nice Christmas!
Best,
Mel.
It's been a perfectly relaxing Christmas. I needed this so much, and despite "entertaining" for most of the day, I just feel comfortable and relaxed.
Erich's dad came around 10 a.m. We opened presents over coffee. I was thrilled with everything I received (yay money! yay new iPod!). If they were close enough, the cats were stuck with the bows from presents. We chuckled as we watched them try to figure how to remove them (they did successfully). Breakfast was fried eggs and some of the home-made venison scrapple that Mom and Jim brought early this month.
We watched A Christmas Story, then Serenity, and then most of the Green Bay vs. Chicago game. No stress, no real time table-- we just relaxed and hung out. Around 3:30, Erich called our friend Purkis to see what he was up to and invited him over for dinner and possible late night World of Warcraft goodness. He accepted and showed up about 45 minutes later.
Dinner was great-- cranberry stuffed pork roast with mashed potatoes, rolls, and steamed artichokes. I hadn't had artichokes in so long-- it used to be a common dinner treat growing up. I'm glad I managed to steam them correctly.
Erich's dad left about an hour ago. The guys are hanging out in front of the TV as they play WOW (geeks!). I'll probably do a little stitching and play some Sims before I head to bed. I'm sure the guys will crank a late night of WOW, which is fine... we're not going anywhere tomorrow.
I did miss going to my mom's this year, but it's always crazy and there are so many people. I enjoyed the quiet holiday this year. I definitely needed it.
Hope everyone else had a nice Christmas!
Best,
Mel.
Merry Christmas Everyone!
I'm off to get the kitchen in order for the day, but since I'm running a bit crazy, here's an exerpt of an entry I wrote back in 2001 regarding my family's traditional Christmas celebrations...
My grandparents, my mother, and my uncle came over from Germany after World War II. They are Polish, but were in a relocation camp (like so many thousands of people) after the war since they had no place to go. They were sponsored by a church in Easton, PA, which is now considered my mom's hometown. My grandparents still live there, and have lived the ideal American Dream through years of hard work. The metal plating shop where my grandpa got his job back in the early 1950's is now his company, slowly being passed down to my uncle. Unlike immigrants today who seem to refuse to blend into the melting pot of American society, my grandparents immersed themselves. They had to in order to survive. They learned English, and despite some breaks in grammar and thick accents, speak fluently. They joined a local Catholic church, and go to English-speaking services, even though there is enough of a Polish population in the area that there are Polish-language services available.
Yet even with their immersion, some things of cultural tradition remain sacred. Most of these traditions revolve around Christmas time, and the entire family gets together every year to celebrate because we know how special holding these traditions are. I rarely do a specific ritual for Yule and the rebirth of Father God. Celebrating with family for me is a ritual in itself, and in their own Catholic way, my grandparents open and close a ritual circle of love each year for the family. I am a participant, rather than the leader of this celebration.
Our big celebration is on Christmas Eve, known as the Wigilia. Everyone on my mother's side of the family gets together at my grandparents' house. We usually have around 14-16 people for dinner. Traditionally, one chair at the table is left open for the newborn Christ/God, but with how crowded we've been, it's usually a chair set off to the side these days.
Before dinner, we all are given a large square wafer called an oplatek. Oplatki are similar in consistency to the communion wafers at Catholic and other Christian denominational churches, only rather than about half-dollar sized, they are about the size of an index card. We walk around the table, and each person breaks off a piece of every other person's oplatek. We give each person a kiss or hug, wish them a Merry Christmas, and start the jumbled search around a busy, crowded dinner table to find another member of the family who we haven't hugged. It's a symbolic breaking of bread together, and unifies us as a family.
The traditional Polish Christmas meal consists of tons of potato pancakes, borsht, perogi (which are like ravioli, only they're filled with either potato or sauerkraut), galumpki (cabbage rolls filled with tomato and rice), fruit compote, and typical veggie side-dishes, depending on the cook's mood. No meat is present, but we usually have some sort of fish on the table. I've been told by Italian friends that they have a similar tradition.
After we eat, we sing a few carols. We have fold-out caroling books in case people don't know the words to songs. We usually do the entire song. Each person at the table is encouraged to pick one, and they rotate through Polish and the more familiar English-language songs. I always stumble over the ones in Polish, since I really never learned how to speak it, but fortunately I can get by somewhat with my Russian-language background. Erich's theory is that if he goes and has a couple shots of vodka, his singing will probably fit in just fine on the Polish songs. He's honestly not that far off.
Once we've gone through a few carols, we move into the living room to open gifts from each other. While we're opening presents, the less-immediate family and friends often stop by, singing as they go. Someone's usually dressed up as Santa for the little kids. The carolers pack into the hallway near my grandpa's bar for a couple shots of vodka and salutations for the season. Soon after, they leave for Midnight Mass, and the evening starts winding down as the individual families who aren't going to church start heading home for bed.
Christmas day is much more relaxed for us, with brunch and opening presents at home and such. The afternoon's a bit lazier... we hang out, watch the movies on TV, and goof around with the new gifts we've received. Dinner on Christmas Day rotates between houses, but it'll probably be at my mother's house this year. This dinner is much like Thanksgiving with entirely too much food, and either a turkey or ham for dinner.
Through these traditions, I am able as a Pagan to celebrate the warmth of family love through the darkest days of winter, while my Christian family members can celebrate "the reason for the season" without any interfaith wars coming up at the dinner table. We celebrate, we love, and we share. And just for an evening, everything in the family and in the world seems to come into balance.
My grandparents, my mother, and my uncle came over from Germany after World War II. They are Polish, but were in a relocation camp (like so many thousands of people) after the war since they had no place to go. They were sponsored by a church in Easton, PA, which is now considered my mom's hometown. My grandparents still live there, and have lived the ideal American Dream through years of hard work. The metal plating shop where my grandpa got his job back in the early 1950's is now his company, slowly being passed down to my uncle. Unlike immigrants today who seem to refuse to blend into the melting pot of American society, my grandparents immersed themselves. They had to in order to survive. They learned English, and despite some breaks in grammar and thick accents, speak fluently. They joined a local Catholic church, and go to English-speaking services, even though there is enough of a Polish population in the area that there are Polish-language services available.
Yet even with their immersion, some things of cultural tradition remain sacred. Most of these traditions revolve around Christmas time, and the entire family gets together every year to celebrate because we know how special holding these traditions are. I rarely do a specific ritual for Yule and the rebirth of Father God. Celebrating with family for me is a ritual in itself, and in their own Catholic way, my grandparents open and close a ritual circle of love each year for the family. I am a participant, rather than the leader of this celebration.
Our big celebration is on Christmas Eve, known as the Wigilia. Everyone on my mother's side of the family gets together at my grandparents' house. We usually have around 14-16 people for dinner. Traditionally, one chair at the table is left open for the newborn Christ/God, but with how crowded we've been, it's usually a chair set off to the side these days.
Before dinner, we all are given a large square wafer called an oplatek. Oplatki are similar in consistency to the communion wafers at Catholic and other Christian denominational churches, only rather than about half-dollar sized, they are about the size of an index card. We walk around the table, and each person breaks off a piece of every other person's oplatek. We give each person a kiss or hug, wish them a Merry Christmas, and start the jumbled search around a busy, crowded dinner table to find another member of the family who we haven't hugged. It's a symbolic breaking of bread together, and unifies us as a family.
The traditional Polish Christmas meal consists of tons of potato pancakes, borsht, perogi (which are like ravioli, only they're filled with either potato or sauerkraut), galumpki (cabbage rolls filled with tomato and rice), fruit compote, and typical veggie side-dishes, depending on the cook's mood. No meat is present, but we usually have some sort of fish on the table. I've been told by Italian friends that they have a similar tradition.
After we eat, we sing a few carols. We have fold-out caroling books in case people don't know the words to songs. We usually do the entire song. Each person at the table is encouraged to pick one, and they rotate through Polish and the more familiar English-language songs. I always stumble over the ones in Polish, since I really never learned how to speak it, but fortunately I can get by somewhat with my Russian-language background. Erich's theory is that if he goes and has a couple shots of vodka, his singing will probably fit in just fine on the Polish songs. He's honestly not that far off.
Once we've gone through a few carols, we move into the living room to open gifts from each other. While we're opening presents, the less-immediate family and friends often stop by, singing as they go. Someone's usually dressed up as Santa for the little kids. The carolers pack into the hallway near my grandpa's bar for a couple shots of vodka and salutations for the season. Soon after, they leave for Midnight Mass, and the evening starts winding down as the individual families who aren't going to church start heading home for bed.
Christmas day is much more relaxed for us, with brunch and opening presents at home and such. The afternoon's a bit lazier... we hang out, watch the movies on TV, and goof around with the new gifts we've received. Dinner on Christmas Day rotates between houses, but it'll probably be at my mother's house this year. This dinner is much like Thanksgiving with entirely too much food, and either a turkey or ham for dinner.
Through these traditions, I am able as a Pagan to celebrate the warmth of family love through the darkest days of winter, while my Christian family members can celebrate "the reason for the season" without any interfaith wars coming up at the dinner table. We celebrate, we love, and we share. And just for an evening, everything in the family and in the world seems to come into balance.
23 December 2005
I never thought I'd make it!
Yay! It's a long weekend. Please pardon me as I deflate into the couch and don't move for about 72 hours or so. Ugh.
I'm still decompressing and don't have anything that witty to write about tonight (do I ever, though?), so I'll catch up on some more Stitchers' Blogging Questions:
11/16/05: How do you feel about staying totally true to a pattern? Do you feel that you have to rip out stitches to fix a mistake or do you feel it's acceptable to incorporate a mistake into the design?
Several years ago as I was learning to stitch, I came to my mom with questions about being perfect with my stitching. She told me to strive to be as accurate as I can, but don't beat myself up if there are a few errors in the design-- "that way, you know it's yours," she said.
I guarantee that every project I do has at least one or two errors in it when I'm done. BUT... that's usually due to either not noticing it as I go along, or deeming it as not vital to the piece at large. For example, I have a complete miscount at the bottom of The Castle along the rock line-- I'm off by a full row for a part of it, and by looking at the pattern, it looks all screwed up. But looking at the piece-- eh, not so much. I just adjusted a few stitches to clean it up and left it as-is.
If it's something that will completely screw up a centralized count-- especially on a huge piece like a Teresa Wentzler, I'll rip the stitches out and fix it.
11/23/05: Do you always sign your projects? If not, why? If so, do you use your first name, initials or what?
This year was the first that I ever signed a piece. I'll probably continue it where I can find a good place to put it-- I think my first and last initial, plus last two digits of the year will suffice.
11/30/05: Do you have rules in the way you stitch? (i.e., Do you start in the middle? Do you determine which blocks to stitch first? Do you always start from the top or the bottom? Do you have special paths to prevent wasting thread?)
With few exceptions, I start in the middle and work out in whatever direction suits my fancy at the time. I don't stitch by the 10x10 blocks, but rather stitch by color. In any particular area that I'm stitching, I try to determine the primary color of the area and fill that in, and then put the complimenting and contrasting colors for that particular area of the pattern around it.
As for wasting thread-- I admit to being a bit careless at times, but generally I simply try to stitch until I physically can't get the needle through the fabric any more for a normal stitch without the thread slipping through the eye.
12/7/05: Have you done any charity stitching, been in one, or would like to organize one?
I haven't yet, but have heard of it. I"m not sure if I'd want to do any charity stitching. I think that between my full-time job and my sometimes very weird availibility to actually sit down with a hoop, I probably wouldn't be suited for charity work.
12/14/05: Take a minute to reflect on your blog reading habits and preferences. What do you prefer to read in stitching blogs? (Progress, tips, family life, experiences, etc.) How much do you think you are influenced by other stitching bloggers?
I definitely have been influenced by other stitchers in how to present my crafty updates. No doubt there. As for other things, I'm not influenced that much-- I started writing in my blog nearly five years ago, and didn't involve myself with stitchers' blogs until last December.
I don't have a preference on what I like to read-- if something doesn't interest me, I just move on... but I like a mix of just about anything. It all depends on my overall feeling for the day.
Off to bed and hopefully a chance to sleep in!
~ Mel.
I'm still decompressing and don't have anything that witty to write about tonight (do I ever, though?), so I'll catch up on some more Stitchers' Blogging Questions:
11/16/05: How do you feel about staying totally true to a pattern? Do you feel that you have to rip out stitches to fix a mistake or do you feel it's acceptable to incorporate a mistake into the design?
Several years ago as I was learning to stitch, I came to my mom with questions about being perfect with my stitching. She told me to strive to be as accurate as I can, but don't beat myself up if there are a few errors in the design-- "that way, you know it's yours," she said.
I guarantee that every project I do has at least one or two errors in it when I'm done. BUT... that's usually due to either not noticing it as I go along, or deeming it as not vital to the piece at large. For example, I have a complete miscount at the bottom of The Castle along the rock line-- I'm off by a full row for a part of it, and by looking at the pattern, it looks all screwed up. But looking at the piece-- eh, not so much. I just adjusted a few stitches to clean it up and left it as-is.
If it's something that will completely screw up a centralized count-- especially on a huge piece like a Teresa Wentzler, I'll rip the stitches out and fix it.
11/23/05: Do you always sign your projects? If not, why? If so, do you use your first name, initials or what?
This year was the first that I ever signed a piece. I'll probably continue it where I can find a good place to put it-- I think my first and last initial, plus last two digits of the year will suffice.
11/30/05: Do you have rules in the way you stitch? (i.e., Do you start in the middle? Do you determine which blocks to stitch first? Do you always start from the top or the bottom? Do you have special paths to prevent wasting thread?)
With few exceptions, I start in the middle and work out in whatever direction suits my fancy at the time. I don't stitch by the 10x10 blocks, but rather stitch by color. In any particular area that I'm stitching, I try to determine the primary color of the area and fill that in, and then put the complimenting and contrasting colors for that particular area of the pattern around it.
As for wasting thread-- I admit to being a bit careless at times, but generally I simply try to stitch until I physically can't get the needle through the fabric any more for a normal stitch without the thread slipping through the eye.
12/7/05: Have you done any charity stitching, been in one, or would like to organize one?
I haven't yet, but have heard of it. I"m not sure if I'd want to do any charity stitching. I think that between my full-time job and my sometimes very weird availibility to actually sit down with a hoop, I probably wouldn't be suited for charity work.
12/14/05: Take a minute to reflect on your blog reading habits and preferences. What do you prefer to read in stitching blogs? (Progress, tips, family life, experiences, etc.) How much do you think you are influenced by other stitching bloggers?
I definitely have been influenced by other stitchers in how to present my crafty updates. No doubt there. As for other things, I'm not influenced that much-- I started writing in my blog nearly five years ago, and didn't involve myself with stitchers' blogs until last December.
I don't have a preference on what I like to read-- if something doesn't interest me, I just move on... but I like a mix of just about anything. It all depends on my overall feeling for the day.
Off to bed and hopefully a chance to sleep in!
~ Mel.
22 December 2005
No apologies given
First... watch this. Make sure you give it time to load properly so it doesn't lag. And have headphones.
Yesterday was one of my worst days of work here. I went home fuming, came back to work today in a slightly better mood, but I'm pissed off at some of my co-workers regarding yesterday. Thus begins my vent--
As an admin. assistant, I'm fully conscious that shit rolls down hill. I happen to be at the bottom of the pile, so therefore the shit usually winds up here at some point, and once it's here, it simply doesn't go further unless I manage to find the exit pipe. Traditionally, said exit pipe is generally labeled as "Mel knows her shit, and this ain't it."
I've been at my job for five and a half years now. I know my position. I know who to ask and who to contact to solve problems. I realize they come up, and that often times, I'm going to be the person pushed to deal with them because of my position. What I don't get is when I solve the issue, how lately it seems to be Still My Fault, despite all of the evidence proving to the contrary.
The biggest problem I've had in the last few months is our accounts payable department. To fall into geek speak for a second-- said department has taken on the form of a sphere of annihilation. Anything that touches it? Disappears. Gone. Who the hell knows where. I ask if they receive something, they say "never got it."
I solved that little tidbit by avoiding our interoffice mail pouch, and going straight to trackable UPS envelopes. Oh really? You didn't get it? How funny. UPS tracking #XYZ1230000X said you did, and that So-and-So signed for it at this time on this date in your mail room. And here's the scan of the signature. Yes, that's right-- THAT invoice. I thought you had it.
You'd think that would solve it with my managers, right? But no... clearly UPS is making stuff up, and I'm not doing my job and sending things to accounts payable to get paid.
Why the eff would I do that? Really-- would I seriously want to bring this bullshit on myself every day?
Yesterday was Another One of Those. Despite the fact that I'm in my final day of hell trying to get invoices out the door to accounts payable to meet their Dec. 23rd receipt deadline, I get dragged AWAY from all of my cross-checking to deal with two invoices. Neither is more than two weeks old, and no one will listen to me when I give them the date I sent it, and the tracking number. Nor will they listen to me when they hear that yes, AP does have the invoice. It's entered in the system and is scheduled for the next check run this Friday.
No-- the fact is that since vendor XYZ hasn't been paid, clearly I haven't done my job and it's still somehow sitting on my desk undone.
All I do is continue to explain the facts. I forward the emails confirming the information from accounts payable. But it's simply never good enough.
By two, I was so frazzled that I was on the verge of tears. And then my manager has the nerve to say, "Melissa, don't take this personally... it's just business."
Like HELL it's just business-- you're questioning my integrity to do my job. You're accusing me personally of not doing my job, despite my proving the contrary. Don't give me that shit.
At the end of the day, I managed to rush the payment, have the vendor thankful and cool with me-- but my coworkers in my department? Nothing. It's as if the blow-up and accusations never happened. Everything's right with the world and with me-- until the next time there's an issue.
And then again, I'll suddenly be completely incompetent in my job.
*sigh*
Yesterday was one of my worst days of work here. I went home fuming, came back to work today in a slightly better mood, but I'm pissed off at some of my co-workers regarding yesterday. Thus begins my vent--
As an admin. assistant, I'm fully conscious that shit rolls down hill. I happen to be at the bottom of the pile, so therefore the shit usually winds up here at some point, and once it's here, it simply doesn't go further unless I manage to find the exit pipe. Traditionally, said exit pipe is generally labeled as "Mel knows her shit, and this ain't it."
I've been at my job for five and a half years now. I know my position. I know who to ask and who to contact to solve problems. I realize they come up, and that often times, I'm going to be the person pushed to deal with them because of my position. What I don't get is when I solve the issue, how lately it seems to be Still My Fault, despite all of the evidence proving to the contrary.
The biggest problem I've had in the last few months is our accounts payable department. To fall into geek speak for a second-- said department has taken on the form of a sphere of annihilation. Anything that touches it? Disappears. Gone. Who the hell knows where. I ask if they receive something, they say "never got it."
I solved that little tidbit by avoiding our interoffice mail pouch, and going straight to trackable UPS envelopes. Oh really? You didn't get it? How funny. UPS tracking #XYZ1230000X said you did, and that So-and-So signed for it at this time on this date in your mail room. And here's the scan of the signature. Yes, that's right-- THAT invoice. I thought you had it.
You'd think that would solve it with my managers, right? But no... clearly UPS is making stuff up, and I'm not doing my job and sending things to accounts payable to get paid.
Why the eff would I do that? Really-- would I seriously want to bring this bullshit on myself every day?
Yesterday was Another One of Those. Despite the fact that I'm in my final day of hell trying to get invoices out the door to accounts payable to meet their Dec. 23rd receipt deadline, I get dragged AWAY from all of my cross-checking to deal with two invoices. Neither is more than two weeks old, and no one will listen to me when I give them the date I sent it, and the tracking number. Nor will they listen to me when they hear that yes, AP does have the invoice. It's entered in the system and is scheduled for the next check run this Friday.
No-- the fact is that since vendor XYZ hasn't been paid, clearly I haven't done my job and it's still somehow sitting on my desk undone.
All I do is continue to explain the facts. I forward the emails confirming the information from accounts payable. But it's simply never good enough.
By two, I was so frazzled that I was on the verge of tears. And then my manager has the nerve to say, "Melissa, don't take this personally... it's just business."
Like HELL it's just business-- you're questioning my integrity to do my job. You're accusing me personally of not doing my job, despite my proving the contrary. Don't give me that shit.
At the end of the day, I managed to rush the payment, have the vendor thankful and cool with me-- but my coworkers in my department? Nothing. It's as if the blow-up and accusations never happened. Everything's right with the world and with me-- until the next time there's an issue.
And then again, I'll suddenly be completely incompetent in my job.
*sigh*
21 December 2005
Blessed Yule
Another year is turning back into light. Despite the bitter cold in the air this morning, it's the morning that reminds me that the sun's strength is again growing. The cycle of nature begins again...
Today is Yule, one of the eight Sabbats on the Pagan calendar. According to most books, it's marked as a "lesser" Sabbat (as is Ostara, Midsummer, and Mabon-- the spring equinox, summer solstice, and autumn equinox). Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasadh, and Samhain are the major Sabbats by most of these sources. Personally, I don't divide between lesser and greater Sabbats, and I disagree with many of the Pagan resources on what would aptly be declared “major” and “minor.” If anything, the equinoxes and solstices would be major ones—so many cultures around the world have celebrated them throughout the centuries. The “major” and “minor” division simply doesn’t make sense to me.
But unknowingly, Yule does seem to unintentionally take a bit of a backseat for me due to its proximity to the 24th and 25th.
Anyway… Krisztina asked that I talk about my celebration of Yule and the holiday history. Tonight, I’ll work on a history entry. For now, though, I’ll work through the awkwardness of Yule in my household, as it presently sits.
I’m one of the people to whom “Happy Holidays” applies on all levels. Without getting into the recent b.s. “war on Christmas” discussion too much—I celebrate a lot of holidays in December. “Happy Holidays” includes everything from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day, in my mind. It’s not offensive, nor stripping of any particular holiday, and I really don’t care what form of goodwill someone sends my way. It’s simply acknowledging that there are a ton of them. On the 21st (and ONLY the 21st), I say “Blessed Yule.” Likewise, on the 24th and 25th, I say “Merry Christmas.” Because those are the days to express such greetings, in my eyes. BUT… if someone does wish me good tidings for a specific holiday, I return the wish in kind.
Yule and Christmas are pretty blended in my household as one long holiday. At this point, I really don’t divide between them. This is partly due to culture, and partly due to my admitted apathy toward sitting down for ritual on a regular basis (Pagans can feel guilty about not going to “church,” too, afterall). With such deep-set traditions already in place for Christmas, I admit that I still haven’t quite found my yearly tradition for Yule itself. I have a personal ritual written that I love, but I don’t sit down for it. It’s mostly due to my uncertainty as to where I’d be the next year, so I wasn’t able to really start founding yearly traditions to mark the holidays. For the first four years, for example, I was in college. December 21=final exams. Since then, I’ve usually been so crazy working on Yule (like this year), that other than a short session of prayer in the evening on my own,I just haven’t acknowledged the holiday ON Yule.
Part of it is that, despite loving my written Yule ritual, sitting down for ritual just doesn’t seem to meet my spiritual needs right now. I’m in one of those transitory periods with my faith, where a lot of things that I feel should be important just… aren’t. I know my foundation is still within Paganism, but I’m going down a bit of a foggy path at the moment with faith, and I’m honestly not sure where I’ll be coming from when I enter the next quiet meadow along my Path.
For the past three years, my observation of Yule has simply been put off until Christmas Day, where I’m guaranteed to be off work and can just quietly observe both holidays at the same time (newborn sun/son… to me, it’s the same thing). I don’t particularly like that I do that, honestly—I was annoyed with the two-holiday Christians as a kid, and I see myself slipping into being an eight-holiday Pagan now—a bit of a hypocrite.
I know that many families either celebrate on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. My family has always celebrated both, and Christmas is as much a cultural holiday as it is religious. Christmas Eve is when the extended family all gathers together for a huge meal together, complete with traditional Polish foods and carols at the table after eating. We open presents that night from one another, and whomever is going to Midnight Mass then departs. Christmas Day has always been reserved for the individual family to spend together. It’s much more low-key, but still a busy day with tons of food and celebrations with friends.
Now that I’m distinctly settled (and that still is an odd concept to me!), the Yule traditions can start growing comfortably along with the Christmas ones. I see Christmas continuing to be a day to celebrate with family and my extended family (both through relation and through friendship). For me, that’s always been the most important part of Christmas, and I can’t see myself ever dividing from it. While I love giving and receiving presents, it’s the togetherness that I really love about the Christmas.
I want to develop Yule into a personal day of reflection, much like Samhain has become to me. I’m drawn to the concept of death and rebirth, which Samhain and Yule represent. I’m very drawn to a day of quiet contemplation- desperately needed in the season of craziness that Thanksgiving through New Years Day has now become here in the U.S. I just need to figure out how to arrange it within the holiday season, and start forming the foundation of what will become a tradition.
And ultimately, I really just want to figure out where my Path is leading—or at least find a park bench along it that I can sit on for a while and watch other travelers go by.
Today is Yule, one of the eight Sabbats on the Pagan calendar. According to most books, it's marked as a "lesser" Sabbat (as is Ostara, Midsummer, and Mabon-- the spring equinox, summer solstice, and autumn equinox). Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasadh, and Samhain are the major Sabbats by most of these sources. Personally, I don't divide between lesser and greater Sabbats, and I disagree with many of the Pagan resources on what would aptly be declared “major” and “minor.” If anything, the equinoxes and solstices would be major ones—so many cultures around the world have celebrated them throughout the centuries. The “major” and “minor” division simply doesn’t make sense to me.
But unknowingly, Yule does seem to unintentionally take a bit of a backseat for me due to its proximity to the 24th and 25th.
Anyway… Krisztina asked that I talk about my celebration of Yule and the holiday history. Tonight, I’ll work on a history entry. For now, though, I’ll work through the awkwardness of Yule in my household, as it presently sits.
I’m one of the people to whom “Happy Holidays” applies on all levels. Without getting into the recent b.s. “war on Christmas” discussion too much—I celebrate a lot of holidays in December. “Happy Holidays” includes everything from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day, in my mind. It’s not offensive, nor stripping of any particular holiday, and I really don’t care what form of goodwill someone sends my way. It’s simply acknowledging that there are a ton of them. On the 21st (and ONLY the 21st), I say “Blessed Yule.” Likewise, on the 24th and 25th, I say “Merry Christmas.” Because those are the days to express such greetings, in my eyes. BUT… if someone does wish me good tidings for a specific holiday, I return the wish in kind.
Yule and Christmas are pretty blended in my household as one long holiday. At this point, I really don’t divide between them. This is partly due to culture, and partly due to my admitted apathy toward sitting down for ritual on a regular basis (Pagans can feel guilty about not going to “church,” too, afterall). With such deep-set traditions already in place for Christmas, I admit that I still haven’t quite found my yearly tradition for Yule itself. I have a personal ritual written that I love, but I don’t sit down for it. It’s mostly due to my uncertainty as to where I’d be the next year, so I wasn’t able to really start founding yearly traditions to mark the holidays. For the first four years, for example, I was in college. December 21=final exams. Since then, I’ve usually been so crazy working on Yule (like this year), that other than a short session of prayer in the evening on my own,I just haven’t acknowledged the holiday ON Yule.
Part of it is that, despite loving my written Yule ritual, sitting down for ritual just doesn’t seem to meet my spiritual needs right now. I’m in one of those transitory periods with my faith, where a lot of things that I feel should be important just… aren’t. I know my foundation is still within Paganism, but I’m going down a bit of a foggy path at the moment with faith, and I’m honestly not sure where I’ll be coming from when I enter the next quiet meadow along my Path.
For the past three years, my observation of Yule has simply been put off until Christmas Day, where I’m guaranteed to be off work and can just quietly observe both holidays at the same time (newborn sun/son… to me, it’s the same thing). I don’t particularly like that I do that, honestly—I was annoyed with the two-holiday Christians as a kid, and I see myself slipping into being an eight-holiday Pagan now—a bit of a hypocrite.
I know that many families either celebrate on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. My family has always celebrated both, and Christmas is as much a cultural holiday as it is religious. Christmas Eve is when the extended family all gathers together for a huge meal together, complete with traditional Polish foods and carols at the table after eating. We open presents that night from one another, and whomever is going to Midnight Mass then departs. Christmas Day has always been reserved for the individual family to spend together. It’s much more low-key, but still a busy day with tons of food and celebrations with friends.
Now that I’m distinctly settled (and that still is an odd concept to me!), the Yule traditions can start growing comfortably along with the Christmas ones. I see Christmas continuing to be a day to celebrate with family and my extended family (both through relation and through friendship). For me, that’s always been the most important part of Christmas, and I can’t see myself ever dividing from it. While I love giving and receiving presents, it’s the togetherness that I really love about the Christmas.
I want to develop Yule into a personal day of reflection, much like Samhain has become to me. I’m drawn to the concept of death and rebirth, which Samhain and Yule represent. I’m very drawn to a day of quiet contemplation- desperately needed in the season of craziness that Thanksgiving through New Years Day has now become here in the U.S. I just need to figure out how to arrange it within the holiday season, and start forming the foundation of what will become a tradition.
And ultimately, I really just want to figure out where my Path is leading—or at least find a park bench along it that I can sit on for a while and watch other travelers go by.
19 December 2005
Cat-tastic
Kat asked me to talk more about... cats. And I'll put together a few entries over the next few days, but we'll start with an easy one--
My life history, by way of our family cats.
In my thirty one years less three weeks of life, I don't remember a time where there wasn't a cat in my family. The gaps do exist when I was really little, but only by a year or so, and mostly because we had a couple of problem cats before the long-term cats came in. And other than the six years of dorm/college apartment life, I've always had a cat physically living with me and considering me his/her slave. The five I have now is definitely the all-time record for current catload. It's about the max I'd want to have. I can't cater to any more than this.
I honestly can't imagine life without at least one of them, though. Those first few weeks of college without a cat purring on my pillow at night was probably the most difficult thing I ever adjusted to-- even more than sharing a bedroom with someone else.
The feline family lineage (from my side of the family) is as follows-
Moko- I don't actually remember Moko, but I've always heard stories about her. My mom and dad adopted her in the summer of '69 when they were living in a ratty apartment just up the hill from UC Berkeley. They were newly married. My dad was out of medical school and was starting his residency at Kaiser Oakland. My mom was a nurse. Moko was a "troublesome torti" in all senses of the word. She was cranky and full of mischief. But when I was only a few months old, she ran away into the night from our Dublin, California home one night and never returned.
Bilbo- Two years later, we'd moved to Montana where my dad was setting up a private practice. Mom brought home Bilbo, who was a male purebred seal point Siamese. I got along great with Bilbo. Tons of photos exist of me sitting in the toybox or on the couch (usually with something retarded on my head) with Bilbo. I'm certain that he taught me how to speak to cats, too. Being Siamese, he talked a lot. A bit too much for my mom. When I was five, we had to give Bilbo away, though-- when my brother arrived, Bilbo became extremely jealous and would try to attack Scott. :(
Callie- Callie was the first cat I picked out when I was six. Mom felt very guilty that she'd had to give Bilbo away, and she knew that I had loved the cat. So she took me down to the local pound and let me pick out a kitten. I fell in love with a little calico (aren't half of the Calicos out there named Callie?). For a while, she was the only cat. But she was extremely territorial, and once the next two kittens came in, problems started. It turned out that we simply weren't the right home for her. One of my dad's patients happily took her to her farm to become a barn cat, where she lived out her days growing fat on mice and having a ball.
Kelim and Kashan- The first pairing of cats. They arrived in 1982. They aren't littermates, but we got them three months apart from each other, and they lived their lives as brothers.
Kashan actually came first-- he was a beautiful shell cameo Persian (think all white with a sploch of coffee stain down the spine) with the deepest copper eyes I've ever seen. Unlike a lot of Persians, Kashan's face didn't look like he hit a door at 80 miles per hour-- he was a purebred, but his face was a bit rounded.
Kelim was a purebred seal-point Himalayin. Over the years, his points expanded and he developed dark patches beyond the traditional Siamese pointing pattern. My father said that it came from his father. Kelim had mist-blue eyes that were slightly crossed, and definitely had the Siamese in his voice.
Kelim and Kashan, as well as the next two cats, were all named from an oriental rug book. My mom thought that since they were Persians (of a sort) that it was fitting. :)
Kashan was Scott's guardian angel cat. He hung out all the time with Scott, soothing him when he cried, guarding him as he slept. Likewise, Kelim was my cat. He slept with me every night, letting me use him as a pillow. Both cats were indoor/outdoor cats and lived to healthy old ages (for the time). Kashan died at the age of 12 after a long illness. Kelim held on until age 14, finally dying of kidney failure.
Bijar and Kula - The day after the 1989 Loma Prieta quake in California, these two kittens were born. Bijar, or "Biji" as she's called, is a seal-point Himalayin and a bitch-on-wheels (affectionately-- she's so small, it's hysterical to watch her have temper tantrums). Kula, her slightly larger littermate sister, is a blue-point who is a complete and utter space cadet. Scott and I first met them for Christmas in 1989 when we spent our second Christmas with my mom after she returned to California. Kula has always been my mom's cat. Biji seemed to be the "anyone" cat, but has always beelined for me whenever I'm visiting. At age 16, both girls are still alive, although they are now aging and in decline. They still live happily with my mom and the growing family.
Colorado - Colley is the first cat I've had as an adult. He's a purebred Norwegian Forest Cat and is now six. He is the alpha male in our family, and lets everyone-- including Erich-- know that I am HIS human. Erich marvels at how Colley follows me around everywhere. He's like a dog. And he'll talk to me all day. The two features about him that always amuse me are his multi-colored toe pads (every single one is a different shade, ranging from light pink to black) and his mood nose-- it actually changes, depending on his mood. The more hyper or stressed he is, the brighter pink it gets. Mom and I bought him in Philadelphia on Thanksgiving weekend 1999.
Archie - Archie is my mom's golden tabby Maine Coon. He's a big boy-- 16 pounds of solid muscle and fur. He's a bit skittish, but still has all of the clownish qualities of a Coon cat. He's five, and the big man of mom's house, guarding Biji and Kula in their old age.
Ladigo, Susie, and Lily - At the same time Mom got Archie, two barn cats entered my dad's life. Laddy and Susie weren't littermates, but were born in the same barn only a few days apart. Lily came about six months later, when Susie decided that she much preferred the barn lifestyle. I've only met them once in person, but often hear them chatting away behind my dad whenever we chat on the phone.
Mephista - Fizzy is our little frail kitty. She's four years old, although she's fallen into middle age a bit young, I fear. She's quite timid, prefers quiet spaces, and likes gentle rubs. Perhaps it's because she's originally a Harvard University feral-- her mom must have enjoyed creeping around the library, I suppose. At first glance she appears black, although she's actually a mink brown tabby with a grey undercoat. We've had lots of adventures with Fizz, starting with Pronoun Crisis of 2002.
Augustus - Two weeks after my grandmother died in 2003, Erich rolled a random encounter on the tiny table (sorry, gamer speak... but really, it's the best way to describe it). We named him Gus. Gus, now aged 2, is proving all of the vets who age cats in "cat years" wrong. Gus has been a perpetual "troublesome two" since about six weeks old. Only now, he has somewhere around 14 pounds of weight to throw around to cause chaos. He's a lover cat, though, with the most amazing rumble of purr you'll ever hear. He's also completely gay. He only loves the boys. He'll settle for me in desperate times, though.
Nobanion and Eldath - The most recent twosome to come into our lives are now five months old. They're also known as the Cow Kittens (reason obvious once you see their markings). These two tag team like crazy-- usually on Gus, which Fizzy appreciates because he's not pestering her as much anymore.
Noby is the larger of the two at about 5.5 pounds. He's already a lap cat with me, and a big lover boy to everyone. His favorite way to express is to run right up and give you a full slobbery face rub. His most amusing feature is a group of spots that distinctly look like the Mickey Mouse logo on his shoulders.
Ellie is a gentler kitten than her rowdy brother, but she also has a tendency to romp wild at times. She's the softest cat I've ever touched-- her fur is so dense and plush, and she feels like a cotton ball. She's also imprinted on Erich as a dry nurse. It's quite amusing. No one believes me until they see it-- and then they just crack up laughing. Poor Erich's not sure what to do, but he often cries out for help because he's being "attacked" by cuteness.
Thank Goddess I don't have cat allergies (*knocks on wood*), eh?
My life history, by way of our family cats.
In my thirty one years less three weeks of life, I don't remember a time where there wasn't a cat in my family. The gaps do exist when I was really little, but only by a year or so, and mostly because we had a couple of problem cats before the long-term cats came in. And other than the six years of dorm/college apartment life, I've always had a cat physically living with me and considering me his/her slave. The five I have now is definitely the all-time record for current catload. It's about the max I'd want to have. I can't cater to any more than this.
I honestly can't imagine life without at least one of them, though. Those first few weeks of college without a cat purring on my pillow at night was probably the most difficult thing I ever adjusted to-- even more than sharing a bedroom with someone else.
The feline family lineage (from my side of the family) is as follows-
Moko- I don't actually remember Moko, but I've always heard stories about her. My mom and dad adopted her in the summer of '69 when they were living in a ratty apartment just up the hill from UC Berkeley. They were newly married. My dad was out of medical school and was starting his residency at Kaiser Oakland. My mom was a nurse. Moko was a "troublesome torti" in all senses of the word. She was cranky and full of mischief. But when I was only a few months old, she ran away into the night from our Dublin, California home one night and never returned.
Bilbo- Two years later, we'd moved to Montana where my dad was setting up a private practice. Mom brought home Bilbo, who was a male purebred seal point Siamese. I got along great with Bilbo. Tons of photos exist of me sitting in the toybox or on the couch (usually with something retarded on my head) with Bilbo. I'm certain that he taught me how to speak to cats, too. Being Siamese, he talked a lot. A bit too much for my mom. When I was five, we had to give Bilbo away, though-- when my brother arrived, Bilbo became extremely jealous and would try to attack Scott. :(
Callie- Callie was the first cat I picked out when I was six. Mom felt very guilty that she'd had to give Bilbo away, and she knew that I had loved the cat. So she took me down to the local pound and let me pick out a kitten. I fell in love with a little calico (aren't half of the Calicos out there named Callie?). For a while, she was the only cat. But she was extremely territorial, and once the next two kittens came in, problems started. It turned out that we simply weren't the right home for her. One of my dad's patients happily took her to her farm to become a barn cat, where she lived out her days growing fat on mice and having a ball.
Kelim and Kashan- The first pairing of cats. They arrived in 1982. They aren't littermates, but we got them three months apart from each other, and they lived their lives as brothers.
Kashan actually came first-- he was a beautiful shell cameo Persian (think all white with a sploch of coffee stain down the spine) with the deepest copper eyes I've ever seen. Unlike a lot of Persians, Kashan's face didn't look like he hit a door at 80 miles per hour-- he was a purebred, but his face was a bit rounded.
Kelim was a purebred seal-point Himalayin. Over the years, his points expanded and he developed dark patches beyond the traditional Siamese pointing pattern. My father said that it came from his father. Kelim had mist-blue eyes that were slightly crossed, and definitely had the Siamese in his voice.
Kelim and Kashan, as well as the next two cats, were all named from an oriental rug book. My mom thought that since they were Persians (of a sort) that it was fitting. :)
Kashan was Scott's guardian angel cat. He hung out all the time with Scott, soothing him when he cried, guarding him as he slept. Likewise, Kelim was my cat. He slept with me every night, letting me use him as a pillow. Both cats were indoor/outdoor cats and lived to healthy old ages (for the time). Kashan died at the age of 12 after a long illness. Kelim held on until age 14, finally dying of kidney failure.
Bijar and Kula - The day after the 1989 Loma Prieta quake in California, these two kittens were born. Bijar, or "Biji" as she's called, is a seal-point Himalayin and a bitch-on-wheels (affectionately-- she's so small, it's hysterical to watch her have temper tantrums). Kula, her slightly larger littermate sister, is a blue-point who is a complete and utter space cadet. Scott and I first met them for Christmas in 1989 when we spent our second Christmas with my mom after she returned to California. Kula has always been my mom's cat. Biji seemed to be the "anyone" cat, but has always beelined for me whenever I'm visiting. At age 16, both girls are still alive, although they are now aging and in decline. They still live happily with my mom and the growing family.
Colorado - Colley is the first cat I've had as an adult. He's a purebred Norwegian Forest Cat and is now six. He is the alpha male in our family, and lets everyone-- including Erich-- know that I am HIS human. Erich marvels at how Colley follows me around everywhere. He's like a dog. And he'll talk to me all day. The two features about him that always amuse me are his multi-colored toe pads (every single one is a different shade, ranging from light pink to black) and his mood nose-- it actually changes, depending on his mood. The more hyper or stressed he is, the brighter pink it gets. Mom and I bought him in Philadelphia on Thanksgiving weekend 1999.
Archie - Archie is my mom's golden tabby Maine Coon. He's a big boy-- 16 pounds of solid muscle and fur. He's a bit skittish, but still has all of the clownish qualities of a Coon cat. He's five, and the big man of mom's house, guarding Biji and Kula in their old age.
Ladigo, Susie, and Lily - At the same time Mom got Archie, two barn cats entered my dad's life. Laddy and Susie weren't littermates, but were born in the same barn only a few days apart. Lily came about six months later, when Susie decided that she much preferred the barn lifestyle. I've only met them once in person, but often hear them chatting away behind my dad whenever we chat on the phone.
Mephista - Fizzy is our little frail kitty. She's four years old, although she's fallen into middle age a bit young, I fear. She's quite timid, prefers quiet spaces, and likes gentle rubs. Perhaps it's because she's originally a Harvard University feral-- her mom must have enjoyed creeping around the library, I suppose. At first glance she appears black, although she's actually a mink brown tabby with a grey undercoat. We've had lots of adventures with Fizz, starting with Pronoun Crisis of 2002.
Augustus - Two weeks after my grandmother died in 2003, Erich rolled a random encounter on the tiny table (sorry, gamer speak... but really, it's the best way to describe it). We named him Gus. Gus, now aged 2, is proving all of the vets who age cats in "cat years" wrong. Gus has been a perpetual "troublesome two" since about six weeks old. Only now, he has somewhere around 14 pounds of weight to throw around to cause chaos. He's a lover cat, though, with the most amazing rumble of purr you'll ever hear. He's also completely gay. He only loves the boys. He'll settle for me in desperate times, though.
Nobanion and Eldath - The most recent twosome to come into our lives are now five months old. They're also known as the Cow Kittens (reason obvious once you see their markings). These two tag team like crazy-- usually on Gus, which Fizzy appreciates because he's not pestering her as much anymore.
Noby is the larger of the two at about 5.5 pounds. He's already a lap cat with me, and a big lover boy to everyone. His favorite way to express is to run right up and give you a full slobbery face rub. His most amusing feature is a group of spots that distinctly look like the Mickey Mouse logo on his shoulders.
Ellie is a gentler kitten than her rowdy brother, but she also has a tendency to romp wild at times. She's the softest cat I've ever touched-- her fur is so dense and plush, and she feels like a cotton ball. She's also imprinted on Erich as a dry nurse. It's quite amusing. No one believes me until they see it-- and then they just crack up laughing. Poor Erich's not sure what to do, but he often cries out for help because he's being "attacked" by cuteness.
Thank Goddess I don't have cat allergies (*knocks on wood*), eh?
18 December 2005
A quest for ideas...
Dear Readers--
With many days left on Holidailies, and a new year starting, I'm reaching out to get ideas for topics to write about for the next few weeks. I can ramble all day about the boring stuff I do every day-- but is there anything YOU want me to write about?
If it's one of those big, important topics, I may even stop my usual off-the-cuff writing style and actually COMPOSE entries for a while, editing them and cleaning them up. :)
So please-- give me ideas! Chances are, I'll use every one of them.
Or if you don't have ideas, let me know you're reading... because maybe I'll come and get inspiration from you. :)
~ Mel.
With many days left on Holidailies, and a new year starting, I'm reaching out to get ideas for topics to write about for the next few weeks. I can ramble all day about the boring stuff I do every day-- but is there anything YOU want me to write about?
If it's one of those big, important topics, I may even stop my usual off-the-cuff writing style and actually COMPOSE entries for a while, editing them and cleaning them up. :)
So please-- give me ideas! Chances are, I'll use every one of them.
Or if you don't have ideas, let me know you're reading... because maybe I'll come and get inspiration from you. :)
~ Mel.
Holiday Football
I'm loving the Saturday and Sunday game schedule over the next three weeks. Between NFL and college ball, our TV is probably going to be on from morning until night on the weekends.
I was afraid for a moment, though, that my presence in front of the TV was jinxing the San Diego-Indianapolis game. Erich and I sat down in the 3rd quarter when the score was 16-0 Chargers. Within the next few minutes, suddenly Indy was on top. I was afraid I'd have to send Minarae and Petrouchka a personal apology for screwing the Chargers by watching the game.
Thankfully, they turned it around. But damn, that was a wild two quarters of football.
After the ups and downs of this season, I'm genuinely shocked the Pats are going to the playoffs, but it's a simple case of how bad the division sucked. As much as I'd love it, I don't expect them to get past the second round. It seems to be Indy's year. Today, as my dad just said on the phone a bit ago, simply reminded Indy that they're human. But they'll keep steamrolling on, I think.
Still, it's nice that there's some routine to Pats football. If it's December, the Pats win. If it's snowing, the Pats seem to have divine help on the field. We love the snow for a football game. The Raiders helped create that love for us with the Tuck Bowl.
Meanwhile, my dad is quietly mourning his sacred Eagles yet again. He's a devoted Philadelphia boy out in the region of the Denver Broncos. The "there's always next year..." chant has begun yet again.
Mmmm... football.
I was afraid for a moment, though, that my presence in front of the TV was jinxing the San Diego-Indianapolis game. Erich and I sat down in the 3rd quarter when the score was 16-0 Chargers. Within the next few minutes, suddenly Indy was on top. I was afraid I'd have to send Minarae and Petrouchka a personal apology for screwing the Chargers by watching the game.
Thankfully, they turned it around. But damn, that was a wild two quarters of football.
After the ups and downs of this season, I'm genuinely shocked the Pats are going to the playoffs, but it's a simple case of how bad the division sucked. As much as I'd love it, I don't expect them to get past the second round. It seems to be Indy's year. Today, as my dad just said on the phone a bit ago, simply reminded Indy that they're human. But they'll keep steamrolling on, I think.
Still, it's nice that there's some routine to Pats football. If it's December, the Pats win. If it's snowing, the Pats seem to have divine help on the field. We love the snow for a football game. The Raiders helped create that love for us with the Tuck Bowl.
Meanwhile, my dad is quietly mourning his sacred Eagles yet again. He's a devoted Philadelphia boy out in the region of the Denver Broncos. The "there's always next year..." chant has begun yet again.
Mmmm... football.
Present Procrastionation
Fear not, all of you who aren't done with your shopping for next Sunday. You are not alone. I, for example, haven't even STARTED my shopping. It's a new record for me, I believe. I'm usually not done until a couple days before Christmas, but this year has taken procrastination to an entirely new level of patheticness.
Did I notice a calendar, perhaps? The invisible, yet LOUDLY SCREAMING date that signifies one week until Christmas?
Why yes, I did. And yes, I'm concerned. But it really couldn't be helped, honestly. Between my cash flow and a lack of ideas from the few people who I will be buying for this season, it simply hasn't been feasible until this weekend.
Erich and I will be rushing out tomorrow, our holiday shopping padded armor strapped on, to purchase the rest of the presents that don't have to be sent anywhere. Then we'll come home and drop the obnoxious money for Amazon to hopefully (!!!) get presents to their destinations on time (although I doubt it'll happen at this point).
And then, after all of that insanity, I'll get that last batch of cards addressed and stamped, and quite possibly get them over to a post office box so they can shuffle out with the rest of the card procrastinators who hope their cards will arrive by the 24th.
And then... I'll need a drink.
Did I notice a calendar, perhaps? The invisible, yet LOUDLY SCREAMING date that signifies one week until Christmas?
Why yes, I did. And yes, I'm concerned. But it really couldn't be helped, honestly. Between my cash flow and a lack of ideas from the few people who I will be buying for this season, it simply hasn't been feasible until this weekend.
Erich and I will be rushing out tomorrow, our holiday shopping padded armor strapped on, to purchase the rest of the presents that don't have to be sent anywhere. Then we'll come home and drop the obnoxious money for Amazon to hopefully (!!!) get presents to their destinations on time (although I doubt it'll happen at this point).
And then, after all of that insanity, I'll get that last batch of cards addressed and stamped, and quite possibly get them over to a post office box so they can shuffle out with the rest of the card procrastinators who hope their cards will arrive by the 24th.
And then... I'll need a drink.
17 December 2005
Partied out
(Yay! I got a "Best of Holidailies" nod for my New York entry! *beams*)
The silent auction at our company Christmas party was a huge success. Tons of items were brought in, and the bidding was fierce on a few items. My cookies turned out to be good items. One basket went for $50, the other went for $45.
I'm not sure which was which, but I saw the auction organizers walk one basket over to the president of my company. THAT should be interesting. I hope she likes them! :)
It was strange being in the Park Plaza hotel for the Christmas party. The only other times I've been in that hotel have been for Arisia, and the hotel is a much different place when a couple thousand geeks aren't taking over the joint.
Everyone looked fabulous. Although officially it's not a formal event, almost everyone dresses up. I wore a black blouse, red silk embroidered jacket, red skirt, and ruby velvet mary jane style slippers (which I LOVE, by the way... I highly recommend that every woman on this earth splurge in at least one pair of ruby slippers. You'll feel like a princess.)
I left the party with a basket of cookies from my competitor and a wonderful gift basket of handmade candles and bath fizz balls scented with tea. I plan on having a wonderful soak in the tub at some point in the next few weeks! :) I tried for a couple other things, but quickly was outbid and the prices were going up a bit too fast for my tastes.
As things were winding down, I gave Erich a call to see what he'd like to do after work. He agreed to meet me at the hotel bar, have a drink (which we so rarely do after work that it really is a treat), and then grab dinner at the oyster bar before heading home. It would work out perfectly since I drove the distance from Providence to Boston this morning to avoid going out in the rain as much as possible. By around 5, the rain had almost stopped, but traffic would still be bad for a while.
Erich arrived at the hotel sometime just before six. We had martinis, and Erich mentioned that although oysters sounded good, he really wanted sushi. We decided to head back to the car and find something around Providence.
We returned home just before eight o'clock. While I freshened up upstairs, Erich turned on the TV-- the Charlie Brown Christmas Special was on, which we both plunked on the couch to watch. Some weird newer one followed, which we weren't interested in since it didn't speak to our childhoods. The TV went off, and we headed back out into the cold.
One stop down I-95, we came to a Japanese steakhouse and sushi bar. Erich had never experienced the extremely entertaining steakhouse style cooking before, so we sat at one of the tables surrounding a grill. Our chef went crazy with the cooking-- I always love watching the hibatchi cooks and the beautiful art of their grilling style (I know there's an offical name for it... but it's past midnight and I'm at a loss).
The food was great. We brought tons of leftovers home.
And now I only want to crawl into my comfy bed with Erich, the cats, and sleep until whenever my brain decides it's time to get up!
'Night...
~ Mel.
The silent auction at our company Christmas party was a huge success. Tons of items were brought in, and the bidding was fierce on a few items. My cookies turned out to be good items. One basket went for $50, the other went for $45.
I'm not sure which was which, but I saw the auction organizers walk one basket over to the president of my company. THAT should be interesting. I hope she likes them! :)
It was strange being in the Park Plaza hotel for the Christmas party. The only other times I've been in that hotel have been for Arisia, and the hotel is a much different place when a couple thousand geeks aren't taking over the joint.
Everyone looked fabulous. Although officially it's not a formal event, almost everyone dresses up. I wore a black blouse, red silk embroidered jacket, red skirt, and ruby velvet mary jane style slippers (which I LOVE, by the way... I highly recommend that every woman on this earth splurge in at least one pair of ruby slippers. You'll feel like a princess.)
I left the party with a basket of cookies from my competitor and a wonderful gift basket of handmade candles and bath fizz balls scented with tea. I plan on having a wonderful soak in the tub at some point in the next few weeks! :) I tried for a couple other things, but quickly was outbid and the prices were going up a bit too fast for my tastes.
As things were winding down, I gave Erich a call to see what he'd like to do after work. He agreed to meet me at the hotel bar, have a drink (which we so rarely do after work that it really is a treat), and then grab dinner at the oyster bar before heading home. It would work out perfectly since I drove the distance from Providence to Boston this morning to avoid going out in the rain as much as possible. By around 5, the rain had almost stopped, but traffic would still be bad for a while.
Erich arrived at the hotel sometime just before six. We had martinis, and Erich mentioned that although oysters sounded good, he really wanted sushi. We decided to head back to the car and find something around Providence.
We returned home just before eight o'clock. While I freshened up upstairs, Erich turned on the TV-- the Charlie Brown Christmas Special was on, which we both plunked on the couch to watch. Some weird newer one followed, which we weren't interested in since it didn't speak to our childhoods. The TV went off, and we headed back out into the cold.
One stop down I-95, we came to a Japanese steakhouse and sushi bar. Erich had never experienced the extremely entertaining steakhouse style cooking before, so we sat at one of the tables surrounding a grill. Our chef went crazy with the cooking-- I always love watching the hibatchi cooks and the beautiful art of their grilling style (I know there's an offical name for it... but it's past midnight and I'm at a loss).
The food was great. We brought tons of leftovers home.
And now I only want to crawl into my comfy bed with Erich, the cats, and sleep until whenever my brain decides it's time to get up!
'Night...
~ Mel.
16 December 2005
My New York Christmas memory
On a miserably rainy day much like this one, I visited New York for the first time. Driving into work this morning reminded me of that strange trip that is perhaps one of my fondest memories of college.
Two guys on my dorm floor and I were developing a fairly close friendship by December of 1993. We were the three geek outcasts on our floor of communications majors, and as most outcasts do... they find the other outcasts and join up, even though they didn't have much in common. One of them, Sean, was a journalism major from Stoughton, just south of Boston. Early in the semester, the three of us began heading down to Stoughton on some weekends, spending the nights at Sean's house, and doing a little exploring of New England.
In early December, Sean stopped by my room and asked if I'd be interested in tagging along for a trip to NYC. Apparently his mother and two friends went down every December, but the two friends had to cancel due to some church event at the last minute, and Sean's mom had given him a call. It was a tour package that couldn't be cancelled on, and she figured that maybe the two of us would like to go.
We got up before dawn that Saturday to climb into an express bus to New York. (I'd never been on a coach-style bus before, either, so that was... weird). Four hours later, the bus went over a bridge, and I saw my first glimpse of New York as the road wound its way through the Bronx, and then the bus took a turn into Manhattan. I'm not sure what route we took, but I remember seeing a sign for "Harlem" something.
My eyes were glued to the window in fascination. I was in New York. Look at it all! All of the old buildings. People walking everywhere. Neighborhood markets. Little bistro restaurants. A sea of yellow taxis.
I drunk it all in.
You have to realize that while growing up, New York was literally a mythical city of wonder. It was so far away that it existed only in movies, books, and dreams. I honestly wouldn't have been able to see a difference between the exotic locales in India and New York as a child. Now here I was, looking out at the city with my own eyes. It was a complete rush.
The bus finally reached the Port Authority, where we exited the bus and started a walk to get to Radio City Music Hall (another fabled place). We were going to see the Christmas Spectacular and the Rockettes.
Radio City Music Hall is huge. And incredibly detailed in a way that can only be in New York. As we went to our seats in the balcony, I could only gape up at the towering ceiling and consciously fight to keep my mouth from dropping open.
And then the show started. It started as a normal play. Pretty cute. I started to recognize songs with a reaction of "Oh, so THAT's what that's from...". And then the weirdness of New York, and of that amazing stage at Radio City, came in. An ice rink came up from the underbelly of the theater-- and a couple began ice skating. (on stage! Goo!). The Rockettes danced several numbers throughout the performance, bringing memories of quick costume changes to my mind from my position in the upper troupe in my dance recitals. I honestly wish I'd had a chance to see them as a child-- because all of a sudden, I understood why my dance teacher had been emphasizing all of the formations. From up in the audience, they really did look amazing. Perhaps I could appreciate them that much more than Sean, since I'd spent my Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights in junior high and high school trying to do similar things on high-heeled tap shoes.
At the end of the show, the stage went dark and the veil curtain closed, providing the stage crew a way to change the scenery while action continued in front of the curtain. A story from the Gospels about the birth of Jesus was read over the speakers and accompanied by soft music from the orchestra. As the story continued, an actor playing Joseph led a donkey, carrying Mary, across the stage toward the unseen Bethlehem. The actors moved behind the curtain into the darkened stage, past the ghostly outline of what would become the stable.
The spotlight widened as the announcer finished the story of Jesus. The holy family was complete as a baby was placed in the manger. It was quite touching, honestly.
A choir begain to sing "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing" as the backlit stage lights began to slowly brighten. People began walking on stage, leading animals on to the stage- goats, donkeys, camels (they had camels!!). The actors positioned themselves and the animals as the song continued. As the crescendo of the song crested, the sight before me literally thumped my chest, and for the first time at a theater, tears came into my eyes.
I was looking at a life-sized Nativity. Every peace was there. Every. single. piece. With humans as the pieces, perfectly still. The effect was instantaneous. The audience roared in applause- clearly others were moved as I was.
My life was moving into a non-Christian path by this time in my life, but everything about what I saw was so beautiful and spiritual, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't doubting my choices at that moment.
I didn't want it to end, but it did have to, as all great performances do. We shuffled out into the street and headed over to Rockefeller Center. People were leaning over the wall to look at the skating rink below. People were everywhere. There were lights everywhere, and the largest Christmas tree I'd ever seen placed before us. It was quite cold and raw, though, and Sean's mom led us to Sak's Fifth Avenue for a little browsing (no shopping... dear lord, the costs were deadly!). Sean and I noticed that they had Santa at Saks, and decided to get our picture taken (my last one, of course). He was, in fact, a very upscale Santa... wearing the finest of velvet clothing and was a man with a real Santa beard.
Only the finest Santa can be found at Saks, after all.
By the time we were done with photos and shopping, it was starting to get late. But Sean really wanted to go back to the ice skating rink. We walked right up-- completely oblivious of the fact that there was probably a line to get onto the ice-- and got right in. We rented skates, and were swirling around Rockefeller Center's ice rink in front of Prometheus within a matter of minutes. It was softly raining, which helped keep a fresh zamboni'ed surface on the ice as we went around. Music from the Christmas Spectacular played. A few more talented skaters did perfect spins in the center of the ice.
We headed back up to Boston that evening on a return bus. Both Sean and I slept most of the way back.
I'm sure the visions of sugar plums came dancing in my dreams.
Two guys on my dorm floor and I were developing a fairly close friendship by December of 1993. We were the three geek outcasts on our floor of communications majors, and as most outcasts do... they find the other outcasts and join up, even though they didn't have much in common. One of them, Sean, was a journalism major from Stoughton, just south of Boston. Early in the semester, the three of us began heading down to Stoughton on some weekends, spending the nights at Sean's house, and doing a little exploring of New England.
In early December, Sean stopped by my room and asked if I'd be interested in tagging along for a trip to NYC. Apparently his mother and two friends went down every December, but the two friends had to cancel due to some church event at the last minute, and Sean's mom had given him a call. It was a tour package that couldn't be cancelled on, and she figured that maybe the two of us would like to go.
We got up before dawn that Saturday to climb into an express bus to New York. (I'd never been on a coach-style bus before, either, so that was... weird). Four hours later, the bus went over a bridge, and I saw my first glimpse of New York as the road wound its way through the Bronx, and then the bus took a turn into Manhattan. I'm not sure what route we took, but I remember seeing a sign for "Harlem" something.
My eyes were glued to the window in fascination. I was in New York. Look at it all! All of the old buildings. People walking everywhere. Neighborhood markets. Little bistro restaurants. A sea of yellow taxis.
I drunk it all in.
You have to realize that while growing up, New York was literally a mythical city of wonder. It was so far away that it existed only in movies, books, and dreams. I honestly wouldn't have been able to see a difference between the exotic locales in India and New York as a child. Now here I was, looking out at the city with my own eyes. It was a complete rush.
The bus finally reached the Port Authority, where we exited the bus and started a walk to get to Radio City Music Hall (another fabled place). We were going to see the Christmas Spectacular and the Rockettes.
Radio City Music Hall is huge. And incredibly detailed in a way that can only be in New York. As we went to our seats in the balcony, I could only gape up at the towering ceiling and consciously fight to keep my mouth from dropping open.
And then the show started. It started as a normal play. Pretty cute. I started to recognize songs with a reaction of "Oh, so THAT's what that's from...". And then the weirdness of New York, and of that amazing stage at Radio City, came in. An ice rink came up from the underbelly of the theater-- and a couple began ice skating. (on stage! Goo!). The Rockettes danced several numbers throughout the performance, bringing memories of quick costume changes to my mind from my position in the upper troupe in my dance recitals. I honestly wish I'd had a chance to see them as a child-- because all of a sudden, I understood why my dance teacher had been emphasizing all of the formations. From up in the audience, they really did look amazing. Perhaps I could appreciate them that much more than Sean, since I'd spent my Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights in junior high and high school trying to do similar things on high-heeled tap shoes.
At the end of the show, the stage went dark and the veil curtain closed, providing the stage crew a way to change the scenery while action continued in front of the curtain. A story from the Gospels about the birth of Jesus was read over the speakers and accompanied by soft music from the orchestra. As the story continued, an actor playing Joseph led a donkey, carrying Mary, across the stage toward the unseen Bethlehem. The actors moved behind the curtain into the darkened stage, past the ghostly outline of what would become the stable.
The spotlight widened as the announcer finished the story of Jesus. The holy family was complete as a baby was placed in the manger. It was quite touching, honestly.
A choir begain to sing "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing" as the backlit stage lights began to slowly brighten. People began walking on stage, leading animals on to the stage- goats, donkeys, camels (they had camels!!). The actors positioned themselves and the animals as the song continued. As the crescendo of the song crested, the sight before me literally thumped my chest, and for the first time at a theater, tears came into my eyes.
I was looking at a life-sized Nativity. Every peace was there. Every. single. piece. With humans as the pieces, perfectly still. The effect was instantaneous. The audience roared in applause- clearly others were moved as I was.
My life was moving into a non-Christian path by this time in my life, but everything about what I saw was so beautiful and spiritual, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't doubting my choices at that moment.
I didn't want it to end, but it did have to, as all great performances do. We shuffled out into the street and headed over to Rockefeller Center. People were leaning over the wall to look at the skating rink below. People were everywhere. There were lights everywhere, and the largest Christmas tree I'd ever seen placed before us. It was quite cold and raw, though, and Sean's mom led us to Sak's Fifth Avenue for a little browsing (no shopping... dear lord, the costs were deadly!). Sean and I noticed that they had Santa at Saks, and decided to get our picture taken (my last one, of course). He was, in fact, a very upscale Santa... wearing the finest of velvet clothing and was a man with a real Santa beard.
Only the finest Santa can be found at Saks, after all.
By the time we were done with photos and shopping, it was starting to get late. But Sean really wanted to go back to the ice skating rink. We walked right up-- completely oblivious of the fact that there was probably a line to get onto the ice-- and got right in. We rented skates, and were swirling around Rockefeller Center's ice rink in front of Prometheus within a matter of minutes. It was softly raining, which helped keep a fresh zamboni'ed surface on the ice as we went around. Music from the Christmas Spectacular played. A few more talented skaters did perfect spins in the center of the ice.
We headed back up to Boston that evening on a return bus. Both Sean and I slept most of the way back.
I'm sure the visions of sugar plums came dancing in my dreams.
15 December 2005
Cookie Battle
Every year, my company's holiday party includes a silent auction for two employee-picked charities. I find it to be a refreshing mix of celebration while also thinking of others less fortunate, and trying to make a small difference somewhere en masse.
About two weeks before the holiday party, the call goes out via flyers and emails for donations for the silent auction. A little bit of everything gets donated- bottles of alcohol, glassware and serving platters, toys, sports tickets, a hand-knit scarf or two.
Two years ago, a new entry joined the fray- a big basket of homemade gingerbred cookies. The bidding was fierce, if I recall-- and the winner dropped a pretty penny for that basket of goodness. Last year, three of the baskets were entered. I was lucky enough to scurry home with one of them (where it was consumed pretty quickly). This year, I kept in touch with the baker, and we jokingly decided to both enter cookies and have a friendly "cookie battle."
I talked to J. last week and asked her how many baskets she was planning on including. She said four. I decided to enter two. Last night, I ran over to Michaels to pick up a couple of cute baskets, shreddy stuff to fill the basket, some ribbon, and some individual cookie bags. I then set up shop in my kitchen to make a bunch of cookies, bag them up, and then make gift baskets to enter into the auction.
Erich came down about an hour into the process, and remarked on the one-woman assembly line I had going. My key was making sure that I started the next set of cookie sheets as soon as the first set went into the oven. That way, I could do a quick switch every 15 minutes. In two hours, I did a double-batch of cookies, bagged 36 of them up, and divided them between two baskets.
One came in to work with me today to be put in the silent auction preview. I also brought in some sample cookies for my department-- they were inhaled within an hour and a half. (I credit a department of 38 women and 6 men to that record). The other basket will come in tomorrow morning, and then the bidding begins.
I wonder if a cookie basket will go higher than the $50 from last year.
It's all for a good cause, after all. And calories this time of year don't count.
;)
About two weeks before the holiday party, the call goes out via flyers and emails for donations for the silent auction. A little bit of everything gets donated- bottles of alcohol, glassware and serving platters, toys, sports tickets, a hand-knit scarf or two.
Two years ago, a new entry joined the fray- a big basket of homemade gingerbred cookies. The bidding was fierce, if I recall-- and the winner dropped a pretty penny for that basket of goodness. Last year, three of the baskets were entered. I was lucky enough to scurry home with one of them (where it was consumed pretty quickly). This year, I kept in touch with the baker, and we jokingly decided to both enter cookies and have a friendly "cookie battle."
I talked to J. last week and asked her how many baskets she was planning on including. She said four. I decided to enter two. Last night, I ran over to Michaels to pick up a couple of cute baskets, shreddy stuff to fill the basket, some ribbon, and some individual cookie bags. I then set up shop in my kitchen to make a bunch of cookies, bag them up, and then make gift baskets to enter into the auction.
Erich came down about an hour into the process, and remarked on the one-woman assembly line I had going. My key was making sure that I started the next set of cookie sheets as soon as the first set went into the oven. That way, I could do a quick switch every 15 minutes. In two hours, I did a double-batch of cookies, bagged 36 of them up, and divided them between two baskets.
One came in to work with me today to be put in the silent auction preview. I also brought in some sample cookies for my department-- they were inhaled within an hour and a half. (I credit a department of 38 women and 6 men to that record). The other basket will come in tomorrow morning, and then the bidding begins.
I wonder if a cookie basket will go higher than the $50 from last year.
It's all for a good cause, after all. And calories this time of year don't count.
;)
14 December 2005
Feeling Crafty
It’s crafty day! Due to NaNoWriMo last month, I wasn’t participating in the Stitcher Blogging Questions on a weeky basis. I also didn’t have my camera to post updated photos of my work, so I’ll have those updates, too. :)
Measi.net was being extraordinarily cranky with photo uploads last night. I finally gave up at 11:50 p.m. and moved everything onto my old Kodak Gallery account. Over the weekend, I’ll work on posting photos and updating my Work in Progress (WIP) pages on the site, since they haven’t been updated since before my house move. For now, though, all of my updated WIP photos are here.
I’ve been working almost exclusively on The Castle this month and have ditched my rotation for the time being. I’m so (-oooo) close to finishing. The tail is almost completely done. Then I have a small section of rocks to do, and then a mess of backstitching. It definitely won’t be done by the end of the year, but the end of January is very feasible, and I’d love to get it done to start 2006 off with a great finish.
The week between Christmas and New Years will most likely be spent between stitching and sorting through all of my projects to prep a plan for 2006. I already know that 2006 has two wedding samplers (so far!) that are must-completes. Everything needs to rotate around those for now.
Onto some of my backlog of Stitcher Blogging Questions…
9/28/05- Have you ever just quit a project while in the midst of it? (We're not referring to UFOs (unfinished objects) here, rather projects that you know that you'll never work on again.) Why? What did you do with it - throw it out, give it away, put it away?
I’ve had two projects that I’ve completely stopped. One was put away, but eventually thrown away because it became damaged. The other was just tossed immediately. I didn’t like how it was looking at all.
10/6/05- When you have almost finished a pattern and start thinking about the next one to stitch, how do you select it? (a list, most recent purchase, etc.)
Ironic, since I’m focusing on this right now. First comes any “obligation” stitching (for example, the wedding samplers I know are in-line). Then I go to my list of projects that I’ve kitted with all supplies. Since I love Teresa Wentzler’s designs and have a dozen or so that I want to stitch, any TW project I finish will almost certainly be replaced with another TW.
10/12/05- How do you `non-hoopists' who use a rotation system handle it (as it seems to be lot easier if you are in good terms with hoop)? Do you have several scroll frames? Do you use Q-snaps or maybe something completely different? Or do you just have one or two big projects and others are small enough to be kept in hand while stitching?
I usually prefer a hoop, but a couple projects just won’t work with one, so I’m adjusting. One project is on a scroll frame. The other is an in-hand project. If I were to move into stitching on multiple projects on hoops or stretcher bars, I’d probably adjust my rotation so I had a travel piece on a hoop for my commute and keep the larger scroll frame pieces at home to work on in the evenings.
10/19/05- Do you mark or hi-lite your patterns or can you follow them without any markings? Do you make copies to mark up, or do you mark originals?
I make copies of all of my projects to work from. I usually set the photocopier so that the pattern is enlarged and easier to read. If it takes more pages to copy, it doesn’t matter to me. My photocopies and the original pattern are then kept in poly envelopes with the tie-button closures to keep everything together. (Kitted patterns that I haven’t started have the bobbins of thread enclosed in the envelope, too).
As I go, I highlight. I can follow without markings, but when working the more complex patterns, it’s so much easier to work with a marked copy.
I then use the original copy to follow for backstitching (but don’t mark it as I go).
10/26/05- Have you ever stitched something as a gift and later realized that receiver doesn't respect your stitched gift a bit (for example it's never on show, or you have other reason to suspect that it may even be nonexistent or at least placed in some dark storage room corner)? If so, what have you done? If you've been lucky enough to avoid such people what would you do if it'd happen to you?
Hasn’t happened yet. But to be honest, I don’t see myself doing a lot of gift stitching for people that aren’t either stitchers or knitters themselves—people who will appreciate the time that goes into making something by hand.
11/2/05- If you have stitched for a while, can you usually pick out the DMC colors you need from memory when you go to your LNS? (For example, you know that 610 is a brown.)
(LNS, for those reading and not stitchers, is a Local Needlework Store)
Not all, but there are a couple strings of numbers that I know. The 500 greens that are common in TW projects. The 790’s that are my favorite colors of blue. The 3345-48 string of green because I have TONS of them for some reason in my excess stash and probably won’t ever have to buy them again in my lifetime. I usually just bring a written list to the store, though.
11/9/05- When comparing large projects versus small projects, which do you get more excited about finishing?
Definitely larger projects, due to the time involved.
***********
More SBQ questions in tonight’s entry to get me caught up on questions! :)
~ Mel.
Measi.net was being extraordinarily cranky with photo uploads last night. I finally gave up at 11:50 p.m. and moved everything onto my old Kodak Gallery account. Over the weekend, I’ll work on posting photos and updating my Work in Progress (WIP) pages on the site, since they haven’t been updated since before my house move. For now, though, all of my updated WIP photos are here.
I’ve been working almost exclusively on The Castle this month and have ditched my rotation for the time being. I’m so (-oooo) close to finishing. The tail is almost completely done. Then I have a small section of rocks to do, and then a mess of backstitching. It definitely won’t be done by the end of the year, but the end of January is very feasible, and I’d love to get it done to start 2006 off with a great finish.
The week between Christmas and New Years will most likely be spent between stitching and sorting through all of my projects to prep a plan for 2006. I already know that 2006 has two wedding samplers (so far!) that are must-completes. Everything needs to rotate around those for now.
Onto some of my backlog of Stitcher Blogging Questions…
9/28/05- Have you ever just quit a project while in the midst of it? (We're not referring to UFOs (unfinished objects) here, rather projects that you know that you'll never work on again.) Why? What did you do with it - throw it out, give it away, put it away?
I’ve had two projects that I’ve completely stopped. One was put away, but eventually thrown away because it became damaged. The other was just tossed immediately. I didn’t like how it was looking at all.
10/6/05- When you have almost finished a pattern and start thinking about the next one to stitch, how do you select it? (a list, most recent purchase, etc.)
Ironic, since I’m focusing on this right now. First comes any “obligation” stitching (for example, the wedding samplers I know are in-line). Then I go to my list of projects that I’ve kitted with all supplies. Since I love Teresa Wentzler’s designs and have a dozen or so that I want to stitch, any TW project I finish will almost certainly be replaced with another TW.
10/12/05- How do you `non-hoopists' who use a rotation system handle it (as it seems to be lot easier if you are in good terms with hoop)? Do you have several scroll frames? Do you use Q-snaps or maybe something completely different? Or do you just have one or two big projects and others are small enough to be kept in hand while stitching?
I usually prefer a hoop, but a couple projects just won’t work with one, so I’m adjusting. One project is on a scroll frame. The other is an in-hand project. If I were to move into stitching on multiple projects on hoops or stretcher bars, I’d probably adjust my rotation so I had a travel piece on a hoop for my commute and keep the larger scroll frame pieces at home to work on in the evenings.
10/19/05- Do you mark or hi-lite your patterns or can you follow them without any markings? Do you make copies to mark up, or do you mark originals?
I make copies of all of my projects to work from. I usually set the photocopier so that the pattern is enlarged and easier to read. If it takes more pages to copy, it doesn’t matter to me. My photocopies and the original pattern are then kept in poly envelopes with the tie-button closures to keep everything together. (Kitted patterns that I haven’t started have the bobbins of thread enclosed in the envelope, too).
As I go, I highlight. I can follow without markings, but when working the more complex patterns, it’s so much easier to work with a marked copy.
I then use the original copy to follow for backstitching (but don’t mark it as I go).
10/26/05- Have you ever stitched something as a gift and later realized that receiver doesn't respect your stitched gift a bit (for example it's never on show, or you have other reason to suspect that it may even be nonexistent or at least placed in some dark storage room corner)? If so, what have you done? If you've been lucky enough to avoid such people what would you do if it'd happen to you?
Hasn’t happened yet. But to be honest, I don’t see myself doing a lot of gift stitching for people that aren’t either stitchers or knitters themselves—people who will appreciate the time that goes into making something by hand.
11/2/05- If you have stitched for a while, can you usually pick out the DMC colors you need from memory when you go to your LNS? (For example, you know that 610 is a brown.)
(LNS, for those reading and not stitchers, is a Local Needlework Store)
Not all, but there are a couple strings of numbers that I know. The 500 greens that are common in TW projects. The 790’s that are my favorite colors of blue. The 3345-48 string of green because I have TONS of them for some reason in my excess stash and probably won’t ever have to buy them again in my lifetime. I usually just bring a written list to the store, though.
11/9/05- When comparing large projects versus small projects, which do you get more excited about finishing?
Definitely larger projects, due to the time involved.
***********
More SBQ questions in tonight’s entry to get me caught up on questions! :)
~ Mel.
13 December 2005
Not a creature was stirring... thankfully.
Erich and I set up our tree early last week. We bought a real tree this year, cheating by going to Lowes to purchase it rather than at one of the many lots in the area. We probably paid more for the tree at Lowes, but it's a pretty Noble Fir, nearly perfectly even all the way around, and was convenient on a day that we were a bit tight on time.
Our tree is decorated with a mish-mash of ornaments from our childhoods, plus some others that we've received in more recent years from my mom or friends, plus others that we've bought ourselves for one reason or another. There's absolutely no theme to it. It's not designer-decorated. It's definitely a hodge-podge tree. :)
Noby's under the tree, checking out ornaments. He's been a bit hyper with the tree so far, but honestly not too bad. I've only had to collect maybe six ornmanets so far.
Gus has moved on from attacking the tree to relishing the crack-cocaine for all cats: tree water.
No real tree in a house full of cats is complete, after all, without cats drinking the tree water. It's the only water bowl they'd drink out of, if it were available 24/7 this month.
Setting up the tree was a bit of an adventure, however, and its tale is today's Holidailies entry...
Last year, we didn't put a tree up. We knew we'd be going to Pennsylvania for Christmas and didn't feel comfortable leaving a tree up for days on end with the cats unattended, particularly since Gus had managed to kill the Christmas tree the year before by literally body slamming it to death. So our ornaments were packed away in those fantastic Rubbermaid ornament boxes in our storage space for two years.
With trepidation, we began decorating the tree this year. Gus is now two and slightly past his completely crazy kitten stage, but he still gets "the rips" rather often and can do a ton of damage now that he's MonsterKitten. Add to that two nearly 5-month old kittens, and the tree is a recipe for disaster.
So to avoid some of the issues, we set up the tree in the sunroom, which has a door that can lock the tree away from frantic felines, yet is a glass door so we can still enjoy the sight of it while sitting on the couch. This gives us peace of mind when we're at work, too, because the cats are simply not allowed in the sunroom right now.
The super fragile and old ornaments that we didn't want to risk with kittens were kept wrapped in the ornament boxes. Everything else is either shatterproof or up on the tree high enought so as not to have to worry about them.
We have two boxes of ornaments. Erich was working through one box, and I was going through the other. These boxes have the cardboard compartments for ornaments, which I love. Out of habit, I still wrap everything in tissue paper and put them inside the cubbies, though. My parents had lots of those handmade beaded ornaments (with all of the pushpins), and to make sure they didn't come loose while carrying boxes, everything was well-wrapped.
I completed the first layer of cubbies and got to the lower layer. To my relief, it was mostly an old set of pink satin & lace balls that my parents had used on garlands going up the hallway stairs. Most of these balls were unwrapped. But in the center cubbie, I noticed a shredding of tissue paper that filled one single cubbie all the way to the top of the square.
"Erich, did you have some frustration with tissue paper when we packed these up?" I asked, intending to tease him about some inner tissue anger management issues, pointing at the cubbie.
Erich looked at it, confused, and said no.
I said something joking in return, but noticed he was looking at it quietly.
"You know, that looks like a mouse house," he said.
I stop smiling. Wait a minute... was this the box that had the broken snap lock on it? I thought.
I nervously took a dead twig from our branch scraps and poked it into the top of the tissue paper, and lifted up. Almost immediately, the tissue paper broke to reveal a pillowy, gauzy material that looked shredded and very... nestlike.
Oh. My. God.
Then I saw the traces of mouse in the bottom of the tub-- small mouse droppings. Honestly not many at all- whatever mouse was living in here must not have stayed too long. But enough to prove that yes, it was, in fact, a mouse house. Erich moved over, and pointed out that there were holes across the top of the cardboard cubbies.
"Let's get this tub to the kitchen now," he said.
A good idea, too-- because a couple of kittens were starting to get mighty interested in this tub and the smells of rodent that remained within.
We carried it to the kitchen, where Erich grabbed a set of cheapo tongs and a trash bag to start pulling out the nest. It quickly became apparent that the pillowy material was the remnants of one of the satin balls-- shredded into its softer, warmer form. About a half-dozen other balls were partially shredded, too, and had to be tossed out.
The majority of the balls, thankfully, were untouched and unstained. Erich put them aside in another box. Sometime before we pack everything up, I'll go over each of the balls with the rubber gloves, Lysol, and Nature's Miracle to clean them thoroughly. For the time being, the now empty box is out in the garage-- also to be Lysolled thorougly before we pack the ornaments away again.
*shudder*
It makes for interesting memories, though. That's for sure.
Our tree is decorated with a mish-mash of ornaments from our childhoods, plus some others that we've received in more recent years from my mom or friends, plus others that we've bought ourselves for one reason or another. There's absolutely no theme to it. It's not designer-decorated. It's definitely a hodge-podge tree. :)
Noby's under the tree, checking out ornaments. He's been a bit hyper with the tree so far, but honestly not too bad. I've only had to collect maybe six ornmanets so far.
Gus has moved on from attacking the tree to relishing the crack-cocaine for all cats: tree water.
No real tree in a house full of cats is complete, after all, without cats drinking the tree water. It's the only water bowl they'd drink out of, if it were available 24/7 this month.
Setting up the tree was a bit of an adventure, however, and its tale is today's Holidailies entry...
Last year, we didn't put a tree up. We knew we'd be going to Pennsylvania for Christmas and didn't feel comfortable leaving a tree up for days on end with the cats unattended, particularly since Gus had managed to kill the Christmas tree the year before by literally body slamming it to death. So our ornaments were packed away in those fantastic Rubbermaid ornament boxes in our storage space for two years.
With trepidation, we began decorating the tree this year. Gus is now two and slightly past his completely crazy kitten stage, but he still gets "the rips" rather often and can do a ton of damage now that he's MonsterKitten. Add to that two nearly 5-month old kittens, and the tree is a recipe for disaster.
So to avoid some of the issues, we set up the tree in the sunroom, which has a door that can lock the tree away from frantic felines, yet is a glass door so we can still enjoy the sight of it while sitting on the couch. This gives us peace of mind when we're at work, too, because the cats are simply not allowed in the sunroom right now.
The super fragile and old ornaments that we didn't want to risk with kittens were kept wrapped in the ornament boxes. Everything else is either shatterproof or up on the tree high enought so as not to have to worry about them.
We have two boxes of ornaments. Erich was working through one box, and I was going through the other. These boxes have the cardboard compartments for ornaments, which I love. Out of habit, I still wrap everything in tissue paper and put them inside the cubbies, though. My parents had lots of those handmade beaded ornaments (with all of the pushpins), and to make sure they didn't come loose while carrying boxes, everything was well-wrapped.
I completed the first layer of cubbies and got to the lower layer. To my relief, it was mostly an old set of pink satin & lace balls that my parents had used on garlands going up the hallway stairs. Most of these balls were unwrapped. But in the center cubbie, I noticed a shredding of tissue paper that filled one single cubbie all the way to the top of the square.
"Erich, did you have some frustration with tissue paper when we packed these up?" I asked, intending to tease him about some inner tissue anger management issues, pointing at the cubbie.
Erich looked at it, confused, and said no.
I said something joking in return, but noticed he was looking at it quietly.
"You know, that looks like a mouse house," he said.
I stop smiling. Wait a minute... was this the box that had the broken snap lock on it? I thought.
I nervously took a dead twig from our branch scraps and poked it into the top of the tissue paper, and lifted up. Almost immediately, the tissue paper broke to reveal a pillowy, gauzy material that looked shredded and very... nestlike.
Oh. My. God.
Then I saw the traces of mouse in the bottom of the tub-- small mouse droppings. Honestly not many at all- whatever mouse was living in here must not have stayed too long. But enough to prove that yes, it was, in fact, a mouse house. Erich moved over, and pointed out that there were holes across the top of the cardboard cubbies.
"Let's get this tub to the kitchen now," he said.
A good idea, too-- because a couple of kittens were starting to get mighty interested in this tub and the smells of rodent that remained within.
We carried it to the kitchen, where Erich grabbed a set of cheapo tongs and a trash bag to start pulling out the nest. It quickly became apparent that the pillowy material was the remnants of one of the satin balls-- shredded into its softer, warmer form. About a half-dozen other balls were partially shredded, too, and had to be tossed out.
The majority of the balls, thankfully, were untouched and unstained. Erich put them aside in another box. Sometime before we pack everything up, I'll go over each of the balls with the rubber gloves, Lysol, and Nature's Miracle to clean them thoroughly. For the time being, the now empty box is out in the garage-- also to be Lysolled thorougly before we pack the ornaments away again.
*shudder*
It makes for interesting memories, though. That's for sure.
12 December 2005
Movies
Erich and I saw The Chronicles of Narnia last night as an impromptu date-night. Honestly, I thought the movie was just okay. Beautiful to look at, but the entire story seemed rushed and superficial to me. Erich's comment was that he didn't think the main characters really seemed all that important-- I have to agree. It seemed like most of the detailing of the main plot was skipped over. Perhaps it was a time thing, but honestly, I'd rather the movie be longer with more depth. Kids can handle long movies if what's on screen captivates them. Harry Potter and Star Wars come to mind.
Granted, I haven't read the book in twenty years or so and never read the entire series (I started book 3, but never finished it). So honestly, I'm not that familiar with C. S. Lewis' writing anymore. But it just seemed kinda... there. I admit that I was a bit confused as to all of the hoopla about Christian allegory leading up to the movie, since I didn't recall it in the book. Yeah-- well, I'll chalk that up to being a kid and having it fly over my head. Because the movie was full of it, and I'm sure the book has even more. It doesn't bother me, of course.
Tilda Swinton blew me away as the White Witch. I find her to be such an intriguing actress. Visibly, she's a chameleon. Very beautiful and graceful, but with this underlying air that can turn her to an image of absolute horror simply by changing her experession. She brought this coldness to the White Witch and played her perfectly-- seductive and evil. I loved it. I was introduced to Ms. Swinton in Constantine last year, where I was extremely impressed that they'd found a woman who could play Gabriel as the androgynous character (s)he is alluded to be. Beautiful and handsome together at the same time. It's a rare feat.
I guess I just wanted more from this movie. It definitely had potential. And as I said, it was beautiful to look at. But it just. didn't. go. far. enough. It does, however, make me want to read the book again. :)
One thing I did notice last night? The theater was dead. For a holiday movie - and a family movie - at a 7:30 showing on its opening weekend? Dead quiet. The theater was maybe a quarter full. The theater we go to is a nice one with stadium seating right next to the mall (which was PACKED, of course).
But yay! to the new Pirates of the Carribean trailer. That should be fun next summer. :)
I expect to be at the theater a lot over the next few weeks. Lots of movies out that I want to see-
- Walk the Line
- Syriana
- Memoirs of a Geisha
- Harry Potter 4 (again... preferably in IMAX)
- Pride & Prejudice
Maybe Erich and I should just spend Christmas Day at the movies... ;)
Granted, I haven't read the book in twenty years or so and never read the entire series (I started book 3, but never finished it). So honestly, I'm not that familiar with C. S. Lewis' writing anymore. But it just seemed kinda... there. I admit that I was a bit confused as to all of the hoopla about Christian allegory leading up to the movie, since I didn't recall it in the book. Yeah-- well, I'll chalk that up to being a kid and having it fly over my head. Because the movie was full of it, and I'm sure the book has even more. It doesn't bother me, of course.
Tilda Swinton blew me away as the White Witch. I find her to be such an intriguing actress. Visibly, she's a chameleon. Very beautiful and graceful, but with this underlying air that can turn her to an image of absolute horror simply by changing her experession. She brought this coldness to the White Witch and played her perfectly-- seductive and evil. I loved it. I was introduced to Ms. Swinton in Constantine last year, where I was extremely impressed that they'd found a woman who could play Gabriel as the androgynous character (s)he is alluded to be. Beautiful and handsome together at the same time. It's a rare feat.
I guess I just wanted more from this movie. It definitely had potential. And as I said, it was beautiful to look at. But it just. didn't. go. far. enough. It does, however, make me want to read the book again. :)
One thing I did notice last night? The theater was dead. For a holiday movie - and a family movie - at a 7:30 showing on its opening weekend? Dead quiet. The theater was maybe a quarter full. The theater we go to is a nice one with stadium seating right next to the mall (which was PACKED, of course).
But yay! to the new Pirates of the Carribean trailer. That should be fun next summer. :)
I expect to be at the theater a lot over the next few weeks. Lots of movies out that I want to see-
- Walk the Line
- Syriana
- Memoirs of a Geisha
- Harry Potter 4 (again... preferably in IMAX)
- Pride & Prejudice
Maybe Erich and I should just spend Christmas Day at the movies... ;)
09 December 2005
Cookie goodness
It's snowy. It's Christmas-ey. My beautiful, rarely used Kitchen-Aid Mixer calls for the annual CookieFest. This Saturday, I bake.
Oh yes, I will bake. In my own kitchen.
*rubs hands together excitedly*
Tomorrow's baking treasures will include the following:
Michelle's intriguing Apple Caramel cookies
My modified Neiman Marcus cookie recipe (yes, I've actually made the cookies from that damn forward)
Some basic, good ol' Nestle Toll House cookies (with added holiday shapes in the bag)
The two recipes not Nestle related---
Chewy Caramel Apple Cookies (by Michelle)
1 cup butter, softened
1 cup packed light brown sugar
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs
3 tbsp apple cider
1-1/2 cup flour
1-1/2 cup quaker quick-cook oats
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 cup packed dried apple rings
30 caramel candies
Unwrap caramels and quarter. Measure out apples-- pack as tightly as possible in measuring cup. Then chop into small bits.
Preheat oven to 350 deg. F.
In mixer, combine butter and sugars and blend until creamed. Add eggs, one at a time, mix gently. Add cider.
In separate bowl, combine flour, soda, salt, and oats. Slowly add to sugar mixture, blending well. Once mixed well, add apples and caramels. Stir until well mixed.
Drop by rounded tablespoon-full onto a non-stick or well-greased cookie sheet. Leave at least one inch between dough balls.
Bake for 15 minutes or until golden. Let set on cookie sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to cooling rack.
-----
Modified "Neiman Marcus" cookie recipe (by Measi)
** note-- this makes a ton of cookies. If not making for a party or a group of male gamer geeks, I highly recommend halving.
2 cups butter, softened
4 cups flour
2 tsp baking soda
2 cups sugar
5 cups Quaker oats, blended
24 oz. chocolate chips
2 cups packed brown sugar
1 tsp salt
4 eggs
2 tsp baking powder
2 tsp vanilla
3 cups chopped nuts (optional)
Preheat oven to 375 deg. F.
Using food processor, blend oats into a fine powder. Set aside in bowl.
Using mixer, combine and cream butter and both sugars. Add eggs and vanilla. Mix together well.
In separate bowl, combine flour, oats, salt, baking soda, and baking powder.
Slowly cobmine sugar mixture with dry ingredients. Mix well at low speed.
Add chocolate chips (and nuts, if desired).
Roll into 1" balls and place on parchment paper-covered cookie sheet (or non-stick). Place balls 2" apart on sheet.
Bake 10 minutes, or until golden. Cool on racks. Makes 80-100 cookies.
----
Anyone else have cookie recipes to share? :)
Oh yes, I will bake. In my own kitchen.
*rubs hands together excitedly*
Tomorrow's baking treasures will include the following:
Michelle's intriguing Apple Caramel cookies
My modified Neiman Marcus cookie recipe (yes, I've actually made the cookies from that damn forward)
Some basic, good ol' Nestle Toll House cookies (with added holiday shapes in the bag)
The two recipes not Nestle related---
Chewy Caramel Apple Cookies (by Michelle)
1 cup butter, softened
1 cup packed light brown sugar
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs
3 tbsp apple cider
1-1/2 cup flour
1-1/2 cup quaker quick-cook oats
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 cup packed dried apple rings
30 caramel candies
Unwrap caramels and quarter. Measure out apples-- pack as tightly as possible in measuring cup. Then chop into small bits.
Preheat oven to 350 deg. F.
In mixer, combine butter and sugars and blend until creamed. Add eggs, one at a time, mix gently. Add cider.
In separate bowl, combine flour, soda, salt, and oats. Slowly add to sugar mixture, blending well. Once mixed well, add apples and caramels. Stir until well mixed.
Drop by rounded tablespoon-full onto a non-stick or well-greased cookie sheet. Leave at least one inch between dough balls.
Bake for 15 minutes or until golden. Let set on cookie sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to cooling rack.
-----
Modified "Neiman Marcus" cookie recipe (by Measi)
** note-- this makes a ton of cookies. If not making for a party or a group of male gamer geeks, I highly recommend halving.
2 cups butter, softened
4 cups flour
2 tsp baking soda
2 cups sugar
5 cups Quaker oats, blended
24 oz. chocolate chips
2 cups packed brown sugar
1 tsp salt
4 eggs
2 tsp baking powder
2 tsp vanilla
3 cups chopped nuts (optional)
Preheat oven to 375 deg. F.
Using food processor, blend oats into a fine powder. Set aside in bowl.
Using mixer, combine and cream butter and both sugars. Add eggs and vanilla. Mix together well.
In separate bowl, combine flour, oats, salt, baking soda, and baking powder.
Slowly cobmine sugar mixture with dry ingredients. Mix well at low speed.
Add chocolate chips (and nuts, if desired).
Roll into 1" balls and place on parchment paper-covered cookie sheet (or non-stick). Place balls 2" apart on sheet.
Bake 10 minutes, or until golden. Cool on racks. Makes 80-100 cookies.
----
Anyone else have cookie recipes to share? :)
Um... goo?
Okay... time to go home. Seriously.
It's THUNDERSNOWING out there.
I'm walking down Boylston Street after an oh-so-good lunch of sushi and lots of miso soup, when this HUGE pink flash goes off. I'm wondering who is taking photos out in this weather, when I hear the boom and ongoing rumble.
Ah, yes. That freak weather event.
Thundersnow.
And now wind that's blowing the snow sideways.
*sigh*
It's THUNDERSNOWING out there.
I'm walking down Boylston Street after an oh-so-good lunch of sushi and lots of miso soup, when this HUGE pink flash goes off. I'm wondering who is taking photos out in this weather, when I hear the boom and ongoing rumble.
Ah, yes. That freak weather event.
Thundersnow.
And now wind that's blowing the snow sideways.
*sigh*
And the world crashes to a halt
Newsflash to New Englanders: You live in a place with snow in the winter. We go through this routine every year. It's not the end of the world when it snows. School doesn't need to be cancelled with three effing inches of snow on the ground, even if the white stuff is coming down.
Drive a little slower, especially when making turns. Use that strange stick off of your steering wheel that creates that clicking noise and the yellow lights... BEFORE you actually start to change lanes ('cause it really doesn't do much good if you're already halfway into mine before you put it on-- I got that you're shoving over at that point, thanks).
And for the love of all that is good and holy, put your damn headlights on. I realize it's a bit much to ask you to brush a couple inches of wet, fresh snow off of your windshields-- because that is simply far too logical.
But dude, seriously. Lights.
And not just the fucking runners. The big white -- or those eye-blinding blue, if you insist - orbs in the front.
Grazie.
-----
My office is fairly abandoned today. I think that most of the schools have closed, so today's attendance is revealing the childless among us. The snow's coming down at a good clip in big gobs of white. It's sloppy. It's wet. It's everything that a pre-Christmas snowstorm should be. Although I have to say, it's actually not too bad right now in Boston. The wind hasn't kicked up yet, so you can walk fairly easily across Back Bay.
I don't expect to be able to repeat this feat this evening, when the wind tunnel effect kicks in and blows people down the slushy sidewalks into the alleys near Back Bay Station. I'm seriously debating altering my route to meet Erich at South Station and hop the #10 bus to Southie 'cause I can pick that up right across the street, rather than walk several blocks.
I'm just hoping that the reports I saw last night don't come true. If it's going to snow, stay as snow. I'd rather be able to at least enjoy the pretty whiteness tomorrow morning as I have coffee next to the Christmas tree, rather than deal with a mess of rainy and icy slush. Pretty please?
Drive a little slower, especially when making turns. Use that strange stick off of your steering wheel that creates that clicking noise and the yellow lights... BEFORE you actually start to change lanes ('cause it really doesn't do much good if you're already halfway into mine before you put it on-- I got that you're shoving over at that point, thanks).
And for the love of all that is good and holy, put your damn headlights on. I realize it's a bit much to ask you to brush a couple inches of wet, fresh snow off of your windshields-- because that is simply far too logical.
But dude, seriously. Lights.
And not just the fucking runners. The big white -- or those eye-blinding blue, if you insist - orbs in the front.
Grazie.
-----
My office is fairly abandoned today. I think that most of the schools have closed, so today's attendance is revealing the childless among us. The snow's coming down at a good clip in big gobs of white. It's sloppy. It's wet. It's everything that a pre-Christmas snowstorm should be. Although I have to say, it's actually not too bad right now in Boston. The wind hasn't kicked up yet, so you can walk fairly easily across Back Bay.
I don't expect to be able to repeat this feat this evening, when the wind tunnel effect kicks in and blows people down the slushy sidewalks into the alleys near Back Bay Station. I'm seriously debating altering my route to meet Erich at South Station and hop the #10 bus to Southie 'cause I can pick that up right across the street, rather than walk several blocks.
I'm just hoping that the reports I saw last night don't come true. If it's going to snow, stay as snow. I'd rather be able to at least enjoy the pretty whiteness tomorrow morning as I have coffee next to the Christmas tree, rather than deal with a mess of rainy and icy slush. Pretty please?
08 December 2005
Cold December Morning
I first woke up this morning before dawn as I heard a weird noise in the neighborhood. Oh, it's Thursday. Recycling truck. Meh. But then I noticed something-- that's all I heard. My brain quickly started processing things as it forced me to physically sit up and take note of my surroundings.
Dead to the world Erich next to me. Check.
Four of five cats sprawled or curled up in various positions on the bed with us. Check.
Early morning radiator sounds? (crickets)
Ahem-- early morning radiator sounds? (still crickets)
Shit. Okay-- did we run out of water in the boiler? Gotta get up, go downstairs to the basement. Fuck it's cold. What time is it, anyway?
Time? Alarm clock's blank.
So's the cable box clock. Oh. Power's out. And it's really fucking cold.
At this point, my body's starting to wake up, so I need to use the bathroom. I practically hop back to the bedroom afterward because the wood floor is painful to my bare feet. Colley, who normally accompanies me anywhere I go, is still the lump of fur on the bed where I left him. The bed, at least, is relatively warm. Especially with a 6'3" tall human male (translation=furnace) and three other cats.
I scoot back into bed and nudge Erich. "Hon, where's your Blackberry?"
"s'downstairs, why?"
"The power's out. You need to set your alarm."
"mmmnnnfffff."
He gets up. He gets the Blackberry. He sets it. We mumble a couple more things. He falls back asleep. I try to, but the residual morning cough from last week's cold decides to stir up. I grab a cough drop, curl my body around Colley, and start dozing.
"Errrrk..." *sounds of things whirring as the furnace kicks in two floors below*
'sabout time
fall back asleep...
It was a slow morning, needless to say. We finally left the house around 8:45. I got to work at 10:30.
Honestly? I'd rather have stayed in bed. Now I'm practically attached to my space heater because I swear it's only 50 degrees in here. Maybe.
I think the problem is that I'm in denial of the whole winter thing right now. I normally enjoy the cold weather. This year, it seems to have hit way too fast, even ignoring the reality that it's December in New England. Despite the cold at night, I refuse to wear long PJ pants to bed. So by around 4 a.m., once Colley has taken over the middle of the bed and the comforter is all skewed so that my ass is barely covered by only the thin bedsheet, I'm freezing. (if only it implied that my ass would actually fall off, I probably wouldn't mind so much!)
How many more months of this weather before I can bitch about heat and humidity again? ;)
Dead to the world Erich next to me. Check.
Four of five cats sprawled or curled up in various positions on the bed with us. Check.
Early morning radiator sounds? (crickets)
Ahem-- early morning radiator sounds? (still crickets)
Shit. Okay-- did we run out of water in the boiler? Gotta get up, go downstairs to the basement. Fuck it's cold. What time is it, anyway?
Time? Alarm clock's blank.
So's the cable box clock. Oh. Power's out. And it's really fucking cold.
At this point, my body's starting to wake up, so I need to use the bathroom. I practically hop back to the bedroom afterward because the wood floor is painful to my bare feet. Colley, who normally accompanies me anywhere I go, is still the lump of fur on the bed where I left him. The bed, at least, is relatively warm. Especially with a 6'3" tall human male (translation=furnace) and three other cats.
I scoot back into bed and nudge Erich. "Hon, where's your Blackberry?"
"s'downstairs, why?"
"The power's out. You need to set your alarm."
"mmmnnnfffff."
He gets up. He gets the Blackberry. He sets it. We mumble a couple more things. He falls back asleep. I try to, but the residual morning cough from last week's cold decides to stir up. I grab a cough drop, curl my body around Colley, and start dozing.
"Errrrk..." *sounds of things whirring as the furnace kicks in two floors below*
'sabout time
fall back asleep...
It was a slow morning, needless to say. We finally left the house around 8:45. I got to work at 10:30.
Honestly? I'd rather have stayed in bed. Now I'm practically attached to my space heater because I swear it's only 50 degrees in here. Maybe.
I think the problem is that I'm in denial of the whole winter thing right now. I normally enjoy the cold weather. This year, it seems to have hit way too fast, even ignoring the reality that it's December in New England. Despite the cold at night, I refuse to wear long PJ pants to bed. So by around 4 a.m., once Colley has taken over the middle of the bed and the comforter is all skewed so that my ass is barely covered by only the thin bedsheet, I'm freezing. (if only it implied that my ass would actually fall off, I probably wouldn't mind so much!)
How many more months of this weather before I can bitch about heat and humidity again? ;)
07 December 2005
Drowning in Rivers of Satin
Growing up, I had the typical girly-girl dreams of marriage in a church, a long flowing train behind me, with all of my family and friends beaming as I walked up the aisle in some completely poufy, princessy dress. Somewhere along the way, I'm sure I also dreamed that flowers would sprout from the imprints of every footstep, and fairy godmother-like billows of glittery love would spread out during the wedding, too.
To sum up, I seemed to want a Barbie doll wedding.
And that's rather odd, considering I never was big on Barbie dolls as a kid. Poofy dresses however, I craved. If my parents would have allowed it, I guarantee I would have been wearing 50's era circle skirts complete with criolines to school every day. As it was, I was able to get out of the house wearing them fairly often. :)
So when it came to dreaming of a wedding dress, something completely utterly (insert swoon) romantic would be the only thing that would do, right?
Well, fast forward about twenty years, and the entire concept of wedding dress hunting has become a nightmare. I no longer have the slender, dancer’s figure that I did in high school. I’ve definitely swerved from girly-girl to tomboy. I avoid almost all things frilly, glittery, and most of all… pink. I swear that Cinderella's evil stepmother is physically in the dressing rooms, ready to cackle and condemn me-- only me, for both my size and horrible appearance in a wedding gown. Nightmare in White Satin-- that's sure to be me, once I get a dress. Whomever goes to a fitting with me is sure to have her eyes burned out of her sockets by the horror of the vision in front of them.
My friends, being the wonderfully patient women that they are, insist that I’m over-reacting, attempting to calm me down while at least visibly resisting the urge to roll their eyes at my frenzy. A couple of them offer to go with me, especially after early signs of my mom becoming Motherzilla-of-bride this summer.
I was fully prepared to be calling them in a panic this spring because omigoditsonlysixmonthsawayandidonthaveadress would be setting in.
But then the first dress sampling came with no fanfare. We walked right into a salon, no appointment, completely out of the blue, last Friday. We did this while we were on a hunt for shoes for my mother for her holiday party. The store next door to the dress salon was a specialized shoe store, and my mom wanted to “just pop in” to the dress shop “since we were there.”
It was quiet, being around 11 a.m. on a Friday. The woman working at the shop was quite welcoming and not at all pushy. They had a limited number of plus-sized dresses. Everything was sold off the rack there, so it was a “what you see is what you get,” plus alterations as needed.
The largest dress they had was a size 24. The woman also recommended trying on a size 22. This surprised me because everything I’ve read about wedding gowns suggested that they tend to run small, and I wear a 24 or 26 in street clothes. The dresses that were available were all in their protective bags, so we eliminated gowns by the decoration on the bodices to start. We came up with two to try.
And almost immediately, I groaned as I went into the dressing room—because this just HAD to be the day that I was wearing my comfy slack-off day leopard-print mesh underwear. JUST what I want to be showing off to my mother and some complete stranger as they help me step into wedding dresses.
Ugh.
Ah well, suck it up and deal. It wasn’t like I was wearing the right kind of bra for this, either. It was a basic utilitarian white day.
The first dress was the size 22. It was very pretty and light fabric, which I was specifically looking for. It was a straight-cut neckline with tiny spaghetti straps, champagne colored, and elegantly beaded all over the bodice. The a-line skirt and train were plain. The train was designed to bustle nicely in back.
My mom helped me into the dress—I was surprised just how much help was needed to get into it. But it closed! A Size 22! And it wasn’t pulling! Mentally I was bouncing and screaming in glee that a 22 was fitting. Because THAT meant I had some size room for dresses, and I wasn’t doomed be trying on sizes 28 or 30, as I was lead by the bridal magazines to believe would be happening.
The dress now on, I tiptoed, dress hem lifted in hands, over to the alteration area and up on a dias. Mirrors surrounded me. And there I was, standing in my first wedding dress ever, looking in the mirror at the reality of what was coming up in my life for the first time, my mom beaming as she helped adjust the train to trellis down the stair.
Holy shit, this is weird.
And I really, really liked the dress. I’ll put it on just a smidge off of feeling like a princess. It fit quite well, too—in my incorrect undergarments for the special occasion, only a few spots would need tucks and alterations. Nothing needed to be let out. It was all taking in. The sales clerk gave me some ideas on how they could alter it, including adjusting the back if I preferred to have a ribbon lattice look, but did declare that it was fitting quite well for a first try, especially for wearing an everyday bra.
My mom loved it, too.
But I resisted the urge to do “THIS ONE!” immediately, given it was the very first dress I’d tried, AND we hadn’t checked out the reputation of the salon or their policies.
I went back to the dressing room to try on the second dress.
To sum up the second, it didn’t fit well at all—the fabric was heavy and sat on me even heavier. The cut hit me wrong. Although for the first time in years, I felt very tiny in the boob department—whomever this dress was cut for must be a fat chick porn star who’d gone over to Europe for the huge implants—because the bustline was easily four times the size of mine. That, or it was designed for me to rest one of our cats during the wedding ceremony. Because… damn. It had to be somewhere in the M-range for cup size.
That is about all that should be noted about that second dress.
So back to the first dress…. ;)
Last night, I talked to Mom briefly just to catch up on things from the weekend after she left, thank her again for all that she did for us for the house, and share some amusing stories about the combination of a Christmas tree and four month old kittens.
I mention to her that I did really like that dress. She gushed about it over the phone. But then I said "But I don't want to rush into it too quickly. I mean, it's the first one that I tried on..."
She replied, "Well, you bought the first house you saw, didn't you?"
She does have a point...
;)
To sum up, I seemed to want a Barbie doll wedding.
And that's rather odd, considering I never was big on Barbie dolls as a kid. Poofy dresses however, I craved. If my parents would have allowed it, I guarantee I would have been wearing 50's era circle skirts complete with criolines to school every day. As it was, I was able to get out of the house wearing them fairly often. :)
So when it came to dreaming of a wedding dress, something completely utterly (insert swoon) romantic would be the only thing that would do, right?
Well, fast forward about twenty years, and the entire concept of wedding dress hunting has become a nightmare. I no longer have the slender, dancer’s figure that I did in high school. I’ve definitely swerved from girly-girl to tomboy. I avoid almost all things frilly, glittery, and most of all… pink. I swear that Cinderella's evil stepmother is physically in the dressing rooms, ready to cackle and condemn me-- only me, for both my size and horrible appearance in a wedding gown. Nightmare in White Satin-- that's sure to be me, once I get a dress. Whomever goes to a fitting with me is sure to have her eyes burned out of her sockets by the horror of the vision in front of them.
My friends, being the wonderfully patient women that they are, insist that I’m over-reacting, attempting to calm me down while at least visibly resisting the urge to roll their eyes at my frenzy. A couple of them offer to go with me, especially after early signs of my mom becoming Motherzilla-of-bride this summer.
I was fully prepared to be calling them in a panic this spring because omigoditsonlysixmonthsawayandidonthaveadress would be setting in.
But then the first dress sampling came with no fanfare. We walked right into a salon, no appointment, completely out of the blue, last Friday. We did this while we were on a hunt for shoes for my mother for her holiday party. The store next door to the dress salon was a specialized shoe store, and my mom wanted to “just pop in” to the dress shop “since we were there.”
It was quiet, being around 11 a.m. on a Friday. The woman working at the shop was quite welcoming and not at all pushy. They had a limited number of plus-sized dresses. Everything was sold off the rack there, so it was a “what you see is what you get,” plus alterations as needed.
The largest dress they had was a size 24. The woman also recommended trying on a size 22. This surprised me because everything I’ve read about wedding gowns suggested that they tend to run small, and I wear a 24 or 26 in street clothes. The dresses that were available were all in their protective bags, so we eliminated gowns by the decoration on the bodices to start. We came up with two to try.
And almost immediately, I groaned as I went into the dressing room—because this just HAD to be the day that I was wearing my comfy slack-off day leopard-print mesh underwear. JUST what I want to be showing off to my mother and some complete stranger as they help me step into wedding dresses.
Ugh.
Ah well, suck it up and deal. It wasn’t like I was wearing the right kind of bra for this, either. It was a basic utilitarian white day.
The first dress was the size 22. It was very pretty and light fabric, which I was specifically looking for. It was a straight-cut neckline with tiny spaghetti straps, champagne colored, and elegantly beaded all over the bodice. The a-line skirt and train were plain. The train was designed to bustle nicely in back.
My mom helped me into the dress—I was surprised just how much help was needed to get into it. But it closed! A Size 22! And it wasn’t pulling! Mentally I was bouncing and screaming in glee that a 22 was fitting. Because THAT meant I had some size room for dresses, and I wasn’t doomed be trying on sizes 28 or 30, as I was lead by the bridal magazines to believe would be happening.
The dress now on, I tiptoed, dress hem lifted in hands, over to the alteration area and up on a dias. Mirrors surrounded me. And there I was, standing in my first wedding dress ever, looking in the mirror at the reality of what was coming up in my life for the first time, my mom beaming as she helped adjust the train to trellis down the stair.
Holy shit, this is weird.
And I really, really liked the dress. I’ll put it on just a smidge off of feeling like a princess. It fit quite well, too—in my incorrect undergarments for the special occasion, only a few spots would need tucks and alterations. Nothing needed to be let out. It was all taking in. The sales clerk gave me some ideas on how they could alter it, including adjusting the back if I preferred to have a ribbon lattice look, but did declare that it was fitting quite well for a first try, especially for wearing an everyday bra.
My mom loved it, too.
But I resisted the urge to do “THIS ONE!” immediately, given it was the very first dress I’d tried, AND we hadn’t checked out the reputation of the salon or their policies.
I went back to the dressing room to try on the second dress.
To sum up the second, it didn’t fit well at all—the fabric was heavy and sat on me even heavier. The cut hit me wrong. Although for the first time in years, I felt very tiny in the boob department—whomever this dress was cut for must be a fat chick porn star who’d gone over to Europe for the huge implants—because the bustline was easily four times the size of mine. That, or it was designed for me to rest one of our cats during the wedding ceremony. Because… damn. It had to be somewhere in the M-range for cup size.
That is about all that should be noted about that second dress.
So back to the first dress…. ;)
Last night, I talked to Mom briefly just to catch up on things from the weekend after she left, thank her again for all that she did for us for the house, and share some amusing stories about the combination of a Christmas tree and four month old kittens.
I mention to her that I did really like that dress. She gushed about it over the phone. But then I said "But I don't want to rush into it too quickly. I mean, it's the first one that I tried on..."
She replied, "Well, you bought the first house you saw, didn't you?"
She does have a point...
;)
Holidailies commences
It's December 7th, which this year marks the beginning of the Holidailies season. There might be some strange entry writing here, but I'll be forcing myself to write every day... hopefully multiple times every day... for the next month. :)
Since it is the beginning of Holidailies, and I've also met several new people online in the past several months, I'll start this year's challenge by simply reintroducing myself. Whatever bio is linked to my journal probably hasn't been updated for years at this point, and well... it's been a life-changing year.
Those who know me, stop snorting due to obvious-ness of that statement.
Anyway... hi, how are ya? :) My name's Melissa. I normally go by Mel, or by my childhood nickname-turned-online handle, Measi. I'm 30. I’ve been blogging online for just shy of five years now, and I literally write about everything and anything here—so if you pop by every day, you’ll find completely random topics to read about.
I'm engaged to a wonderful man named Erich. We're coming up on a year of engagement next month and are just starting the wedding plans. (we're shooting for next October, but we haven't finalized a date yet). Erich and I bought our first house this year, moved in at the end of June, and now are adjusting to life as homeowners , long distance commuters, and that odd sense of settling down into that life that we saw our parents living, but didn't think we'd ever quite reach.
We live in Providence, Rhode Island, having escaped Massachusetts and the frightening housing market that exists there. Rhode Island, being the smallest state in the United States, also has the longest official name: State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. I have not yet seen any evidence of plantations in Providence. Perhaps, though, my idea of great southern mansions isn’t quite what they mean by “plantation.” In any case, I like it here. It’s a very small state—only a bit more than 30 by 40 miles. But because of its location, it’s a huge melting pot of generations, cultures, and economic classes. Diversity is good. Erich and I both still commute to our jobs in Boston, however, so in many ways, we still haven’t left Massachusetts.
We're owned by five... yes, five... cats. Numbers four and five joined us this past September, and we recognize that we’ve finally reached official “Crazy Cat People” status. You’ll see entries about them throughout the month, but to sum up, we have Colley, Fizzy, Gus, Noby, and Elly.
My hobbies include writing (blogging, stories, penpal letters, etc.), reading, cross-stitch, computer games, and movies. Both Erich and I are bonafide geeks—we play Dungeons & Dragons every month. We go to Renaissance Fairs in period garb. Occasionally, we hit the fandom convention circuit.
So that’s me in a nutshell. Welcome into my little corner of the internet. I love to hear from anyone who’s reading, so please drop a line in my comments to say hi or drop me an email! And please let me know if there’s a topic you’d love to have me write about over the month, whether holiday-related or not. With few exceptions, I’m up for anything!
Best,
Mel
Since it is the beginning of Holidailies, and I've also met several new people online in the past several months, I'll start this year's challenge by simply reintroducing myself. Whatever bio is linked to my journal probably hasn't been updated for years at this point, and well... it's been a life-changing year.
Those who know me, stop snorting due to obvious-ness of that statement.
Anyway... hi, how are ya? :) My name's Melissa. I normally go by Mel, or by my childhood nickname-turned-online handle, Measi. I'm 30. I’ve been blogging online for just shy of five years now, and I literally write about everything and anything here—so if you pop by every day, you’ll find completely random topics to read about.
I'm engaged to a wonderful man named Erich. We're coming up on a year of engagement next month and are just starting the wedding plans. (we're shooting for next October, but we haven't finalized a date yet). Erich and I bought our first house this year, moved in at the end of June, and now are adjusting to life as homeowners , long distance commuters, and that odd sense of settling down into that life that we saw our parents living, but didn't think we'd ever quite reach.
We live in Providence, Rhode Island, having escaped Massachusetts and the frightening housing market that exists there. Rhode Island, being the smallest state in the United States, also has the longest official name: State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. I have not yet seen any evidence of plantations in Providence. Perhaps, though, my idea of great southern mansions isn’t quite what they mean by “plantation.” In any case, I like it here. It’s a very small state—only a bit more than 30 by 40 miles. But because of its location, it’s a huge melting pot of generations, cultures, and economic classes. Diversity is good. Erich and I both still commute to our jobs in Boston, however, so in many ways, we still haven’t left Massachusetts.
We're owned by five... yes, five... cats. Numbers four and five joined us this past September, and we recognize that we’ve finally reached official “Crazy Cat People” status. You’ll see entries about them throughout the month, but to sum up, we have Colley, Fizzy, Gus, Noby, and Elly.
My hobbies include writing (blogging, stories, penpal letters, etc.), reading, cross-stitch, computer games, and movies. Both Erich and I are bonafide geeks—we play Dungeons & Dragons every month. We go to Renaissance Fairs in period garb. Occasionally, we hit the fandom convention circuit.
So that’s me in a nutshell. Welcome into my little corner of the internet. I love to hear from anyone who’s reading, so please drop a line in my comments to say hi or drop me an email! And please let me know if there’s a topic you’d love to have me write about over the month, whether holiday-related or not. With few exceptions, I’m up for anything!
Best,
Mel
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