To Break the Unbreakable Plate!
We learned something new. A Corelle plate, if it lands just so, won't break. It explodes into a thousand razor sharp pieces. We're still finding them....
Take a walk on the Park walk
13 minutes ago
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Real Desperate Housewives
What is the appeal of ABC’s Desperate Housewives? Could it be that it has nothing to do with real desperate housewives? They way I look at it, there are two groups of desperate housewives. A) Those who problems are so profoundly sad and/or dangerous they could in no way be incorporated into fluffy entertainment. B) Those whose desperation is already being touched on by sitcoms.
The wives on Wysteria Lane are so different, so unreal, so.....entertaining. (“Wysteria Lane” is the archetypal Hollywood neighborhood street. You can make a little game of naming all the shows and movies that you’ve seen it in. And I think there is a reason that they haven’t tried to disguise it. Oh, and I’m sure one of the houses was once lived in by Beaver Cleaver. So poetic....) Their desperation is very unlike mine. No one is wandering with the beginnings of a head cold that just won’t get on with it. None of these ladies has a head so stuffy that she thought the priest was speaking in Latin at Mass when he most certainly wasn’t; their angst isn’t symbolized by the loose and poorly laid kitchen tiles; their terror isn’t caused by hearing the strange scratchings of what may be a rodent moving in for the winter; their shock and disappointment with their children is not proven by a boy taking his coat off at church to reveal a “Sponge Bob Party Pants” T-shirt. I guess I’ll keep my desperation and bide my time until Arrested Development is back on. *
*This week also included some sort of swipe at homeschooling, but I didn’t catch if it was nasty, funny, nasty-funny. I dozed in and out of most of the show in a drug induced haze...just trying to clear my head for the week ahead. It didn’t help. And I was really off guard when a fight broke out between the boys during a spirited game of Riskopoly. Don’t ask how to play Riskopoly......it involves mixing the pieces of Risk and Monopoly. Rules? Who knows. But it appears to end with shouting, maternal palpitations and one child (winner? loser?) locking his bedroom door while the other pounds and yells, “It’s my room, too.”
What is the appeal of ABC’s Desperate Housewives? Could it be that it has nothing to do with real desperate housewives? They way I look at it, there are two groups of desperate housewives. A) Those who problems are so profoundly sad and/or dangerous they could in no way be incorporated into fluffy entertainment. B) Those whose desperation is already being touched on by sitcoms.
The wives on Wysteria Lane are so different, so unreal, so.....entertaining. (“Wysteria Lane” is the archetypal Hollywood neighborhood street. You can make a little game of naming all the shows and movies that you’ve seen it in. And I think there is a reason that they haven’t tried to disguise it. Oh, and I’m sure one of the houses was once lived in by Beaver Cleaver. So poetic....) Their desperation is very unlike mine. No one is wandering with the beginnings of a head cold that just won’t get on with it. None of these ladies has a head so stuffy that she thought the priest was speaking in Latin at Mass when he most certainly wasn’t; their angst isn’t symbolized by the loose and poorly laid kitchen tiles; their terror isn’t caused by hearing the strange scratchings of what may be a rodent moving in for the winter; their shock and disappointment with their children is not proven by a boy taking his coat off at church to reveal a “Sponge Bob Party Pants” T-shirt. I guess I’ll keep my desperation and bide my time until Arrested Development is back on. *
*This week also included some sort of swipe at homeschooling, but I didn’t catch if it was nasty, funny, nasty-funny. I dozed in and out of most of the show in a drug induced haze...just trying to clear my head for the week ahead. It didn’t help. And I was really off guard when a fight broke out between the boys during a spirited game of Riskopoly. Don’t ask how to play Riskopoly......it involves mixing the pieces of Risk and Monopoly. Rules? Who knows. But it appears to end with shouting, maternal palpitations and one child (winner? loser?) locking his bedroom door while the other pounds and yells, “It’s my room, too.”
Friday, October 15, 2004
It's Friday......let's hit the road!
Where are you on the highway of life?
From Go-Quiz.com
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From Go-Quiz.com
Language Lesson...
that the kids were best off missing. (It made the beagle howl, so it must have been good!) Was trying to steal a few last winks in the rainy darkness. My sweet half-sleep was disturbed by a loud exchange coming from the apartments next door. It was a little early for the kids to queuing up for the 6:30am high school bus, so I suppose these were freelance adults talking. I could have sworn that the one fellow had been given the assignment to use F**K in every way possible - noun, verb, adverb, adjective. I was torn between throwing open the window and yelling, “you forgot will be f**king,” or using my active listening skills and cheerfully calling out, “I’m hearing a lot of anger here.”
Once the dogs were riled up there was no point in trying to wring some relaxation out of the 7 minutes left before the alarm went off. Can’t wait for the end of daylight saving time so we can be back to a lighter morn. Then these tirades won’t be quite so annoying. Or I’ll be annoyed, but the light will have me awake so I can brace myself.
that the kids were best off missing. (It made the beagle howl, so it must have been good!) Was trying to steal a few last winks in the rainy darkness. My sweet half-sleep was disturbed by a loud exchange coming from the apartments next door. It was a little early for the kids to queuing up for the 6:30am high school bus, so I suppose these were freelance adults talking. I could have sworn that the one fellow had been given the assignment to use F**K in every way possible - noun, verb, adverb, adjective. I was torn between throwing open the window and yelling, “you forgot will be f**king,” or using my active listening skills and cheerfully calling out, “I’m hearing a lot of anger here.”
Once the dogs were riled up there was no point in trying to wring some relaxation out of the 7 minutes left before the alarm went off. Can’t wait for the end of daylight saving time so we can be back to a lighter morn. Then these tirades won’t be quite so annoying. Or I’ll be annoyed, but the light will have me awake so I can brace myself.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Please select the topic that best describes your message.
INDIGNANT was not available. So I chose INFLUENZA.
Alicia links to the CDC’s misguided advice for nursing mothers with flu.
INDIGNANT was not available. So I chose INFLUENZA.
Alicia links to the CDC’s misguided advice for nursing mothers with flu.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Were those customers parents?
Customers who bought this item also bought these items: What Are YOU So Grumpy About?
When I was a second grade aide last year there was an incident in which a parent took extreme umbrage with a teacher’s decision to disallow the oral reporting upon Walter the Farting Dog. The teacher held her ground. Some words were just not to be said in a classroom situation.
I would not dispute that there is some whimsy in a dog’s flatulence problem. (Well, there was Sarge, my sister’s late bulldog who could clear a room without making a sound. Sort of funny. Bordering on painful. But I would not memorialize him in a children’s book.) And we all know what will happen if Scrappy or Bess con us out of some peas or broccoli.
But there are some words we don’t say in polite company. I was amazed to see Walter promoted in a full-page ad for Marshall Field’s Children’s Reading Event. Marshall Field’s, Chicago’s own august State Street institution. A store that in my not-so-distant childhood would rather use the phrase ‘special selling’ instead of the more pedestrian ‘sale.’ And now they use the word FART in their advertising.
Customers who bought this item also bought these items: What Are YOU So Grumpy About?
When I was a second grade aide last year there was an incident in which a parent took extreme umbrage with a teacher’s decision to disallow the oral reporting upon Walter the Farting Dog. The teacher held her ground. Some words were just not to be said in a classroom situation.
I would not dispute that there is some whimsy in a dog’s flatulence problem. (Well, there was Sarge, my sister’s late bulldog who could clear a room without making a sound. Sort of funny. Bordering on painful. But I would not memorialize him in a children’s book.) And we all know what will happen if Scrappy or Bess con us out of some peas or broccoli.
But there are some words we don’t say in polite company. I was amazed to see Walter promoted in a full-page ad for Marshall Field’s Children’s Reading Event. Marshall Field’s, Chicago’s own august State Street institution. A store that in my not-so-distant childhood would rather use the phrase ‘special selling’ instead of the more pedestrian ‘sale.’ And now they use the word FART in their advertising.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Ouch! This chafes...
Note to Embot: If you agree, feel free to call me. Just go directly into voicemail so I don't bite your head off, OK?
You are starch. You are rigid, opinionated,
hard-willed and not too friendly about it. You
keep people out of places, or you keep them in,
and without you a lot of things would collapse.
hopefully you'll never have the authority to
burn people at the stake. Sir. Ma'am.
Which Biological Molecule Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Link via Flos Carmeli.
Note to Embot: If you agree, feel free to call me. Just go directly into voicemail so I don't bite your head off, OK?
You are starch. You are rigid, opinionated,
hard-willed and not too friendly about it. You
keep people out of places, or you keep them in,
and without you a lot of things would collapse.
hopefully you'll never have the authority to
burn people at the stake. Sir. Ma'am.
Which Biological Molecule Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Link via Flos Carmeli.
Monday, October 11, 2004
While Martha is out....
it behooves the rest of us to keep up the flow of domesticity. My contribution? 1) Re-arrange your furniture for Christmas. Now. I moved the sofa to discourage the dogs from using it as a lookout perch/nap venue. I may not be able to stop those naps, but that’s the end of three wacky dogs standing on the sofa and howling at passersby, squirrels etc. Of course, one thing led to another and before I knew it I was taking down all the things on the wall and dusting and washing everything. With the exception of the hutch and secretary, which are too heavy to be moved - period - I rearranged and cleaned everything in the living room. The first few people to pass through the room (including the hapless and everhelpful Charles who wound up hefting furniture) were told that it was better that I do it now rather than under duress while the Christmas tree waits on the front porch. When Embot showed up to join us for dinner and asked if I was getting ready for Christmas, I wasn’t laughing. Coming from someone else, it sounded, well, demented.
2) When hosting a debate party, provide your guests with a big basket of Beanie Babies to toss at the tube. This one is from my sister, who had a bunch of friends over on Friday night, and decided that Beanie Babies would be a civilized outlet for their anti-Republican energies. I’m glad I don’t attend these functions. I’d be tossing alone and with my luck I’d get the Baby with some sort of hard plastic appendage that would actually fracture the TV screen, making me some sort of double-stinky cheese.
This could also be applicable to sporting events. I don’t like football at all, so I could toss Babies with all sides. Fun.
it behooves the rest of us to keep up the flow of domesticity. My contribution? 1) Re-arrange your furniture for Christmas. Now. I moved the sofa to discourage the dogs from using it as a lookout perch/nap venue. I may not be able to stop those naps, but that’s the end of three wacky dogs standing on the sofa and howling at passersby, squirrels etc. Of course, one thing led to another and before I knew it I was taking down all the things on the wall and dusting and washing everything. With the exception of the hutch and secretary, which are too heavy to be moved - period - I rearranged and cleaned everything in the living room. The first few people to pass through the room (including the hapless and everhelpful Charles who wound up hefting furniture) were told that it was better that I do it now rather than under duress while the Christmas tree waits on the front porch. When Embot showed up to join us for dinner and asked if I was getting ready for Christmas, I wasn’t laughing. Coming from someone else, it sounded, well, demented.
2) When hosting a debate party, provide your guests with a big basket of Beanie Babies to toss at the tube. This one is from my sister, who had a bunch of friends over on Friday night, and decided that Beanie Babies would be a civilized outlet for their anti-Republican energies. I’m glad I don’t attend these functions. I’d be tossing alone and with my luck I’d get the Baby with some sort of hard plastic appendage that would actually fracture the TV screen, making me some sort of double-stinky cheese.
This could also be applicable to sporting events. I don’t like football at all, so I could toss Babies with all sides. Fun.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Hello Kitty. Good-bye, money.
Joanne Jacobs on the Hello Kitty Debit Card.
Another sign of the end times.
Destiny’s Supersize Child
Here’s the really disturbing part....
”We believe this appeals to kids, and when kids are happy Mom is happy,"said Larry Light, the hamburger chain's global chief marketing officer, in an interview following a press conference to announce the endorsement. “
Kids? If you are young enough to want a Happy Meal, you shouldn’t be a Destiny’s Child fan. I don’t think there Destiny’s Child fans. But that’s just one lady’s aesthetic opinion.
Here’s the really disturbing part....
”We believe this appeals to kids, and when kids are happy Mom is happy,"said Larry Light, the hamburger chain's global chief marketing officer, in an interview following a press conference to announce the endorsement. “
Kids? If you are young enough to want a Happy Meal, you shouldn’t be a Destiny’s Child fan. I don’t think there Destiny’s Child fans. But that’s just one lady’s aesthetic opinion.
Who'll go first? Mt. St. Helen's or Mt. Mrs. Ellyn?
Just one of those weeks....Or maybe it's just allergies. One more good frost and the pounding in my head will stop. And the ornamental cabbages are looking marvelous.
From Go-Quiz.com
Just one of those weeks....Or maybe it's just allergies. One more good frost and the pounding in my head will stop. And the ornamental cabbages are looking marvelous.
| Ellyn may explode without warning |
| M EXPLOSIVE |
From Go-Quiz.com
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
|
Blogging Degree
From Go-Quiz.com
Link via Sleepy Mommy Peony.
I've reduced the size of the worm picture...
but another worm takes up residence.for the sake of the more delicate reader. It did not go over too well with the family, either. I must admit to a bit of passive-agressive behavior on my part. The family was grousing about an IMac undergoing work on the dining room table. The work - a charitable concern, pater reminded us - was not finished when our light supper was ready so we just ate around it. I was becoming increasingly annoyed with the complaining about the Mac's presence, since those complaining were not those who were intending to sup with the family.* And I became bored with the computer chatter among the males and their hope that I would be enthused at the ethernet connection of the ailing computer. So I said to Rick, "Now that you're wireless, maybe you'd want to take a look at my blog." I'm not sure if he did see it, since he asked me what was new with the blog and I did blurt out a preemptory discussion of heartworms as a metaphor for sin. Oh, well, one more worm for me to deal with.
*Thanks for the memories, kids. We were allowed to read, work crossword puzzles, etc. at breakfast and lunch. Books, magazines, refernce works would pile up. And then the person who felt outnumbered would make a comment along the lines of, "what is this, the Chrisitian Science Reading Room?"
but another worm takes up residence.for the sake of the more delicate reader. It did not go over too well with the family, either. I must admit to a bit of passive-agressive behavior on my part. The family was grousing about an IMac undergoing work on the dining room table. The work - a charitable concern, pater reminded us - was not finished when our light supper was ready so we just ate around it. I was becoming increasingly annoyed with the complaining about the Mac's presence, since those complaining were not those who were intending to sup with the family.* And I became bored with the computer chatter among the males and their hope that I would be enthused at the ethernet connection of the ailing computer. So I said to Rick, "Now that you're wireless, maybe you'd want to take a look at my blog." I'm not sure if he did see it, since he asked me what was new with the blog and I did blurt out a preemptory discussion of heartworms as a metaphor for sin. Oh, well, one more worm for me to deal with.
*Thanks for the memories, kids. We were allowed to read, work crossword puzzles, etc. at breakfast and lunch. Books, magazines, refernce works would pile up. And then the person who felt outnumbered would make a comment along the lines of, "what is this, the Chrisitian Science Reading Room?"
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
And neither do souls....
Arteries do not do well having worms living inside them.
When over 50 worms are present, the ventricle is full and the atrium, the chamber receiving blood from the rest of the body, begins to contain worms. When over 100 worms are present, the entire right side of the heart is filled with worms and there is very little room for any blood to be pumped. This drastic phenomenon is called "Caval Syndrome" and most dogs do not survive it. As they grow they restrict blood flow in the heart and can cause permanent heart damage.
The front office of the veterinary clinic where our Franny works has an assortment of educational pictures to inform us of the dangers of parasites. (As if I had forgotten the tape worms in jar from my high school bio days...) The image that grosses me out the most is the heart infested with heartworms. (Sorry I couldn’t figure out a way to link to the image so that viewing it is optional. Maybe I’ll remove it in a few days.)
The last time I went to confession I was searching for an apt description for the multitude of small sins that had built up and were hindering my spiritual health. So I blurted out that my soul was like the heart pictured above. (Lucky for my confessor, I didn’t have a HeartGard brochure to pull out of my pocket. Luckily for me, my confessor is very understanding of my use of metaphor.) I may look ok from the outside, but my soul was clogged with ‘worms.’ Unlike a poor puppy, all I needed to do to remove the worms was name them and ask forgiveness. Confession: HeartGard for the human soul!
Arteries do not do well having worms living inside them.
When over 50 worms are present, the ventricle is full and the atrium, the chamber receiving blood from the rest of the body, begins to contain worms. When over 100 worms are present, the entire right side of the heart is filled with worms and there is very little room for any blood to be pumped. This drastic phenomenon is called "Caval Syndrome" and most dogs do not survive it. As they grow they restrict blood flow in the heart and can cause permanent heart damage.
The front office of the veterinary clinic where our Franny works has an assortment of educational pictures to inform us of the dangers of parasites. (As if I had forgotten the tape worms in jar from my high school bio days...) The image that grosses me out the most is the heart infested with heartworms. (Sorry I couldn’t figure out a way to link to the image so that viewing it is optional. Maybe I’ll remove it in a few days.)
The last time I went to confession I was searching for an apt description for the multitude of small sins that had built up and were hindering my spiritual health. So I blurted out that my soul was like the heart pictured above. (Lucky for my confessor, I didn’t have a HeartGard brochure to pull out of my pocket. Luckily for me, my confessor is very understanding of my use of metaphor.) I may look ok from the outside, but my soul was clogged with ‘worms.’ Unlike a poor puppy, all I needed to do to remove the worms was name them and ask forgiveness. Confession: HeartGard for the human soul!
Monday, October 04, 2004
Anybody else....
creeped out by those Burger King commercials with the guy who wakes up with the big plastic King in his bed? The King looks familiar. Was he once ubiquitous, in the manner of Ronald McDonald, or am I just creating false repressed memories?
creeped out by those Burger King commercials with the guy who wakes up with the big plastic King in his bed? The King looks familiar. Was he once ubiquitous, in the manner of Ronald McDonald, or am I just creating false repressed memories?
If I Were a Bride...
Another reason I wouldn’t have that maudlin Billy Joel Just the Way You Are as my first dance. (I think it should be banned altogether. But that’s just my opinion. I just think it is about as deep as that I Love You song that Barney sings. And at least Barney isn’t going through wives faster than we get new cars. Unless his agent is just keeping it all hush-hush.)
Another reason I wouldn’t have that maudlin Billy Joel Just the Way You Are as my first dance. (I think it should be banned altogether. But that’s just my opinion. I just think it is about as deep as that I Love You song that Barney sings. And at least Barney isn’t going through wives faster than we get new cars. Unless his agent is just keeping it all hush-hush.)
Thursday, September 30, 2004
'Cause you can feel it in your olfactory
There is an ad on TV that prattles about scent being the strongest sense tied to memory. Unfortunately it isn’t an ad for Skunk-Be-Gone. So.....today’s science question will be, “What’s the deal with the skunks around here?”
“Do we have more skunks than usual this year? Are we more vulnerable to the dead skunk syndrome because of our location between two state highways, which would make our skunks statistically prone to being ‘unlucky’?”
And for music enrichment, let’s learn a favorite from mater’s highschool days...
Crossin' the highway late last night,
He shoulda looked left and he shoulda looked right,
He didn't see the station wagon, car,
The skunk got squashed and there you are!
(Chorus)
You got yer
Dead skunk in the middle of the road,
Dead skunk in the middle of the road,
Dead skunk in the middle of the road,
Stinkin' to high heaven!
Take a whiff on me that ain't no rose!
Roll up yer window and hold yer nose,
You don't have to look and you don't have to see,
'Cause you can feel it in your olfactory
There is an ad on TV that prattles about scent being the strongest sense tied to memory. Unfortunately it isn’t an ad for Skunk-Be-Gone. So.....today’s science question will be, “What’s the deal with the skunks around here?”
“Do we have more skunks than usual this year? Are we more vulnerable to the dead skunk syndrome because of our location between two state highways, which would make our skunks statistically prone to being ‘unlucky’?”
And for music enrichment, let’s learn a favorite from mater’s highschool days...
Crossin' the highway late last night,
He shoulda looked left and he shoulda looked right,
He didn't see the station wagon, car,
The skunk got squashed and there you are!
(Chorus)
You got yer
Dead skunk in the middle of the road,
Dead skunk in the middle of the road,
Dead skunk in the middle of the road,
Stinkin' to high heaven!
Take a whiff on me that ain't no rose!
Roll up yer window and hold yer nose,
You don't have to look and you don't have to see,
'Cause you can feel it in your olfactory
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Barrington is do-able...
AMC City North 14 Chicago, IL
2600 N. Western Ave., Chicago, IL 60647,
(773) 394-1601
AMC South Barrington 30 South Barrington, IL
175 Studio Drive, South Barrington, IL 60010,
(847) 765-7AMC
Quite do-able. Of course, I owe the boys a trip to Libertyville to see Sky Captain or whatever it is called. They say it is rated PG but Angelina Jolie’s lips look R rated to me....
We Passed!
The priest from the archives examined our records. Everything is A-OK. I wish my Mom were alive so that I could call and tell her that he was quite happy with my clear block printing. (And to let her have a little "I told you so" time after all the years of my complaining about handwriting practice.) Oh, I wish I could thank my late Dad, too, for printing a ton of primary lined paper in his print shop after I received dismal reviews in the first grade. They managed to turn me around.
For a second, I was so excited when I saw the big "A" at the top of the official report to the Bishop. Then I realized it said Deanery A. Oh, well.
The priest from the archives examined our records. Everything is A-OK. I wish my Mom were alive so that I could call and tell her that he was quite happy with my clear block printing. (And to let her have a little "I told you so" time after all the years of my complaining about handwriting practice.) Oh, I wish I could thank my late Dad, too, for printing a ton of primary lined paper in his print shop after I received dismal reviews in the first grade. They managed to turn me around.
For a second, I was so excited when I saw the big "A" at the top of the official report to the Bishop. Then I realized it said Deanery A. Oh, well.
Someone loosen her binder....
Never mind the binder - let’s just turn down the tension on the hair elastic! I’ve had a headache for the past few days. This coincides with deciding to wear my hair pulled back and pinned up... And for some reason this quote from one of my top ten of all time movies comes to mind.
And as a Sacred Heart alum, this quote brings back memories....
Rachel Devery : Couldn't we have uniforms, too, Reverend Mother?
Mother Superior : Most certainly not. The band will perform in their gym suits.
Rachel Devery : Our gym suits?
Mother Superior : Yes.
Mary Clancy : But, they're awful! I mean, it's not as if they were like Sacred Heart's. At Sacred Heart they wear short-shorts for gym.
Mother Superior : They're French.
Never mind the binder - let’s just turn down the tension on the hair elastic! I’ve had a headache for the past few days. This coincides with deciding to wear my hair pulled back and pinned up... And for some reason this quote from one of my top ten of all time movies comes to mind.
And as a Sacred Heart alum, this quote brings back memories....
Rachel Devery : Couldn't we have uniforms, too, Reverend Mother?
Mother Superior : Most certainly not. The band will perform in their gym suits.
Rachel Devery : Our gym suits?
Mother Superior : Yes.
Mary Clancy : But, they're awful! I mean, it's not as if they were like Sacred Heart's. At Sacred Heart they wear short-shorts for gym.
Mother Superior : They're French.
Anyone catch Nip/Tuck last night?
I’m back to watching Judging Amy. That is one show that Rick and I both like, unlike Nip/Tuck. It didn’t help that the one time he watched Nip/Tuck with me was the episode in which a drug addled formerly successful surgeon decides to attempt a face transplant from his rival to himself. So much for family TV time. I know I can live without such a parade of evil and it is more relaxing to watch a show without my hand clutching the remote lest one of the kids walk in. (The big girls do watch Nip/Tuck; I’m hoping the futility of vanity and the gruesome reality of face lifting stick in their minds. Really.)
I’m back to watching Judging Amy. That is one show that Rick and I both like, unlike Nip/Tuck. It didn’t help that the one time he watched Nip/Tuck with me was the episode in which a drug addled formerly successful surgeon decides to attempt a face transplant from his rival to himself. So much for family TV time. I know I can live without such a parade of evil and it is more relaxing to watch a show without my hand clutching the remote lest one of the kids walk in. (The big girls do watch Nip/Tuck; I’m hoping the futility of vanity and the gruesome reality of face lifting stick in their minds. Really.)
Spector Charged with Killing B-Movie Actress
So, it’s like, less of a murder than if he killed Meryl Streep? But more serious than if he killed a waitress? Huh?
So, it’s like, less of a murder than if he killed Meryl Streep? But more serious than if he killed a waitress? Huh?
Prithee, why so pale?
or
I am my mother’s daughter
My mother was such a diligent person that she actually managed to worry herself into colitis while working as a paste-up person/proofreader for the local newspaper’s weekly advertiser. Naturally, she would come to mind as I was lying in bed at 4:30 this morning examining my conscience in anticipation of a visit from a priest with the Arch. archives to examine our sacramental records. Have I only used prescribed pens? Have I eschewed Wite-Out and other banned products? Are repairs made with acid-free archival quality tape? Have I made entries in a timely fashion and as completely as possible*? Is my writing legible? (Face it - that I know is OK. I print with a clear, basic elementary school teacherish hand that is just about identical to my mother’s.) So why am I feeling tormented? Monday night was my biweekly go round of bad-mother-am-I-doing-my-best-for-the-kids’-development-and-education thoughts. Having to account for my performance with the archives isn’t nearly so ominous. I did have something of a dream which was a lot like that scene in "A Christmas Story" where the teacher gives Ralphie an A++++++ on his essay. In my dream, I not only get the A++++++ but the priest is a talent scout from the Vatican who is going to recruit me because of my obsessive concern for detail coupled with exquisite block printing. Of course, our pastor made an amended entry with a FLAIR pen.....oh, how am I going to explain that?
*This is my opportunity to rant about clergy who do not submit complete marriage files.....if they submit them at all.
or
I am my mother’s daughter
My mother was such a diligent person that she actually managed to worry herself into colitis while working as a paste-up person/proofreader for the local newspaper’s weekly advertiser. Naturally, she would come to mind as I was lying in bed at 4:30 this morning examining my conscience in anticipation of a visit from a priest with the Arch. archives to examine our sacramental records. Have I only used prescribed pens? Have I eschewed Wite-Out and other banned products? Are repairs made with acid-free archival quality tape? Have I made entries in a timely fashion and as completely as possible*? Is my writing legible? (Face it - that I know is OK. I print with a clear, basic elementary school teacherish hand that is just about identical to my mother’s.) So why am I feeling tormented? Monday night was my biweekly go round of bad-mother-am-I-doing-my-best-for-the-kids’-development-and-education thoughts. Having to account for my performance with the archives isn’t nearly so ominous. I did have something of a dream which was a lot like that scene in "A Christmas Story" where the teacher gives Ralphie an A++++++ on his essay. In my dream, I not only get the A++++++ but the priest is a talent scout from the Vatican who is going to recruit me because of my obsessive concern for detail coupled with exquisite block printing. Of course, our pastor made an amended entry with a FLAIR pen.....oh, how am I going to explain that?
*This is my opportunity to rant about clergy who do not submit complete marriage files.....if they submit them at all.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
We are way out of balance here, folks.
Food for thought from Alicia.
(In the comment box I proclaim myself as a miracle. But that's the truth. I had difficulty explaining to one of my children that a baby born to a couple after six years of marriage, resigned to a life of raising cats and gardening and other hobbies because they figured that was the hand that had been dealt them, is a miracle, not an accident.)
Food for thought from Alicia.
(In the comment box I proclaim myself as a miracle. But that's the truth. I had difficulty explaining to one of my children that a baby born to a couple after six years of marriage, resigned to a life of raising cats and gardening and other hobbies because they figured that was the hand that had been dealt them, is a miracle, not an accident.)
But Church attendance is its own reward.
On the other hand, I would not mind finding Sweets Bucks ( $1 free candy coupon from the local candy store) left on the windshields of cars that have been properly parked. Attendance at Mass needs a boost, but we need help with our parking etiquette, too.
On the other hand, I would not mind finding Sweets Bucks ( $1 free candy coupon from the local candy store) left on the windshields of cars that have been properly parked. Attendance at Mass needs a boost, but we need help with our parking etiquette, too.
But Church attendance is its own reward.
On the other hand, I would not mind finding Sweets Bucks ( $1 free candy coupon from the local candy store) left on the windshields of cars that have been properly parked. Attendance at Mass needs a boost, but we need help with our parking etiquette, too.
On the other hand, I would not mind finding Sweets Bucks ( $1 free candy coupon from the local candy store) left on the windshields of cars that have been properly parked. Attendance at Mass needs a boost, but we need help with our parking etiquette, too.
Monday, September 27, 2004
YOU ARE CHAMOMILE
What herb are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
but, perhaps Mr. v. would consider me mandrake. Purgative and difficult to take. In large doses I drive him insane.... Oh, you too, Embot? Is that why you left so quickly after our lovely dinner tonight. And here I thought it was the 45 minute ride home. Remember sometimes we need something soothing and sometimes we need a purgative.
Link via Summa Mamas.
The marvelous opportunity to order a real Swingline 747 Rio Red stapler presented itself last week. I tried to hide my delight and handle this just like any other office supply request. I knew the day would come when someone requested a new stapler - no particular color, just so it used the same staples as all the others. And it is beautiful - a red Porsche of a stapler.
Today our new associate pastor was talking about "Office Space." I asked if he had seen this new stapler. He didn't even know that you could really get a red one. He does happen to need a stapler. So he is next on the red stapler list. I try to buy only when I have a large enough order to qualify for free shipping. Let's hope that time is soon.....I almost wish someone would steal my perfectly adequate black stapler. It appears to have about 100 years left in its natural life, so there is no way I can expect the Church to replace it just to satisfy my aesthetic whim. (and it would look so, so good next to the red lacquer letter-sorting thing I refinished for my office) Oh, well, maybe at tax return time. That would be a nice mid-winter pick-me-up. I may not have a Jaguar in the parking lot, but I'd have the sportscar of staplers on my desk.
Starring Ellyn as the Sour Church Secretary!!!
Mary (aka -any random caller to the Church of St. ____) : You don't know the first thing about love.
Hilary Faye (aka Ellyn) : [Hilary Faye throws a Bible at Mary] I am *filled* with Christ's love!
Somewhere in the past couple of weeks I ‘celebrated’ my third anniversary as a part-time church secretary. I’m not sure of the exact day I started......it is all kind of a blur. I do remember that I worked up the courage to call about the job opening on 9/11/01. So it has been three years and I still love the job. There have been the occassional days when I haven’t particularly felt like putting on decent clothes or driving through lousy weather, but not really any when I flat out didn’t want to go to work because I didn’t like the job. Today is another day when I’m looking forward to getting to work. ( Not necessarily looking forward to showering in our chilly house or battling the killer SUV’s in the parking lot, but looking forward to doing my part for the Church.) I do have a slight twinge of guilt about not doing my best on Friday; could be a nice lead off topic when I meet with my spiritual director this afternoon before we get into the hard core St. John of the Cross stuff. Here is my quandry: We had a phone call from a funeral home regarding a funeral on Saturday for a three year old. The funeral director said that the family would find it comforting to do a balloon release after the funeral. As I expected, the business manager nixed the balloon release......we just don’t do them because of all the trees outside of the church. Past experience has proven that a large percentage of the balloons never make it up into the sky. So I tell the funeral director to check with the cemetery - they probably have unrestricted air space. But the child was to be cremated later, so there would be no opportunity at the cemetery. So....
I did my job. I was pleasant and sympathetic yet firm and practical. Yet, should I have gone out of my way to beg the business manager (in the pastor’s absence) to allow a balloon release just this once? Or suggest that the park across the street might work.....Or the parking lot behind the church? The strict constructionist in me wanted to say that if the Mass itself could not bring some comfort to the family what makes them think that letting go of helium balloons would help. But I’m not there to advance my opinions. (Oh, if I were only paid a commission on the stuff I don’t say I would already have a nice retirement fund started.) So.......it’s the Monday after the funeral and it still bothers me. Maybe I should have done more....
Mary (aka -any random caller to the Church of St. ____) : You don't know the first thing about love.
Hilary Faye (aka Ellyn) : [Hilary Faye throws a Bible at Mary] I am *filled* with Christ's love!
Somewhere in the past couple of weeks I ‘celebrated’ my third anniversary as a part-time church secretary. I’m not sure of the exact day I started......it is all kind of a blur. I do remember that I worked up the courage to call about the job opening on 9/11/01. So it has been three years and I still love the job. There have been the occassional days when I haven’t particularly felt like putting on decent clothes or driving through lousy weather, but not really any when I flat out didn’t want to go to work because I didn’t like the job. Today is another day when I’m looking forward to getting to work. ( Not necessarily looking forward to showering in our chilly house or battling the killer SUV’s in the parking lot, but looking forward to doing my part for the Church.) I do have a slight twinge of guilt about not doing my best on Friday; could be a nice lead off topic when I meet with my spiritual director this afternoon before we get into the hard core St. John of the Cross stuff. Here is my quandry: We had a phone call from a funeral home regarding a funeral on Saturday for a three year old. The funeral director said that the family would find it comforting to do a balloon release after the funeral. As I expected, the business manager nixed the balloon release......we just don’t do them because of all the trees outside of the church. Past experience has proven that a large percentage of the balloons never make it up into the sky. So I tell the funeral director to check with the cemetery - they probably have unrestricted air space. But the child was to be cremated later, so there would be no opportunity at the cemetery. So....
I did my job. I was pleasant and sympathetic yet firm and practical. Yet, should I have gone out of my way to beg the business manager (in the pastor’s absence) to allow a balloon release just this once? Or suggest that the park across the street might work.....Or the parking lot behind the church? The strict constructionist in me wanted to say that if the Mass itself could not bring some comfort to the family what makes them think that letting go of helium balloons would help. But I’m not there to advance my opinions. (Oh, if I were only paid a commission on the stuff I don’t say I would already have a nice retirement fund started.) So.......it’s the Monday after the funeral and it still bothers me. Maybe I should have done more....
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