Wake Me Up When September Ends...
No time to talk now. Gotta run off to work. As soon as some pair of pants gets out of the dryer. (The all shades of khaki, so the first pair dry is the winner. ) Delicacy and pride forbid me saying why I won't just grab a skirt and throw it over my bare legs (but I think you get the drift.) This has just been a crazy month. I feel like I could sleep for a week. But even if I had the luxury of staying home today, there is the neighborhood association garage sales in which the family is participating. (I can't work up the enthusiasm. I'm parting with a platform rocker that has been in my family for ages. It's a real antique. I'm asking $75. Will go down to $50. What the heck, we're out of room. By the end of tomorrow it may be free to a good home)
Gotta run. Heard the dryer buzz. Must write more this week-end. Mustn't forget to mention the bottle of Lourdes water in my office at work. I think it has turned toxic...

So careful that my own sister doesn't know...

Your Blogging Type is Artistic and Passionate

You see your blog as the ultimate personal expression - and work hard to make it great. One moment you may be working on a new dramatic design for your blog... And the next, you're passionately writing about your pet causes. Your blog is very important - and you're careful about who you share it with.

What's Your Blogging Personality?

Via Alicia.

The Angry Twins have the scoop three months early....with video of Embot’s wedding reception.
Sorry Em and Ed...it was too cute to resist.
And the color scheme is the same as yours, too

Interesting article...
If you overlook the snarky joke in the first sentence.
And the fact that books that appeal specifically to Catholic homeschoolers were overlooked.

Charlie Watts has the answer...to my tired blood
“You can’t stop once you get going, if you’re a drummer. A guitar player can lay back in the middle. A drummer has to be there all the time. I didn’t know if I could make it.”*
This could be the answer to my malaise. I think, if families were bands, moms would be the drummers. Not to denigrate the importance of other family members, especially dads. But performing in the great arena of life, dads are the front men. There are other soloists of import. But mom is the drummer. The heart of the home which sets the beat for everyone else. Sometimes the necessity of consistency and constancy is just...exhausting.
But that’s the way it is. I’ll be Charlie. Rick can be Mick. And as long as nobody tries to be Keith Richards, we’ll be OK.

* This quote is from the 9/22/05 Rolling Stone, which I bought at the Jewel one morning last week. The clerk asked me if I was buying it for my kids, which left me with a feeling not unlike the indignation I would feel when a librarian or clerk would ask me if I was old enough for a particular piece of literature. Now they're implying I'm too old. But maturity and/or fatigue makes protest futile.

Oh, come on.  Do I have to spell it out for you?  Pheochromocytoma. 
Franny and I enjoy watching House on Tuesday nights. It’s good fun to see who gets the diagnosis first. We don’t have great diagnostic skills, but we are quite adept at picking up the clues that the writers plant. I think I beat Fran to the undiagnosed leprosy and the porphyria of last season. Last week’s premiere was rollicking good fun up until we shouted (from opposite parts of the house), “Pheochromocytoma!”

Rick likes House, too, which is unusual for him. Medical dramas just don’t cut it with him. He was enjoying the show. Up to the mention of adrenaline. When you’ve had the tumor of the week, it is not so amusing. (Pheos show up on TV more than you would think. They are a little weird, have strange symptoms and a big name. Removing them in real life is not nearly as easy as the TV docs make it look. Unlike some tumors, they are not snipped out immediately and quickly.) The hat tip to people who do not let their adrenaline turn them into raging maniacs was appreciated: See, you only overcame one of them.  Well, let’s just give Clarence a free pass, hmmm?  Course, you’re probably going to piss off all those other pheo sufferers who managed to control their rage attacks and become lawyers, race car doctors, and even doctors.  Removing that tumor puts a stop to those random shots adrenaline, but doesn’t absolve him.

Last night’s show was good, too. At dinner we had been discussing how totally convincing Hugh Laurie’s American accent is. For an extra degree of difficulty, he did the American accent compounded by nasal congestion. The man is a veritable Meryl Streep.

Hmmm....6:46 pm
The boys and I were going to put in twenty more minutes towards their holy hour. (I may have mentioned previously that ‘we’ are doing this in baby steps.) Fran wanted to cook dinner tonight and I don’t think it will be cooked and eaten in the next fourteen minutes. ( I’m realistic enough to know that this is not something to be undertaken with boys who haven’t eaten in seven hours.) Looks like I’ll just work on prepping for tomorrow night’s bible study for children. Maybe I can move my Recaro bucket seat over to the school table. That’s the ticket. This is comfy. I could sit here indefinitely. (a little deja vu of last evening’s Nip/Tuck season premiere...but that’s a whole other thing.)

Is it asking too much for things to flow smoothly on the third Wednesday of the month? Maybe.

Maybe it is good for me to practice being gracious and cheerful when I can’t get things to go my way. Even if the scope of my ambition is limited to spending an hour at adoration. When I am so chargrined about adjusting my plans that is a good sign that it’s about me, not about Jesus.

Time to relax, count my blessings and queue up for Fran’s pico de gallo...

...dangerous and it sets a bad example.
No kidding.
Sort of like JackAss...taken to the next level.

Who needs a genius grant?
I'm on a map of the world.

And the winner is...
Not me.

Speaking of Exodus.....
I think I am getting cold feet. Our parish is starting a Bible study with Catholic Scripture Study International. I volunteered to help with the children’s group. It is starting to sound like a little more work than I bargained for. (Having. Bad. Flashback. CCD. Teaching...Room. Spinning.) Not to mention the mandatory anti-abuse training for those who work with children, implemented after the time I was hired to work as a primary school aide two years ago. (Another Flashback. Children. Lines. Playground...Starting to sweat...) I just couldn’t commit to attending the session last night which was held at 6:30pm about 30 miles from here. I’ve passed the background check. I’m allowed to work in the Church. But I’m not committing to attending the training until I know that there are more students signed up for the evening session. Because right now the total evening children’s enrollment is Eddie. Who will be withdrawn if no one else is registered. I thought this would be a good opportunity to enrich his education while mingling with other kids. Sitting in a classroom alone with me once a week from 7:00 to 9:00 just isn’t going to work. And, to tell the truth, now that I’ve looked at the adult study materials, I hope I get a chance to join the grown-up class. That looks like it will great.

Customers who bought this book also bought....
Seed Leaf Flower Fruit by Maryjo Koch is one of my favorite “nature” books. So I was really tickled to find Bird Egg Feather Nest at the Friends’ Used Book Sale (Friends of the Library, that is - not Quakers).

I wish I had a week off to stay home and play with my new books. And I didn’t even go quite as berserk as I did last year. Never had time to give the art books a good look. (not that we’ll suffer without one more art book) The religion books had nothing really substantial. (I think the local clergy - i.e., the men I work for - found all the good stuff. But who am I to begrudge them the opportunity?) I think I came a little late to the humor section, too. But still...the treasures....

Sic transit gloria mundi..
No miracle on State Street: Marshall Field's to change to Macy's
I rarely shop at Field’s anymore, but it holds lovely memories from my youth. My wedding dress was from Field’s. I remember buying dresses - even in the children's department - when there were clerks who actually helped you find what you needed, zipped up hard to reach zippers and offered opinions on what looked good and what didn’t.

Budgetary constraints have made me much more of a Target girl, which is OK. Since Field’s isn’t the kind of place where you can buy clothes, cosmetics, doggy treats and garden implements. But Field’s is still the place of memories and I just can’t envision it as being the same under the Macy’s name. I guess, in a snit, I could take my business to Gimbels. But I think Gimbels was bought out by Field’s about 20 years ago.

But I don't want to go to work...
Maybe it's the stormy weather. Or the fact that I want to stay home and play with all the books we found at the book sale.

I'm having one of those days when I dread all the paper pushing. I know it is essential. And serving the mission of the Church. But I had another moment on Friday when someone mentioned the extreme dislike most people have for the Bouggereau Pieta Mass cards. (would link to pic here but have a different computer and cannot even find a way to access the website...) I went back to my desk where I looked at the copy I keep on my desk and marvelled at all the sorrow and power so dynamically distilled into one painting. Then my mind jumped from that moment when Mary held the body of her beloved Son in her arms one last time to now. And wondered how it has turned into so much paper pushing. (Perish the thought of what happened in the days before computers and photocopies and everything was done more slowly and with the carbons...)
That's why I like my Bouggereau Pieta. It helps for those, "That's what it all about, Charlie Brown," moments.

My apologies to Miss Frances...
but maybe you should have yelled, "I'm back," when you tossed my shoes behind me. I might have sat at the computer all night waiting for them to return. Oh, well, a woman who is afraid to walk barefoot through her own house is not much of a housekeeper...

Is this a joke? A test?
So Fran asks to borrow my sandals for ten minutes to run up to the gas station.
An hour later I am sitting here waiting for them to return.
And I thought it was convenient that 4 of the five girls in this house wear the same size shoe.
It's not.
I want my flaps back.

So I’ll never has a Porsche with Recaro seats.
I now have a Recaro seat at the iMac.
I’m typing 100 miles an hour and having the time of my life.
Actually, I think I need to adjust the seat. The lumbar support is great in a driving position but leaves a bit to be desired in the typing position. Oh, well, it beats the rocking chair I had been using.

STD vaccines in works, but for children
or
My increasing disdain for public health officials.
"I appreciate a parent's concern that their kid is not sexually active. They may not be now, but they will be in the future," said Julie Morita, medical director at the Chicago Department of Public Health. "The point is we are not assuming that all 11- or 12-year-olds are having sexual relations, [but] we assume they will be in the near future."

More that one GKC?
After Mass today we are headed back to the Friends of the Library book sale. It’s half price day.

I stopped at the sale Friday and found the usual plethora of books. An assortment that left me weak in the knees and ready to fill my tote bag to the point of being untotable. There were some excellent deals that will be great for our study of ancient Egypt. And loads of fun stuff. The best part about half price day is not only the halved prices, but the fact that the merchandise has been well churned by the shoppers and it will be like looking at a whole new assortment.

Eddie and I were enjoying The Ultimate LEGO book before dinner on Friday night. (Who’s up for building a replica of Mt. Rushmore?) I was caught off guard by a picture of a small duck, an early LEGO toy designed by GKC. Hmm. That’s strange. I guess I live in my own bubble and know only one GKC. LEGO afficianados have Godtfred Kirk Christiansen as their GKC. But we know who the real one is...

Just kind of a sad, crummy week. For a variety of reasons.
But I can eek out time for a little game...
Haven’t tried it at work. Yet.
How would you treat telemarketers?
Start telling them about how God saved me from sin and debauchery...


You are Augustine! You are a great thinker, but be
careful not to let your past immoderation freak
you out about good times. It's really ok to
take some pleasure in material things.


Which Saint Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Via Heart Speaks to Heart.

ep·i·zo·ot·ic
adj. Affecting a large number of animals at the same time within a particular region or geographic area. Used of a disease.
n. An epizootic disease.
For much of my life, I was sure that epizootic was a word that my father made up. Any time I was afflicted by a vague feeling of dis-ease, rendering me unable to attend school, Dad chalked it up to “the epizootics.” That must be what I had this week-end. A little FUO, achiness and irresistible urge to sleep. So almost nothing was accomplished. I was even dragging a little bit at the end of the week, though I had enough energy to sit at my desk and wonder if funny little spot on my finger was the beginning of Osler’s nodules (which I’ve had before and is a sign of being really sick...) and then GOOGLE Osler’s nodules (lots of info and I learned some cool things about Dr. Osler and his influence on medicine and its language. But the big lesson? If you’re well enough to be at work and GOOGLE your symptoms, you are probably not that ill.

And I did pull myself together to return after dinner to see Cardinal George address our parish. Quite excellent...and worth showing up an hour early to get a good seat. (Rick was supposed to go with me, but he came home all dragged out from another day of moving stuff around to help the hurricane evacuees. So another date night falls through due to good deed doing. Back where I come from there are men who do nothing all day but good deeds. They are called phila... er, phila... er, yes, er, Good Deed Doers. So the boys were getting a behind in their schoolwork and the house isn’t looking too good. I suppose being married to a phil...Good Deed Doer beats being married to a philanderer. And this is a tangible experience that the boys can’t find in a textbook. Plus they were able to ride up to Wisconsin in a ‘fancy’ Greyhound-like bus. That was interesting...) Anyway....Rick missed a great talk and the added thrill of the last question/remark taken from the congregation being an obnoxious and off-target comment from a parishioner. I really must write about that... when I’m feeling more rational.

Yesterday was my godson’s second birthday. I was amused at the fact that I was much fussier and discerning when gift shopping than I remember being with my own children’s playthings. A playfood set (the cool kind with Velcro, so that a kid can pretend to slice and dice) caught my eye when Eddie and I were at Target last week. But I had my reading glasses on during Saturday’s expedition and noticed that the toy was recommended for children 5 and up. If this were for my own children I would have purchased it and winnowed out any tiny choking hazards. But for someone else’s child I feel compelled to follow the manufacturers advisory. So I settled on more Little People (that’s what we gave him last year, but there are always new People...)

The nap I took after returning from Target lasted all afternoon. After a lovely dinner (served in bed, at Rick’s suggestion. Maybe I was being pampered. Or perhaps my being sprawled on the couch was just bringing everyone else down.) I made at least three attempts at finishing an article about the black woman who is the latest president of Brown University. At some point, I believe, the article attempts to reconcile her presidency with the Brown family’s history as slave traders. But I never got that far. President Simmons has a CV so impressive that reading it made me tired. I finally gave up when one of the dogs stepped on my glasses during a rest break.

Even though I slept most of Saturday, I went back to bed after early Mass yesterday and by the time we were scheduled to leave for the little guy’s birthday party (to be followed by a stop at surprise party for an old longtime friend’s fiftieth birthday) I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. Another nice thing about large families: if one member can’t attend an event, there is still quite an entourage to send.

But, afterall, tomorrow was another day. Or shall I say, today was another day. The epizootics seem to have passed. Which was a darned good thing - just a crazy work day that would have been one of the worst possible days to call in sick. (Not that I get ‘sick’ days...so I want to have one foot in the grave before I consider calling in sick. Which brings me to the question that I would have asked the Cardinal: “Can non-benefits-eligible Archdiocesan employees accrue untaken bathroom breaks towards a paid vacation?”)

Oh, well. So it’s back to normal.

While I was sleeping...

...the toad died. This was not a total surprise. He had been having trouble catching crickets in a small closed environment. The body was a tad too desiccated to be used for a dissection project. Necropsy was certain to show he died of old age. We’ve had him so long I don’t remember not having him.

...Bridget made an incredibly realistic - or so I’ve heard - cast of her nose as a gift for her boyfriend. Why? He likes to pinch her nose. In a nice way. Not a Three Stooges sort of way. It is a cute nose. Out of all my children, Bridget does have the cutest nose. Sorry to the rest of you kids. Your noses are nice. But Bridget’s is cute.

...the girl with the cute nose found out that the brother of her high school boyfriend has been released from prison. This guy was a bad egg but I don’t think he’s spent the last four years plotting (a la Sideshow Bob) revenge on our Princess. Revenge for what, you may ask? She came between him and his brother. But he was in prison for holding up a liquor store. Twice. In the same night.

...Fran took the big dog swimming in the lake. And at work today she saw three dogs that have contracted blastomycosis . All three had been to the beach/lake. Of course, Fran can GOOGLE with the best of us, so she is worried about the dog. Not that it would be a hopeless...but the drug regimen is dreadfully expensive. She assured us we aren’t in any danger. Unless Cody would die. Then the spores would be released into the air.
Blastomycosis is not generally considered a zoonotic disease, meaning one that is potentially contagious to people. I guess that would make it an epizootic. But I won’t read any more about it. The symptoms are starting to sound familiar...depression, fever that doesn't respond to antibiotics, coughing, shortness of breath, exercise intolerance, enlarged lymph nodes...

Driving around yesterday morning...
WXRT had a Saturday morning flashback to 1973. Not the sweetest trip down memory lane. This memory lane was a toxic dreck dumpsite.

Don’t believe me? Then try the blog meme that I found at Hot Carmel Sunday. Go here and click on the year you graduated from high school to find a list of the top 100 songs of that year.
Bold the songs you like, strike through the ones you hate and underline your favorite. Do nothing to the ones you don't remember or don't care about. Commentary is optional, as is good taste.

1. Tie A Yellow Ribbon 'Round The Ole Oak Tree, Tony Orlando and Dawn Gag me. With a spoon.
2. Bad Bad Leroy Brown, Jim Croce
3. Killing Me Softly With His Song, Roberta Flack
4. Let's Get It On, Marvin Gaye
5. My Love, Paul McCartney and Wings
6. Why Me, Kris Kristofferson
7. Crocodile Rock, Elton John
8. Will It Go Round In Circles, Billy Preston
9. You're So Vain, Carly Simon
10. Touch Me In The Morning, Diana Ross No, don’t, really.
11. The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia, Vicki Lawrence Blech
I'll put the rest in the comment box. 1973 was such a vast wasteland that it makes me ashamed to admit I owned a radio...

If , Illinois readers, after reading Disputations you, like me, are still are not sure if you fall between:
"Physical Sufficiency," a state in which people have enough to keep body and soul together. They don't need help just to stay alive, but they aren't doing much better than just staying alive. OR
"Unbecoming Adequacy." Those whose wealth is unbecomingly adequate have sufficient wealth that strangers wouldn't think of them as charity cases, but not enough to live as they ought according to their station in life.
you can still find some great deals like brand name soft toothbrushes 10 for $10 at the OSCO. And moist towelettes. And don’t forget the TP, PT and LT, too.

Note to Embot: Don’t forget to check out you store of Dental Show booty!
See ya tomorrow.

Like I said...
refugee is not a dirty word.
Survival of New Orleans blog concurs.
Finally, I don't care what Jesse Jackson thinks about the word "refugee." A refugee is a person dispossessed of his house and property and who flees the area looking for... check it out... REFUGE. I will continue using this word. It certainly is not racist like he said.

LT, TP, PT etc.
Besides the opportunity to contribute to today’s second collection at Mass for Hurricane relief, we have the opportunity to help refugees (I thought that meant people seeking refuge, i.e. not a perjorative term, until Jesse Jackson told me otherwise), evacuees or whatever is the proper term for our southerly neighbors displaced by last week’s cataclysmic events. There is a group coming to stay very nearby. Local churches have been asked to donate various necessary items. Rick and Chuck spent much of the day doing, well, basically what his foundation is called to do (technology support) plus working out deals for low tech necessities. They were in their element.

Eddie and I did our part after the early Mass, picking up snacks, drinks, moist towlettes and other paper products. That, to me, would necessitate LT. (Ladies Things. If you need them you know what I mean. If you need to ask, you don’t need them, so don’t ask.) When we dropped our haul at the rectory garage I was pleased to see that some other lady had the same idea.

And, when Franny was going through the house with her bag of collected items, that was the first item she asked about. That and would it be all right if she comandeered Bridget’s three unused toothbrushes. Fine with me. As long as they’re still sealed in the original packaging. We’ll get some back into her emergency stash before she knows they were missing.