Somebody tell Britney
to read this from Zenit :When to set up Christmas decorations (11-29-05)
I found it to be of some help. (We can’t be accused of jumping the gun...Martha just took down the Halloween lights on Monday. ) They didn’t address the really pressing matters. Like the lawn nativity scene I pass in the morning that has all the usual people. Plus a pink flamingo. Why?
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
3/28/84 Mayflower Moving Trucks sneek the Colts out of Baltimore after Midnight
What more can I say about the transience of sport? I was absolutely dumbstruck when I saw this on the news. Check out the discussion among Amy Welborn’s readers. I can say no more. (Except to add that funerals are a ghastly expense. But not as bad as weddings. And I don’t detect a real movement to scale those back. Forego them altogether? Maybe. But cut corners? Not really. PS - Embot: I’m not talking about you...just in generalities. If the average funeral runs $8 to $12 thousand, that is still small potatoes against the average $22 thousand wedding.)
What more can I say about the transience of sport? I was absolutely dumbstruck when I saw this on the news. Check out the discussion among Amy Welborn’s readers. I can say no more. (Except to add that funerals are a ghastly expense. But not as bad as weddings. And I don’t detect a real movement to scale those back. Forego them altogether? Maybe. But cut corners? Not really. PS - Embot: I’m not talking about you...just in generalities. If the average funeral runs $8 to $12 thousand, that is still small potatoes against the average $22 thousand wedding.)
And where was this......
last Wednesday when our maintenance man said that the bottle lights for the Advent wreath were too big?
Courtesy of The Curt Jester.
And I was late getting home from work while I called the distributor, who was polite, though I’m sure he thought I was nuts. Luckily, the maintenance man is clever and resourceful and he made them fit. Today he tells me they were off by 3/16” of an inch. I don’t think that’s an intolerable tolerance? Or is it? Oh, well. At the moment we could have used a virtual wreath. I’ve been told by our distributor that bottle lights are bottle lights. Period. (This is filed under church emergency/not life or death. The kind that is hard to explain to my family.)
last Wednesday when our maintenance man said that the bottle lights for the Advent wreath were too big?
Courtesy of The Curt Jester.
And I was late getting home from work while I called the distributor, who was polite, though I’m sure he thought I was nuts. Luckily, the maintenance man is clever and resourceful and he made them fit. Today he tells me they were off by 3/16” of an inch. I don’t think that’s an intolerable tolerance? Or is it? Oh, well. At the moment we could have used a virtual wreath. I’ve been told by our distributor that bottle lights are bottle lights. Period. (This is filed under church emergency/not life or death. The kind that is hard to explain to my family.)
The marble was above the inscription near the top of the building saying, "Equal Justice Under Law" and above the allegorical figure representing "Order," one of nine sculptured figures on the pediment.
I wouldn’t read too much into it.
But maybe I’ve spent too many years near Chicago. Chunks (and windows) are always falling off of buildings here.
I wouldn’t read too much into it.
But maybe I’ve spent too many years near Chicago. Chunks (and windows) are always falling off of buildings here.
Monday, November 28, 2005
InvisiGoths
Would someone sew some reflective tape on the Goth kids in the apartment complex? I’m really quite sympathetic with anyone obligated to walk to the school bus at 6:30am. The Goth get-ups may just be a weird phase, but they sure aren’t safe for walking to the bus stop in the dark.
Another good reason to homeschool. I don’t want my boys standing in the dark with the local ‘characters’ to catch a ride to a dubious learning environment. I know Martha is part of that environment...but the bus thing is where I draw the line. The characters...And paying $250 a year for the privilege of a daily hour long bus ride with them each way.
Would someone sew some reflective tape on the Goth kids in the apartment complex? I’m really quite sympathetic with anyone obligated to walk to the school bus at 6:30am. The Goth get-ups may just be a weird phase, but they sure aren’t safe for walking to the bus stop in the dark.
Another good reason to homeschool. I don’t want my boys standing in the dark with the local ‘characters’ to catch a ride to a dubious learning environment. I know Martha is part of that environment...but the bus thing is where I draw the line. The characters...And paying $250 a year for the privilege of a daily hour long bus ride with them each way.
I’ve made enough keyboard mistakes...
to fill a book. It’s sooo easy. So consider that your life could be ended by an
erroneous key stroke. Scary.
to fill a book. It’s sooo easy. So consider that your life could be ended by an
erroneous key stroke. Scary.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Voting is in progress...
for the outstanding Thanksgiving moment of 2005. The meal was fabulous (I’m not immodest - I just had very little to do with the cooking) and the table was exquisitely set. Everyone - family and guests - abided by the banned subjects guidelines (as delineated earlier this week): the wedding cake, the rings, entertainment, speeches, food, the venue and other guests. As for the dress, nothing about the train, cut, colour, designer or material can be revealed.” Also...the shower, the gifts, Ellyn’s shoes, what anyone wants for Christmas, family members not present at the table, the people to your immediate right or left and any veins and tendons in the turkey(real or perceived.) I did loosen the restriction of ‘family members not present at the table’ to allow for reminiscences about the faithful departed. That is, if you are deceased and we remember you warmly you will be talked about. If you are partying in another state and people have mixed feelings about you, you are off limits. Today.
So the memories specific to this year are:
A The IKEA Forby stool that collapses under Eddie. No permanent injury to the boy, but there is a 4 inch hole in the dining room wall. That will teach us not to use wire to make up for a missing screw.
B Good bottle of wine. (Chateau Gruaud Larose 1988) “Good if just a bit underwhelming. Very drinkable at this time. It will hold but not improve.” I thought it was a treat. Those who like sweet drinks and domestic sparkling wines were unimpressed. After making sure that Eddie didn’t have a concussion, I let him have a few sips. So he knows what good wine tastes like. It may be a long while before we receive another gift bottle of that caliber.
C The shorted out solenoid in the starter of the Amigo. Wouldn’t stop cranking...Dad has to disconnect battery to stop it. (Counting my blessings: This happened in front of the house at 4:00 Wednesday afternoon. It could have happened in the parking lot at church at 3:00. Then we’d really be up a creek.)
D The dead battery in the van. Rendering us transportation-less until Monday. Except for hitching rides with the girls - which still makes me nervous despite their experience and (relatively) pristine driving records.
E The Forby stool that collapses under our pater. No serious injuries. (With God as my witness, we will have real chairs next year.) Consumer warning: I wouldn’t seat anyone heavier than 60 pounds on a Forby stool if I were you. I have one in my office at work which I keep as a spare seat/table. I think I’m restricting it to holding loose file folders from now on. Except during December, when it is the base for my Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
F The distinct lack of squabbling, burning cheesecloth, ill health or doggy misbehavior.
for the outstanding Thanksgiving moment of 2005. The meal was fabulous (I’m not immodest - I just had very little to do with the cooking) and the table was exquisitely set. Everyone - family and guests - abided by the banned subjects guidelines (as delineated earlier this week): the wedding cake, the rings, entertainment, speeches, food, the venue and other guests. As for the dress, nothing about the train, cut, colour, designer or material can be revealed.” Also...the shower, the gifts, Ellyn’s shoes, what anyone wants for Christmas, family members not present at the table, the people to your immediate right or left and any veins and tendons in the turkey(real or perceived.) I did loosen the restriction of ‘family members not present at the table’ to allow for reminiscences about the faithful departed. That is, if you are deceased and we remember you warmly you will be talked about. If you are partying in another state and people have mixed feelings about you, you are off limits. Today.
So the memories specific to this year are:
A The IKEA Forby stool that collapses under Eddie. No permanent injury to the boy, but there is a 4 inch hole in the dining room wall. That will teach us not to use wire to make up for a missing screw.
B Good bottle of wine. (Chateau Gruaud Larose 1988) “Good if just a bit underwhelming. Very drinkable at this time. It will hold but not improve.” I thought it was a treat. Those who like sweet drinks and domestic sparkling wines were unimpressed. After making sure that Eddie didn’t have a concussion, I let him have a few sips. So he knows what good wine tastes like. It may be a long while before we receive another gift bottle of that caliber.
C The shorted out solenoid in the starter of the Amigo. Wouldn’t stop cranking...Dad has to disconnect battery to stop it. (Counting my blessings: This happened in front of the house at 4:00 Wednesday afternoon. It could have happened in the parking lot at church at 3:00. Then we’d really be up a creek.)
D The dead battery in the van. Rendering us transportation-less until Monday. Except for hitching rides with the girls - which still makes me nervous despite their experience and (relatively) pristine driving records.
E The Forby stool that collapses under our pater. No serious injuries. (With God as my witness, we will have real chairs next year.) Consumer warning: I wouldn’t seat anyone heavier than 60 pounds on a Forby stool if I were you. I have one in my office at work which I keep as a spare seat/table. I think I’m restricting it to holding loose file folders from now on. Except during December, when it is the base for my Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
F The distinct lack of squabbling, burning cheesecloth, ill health or doggy misbehavior.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
To paraphrase Oscar Wilde
To lose one dog may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.
And it was, to a certain extent. The two big dogs bolted while Fran was putting them out. I should have been handling the dogs. She should have been in bed resting her neck instead of talking on the portable phone and sneaking out the deck door for a cigarette with two big dogs. One dog has more than a bit of an ‘impulse control’ problem. And the other follows her sister everywhere. (Almost sounds like the humans...) Good thing we have a third. Dog.
To lose one dog may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.
And it was, to a certain extent. The two big dogs bolted while Fran was putting them out. I should have been handling the dogs. She should have been in bed resting her neck instead of talking on the portable phone and sneaking out the deck door for a cigarette with two big dogs. One dog has more than a bit of an ‘impulse control’ problem. And the other follows her sister everywhere. (Almost sounds like the humans...) Good thing we have a third. Dog.
My Name is Ellyn. I live at *** ***** ****. Please clean my house.
But seriously, folks. Serious Chicago Trib article on the perils of blogging by “young people” and TMI.
“Revealing blogs can also come back to bite during job interviews. Also, that funny photo at the beer bong might not be so humorous if you're running for political office 20 years later.”
Funny they should mention this. A pre-dinner chat about Googling led to a GOOGLE image search of my name. Which, to our princess Bridget’s chagrin, brought up a picture of her face PhotoShopped onto Scrappy dog’s body. I had forgotten about that. The Internet hasn’t. (Good thing she’s employed in doggy day-care. )
But seriously, folks. Serious Chicago Trib article on the perils of blogging by “young people” and TMI.
“Revealing blogs can also come back to bite during job interviews. Also, that funny photo at the beer bong might not be so humorous if you're running for political office 20 years later.”
Funny they should mention this. A pre-dinner chat about Googling led to a GOOGLE image search of my name. Which, to our princess Bridget’s chagrin, brought up a picture of her face PhotoShopped onto Scrappy dog’s body. I had forgotten about that. The Internet hasn’t. (Good thing she’s employed in doggy day-care. )
Taking a cue from Christina Aguilera...
Ellyn plans table talk for Thanksgiving dinner. In the interest of peace and the greater good.
“Banned subjects included the cake, the rings, entertainment, speeches, food, the venue and other guests. As for the dress, nothing about the train, cut, colour, designer or material can be revealed.” Also...the shower, the gifts, Ellyn’s shoes, what anyone wants for Christmas, family members not present at the table, the people to your immediate right or left and any veins and tendons in the turkey (real or perceived.) That should do it.
Later, backed by her band, she launched into "Lady Marmalade."
"Everybody went nuts," a spy tells us.
Ellyn plans table talk for Thanksgiving dinner. In the interest of peace and the greater good.
“Banned subjects included the cake, the rings, entertainment, speeches, food, the venue and other guests. As for the dress, nothing about the train, cut, colour, designer or material can be revealed.” Also...the shower, the gifts, Ellyn’s shoes, what anyone wants for Christmas, family members not present at the table, the people to your immediate right or left and any veins and tendons in the turkey (real or perceived.) That should do it.
Later, backed by her band, she launched into "Lady Marmalade."
"Everybody went nuts," a spy tells us.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Papa-Lu caught me with a fun meme. Once I started, it was so hard to stop.
I confess...Sacramentally? About once a month.
I confess...that I find birthday cake to make the most delightful breakfast food.
I confess...to occasionally being embarassed by my car(s).
I confess...to worrying too much about money.
I confess...that I find myself noticing other women’s pedicures when I am waiting in line to receive Holy Communion.
I confess...that I listen to way too much rock and roll. Especially in the car.
I confess...that I didn’t floss my teeth last night.
I confess...that I have a library book on the school table that is about 2 months overdue. And I’ll probably forget to grab it tomorrow, too.
I confess...that I don’t remember the last time I made my bed.
I confess...that I am totally overwhelmed at being the “mother-of-the-bride.”
I confess...that I keep looking at miracle skin-renewing take-years-off-your-face potions, but never actually buy them.
I confess...that my idea of therapy shopping is to buy a really fabulous dish towel at a store like T.J. Maxx.
I confess...that I have far too much fun talking about myself. I could keep confessing here until indefinitely.
So how about you, Summa Mamas and Mr. Luse?
I confess...Sacramentally? About once a month.
I confess...that I find birthday cake to make the most delightful breakfast food.
I confess...to occasionally being embarassed by my car(s).
I confess...to worrying too much about money.
I confess...that I find myself noticing other women’s pedicures when I am waiting in line to receive Holy Communion.
I confess...that I listen to way too much rock and roll. Especially in the car.
I confess...that I didn’t floss my teeth last night.
I confess...that I have a library book on the school table that is about 2 months overdue. And I’ll probably forget to grab it tomorrow, too.
I confess...that I don’t remember the last time I made my bed.
I confess...that I am totally overwhelmed at being the “mother-of-the-bride.”
I confess...that I keep looking at miracle skin-renewing take-years-off-your-face potions, but never actually buy them.
I confess...that my idea of therapy shopping is to buy a really fabulous dish towel at a store like T.J. Maxx.
I confess...that I have far too much fun talking about myself. I could keep confessing here until indefinitely.
So how about you, Summa Mamas and Mr. Luse?
I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career...
I don’t think I’m violating my principals with the sale of oplatky. Even though I’m technically buying, selling and (sort of ) processing. It’s a service. And the sisters who supply our altar bread and oplatky rely on the proceeds. So I’ll give myself a pass this time. Not just a pass...I think I shall try to exceed last year's sales. (This brings out the dormant Brownie Scout in me.)
I don’t think I’m violating my principals with the sale of oplatky. Even though I’m technically buying, selling and (sort of ) processing. It’s a service. And the sisters who supply our altar bread and oplatky rely on the proceeds. So I’ll give myself a pass this time. Not just a pass...I think I shall try to exceed last year's sales. (This brings out the dormant Brownie Scout in me.)
Am I blue?
or
Shall we have tripe or bologna for breakfast?
Oh, for crying out loud. I should know better than to watch Good Morning America. Especially when they promise a fascinating Diana Sawyer interview with a family of “indigo children.” How were these people able to produce this segment with a straight face? Or is this a joke? This is a joke, right?
Of course, upon reading the criteria I think we have a passel of indigo people under our roof. (some more blue than others...) And to think that for all these years anyone with an ‘aura’ was sent to the shower.
Slow news day. (And I wonder if Diane Sawyer went back to her dressing room and banged her head against the wall...)
or
Shall we have tripe or bologna for breakfast?
Oh, for crying out loud. I should know better than to watch Good Morning America. Especially when they promise a fascinating Diana Sawyer interview with a family of “indigo children.” How were these people able to produce this segment with a straight face? Or is this a joke? This is a joke, right?
Of course, upon reading the criteria I think we have a passel of indigo people under our roof. (some more blue than others...) And to think that for all these years anyone with an ‘aura’ was sent to the shower.
Slow news day. (And I wonder if Diane Sawyer went back to her dressing room and banged her head against the wall...)
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
This made me smile...
It's spelled fructus, not fructis.
(I can't tell you how many hits I get from folk looking for shampoo!)
I must admit, Alicia, I think I have typed ’fructis’ on occasion myself. Must be subliminal TV brainwashing...
In the interest of odd Google searches, it’s just about time to mention "hand tooled reproduction Victorian tinsel." Just mention it. Heaven knows I’m too weak with other stuff to even think about Christmas decorations. (Note to Embot: Remind me to buy you 100 pieces of hand tooled reproduction Victorian tinsel. Time for you to start carrying on some of our traditions.)
It's spelled fructus, not fructis.
(I can't tell you how many hits I get from folk looking for shampoo!)
I must admit, Alicia, I think I have typed ’fructis’ on occasion myself. Must be subliminal TV brainwashing...
In the interest of odd Google searches, it’s just about time to mention "hand tooled reproduction Victorian tinsel." Just mention it. Heaven knows I’m too weak with other stuff to even think about Christmas decorations. (Note to Embot: Remind me to buy you 100 pieces of hand tooled reproduction Victorian tinsel. Time for you to start carrying on some of our traditions.)
Saturday, November 12, 2005
I looked the wrong way and I lost my hand. He could make you look the wrong way and you could lose your whole head!
Martha is pleased to have a new job at the local Panera bread restaurant. The pizza girl thing just did not work out. I don't think I would have lasted as long as she did. (I don't mind handling multiple phone lines. But I don't have to take complicated pizza order from the chronically hard to please) She enjoys it so far and I'm relieved that she doesn't have far to travel for work. Working at the mall could have taken a heavy toll in gas department.
But I was seized with a moment of panic just before she was to start work. Eddie and I had stopped in for a bowl of soup and decided to pick up a baguette and a loaf of semolina bread before heading home. As the young lady behind the counter put the bread into the slicer, I had a sudden flashback from all the times I've watched Moonstruck. The restaurant began to spin and I hustled Eddie out the door and quickly home in hopes that I could catch Martha to warn her. No such luck. But she did stop by church to see me yesterday and I was able blurt out, "Don't forget Ronny Cammareri." To which the only possible reply was, "Oh, mother."
I know I worry too much. But I don't think I want to watch her slice bread. She can make me a cappuccino, but no slicing while I'm on the premises. Do keep the cinnamon crunch bagels coming...
Martha is pleased to have a new job at the local Panera bread restaurant. The pizza girl thing just did not work out. I don't think I would have lasted as long as she did. (I don't mind handling multiple phone lines. But I don't have to take complicated pizza order from the chronically hard to please) She enjoys it so far and I'm relieved that she doesn't have far to travel for work. Working at the mall could have taken a heavy toll in gas department.
But I was seized with a moment of panic just before she was to start work. Eddie and I had stopped in for a bowl of soup and decided to pick up a baguette and a loaf of semolina bread before heading home. As the young lady behind the counter put the bread into the slicer, I had a sudden flashback from all the times I've watched Moonstruck. The restaurant began to spin and I hustled Eddie out the door and quickly home in hopes that I could catch Martha to warn her. No such luck. But she did stop by church to see me yesterday and I was able blurt out, "Don't forget Ronny Cammareri." To which the only possible reply was, "Oh, mother."
I know I worry too much. But I don't think I want to watch her slice bread. She can make me a cappuccino, but no slicing while I'm on the premises. Do keep the cinnamon crunch bagels coming...
Break even...or die tryin'
At work for the sixth day in a row this week. Not that I'm complaining too much. With The Wedding, Christmas and little Ed's birthday in the near future I'm grateful for any remunerative opportunity that presents itself.
I had forgotten that Saturdays could get a little tedious. So I had a nice internal dialogue in which little Ellyn said, "I'm bored," and grown-up Ellyn said, "If you're that bored, go clean yourroom office." For the first time in about 18 months I had everything off my desk and ready for a good dusting. It just doesn't seem right to do it on a regular work day and maintenance of horizontal surfaces besides the floor is not in the cleaning woman's job description. There also is no block of time without interruption.
The trick here is to pace myself so I'm not all dusted out by the time I get home. I have Halloween decorations to pack away and a lot of remedial cleaning to perform before I can put out the decorative turkeys. And if I don't do that soon I should just leave them in the box and move straight to Christmas.
At work for the sixth day in a row this week. Not that I'm complaining too much. With The Wedding, Christmas and little Ed's birthday in the near future I'm grateful for any remunerative opportunity that presents itself.
I had forgotten that Saturdays could get a little tedious. So I had a nice internal dialogue in which little Ellyn said, "I'm bored," and grown-up Ellyn said, "If you're that bored, go clean your
The trick here is to pace myself so I'm not all dusted out by the time I get home. I have Halloween decorations to pack away and a lot of remedial cleaning to perform before I can put out the decorative turkeys. And if I don't do that soon I should just leave them in the box and move straight to Christmas.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Why, if we were all wiener dogs, our problems would be solved.
Via Vita Brevis.
You Are a Rottweiler Puppy |
 Powerful, smart, and protective. You're eager to growl at anyone you hate - but you're a big sweetheart inside. |
Via Vita Brevis.
I tried…
to compose a song or poem to celebrate the Marine Corps.' Birthday, the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald and the tenth anniversary of my husband’s successful (but really, really way too close for comfort) adrenalectomy. It didn’t quite come together. Maybe next year. There must be a way to make it work. I think of Marines, pheos and shipwrecks “When the skies of November turn gloomy.” Doesn’t everyone?
to compose a song or poem to celebrate the Marine Corps.' Birthday, the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald and the tenth anniversary of my husband’s successful (but really, really way too close for comfort) adrenalectomy. It didn’t quite come together. Maybe next year. There must be a way to make it work. I think of Marines, pheos and shipwrecks “When the skies of November turn gloomy.” Doesn’t everyone?
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Desiccated potato
Is gonna be a sudden craze
Desiccated potato
Is bound to be the very next phase
They call it arid tuber
(Quite rightly)...
I think it is ready. I have had a petrifying (but not putrifying) sweet potato - complete with thumb tack eyes - on my desk for some time. Why? Let’s just call it a VegiTale memento mori. I’m sure it has been there since August (Why? Because the Cardinal came to visit our parish in early September and I joked about getting the opportunity to introduce my little helper to him. Joked.) It is now almost perfectly dry. Light as a feather. No odor. All he needs is a name.
Is gonna be a sudden craze
Desiccated potato
Is bound to be the very next phase
They call it arid tuber
(Quite rightly)...
I think it is ready. I have had a petrifying (but not putrifying) sweet potato - complete with thumb tack eyes - on my desk for some time. Why? Let’s just call it a VegiTale memento mori. I’m sure it has been there since August (Why? Because the Cardinal came to visit our parish in early September and I joked about getting the opportunity to introduce my little helper to him. Joked.) It is now almost perfectly dry. Light as a feather. No odor. All he needs is a name.
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