In short...
Trip was a success.
Fun was had by all. (Not all of the people all of the time, but enough)
Pictures to follow as soon as I'm resettled.
My disaster wager would have been on "broken ankle" or "tripped on step into sunken living room."
Emergency appendectomy would have been a 100-1 shot. *
Back at work a day late and a whole lotta work behind, since we had to wait until Monday to check the Irish Princess out of the hospital.
Pictures to follow.

* - In the realm of could have been worse.... I caught myself before I took a turn on my sister's inversion table. Like suspending myself from my ankles could be just the thing to dislocate my heretofore unproblematic prosthetic left hip.

Hot Fun in the Christmas? Time

I’ve wondered what it is like to celebrate Christmas in a warm climate. Outside of the few freakish times when the weather has been seasonable during all of December, only to have the temp spike into the sixties or seventies on December 24th or 25th, I have never come close to the experience. Until yesterday. I went shopping for some more ornamental cabbages for the front garden. To take the place of the dying petunias and the mums that didn’t survive their relocation around Labor Day. My usual cabbage stop was closed and I had to go the the Posh Nursery (whose cabbage prices were quite competitive) down the road. Our creepy hot weather has finally passed, but I’m reeling from a work week in which the heat was turned on and cooked most of us at a consistent temp of 88 degrees - about 22 degrees above my optimal working atmospheric temperature. We work in an old building, with a boiler that goes on and stays on for the winter, with details like temperature to be finessed over time. So, except for Church, I’m spending the week-end and any other off time in shorts, not matter how unappealing and mentally unbalanced it makes me look.

And talk about unbalanced. I breeze into the Posh Nursery and stop. Dead. Surrounded by Christmas trees, fully trimmed, Christmas home decor, Christmas accessories. (No music, thank heaven!) Something was out of place. But was it me? It’s a very warm day in October. I’m dressed appropriately - given my age, weight, metabolism, activity level and fear of heat. I should have been thinking about how the Chrsitmas peripherals are being hauled out earlier each year. But instead, it was, “This must be what it is like to live in Florida or Southern California.” Curiosity satisfied, I grabbed the ornamental kale and scooted home. (Full disclosure: I bought an ornament that I thought would be perfect for one of my girls. It was the practical thing to do. I know I should boycott the Christmas before HallowThanksgiving Movement, but I don’t have the purity of intention to will myself to track down this ornament when it is sold out in the weeks before Christmas. You know - Advent. When we’re strategizing the purchase and decoration of our Christmas tree. When most of the rest of the world is planning the dismantling of their trees.

First day of fall and there she goes back
(Bye bye bye bye - yeah)
Those summer days, those summer days...
Go back. Please. I can only wear flip-flops to work for so long.

The finest things in life are within your reach, and you're comfortable enjoying them.

You Are Upper Class

Class isn't always about money, and you've at least got the brains, manners, and interests of an upper class person. You don't have a trashy bone in your body, and you don't pretend to be someone you're not. You're comfortable with your station in life, and class issues don't really bother you. The finest things in life are within your reach, and you're comfortable enjoying them. You may end up: A business leader, corporate lawyer, or philanthropist Other people who share your class: Bill Gates, Oprah, former world leaders like Bill Clinton, and those reclusive billionaires no one ever talks about.

What Class Are You?

But of course.
That's because I live in a very Freegan-friendly neighborhood. (Just no used food, OK)
So I'm goofing around taking quizzes when I have a very good book on the bed next to me. But I went online to look up a word. (satrap - gotta try to work that into my daily chat) Then I looked at a few blogs. Still smarting from the quiz that dylan referred me to - the one that said I'm a book snob when I was afraid it would use a more flattering term like " pathological compulsive hoarder" - I went back for more. It must be a transient ADD day for me because I bailed on the Are You Logical quiz without finishing the first question. Then I found this quiz, slightly more significant than What Flavor Lip Gloss are You? or Are You Like your Mother? Why bother? I'm just like my mother. And I don't think she ever wanted to know what flavor lip gloss she was. I feel much better now.

Funny you should ask...

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Inland North   You may think you speak "Standard English straight out of the dictionary" but when you step away from the Great Lakes you get asked annoying questions like "Are you from Wisconsin?" or "Are you from Chicago?" Chances are you call carbonated drinks "pop."
The Midland
The Northeast
Philadelphia
The South
The West
Boston
North Central
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

Yes, I am from Wisconsin. And I live near Chicago.

Cheesecloth. Or Gauze.
In the interest of avoiding anything cumbersome, hot, expensive, itchy, complicated or difficult to maneuver, the field of potential costumes has been narrowed. I'm still thinking mummy. (Which would also give me the satisfaction of getting some extra mileage out of that $29.95 inflatable sarcophagus.) Or maybe my vintage Burberry trenchcoat, Wayfarers and gauze - you know, the Invisible Woman. It's obvious I'm psyched about seeing my sister, but not about the costume thing.

Thinking ahead...
Fran, Bridget, Martha and I are off next week-end to visit my sister. I speak frequently with her and email expedites pics, but I haven't actually seen her in at least two years. Maybe longer. We were invited up to her Halloween party last year (the last before they sold their house) but couldn't make it. Taking the whole family up north involves rental cars, beaucoup bucks and strategy of a military caliber. And we can't pull that off at this time.

But there has been a reprieve, of sorts. This is going to be the second annual "last Halloween party" due to the bad market in home sales. I should hope they are able to sell their house before Halloween 2008, so we really, really want to get up there. Rick and the boys exhausted their year's supply of theme party enthusiasm for our Pirate Party and are more than content to stay home. (This also makes kenneling of the dogs a non-issue...)

I've not given much thought to a costume. The striped T-shirt, bandana and shorts that I wore to be a pirate won't cut it. But I hate expense. And anything cumbersome. Or itchy.

What to do?
The girls think I should be Cleopatra.
Huh?
How about a mummy and I could take the 5-ft. inflatable sarcophagus as my accessory/date?
Or, as an homage to one of our favorite Parisian street performers, I could be King Tut. (It would make over indulging in any refreshments a non-issue. Walking and visiting the bathroom could be tricky)

A Snob... who can read.

What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Book Snob You like to think you're one of the literati, but actually you're just a snob who can read. You read mostly for the social credit you can get out of it.
Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm
Dedicated Reader
Literate Good Citizen
Fad Reader
Non-Reader
What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

... is probably better than a snob who can't.

Via dylan.

Zoroastrianism: What is Its Future?
Not to be impertinent, but when I read this in the Trib, I think, "Slow news day."

Buzz Kill - Pt. II
I foresee a long ride to work this morning.
Let's keep the patter light-hearted.
"What's on the docket for this week-end? Something fun? Grocery shopping? Getting the computer junk that has crept back out of the living room? It's a minefield.

Buzz Kill.
There are some dinner conversations that cannot be redeemed. We can only hope this doesn't happen at holiday dinners. One regular reader may be afraid of a segue into an example, like when a twelve year old climbs out on the roof because she was denied a wine glass for her cranberry juice at Thanksgiving dinner. But I'm not thinking in the large scope of absurd actions. Just labored, tense, sullen conversation.

There have been family dinners when I have been evasive in discussion of my day. Most of my work days leave me with some nugget than can add edification or humor to the gathering. Occasionally, the only interesting thing is something that I may not repeat. Or I would just prefer not to say.

"What did you do at work today, Mom?

"Nothing."

"Nothing? They pay you to do nothing? How about answering the phone?"

"I answered the phone."

""That can't be all?"

"Well, then I did some calculations and flipped through catalogs pricing a new pall for the parish. I'm OK with having some input into the pall that may very well be placed on my casket - maybe too interested - but it kinda "casts a pall" on the day. Yuk. Yuk. Yuk."

"That's all?"

"No, when I was done with that I worked on specs for a children's pall. FOR DEAD CHILDREN. IT HAS TO BE DONE - BUT EVEN IF YOUR ARE AS UNEMOTIONAL AS ME IT IS DISTURBING, OK?"

"Can we watch "The Simpsons" during dinner?

Tonight was not that bad. But I didn't win any happy homemaker awards for keeping the conversation lively. "What do guys think about Al Gore's chances of winning the Nobel Prize?"

I'm not someone who wants to burn Gore in effigy or reality. I do regard him as an earnest, ambitious none too suave snake oil salesman. And the lack of charm, to me, makes him more rather than less invidious. That makes me not-a-fan.

My more idealistic and 'green' (in the conservation sense) husband looked at me as though I had disparraged his mother. His post flu shot lethargy kept him from being too argumentative. He just looked annoyed. Moving right along...
"So who else do you think would be a likely winner?"

Each boy recused himself. Rick said Jimmy Carter. I said "puh-leez." Rick said Bill Clinton. I said Bono. Bono and Bob Geldoff. Bono, Bob Geldoff and the cast of "Wicked." Bono, Bob Geldoff, the cast of "Wicked," and Steve Jobs. Bono, Bob Geldoff, the cast of "Wicked," Steve Jobs and the inventor of the square bagel. Trying to turn the Nobel Peace Prize into a game along the lines of "I'm Going on a Vacation..." is not, this is a warning, not a good idea. Maybe we should have tried it "Telephone" style.

Then I became cranky. Rick was just hostile, but I was ready to drop the verbal gloves and tear into the subject. (I came from a family that considers dinner table argument to be an art form - Rick does not. The family into which I married does not consider debate to be a recreational sport. It is as well received as public defecation.) So I changed the subject to, "So just what has Clinton done." "Something with microloans." "But I thought last year's Peace Prize went to a microloan guy."

The boys had suffered enough. And it was almost time for The Office. So let's be excused.

And, gee whiz, folks...I make multiple microloans every week. Just wake me if there is a call from Stockholm. But not during The Office.

Wow mom. The word for today is . . .
Palindrome.
Using the Doctor Dictionary rule for prognostication, this should be a good day for family members who have palindromic phone numbers.

Not That We've Had This Problem:
School District Tells Homeschooler She’s Learning Too Fast.
Well, isn't that surreal? Heaven help those who didn't fit the "pupil progession plan."
(via Mark Shea)

Across the Universe

Imagine...(no Imagine) ... Beatles fans play Where's Waldo in a believable Sixties flashback. If only there hadn't been that one gentleman in the theater with us, then it really would have been like MST3000. (I shouldn't encourage misbehavior, but I do enjoy a good Joe Cocker imitation.)

The review in the New Yorker called it light on dialogue, but I think it would have been better if the dialogue had been pared down and performed as recitative. The plot plodded in places but it was made worthwhile by the numbers in which Julie Taymor pulled out her whole creative bag of tricks. The hidden visual and verbal Beatles references were clever. A second viewing would yield more, I'm sure.

In some ways, it was a bit of a mess. (Fran said "cluster f**k" - not in the military sense - whereas I would say eclectic mash up)
Would I see it again? Yes. (Maybe seated in the front row)
Will I buy it on DVD? (Which may be sooner than later) Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Then Bridget can channel Joe Cocker in the privacy of our family room.

Are you using Chopin to Sell My Child a Video Game?
Or is your video game selling my child Chopin?
Eddie has been taking time away from "The World of Dorkcraft" (in the words of his sister). Transfixed by the commercials for Halo3 he has been spending a lot of time teaching himself Chopin's Prelude in D Flat Major (Raindrops), Opus 28, No. 15, mostly by watching a YouTube video of someone playing the piece. (Sheet music on the way!) There hasn't really been any discussion about Halo3, which is fine with me. And we've branched out into a little study of Chopin (without being too heavy handed, lest my enthusiasm taint the atmosphere).

I will cede this skirmish to the TV, since I am not sure if I would have had the same success by traditional music appreciation methods.

(And we've come up with some interesting mnemonics:
1) Explaining Chopin's romance with George Sand...there is no DUDE in Aurore Lucile Dupin Dudevant.
2) Chopin shares Mom's birthday; George Sand shares Daddy's)

From the Annals of Bibliophilic Predestination
Em circa 1981.

You know the saying...
... about 100 monkeys locked in a room with typewriters? You know.
About as likely as this being random finger twitches instead of ASL.

I so didn't get it.
Serves me right for dabbling in Oprah when I should have been sleeping. It became unbearably goofy and I turned the TV off about 20 minutes into the show. So maybe there is something profound that I missed. But I doubt it.

It's Up!

Fran worked while I directed and the fairy hideaway is now above my bed.
Yes, I know it's strange. But the way I figure it, Rick has an office and the boudoir is my office. So it will have to suit my taste, however strange. Franny thinks I should be able to solve my difficulties with the quest for quiet 'space' by untying the tie-backs and crawling inside. It will be my personal bubble and a sign to all that I am not to be disturbed. A "DO NOT DISTURB" sign on the door is of little effect and finding me clutching my rosary as I am facing a wall in the dark is not necessarily a sign unto the masses that I wish to be in solitude. So let's see what lime green mosquito net does...

And while I was looking for a picture of the hideaway...I found that they now have a matching fairy doorway.

I haven't given up on the door, though. And it looks like the dogs - or me - might get tangled in it while wandering in the night. But still....

Sunday Supper
48 hours too late to patricipate in Miz Booshay's Friday Feast, I'll just do it here...

Appetizer: On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being highest, how much do you look forward to your birthday? 11

Soup: What is one word you don’t like the sound, spelling, or meaning of? Pus. It's spelled like it sounds and it sounds like it is...gross.

Salad: Do you wear sunglasses when you’re outside? If so, what does your current pair look like?


Main Course: If you were to write a book, to whom would you dedicate it? Hmm...

Dessert: Name a beverage that you enjoy. Anything bubbly. Champagne, mimosas, sparkling water...and Dr. Pemberton's magical elixir.

By any other name...
a name game via Fr. Daren.


YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet & current car) Cleo Jeep - a bit sad. Could I reverse it and be Scrappy Mercedes?

YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (fave ice cream flavor, favorite cookie) Chocolate Raw - sorry raw dough is the best cookie

YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME:(first letter of first name, first three letters of last name) E-von or E-Hub

YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal) Pink Chicken

YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born) Mary Port Washington

YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first) vonEl or HubEl , either works for me

SUPERHERO NAME: (”The” + 2nd favorite color, favorite drink) The Green Sparkling Water

NASCAR NAME: (the first names of your grandfathers) Adolph Earl

WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s & father’s middle names ) Hamilton - like Cher or Liberace. My mother didn’t have a middle name.

TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME: (Your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter) Cramer Chicago

SPY NAME: (your favorite season/holiday, flower) Lent Hyacinth

CARTOON NAME: (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now + “ie” or “y”) Apricot Jammy

HIPPY NAME: (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree) Kashi Pine

YOUR ROCKSTAR TOUR NAME: (”The” + Your fave hobby/craft, fave weather element + “Tour”) The Collage Snow Tour

Just How Much TV Does This Woman Watch?
I classify myself as a non-TV person. Not anti. We have TVs. Too many TVs. But my distorted self-image is that of a person conversant in television but not a fan. No, I’m not a fan. But I’ve become a little too conversant.

Wednesday is not a night given over to the tube. (Except for the schaddenfruede fest of Kitchen Nightmares… easily watched while multi-tasking. Which is where I have gone astray. I don’t consider time spent doing other activities in the present of a glowing cathode ray tube – or plasma screen, either – to be “watching.” And so little of what is on is deserving of our full attention.)

The promos for Pushing Daisies caught my attention. My eyes will lead me down some crazy paths… can we say “What Dreams May Come?” I wasn’t so sure I would like it…even though it had the prime indicators for a program that I will love. (read also as: this show won’t last long) But was almost too precious. Too eye pleasing. And I had the feeling of intense familiarity. It was too much like something. Big Fish, maybe? But it grew on me. A love story that could use “noli me tangere” as a tagline is different. Enticingly different. "I love you but I can't touch you" is a change from the usual "I don't love you but I'll touch you anyway..."

And chalk up another one for the “Chuck is the name” movement!

I Hear Macaroni and Cheese!*
I’m still trying to develop a family game equivalent to “Hi, Bob.” The mention of pheochromocytoma in a medical show isn’t frequent enough to make for a good drinking game. But for a family that has had its own pheo crises there has to be some fun. How about Dad takes us all to Culvers for cones?

Synesthesia is fascinating. A few samples of John Mayer’s music throughout
The show would have been funny – he’s a famous synesthete (if that’s the word I’m grasping at), isn’t he? In fact I think they could spin off a whole separate show about people with synesthesia.

I smell purple. I taste plaid. Taste and see. Oh, the fun we had.

*”That’s what she said.”
Sorry I ever let them watch The Office. Eddie has a new answer for any question. Who painted “The Arnolfini Wedding?” ”That’s what she said.”
Does Scrappy need to go out? ”That’s what she said.”
Who used all the hot water? ”That’s what she said.”
Define ‘annus horribilis?’ ”That’s what she said.”
Kinda makes one nostalgic for “Don’t have a cow, man.”

Your eyes are like spheres of glue filled with shimmering worms.
And that reminds me...House is on tonight. (Worms. Worms are always Fran's default diagnosis.)

The Surrealist Compliment Generator via Happy Catholic.