O!

Holding a copy of "Anna Karenina" while searching for a breadless turkey sandwich in one of the busiest criminal courthouses in the nation, TV talk show host Oprah Winfrey seemed confident she would not be picked to be a juror Monday.
Don’t think I’d mind being a defendant in front of Oprah. There are a variety of buzz words guaranteed to get her sympathy. I could play her like a violin. The other 13 jurors would be another question. Not that I’m a criminal, or nothin’.
Although.....the breadless turkey sandwich thing concerns me. If they don’t sell turkey and vegies (AKA a turkey salad) couldn’t she just eat around the bread?

Our Matinee....


Bridget and I made it to De-Lovely.
How can I describe it? De-cadent, de-spairing but set to de-lightful music.

Isabel Raloff Smith, August 31, 1922 - August 16, 1988

From the Shouts & Murmurs in The New York, July 5, ‘04:
Lord? Please don’t let me die in a funny way....Perhaps I should clarify a little. I do knnow that I’m going to die someday. (Maybe soon! That’s Your call.) And I know there’s nothing funny about death - at lest that’s the current thing from this side. I’m just asking to not die in a way that leads people who don’t know me to e-mail one another news items about my death......Even if I don’t die in funny way, I’d still rather not die on the same as some other person who does die in a funny way....

Grief is like childbirth in its rhythm of pain alternating with moments of relief in which one can catch one’s breath and prepare for the next assault. My mother died sixteen years ago today. The first days of raw sadness were broken up with intermittent fits of the giggles over the fact that Mom went on the anniversary of Elvis’ passing. If she had been a big fan, we could have said, “How cool, how fitting.” But she wasn’t. She didn’t understand The King’s appeal in the fifties and became more perplexed over time. So her demise on August 16th had an irony that was a blessing for us.
I missed the Shouts & Murmurs piece when it came out a month ago, but ran across it yesterday. A nice piece of comic relief. But I would disagree with the author - maybe I would like to die on the same day as someone who died in a funny way. For the family’s sake.
There’s a candlelight vigil at Graceland. That’s my signal to hustle off to Mass and pray for Mom....

We have a winner!

By opening our absurd back-to-school supply list contest to post-graduate and doctoral students we approach new levels of excitement in the pursuit of all things necessary. The winner: Embot’s fiance, ‘Big’ Ed C. His winning item? One quart of human teeth (all sorts; not just wisdom) for his first semester of dental school. Now that’s something you don’t see folks hunting for at Wal-Mart.

Home Depot shoppers charged in cart fracas

I would never attack anyone with a 2 by 4. But there was a broom that was looking pretty useful that last time I was at Wal-Mart. Not to excuse anyone’s behavior, but I can see how these things get started. Everytime I shop in some sort of ‘Mega-Lo-Mart’ I find myself afflicted with sensory overload and hyperirritability. Too bad sensitive types such as myself (and the fellows in that article) can’t buy our duct tape, 5 dollar shoes and generic Listerine in a cool, calm, aesthetically attuned atmosphere (let’s say something like Nordstrom’s) instead of having our souls sorely tried in the crucible of Wal-Mart.

But perhaps it is good for me.....not just in the budgetary sense.

A counter-intuitive morning....

My instincts say, “Go back to bed; grab some more z-z-z-z’s before work.” I must persevere and put one irritable foot in front of the other and get to Mass. When I start the day foaming at the mouth and ranting about the Confederacy of Dunces which broke into my house during the night, I know it’s time to work couter-intuitively. So two dogs escaped, there are dishes in the sink, no one remembers where the Hoover is (wink, wink) and I have to make sure there is an adult here to talk to the Comcast man when he comes to fix the cable line he bungled up over a week ago. And I’m almost tempted to call in sick from work (what the heck, I’m never really sick. I deserve a day off , right? Even if I’m hourly, so it would be costing me to stay home...) except that I brought my mouse home with me last night. There is a night employee whom I have begged to stay off of my computer...to no avail. Ed C. explained to me why Office ‘98 is almost impossible to lock-out with a password in the event that someone just wants to noodle around with the word processing features. He also told me how to unplug the computer and put a little suitcase key through the hole in one of the prongs. But we don’t want to stoop to that, do we? Do we? Anyway, I think taking home the mouse is a very immature, junior-high type tactic, but since it’s my mouse anyway (donated it to the church as an upgrade) and the person who is fiddling with my computer can’t take instructions written in 28 pt. type, what the heck. But, anyway, I’d best go in today. Need the money. And I have a daytime co-worker who needs my computer on occassion.

Do I really think going back to bed will make it better? Experience has taught me better. When my day starts with demeanor somewhere between Lois from Malcolm in the Middle and that kid from The Exorcist, sack time is not what is called for. Time for a little spiritual readjustment.

Honestly,

I’ve never been into cheerleading in a big way. And the older I get, the skankier the cheerleaders look. On our little shopping trip yesterday, a local high school was having a cheerleaders’ car wash in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Rick was annoyed with my annoyance with the fact that the girls were barely dressed, tho dressed identically in what by some stretch of the imagination could be called a ‘uniform.’ He rationalized that it was hot and they would be getting wet. (Hey, I did my share of high school car washes and never fainted because I was wearing shorts and a tee shirts rather than ‘hot pants’ and a skin tight white tank top.) I said I would never let my daughter perform what they call “cheers,” not to mention work a fund raiser in a Hooters’ uniform knock-off.

Walking in to Wal-Mart, I was approached by a slightly more modestly dressed JV cheerleader asking for contributions. Wish I had more money to work with. I was so tempted to hand the girl $20 and tell her to buy some clothes for her friends.

The boys were feeling out of it...

because they were the only kids in Wal-Mart and Target not wondering about with a list of absurd teacher requested school supplies. I misunderstood their despair and offered to have them help pick out any new supplies we need for the year. But the problem was that they wanted to be among the children with a list of impossible to find supplies and parents with severly frayed nerves. So I offered to make up a list. Just so they can have the experience.......How about 4 pocket folders - orange, light blue, chartreuse and puce. No substitutions. 4 spiral notebooks with covers to match. College ruled; 85 pages only. No substitutions. No buying a hundred page notebook and tearing out 15 pages.


While wandering the toiletries aisle at Target I was aghast at the family working through the quandry of a school list that requested 2 packs of unscented baby wipes. The unscented wipes were sold out and the frazzled Dad was trying to convince his fourth grader that he would not be expelled for bringing in scented wipes. (I’m not so sure he was right. Schools can be pretty liberal when it comes to flavored condoms, but you’d better be toting the unscented wipes... And why would fourth graders be needing wipes any way? Lack of running water? Better hygiene? An attempt to keep kids clean while minimizing trips to the washroom?)


I was trapped in the checkout line (with 1 item) behind a woman who spent over $200 on school supplies. My mind flitted between sympathy and wondering where the heck all the scissors, glue bottles, protractors, etc purchased last year have gone. Do they get dumped at the end of the year? Is anything salvaged - at least for home use?

I scooted past this lady on the way out because increased security had men checking the carts that were overflowing with stuff. I didn’t see her following behind me when I shouted to Chuck something about, “Sorry it took me so long - I couldn’t help it that I was stuck behind someone buying $200 in school supplies. “ Chuck tells me that the look on her face showed that my comment did nothing to lift her spirits. Ooops.

They call me baby driver
And once upon a pair of wheels
Hit the road and I’m gone ah
What’s my number.....
Martha’s back. Bridget hitched a ride up to the north woods with some friends headed to Hibbing, MN. The girls drove back in Martha’s new (‘93 Sundance) which was a gift from her aunt and uncle. Except for the overheating incident (all the fault of the Dave Matthews’ fans clogging the highway outside of some Milwaukee concert venue) things went smoothly.

I shoulda figured....

You speak eloquently and have seemingly read every
book ever published. You are a fountain of
endless (sometimes useless) knowledge, and
never fail to impress at a party.
What people love: You can answer almost any
question people ask, and have thus been
nicknamed Jeeves.
What people hate: You constantly correct their
grammar and insult their paperbacks.


What Kind of Elitist Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
I try not to insult other people's paperbacks. I've been known to read some against my own prejudices and have been pleasantly surprised. (Never read White Oleander just because I am contrary enough to not want to like anything that Oprah would recommend. When a similarly disposed friend lent me the book, I gave it a try. Quite fascinating.) OK - so I am a grammar Nazi with the family. I try really, really, really hard not to correct the grammar of total strangers. Really.
Via Summa Mamas.

What...
is it about "scrapbooking" that drives my husband crazy? He says it is the turning of a noun into a verb. And, of course, the expense. I can't stop looking at all the scrapbooking stuff every time I run into Michael's. In fact, I come up with reasons to go to Michael's so I can hang around looking at papers, stickers, templates etc. Realistically, I think it is a little late for me to archive the lives of my children and our 26 years of family activities. Their babybooks show my lack of dedication to this kind of project. Embot has a complete volume dedicated to her first years. Fran has a rather sketchy babybook. And poor Bridget, born 15 months after Franny, has but four words written in her book. (and that's only because I count von Huben as two words.

GOP wants Keyes

But talk show host needs to think it over
Talk show host? He’s more than a talk show host.

"I do not take it for granted that it's a good idea to parachute into a state and go into a Senate race," he said before meeting the Republican leaders. "As a matter of principle, I don't think it's a good idea."

Should he decide to parachute in, there are several lovely places for rent right here on Smith Ave. I’d bake a cake....

Achtung Baby!

or

"SOY SAUCE! SOY SAUCE! SHE'S COVERED MY PARIS GOWN IN SOY SAUCE!!

Embot’s beloved Edward told me that heretofore unsalvageable CD’s can be redeemed by gently massaging - in an eliptical motion - with Brasso metal polish. I finally remembered to purchase some Brasso (not actually owning any, since I polish all my copper with a homeade concoction of generic catsup and kosher salt) and decided to try it on a hopeless copy of U2’s Achtung Baby. As I started, while the potent fumes tickled my nostrils, I had visions of Mary Tyler Moore’s character in Thoroughly Modern Millie believing the evil Mrs. Meers explanation of soy sauce as a stain remover. What if this was some big joke? But no, Edward C. would not steer me wrong. It worked. It really worked. I wonder if the Brasso people know about this ‘off label’ use of their product....

Presence of white butterflies signals the start of infestation.

And while we were admiring the convolvulus, I noticed some dainty white butterflies flitting among the ornamental kale. Eeeek. Time to whip out the chemicals. Pyrethrins are potent neuro-toxins for the little green worms that destroy the lovely ornamental cabbages. (I’m sure I mentioned that I solved this problem several years ago by misting the garden with RID furniture spray that I had purchased in a paranoid panic when I found out that the neighbor girls had an intractable case of cooties. I never needed it, but was too cheap to toss it. It came in very handy. You should have seen those little worms writhe.)

I guess you had to be there....

Me: “Have you guys seen my gorgeous convolvulus?”


Bridget: “Must you talk like that? In front of my friends?”


Friend Scott: (to no one in particular...) snicker, snicker, snicker...

Yeah, He's the Boss.

But he has no influence on how I vote.

Oh, and has anyone seen my 'Greetings from Asbury Park' beachtowel? Just in case I want to burn it in protest. Or use it. Or whatever.

Nice Idea…
Republican sources said a late entry into the race may be former presidential candidate Alan Keyes, a conservative who served as an ambassador to the United Nations in the Reagan administration …
There’s a duplex for rent across the street from us, in case he’s looking to relocate.

All ‘round weird week-end. Maybe it’s the moon.

I did finish one writing project that I was doing just to prove to myself that I could carry it to completion. The rough part was that it had to be submitted electronically in a PDF format. That was a little mind boggling. Rick patiently helped me convert the piece to a PDF and to attach it to an e-mail. I don’t even know how to send attachments. He was quite patient. I broke out in hives.

The dogs are still crazy.

Two things I learned this week...

1)...this valley of tears is no throw away line to be prayed once over lightly.

2) And what Swift said is more real than I ever considered...("When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in a confederacy against him." ) I may not be a true genius, but I’ve sure found a confederacy of dunces. Technology is aligned against me, too. And let’s not even discuss the dogs, OK?

Is It Over Yet?

My very best memory of a political convention is that of the night JFK accepted the Democratic nomination. Of course, I was only 5 and desperately trying to stay awake until my mother returned home from an evening of shopping at one of Milwaukee’s first developed shopping centers. She had promised me a pair of rubber flip-flops. I watched the convention with my father as a diversion until the goods arrived. I remember dozing off a few times, but I do remember the balloon drop. I l-o-v-e balloon drops. Every 4 years, I watch both conventions. Just for the balloon drops. I’ve missed most of the Boston festivities, which is just as well. I can’t afford near apoplexy so close to bed time. (Rick was enraged by not too subtle veiled anti-life comments in Barack Obama’s speech. And high dudgeon is my specialty, not Rick’s. So it’s best that I missed it. I did see Christopher Heinz introduce his mother. It was appropriately fawning and obsequious, from this mother’s point of view. Not that she’d make a good First Lady, but I’m glad Christopher appreciates his mother. Oh, and who is his friend ‘Joe”?)

For Martha, my Dear


St. Martha Catholic Church

U.S.A. Circus Church

200 N. Orange Avenue, Sarasota, Florida  34236

Circus Church? Seems appropriate, n’est-ce pas?

I often feel this way…

If you jump into a black hole, your mass energy will be returned to our universe, but in a mangled form, which contains the information about what you were like, but in an unrecognizable state.

Especially at the end of the week.

Good Tunes...


Sort of reminds me of Pure Prairie League’s Two Lane Highway.

And because I had a little extra time on my hands I looked up the lyrics for Save it For a Rainy Day.

We stood outside the Chinese restaurant in the rain...

Had been a little confused. The more I listened to it, the more confused I became. Were they singing Chinese restaurant, Chinese rest home or Chinese restroom? I would assume it was restaurant, but one never knows.... But now I do.

Found!
My 'good' scapular.

Under a book on my dresser. I have been puzzling for days how I could lose something that is worn under my clothing....not like an earring back, button or a left behind sweater. Oh, well. Don't know how it got there. I'm just happy to have it back, without having to have it surgically removed from one of the dog's intestines. (My fears are not unfounded - I've heard of dogs who have needed emergency surgery for eating pantyhose, Easter grass, Christmas tinsel and other non-digestible blockage producing stuff.)

Fr. Sibley shows us an article about a Home Invader and a kindly Grandma...

Demonstrating that manners must never be forgotten, even during a home invasion, when he returned from the facilities, Vasquez thoughtfully communicated to the woman that he had used the last of the toilet paper, Zill said.

Wow. This guy, of course, has been on the wrong path in life, but he clearly does have some well ingrained habits. Habits some of my home inhabitants have not yet developed.

I fixed the Problems...

It was a few missing slashes... nothing too big, and a perfect job for "The Embot"

The Good News is...

I finally got that personality test (via Summa Mamas) to work.

The bad news is..........

You are a WEDF--Wacky Emotional Destructive Follower. This makes you a menace to society, depending on how you channel your energies. You chew your fingers and have an addictive personality. Properly guided, you can be enormously productive--otherwise you run amok, stir up trouble, and generally have a hell of a good time.

Wackiness: 54/100

Rationality: 44/100

Constructiveness: 20/100

Leadership: 0/100 (Let’s not let this get on my resume!)

Who Took My Scapular?

(not to be confused with the previous post about my figurative cheese.)
When I was getting ready to shower yesterday morning, I realized my scapular was gone. This was the new, ‘good’ one, with St. Therese. Not the keep-in-the-drawer, cord shortened by multiple repairs, slight green patina on the wool scapular. Still can’t find it. I just hope one of the dogs didn’t eat it. There were several medals attached - ouch! (I posit this as a possibility since I did find Bessie the beagle gumming on it once when I return to my bedroom to dress.)
A family wit asked if it was like one of those red Kaballah bracelets that is to be worn until it rots and falls off.

No. And it is not worn with superstitious intent. And certainly not to deflect the evil eye. (Although a few canines are receiving the evil eye from me as I write this.)

I did see a fascinating interview on the local Fox morning news earlier in the week. They were talking with a rabbi who has studied Kaballah for over thirty years. He was quite fascinating and it was shame the segment couldn’t have run longer. It was fun to watch his bemusement with people like Madonna Esther and Britney Spears, who are jumping straight to a mystical tradition of a religion that they choose not to embrace. He had a nice working knowledge of Christian mysticism and talked some about St. Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross. (Now those are part of ‘Esther’s’ tradition. Do I want her promoting them? I think not. Not now. And where would she John of the Cross bottled water?) The best part was when he summed up the erstwhile Madonna’s Kaballah teaching as making her look like the guy in the Holiday Inn ads who says, “No, I’m not a brain surgeon, but I did stay in a great hotel last night.”


He’s giving a lecture somewhere in the Chicago area in the near future. Didn’t write down the date or address because I knew it was something I wouldn’t be able to attend. Too bad. And he seemed like a guy who be a lot of fun to lunch with, too.

Who Moved My Cheese?

That doesn’t really bother me.

I don’t get upset until someone moves it. Eats it. And then vomits it back up. On my foot.

That’s the kind of week it has been. Oh well.

’Martha’ and The Best Week Ever

I know. The Best Week Ever is a VH1 trademark. I’d use that little trademark thingy if I could find it. Maybe HTML for Dummies has another way to do it, but first I need to grab Housekeeping for Dummies to help find HTML for Dummies.

So, let us continue....

Obviously, Martha Stewart is not having the best week ever. I am sure for a woman of her tastes 5 months in a minimum security prisong will be torture. I hope, after all appeals are exhausted, that she can, to quote my late father, “take it like a man” and “keep a stiff upper lip.” One question about the house arrest thing. Does she get to pick which house? Can she rotate between houses?

On the other hand, our Martha v. is having the best week ever. She passed her driving test yesterday and is back to the DMV to register the car (just a used POS that her aunt and uncle are giving her, but it may turn out to be the best looking vehicle in our driveway) that she will bring home at the end of the summer. She also had dinner in the city the other night (Billy Goat Tavern!) and got to see that big shiny bean thing.

For God commands the angels to guard you in all your ways.

With their hands they shall support you, lest you strike your foot against a stone.
Or a 14.3 lb. weight falling on your bare foot.  An eighth of an inch is close, but in this case close doesn’t count.  My foot is unscathed………thanks be to God and the angel who saw that this was the foot attached to the good leg!

Art?

Or the world’s largest gazing ball? I like it. I liked the gazing ball in my garden,too. Right up until the dogs broke it.....

Yeah!!!
Comedy Series: Arrested Development, Fox; Curb Your Enthusiasm, HBO; Everybody Loves Raymond, CBS; Sex and the City, HBO; Will & Grace, NBC.

Emmy Nominiations this morning...



We can only hope...

The TV is jabbering about “can FRIENDS’ win one last Emmy?” Who cares? Was ‘FRIENDS’ ever funny? It does say something about me that ‘Arrested Development’ resonates with me much more than banal crap like ‘FRIENDS’ or even the mildly amusing ‘Frasier.’ (I think the kids are getting tired of me pointing out the Bluth jet stairs/truck and saying, “And you think our van is embarassing?”) If we only had a Banana Stand....

Unhappy with your job?
I found out, via my sister, that election officials actually look at each page of signatures on election petitions. (Some of her signatures were disqualified because the signers failed to include the year in the date.) Can't imagine a job as mind numbing as looking at pages of signatures. Blah.

 ......Stephen Hawking is saying he was wrong.

Thereby lowering the bar for the rest of us. If he can be wrong, don’t expect too much from me.

There is still no explanation for missing socks, library books and my Greetings from Asbury Park beach towel.

A Day Late and a Few Euros Short...

Hope everyone had a lovely Bastille day....

Pity Party Invitation Warning

Like a bag of rancid french fries or a fulminating diaper, I have to dump this somewhere......sorry to use the blog the way some people use the window on speeding vehicle. But I do find that if I have a good kvetch on-line it gets it out of my system. I try to leave my troubles at the foot of the Cross......this has just turned into the place where I exercise the inclination to discuss the troubles that I have so recently placed in God’s hands. (The friends who say I never complain about anything are obviously not reading what I write. Oh, well, sorry to take it out on you all....)

So........yesterday was my appointment with the orthopaedist to discuss my bad hip. As I saw one patient after another enter the treatment area and exit happily afterwards, I had a feeling that I was going to be the last patient seen. And wind up like Dorothy - watching the Wizard find something in his bag of tricks for everyone but me. The doctor wasn’t sure why my internist ordered the MRI since the X-ray so obviously showed what the trouble was: absolutely no cartilage left in the left hip. None. All that can be done is a hip replacement. Now. Or in five years. Or ten if I’m still walkiing. No matter how you slice and dice it, I am going to need an artificial hip that I will (God willing) outlive. And need replaced. Right now the big problem is that I cannot afford to take time off to get it done. I have sandwiched the doctor’s appointments in my free time. (Did I mention how great the MRI was........? It was quiet compared to the sewer cleaning being done on our street. And they had headphones with WXRT tempting me to wiggle my toes along with Phish and Lucinda Williams. Perhaps it is indicative of the chaos around here that I found 45 minutes in a cool, white tube with nothing but clanking and good rock music as good as a day-spa treatment.) The MRI wasn’t a total wash.......yes, I did joke that it showed that I had everything except worms........but that was just in the hip. The rest of the adjacent body parts look good. And I shall use the films for school stuff, since the orthopaedist didn’t want them. Of course, maybe these are body parts of which young fellows have no interest in seeing on films of their mother.

I had figured when my hip was really shot I could get Synvisc and be good to go. They don’t do Synvisc in hips (for a variety of good reasons that the doc explained to me....) He told me I could up the Celebrex for bad days.

Fran reminds me that she’s glad I’m not a dog. She knows what happens to dogs with such bad hips.

To bad I can’t get a copy of the X-ray. I’d like to have put on a T-shirt so people would stop asking me what’s wrong with my leg. I could alternate with a shirt that says, “THIS IS MY BAD LEG - THE GOOD ONE WAS STOLEN BY AN ITINERANT BIBLE SALESMAN” on the front and “HULDA” on the back.

AND....

My sister called last night to say they were making an emergency trip to Madison today to file extra pages of election petitions. There was some sort of SNAFU (let’s face it.......my family changed its name to Smith from Snafu) and she is short 4 signatures. If time permits she will bring Martha home to spend a few days with us. In this time we have to find a suitable vehicle so Martha can take her Illinois driver’s test and then return her to Wisconsin to finish her summer fun with my sister. I hope I can get home in time to make the house look presentable. Or maybe Martha will just take the 15 hour bus trip from Madison to Chicago.

Madonna Esther is appearing in Chicago. Blech.

And I think I have a zit.


There........all better. Thanks for listening.

Are you a homeschooling mom...


who must be away from home several hours a day? Are you fortunate enough to be able to turn part of the kids' education over to their father? Are you concerned because he does a great job with math, science and computers? And only math, science and computers? Do their community service projects. recreation and free time all involve math, science and computers? Does pater give short-shrift to things like Latin? Is that what’s bugging you bunky?



Cattus Petasatus is here to help.


Honest.

I picked up a copy the other day. I was thinking of saving it for a Christmas gift, but decided to toss it to the boys just for fun. Rick is the one who is having a great time with it. Suddenly, Latin is fascinating.


Quomodo Invidiosulus nomine GRINCHUS Christi natalem Abrogaverit will be the perfect Christmas gift ......

Allons enfants de la Patrie, Le jour
de gloire est arrivé

I guess ABC had some sort of domestic diva reality/competition show last night. Sounds like it might have been interesting. I was working in the dining room putting the finishing touches on my Bastille Day decorations.....


Domestic hint for the week: Take those wooden folk art American flags and paint the back side blue/white/red. After the Fourth of July simply turn the flags over to prepare for Bastille Day!

eeeeew!

What’s wrong with this picture?

Yesterday was the afternoon I spend with a friend’s elderly mother. (The highlight, of course, was watching The Ken Jennings Show Jeopardy) In the elevator, I saw a notice from the management company, typed on their letterhead. Something didn’t look right......it took me more than one glimpse to figure out that the management company’s official letterhead said, “Blankety-blank Management and Reality, Inc.” Reality, huh? What an ambitious enterprise! And I thought I was employed in the pursuit of “keeping it real.”

You may also find this to be amusing....

So am I a Big Fat Failure?
or
What the French call les incompetentes?

Select the button that describes your reaction to the following words:

Can’t find any buttons. Nothing works. Does this mean I fail?
An interesting personality quiz via Summa Mamas. Smockmomma may be a Wacky Emotional Destructive Follower. But she can find the buttons....

That was fun!

The Irish Princess has been spending a lot more time hanging out with the family, due to an unexpected split with her beau of some three years. Whether it’s toddlers with skinned knees or broken hearted young adults, watching your kids take life’s knocks is not easy. And the older they get, the less you can do - you just have to be there and let things take their course.


We’ve had a couple of fun movie nights lately. Last night was the new Cheaper by the Dozen. We were pretty much in agreement that it wasn’t as good as the original. But there were some very funny moments. Almost a little too real in some places.


The vasectomy bit was a gratuitous throw-away. In today’s middle America, having nine or ten*kids already pretty much establishes you as “nuts,” so why have to make a pretense of, “look, this family was trying to get itself under control.”

*or even, um,.....six.

It works!

I am amazed at the way simple things keep on fascinating me. Plant seeds - they’ll grow. (and if they are sunflowers, little garden friends will eat them. But that’s another story.) Hang a thistle finch feeder and finches will descend upon your house. Marvelous. Yes, folks, hang it and they will come!

The shame......the shame

"I'm going to blow up the White House and kill you and your family, You're a stupid peace (sic) of (excrement) and deserve to Die!!!

I can only hope that if one of the spawn should decide to disgrace the family, spelling and punctuation would a priority.

Cassini detects surge of oxygen, circle of 'dirt'
What? Cassini is orbiting my house now?

Not as good as the original...



but fun....

The scary part? Some of the women looked sooo familiar. All those Lily Pulitzer prints. And I think I've been in some of those homes. You know what I mean, Embot?

Oh, well, time to freshen up and look my very best before I head to the Jewel. Time to pick a birthday cake for pater. (I know, a real Stepford Wife would bake one, right? But in Stepford the ovens are all level.......and the wives are ROBOTS!)�

Sweaty kids, dogs, cats, hamsters, wild monkeys, play-doh, axle grease, and fast food!

My, my, Mrs. Galileo. What is that fascinating aroma?


Galileo - If it is worth learning, it has been
printed in Latin. You want your children to
have a classical education. You teach the
Trivium of grammar, logic, and rhetoric, and
the Quadrivium of arithmetic, geometry, music,
and astronomy. Ancient history is fascinating
to you, and you own several Greenleaf Guides to
prove it. Visit my blog:


What Type of Homeschooler Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
A fun quiz from a string of friends viaThe Sleepy Mommies.

Happy Anniversary!

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad! Ah, it's only been 26 years!? Seems like longer!

Worth Prayer Bleg.

Rick dodges bullet.....this year

Tomorrow is our 26th anniversary. Rick suggested dinner and a movie. My choice.

So.....Do we go the comedy route? Saved or Stepford Wives? Something fun.....like Spiderman? I think not.

We have a long history of romantic anniversary dinners deteriorating into quibbling, even argument. So I suggested that we see Fahrenheit 9/11 so that we may argue about a topic outside of our personal sphere. And though we feel differently about energy issues, oil etc. we’re pretty much in agreement that Michael Moore is a jerk. But we both know it could turn personal and nasty anyway. (Have I previously mentioned the time, when pressed for a succinct critique of Rick’s personal appearance, I whispered two words? “Michael Moore?”) So I think it will be Stepford Wives.

With great relief we find out that De-Lovely doesn’t open until Friday. That would be my top choice. But Rick will do anything for love......but he won’t do that.

God has not left the building.

This should be an interesting week at work. Our associate pastor left last week after his five year assignment with us. The new associate moves in some time this week and starts, officially, on the first.

Before I come across as hard-hearted, I must say that I am quite fond of Fr. X myself. He is a great homilist, a devout and dedicated priest, a kind source of guidance in some difficult situations plus quite patient and fun to work for. It was not great to see him go, but that’s the way it works out. And his new assignment is only about 20 miles away. So it’s not really like he’s been sent to Siberia. Or even the South Side.

That said, I must repeat: God has not left the building. Last week saw an amazing amount of time spent comforting those parishioners that were despondent about Fr. leaving. I won’t even go into the e-mail from a prospective parishioner who said, “I’m not happy about Fr. X leaving, but I guess I’ll register anyway.” OK, folks. Father is OK. We’re OK. God’s in heaven. So let’s get on with it.

Time to get ready for work. Let’s polish our patter......”Yes, I’ve met our new associate, Fr. Y. You’ll like him. Really. He works for God, too. God hasn’t left the building.”

You coulda fooled me!

CHICAGO -- A brief earthquake struck the Midwest early Monday, rattling windows and awakening sleeping residents from Wisconsin south to Missouri and from Indiana west to Iowa.

No injuries were reported from the quake, which occurred about 1:11 a.m. CDT


I’ve had some insomnia lately. It appears to be a side effect of a new med for my hip. Last night I made the mistake of going to bed later than usual (watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force....that was not worth screwing up my bio-rythms for the week.) By track 18 of the 20 track Catholic Latin Classics CD I was finally lulled to sleep. On track 19 the dogs barking and baying at the neighbors who were engaged in some combination of partying and bickering awakend me. I did manage to get back to sleep rather quickly but was re-awakened about fifteen minutes later by a bunch of people yelling at the nearby apartment complex.

Back asleep again. Jolted awake by one of the complex citizens using an obscenity and the sacred name of Jesus in a new sick way. (If I had been more coherent I would have said something.) Dogs are going nuts with the choice of entertainments. The argument at the complex didn’t have the signs of violence that would justify calling the Sheriff’s department. Livining in an unincorporated area has the drawback of no access to law enforcement that is overwhelmingly impressed by a complaint of ‘noise.’ A call to the Sheriff at 1:00AM should involve imminent danger......and, to be honest, the only thing that was at peril was my sanity and beauty. The last big event was when a young man by the name of Kevin locked his signigicant other out of his vehicle. I fell back to sleep to a soothing chant of. “Let me in Kevin, you son-of-a-bitch.” If had the strength and lack of dignity I would have thrown open my window and yelled, “Don’t do it Kevin. She sounds like trouble to me.” So how should I notice an earthquake?

My sister was in an earthquake once. Not that the fact is so remarkable, except that it was back in her law school days in Vermont. The kind of place one doesn’t use Quake Wax to anchor all the tschotschkes. She felt it, though she wasn’t sure what was happening. In bed, after a long night of study plus a meeting with her ‘support group’ in the local pub on the green, she wasn’t quite sure what was shaking or why.

Sounds like a lot of work...

Maybe the Spinal Tap guy who built the 18” replica is available.

I'm here.....
I think...

Busy week.

A thought I may have previously posted........Diamonds may be forever. Toilet seats aren't. We, it didn't say deBeers on the old one.......so guess where we were last night. Nothing makes a nice family outing like toilet seat shopping.

Oh, happy day!



Congratulations, Eddie!

"The happiest days are when babies come."

It’s the real thing.....

So leave it alone. The Old Oligarch makes an impassioned plea for the Coca-Cola Company to leave Dr. John S. Pemberton’s sublime conncoction alone. There is always TAB, for the non-discriminating, non-sugar craving, self-destructive palate.

One down...



Two to go...



I’ll give them credit.....They printed the whole letter. They did spell my name correctly......all caps with the VON in small letters. Nice. And the lady who called me to say my letter was being published was very nice. I was a little puzzled when she said the letter caused a lot of discussion, especially the part about eutrapelia. No one reading the letter had any idea what eutrapelia meant. I sorta figured it was a word I could use when writing to a religious paper. I might have changed my wording if I were writing to the Weekly World News. (Hey, then maybe I would have had a call from Bat Boy! The call from the NCReporter caused a bit of a stir at home - the kids thought I had committed some sort of a religious crime. They told them to call me at work.....where I figured the call was just to sell a subscription.)

The Amasong Chorus: Singing Out
A documentary about Champaign-Urbana’s Premier Lesbian/Feminist Chorus. Now that's what I call disturbing TV viewing at bedtime. I will agree that they had beautiful voices. What was never explained was the whole concept of forming singing groups based on sexual orientation. What next? The North Shore Diminished-Libido Gals A Cappella Experience?


I do see their advantage in having a singing group that can vocalize its agenda. They sang an absolutely lovely version of the 23rd Psalm. It took me a bit before I noticed that there was something off. The use of feminine pronouns throughout...(The Lord is my shepherd; she leadeth me....) One chorus member reminisced about being brought into the room of a dying man to sing this comforting piece and the palpable sensation that they were ‘connecting’ with his spirit. Indeed. If I had brought a group of singing lesbian/feminists to surround my father’s deathbed and sing a mangled version of the 23rd Psalm there sure would have been a palpable effect. Or perhaps it would have pushed him on his way faster.


Note to Embot: I know I encouraged you to join more ‘activities’ during your college years. Thanks for not joining this one. I am not saying this to particularly harrass any gay/lesbian people we know. Sex is private. Some things are private. And not good bases for forming musical groups.

Even Cardinals have Bad Days.*
or

Why does Eugene Kennedy keep publishing his dreck in the Chicago Tribune?

Not to be read if one is prone to hypertension. Moi? I was at the doctor just last week. And I was fine. Until I read Kennedy’s op-ed piece in the Sunday Trib.

*registration required 7 days after publication, I believe. But it is worth it. If you like aggravation.

Au revoir, Martha



Hope you enjoyed the trip.
Maybe we’ll watch Silver Streak tonight....Or maybe not.

My father had a small printshop...

So reading about the business doldrums of
Jeff Culbreath really gets to me. I wish we had some printing to order. But for now all I can offer are prayers and a bleg:

Therefore I have just one request of my readers: If you work for an organization that needs printing, or if you know someone who does, please consider using a hungry little Catholic printer Sacramento, California. 


I know that life is no bowl of cherries for many people working in the big corporate world. I won’t imply that my childhood was scarred by the ups and downs of my father’s business (OK...I have to admit that I was blessed in many ways...not just having my parents around more than other kids did, but having access to a lot of artistic and graphic advantages that just weren’t available to other kids back in the pre-desk-top-publishing, everybody-has-a-computer-at-home 1960’s and 70's) But I do remember knowing that many things were dependent on how business was going and there were times when the care showed on my parents’ faces. They were honest with us, without dumping too many details on our shoulders. But a perceptive kid can tell how things are when Mom has a bit of a twitch while opening the dentist bill. And you pick up on the ‘code’ that the folks use to communicate about which bills will be paid this week and which to hold off on until the bigger debtors get that check in the mail. I guess that’s why I kind of chuckle when I hear people complaining about living on a ‘fixed income.’ There was no fixed income in the Smith house when I was growing up. Some years were very, very good. Others were slim indeed.

I’ll be keeping the Culbreath’s in my prayers.

A word so vile.....

that our most foul-mouthed family members never say it. Ever.

In a sworn statement to be made public Tuesday, University of Colorado President Elizabeth Hoffman said a four-letter word used toward women can sometimes be used as a "term of endearment." .....But, the spokesperson said, because Hoffman is a medieval scholar, she is aware of the long history of the word. She said it was not always a negative term.

I have never presumed upon hearing this word that the speaker was a medieval scholar.

In the deposition, Hoffman was asked whether the "c-word" is "filthy and vile."


She said she knows the word is a swear word, but "It is all in the context of what--of how it is used and when it is used."


She was asked, "Can you indicate any polite context in which that word would be used?"


Hoffman answered, "Yes, I've actually heard it used as a term of endearment."

She must be hanging out with some classy dudes. That’s one archaic term that I’d hesitate to use as a term of endearment!

Your assignment for today kids:

Memorize this formula: c=(m+n0)/p Apply to SpongBob, the Three Stooges etc. We’ll discuss later.

And you may want to show your father the scientific proof for mother’s perpetual chagrin at the endless punning. It’s all there. Scientific proof.

People come and go so quickly around here...

Welcome back, Bridget, from your Vegas vacation. Thank you for the lovely Eiffel Tower drinking glass. Thank you for not getting married. (Not that we don’t want you to marry. Just not in Vegas. Not in one of those ‘wedding places.’)

Au revoir, Martha. Hope you enjoy your ride on the Hiawatha.
Stay in touch. Don’t become too much of a cheesehead.

Now it seems to be too quiet here. Twenty minutes ago, while trying to hammer out a reasoned yet firm response to a goofy op-ed piece by Eugene Kennedy in Sunday’s Trib there was an incredible amount of noise. Animal noise, video game noise and what my late father would refer to as generalized lip farts. Now it’s so quiet. Where is the happy medium? Oh, I know, the happy medium receives $60 for a 30 minute consultation (as seen on a nearby billboard.) OK, maybe she’s not necessarily happy...though pulling down $120 an hour would jolly me up a bit.

D’oh

"I feel that same-sex marriages should be allowed because we all benefit when no one is excluded," said Robert Lerose, 44, a writer from Uniondale, N.Y.

If that wins the Great American Think-Off, then I should win the Pillsbury Bake-Off. Our skill levels are analagous.

And just who is speaking out for all of the unshod, un-shirted being excluded from commercial establishments across our land? Let no one be excluded. No one.

What shall we do today?

- babysit Embot’s new kitty while she is working at Summer Reading club sign-up.

- fix the dryer which seems to have sensed that Martha is leaving town in the next 48 hours and would like clean clothes. Bridget left for the great West on Wednesday to attend a wedding. The dryer must have overheard us all talking travel.

- clean up the house; clean up those thingies from the bean bag; clean up the blog which has been quite neglected.

- work on the garden. I’m not much of a gardener and I feel a tremendous sense of wonder each year when I notice the plants I put in are not only growing, but thriving. (Miracle-Gro!)

Just when you think....
it’s safe to have a bean bag chair....

Rick and the boys had a little party last night to watch the latest Lord of the Rings DVD. Looks like no one noticed that the big bean bag had developed something of a leak. On second thought, the dogs may have noticed and gone on to have their own fun during the post-party.

Really!


Just ask Fr. Sibley.

Fascinating.

And on the home front.....

EMERGENCY VISIT SUMMARY:

Presenting Complaint: Bessie presented on 6-10-04 at 8:15PM for right front leg lameness.


History:

Bessie got loose for a few hours this morning and came home limping on the right front leg. As the day progressed the foot has become mre swollen and she will not use it now.


Physical Examination:

Temp - 102.3; Pulse 140/good; Respiration = pant

Weight:13.400 kg.

Appearance: normal (if you are a dog)

Oral Cavity: muzzled
(good idea!)

Comments: DDx: Soft tissue trauma, puncture wound, fracture, open.

X-Rays:film taken of the right front foot. No fractures noted. Soft tissue swelling noted at the base of the pad of the fourth digit. Linear objects noted along the base of pads. Possible external or internal fb.

Start anti-inflammatory meds and antibiotic ASAP. Bessie will see regular DVM in a.m. for wound care w/ sedation.


If I’m covering the bill until Fran’s payday, I expect to keep the X-ray. Doggie phalanges.....interesting. How much? Don't ask. All I can say is I was limping badly last week and I wouldn't have paid that amount for my own relief.

...I'm bigger and I'm faster: I will ALWAYS beat you.

If you’re middle aged, there’s a good reason why you can’t beat your child at games like “Memory” and “Concentration.” Scientists report that after age 40, brain tissue shows genetic changes that may contribute to the aging process, including cognitive decline. I beg to differ. I believe I still have a fair amount of synaptic plasticity. I think.... My mind works like a photo-giraffic pimento.... I think.....

Me, too, Mrs. Lively!

src="http://members.aol.com/chrispyk16/frylock.gif">

I am Frylock from Aqua Teen Hunger Force!!

Which Aqua Teen Hunger Force character are you??

... a celestial view that no living person had seen before.
And it did look like Cindy Crawford’s mole. But I was impressed.

Don’t make him angry. You won’t like him when he’s angry.....

Pay no attention to the cranky woman behiind the desk.

After a quick trip to the doctor’s on Friday afternoon and a week-end consisting of a lot of sleep, I’m feeling lots better. I would have been more worried about my pain, lethargy and lymph nodes the size of ping-pong balls if it hadn’t been for the fact that I know of several other people with the same affliction. The doctor wasn’t too concerned. The bubos weren't black or anything really alarming. What the heck.....half of the doctor’s office staff was home sick also.

So if I’m feeling better, why so cranky. Maybe it’s just residual.

I was going to do a new VH1 music review, but I can’t think of anything nice to say. Beyonce, Britney and the girls of their ilk all
appear to be ‘acting out.’ Their comportment is indicative of ‘problems.’ I would say they need agents of change, not theatrical agents. And their fathers, boyfriends, managers, etc. should stop acting like pimps and set up some sort of interventions. The temptation to stop milking the cash cow, even if it is a loved one, must be too great.

Time to hustle off to work. A short day, but I’m gritting my teeth in advance nonetheless. Renovation starts on the school building today, so the parking lot is going to become a fascinating microcosm of all the flaws of the human soul. Better get there early so I can avoid the fun.

Quickly......
before I get on with the morning. My letter to the National Catholic Reporter. They didn't publish it this week. Boo-hoo. I would love to get something published in the Reporter - well, as much as I would like to be published in MAD, The Onion or The Enquirer.

May 28, 2004

Every party has a pooper , so do permit me to do my part in the general pity party perpetually taking place in your letters section. I am especially moved by the whiny, self-centered tone of the letter (The Church in Transit; 5/28/04) by Mr. Patrick Perriello.

Mr. Perriello sees discipline as "repression," correct teaching as "rigid orthodoxy" and serious sense of purpose as "sadness."(Hey, what's the problem with orthodoxy, i.e. right thinking?)

I would not be one to invite him to leave the Church. But, please, Mr. Perriello, leave the pity party. Stop looking for license disguised as "compassion" and laxity masquerading as "tolerance." See the joyful Church as she truly is - don't accept a hollow substitute that trades eutrapelia for cheap laughs; calls charitable correction "punishment," and has closed its ears and hearts to the Word Incarnate, Jesus Christ.

Sincerely,

Ellyn Smith von Huben.......

Oh.....
Here’s the Distorter Reporter letter. My response later. Can’t be late this morning. Martha has a math final first period. Don’t want to be responsible for any problems there.

I have been a member of three very different Roman Catholic churches. Growing up in the ’50s, I was part of a pre-Vatican II church that possessed great clarity in its beliefs but at the same time was very pastoral. The greatest identifying feature of Catholicism was not eating meat on Fridays. The church did not take itself so seriously; one very popular book was I’ll Die Laughing (a book of cartoons about altar boys). Once in a while a “mean priest” would say something cruel or judgmental and an angry person or family would leave the church. When this happened, the “fallen away” Catholics would be gently encouraged to return with the suggestion to pay no attention to the offending priest, who probably really didn’t mean what he said. And it was also the church that supported John Kennedy’s campaign for president, endorsing the notion that the church of Rome would not and should not tell him how to be president.

The Vatican II church was of course a church of excitement, energy and experimentation. It was a church of possibilities. It was most notably a shining light and leader in this country in the fight for civil rights. Cardinal Lawrence Sheehan of Baltimore courageously went to city hall to speak on behalf of open housing legislation in the face of opposition among many Catholics in the community.

The current Catholic church is one of repression. It is a sad church -- you don’t hear much laughter these days. It is circumscribed by a rigid orthodoxy and defensiveness that has taken all the humanity and compassion out of Christianity. Instead of reaching out to others with love, the church reaches out to punish anyone who dares dissent in even the smallest detail. And there are plenty who encourage those with doubts or areas of dissent to leave the church, just as many in this country often say, “America -- love it or leave it.”

Yes, it is a sad church indeed. The only saving grace is that my experience tells me it will not last long. For I find that the church is constantly changing, and it will soon change again. I believe that the fourth Roman Catholic church in my lifetime is about to appear, and while I don’t know what it will be like in many respects, I do know it will be more Christ-like -- more loving, more compassionate, more understanding and, yes, more tolerant.


PATRICK J. PERRIELLO SR.
Baldwin, Md.

And while we’re talking transits....
when I get some time I want to open a little can of....

on the deacon on my church who copied this goofy letter from the National Catholic Reporter (The church in transit ) - on the parish’s copier, no less, and left a copy in all the mailboxes with a little comment on how he couldn’t have said it better. Blech.

But no time now.....

Martha has finals so we must be on time.

Work should be busy. And, just as I had the fun of putting my godchild in the baptismal register and Chuch into the confirmation register, today I must enter my friend’s son into the death register. Memento mori....

And it all gets curiouser and curiouser....



So I’m reading to Rick and the boys the news about the transit of Venus on June 8 and come across a little nugget of information that John Philip Sousa wrote a march in honor of the transit of Venus in 1882. I wondered what the piece was called, being somewhat familiar with Sousa’s work from the records of my dad’s that I used to march around the living room to in my formative years. A quick Google check reveals that it is called “The Transit of Venus March.” Duh. The Library of Congress has oodles of info (including a download-able version of the march. It’s OK, but no Stars and Stripes Forever.)


So....

Like many musicians and conductors of that time, Sousa was a Freemason. His affiliation to the group, with its penchant for divining mystical qualities in otherwise natural existents and phenomena, played a significant role in the performance of his march, particularly in the selection of the precise time and date of the performance. On April 19, 1883, at 4:00 P.M., as 10,000 people, including representatives from many branches of government, filed in a stately procession from the museum to the receiving stand, the planet Venus, invisible to the participants, completed its arc in the sky and set in the west. At the same time, Virgo rose in the east, and Jupiter positioned itself directly overhead. Why was this particular time and date selected for the unveiling of the magnificent bronze statue? In the mystical circles in which Sousa and the event organizers orbited, Venus was associated with the element copper, and Joseph Henry had used large quantities of copper to create his powerful electromagnets, which at that time operated some of America's newest technology. The correlation of the "passing of Henry," commemorated by the statue, and the "passing of Venus" in the west may have seemed like a fitting bond between two separate worlds, human and cosmic. (See David Ovason, The Secret Architecture of Our Nation's Capital, 1999.)

I never knew that.

While we’re on the topic of mystical secrets, I’ll assume there is no point in calling in sick on June 8 to take the kids to the planetarium or something, since I’ve already published my curiosity in a public forum. Oh, well.

We received a sample set....



of MagnifiKid at work. Not knowing which way to direct it, I brought it home. It seems pretty impressive. I may be subscribing for Eddie. And I’ll be able to take the sample back and give a few people the pitch that real parishioners would be interested in it. You know, normal folks like me.

What is the opposite... of the canary in the mineshaft? ‘Cause I think that is me. I am the least allergic of all my family members. Maybe even of my most of my friends and close acquaintances. When the cottonwood starts making me sneeze and wheeze, I know we’re in for a miserable stretch. (I had hoped that one upside to the constant downpours over the past week or so would be that the cottonwood ‘fluff’ would be knocked off the trees and straight into the storm drains to do the last of its dreadful damage - bypassing the naso-pharynx thing. No such luck)

That - combined with some old pink Peeps as a bedtime snack led to a night of very bad dreams. I am more tired now than I was ten hours ago. The best - or worst - was the dream in which I had babies with three different men. Two of the men looked just like Rick. Maybe one was Rick. Neither objected to the presence of the other man’s child. The third man was Coolio. OK, he looked like Coolio. but he was a nameless instructor of fixed prosthedontics at Marquette University Dental School. This must have been caused by the hip-hop discussion with Martha followed by a stale marshmallow bedtime snack, exaccerbated by the fact that I forgot to buy more dental floss on my way home from work where I had spent time with a co-worker recuperating from major dental surgery.

Where is this going? Nowhere. Time for a decent breakfast and some caffeine. Lots of caffeine.

Please forgive...
the strange look of this blog.
I am having trouble adjusting to the new Blogger format.
I get it to look right on the preview - now having to throw in >br< and >p< etc. to get it to work. But when I look at the actual page it doesn’t look quite right. Then I look at it on two different computers at work and it comes up with two more permutations.

Diocesan spokesman Ray Delisle explained that McManus was writing in the precise "language of moral theology.''

Precisely the problem. Who wants to hear the precise language of moral theology? Not anyone looking for an inclusive, diffuse catch-all philosophy.

Just a note....

in case you’re wondering where I’ve been....


...Very busy at work. Lots of illness and shuffling of work duties.

....Our parish secretary’s son died yesterday morning after a brief illness. Prayers would be appreciated for the repose of his soul and for her consolation.

...Trying to organize the end of the school-year stuff. Having to put in extra time at work has thrown me off a bit. Looks like we’ll be doing some extra studying over the summer.

....Chuck turned fifteen last week. We had a fun night out. Went to see Shrek 2 and then out to Portillo’s for pizza etc with the whole crowd. One of those lovely “full quiver” moments that don’t happen as often as they used to.

....Party at the grandparents’ on Sunday to celebrate Embot’s graduation from U of I (just this once, allow me to say that overworked phrase, “You go, girl!!!”) and Chuck’s birthday.

....Fran is delivering on her birthday gift to Chuck of a redecorated bedroom. They went to Home Depot to pick out the paint on Saturday and are going to start painting today. That means that everything is moved out of his room (the most capacious in the house) and the whole house resembles a traumatic “Trading Spaces While You Were Out Extreme Makeover” show. (Maybe today is one day I'll be more than happy to be at work......more than happy.)

Blah
No way... I drive an Amigo.

PS - If you need cartoon characters to influence your sexual behavior, you most likely aren't mature enough to be doing it anyway.

Sorry, Embot

Breast-feeding 'cuts heart risk'

Actually I read this article in hopes of finding more maternal benefits. Walking around with someone ‘attached’ for almost 15 *years has to count for something, right? Oh well, I guess you and I will just have to do other things to skew our prognoses. (Remember...I’m the skim milk and Karo syrup kid!)

* for the benefit of those not familiar with my family, those 15 years covered 5 children, not 1!

Someone is thinkin' pink!!

It’s not so much that the Jesus Chic bothers me, as the dread of when the vulgar parodies take off.


e.g.:



You think Von Dutch is hard to find, bet you never saw Von Bitch!


How do I know about Von Bitch? We have one (shirt,that is.) Martha bought one and I was sufficiently amused (on the grounds that we are a ‘von’ family) that I didn’t go with my first instinct which was to tell her to take that vulgar piece of crap back to where she found it. We did decide on a few ground rules, i.e. don’t wear to church, school, grandma’s, work, library etc. Basically, don’t wear it out of the house. In all truth, I would have been more disappointed in her if she had plunked down the big bucks to get on the ridiculous star-struck Von Dutch bandwagon.

Tired and uncaffeinated, Ellyn muttered a gruff. “Good morning.”
Ever cheery, especially considering that she’s working on Pacific Time, Michelle says, “Try this....”

You're a Dialogue/Character Writer!


What kind of writer are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Could be worse...

I was afraid the answer would have been “Norman Bates’ mother.”

You are a villain. A human slaughterhouse. You
are deeply feared, even though it means you
lack any friends, and likely will never get the
girl, you still inflict fear and death wherever
you go.


Are you a horror movie hero or villain?
brought to you by Quizilla

Thanks to Michelle

Pardon my dread....
What a delightful Mother’s Day. The sale went smoothly. The weather was extremely cooperative. Everything was great.

The family gave me a surprise lunch. I was lured home in a timely fashion by a cell phone call (I missed the first 10 calls because the phone was hidden in a bag in the van. ) requesting that I come home ASAP because Bridget needed a ride to work, our pater was vomiting and Franny was unavailable because she had to go to a friend’s to rescue a tiny bunny. The trip to deliver some roses to the mother of my godson on her first Mother’s Day was quick.....nobody home at their house. Put the roses in the garage - and I actually remembered to call her later and tell her to look in the garage. Ain’t I amazin’? Prayed on the way home that I could be patient and understanding. Sun burned and with a certain tired feeling of satisfaction, all I wanted was an opportunity to veg-out. No ministering to dyspeptic spouses, orphaned rabbits and chauffeuring the high-strung. So it was quite a surprise to walk into a fabulously clean house and find a more or less well family seated around a beautfully prepared lunch table. (OK - it wasn’t perfect. The boys had been temporarily exiled to their room owing to some sort of incident involving a nosebleed, lack of fraternal cooperation and Chuck’s having reached his limit of toxicity for sisterly whining. The Chopin CD that Fran chose for pleasant lunching background music skipped to the Marche Funebre. And there is still enough illness in the house that I am refering to it as the IHoP: i.e. International House of Phlegm.)
But.....it was good. Very good. I liked Mother’s Day.

Addendum......The special Mother’s Blessing at the 6:00pm Mass was most efficacious. I think it helped keep me from going ballistic as Martha and I perused the school supply section of the Osco looking for just the right three-ring binder with clear front pocket for an English portfolio due 3rd period this morning. And on to CVS. All with maternal good humor, even though I was anxious to get home and plunk down in front of The Simpsons.

Note to Embot: I was wearing my Mother’s Day necklace. I even had everybody in order this time, though backwards. I was too tired on Saturday night to reverse the order and I was afraid I’d break the chain (again!) if I tried more fiddling with it in my unpatient state.

Note to Rose Sale Friend (you know who you are): You’re right. Flummoxed has two m’s.

I said it last year.....and I’ll repeat again in ‘04

I hate Mother’s day, you dribbling pukes. Mom - Futurama
I should rejoice that I am no longer chair of the Mother’s Day Right-to-Life Rose Sale at my parish. But I am the girl with full size van which is impervious to water spills, rose petals and other stuff. So I’m off....if not to ‘paint the roses red,’ to at least be their driver.

Well, OK, then.....
the young hypertensive on ER didn’t have a pheo. I can miss a diagnosis sometimes, can’t I?

Totally missed Friends. Went to a good talk at Church. Our bishop spoke on sacraments, sacramentals and devotions.

I don’t think I saw 3 whole episodes of Friends in ten years. I still think of Courtney Cox as ‘the girl in the Bruce Springsteen video.’ In between driving kids around this afternoon, I caught a little of a VH1 special about the Fabulous life of the Friends stars. Yech. Feng shui hair stylists. Photographic spiritual regeneration. Gut rehabbing a $13 million mansion. I never knew there were so many ways to throw away money.

Time to go
to that nest of “contagion, and unnatural sleep." There is some sort of bug going around work. No one feels great. People who never take a sick day have phoned in sick. Those left standing have a lethargy that fails to respond any amount of caffeine stimulation. We’re just a step away from someone complaining to the Cardinal about the parish that employs zombies to work in the rectory....

I hope I'm in better shape when I return home today. Yesterday we were doing a "fun" geometry exercise with the 3-D tangrams. When it was time to move on to something else, I offered to put the two sets of blocks back into their original squares and pack them in the carrying case. Couldn't do it. I started to sweat.....and stuck somewhere between tears and a sneeze I crammed the blocks into Zip-Loc bags. They should be safe there until thinking skills return. Just keep 'em away from the dogs, boys.

That's funny!

Insular Majuscule- You are spiritual and well
rounded. People look to you for advice, but
sometimes find you difficult to understand.


What Calligraphy Hand Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
In real life, part of my job involves the meticulous transcription of names, dates etc. into sacramental records. In nicely executed block printing that would have made my primary teachers and my mother (who was a primary teacher) proud. Not artful.......but legible.
Link via Eve Tushnet.

Scientists offer hope for poor readers
A monthly $500 Barnes & Noble gift card would help me a lot.

Nom de plume du jour:
Francisella Tularensis
I started feeling unwell before the orphaned rabbit came into our lives. Despite the prognostications of some of my co-workers, the bunny is doing well. I think I’ll be OK, too.

For those of you who may care:
A - Tularemia [aka rabbit fever], characterized by intermittent fever and swelling of the lymph nodes, is relatively rare in Illinois.

B - The bunny is eating well, developing a strong suck (over 2cc’s of formula at the last feeding) and is manifesting a good spontaneous urine output. The urine thing is where I draw the line......Fran said that these tiny animals sometimes need to have their bladders massaged. I guess that’s something their mothers will instinctively do. Not this mama.

I’m sorry your mother was killed by a jackhammer in an unfortunate sidewalk excavation. I’m sorry you came so close to being volunteered as snake food by a vet tech. I’ll let you sleep in a nice trendy colored Rubbermaid box, wrapped up in one of my favorite 3M cleaning cloths. I’ll help to keep you safe from prying fingers and canines. I’ll buy you some small mammal formula. But please don’t expect me to massage your bladder.

Modified May Altar this year....

This year I am making a modified May Altar in the family room because we still have to do a little furniture moving to finish the trim in the living room. I am somewhat disappointed. But there are some family members who are not doing such a good job at suppressing their relief that our 44” statue of Our Lady of Grace is not being placed in a position of prominence in the living room. I have come to accept this attitude. For one thing, the May Altar is a relatively new practice in our family. And I don’t think they know one single other family that has ever had a May Altar. So for the bigger kids, it is somewhat strange. I’m sure in 15 or 20 years, everyone will accept it as SOP.

My Lost Week-End
The bad news......I felt crappy and not terribly motivated to do all the little tasks on my must-do list.
The good news.......I felt well enough to almost finish reading this......