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Sunday, May 11, 2008

Happy Mother's Day

I was looking for a picture of my mother to post for today, but couldn't find the one I wanted.  I stumbled on this one, which I don't recall ever seeing before:

Momanddad

This is, I believe, shortly before their Las Vegas wedding. It might be after, but if I know my mother, she had these in strict chronological order in the book. This one appears before the pictures taken at The Hitching Post (yes, really, that was the name). Apparently, it still exists.

Mom is 23 here. Dad is 26. Doesn't she look pretty? Don't they look happy?

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I still miss you.

And happy Mother's Day to the rest of you moms, unless you're among the "Mothers Against Mother's Day" moms. In which case, pretend I didn't say anything.

As for me, I refuse to pass up an opportunity to have my husband and son cook me dinner, so Mother's Day is totally on here at my house.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Another Saturday in the Garden

I'll spare you the list this time. The short version is:  I put in some more plants and tended the ones I have and mulched one of the beds in front. Because it is done for now.

I'll show you some of my pots. I like to fill containers as well as plot out beds. Here are four of them, from just planted to blowing out.

I planted this container last week, so it still looks pretty spare:

Lastweek

Sorry about the stripes from the patio cover. As always, you can click to embiggen. Most of the things in this container will get drapey and spill over the sides. Also, with the exception of the Alyssum that's blooming now, most of these will bloom in summer. It should be pretty in a month or two.

Here's my herb pot, planted in late March:

Herbs

Needs to fill in some more. Not getting quite enough sun. And the dill doesn't like it in there. Also, if my gardener doesn't stop watering this with the hose on full blast, digging holes in it, I'm gonna scream.

This was planted about a week before the herb pot:

Bigred

Big Red Judy in the middle there is getting so big she's covering up the coleuses (colei?) that are supposed be peeking out around the edges. I'm probably going to pick this pot apart after a few more weeks.

And, finally, I didn't plant this last one. I bought this at Home Depot in mid-March, the minute the pool and lawn projects were mostly over and the yards were finally mine again:

Blowout

Getting kind of blown out and wacky. Still pretty, if kind of raggedy. Not unlike the lady of the house.

Friday, May 09, 2008

Friday Frivolity

Two Years Ago in Blog History

I was clearing out the kitchen cabinets in anticipation of the termite tent. I was vowing all sorts of fresh-start perfectly wholesome pantry vows. Did not last. I do think our pantry is a little better. But I am also a lot less worried about it. I am quite tired of the medicalization of foods and the endless eat-this-don't-eat-that studies. I am annoyed that They are doing it to our kids in school now. My kid checks nutrition labels for protein content and fat. He's 15. He eats like a 15-year-old boy (i.e. all the time). It's ridiculous.

Speaking of Food

I made roasted tilapia with vegetables last night. Easy, peasy. Roast the vegetables (I used red onions and thawed out froz. artichoke hearts, but you could do anything) in olive oil. Take the pan out of the oven, stir in some cherry tomatoes (I had a box of mixed varieties of cherry and grape tomatoes). Shove the veggies over to one side and lay the fish fillets in the pan, then cover them with the veggies and some chopped parsley and garlic. Put back in the oven and roast until the fish is done. My fillets were pretty thin, so it only took 5 or 6 more minutes.

If Music Be the Food of Love

If music is the food of love, then that psychotic squirrel in my head has some funny ideas about love. This week's earworms include Barry White ("You're My First, My Last, My Everything"), the opening number from A Chorus Line ("God, I hope I get it, I hope I get it. How many people does he need?"), and Linda Ronstadt singing "Blue Bayou," which I have been singing in the shower. It is an excellent shower song, provided you can find the right key and avoid sounding too high and screechy at "I'm going back some day, come what may, to Blue Bayou."

This Made Me Blubber

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Haiku Thursday

Haiku On How I Spent Yesterday Morning

Car CD player
Broken for months; works just fine
At dealership, natch.

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Temperamentally Speaking

I've been reflecting a bit on the last post. The stuff about my life being Not An Open Book What. So. Ever.

I am and almost always have been an introvert. But because I liked music and singing when I was younger and because I stupidly went to law school and became a litigation attorney, fer chrissakes, I am able to pull out and strap on the Not Shy persona* when necessary.

I think people who get to the acquaintance level with me experience kind of a whipsaw thing. I'm all Hail Fellow one minute and Ice Queen the next. I guess. I mean, nobody says so. But I wouldn't be surprised if more than a few people who sort of know me think I'm aloof.

I'm not really an Ice Queen. But I'm no Teddy Bear, either. I prefer my space and distance. But not because I'm some imperious chilly royalty.

I get it from my father. Paranoid, insecure, suspicious, and downright mean. That was my old man. But he was all raw woundedness on the inside (which, by the way, I didn't totally figure out until after he was dead and I had had substantial helpings of shrink-o-therapy. And his gooey-on-the-insideness may still be a rank fantasy, I dunno). AND, oh, he had the ability to be utterly charming. He could don a persona that included the ability to absolutely purr. PURR! Mean, twisty old Richard could purr like a big, fat just-fed tiger.

My mother, on the other hand, was once described by her father as one who "never met a stranger." Which is true. My mother could fall into companionable conversation with ANYone. She was simple, naive, and small-minded in many ways. But she could and would make chitchat with kings, bums, serial killers, saints.

This talent of hers brought her to achieve the biggest thing, probably, in her life: My mother was elected the foreperson on the Twilight Zone jury trial. That's right. My mother was the leader of the first installment of the "celebrities can't be convicted in Los Angeles" series.  She was on the front page of the Los Angeles Times. I don't personally know anyone else who has been on the front page of a major newspaper. Well, not above-the-fold, anyway.

I will say that I'm really proud of her for the way she conducted herself in this. If you care enough and Google like a mad person, you will find the story of how she called into a local radio show to dress down the disappointed prosecutor who was moaning on the air about how starstruck and stupid the jurors must have been. Mom may have been an open and simple person, but she wasn't stupid. And she couldn't have been starstruck, since she had no idea who any of those people were. I can only imagine how the folks answering the phones at KABC that day must have peed their pants when they heard that she was on the line.

So, yeah, how such disparate personalities as my mother and father ended up together and made three fucked-up children is a mystery for the ages.

I'm the middle fucked-up kid. But you probably could have guessed that. Paranoid, suspicious, hilarious** and occasionally charming. And introverted. Not aloof.

~~~~

*I always think of Carol Burnett belting the song "Shy" from Once Upon A Mattress whenever I think of myself as shy. But I am SHY, dammit.

**I am fucking hilarious in person. Not that you'd know it from this blog.

Monday, May 05, 2008

Pick A Little, Talk A Little

I don't get Twitter.

I mean, I get it. I understand what it is and how it works. I enjoy reading the clever Twitterings on some of the blogs I frequent. I just don't get it. Personally.

But then, I don't get having a cellphone glued to my ear 24/7 either. And the train seems to have left on that one. People in my neighborhood talk on their cellphones while they walk their dogs.

Since I quit being a lawyer, I've pretty much made a career of avoiding the phone. Moreover, I've done my best to avoid having people in my life who want to chat All The Time. I do not want to chat. I do not want to share. Not so much. My life is a closed book. In the restricted section. You need to sign a waiver and wear gloves to even look at it in a secured room.

Which, of course, makes this whole blog adventure kind of an oddball thing, doesn't it?

Anyway...

I had a Facebook account for a while. I closed it. I didn't really get Facebook, either.  It was fun flinging barnyard animals at my screen friends and changing the status thingy now and then. Which, as best as I understand it, is the entire purpose of Twitter. Twitter is the Facebook status thingy run amok.

Now that I think of it that way, maybe I do get it. But I'm still not going to get it.

I Solve the Energy Crisis

It turns out that there are at least two kinds of hot flashes.

For me, the daytime kind is the one you most hear about: the hot steamy puddle out of nowhere. Like today, while waiting in line at CVS, all of a sudden I'm all: "Is it hot in here? God, I'm getting sweaty. Should I take off this sweatshirt? NO. Then my sweatiness will be on display for all to see. Gah. Water! I need water! Hurry up! I'm melting here."

Ist2_2013604_melting_ice_cream

The nighttime kind is one I hadn't heard anyone else mention until I said something about it to another woman who's further along the menopausal road than I am: I'm not sweaty. My skin feels so dry and hot you could cook on it. Need to dehydrate any vegetables? Jerky? Just put it over here next to me. I am an Easy Bake Oven.

Eb_oven_clip_image002

So, last night when TMotH wondered if we'd be warm enough now that we had taken the fuzzy blanket off the bed, I could only say, "I will never not be warm enough."

It's true. I am warm enough to last for all time. There ought to be a way to harness all of this heat energy and run my Prius off of it.