Long. So....?

It's been just shy of four years that my fingers have been typing out this dreck. And I've enjoyed every bit and then some. Just shy of 4 years and over 350 posts.

From time to time, over the past years, I'd wondered how long I would write this. Somewhere less than 50 years, I figured.

I also wondered how I'd know when it was time to stop. Would I fade away or would I "just know".

Guess it's both. I'll fade away just knowing that I'm done.

My tale isn't told, thankfully. I may even, from time to time, come back and throw something up, purely for the joy of putting words to screen: The further tales of life as a medical resident and then a terrified attending physician. (Scariest night of my life? That first night on call as an attending.) More on the front lines of the garden wars. Even another wretched haiku or 10. The thug deer. The large grey goose who thinks she's a goat, who lives on the farm down the road. (The llama seems to have moved on, I haven't seen him shunning the pretty ponies for months.) Beaker the mailbox and his repeated pummelling by the snow plow of death.

But not now. Not for a while; a long, long while, most likely.

And that's not fair to anyone who still checks in here, from time to time, out of friendship.

I'll genuinely miss all of you, especially those of you (you know who you are, yes you do) who've become real friends over the years, many (though not all, sadly) whom I've had the sheer unmitigated delight to meet and squeeze tightly in real time and space. I love you all.

I'll likely be stopping in to see what's up in your lives from time to time, perhaps more often now, that I'm letting myself off the hook from the guilt of the dangling site.

So, one more big, sloppy hug and a slightly snuffly kiss from me to you.

At least for now.

So long.

And If Teri Dared You To Jump Off The Roof, Would You Do That Too?

For Teri, re: last post's comments.

Here they are: My bare feet. The snow.



I want you to note that I've tarted them up with their first polishing of the season, now that it's 'March' and 'spring' and all. (Ahem.)

I figured that this post would get me all sorts of hits from the pervs with foot fetishes and thought I had better have them looking their finest.

Hate to disappoint anyone.

Right, Rozanne?

S.O.S.

From time to time, most of us have come to a crossroads of sorts. It's times like these that we are oh-so-glad we started this exhibitionistic pursuit that is blogging. The input of our peers is a helpful thing in outlining the pros and cons of what is at stake. (Yes, shoe-a-holic57, the Jimmy Choos are adorable, but when hiking in the Himalayas, I'm concerned that your ankles will require a bit more support and just think of what the snow will do to the leather...)

Our Ariella is at such a crossroads.

Let me sum up: She's an attorney. Not too long out of law school. A very reputable school on the east coast and she did well in her classes. She had no problem landing a job after she finished, but left it as the commute from Madison, WI is just a bit too far to Jersey. What's in Madison (well, beside moi as a neighbor)? Only the love of her life.

So, last June, she packed up and moved, and started that process that I hate more than anything, job hunting.

Pickings are slim, here. Sadly, Wisconsin has its own top notch law school and has the habit of not looking closely at those who do not graduate from it. (The same is also true at the education level, which will be a bonus for Charles when he finishes his trek in his own personal PhD Himalayas.) This is all very discouraging and has led to deep examining of her life and its course.

See, she's always felt a strong pull toward health care. Her dad's a vet. Sooooooo, med/vet school is starting to call quite loudly. And Madison has excellent programs in both.

But, that would mean leaving the law, which is hard to do, having invested all that time and tuition.

So. Pleasepleaseplease. Pop over and visit her,read what she's posted about it, and give her your thoughts. She's a lovely, funny person. Anyone else been in such a situation? What did you do? Were you happy? What else should she think of ?

You're the best!

Have We Met?

It's good to have friends in the know.

As I hopped about trying to catch up on all I've missed being a demi-hermit for the past many weeks, it was Cagey who clued me into that wonderful week in the blogging community that is Delurking Week!

All hale Delurking Week (brought to us by Cheryl, as I understand it). That hallowed week where we hope to both meet those souls who read the tripe we write to a greater or lesser degree (bless you, bless you!) AND perhaps increase our comments. Comments to a blogger are as chocolate is to a PMSer or as well-rotted compost is to a garden. They nourish and console the blogger's psyche. They also provide entertainment.

So please.

Come out, come out, wherever you are!

Pretty please?

With chocolate and manure on top?

We're really nice, here in the land of cheese and beer.

We just want the chance to say "Hi!" You don't have to even write anything. Just hit random keys. Or no keys at all. Make up a name and a really glamorous career. I'll never know.

I'll return the favor and will make sure to wipe my feet (and my mouth).

Still not convinced?

Well, maybe next year.

Damn and Blast

I am here to heartily apologize to Sanjay, Lauren, Karen, Amy and any one else who's blog I've been unable to leave a comment on these past several days.

Not only is that damn blogger not letting me switch over to Beta, (although it keeps asking me if I want to switch, cruel, cruel bastard), I'm now not able to leave a comment on the blogs who have switched and don't use Haloscan.

Won't let me comment anonymously.

Won't let me comment signed in under 'another blog'.

Won't let me comment. Period.

So:

Sanjay. I am reeling that you've never seen Clerks. I need to see it again. Charles and Colin are in the midst of a Superman film fest. I am leaving them to it. One viewing 20ish years ago was enough.

Lauren. I am fatigued with thinking of what you have to get done in the next week. I feel like I've no right to gripe, but I assure you it will not stop me from doing so. All I have to do is Colin's party (we've both birthday kids this weekend), and show up at work. My desk is usually pretty clean.

Karen. For some reason, I'm a sunflower, too. This strikes me as odd as I'm not really a little ray of sunshine. More of a sarcastic lungwort, with a bit of bleeding heart tendency, (but only a bit).

Amy. From one obsessive-compulsive, counting freak to another: You are right. Never enough lights, although you may be close. It's all lovely. Now go buy more on your way home. Just in case you feel the need to add more. Just so I'm not the only one doing so.

I will try to break through, but as I am someone with the computer skills of a sardine, don't hold your breath. Make that a middle-aged sardine who typed her college papers on a typewriter for god's sake and who's job requires pretty much no computer skills. It's a wonder I can even turn the thing on in the morning. But, I wanted to let you know that, even though there's no tripey comment from me, I am reading. And chortling.

Just apparently invisibly.

Please forgive.

(By the way, that's a plea for help, if anyone knows what I'm doing wrong. Anyone else have a problem? Is this just a personal thing? Wouldn't surprise me.)

Damn blogger.

Wonder how the Typepad half live.

Therapy for a Bad Day

Thank you, Johnny, for THIS. Satisfying, indeed. Especially making it bounce. I picture it sobbing when it shakes there, in a lump.

It also makes a good day better.

(Note: if you are of the Republican Persuasion, you probably don't want to view it, or if you do, pretend it's someone else in a mask.)

Separated At Birth

I don't know how many of you, my friends in the computer, have actually met people after conversing with them via blogs and/or e-mails.

Me? I've met a handful of the people with whom I've become friendly with in this odd, barely socially acceptable way: Beth and Dana this spring, followed by Gerah and her family and then by Ariella, who's become a demi-neighbor (remember I live out with the liquid propane tanks and the septic tanks and a well for our water source, so anyone within an hour drive is a 'neighbor') as well as a real life friend.

There are still several I've yet to meet, yet feel sure I will, at some point. You know who you are. Yes, you do.

But there's some, if you blog, who you feel as thought you share a similar history and you just completely click with them.

Teri and I seem to be in that category. We've been blog friends for about a year and a half. We've been e-mailing rather regularly for a bit less than that. The similarities are somewhat frightening: Our views of ourselves, the age range of our kids, our taste in an assortment of things, even the nickname of one of her daughters and my son, to touch on a few very superficial, non-personal ones. I get her jokes and obscure references. For an oddball like myself, do you know how rare that is? We joke that we are twins, each evil. True, she has a fondness for camping, but there is a strong strain of that running through 1/2 of my family, so she comes by it honestly.

Given that, it was with great trepidation and sheer delight that we laid our plans to meet. Trepidation on my part, because, well, what if she met me and thought, "Eh. Pity. She seemed like someone I'd really like, but in person, she's got the personality of a rubber door stop." And then I'd lose my friend, which would make me sad, sad, sad. Hey, it's happened. I converse much more easily in writing. In person, my mouth disconnects and the oddest, stupidest things come out.

One example: Her husband, C, and I are just getting acquainted, chatting a bit as Teri attends to her kids. He'd been a bit leery about meeting someone his wife had only become acquainted with online. C asks me the easy and innocuous question, "How old is your daughter?" I answer, "Um, 5... No! 4! NO! 3!" The poor guy looks a bit uneasily at me and says, "So...which is it?" I'm sure he thought I had rented the kids and hadn't thought to get my story straight. That's just me under social pressure. A disaster. Fortunately, he's the forgiving sort and had the guts to continue the conversation and things went better after that.

So? What did we do for our afternoon together? Actually it was only supposed to be about 2 hours, as they were headed home, just detouring to hook up with us and, as we kept reminding our kids, it was a school night. We decided to visit an Oktoberfest in a small town and meet in the local park, by the jungle gym, figuring that who ever got there first, could hang with the kids being easily entertained, then we could wander around the festival and have a bit of a chat.

The weather was absolutely amazing. Warmish, brightly sunny, most of the trees in high color, nice fresh breeze, no eau-de-cow wafting around. Playground not crowded, in fact, I was rather surprised to find that the expected hoards of festival goers were not at all in evidence, only a few tents were up and they looked like they'd been abandoned. But, we could hear a polka band near by, probably on the other side of the big church. So, we got acquainted, let the kids run and slide and such, and then wandered off to find sustenance. We sort of succeeded, in that the festival, which consisted of a beer tent with only about 20 people and a polka band playing tunes from The Sound of Music, a couple of those giant inflatable kid slides, a gold fish toss booth and, to C's relief, a brat stand. Fortunately, there was also an ice cream and cheese shop in the block and the kids were all rewarded with ice cream.

We pronounced the whole festival as 'lame', shrugged and wandered back to the park with our ice-cream-smeared brood. 2 hours were up. Then 2+1/2 hours. Then C had the brilliant suggestion of getting some dinner from the only fast food place in the town and bringing it back to the park. We then decided that, as we needed to pick up Charles's mom, we should grab dinner and caravan back to our place for a bite and a sup and a bit of beer. Which worked out splendidly for us, although Molly-dog was disappointed to not get to go out and jump and pee all over our guests, being kept safely in her crate.

Finally, we faced the facts that the sun was almost down and, despite our best efforts to deny it, it was still a school night, and waved them off down the road.

So, what is our Teri like?

-Completely lovely.
-She twinkles even when discussing something serious.
-She is one of the most easy people to talk to I've come across.
-She's got lovely dark brown hair and big brown eyes.
-She laughs lots and lots.
-If you were both taking the same class, you'd try to sit next to her, even if you didn't know her.
-She has a sly sense of humor.

And best of all? They want to get together again! Ain't the internet grand?

Life Is Good

See, some dreams are really big and some dreams are quite small. This bowl represents a small, lovely dream. It is filled with the 5 varieties of heirloom tomatoes that I procured from the Madison Farmer's Market on Saturday. I've always wanted to try heirloom tomatoes but have never sat down and done all that seed ordering and planting and transplanting and such.

Ariella and I and our marvelous men and my two kids braved the human river that flows weekly around the state capitol building. We'd been planning to do this for months and finally the stars and schedules aligned and we trotted out, her Erik clad in backpack, me in an over-the-shoulder satchel and ooohed and aaaahed the wonderful goodies.

I showed admirable restraint and came home with a couple of pounds of heirloom tomatoes and some baby patty pan squash (another small dream; I've never tried them and always wanted to) and a lovely wheat-oat-walnut bread.

Next time I won't be so restrained.

Next time I will feed the kids their first breakfast before we head out, so they can wander without crashing blood sugars and nosh on a second breakfast. This parenting thing is a learning-in-progress gig.

Next time I will bring a U-haul truck.

Thank you, Ariella.

Have I told you lately how happy I am that you are now in Madison?

Travelers Tales

And so, we have returned from points north and east (barely). The huge, steaming pile of soiled clothes are washed and put away. The huge, steaming cat box has been de-toxed. (Necessary as it is in the laundry room. I really regretted not having on hand one of those WWI gas masks for a while there.) The refridgerator has been restocked and we have slept a night in our own beds, so I am now somewhat restored to normal. Somewhat.

It was a good trip. Good for the soul and good for us to get away for a week of enforced family time together. As the beds, except for the hotel we slept in the last night on the road, were truly horrible, I won't say that is was entirely restful, but I feel actually rejuvenated and, for the first time in a few months, looking forward to work, again. Guess I was feeling a bit burned out.

We took the drive up to the resort in two days, which was rather pleasant due to the purchase of a car DVD player which kept the kids in a zombie trance for the entire trip. Yes, it's probably going to lead to some lack of character building that they didn't have to drive like we did, with nothing to do for hundreds, nay a couple of thousand miles if driving coast-to-coast, but stare at the Nebraska scenery and play 'The License Plate Game' or 'The Alphabet Game' or the 'Alphabet License Plate Game'. As a kid, I was blessed with being able to read for a few hours at a time before becoming a bit carsick. Charles can barely read a road sign without becoming queasy. So, yes. We drugged our kids with technology and reveled in it. We also drugged them with Benadryl after having Sara puke her guts out twice. You'd think we'd learn after the first time, but noooooo. Had to have her demonstrate her inner ear intolerance to long drives twice. This also lead to the emergency purchase of laundry stink-remover as well as detergent and a stop at the Laundromat before we even checked into the resort. Sigh.

The room, itself, had seen better decades. It was actually a condo, seemingly last re-done in the '70s or so, with the carpet so stained you really didn't feel comfortable walking on it, and a shower that was physically painful to use; one of those ones that the water comes at you as small needles. We got to sleep on one of those pull-down wall beds that reminded me of a 1950's batchelor pad space saver. We gave the kids the bedroom as we really didn't want to leave them loose in the living room. We also had ourselves a mini X-Files festival going after getting them to bed, and the TV in the bedroom was smaller than the one in the living room. Priorities. The grounds were nice, though. Lots of golf course views and such. We got a giggle out of the condo unit being up for sale. We didn't know what it's actual asking price was, but they 'start at $160,000'. I'm not sure if the pleasure of the ants' company comes with it. I'm thinking the peeling wallpaper does, though.

The mornings were spent for me in a room with about 100 other providers, about 1/2 docs, 1/2 physician assistants and nurse practitioners. We learned about things like 'updates in antibiotic resistant organisms' and 'evaluation and treatment of unstable angina'. Not exactly gripping but necessary. Charles read the assigned stuff for his course work and the kids hung out, eating sugar cereal that they don't get at home and playing with stuff. Then we went out and saw the sights, like Lake Michigan. And Torch Lake. And Grand Traverse Bay, both East and West arms. We also took in the tiny zoo in Traverse City, where Sara had a complete meltdown (Whoo hoo! Baby still needs a nap, yes she does!) and went fishing (Sara caught 4 tiny rock bass and Colin caught 3, but one was the size of my arm. This guy across the dam caught a walleye the size of his upper and lower leg, though, so hey! Guess the fishing there is good.)


On the drive home, we had the chance to inflict our grimy selves on poor Gerah, who certainly wasn't thinking clearly in her New Baby sleep-deprived state and asked us to dinner. I truly am in awe of her. Her house was immaculate. (Make that her very beautiful, lovingly restored, amazing house was immaculate.) She was not only dressed but had on makeup and her toenails were polished. She didn't even have any spit-up on her. She didn't smell funny, which means she had recently showered. She spoke in complete sentences. And was funny. How the hell does she do it?!?!?!?

And her husband and daughter were perfect. Baby Nico was completely adorable and only fussed a scootch. You'd hate her if she weren't so fabulous. Truly, truly fabulous. Plus, the beer they had the very good taste to serve completely rocked. She even served dessert. Now, all I have to do is somehow convince them that SW Wisconsin is actually where they really, really want to live, or at least visit on a regular basis, and my nefarious plot will be complete.

But then, we had to leave.

We got home Saturday afternoon, to Molly peeing her name in the driveway in her delight. Really. At least the "M" and the "O". I'm not making it up. Should have taken a picture, but the camera was burried and the urine evaporated quickly in the heat of the concrete. Under our bed, we found other evidence of her feelings of us leaving her for a week: a shredded magazine and the mangled remains of some Polly Pockets that I'd gotten to amuse Sara but they somehow (???) migrated from the tote I'd put them in for the trip. (Yes. I put them in. I'm sure of it.) Sigh. Again.

Upon our return, she also managed to extract one of Sara's sandals, my hairbrush, and, somehow a 1 lb tub of Eucerin, that I use to battle the dry skin flakies, from my duffel to the under-the-bed oasis. She had started to lovingly gnaw the brush when I discovered her and expressed my displeasure. Kitty raced around the bedroom for hours in an acrobatic display, leaping out of bags, until I started tackling the mountain of filthy laundry, where she followed, diving out of the piles of smelly clothes and trying to sneak into the washer when my back was turned.

The joy of pet ownership.

A couple of hours after our return, the neighbor boy, A, who sometimes plays with Colin, knocked on our door. He urgently wanted us to go over 'for a few minutes or the evening'. It was rather confusing, but as Sara was in the throes of a monster nap, Charles and Colin went over to investigate. Turns out, they walked in on their daughter's 9th birthday party, complete with oodles of kids, relatives, neighbors, soccer coaches, and all. Not what we'd expected. Turns out that their dad, S, had been keeping a lookout the past week to invite us to the shindig, but hadn't seen us until we pulled into the drive that afternoon. Gah. Terribly sweet and nice, but to be honest, the last thing any of us felt like doing was going to a party with a cast of thousands. We didn't even have any clean clothes, as they were still being shoved through the appliances. Charles left Colin to eat hotdogs and beat a retreat on the excuse that he needed to check on Sara's nappage progress. Thankfully, she slept for hours and hours, thus we didn't have to even lie by saying that the rest of us couldn't come. Such a wonderful girl she is!

So there we are. The trip, in brief.

And how are all of you? Missed you terribly, darlings. Kiss, kiss. I've got a load of blog reading to catch up on.

Ariella Was Here

You-all knew that Ariella was moving up to Madison, right? This makes her 'minutes' from me! (Well, 'minutes' as in 'less than an hour'. Not counting road construction. And tractors.) But close! Closer than Jersey, by gum. (Her blog recently had to become password protected due to a particularly virulent troll, so I can't link it.)

This week, she and her husband, Erik, were in Madison, closing on their new house, going furniture shopping, visiting home improvement stores and spackling the garage.

And, so she agreed to come over for dinner, bringing the naturally cautious Erik, with her.

(Erik, being a prudent guy, was appropriately leery of meeting somebody who publishes the drivel of her life on the INTERNET. Erik, being newly wed to said Ariella, was also appropriately leery of his bride meeting with somebody she met on the INTERNET. We applaud this. It shows good judgment. We also hope that the fact that I didn't meet them at the door with an axe, purely as a joke, was appreciated. It was tempting. Oh, so tempting.)

Instead, we had some beers and dinner and lots and lots and not-nearly-enough-4-hours-later-lots of conversation.

In short, Ariella and Erik rock. I also managed to make her forget her shirt, so I have it as hostage, guaranteeing we will get together again. Or she sends me her address so I can mail it back to her. (NO! It was a second shirt she had in case the air turned cold. It wasn't THAT kind of party. Sheesh.)

So, Yippee! For me! Ariella is moving within minutes from me, in a couple of months.

Best Laid Plans

Well. This is for all those whose husbands question my veracity. (Hi Erik! Got the axes all sharpened. So when is it you're moving out these parts? Dinner? Sounds lovely. Ariella and I will 'arrange things'.)

Kidding. Kidding!!!

And, now I have proof. Yes, yes. You all read comments from assorted family members and people purported to be lifelong friends, but of course I could have made them all up, signing in multiply under different aliases, creating various blogs. For all you know, I could be some guy in a dirty, torn undershirt, living in my mother's basement, not showering and perving around the 'net all day long. Really! And you'd never know.

But now, I can submit proof!

Two hardy, souls, only a little insane, and pleasantly so, met with me. ME! And drove countless hours to do so. Such unbelievable niceness!

Ayup! Me and Beth and DM actually met and ate food yesterday. Well, to be truthful, we met, talked and sort of ate something that was billed as food. Beth and I aren't totally convinced that was what it was, although Dana's entree didn't look like something you'd find in a kids' pretend plastic food assortment, so the lesson is: When in doubt, order what Dana does. At least you'll get food.

After a flurry of e-mails, we named the time (13:00) and the place (Prime Quarter Steak House), chosen by Beth, self admitted carnivore. As I am anal and have many quirks, one of which is worrying excessively about contingency plans, we came up with contingency plans, should the restaurant be flown off by aliens or something. (Hey. It's happened to me. Well, not the aliens part, but the restaurant that was supposed to be there, simply wasn't.) Tossing on my one pair of non-denim yet non-work pants and an initially clean shirt, I hopped in the car and headed off. Sadly, I had not taken into account the ongoing road construction, which had advanced far along the way, so instead of zipping along blacktop at 65, I grumbled along gravel at 35. Oh well. 10 minutes late, I found the place and found, not a mass murderer (Hi Erik!) or two, but the delightful, huggy, insane (for who drives 5 hours to meet with an internet friend for lunch?), but not criminally insane, Beth and DM. In person. In the empty parking lot. Now, to be fair, Beth had called me as I was driving along to tell me the carnivore restaurant was closed, so it was not a surprise at that point, but closed the restaurant remained. Bastards.

Beth needed beast. Amazingly, they had already scouted the area and found yet another steak house! A not-an-Outback steak house! We agreed that Outback was simply not terribly good and that The Ponderosa looked like the place for us. Food. Seating. People to bring us to the seating and then bring us the food. Those were our requirements. Oh, and that it not be outside where it was still quite chilly despite being May. (For heaven's sakes. We should all be in shorts and sandals for the next 5 months.)

Now, Beth and DM are notoriously fun people, and part of their 'fun' is that they invariably attract odd situations. Sorta like drunks to cocktails. (They are the cocktails, of course.) The Ponderosa proved to be all that. The World's Worst Meal, possibly, served in an completely wretched environment. Beth optimistically chose prime rib and regretted it. "Well, I can just have dessert" Hah. Nope. No dessert. I had fried shrimp, which I figured was fairly safe. Hah. No shrimp in the shrimp. Cold, old baked potatoes. Really old. Like baked during the Hoover administration. Dana had sirloin, which actually resembled and smelled like it came from a cow. Once.

We were seated across from a modest gathering celebrating, we learned, the 18th birthday of Jeremy (Jason? Jasper? Something J.) who looked anemically at the small square pile of frosting with 2 candles and a plastic geezer in the middle, while we all wheezed the Birthday Song at him. Poor kid. What sort of life is it when your 18th birthday is celebrated in this place?

Our waitress was rather frighteningly aggressive but rather adept at clearing large tables into grey plastic dish tubs, though. Sort of horrifying, really. But in a good way, because, you see, I was with BETH! and DM! and this was, obviously how it was supposed to be. So, after an awkward 1.2 miliseconds where we all drew breath and realized that we'd done it, the talking began. 2+1/2 hours later, I looked at my watch. And looked at it again. And realized I had told Charles that I'd be home no later than 3:30. Oops. Guess the definition of a friend can be said to be someone who you can sit with, in a horrible restaurant in an amazingly uncomfortable booth, for 2+1/2 hours and have no idea of the passage of time.

So. What are Beth and DM like? Well, exactly like their blogs, honestly. Funny. Bright. Articulate. Deeelightful. Easy to talk to (no surprise). Chock-full-o-stories of the odd and amazing. Devious. (Beth snuck in and paid for our lunches before I could do the same. Sneaky.) Endowed with cameras. And a tripod (Beth). They will regale you with tales of Canada and other things that I dare not spoil, on their blogs. They will have pictures, too. I got caught up in the talk and only took 2 photos in the end, both with Beth's tripod. (Yes, Johnny and Teri, I will send them to you soon. Promise.)

And after more hugging and promising to do this again, but at a decent restaurant, (or at least one that did not totally suck) we got in to our respective cars and headed away.

Surreal but wonderful. Maybe we'll upgrade to Outback next time, which suddenly doesn't seem that bad a restaurant, in retrospect.

Now, there. Doesn't that make you feel better?

Someone has heard from Beth and DM since they left me, right?

Missing, Musing, Mourning

Well, now I'm just vaguely sad and left musing, yet again, on this strange community we have here. See, Christine has put the 'closed' sign up on her blog.

I know Cagey and Leigh-Ann read her. Lots of others do, too. In fact, if I hadn't been reading Christine, I wouldn't have found Cagey, (who left a completely hysterical comment on Christine's blog that day) and without finding that one post of Cagey's, I wouldn't have found Rozanne (as my fuzzy memory recalls, Rozanne sent Cagey some chocolate, hence the mentioning in the post and my following back to find that, lo and behold, Rozanne is from my home town.) who led to Jamie and so on and so on and so on.

So I feel indebted to Christine for introducing me, so to speak, to some of my friends. But that's not why I feel a bit lost. There was something about her blog and I'm trying to put my finger on it. Help me out here, if you can.

See, initially when I started all this, my blogroll consisted of about a dozen "voyeuristic" blogs. Blogs I read religiously but rarely, if ever commented on. Sort of like reading a serial in a Victorian magazine. I liked the writing, was interested in their lives, but wouldn't have felt more than a "Hm. That's too bad," had they quit. Almost all of these have been culled with time. They've been replaced by friends, many of whom I will likely never meet, but whom I feel I can call on should I need them. For all of you I would drop things and have you over should you ever be in the neighborhood. (Speaking of which, Beth and Dana, did you get my e-mail answer to the one you sent a few weeks ago? I have the distinct feeling that yet another e-mail was dropped. If anyone e-mails me and doesn't hear back in a week, please throw a rock or something. I guarantee you it got lost, either coming or going.)

Chris's blog was different. She felt like a friend, even though had she been passing through, I likely wouldn't have invited her over as she didn't really know me from parsnips. Her take on things rang true. Plus, she's a vet and how cool is that? And funny. Again, I'm just trying to pin it down. Why her blog was in it's own category for me. Not friend, yet not just voyeur.

And now she's gone. Said her 'good-byes'. I imagine the site will go down soon. Typepad is a fee-for-blog service and I doubt she'll continue to pay to just keep it hanging there in space. In a few weeks, I'll remove her title from my blogroll as I'll feel that I don't want the reminder that she's gone, but for now, I'll go by every now and then, to look in the windows and see if she hasn't changed her mind about moving away.

So I guess I'm mourning a little, this loss of a never-friend, who felt like one.

My Turn II

Well, I warned you that if things became dull, I'd revisit this, and dull things are. Dull in a way things can only be in early February in Wisconsin. I am not as grey as I am in January, that long, cold, dark month (nevermind that this year, it was more of a March, except for the length of the days). January you just grit your teeth and get through, maybe clean out a closet to pass the time.

February, it gets noticeably lighter and it is a short month, so your expectations are there. Still two months until spring but you should get those first bulbs blooming by the end of next month! That's just, like, 6 weeks away! Practically now!

And, yet, it is not now. Gah! I see why so many people go off on cruises and such, although the bathing suit displays in the Penney's, at one end of the strip mall in which I work, do not help those of us who are not jetting off to sunny climes. Damn them.

So, I turn to you, my darlings, to amuse me. Same rules. Not a meme. Answer what you wish. Make shit up. Entertain me! (kiss, kiss)

1) What's in your winter coat pockets? I feel like Gollum for this one. In my heavy but oh-so-warm and beat-up brown leather bomber jacket I have: (1) green web short dog leash. (1) pair of thin maroon gloves, actually matching, despite one of them attempting to escape this weekend, but found by Charles in the yard when he went to investigate what Molly had in her mouth. Multiple Kleenex in various states of used-up-ness. (1) Chapstick. Some quarters and a dollar bill, folded. A baggie of puppy treats. Also a generous handfull of puppy treat crumbs at the bottom of each pocket. Fuzz.

2) What did you have for lunch today? The last of the left over duck soup from Christmas. Carrots. An apple. Cold coffee. No chocolate. I'm still hungry. Maybe there's something in the candy drawer...

3) If you couldn't do your current profession / the profession you are trained (or are training for) / what-have-you, what would you do? Be a kept woman with lots of plants. And one of those 4 wheeled garden carts. And an irrigation system, so I don't have to schlep hoses all over the back 40. In a clime with either a longer growing season and/or a hell of a greenhouse. That or a chocolate taster. (I knew someone who was a taster for Nestle. He didn't care for chocolate and never did. What a waste of a dream job!)

4) If you were forced at gunpoint to take part in a talent show, what would your talent be? Yoda impressions.

5) What's the best present you've ever received? Charles is a phenomenomal present getter. (Makes up for sucking as someone to buy presents for, as he buys what he wants himself, the asshole.) He's come up with some great ones, including the bomber jacket mentioned above, 10 years ago. I think the coolest one, though, was the telescope.

OK. I'm dry and off to forrage for chocolate. Your turn!

It's National De-Lurking Week! What a Great Excuse To Beg For Comments.

So. As I am, we all know, a sheep, I have followed Teri, who followed Dana, who followed Sheryl, who seemed to start this whole National Delurking Week (formally just a day, last year).

I can't imagine anyone would lurk here as, well, what would be the point of reading the endless drivel of a mid-aged mid-western woman with a penchant for horrible haikus and pointless mocking without leaving a comment and joining in the fun?

Still, everyone has an issue or ten, and so maybe there is someone who has read and returned and now is embarrassed that they didn't say, "Hello" and are now standing off to the side, nursing their last bit of drink and wondering if they should stay and chat or just edge out the door.

Please, say "Hi". I (and the rest of us) would love to meet you. If you don't want us to know the real you, hell, it's the internet and we won't know the difference. I also won't know how to track you as I just don't have the time, energy, or desire to learn what to click, type, or kick to follow you.

Hell, even if I do know you, leave a token comment. Speak in code. Or Swahili. No point in being a sheep all by myself.

Busy With The Waiting

Nothing going on here, folks. Nothing at all. Just doing the basic holiday stuff of tree, wrapping the stuff for the kids, and shooing the small-handed away from pulling the decorations down in their zeal to examine it all, up close and personal. Made a lot of breakfasty bread for the freezer. Contemplating the cookie scene.

Mostly awaiting the furry ones who will come home Saturday. Something like 76 hours from now. All awaits.

And speaking of waiting, If you haven't wished Babs some rousing good luck for tomorrow, as she takes the big plunge and joins the Polygrip Nation, please do so. Her harrowing saga of the road to having those traitorous teeth removed will raise your neck hairs: Dodging near-death escapades on the table! Leaping hurdle after hurdle thrown up by the trolls from the State of New York! And not having had a salad for over a year! Yet still, she keeps her wicked, twisted sense of humor. All is far from certain, though, except for the certainty of further head-smacking.

She deserves better but clearly won't get it.

Anyway, go wish her luck, (not that it'll do any good, mind you), but what else can one do from the internet? Here's hoping that in 24 hours, she is toothless and pumped full of really great pain killers.

And that Brad Pitt and Colin Firth are her home nurses. Because if anyone deserves that, it is Babs.

Getting Around To It

A week ago Teri posted this via Dana:

Leave your name and...
1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll try to say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your blog.

And kindly made one up for me:

1. You have the same name as a Roman Goddess
2. Holy Grail (you know the one). Llamas!
3. Jell-O Brand Chocolate Pudding
4. A desert consisting of spaghetti sauce, green onions, peas, salad dressing and some ginger snap cookies all with chocolate sauce poured liberally over the top.
5. Stumbling onto your blog from God-knows-where and thinking "Hey, this is GOOD!"
6. Gazelle
7. Which blogs did you read before you started blogging?
8. Your turn

Which lead to my response:

1. You know, I've always loved that.
2. Tcha! Naturally.
3. Instant, not the cooked, I hope.
4. Snicker. And HE ATE IT!
5. Stumbling fits.
6. Aw, that's nice. I'll take it.
7. It all started with me being pregnant and reading the diaries on iparenting, including Julia S and Linda, they then created their blogs (Here Be Hippogriffs and Indigo Girl, links in my blogroll), which lead to the rest.
8. Okey, Dokey.

There, I've posted it and should anyone desire, I will be happy to reciprocate. I liked this one because it was personal and interactive and who hasn't wanted to know what animal they remind someone of, or which Jell-O flavor they are visualized being wrestled in.

It Is Strange That I Don't Find It Strange

I am a very private person.

No, really.

And yet, I blog.

Being a private person, I do not advertise the fact. I do not talk about the blog with others. I do not hide the fact, I am certainly not ashamed, it is just personal, analogous to a doctor's appointment, a bout of stomach gas, the need for buying personal hygiene products. My immediate family knows about it and reads it. I just found out my favorite aunt, uncle, cousin, and cousin-in-law (Hi, P,P,C, and J! Colin loved the card.) read it, which makes me all happy, as I have not seen them for several years and miss them so. A dear friend from way back just started to read and has started her own blog, so we can be part of each other's lives again, which is truly wonderful. My sister, Gail, who I adore but have not been close to for many years, reads and even comments, making me feel as though I have a bit of her back in my life. She also now reads Stacy's blog. She and Stacy were best friends for many, many years, but drifted apart, like the rest of us. Distance and divergent lives will do that.

Then there are the friends. New friends.

I feel like a bundle of contradictions. I crave friendship but am very, very shy. I have a very hard time joining in and inviting myself along to things. I make acquaintances easily but not real friends. I am not the sort to call and arrange get-togethers. I always figure people have something better to do. I hate to speak up in meetings or classes. I don't like big groups. I hate personal attention. I forbade baby showers for both kids (although each time, my office threw one despite my objections, but made them extremely low key). I do not have birthday parties for such a reason. I do have a few very close friends and, given my work, many acquaintances that I can chat with. Having to host even a smallish party throws me into a tailspin. Fortunately, we do not need to entertain much for Charles's work. (I adore having a few people over, though, and will happily mull over the food for days.)

Because of the blog, I now have a whole new set of friends of a completely different category. I am not even sure how to refer to them. I have settled on "blog-friends" as it seems most to the point. These are people whom I have never met and in the future will likely only meet a few. They have become an integral part of my life, though. Some don't even know I exist as, while I read them avidly, I do not comment. I won't link to them as it feels presumptuous but you can click on their links on the blog roll. (Getupgrrl's: Chez Miscarriage, Julie's: A Little Pregnant, Jo's: Leery Polyp, Akeeyu's: Herveryown, Skot's: Izzle Pfaff, Julia's: Uncommon Misconception.) Being at their site feels like a large party where I am lurking in the corner holding a glass of wine, listening, smiling, but not noticed. The writing is very sharp, funny. They do not worry about pissing people off. They write about the controversial and gleefully harpoon the trolls. I often laugh aloud despite myself. I learn from them.

Then there are the sites (Christine's, Julia's, Tertia's), where I do occasionally comment, if I feel as though I have something to say. I feel safe to do so, either because of the writer honestly soliciting responses or because of a sort of kinship. Julia actually in a way got me into the whole thing. It was her pregnancy diary that I followed most avidly 3 years ago when newly pregnant with Sara, wanting some community of women to go through things with. She seemed to have a jaw-dropping amount of things in common with me and I started leaving comments. We conversed via her site a bit and even met once when we had an overnight stay in the Twin Cities on our last trip back to Portland. I followed her from the sinking ship that was iparenting, to her blog, adding Linda as well.

When I jumped into the waters myself, I added the 3rd and nicest tier of blog-friends. While I have only known them a few months, it seems much, much longer as I have read their archives and have daily contact with one or the other of them through our writing and, most fun and satisfying, our comments. Jamie has enriched my life with gardening and cooking tutelage, generously sharing among other things, good pizza and pie crust recipes; Rozanne, likewise with the food and plants, as well as providing a link with my beloved Portland. Kismet provides beauty and another Portland connection; Cagey is hilarious and, now that she is knocked up, I get to relive the "a baby is coming" without the actual pregnancy and no sleep part. Mojavi, also with the funny, without the pregnancy. Linda and I share frighteningly similar book, movie, and humor tastes. Plus, she claims to be as much an introvert as I am. It is odd that we are friends of a sort here, yet in real life, would probably not be, given that whole shy thing. Gerah also seems way too similar to me as far as things that make us laugh and rage. I would love to just sit and have drinks with her for hours and watch her Kyra and my Sara get out every toy and play. Then, there is Johnny, adored Johnny, my beloved Portuguese multi-lingual vet student pal. We may never, ever meet, yet here she is, part of my life in a not insignificant way. We exchange e-mails, she feels like a cousin, we get each other's jokes. I don't understand the feeling of closeness but that is part of her magic. I am obviously not the only one who feels that way. She led me to Dana, fabulous, extrovert, Dana, with her love of karaoke. Opposites attract.

As an aside, how do I know these people, the majority, the ones I have never met, are who they say they are and not hairy men sitting in their mother's basement in dirty underwear claiming to be these wonderful women? I don't. And that's ok. I am not sending out my address or giving them money. (Well, except for Jamie, but any small risk was worth it for the relish and brownie pie. Oh, that brownie pie. I'd do it again in a flash.)


And now I see other connections being made. As a comment she left on Christine's blog led me to Cagey, who led me to Rozanne, who led me to Jamie and Mojavi or as a comment I left on Julia S's led Johnny to me (although I had lurked at her site some, before) and me to Dana, I see Johnny and Rozanne commenting to each other.

Community. Buddies of a sort.

It doesn't feel strange at all. It feels just fine.

Beer and Relish

I'm remembering that it was last Thursday that Colin brought in the package that had been left at the front door. As Packages are very exciting things, we opened it at once. I did know what was in it but was very curious. You see, about 2 weeks ago, I actually entered a contest, in earnest. I do not normally do that as, after almost 4 decades of living, I have learned that I never win contests. My sister, Gail, she got all the contest winning genes. The best one that I am aware of was the radio contest she won back in the late 70's or early 80's when the Morrison Fred Meyer closed in downtown Portland ("Items advertised available at all stores but Morrison") The Morrison Fred's never had anything, probably why they closed it. She won a $100 shopping spree, not bad money back then. That was also when Cabbage Patch dolls were all the rage and that winter, they could not be had for love or money. The toy stores sold out with in minutes, that sort of thing. You know where this is going. Apparently, the one thing the Morrison Fred Meyer had was the last Cabbage Patch doll in the state, and Gail walked in and got it, along with some other odds and ends, with her $100.

So, on the 14th of this month, Jamie (sorry, can't link directly to the 4/14 entry, but just scroll a bit) described the radish relish she was about to put together, and as she is such a lovely, generous person (not to mention a gardening demon with radishes coming out of her ears and eyeballs), she offered a jar as a prize for writing some words about radishes. Her husband would be handed the task of picking the winner ("Here honey, close your eyes and point!") and some lucky soul would be spooning this relish on their brats in the near future. It may have been that I just wanted that relish more than the others or that the contest gods finally decided to cut me a break, but last night, I piled the spoils of victory on a good beer brat and sank my teeth in. Oooooh Baby! Good eats. I had seconds. Would have had 3rds, but, well, wanted to leave some for the next day. (Ah, that would be lunch today!) That and the fact that 2 brats really were more than I could really fit in, having to jettison the last part of the bun in favor of brat and relish. I won't tell you that she also added a brownie tart to the package, which I did share with my loved ones, but only because Colin was there at the opening and I couldn't deny it's presence. He proclaimed it the best dessert he's ever eaten, and that's saying a lot, as the kid is no stranger to dessert.

So, my advice? Haunt Jamie's blog and enter every damn contest she decides to run, but remember, I'm gunning for you and aim to play dirty.

On a different but brat related track, I bring you the World's Worst Beer, at least the worst that has passed my lips, and these lips have tasted many a bad homebrew, many from Charles' forays into apartment kitchen home brewing. (When he was bad, he was very, very bad, but when he was good, thatsa gooda beer!) We actually grabbed a 4 pack off the shelf as it said it was a Belgian style beer, and we had an overwhelming craving for more of the incredibly good Belgian Style Triple, which we could not find. We each took a sip, made a horrified face and spit it out in the sink. I can't remember ever spitting out beer. Sour and brown. Truth in advertising. Charles picked up some more of the Good Beer Wednesday, so I could accompany the brats in style. For the record, yes, I love a good hearty beer, nice and dark. Beer that steps up and shakes your hand.

Finally, on something of a sad note, we have a small Christmas tree on our deck, becoming acclimated before we plant it in the yard. Some very silly bird has built a nest in it! The tree is only about 3' high, 4+1/2 if you count the pot. The tree is between 2 sliding glass doors. The dog goes in and out those doors, as do we, several times a day. I think the bird got the message, but not before it had laid a thumbtip turquoise blue egg in it. So now we have a small abandoned nest and egg in our tree. Just makes me rather sad. It does solve one dilemma, as I was not sure how well we were going to keep the tree alive and watered on the deck through the hatching and fledging of the chicks. Guess I'd better get busy and stick it in the ground before another bird-brained bird decides it is a good place to raise her kids.