Ackery

WIP Friday: With a mind-boggling amount of help from my friends.

(You know it's serious when you need a binder.)

A little while back, when Operation: Outta Dodge kicked into high gear, a friend of mine -- a professional decorator, a woman with so much innate style that she can answer the door in her pajamas and still look ready for a photoshoot on the cover of the late great Domino or one of those types of magazines -- came over and gave me a list of projects to do in order to stage the house. She picked out paint colors, repositioned my furniture, and gave me a list of accessories to purchase. And because she knows me so well, she was very specific in her advice. "Two apothecary jars of differing heights. Fake mini-apples in the small one. Fake lemons and limes in the big one. Then a small fake topiary midway between the two. Put them here. Just like this." She even told me which side of the sink to put my soon-to-be purchased orchid on. After ninety minutes, I had filled up three pages of a legal pad with instructions, which I intend to follow to the letter.

It was not unlike being run over by a very well-dressed freight train, in the best possible way.

Other friends have helped out, too -- two have given me all of their expensive moving-company boxes from their recent moves, so I don't have to go begging at liquor stores. Another divided all of her shade-loving plants, so I don't have to spend a lot of money on landscaping. Yet another opened her home to me and the girls while the painters were here so Josie wouldn't have to inhale a bunch of paint fumes. Several have volunteered their husbands for furniture-moving duties. Another has offered to come by and teach me some yoga, which perhaps indicates that I am looking slightly more wild-eyed than usual. It is a tangible reminder of the roots we've put down, of our good fortune in finding such an amazing circle of friends. Because of them, we do more than get by. We thrive.

We don't know yet where we're moving. Considering the state of the market, we don't know that we're moving at all, and I remind myself of that every day, right after I look at the listing for my dream house (circa-1920's Sears kit house bungalow, and if we manage to land it, I will stop making fun of Sarah Palin -- THAT is how badly I want this house). Assuming we do sell, there are a host of very compelling reasons for us to move away from this area. Still, every time I think about leaving this incredible group of women, every one of them funny and smart and generous and talented, my stomach pitches and my head feels fuzzy. It is almost enough to make me grateful for my interminably long to-do list, so that I can put off that decision just a little bit longer.

WIP Friday: A few of my favorite things

It is rainy today. Rainy and hot, which means tornadoes -- decidedly NOT my favorite thing -- but we are all about accentuating the positive around here, so I thought I would share some good things instead.

School is out for the summer, which means Josie can attack Ellie's folder as she's been longing to do since she could crawl. Also, we have an extra 45 minutes in the morning. The difference is staggering and delightful.

My list today --is blissfully manageable. And it means the project of swapping winter and summer clothes will finally be complete. (PUPA, by the way, stands for pick up put away. We use it often. MBR is master bedroom shade. We have one shade off and one shade on, and I would like to stop feeling like a nursery rhyme.)

For all you Austen fans, my dear friend, author Marilyn Brant, is hosting AustenFest over at her place, in anticipation of the release of her novel, According To Jane. Like Marilyn herself, the book is funny and smart and an absolute delight. There will be giveaways and good conversation, so stop on by, even if you're not an Austen fan (though if you're not, I worry about you). Technically, the party doesn't start until Sunday, but you won't be disappointed if you go early.

And since that laundry won't wash itself, best I get started, hmn?

WIP Friday: I Think We're Going To Need A Bigger Drill.

It is always unnerving when, midway through filling a cavity, your dentist says to the hygienist, "Well, gosh. This is just one of those days when nothing's going to be as easy as you thought."

I need to switch dentists.

Nothing around here is as easy as we think it's going to be -- we painted the trim and doors, only to have a door fall off. We replaced some of the trim outside, only to have the handle of the back door break off. And yet, there's nothing I can do except press on. Apply a little more torque. Learn a new skill (hanging doors, for instance). Save my pennies. Remind myself that there is only so much in the universe I can control, and neither the dismal market nor stupid people fall into that category. Spend time with people I love. Work on things that bring me joy. Remember to floss.

Seriously, people. If you learn only one thing from me, let it be this: Remember. To. Floss. Proper dental hygiene is no laughing matter.

I needed a good laugh anyway.

The driveway-fixing guy called this morning, well before I had finished my cup of tea and just after the painters arrived somewhat unexpectedly.

"Tomorrow's supposed to be nice, so we'll come out and do the driveway then, okay?"
"Oh, that's great! Thanks!"
"Yeah, and if you're not home, you can just leave a check taped to the door. That'll be fine."
[crickets]

Really, driveway guy? I've never met you in my life, just spoken to you over the phone, and based on the sound of your voice alone, I should cheerfully tape a check to the door, before you've even started the work or I've had a chance to see what kind of job you did? Really? REALLY?

Needless to say, I'll be home.

It very nearly makes up for the Firefly debacle.

Somehow, I have managed to avoid watching even a single episode of American Idol. I know that Kelly Clarkson won once, and then a skinny little guy...Clay? Ty? I know that Simon is mean, because I watched that Susan Boyle video, and I know that Paula Abdul is supposed to be a little bit of a nutter. And there endeth my knowledge of American Idol.

Still, next week, I will be parked in front of the television, watching the last few minutes of American Idol, so as not to miss even a single second of Glee.

Grrr. The embed continues to elude me. Here's the direct link, anyway.

Glee -- Extended trailer

Girl, Six, Ready To Take On World

Much like somebody else I know, Ellie woke me up Thursday morning to announce that she felt significantly older. In fact, she informed me, she had felt older in the middle of the night. As I was operating on four hours of sleep, I felt much older, too. How did we celebrate her birthday? We toured model homes and decided which rooms would be hers, then went out for pizza at a restaurant that encourages you to throw peanut shells on the floor. Good times.

Despite the fact that she is no longer the baby, she will always be my baby, and I always picture her as such. But evidence is mounting that she is well on her way to being All Grown Up. Kindergarten is almost over and her class is starting their transition-to-first-grade activities; she's been invited up to the next level in her gymnastics program (and has politely but firmly declined); she has a new, fancy bike and is pretty much ready to take on the word. I love so many things about her: her confidence, her sunniness, her generosity, her goofy sense of humor, her determination. She truly believes that life is a grand adventure, and it thrills me to my toes that I get to come along for the journey.

Happy birthday, Ellie-bear.

Saving My Bacon: Whole Grain Edition

Longer post coming, but may I rave about the recipe that has saved my bacon, nutritionally speaking? I have long bemoaned my ability to cook rice in a manner befitting human consumption, and thanks to Miss Eliza, I found this little gem. It is idiot-proof, specifically made for brown rice, and so delicious that even Isabelle, who has long hated anything rice-based, was stealing spoonfuls out of the dish. I cut down on the salt, and substitute olive oil for butter, most of the time, but other than that it is perfection.

I don't know much about Alton Brown -- I seem to remember he has strange hair and a manner befitting Bill Nye -- but between this and the lemon curd, I feeling rather warmly about him as of late.

It's Only Tuesday

The problem with Turn Off the TV Week, I've found, is that it makes it impossible to let the children watch a show while you enjoy twenty-two minutes of sanity-saving alone time with a nice cuppa and a Trader Joe's 100-Calorie Dark Chocolate Bar before you start dinner.

Screen-free is all well and good, but in the end, it's the children who pay. Won't someone think of the children?

The 25% Project: Zen Edition

A while back, on a writing retreat, I was catching up with a friend who'd moved away several months beforehand. She'd moved, on fairly short notice, in a flurry of activity, to an area where she knew precisely no one. Settling in and getting her three boys into a routine had taken some time, leaving her with little opportunity for writing. When I asked how she felt about it, she shrugged. "It's like that cop show, Life," she said. "There's an episode where a Zen master makes his students dig a hole in the ground, then fill it up again. That's kind of where I'm at right now. I do laundry, it gets dirty. I clean up from breakfast, it's time to make lunch. And the key is just to accept that, rather than be frustrated by it, and then it doesn't take up so much of your energy. Dig a hole, fill it up."

Now, I have no idea if that's the lesson Damian Lewis and co. wanted us to glean from that episode, but since that day, I've often found myself muttering it whenever I'm stuck on an endless loop of chores, in the hope that I will feel more zen-like and serene. (I think D will be the first one to point out that, thus far, my hopes have gone unrealized. Zen-like and serene I am not.) And while this project is different -- there is tangible progress being made -- the saying still applies.

The box went to a friend's charity; the bags went to the library. For a few brief moments, I savored the sensation of progress and an empty van.

Then I stopped by the school, where the office ladies had a treat for me.

Dig a hole, fill it up.

Plagiarism Makes the Baby Jesus Cry.

It turns out that imitation is not actually the sincerest form of flattery, or perhaps it is that while credited imitation is flattering, copying someone is just bad form, and frankly annoying. Hence the new addition to the sidebar -- a Creative Commons license. One of the things I love about the blogging community is people's willingness to share ideas and inspire each other, and CC licenses seem like a good way to allow for that while still protecting the creator.

Sharing, as any preschooler will tell you, is nice. But so is giving credit where it's due.