Do 5 impossible things before you start work
1 year ago
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Dios Mio!
Tia Carmen and I are apparently related…or at the very least, we share the same philosophy on going to the doctor:
Budget Revision 4.0(b)
Accomplished: Handing over the letter withdrawing my two older Denizens from their before/after school care.
I don’t think I would have been able to make myself do it, if it hadn’t been for the family van.
This morning when I waddled out there to put my steaming peppermint tea and bag and phone etc. etc. etc. (how I can need this much stuff just to drop children off at school is a mystery modern science simply cannot explain), I noticed that the driver’s side door was unlocked. It was quickly discovered that the power lock on that door has gone from ‘jicky’ to ‘downright unreliable’. Ditto the back doors.
…Stupid locks!...
As I was loading up the children, I noticed that the cup holder liner next to Captain Adventure’s chair has been pulled out of its seating one time too many, has gotten cracked down the middle and won’t stay put anymore.
…Stupid falling apart interior!...
The carpet is pulling up near the side door runners, and Boo Bug caught her little shoe in it and fell flat on her face. She wailed. Captain Adventure thought it was funny. Which made her wail louder. Which made him laugh harder. Which made Eldest feel she needed to correct him on his lack of social graces. Which made Danger Mouse start shrieking, “You’re not the boss, ELDEST!” Which naturally created the Squalling Denizens situation, where everyone was screaming at everyone else about who was or was not in charge, and my best option was simply to drive as quickly as possible to get them off to their respective schools. Because I may be in charge, but frankly I’m feeling a bit hung over off my game this morning and I don’t want to put in the effort to maintain my Alpha Female status right now.
…Stupid carpet!...
And, to make absolutely sure I was paying attention to the cosmic message this morning, as I was getting out of the van to drop them off, my shoelace looped around the cracked runner and I nearly fell right on my nose. (This happens at least three times a week – you’d think I’d learn.)
…stupid piece of @*^&@ plastic pile of @*^&@ with the cracking @*^&@ and why I can’t just @*^@ get a replacement one is ^*@&ing beyond me STUPID VAN CONVERSION COMPANY!!!!! (Let’s not get started on this – suffice to say that repairing anything on this vehicle reminds me of owning a luxury, highly-customized yacht: Sure, we can fix that! First, you need to fill out these five forms and wait eighteen weeks, then take a little sail halfway around the world and wait another five weeks for the one person in All The World who can do this to have time to grace your vehicle with his talents, and THEN we'll charge you $600 and tell you that the doorknob we just replaced wasn't an EXACT fit but should be close enough; a little sticky, maybe, but just JIGGLE it and it'll work fine!)…
The thought that the cost of this before/after school care was about double the monthly cost in payment and insurance on a new minivan gave strength to my wavering resolve.
Pray for me, my brethren. The two older Denizens will be home with their loving parents after school starting September 18. I’ll be saving the $950 a month, and next year?
Odyssey Touring, baby.
It will be mine. Oh yes! It will be mine…
I don’t think I would have been able to make myself do it, if it hadn’t been for the family van.
This morning when I waddled out there to put my steaming peppermint tea and bag and phone etc. etc. etc. (how I can need this much stuff just to drop children off at school is a mystery modern science simply cannot explain), I noticed that the driver’s side door was unlocked. It was quickly discovered that the power lock on that door has gone from ‘jicky’ to ‘downright unreliable’. Ditto the back doors.
…Stupid locks!...
As I was loading up the children, I noticed that the cup holder liner next to Captain Adventure’s chair has been pulled out of its seating one time too many, has gotten cracked down the middle and won’t stay put anymore.
…Stupid falling apart interior!...
The carpet is pulling up near the side door runners, and Boo Bug caught her little shoe in it and fell flat on her face. She wailed. Captain Adventure thought it was funny. Which made her wail louder. Which made him laugh harder. Which made Eldest feel she needed to correct him on his lack of social graces. Which made Danger Mouse start shrieking, “You’re not the boss, ELDEST!” Which naturally created the Squalling Denizens situation, where everyone was screaming at everyone else about who was or was not in charge, and my best option was simply to drive as quickly as possible to get them off to their respective schools. Because I may be in charge, but frankly I’m feeling a bit hung over off my game this morning and I don’t want to put in the effort to maintain my Alpha Female status right now.
…Stupid carpet!...
And, to make absolutely sure I was paying attention to the cosmic message this morning, as I was getting out of the van to drop them off, my shoelace looped around the cracked runner and I nearly fell right on my nose. (This happens at least three times a week – you’d think I’d learn.)
…stupid piece of @*^&@ plastic pile of @*^&@ with the cracking @*^&@ and why I can’t just @*^@ get a replacement one is ^*@&ing beyond me STUPID VAN CONVERSION COMPANY!!!!! (Let’s not get started on this – suffice to say that repairing anything on this vehicle reminds me of owning a luxury, highly-customized yacht: Sure, we can fix that! First, you need to fill out these five forms and wait eighteen weeks, then take a little sail halfway around the world and wait another five weeks for the one person in All The World who can do this to have time to grace your vehicle with his talents, and THEN we'll charge you $600 and tell you that the doorknob we just replaced wasn't an EXACT fit but should be close enough; a little sticky, maybe, but just JIGGLE it and it'll work fine!)…
The thought that the cost of this before/after school care was about double the monthly cost in payment and insurance on a new minivan gave strength to my wavering resolve.
Pray for me, my brethren. The two older Denizens will be home with their loving parents after school starting September 18. I’ll be saving the $950 a month, and next year?
Odyssey Touring, baby.
It will be mine. Oh yes! It will be mine…
Monday, September 04, 2006
My new best friend
My reward redemption cards finally got here (shriek!), and I was so excited I drove to the wrong store first (sigh).
But eventually, I collected myself enough to remember where the store was, drove over there, took a brief stroll through Michaels to prove to myself that yes, I can handle yet more deferred gratification and furthermore yes, Michael’s still has the worst yarn selection in the known universe and are still feeding their staff I Could Not Care Less About Anything But Scrap Booking pills, then walked next door to get my Roomba Discovery.
Oh joy!
My husband committed the ultimate marital sin of playing with my new toy while I was upstairs in the tub. He’s lucky to be alive right now. There I was, getting out of the tub, and I heard this noise from downstairs. What’s that? I asked myself. Oh no, ha ha ha, he’d never play with my Roomba before I’ve had a chance to play with it…and before it has had the full three hour charge mandated by the instructions, which I have read carefully TWICE…!
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…fortunately for Himself, watching the Roomba work was captivating. I got distracted and then forgot I was mad.
I know that the game will get old eventually, but I spent a shocking amount of time just watching this little thing bumble around my living room yesterday. It found its way around a forest of chair and table legs, rocking horses, piano and harp benches – it was cool.
And, it cleans.
It really truly cleans.
I let it charge overnight and turned it loose in the Den kitchen/playroom zone while I made coffee this morning. The poor little robot – I’m sure it was wondering why $DEITY had put it on this earth to endure such suffering. Crumbs, dried macaroni and cheese, more crumbs, sand, dirt.
But it bravely muscled on. It cleaned and whirred and twisted and circled, flashing its blue ‘OHMYGAWD, WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE ARE YOU?! FILTH! FILTH! FILTH! FILTH!’ light until finally, beeping with exhaustion, it limped its way back to its home base and sank gratefully against the recharging nodes.
The floor looked awesome. Better than it usually does after I sweep.
And it was all done while I was making coffee, putting together the chore list, and finishing the collar on Captain Adventure’s sweater.
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeYES!
I think I’m in love…
But eventually, I collected myself enough to remember where the store was, drove over there, took a brief stroll through Michaels to prove to myself that yes, I can handle yet more deferred gratification and furthermore yes, Michael’s still has the worst yarn selection in the known universe and are still feeding their staff I Could Not Care Less About Anything But Scrap Booking pills, then walked next door to get my Roomba Discovery.
Oh joy!
My husband committed the ultimate marital sin of playing with my new toy while I was upstairs in the tub. He’s lucky to be alive right now. There I was, getting out of the tub, and I heard this noise from downstairs. What’s that? I asked myself. Oh no, ha ha ha, he’d never play with my Roomba before I’ve had a chance to play with it…and before it has had the full three hour charge mandated by the instructions, which I have read carefully TWICE…!
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…fortunately for Himself, watching the Roomba work was captivating. I got distracted and then forgot I was mad.
I know that the game will get old eventually, but I spent a shocking amount of time just watching this little thing bumble around my living room yesterday. It found its way around a forest of chair and table legs, rocking horses, piano and harp benches – it was cool.
And, it cleans.
It really truly cleans.
I let it charge overnight and turned it loose in the Den kitchen/playroom zone while I made coffee this morning. The poor little robot – I’m sure it was wondering why $DEITY had put it on this earth to endure such suffering. Crumbs, dried macaroni and cheese, more crumbs, sand, dirt.
But it bravely muscled on. It cleaned and whirred and twisted and circled, flashing its blue ‘OHMYGAWD, WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE ARE YOU?! FILTH! FILTH! FILTH! FILTH!’ light until finally, beeping with exhaustion, it limped its way back to its home base and sank gratefully against the recharging nodes.
The floor looked awesome. Better than it usually does after I sweep.
And it was all done while I was making coffee, putting together the chore list, and finishing the collar on Captain Adventure’s sweater.
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeYES!
I think I’m in love…
Sunday, September 03, 2006
I am SHOCKED and APPALLED!
My husband just called my eight year old into the office.
“Eldest! I need your help!”
So she comes trotting in, dewy with eight-year-old innocence, her ruffled pinafore wafting around here.
“What is it, daddy?” she asked, brightly.
And he told our eight year old, cool as a cucumber, butter not melting in his mouth, he looked her dead in the eye and said: I need you to help me cheat at my video game.
Shocked.
And appalled.
“Eldest! I need your help!”
So she comes trotting in, dewy with eight-year-old innocence, her ruffled pinafore wafting around here.
“What is it, daddy?” she asked, brightly.
And he told our eight year old, cool as a cucumber, butter not melting in his mouth, he looked her dead in the eye and said: I need you to help me cheat at my video game.
Shocked.
And appalled.
Friday, September 01, 2006
Budget Revision 5.0: Cancel Diet Program
Accomplished: Called and canceled our enrollment in the Sonoma Diet before the next quarterly renewal came due.
Monthly Savings: $22.00.
Boom! Fast and furious today! HA HA! HAVE AT YOU!!!!
This was a tremendous no-brainer. We haven’t actually been following this diet for a few weeks now. The recipes tasted fantastic, but were extremely unfriendly for those of us who don’t have an hour or more to devote to food preparation at each meal.
I’m not sure who does have the time for this diet. And I find it very telling that they are constantly sending me emails and splashing ‘helpful hints’ across their main member page insisting that it isn’t that bad, that I need to think about pre-preparing my foods, that if I just got up fifteen minutes earlier each morning I could so totally handle the extra time these meals take, that I deserve the extra effort, blah blah blah.
In other words…the time commitment involved in these recipes is the most frequently expressed complaint. And they want me to suck it up and walk it off.
No. No, I’m not going to do that.
I need to be able to jump into the kitchen, set things simmering and/or roasting, and be done in, say, half an hour. I generally start dinner preparation at 6:00. (I am also a crockpot addict, especially in Soup Season.) Sooooo, something that is going to take more than an hour to make? Is. Right. Out.
Ditto spending an extra hour in the supermarket looking for Kalamata olives (not found where black olives are found, but rather near spaghetti sauces) (but not WITH spaghetti sauces - just NEAR them), or bubba-bubba leaves (made that one up), or pergo-ergo grains (yes, made that one up too). Look, I'm sorry, I just don't have the time for that. I don't mind one or two "exotic" ingredients, but when I've got a list full of them...it's a pain.
“Marinate for two hours in the refrigerator, turning frequently” “Put in oven for 2-1/4 hours” “set in strainer in fridge for 24-48 hours” “sauté for 25 minutes, stirring constantly” are keywords that lead to madness. And boxed macaroni and cheese being made instead. Or pizza delivery being called.
Even using their website was a time-consuming thing. They had no ‘click here to change all meals’ option. So let’s say I want to change everything to meals that take 30 minutes or less to put together. Scroll to Monday, change ‘breakfast’ to cereal. Save. Scroll back down to Monday. Change ‘lunch’ from six hour prep time ordeal to something fast. Save. Scroll down to dinner…lather, rinse, repeat, twenty-one times. It could take over an hour just to tweak their meal plan into something that I might have a prayer of actually accomplishing.
I will, however, buy the Sonoma Diet book. The recipes are fantastic, and well-worth the effort.
Just…not on a work night, when I’ve been working twelve hours straight trying to fix all the stuff that inevitably broke and THEN I remember that I was supposed to marinate the curséd roast for two hours turning frequently before putting in the oven for another two hours…at which point, we’ll be dining at 10:30…or, just having pizza, pizza works for me…
May be off the diet, but I'm still cookin’ with gas…
Monthly Savings: $22.00.
Boom! Fast and furious today! HA HA! HAVE AT YOU!!!!
This was a tremendous no-brainer. We haven’t actually been following this diet for a few weeks now. The recipes tasted fantastic, but were extremely unfriendly for those of us who don’t have an hour or more to devote to food preparation at each meal.
I’m not sure who does have the time for this diet. And I find it very telling that they are constantly sending me emails and splashing ‘helpful hints’ across their main member page insisting that it isn’t that bad, that I need to think about pre-preparing my foods, that if I just got up fifteen minutes earlier each morning I could so totally handle the extra time these meals take, that I deserve the extra effort, blah blah blah.
In other words…the time commitment involved in these recipes is the most frequently expressed complaint. And they want me to suck it up and walk it off.
No. No, I’m not going to do that.
I need to be able to jump into the kitchen, set things simmering and/or roasting, and be done in, say, half an hour. I generally start dinner preparation at 6:00. (I am also a crockpot addict, especially in Soup Season.) Sooooo, something that is going to take more than an hour to make? Is. Right. Out.
Ditto spending an extra hour in the supermarket looking for Kalamata olives (not found where black olives are found, but rather near spaghetti sauces) (but not WITH spaghetti sauces - just NEAR them), or bubba-bubba leaves (made that one up), or pergo-ergo grains (yes, made that one up too). Look, I'm sorry, I just don't have the time for that. I don't mind one or two "exotic" ingredients, but when I've got a list full of them...it's a pain.
“Marinate for two hours in the refrigerator, turning frequently” “Put in oven for 2-1/4 hours” “set in strainer in fridge for 24-48 hours” “sauté for 25 minutes, stirring constantly” are keywords that lead to madness. And boxed macaroni and cheese being made instead. Or pizza delivery being called.
Even using their website was a time-consuming thing. They had no ‘click here to change all meals’ option. So let’s say I want to change everything to meals that take 30 minutes or less to put together. Scroll to Monday, change ‘breakfast’ to cereal. Save. Scroll back down to Monday. Change ‘lunch’ from six hour prep time ordeal to something fast. Save. Scroll down to dinner…lather, rinse, repeat, twenty-one times. It could take over an hour just to tweak their meal plan into something that I might have a prayer of actually accomplishing.
I will, however, buy the Sonoma Diet book. The recipes are fantastic, and well-worth the effort.
Just…not on a work night, when I’ve been working twelve hours straight trying to fix all the stuff that inevitably broke and THEN I remember that I was supposed to marinate the curséd roast for two hours turning frequently before putting in the oven for another two hours…at which point, we’ll be dining at 10:30…or, just having pizza, pizza works for me…
| Sacrifice | Monthly Payoff |
| Maid Service | $400.00 |
| Cable | $45.00 |
| Phone service | $12.00 |
| Wine Club | $57.00 |
| After School Care | $950.00 |
| Sonoma Diet | $22.00 |
| Grand Total | $1,486.00 |
May be off the diet, but I'm still cookin’ with gas…
Budget Revision 4.0(a): The Big One
Step (a) is accomplished: the withdrawal letter has been written. Step (b) is to actually give it to the nice director at the older kids’ daycare center.
It is sticking to my fingers like a $20 bill. (Which believe me, is pretty sticky these days.) But, if I can shake it loose…that’s $950 a month back into the budget.
Let me just say that again. Nine Hundred and Fifty Dollars.
I’m not saying I’m going to rush out and actually get one (and I’m not saying I won’t, either), but I so could be driving a Lexus right now!!!!!
I have very mixed feelings about this one. On the downside, it means that I’ll have my older two kids underfoot a lot more. It isn’t that I just hate being around my kids so much…actually, it’s the opposite. I’d rather play than work. And I imagine that if my kids were home saying, “Mommy, can you help me make a dragon?”…well. Which would you rather be doing: Wrestling with complicated SQL statements and trying to figure out why you’ve got a ‘12’ when it should be a ‘14’, or sculpting a Play-Doh dragon?
Not to mention the fallout that can occur when civil war breaks out between the two girls just when you’ve logged into that Very Important Conference Call with Uppity-Up-Up-Upper Management.
“Yes, thank you all for phoning in today. First of all, I’d like to start by saying that while we are asking for a $500,000 budget for costs associated with the rollout, we feel that the projected benefits will be…”
“STOP IT!”
“I didn’t DO anything!!”
“STOP IT! *shriek!*”
“No! No!! Put it down! I HAD IT FIRST!!!”
{whack, smack, thump, BONK!, thumpa-thumpa-WHAM!}
{{!!!CRASH!!!}}
{breathless pause}
“I’m TELLING!”
“I’m telling FIRST!”
{chorus} “MOMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” {wailing, shrieking, crying, talking very fast in very high-pitched, squeaky little voices}
Eh. That’s a tad on the embarrassing side. What am I supposed to say unto the Gathered Elite? “Ha ha, oh, those interns! They’re just getting younger every day, huh?”
It also leaves us somewhat exposed on the ‘things can change’ front. Right now, sure. We telecommute, and take turns going into the office. One of us is ‘always’ home. But things do change. It would be darned awkward if Life threw us one of those curveballs shortly after we withdraw them. The onsite school has limited openings, so we aren’t too likely to be able to just pop them back in again if Things Change. Also, they punish you for doing that: registration fees double each time you re-enroll. So instead of $75 per kid, I’m looking at $150 per kid if we change our minds and put them back in.
But on the other hand.
We could eliminate an awful lot of madness, the crazy-early mornings trying to get them all dropped off before this or that cut-off, the evening rush of trying to simultaneously make dinner, get them all bathed, get homework done and/or proofed, finding out that I was volunteered to bring 144 cookies…tomorrow…that kind of stuff.
We’re only talking about two, maybe three hours in the afternoon. I’m already not willing to pay the extra $52 for days the school itself is closed, so they’re usually at home with us on those days anyway.
All complaints to contrary aside, they’re also very good at entertaining themselves; I don’t generally find that they are hanging all over me looking for constant interaction. Noisy, yes; demanding, no. They aren’t the types who will hang off your chair moaning, “But I’m so booooooooooooooooooooored!” all day.
They’re old enough to correctly interpret the Glare of Doom as meaning, “If you do not stop that noise this very instant, I shall end you!”
And, I can always just close the office door if I need (relative) quiet.
And…it’s $950. I mean, shoot. Nine hundred and fifty dollars a month. More than a luxury car payment. In exchange for having my older two kids around one hour longer in the morning, and two to three hours longer in the afternoon.
I think I can handle it.
But I reserve the right to fling myself on the kitchen floor screaming, crying and pounding my feet and fists if it doesn’t go my way.
DANG!
It is sticking to my fingers like a $20 bill. (Which believe me, is pretty sticky these days.) But, if I can shake it loose…that’s $950 a month back into the budget.
Let me just say that again. Nine Hundred and Fifty Dollars.
I’m not saying I’m going to rush out and actually get one (and I’m not saying I won’t, either), but I so could be driving a Lexus right now!!!!!
I have very mixed feelings about this one. On the downside, it means that I’ll have my older two kids underfoot a lot more. It isn’t that I just hate being around my kids so much…actually, it’s the opposite. I’d rather play than work. And I imagine that if my kids were home saying, “Mommy, can you help me make a dragon?”…well. Which would you rather be doing: Wrestling with complicated SQL statements and trying to figure out why you’ve got a ‘12’ when it should be a ‘14’, or sculpting a Play-Doh dragon?
Not to mention the fallout that can occur when civil war breaks out between the two girls just when you’ve logged into that Very Important Conference Call with Uppity-Up-Up-Upper Management.
“Yes, thank you all for phoning in today. First of all, I’d like to start by saying that while we are asking for a $500,000 budget for costs associated with the rollout, we feel that the projected benefits will be…”
“STOP IT!”
“I didn’t DO anything!!”
“STOP IT! *shriek!*”
“No! No!! Put it down! I HAD IT FIRST!!!”
{whack, smack, thump, BONK!, thumpa-thumpa-WHAM!}
{{!!!CRASH!!!}}
{breathless pause}
“I’m TELLING!”
“I’m telling FIRST!”
{chorus} “MOMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” {wailing, shrieking, crying, talking very fast in very high-pitched, squeaky little voices}
Eh. That’s a tad on the embarrassing side. What am I supposed to say unto the Gathered Elite? “Ha ha, oh, those interns! They’re just getting younger every day, huh?”
It also leaves us somewhat exposed on the ‘things can change’ front. Right now, sure. We telecommute, and take turns going into the office. One of us is ‘always’ home. But things do change. It would be darned awkward if Life threw us one of those curveballs shortly after we withdraw them. The onsite school has limited openings, so we aren’t too likely to be able to just pop them back in again if Things Change. Also, they punish you for doing that: registration fees double each time you re-enroll. So instead of $75 per kid, I’m looking at $150 per kid if we change our minds and put them back in.
But on the other hand.
We could eliminate an awful lot of madness, the crazy-early mornings trying to get them all dropped off before this or that cut-off, the evening rush of trying to simultaneously make dinner, get them all bathed, get homework done and/or proofed, finding out that I was volunteered to bring 144 cookies…tomorrow…that kind of stuff.
We’re only talking about two, maybe three hours in the afternoon. I’m already not willing to pay the extra $52 for days the school itself is closed, so they’re usually at home with us on those days anyway.
All complaints to contrary aside, they’re also very good at entertaining themselves; I don’t generally find that they are hanging all over me looking for constant interaction. Noisy, yes; demanding, no. They aren’t the types who will hang off your chair moaning, “But I’m so booooooooooooooooooooored!” all day.
They’re old enough to correctly interpret the Glare of Doom as meaning, “If you do not stop that noise this very instant, I shall end you!”
And, I can always just close the office door if I need (relative) quiet.
And…it’s $950. I mean, shoot. Nine hundred and fifty dollars a month. More than a luxury car payment. In exchange for having my older two kids around one hour longer in the morning, and two to three hours longer in the afternoon.
I think I can handle it.
But I reserve the right to fling myself on the kitchen floor screaming, crying and pounding my feet and fists if it doesn’t go my way.
| Sacrifice | Monthly Payoff |
| Maid Service | $400.00 |
| Cable | $45.00 |
| Phone Service | $12.00 |
| Wine Club | $57.00 |
| After School Care | $950.00 |
| Grand Total | $1,464.00 |
DANG!
Peach Pie Recipe
One double pie crust
1/2 to 1 cup sugar (gauge based on how tart/sweet you like it and how tart/sweet the peaches are)
1-1/2 tablespoons quick-cooking tapioca
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
5 cups peeled, sliced fresh peaches (or one thawed 20 ounce package frozen slices)
1 teaspoon lemon juice
Good Sized Pat of butter (~ 2 tablespoons) (optional) (but tasty)
Preheat the oven to 375.
Blend the dry ingredients in a small bowl. Put the peaches and lemon juice in a larger bowl, sprinkle the dry ingredients over them and give it all a good toss.
Roll out your bottom crust and put the peach mixture in it. If using the butter, dot the top of the pie with little shreds. Place your top crust…peach pie is one where a lot of folks like to do the lattice top. I don’t usually do that, both because I’m lazy and because I personally prefer the regular old top crust. I feel that keeping the steam in the crust helps make for a creamier, juicier pie overall. Which is utterly unscientific and I’m sure Alton Brown would argue with me about it.
If you like a ‘glossier’ pie, beat up an egg with a little water and brush the top - avoid the edges, though. They already brown too fast as it is. Put tin foil over the edges (or use one of these shields - I’ve got about eleventy zillion of them and love-love-love them) and stick it in the oven for 25 minutes. Remove the foil strips and let ‘er go another 20-25 minutes, until it’s nicely browned and the filling is bubbling.
Let cool at least slightly, or don’t come crying to me about the loss of mouth-skin. While hot, it'll be soupier - if you can let it cool to room temperature, it'll be easier to serve in slices rather than glorps. Add in some ice cream (and I did discover that Haagen-Dazs has a ‘light’ version of the Dulce de Leche…just sayin’…) and enjoy a plate of summer.
1/2 to 1 cup sugar (gauge based on how tart/sweet you like it and how tart/sweet the peaches are)
1-1/2 tablespoons quick-cooking tapioca
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
5 cups peeled, sliced fresh peaches (or one thawed 20 ounce package frozen slices)
1 teaspoon lemon juice
Good Sized Pat of butter (~ 2 tablespoons) (optional) (but tasty)
Preheat the oven to 375.
Blend the dry ingredients in a small bowl. Put the peaches and lemon juice in a larger bowl, sprinkle the dry ingredients over them and give it all a good toss.
Roll out your bottom crust and put the peach mixture in it. If using the butter, dot the top of the pie with little shreds. Place your top crust…peach pie is one where a lot of folks like to do the lattice top. I don’t usually do that, both because I’m lazy and because I personally prefer the regular old top crust. I feel that keeping the steam in the crust helps make for a creamier, juicier pie overall. Which is utterly unscientific and I’m sure Alton Brown would argue with me about it.
If you like a ‘glossier’ pie, beat up an egg with a little water and brush the top - avoid the edges, though. They already brown too fast as it is. Put tin foil over the edges (or use one of these shields - I’ve got about eleventy zillion of them and love-love-love them) and stick it in the oven for 25 minutes. Remove the foil strips and let ‘er go another 20-25 minutes, until it’s nicely browned and the filling is bubbling.
Let cool at least slightly, or don’t come crying to me about the loss of mouth-skin. While hot, it'll be soupier - if you can let it cool to room temperature, it'll be easier to serve in slices rather than glorps. Add in some ice cream (and I did discover that Haagen-Dazs has a ‘light’ version of the Dulce de Leche…just sayin’…) and enjoy a plate of summer.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Disposable Durables?!
Today I read an article in my local paper: Disposable Duds, subtitled Cheap fashion encourages 'shop and toss' philosophy.
Reading it felt just exactly like…well…
Have you ever been walking up a flight of stairs and thought there was one more step…and there wasn’t?!
!!JANG!! goes your brain-pan.
The upshot of the article is this: apparently, a fair number of other people out there, are buying clothing they literally do not expect to wear more than a few times.
!JANG!
Thank goodness, the article goes on to talk about how the clothing is recycled: to Goodwill and similar charitable resellers (where I tend to buy it), to be sold wholesale (hmm, we are intrigued…), to be shipped overseas to the Worthy Poorer Than Us (gee, sorry about the poverty and starvation and bombs and stuff – here’s a lovely turtleneck from Forever 21!) or as a last-ditch effort torn up into industrial rags (I wonder what effect sequins might have on a cleaning rag?).
Which is certainly better than simply ending up ditched into the landfill.
But I still just find the whole mindset causes me a case of kerflumpery. I am kerflumped. I cannot understand how you could buy something like clothing expecting to toss it out shortly afterward.
One example given in the article:
The low costs and quick turn around among "cheap chic" retailers can also mean low quality. For instance, a cowl-neck tunic from Forever 21 retails for $17.80. Pretty inexpensive, no? But, the lifespan of the item? Well, that's a different story.
"All my friends refer to it as the 'one-night outfit' because that's about as much as you'll wear it," says Alexis Weber, 22, of Hayward. "You don't care if it gets ruined. It's cheap and probably going to go out of fashion really soon, so it doesn't matter if it doesn't last very long. And it's not like you can get more than a dozen uses out of it anyway,"
Ha-bin-a-ha-bin-a-ha-bin-a…ah…I…er…but…it’s…erm…see…
!JANG!
First of all, to me, $17.80 fir a shirt? Is. Not. Cheap. $0.25 is cheap. When I can get a t-shirt from Goodwill for a quarter? I will crow for days about how awesome that was. I consider…$1.25 cheap. I’ll give you up to $3.00 for a silk work shirt. But $17.80?
It had better be cashmere, that’s all I can say. (And here we see a stunning example of how spoiled one can become by thrift store shopping…)
Granted, $17.80 is cheaper than $178.00, which is close to a price tag I saw dangling from a rather lovely piece of fabric-art at Nordstrom. And far cheaper than the $600 a jacket I was fondling lovingly would have set me back, were it not for my certain knowledge that, far from giving it a ‘good’ home, I would be opening it up to all manners of indignities – first of all being put on me, and secondly having open season declared on it by the Denizens. No. I loved it too much to do that to it. I had to let it go, let it be free to be loved by someone more worthy. *sniff, sniff*
The idea of spending $17.80 on a shirt I intend to wear once or twice and ditch?
I reject it. At the DNA level, I reject it. If I’m spending more than $4 on a shirt, I expect to wear it for at least an entire season. Regularly. As in, say, once a week. For three months. That is the least I expect of it. {Insert usual disclaimer about being on the receiving end of ketchup-encrusted embraces from a Denizen}
What I find really astonishing about this is, I never regarded clothes this way. Never. Not even when I was a red-hot credit card fiend.
I once charged $2,000 in a single week on, uh, ‘stuff’. But not one piece of it was stuff I bought thinking, “Kewl! I’ll wear this to the pub on Friday night, and throw it away on Saturday!”
Partially I’m sure it is because I am pretty far from ‘fashion conscious’. So I’m not going to be the type who is going to buy cutting-edge fashion in the first place.
But honestly, my real problem is that the idea of buying a ‘durable good’ the way I’d buy a hamburger just goes so far outside my ken as to be unintelligible to me. “Your Earth ways are strange to me…”
Who are these people? What species is this? I can’t understand it, I just can’t…grok it.
Sure. I admit it. I once bought two shirts specifically to wear while painting the house. I paid $0.50 for the two of them, at Goodwill. I ruined them, just I expected to do. Paint splatters large and small, encrusted all over them.
I washed them, folded them, and stuck them in the bottom drawer of my dresser, along with the equally paint-ruined jeans I had been wearing.
You know. For the next time I’m painting.
Because me, I agree with Scrooge on this one: “Garments were invented by the human race as protection against the cold. Once purchased, they may be used indefinitely for the purpose for which they are intended. Coal burns. Coal is momentary and coal is costly. There will be no more coal burned in this office today.”
Nor will any ‘cheap’ clothing be burned, either. I don’t care how cheap we think it is, it still took time, money, labor, and resources to make it.
Disposable duds, indeed!
Reading it felt just exactly like…well…
Have you ever been walking up a flight of stairs and thought there was one more step…and there wasn’t?!
!!JANG!! goes your brain-pan.
The upshot of the article is this: apparently, a fair number of other people out there, are buying clothing they literally do not expect to wear more than a few times.
!JANG!
Thank goodness, the article goes on to talk about how the clothing is recycled: to Goodwill and similar charitable resellers (where I tend to buy it), to be sold wholesale (hmm, we are intrigued…), to be shipped overseas to the Worthy Poorer Than Us (gee, sorry about the poverty and starvation and bombs and stuff – here’s a lovely turtleneck from Forever 21!) or as a last-ditch effort torn up into industrial rags (I wonder what effect sequins might have on a cleaning rag?).
Which is certainly better than simply ending up ditched into the landfill.
But I still just find the whole mindset causes me a case of kerflumpery. I am kerflumped. I cannot understand how you could buy something like clothing expecting to toss it out shortly afterward.
One example given in the article:
The low costs and quick turn around among "cheap chic" retailers can also mean low quality. For instance, a cowl-neck tunic from Forever 21 retails for $17.80. Pretty inexpensive, no? But, the lifespan of the item? Well, that's a different story.
"All my friends refer to it as the 'one-night outfit' because that's about as much as you'll wear it," says Alexis Weber, 22, of Hayward. "You don't care if it gets ruined. It's cheap and probably going to go out of fashion really soon, so it doesn't matter if it doesn't last very long. And it's not like you can get more than a dozen uses out of it anyway,"
Ha-bin-a-ha-bin-a-ha-bin-a…ah…I…er…but…it’s…erm…see…
!JANG!
First of all, to me, $17.80 fir a shirt? Is. Not. Cheap. $0.25 is cheap. When I can get a t-shirt from Goodwill for a quarter? I will crow for days about how awesome that was. I consider…$1.25 cheap. I’ll give you up to $3.00 for a silk work shirt. But $17.80?
It had better be cashmere, that’s all I can say. (And here we see a stunning example of how spoiled one can become by thrift store shopping…)
Granted, $17.80 is cheaper than $178.00, which is close to a price tag I saw dangling from a rather lovely piece of fabric-art at Nordstrom. And far cheaper than the $600 a jacket I was fondling lovingly would have set me back, were it not for my certain knowledge that, far from giving it a ‘good’ home, I would be opening it up to all manners of indignities – first of all being put on me, and secondly having open season declared on it by the Denizens. No. I loved it too much to do that to it. I had to let it go, let it be free to be loved by someone more worthy. *sniff, sniff*
The idea of spending $17.80 on a shirt I intend to wear once or twice and ditch?
I reject it. At the DNA level, I reject it. If I’m spending more than $4 on a shirt, I expect to wear it for at least an entire season. Regularly. As in, say, once a week. For three months. That is the least I expect of it. {Insert usual disclaimer about being on the receiving end of ketchup-encrusted embraces from a Denizen}
What I find really astonishing about this is, I never regarded clothes this way. Never. Not even when I was a red-hot credit card fiend.
I once charged $2,000 in a single week on, uh, ‘stuff’. But not one piece of it was stuff I bought thinking, “Kewl! I’ll wear this to the pub on Friday night, and throw it away on Saturday!”
Partially I’m sure it is because I am pretty far from ‘fashion conscious’. So I’m not going to be the type who is going to buy cutting-edge fashion in the first place.
But honestly, my real problem is that the idea of buying a ‘durable good’ the way I’d buy a hamburger just goes so far outside my ken as to be unintelligible to me. “Your Earth ways are strange to me…”
Who are these people? What species is this? I can’t understand it, I just can’t…grok it.
Sure. I admit it. I once bought two shirts specifically to wear while painting the house. I paid $0.50 for the two of them, at Goodwill. I ruined them, just I expected to do. Paint splatters large and small, encrusted all over them.
I washed them, folded them, and stuck them in the bottom drawer of my dresser, along with the equally paint-ruined jeans I had been wearing.
You know. For the next time I’m painting.
Because me, I agree with Scrooge on this one: “Garments were invented by the human race as protection against the cold. Once purchased, they may be used indefinitely for the purpose for which they are intended. Coal burns. Coal is momentary and coal is costly. There will be no more coal burned in this office today.”
Nor will any ‘cheap’ clothing be burned, either. I don’t care how cheap we think it is, it still took time, money, labor, and resources to make it.
Disposable duds, indeed!
Just Peachy
Peaches were on sale at Safeway this week. I looked at the peaches, on sale, and I thought to myself, I haven’t made a peach pie since Noah was a pup.
I put five good-sized peaches in a bag. And then I thought to myself that if I was going to make peach pie, well! I’m pretty sure it is against Federal law to make peach pie and not have ice cream to go with it…
So I cruised over and grabbed a (not quite a) gallon of French vanilla ice cream that was on sale.
And then I saw it. Above the Club Card banner proudly stating, “2 / $6”…
Haagen-Dazs Dulce de Leche.
I’m not entirely sure what happened next. All I know is, when I got home? There was a pint of Dulce de Leche in the freezer.
It is a great mystery.
Anyway. Last night, I made the pie. The peaches were splendid, mildly tart and extremely juicy. Very little sugar was needed, and the crust-gods were with me – no breaking, no overhandling, no ‘cardboard would be less chewy’-ness. An awesome pie. It was good warm out of the oven, and it was good cold this morning with coffee (hey – it’s a fruit pie, fruit counts as a healthy breakfast!) and I suspect it will be good this afternoon when I dive headfirst into the fridge to scarf the rest of it down right out of the pan with my fingers, snarling at any living creature who looks like they’re going to challenge my predatory superiority cut myself a dainty slice after my salad and tea.
But with the Dulce de Leche…Well.
Let’s just keep this between us, because if the Feds get hold of this information, they’ll probably put “Peach Pie and Dulce de Leche Haagen-Dazs” on the Banned Substances list.
But.
I think this could well be more addicting than heroin. Thank $DEITY that Haagen-Dazs was just a wee little pint, because otherwise?
Big. Trouble.
Holy carp, it was good.
It was, in fact, just peachy.
I put five good-sized peaches in a bag. And then I thought to myself that if I was going to make peach pie, well! I’m pretty sure it is against Federal law to make peach pie and not have ice cream to go with it…
So I cruised over and grabbed a (not quite a) gallon of French vanilla ice cream that was on sale.
And then I saw it. Above the Club Card banner proudly stating, “2 / $6”…
Haagen-Dazs Dulce de Leche.
I’m not entirely sure what happened next. All I know is, when I got home? There was a pint of Dulce de Leche in the freezer.
It is a great mystery.
Anyway. Last night, I made the pie. The peaches were splendid, mildly tart and extremely juicy. Very little sugar was needed, and the crust-gods were with me – no breaking, no overhandling, no ‘cardboard would be less chewy’-ness. An awesome pie. It was good warm out of the oven, and it was good cold this morning with coffee (hey – it’s a fruit pie, fruit counts as a healthy breakfast!) and I suspect it will be good this afternoon when I dive headfirst into the fridge to scarf the rest of it down right out of the pan with my fingers, snarling at any living creature who looks like they’re going to challenge my predatory superiority cut myself a dainty slice after my salad and tea.
But with the Dulce de Leche…Well.
Let’s just keep this between us, because if the Feds get hold of this information, they’ll probably put “Peach Pie and Dulce de Leche Haagen-Dazs” on the Banned Substances list.
But.
I think this could well be more addicting than heroin. Thank $DEITY that Haagen-Dazs was just a wee little pint, because otherwise?
Big. Trouble.
Holy carp, it was good.
It was, in fact, just peachy.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Budget Revision 3.0: The Wine Club
Accomplished: Canceling the wine club. Monthly savings: ~ $57.15 (which is actually overstating slightly, because they weren’t exactly monthly…more like ‘every five weeks-ish).
It is with some mild regret that I let this one go. I’ve really enjoyed the wine club. It has introduced me both to varietals and countries-of-origin that I wouldn’t have risked left to my own devices.
But…$60 is $60. I have a well-stocked wine rack, and frankly – I live in the Central Valley of California. Hello, the nearest winery is fifteen minutes away. The nearest wine cellar is right downtown – tastings encouraged, wide array available.
I’m pretty sure I can survive, epicureanly-speaking, for a while without imported wines.
For those of you keeping score at home…
There is one more big ticket item on the chopping block. The Great Grand-Daddy of Budget Cuts. One that is giving me qualms. Major qualms. The kind of cut where you pick up the phone…and put it down again…and pick it up again…aaaaaand put it down again…
Do I really want to do this? Really? Am I sure? Will this work? What if…because if it doesn’t…don’t let’s be hasty, because…but it’s a lot of money…yeah, but!...
It is with some mild regret that I let this one go. I’ve really enjoyed the wine club. It has introduced me both to varietals and countries-of-origin that I wouldn’t have risked left to my own devices.
But…$60 is $60. I have a well-stocked wine rack, and frankly – I live in the Central Valley of California. Hello, the nearest winery is fifteen minutes away. The nearest wine cellar is right downtown – tastings encouraged, wide array available.
I’m pretty sure I can survive, epicureanly-speaking, for a while without imported wines.
For those of you keeping score at home…
| Sacrifice | Monthly Payoff |
| Maid Service | $400.00 |
| Cable | $45.00 |
| Phone service | $12.00 |
| Wine Club | $57.00 |
| Grand Total | $514.00 |
There is one more big ticket item on the chopping block. The Great Grand-Daddy of Budget Cuts. One that is giving me qualms. Major qualms. The kind of cut where you pick up the phone…and put it down again…and pick it up again…aaaaaand put it down again…
Do I really want to do this? Really? Am I sure? Will this work? What if…because if it doesn’t…don’t let’s be hasty, because…but it’s a lot of money…yeah, but!...
It comes from beneath…
I believe that my house was built on top of an ancient dump, the evil spirits of which are sending forth psychic impressions of all the trash that was left there into my house.
There can be no other explanation for the way detritus simply…appears…in this Den.
No matter how many hours I may spend cleaning, no matter how many times I may sweep through the same room picking up trash, a few hours later I’ll go back through and find a sprinkling of school papers, broken toys, magazines, bits of yarn and pencil erasers, littering the carpet like snow.
I just don’t get it.
Yesterday, I swept through the front of my house. I cleaned off the little secretary in the hall. Picked up the toys from the floor. Recovered the chairs from whence they had scattered and arranged them around the table. Emptied the trash can and the recycling bin next to the secretary, and put all the shoes on the fireplace in the other room.
And yet…I look around me right now…and you would never believe that I had lifted a finger in this room since the Dawn of Man.
The secretary is covered with a blizzard of papers. Receipts, school work, notices, and what appear to be toilet paper cores capped with white paper. I’m going to bet they have beans or pasta in them. I’m going to further bet that this is what I’m glimpsing under the secretary: beans, or pasta, which have escaped from the toilet paper cores.
There is a set of DVDs on the secretary, and a game cartridge for the Pixter (Dumbest. Electronic. Gizmo. Ever.) There are empty picture frames and a couple happy meal style action figures on it.
There’s a stack of magazines or catalogs, I can’t tell which from here, on the coffee table. Plastic wrappers. An empty shipping box (my bad). Three toys. Four pencils, on the floor. And two pairs of shoes (my bad again). There are scraps of paper balled up on the floor, two Reporting Services manuals (neither of which are helping me out much today), several knitting pattern books, school supplies (glue sticks, pencils, erasers), and a set of watercolor paints. Some coloring books. A big manila envelope containing…something.
Several…cables. Which I’m sure go to electronics we own; but not the digital camera. That particular cable has been lost forever. Probably was eaten by the evil spirits of the ancient dump.
A screwdriver. And two bills, which I guess I’m supposed to be ‘doing something’ with, but for the life of me I can’t tell you why they’re here. And two pleading letters from the teachers begging me to come volunteer in the classroom.
Which I would do, if I had a minute.
Which I don’t. Because the evil spirits of the ancient dump keep pushing all this psychic noise into my house.
I’d call for an exorcism, but before I can have a priest over…I’d need to clean. You can’t have a priest over with a dirty house…
There can be no other explanation for the way detritus simply…appears…in this Den.
No matter how many hours I may spend cleaning, no matter how many times I may sweep through the same room picking up trash, a few hours later I’ll go back through and find a sprinkling of school papers, broken toys, magazines, bits of yarn and pencil erasers, littering the carpet like snow.
I just don’t get it.
Yesterday, I swept through the front of my house. I cleaned off the little secretary in the hall. Picked up the toys from the floor. Recovered the chairs from whence they had scattered and arranged them around the table. Emptied the trash can and the recycling bin next to the secretary, and put all the shoes on the fireplace in the other room.
And yet…I look around me right now…and you would never believe that I had lifted a finger in this room since the Dawn of Man.
The secretary is covered with a blizzard of papers. Receipts, school work, notices, and what appear to be toilet paper cores capped with white paper. I’m going to bet they have beans or pasta in them. I’m going to further bet that this is what I’m glimpsing under the secretary: beans, or pasta, which have escaped from the toilet paper cores.
There is a set of DVDs on the secretary, and a game cartridge for the Pixter (Dumbest. Electronic. Gizmo. Ever.) There are empty picture frames and a couple happy meal style action figures on it.
There’s a stack of magazines or catalogs, I can’t tell which from here, on the coffee table. Plastic wrappers. An empty shipping box (my bad). Three toys. Four pencils, on the floor. And two pairs of shoes (my bad again). There are scraps of paper balled up on the floor, two Reporting Services manuals (neither of which are helping me out much today), several knitting pattern books, school supplies (glue sticks, pencils, erasers), and a set of watercolor paints. Some coloring books. A big manila envelope containing…something.
Several…cables. Which I’m sure go to electronics we own; but not the digital camera. That particular cable has been lost forever. Probably was eaten by the evil spirits of the ancient dump.
A screwdriver. And two bills, which I guess I’m supposed to be ‘doing something’ with, but for the life of me I can’t tell you why they’re here. And two pleading letters from the teachers begging me to come volunteer in the classroom.
Which I would do, if I had a minute.
Which I don’t. Because the evil spirits of the ancient dump keep pushing all this psychic noise into my house.
I’d call for an exorcism, but before I can have a priest over…I’d need to clean. You can’t have a priest over with a dirty house…
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Speaking of winter sweaters…
Progress!!
OK, granted. It isn't quite as much progress as might be expected, considering that this is for a wee little lad of only two (2) years.
Up to the armpits: like greased lightning
The Rest: Eh…not so much
I have gotten the body of the sweater and about 90% of the first sleeve done. I’m rather pleased with myself for thinking to use two circulars instead of five double-pointed needles for the sleeve; it has gone much faster and with fewer wrinkly-bits. I seem to be physically incapable of allowing the yarn to ‘float gently’ across two needles.
Call it a character flaw.
Anyway. I didn’t do a whole lot of knitting last week, for which I proffer the following excuses (not that anybody cares, but still):
Item the first: My boss was out of town and I was one of his backups. Automatic five hour penalty to knitting time in the Monday – Friday period.
Item the second: My MIL was staying with us all week. Automatic twenty hour penalty to knitting time, for having a houseguest in the first place. Add another four hours per day because she is so stinkin’ fun to talk to, and I a) talk with my hands a lot and b) find myself bent over my knitting laughing so hard I can’t see when she’s around.
She’s real hard on my knitting time, let-me-tell-you.
And yes. I miss her already.
Saturday I was home alone with the kids for most of the day, and Sunday for whatever reason (I’m suspecting someone cast a hex on me) my @*^&@ing arthritis flared up So! Stinking! Bad! that really…about all I could handle was sitting on my patookis watching DVDs or listening to music or surfing the Internet.
I took too much Tylenol, gave myself stomach cramps and a case of the jitters, and still found it too painful to knit on The Boy’s sweater. I briefly contemplated starting a new project with bigger needles (these are little size 3 US deals – kind of hard to manage when your hands are sore), but feared that if I did I’d somehow never return to it.
Let’s just say I have a certain history where that kind of thing is concerned. (And a few items in the bottom of the closet.) (And that this is why I never seem to have a pair #6 circulars, even though I have purchased at least three dozen of them in my time.)
It's getting cooler by the day, though, so I'm motivated! I have FOUR MORE sweaters after this one to get through, before the first snowflake falls.
(Which fortunately, in my part of California, should be in roughly, going with most recent statistics, 2015...)
OK, granted. It isn't quite as much progress as might be expected, considering that this is for a wee little lad of only two (2) years.
Up to the armpits: like greased lightning
The Rest: Eh…not so much
I have gotten the body of the sweater and about 90% of the first sleeve done. I’m rather pleased with myself for thinking to use two circulars instead of five double-pointed needles for the sleeve; it has gone much faster and with fewer wrinkly-bits. I seem to be physically incapable of allowing the yarn to ‘float gently’ across two needles.
Call it a character flaw.
Anyway. I didn’t do a whole lot of knitting last week, for which I proffer the following excuses (not that anybody cares, but still):
Item the first: My boss was out of town and I was one of his backups. Automatic five hour penalty to knitting time in the Monday – Friday period.
Item the second: My MIL was staying with us all week. Automatic twenty hour penalty to knitting time, for having a houseguest in the first place. Add another four hours per day because she is so stinkin’ fun to talk to, and I a) talk with my hands a lot and b) find myself bent over my knitting laughing so hard I can’t see when she’s around.
She’s real hard on my knitting time, let-me-tell-you.
And yes. I miss her already.
Saturday I was home alone with the kids for most of the day, and Sunday for whatever reason (I’m suspecting someone cast a hex on me) my @*^&@ing arthritis flared up So! Stinking! Bad! that really…about all I could handle was sitting on my patookis watching DVDs or listening to music or surfing the Internet.
I took too much Tylenol, gave myself stomach cramps and a case of the jitters, and still found it too painful to knit on The Boy’s sweater. I briefly contemplated starting a new project with bigger needles (these are little size 3 US deals – kind of hard to manage when your hands are sore), but feared that if I did I’d somehow never return to it.
Let’s just say I have a certain history where that kind of thing is concerned. (And a few items in the bottom of the closet.) (And that this is why I never seem to have a pair #6 circulars, even though I have purchased at least three dozen of them in my time.)
It's getting cooler by the day, though, so I'm motivated! I have FOUR MORE sweaters after this one to get through, before the first snowflake falls.
(Which fortunately, in my part of California, should be in roughly, going with most recent statistics, 2015...)
Thou Shalt NOT!!!!!
Let it be herewith written into the Book of Denizen Law: Thou Shalt Not…tempt Mother with yarn when she is in mid-budget-adjustment and already feeling abused because she hath disallowed herself such luxuries as ‘a quick bite while running errands’ and pedicures.
So it is written, so it shall be. {Clap! Clap!} {Cymbals crash. Minions shout: Hail, Pharaoh! Hail, Pharaoh! Hail, Pharaoh!}
Not two days into my new budgetary restrictions and what do I get in my email last night? “HUGE SALE!! At the Local Yarn Store! 50% off spring yarns! 20% off summer yarns! Fall yarns arriving now, And. We. Must. Make. Room!!!!”
ARGH!
Must…resist…temptation…
…charge…slip…signing…hand…burning…
“Argh!” I screamed, upon reading this email (twice) (drooling copiously). “And just when I had decided I’d have to give up on the sweaters Eldest and Boo Bug wanted because I don’t have the right kind of yarn in the stash!!”
See, and there’s a basic problem here: What sweaters are these? Winter sweaters! Which yarns am I going to be drawn to? The Fall yarns! Which yarns are on sale? NOT the Fall ones!!!
“Well, if we cancel daycare for the older two, that’s $900 a month you could spend on yarn!” quoth my husband. He was mostly just being a spit. Because he’s sick and tired of hearing about my wild-eyed schemes for saving money, and wishes I’d just freakin’ do things instead of picking the issue to death discussing the issue at with him.
Still. This is not a helpful suggestion. It has only caused me to think up about six hundred reasons why I’d actually be saving money by spending $300+ at the yarn store; and I’ve come up with a few (tenuous at best) reasons why I need to be in that general vicinity anyway (30 miles away); plus also? Sure! I’m saving so much money on so many other things, Surely I’m Entitled To…a little discount yarn shopping?
Surely I’m Entitled To, or SIET, spending is the bane of my existence. Every time SIET enters my mindset, I get in trouble. SIET has been responsible for easily 90% of the stupid financial decisions I’ve ever made.
You may note that 'SIET', when spoken aloud, sort of rhymes with another word. Same number of letters. Same first and last letter. I think they're definitely related.
Uh-huh.
I am resisting the temptation.
It is shockingly hard.
But I am strong.
And also? I have several good-sized boxes of yarn already in the stash. I’m confident that I’m not going to die of yarn deprivation any time soon.
Well.
I’m pretty sure I won’t, anyway.
So it is written, so it shall be. {Clap! Clap!} {Cymbals crash. Minions shout: Hail, Pharaoh! Hail, Pharaoh! Hail, Pharaoh!}
Not two days into my new budgetary restrictions and what do I get in my email last night? “HUGE SALE!! At the Local Yarn Store! 50% off spring yarns! 20% off summer yarns! Fall yarns arriving now, And. We. Must. Make. Room!!!!”
ARGH!
Must…resist…temptation…
…charge…slip…signing…hand…burning…
“Argh!” I screamed, upon reading this email (twice) (drooling copiously). “And just when I had decided I’d have to give up on the sweaters Eldest and Boo Bug wanted because I don’t have the right kind of yarn in the stash!!”
See, and there’s a basic problem here: What sweaters are these? Winter sweaters! Which yarns am I going to be drawn to? The Fall yarns! Which yarns are on sale? NOT the Fall ones!!!
“Well, if we cancel daycare for the older two, that’s $900 a month you could spend on yarn!” quoth my husband. He was mostly just being a spit. Because he’s sick and tired of hearing about my wild-eyed schemes for saving money, and wishes I’d just freakin’ do things instead of picking the issue to death discussing the issue at with him.
Still. This is not a helpful suggestion. It has only caused me to think up about six hundred reasons why I’d actually be saving money by spending $300+ at the yarn store; and I’ve come up with a few (tenuous at best) reasons why I need to be in that general vicinity anyway (30 miles away); plus also? Sure! I’m saving so much money on so many other things, Surely I’m Entitled To…a little discount yarn shopping?
Surely I’m Entitled To, or SIET, spending is the bane of my existence. Every time SIET enters my mindset, I get in trouble. SIET has been responsible for easily 90% of the stupid financial decisions I’ve ever made.
You may note that 'SIET', when spoken aloud, sort of rhymes with another word. Same number of letters. Same first and last letter. I think they're definitely related.
Uh-huh.
I am resisting the temptation.
It is shockingly hard.
But I am strong.
And also? I have several good-sized boxes of yarn already in the stash. I’m confident that I’m not going to die of yarn deprivation any time soon.
Well.
I’m pretty sure I won’t, anyway.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Budget Revision 2.0: Phone bill
This is astonishing. I have been on hold with AT&T three times today. Each time, the length exceeded 30 minutes. And then? They hung up on me.
So now, here I am again. On hold, with AT&T, listening to their bright, jazzy hold music and periodic announcement that they love me and want me to continue to hold, and the occasional enthusiastic assurance that I can make changes to my service (liars!) online (LIARS!!!) by going to {extremely deliberate pronunciation} A. T. T. dot. COM.
Also? Their voice recognition software stinks. No matter what I say to it, it can’t understand me.
“So go ahead,” it encouraged me. “Tell me why you’re calling today.”
“Change. Service.” (Can I just state for the record that I do not have any kind of heavy accent; that I’m not from Brooklyn or Liverpool or Edinburgh or Egypt or anything. San Francisco born and raised. Third generation Welsh. My people are from freakin’ Kansas, at this point.)
{pause} “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. One more time, please briefly tell me why you’re calling today…”
“Because I want to rip your mechanized head off and spit down your virtual neck, you lying sack of weeds!”
{pause} “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. One more time, please briefly tell me why you’re calling today…”
I have now been on hold for {checks} 40 minutes, 44 seconds.
Let it never be said that I am not determined.
But I am also irked. I’m smelling a conspiracy here. Because you know how they keep telling me I can handle anything I need to handle online at {extremely deliberate pronunciation} A. T. T. dot. COM?
Well. I can add service, sure. Upgrade myself to Super Nova Long Distance with Self-Dialing for a mere $10 a month and $85 per minute, no problem!
But if, say, I want them to quit freakin’ billing me for long distance, which has been handled for the last four months by another outfit? Or if I want to stop using their message center? Or otherwise reduce my phone bill?
{pause} “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. One more time, please briefly tell me why you’re calling today…”
Worse! This time, when I called back, the automated system said, “I see you called recently…” [yes, sat on hold for OVER THIRTY MINUTES, twice!, before you hung up on me!] “…are you calling about the same unresolved issue? Please say ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”
What? What?! WHAAAAAAT?!?!?
OK, let’s review. I have sat on hold twice for over thirty minutes. Each time, you hung up on me. And now, in vaguely accusatory tone, you’re asking if I’m calling about the same unresolved issue?!
Damn straight, you lying sack of weeds! I am calling about the same unresolved issue, the unresolved issue you still know nothing about!, because you will not allow me to talk to a lying sack of human weeds!!!!!!
But this also left me somewhat flustered. How do I answer this? Yes, I am calling about the same issue; but I haven’t told you what the issue is yet, so how can there be an issue you know about it? In other words…if you don’t know why I’m calling, how can you say I’ve got an issue, resolved or otherwise?
Eventually I unlocked my jaw and said, “No.”
{pause} “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that…”
“NO! NO! NO, YOU LYING SACK OF WEEDS!!”
{pause} “Let’s try this a different way. Say ‘Yes’, or press 1; or, say ‘No’, or press 2.”
Damn you. Damn you all!
{punches the 2} (May I also state for the record that I am a proud graduate of kindergarten [three times now, if I count shepherding two of my own children through the process], and I’m fairly well acquainted with the numbers from 0 – 9?
“Thaaaaanks. Hold on just a minute while I transfer you to someone who can help with this unresolved issue…”
What? What?! I pressed 2. That was ‘No.’ How do you know I’ve got an issue?
**sigh**
47:22, and counting…
****************
****UPDATE****
****************
A human being was reached. She was very nice. She has been yelled at a lot today. She managed a weary chuckle, and was too tired to argue with me (much) about canceling services.
And now, I can say: Budget Item 2 has been accomplished. Message center has been removed, extra long distance coverage likewise has been removed. We are now saving $11.95 a month on our phone bill.
Whew. That was the hardest I’ve worked for a crummy twelve bucks in a long, long time…
So now, here I am again. On hold, with AT&T, listening to their bright, jazzy hold music and periodic announcement that they love me and want me to continue to hold, and the occasional enthusiastic assurance that I can make changes to my service (liars!) online (LIARS!!!) by going to {extremely deliberate pronunciation} A. T. T. dot. COM.
Also? Their voice recognition software stinks. No matter what I say to it, it can’t understand me.
“So go ahead,” it encouraged me. “Tell me why you’re calling today.”
“Change. Service.” (Can I just state for the record that I do not have any kind of heavy accent; that I’m not from Brooklyn or Liverpool or Edinburgh or Egypt or anything. San Francisco born and raised. Third generation Welsh. My people are from freakin’ Kansas, at this point.)
{pause} “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. One more time, please briefly tell me why you’re calling today…”
“Because I want to rip your mechanized head off and spit down your virtual neck, you lying sack of weeds!”
{pause} “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. One more time, please briefly tell me why you’re calling today…”
I have now been on hold for {checks} 40 minutes, 44 seconds.
Let it never be said that I am not determined.
But I am also irked. I’m smelling a conspiracy here. Because you know how they keep telling me I can handle anything I need to handle online at {extremely deliberate pronunciation} A. T. T. dot. COM?
Well. I can add service, sure. Upgrade myself to Super Nova Long Distance with Self-Dialing for a mere $10 a month and $85 per minute, no problem!
But if, say, I want them to quit freakin’ billing me for long distance, which has been handled for the last four months by another outfit? Or if I want to stop using their message center? Or otherwise reduce my phone bill?
{pause} “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. One more time, please briefly tell me why you’re calling today…”
Worse! This time, when I called back, the automated system said, “I see you called recently…” [yes, sat on hold for OVER THIRTY MINUTES, twice!, before you hung up on me!] “…are you calling about the same unresolved issue? Please say ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”
What? What?! WHAAAAAAT?!?!?
OK, let’s review. I have sat on hold twice for over thirty minutes. Each time, you hung up on me. And now, in vaguely accusatory tone, you’re asking if I’m calling about the same unresolved issue?!
Damn straight, you lying sack of weeds! I am calling about the same unresolved issue, the unresolved issue you still know nothing about!, because you will not allow me to talk to a lying sack of human weeds!!!!!!
But this also left me somewhat flustered. How do I answer this? Yes, I am calling about the same issue; but I haven’t told you what the issue is yet, so how can there be an issue you know about it? In other words…if you don’t know why I’m calling, how can you say I’ve got an issue, resolved or otherwise?
Eventually I unlocked my jaw and said, “No.”
{pause} “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that…”
“NO! NO! NO, YOU LYING SACK OF WEEDS!!”
{pause} “Let’s try this a different way. Say ‘Yes’, or press 1; or, say ‘No’, or press 2.”
Damn you. Damn you all!
{punches the 2} (May I also state for the record that I am a proud graduate of kindergarten [three times now, if I count shepherding two of my own children through the process], and I’m fairly well acquainted with the numbers from 0 – 9?
“Thaaaaanks. Hold on just a minute while I transfer you to someone who can help with this unresolved issue…”
What? What?! I pressed 2. That was ‘No.’ How do you know I’ve got an issue?
**sigh**
47:22, and counting…
****************
****UPDATE****
****************
A human being was reached. She was very nice. She has been yelled at a lot today. She managed a weary chuckle, and was too tired to argue with me (much) about canceling services.
And now, I can say: Budget Item 2 has been accomplished. Message center has been removed, extra long distance coverage likewise has been removed. We are now saving $11.95 a month on our phone bill.
Whew. That was the hardest I’ve worked for a crummy twelve bucks in a long, long time…
Budget Revision 1.0: Cable
Accomplished: Reducing the cable bill from $65 to $20. For the math impaired, that’s $45 less a month, by removing 120 channels we seldom, if ever, actually watch. And if we are watching them, we really ought to be doing something else.
Nothing, however, is sacred. I reserve the right to cancel it altogether if need be – whether the need exists due to my husband staying up until midnight or later on work nights to watch Harold and Kumar Go To Whitecastle, or because I need the $20 for groceries.
And the budgetary bloodbath continues...
Nothing, however, is sacred. I reserve the right to cancel it altogether if need be – whether the need exists due to my husband staying up until midnight or later on work nights to watch Harold and Kumar Go To Whitecastle, or because I need the $20 for groceries.
And the budgetary bloodbath continues...
SWAK
Well, that’s it. I did. I filled out the form, signed it, folded it neatly, put it in an envelope, addressed it, stamped it, and put it in the outgoing mailbox.
It’s official.
I am going to be deferring 100% of my income from October 1 through the end of the year into the 401k.
{pause to allow nervous palpitations to pass}
I’m not nearly as well-positioned for doing this as I wanted to be. I wanted to have more in savings, and fewer bills to pay. I’m taking a huge gamble, socking it away. I’ve just bet myself that I can go three months with no emergencies, large or small. No car repairs, no roof tiles falling off the house, no cataclysms in household appliances, no $600 medical bills.
…No really awesome yarn sales...
I’m doing something I so disagree with doing, too. I’m counting on a bonus check. Not just a bonus check - two bonus checks.
My stupidity feels like a layer of Crisco on my skin.
In real life, I don’t count a bonus check as income until it is in the bank. This old hen has pecked in that particular poop before.
“Oh!” gushes the new employer, trying to convince you that the benefits are so worth the $20-30K pay cut you’d be taking to come work for him. “And we have this Fabulous Annual Bonus Check! It’ll be anywhere from 0 to 50% of your gross pay! This year is better than ever! We’re hitting goals left, right and center! Shoot! Might even be {car commercial resonance} 60-60-60% {/car commercial resonance} of your gross pay!!”
If I had a nickel for every time an employer has gushed about how awesome their bonus check program is…well, I’d have more money than I’ve gotten from bonus checks. It’s always because some group you never heard of that is nevertheless part of your ‘global resource partnership’ messed up their goals to the point of no return. Oh, did we say it would 6% of your total gross? Well, it’s actually 0.5%, because the Nurf Tennis Group didn’t do so hot on their target goals…
But this year, I’ve decided to take a chance on it. I have just enough savings to replace my income for October and half of November; the second half of November is a ‘drop back ten and punt’; and then the bonus checks are (allegedly) arriving the first week of December. Allegedly, they should cover us well into the new year.
Allegedly.
{nervous palpitations}
It will make for some interesting budgetary changes around the Den, though. Cuts will be made. The phrase, “Not in the budget” will be used more often than the salt shaker. There will be whining. There will be complaints lodged, in triplicate. The Denizens may become…pissy.
But not as pissy as they’d be if Mommy turned up on their doorstep twenty years from now with her suitcase, smiling and saying, “Your turn to take care of me, dear – my goodness, don’t you ever clean in here? *tsk*tsk*tsk*tsk…”
It’s official.
I am going to be deferring 100% of my income from October 1 through the end of the year into the 401k.
{pause to allow nervous palpitations to pass}
I’m not nearly as well-positioned for doing this as I wanted to be. I wanted to have more in savings, and fewer bills to pay. I’m taking a huge gamble, socking it away. I’ve just bet myself that I can go three months with no emergencies, large or small. No car repairs, no roof tiles falling off the house, no cataclysms in household appliances, no $600 medical bills.
…No really awesome yarn sales...
I’m doing something I so disagree with doing, too. I’m counting on a bonus check. Not just a bonus check - two bonus checks.
My stupidity feels like a layer of Crisco on my skin.
In real life, I don’t count a bonus check as income until it is in the bank. This old hen has pecked in that particular poop before.
“Oh!” gushes the new employer, trying to convince you that the benefits are so worth the $20-30K pay cut you’d be taking to come work for him. “And we have this Fabulous Annual Bonus Check! It’ll be anywhere from 0 to 50% of your gross pay! This year is better than ever! We’re hitting goals left, right and center! Shoot! Might even be {car commercial resonance} 60-60-60% {/car commercial resonance} of your gross pay!!”
If I had a nickel for every time an employer has gushed about how awesome their bonus check program is…well, I’d have more money than I’ve gotten from bonus checks. It’s always because some group you never heard of that is nevertheless part of your ‘global resource partnership’ messed up their goals to the point of no return. Oh, did we say it would 6% of your total gross? Well, it’s actually 0.5%, because the Nurf Tennis Group didn’t do so hot on their target goals…
But this year, I’ve decided to take a chance on it. I have just enough savings to replace my income for October and half of November; the second half of November is a ‘drop back ten and punt’; and then the bonus checks are (allegedly) arriving the first week of December. Allegedly, they should cover us well into the new year.
Allegedly.
{nervous palpitations}
It will make for some interesting budgetary changes around the Den, though. Cuts will be made. The phrase, “Not in the budget” will be used more often than the salt shaker. There will be whining. There will be complaints lodged, in triplicate. The Denizens may become…pissy.
But not as pissy as they’d be if Mommy turned up on their doorstep twenty years from now with her suitcase, smiling and saying, “Your turn to take care of me, dear – my goodness, don’t you ever clean in here? *tsk*tsk*tsk*tsk…”
Sunday, August 27, 2006
That which remains…
“When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains – however improbable – must be the truth.” – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Remember all that blood work I had done back in July? Well, all those results are back in, and a couple other things were done. Everything from thyroid to lupus to Crohn’s has been eliminated. Even gout, which does run in my family a bit.
As improbable as it seems, at least to me, what remains for me is osteoarthritis. This is the most common form of arthritis, caused by simple degeneration of the cartilage between joints. There is no cure for it; it’s just one of those things that you have to suck up and walk off. I have classic symptoms, classic physical manifestations (little spurs around my joints, and a kind of ‘flat’ look on x-rays around my affected joints – which is most of them) (argh).
I learned an important medical fact, though, which I shall now pass along to you: The phrase “But I’m too young for that!” has absolutely no curative powers whatsoever.
Zip.
Nada.
I’m trying not to be an angst-machine over it. Because really, it is pointless to endlessly whine about what you can’t change. Whining is only appropriate when it can, say, get you a better table at a restaurant – it doesn’t make me feel any better, and it surely doesn’t help the mood of the person on the receiving end.
But since I write this blog mostly for me: WAH!!! THIS SUCKS!!!!!!!
It is life-impacting in a big old way. I’m downright shocked that something that hurts this much is ‘only’ arthritis. I can’t do things I used to love doing. I can’t go for long drives or walks or even sit through a damned movie. Even the stairs in my own house can sometimes look like Mt. Everest – you mean I’ve got to get up that, just so I can go to bed?!
I’m finding that even things I’d really, really love to do are just not worth the pain I’m going to have to go through to do them. From going to parties to attending concerts, the pleasure isn’t worth the discomfort I’m going to have to get through.
It isn’t that the aches and pains are new. I’ve had body aches after periods of (in)activity for years. Woken up with stiff joints and all that for years and years. Laughed about how ‘it ain’t the age, it’s the mileage’. Been taking glucosamine / chondroitin tablets for two years. Said over morning coffee that One Of These Days, I Am So TOTALLY Going To Get Arthritis…Someday.
It’s just that the discomfort curve seems…rather steep. As though ‘Someday’ arrived way too fast – one minute out there beyond the edge of the horizon and today SMACK! Broken nose!
One day I was ‘mildly achy after (in)activity’, and the next day I was sitting in my car crying after getting off the train home from work, because I hurt so much. The thought of having to drive myself home was unbearable, but there was no other option.
My doctor has opined that there are two factors to my perceived ‘steep curve’. One is that I actually have a high tolerance for this kind of pain, a tolerance granted to me by my long-distant past as an athlete. I have played basketball on a sprained ankle, run a 10 mile cross-country race within a fortnight of having my appendix out (pulling stitches all the way) and gone on 20 mile ‘peak bagger’ hikes with a torqued knee. Muscled through eight years of four hour daily commutes, ignoring how each day was just a little harder on me than the day before…
All of which highlights Point the Second: I’ve got a lot of mileage on these joints of mine, and quite a few of those miles were downright stupid. I was running marathons at age twelve, wearing Payless shoes (read as, ‘ballet slippers with sneaker styling’) and with a coach who was also our Civics teacher. I tended to muscle on through the discomfort, ignoring the clear signals from my body that I Was Hurting Me.
I cared a lot more about winning than how much it hurt to get there, and now I’m paying the price. I’m still doing it, too. I really should quit my job at this point, relieve my joints of the stress of even the occasional commute and the daily pounding of the keyboard for eight (twelve) hours, relieve my mind of the stress of not being able to keep up…but ooooooh no. I’m still trying to win.
Ach, well.
I wouldn’t undo anything, really. When I look back at all the things I’ve done that may or may not have contributed to my current joint distress…well. I wouldn’t trade them. I loved the basketball, and the running. I’ve climbed mountains. I’ve camped in the snow at the top of waterfalls. I’ve seen mountain lions (stalking me, in fact, which was not fun at the time but makes for a good story if you aren’t actually eaten by them). I’ve climbed trees.
I think that even if I had known at the time that I was setting myself up for this, I wouldn’t have stopped. Funny, that. You’d think you would…but I really don’t think I would have done.
Because I’m not stopping now, either. I’m still insisting on going for walks, pushing my children on swings, getting down on the floor and wrestling with them, knitting, working…when time and kids permit, I’m sure I’ll go hiking again.
With a bottle of Celebrex in one pocket, and a hipflask of whisky in the other…
Remember all that blood work I had done back in July? Well, all those results are back in, and a couple other things were done. Everything from thyroid to lupus to Crohn’s has been eliminated. Even gout, which does run in my family a bit.
As improbable as it seems, at least to me, what remains for me is osteoarthritis. This is the most common form of arthritis, caused by simple degeneration of the cartilage between joints. There is no cure for it; it’s just one of those things that you have to suck up and walk off. I have classic symptoms, classic physical manifestations (little spurs around my joints, and a kind of ‘flat’ look on x-rays around my affected joints – which is most of them) (argh).
I learned an important medical fact, though, which I shall now pass along to you: The phrase “But I’m too young for that!” has absolutely no curative powers whatsoever.
Zip.
Nada.
I’m trying not to be an angst-machine over it. Because really, it is pointless to endlessly whine about what you can’t change. Whining is only appropriate when it can, say, get you a better table at a restaurant – it doesn’t make me feel any better, and it surely doesn’t help the mood of the person on the receiving end.
But since I write this blog mostly for me: WAH!!! THIS SUCKS!!!!!!!
It is life-impacting in a big old way. I’m downright shocked that something that hurts this much is ‘only’ arthritis. I can’t do things I used to love doing. I can’t go for long drives or walks or even sit through a damned movie. Even the stairs in my own house can sometimes look like Mt. Everest – you mean I’ve got to get up that, just so I can go to bed?!
I’m finding that even things I’d really, really love to do are just not worth the pain I’m going to have to go through to do them. From going to parties to attending concerts, the pleasure isn’t worth the discomfort I’m going to have to get through.
It isn’t that the aches and pains are new. I’ve had body aches after periods of (in)activity for years. Woken up with stiff joints and all that for years and years. Laughed about how ‘it ain’t the age, it’s the mileage’. Been taking glucosamine / chondroitin tablets for two years. Said over morning coffee that One Of These Days, I Am So TOTALLY Going To Get Arthritis…Someday.
It’s just that the discomfort curve seems…rather steep. As though ‘Someday’ arrived way too fast – one minute out there beyond the edge of the horizon and today SMACK! Broken nose!
One day I was ‘mildly achy after (in)activity’, and the next day I was sitting in my car crying after getting off the train home from work, because I hurt so much. The thought of having to drive myself home was unbearable, but there was no other option.
My doctor has opined that there are two factors to my perceived ‘steep curve’. One is that I actually have a high tolerance for this kind of pain, a tolerance granted to me by my long-distant past as an athlete. I have played basketball on a sprained ankle, run a 10 mile cross-country race within a fortnight of having my appendix out (pulling stitches all the way) and gone on 20 mile ‘peak bagger’ hikes with a torqued knee. Muscled through eight years of four hour daily commutes, ignoring how each day was just a little harder on me than the day before…
All of which highlights Point the Second: I’ve got a lot of mileage on these joints of mine, and quite a few of those miles were downright stupid. I was running marathons at age twelve, wearing Payless shoes (read as, ‘ballet slippers with sneaker styling’) and with a coach who was also our Civics teacher. I tended to muscle on through the discomfort, ignoring the clear signals from my body that I Was Hurting Me.
I cared a lot more about winning than how much it hurt to get there, and now I’m paying the price. I’m still doing it, too. I really should quit my job at this point, relieve my joints of the stress of even the occasional commute and the daily pounding of the keyboard for eight (twelve) hours, relieve my mind of the stress of not being able to keep up…but ooooooh no. I’m still trying to win.
Ach, well.
I wouldn’t undo anything, really. When I look back at all the things I’ve done that may or may not have contributed to my current joint distress…well. I wouldn’t trade them. I loved the basketball, and the running. I’ve climbed mountains. I’ve camped in the snow at the top of waterfalls. I’ve seen mountain lions (stalking me, in fact, which was not fun at the time but makes for a good story if you aren’t actually eaten by them). I’ve climbed trees.
I think that even if I had known at the time that I was setting myself up for this, I wouldn’t have stopped. Funny, that. You’d think you would…but I really don’t think I would have done.
Because I’m not stopping now, either. I’m still insisting on going for walks, pushing my children on swings, getting down on the floor and wrestling with them, knitting, working…when time and kids permit, I’m sure I’ll go hiking again.
With a bottle of Celebrex in one pocket, and a hipflask of whisky in the other…
Thursday, August 24, 2006
I guess this means I can stay?
Well, this was a relief, let-me-tell-you. I was expecting to be shocked! and appalled! at my lack of knowledge on this front. Politics and American History are not among my favorite topics. I’m sorry. I’m just shallow that way.
But apparently, some of all that teacher-babble must have worn a hole through my ear into my brain, because! In a shocking surprise win…
But apparently, some of all that teacher-babble must have worn a hole through my ear into my brain, because! In a shocking surprise win…
You Passed the US Citizenship Test |
 Congratulations - you got 10 out of 10 correct! |
Work, or knit…work, or knit…
Thus far have I come on Captain Adventure’s sweater.
This is a combination of Lane Monterosa (50% virgin wool, 50% acrylic) and Woolease Sportweight (80% acrylic, 20% wool); read as, machine wash, lay flat to dry. It’s actually knitting up really, really nice.
Acrylic yarns have come a long, long way since I first started knitting. I remember the first project I did, a big old afghan I made out of Red Heart acrylic. I still have the callus. No, really. I really, honestly and truly have a callus on my right forefinger, acquired while knitting that afghan and never lost in spite of a three year knitting hiatus and $DEITY only knows how many gallons of hand lotion.
And I’d really, really like to be working on this sweater right now. I have two (2) more rows of white stripe and then I get to charge into the cool star-pattern-thing.
But instead, what am I doing? I’m sitting here waiting for Just One More Stinkin’ Thing to finish running. I’m sitting here, having spent 95% of the whole entire day enduring Technical Issues (Please Stand By) (Your Call Is Important To Us) (And Also, We Are Pathological Liars!), trying to get at least one (1) stupid task off my to-do list for the day.
Well. OK, so, technically, I did actually get three or four things off my list. But not The Thing I wanted to get off my list. So in my perverted world, this translates to ‘didn’t get anything done all day’.
I’ve been sneaking the occasional stitch or two in while I wait, but there is a sensor hidden in my knitting basket which immediately alerts the server(s) if I so much as wiggle the basket. Instantly, error messages, instant messages, or flat-out crashes will occur.
It irks the daylights out of me. It really does.
But, I am indeed rapidly approaching the point where my ‘who gives a {beep}’ overcomes my work ethic.
After all. Lookit this kid. Is he not adorable?
Does he not look like a kid who needs a sweater with love in the stitches? Not to mention that other bundle of adorableness, who is patiently waiting for me to start her sweater…like a multi-million dollar sales initiative has beans on them…!
This is a combination of Lane Monterosa (50% virgin wool, 50% acrylic) and Woolease Sportweight (80% acrylic, 20% wool); read as, machine wash, lay flat to dry. It’s actually knitting up really, really nice.
Acrylic yarns have come a long, long way since I first started knitting. I remember the first project I did, a big old afghan I made out of Red Heart acrylic. I still have the callus. No, really. I really, honestly and truly have a callus on my right forefinger, acquired while knitting that afghan and never lost in spite of a three year knitting hiatus and $DEITY only knows how many gallons of hand lotion.
And I’d really, really like to be working on this sweater right now. I have two (2) more rows of white stripe and then I get to charge into the cool star-pattern-thing.
But instead, what am I doing? I’m sitting here waiting for Just One More Stinkin’ Thing to finish running. I’m sitting here, having spent 95% of the whole entire day enduring Technical Issues (Please Stand By) (Your Call Is Important To Us) (And Also, We Are Pathological Liars!), trying to get at least one (1) stupid task off my to-do list for the day.
Well. OK, so, technically, I did actually get three or four things off my list. But not The Thing I wanted to get off my list. So in my perverted world, this translates to ‘didn’t get anything done all day’.
I’ve been sneaking the occasional stitch or two in while I wait, but there is a sensor hidden in my knitting basket which immediately alerts the server(s) if I so much as wiggle the basket. Instantly, error messages, instant messages, or flat-out crashes will occur.
It irks the daylights out of me. It really does.
But, I am indeed rapidly approaching the point where my ‘who gives a {beep}’ overcomes my work ethic.
After all. Lookit this kid. Is he not adorable?
Does he not look like a kid who needs a sweater with love in the stitches? Not to mention that other bundle of adorableness, who is patiently waiting for me to start her sweater…like a multi-million dollar sales initiative has beans on them…!
Ever so rewarding…
I love reward programs. I’m a reward program fiend. I use reward programs purely and only for perks. They are, to me, the source of true rewards for my noble (shush!) behavior. When I am cunning with purchasing things in a way that earn me cash or cards or what-have-you, they are mine.
Mine, mine, mine.
They support my Starbucks habit. They pay for magazine subscriptions. I’ve gotten everything from coffee grinders to the latest and greatest Foreman grill. I actually feel as though I have a rather healthy “luxury” life…without actually spending the cash for them. Which perversely makes me even more pleased with them. This set of bowls? Points. This weekend trip? Points. These four silk shirts? Points. This decorative coat rack (which you can’t see because of all the coats but trust me, it’s there and it’s decorative)? Points! HA!
I do not use them for school supplies, or putting gas in the car, or groceries. (Unless, of course, the groceries are a Lobster-Gram.) (Or if we have an emergency. Like, when we’re underemployed or struggling to keep food on the table – at that point, bets are off. But in normal life? BWA-HAHAHAHA! Mine! Mine! My precious…)
Yesterday, I was grousing to myself about Things. Ever since the maids stopped coming, I have been a tad irritable – mostly because I have to put on my big girl panties and deal with my chores. Which has eaten into recreational time that was already on the scant side, which makes me feel very abused.
I wanted to do something for me. I wanted pampering! I wanted something cool, something Not In The Budget But Nyah Nyah I Got It Anyway!!
I went online and checked my options. Hmm. Enough points for a BIG gift card, that’s cool…$300 at Home Depot, eh. $300 at Sears, now you just know I’m going to end up buying stupid old school clothes for the Denizens. $300 at Office Depot you have got to be kidding me…$300 at Bath & Body Works? Geez. That would be an awful lot of stinky soap…which granted might not be the worst thing in the world, but still…
Bed Bath and Beyond, eh – wait.
Do they, or do they not, carry the Roomba Scheduler…which costs what? $330?
The Roomba is one of those things that we talk about getting frequently, because vacuuming is one of the chores around the Den that my husband and I loathe equally. I’ve got a beautiful Dyson vacuum cleaner, which in spite of being an awesome machine that has done wonders for my allergies (especially when the cat-people were still among us) is still not able to overcome my inherent dislike for the task.
Don’t ask me why. I’d really rather scrub a tub than vacuum a room. The only thing I dislike more than vacuuming is mopping.
Sweeping with a broom, oddly, I don’t mind. Even kind of enjoy.
But mopping is evil.
Go figure.
ANYWAY.
Not only am I getting a Roomba in a few weeks (time to deliver cards: three weeks; time to use up cards: eight minutes…ten if there’s more than one red light on the way), but it occurs to me that in another three months, I should have enough reward points to get another $300 at Bed Bath and Beyond.
At which point? Scooba, baby. Just in time for Christmas. No more hand-mopping the Pergo, except maybe on State Occaisons.
Scooba, scooba, scoobie-doobie-dooba, here-we-go-scooba – COME ON!
(Bonus points if you can guess what children’s video that comes from)
Mine, mine, mine.
They support my Starbucks habit. They pay for magazine subscriptions. I’ve gotten everything from coffee grinders to the latest and greatest Foreman grill. I actually feel as though I have a rather healthy “luxury” life…without actually spending the cash for them. Which perversely makes me even more pleased with them. This set of bowls? Points. This weekend trip? Points. These four silk shirts? Points. This decorative coat rack (which you can’t see because of all the coats but trust me, it’s there and it’s decorative)? Points! HA!
I do not use them for school supplies, or putting gas in the car, or groceries. (Unless, of course, the groceries are a Lobster-Gram.) (Or if we have an emergency. Like, when we’re underemployed or struggling to keep food on the table – at that point, bets are off. But in normal life? BWA-HAHAHAHA! Mine! Mine! My precious…)
Yesterday, I was grousing to myself about Things. Ever since the maids stopped coming, I have been a tad irritable – mostly because I have to put on my big girl panties and deal with my chores. Which has eaten into recreational time that was already on the scant side, which makes me feel very abused.
I wanted to do something for me. I wanted pampering! I wanted something cool, something Not In The Budget But Nyah Nyah I Got It Anyway!!
I went online and checked my options. Hmm. Enough points for a BIG gift card, that’s cool…$300 at Home Depot, eh. $300 at Sears, now you just know I’m going to end up buying stupid old school clothes for the Denizens. $300 at Office Depot you have got to be kidding me…$300 at Bath & Body Works? Geez. That would be an awful lot of stinky soap…which granted might not be the worst thing in the world, but still…
Bed Bath and Beyond, eh – wait.
Do they, or do they not, carry the Roomba Scheduler…which costs what? $330?
The Roomba is one of those things that we talk about getting frequently, because vacuuming is one of the chores around the Den that my husband and I loathe equally. I’ve got a beautiful Dyson vacuum cleaner, which in spite of being an awesome machine that has done wonders for my allergies (especially when the cat-people were still among us) is still not able to overcome my inherent dislike for the task.
Don’t ask me why. I’d really rather scrub a tub than vacuum a room. The only thing I dislike more than vacuuming is mopping.
Sweeping with a broom, oddly, I don’t mind. Even kind of enjoy.
But mopping is evil.
Go figure.
ANYWAY.
Not only am I getting a Roomba in a few weeks (time to deliver cards: three weeks; time to use up cards: eight minutes…ten if there’s more than one red light on the way), but it occurs to me that in another three months, I should have enough reward points to get another $300 at Bed Bath and Beyond.
At which point? Scooba, baby. Just in time for Christmas. No more hand-mopping the Pergo, except maybe on State Occaisons.
Scooba, scooba, scoobie-doobie-dooba, here-we-go-scooba – COME ON!
(Bonus points if you can guess what children’s video that comes from)
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