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Glen garden
On December 11 at 11AM, we will be married at the Cottage at Glen Garden.  My son will be wearing a brown blazer with khaki trousers, winging their way from eBay as we speak. My step-daughter is psyched to wear her communion dress from last year. I'll give her one of my pashminas to make her look fancy. I'll put on my 1950's vintage dress and some heels. Maybe even a hat. My fiance will be suitably attired and I will have a family of my own, again.  There will be a guy to marry us and someone to take nice pictures.

We will then head over to Fredericksburg for lunch together, and I can show the kids a part of my childhood.  There is a holiday lights tour near the little b&b I'd found if we stay the night.  We'll come back to DC and that Sunday evening, I have treated my whole family, my parents included, to tickets to see the Christmas Revels, and we'll then have dinner together. Sounds perfect.
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Our two families will be getting married on November 20th.  

Delicious came over last night after a long day at work and we puttered, drinking some wine while i finished the delicious pork loin roast I'd been marinating.  I told him I had decided we'd get married on December 18 and his reaction was less than enthusiastic: "We have to wait that long?"
Seems he had his sights set on getting married before Thanksgiving, so we could go to his folks as a fait accompli. Considering, however,  that tickets to visit said folks for Thanksgiving will run us around 2k, I don't think the Kid and I will be joining them in 29 Palms.  I just can't leave my son behind to go meet the new in-laws. it's just not right. I'll talk to KoE about it, though.  Maybe he doesn't want to spend six hours on a plane for a three hour time difference to hang out with total strangers for a day or two. ;)

Over dinner last night, Delicious told me he'd finally broken all the news to his daughter K, that we were planning to get married in the next couple of weeks, and wanted a ceremony for just the four of us, to become a family, and then a church wedding in the summer. She was really happy, and asked him if she could start telling people now. Her mom? No, not really. Her FRIENDS. 

I like this kid. Apparently, she did a book report last week that brought the house down. The teacher actually said it was the best book report he'd seen.

I'm stressed about money, spending on odd things like a wedding ring for my fiance, tickets to the Christmas Revels, etc.  Doesn't look like there's much proofing/editing on the horizon, either. I'm stuck in a well of apathy that I hope a trip to the prescribing doctor can patch up.  Doesn't help that I'm on day six of excruciating back pain.  But having my Delicious back at my side after a week of being apart was a wonderful thing. 

I spent an hour and a half yesterday with a woman going for her doctorate in shrinkage, and we talked about the KoE. I've got evaluation forms to fill out, and on Friday he spends three hours with her doing diagnostics, with a two-hour stint the following Friday.  I want to know why he doesn't transition, and how we can help him. This is going to break me, financially, but I have to do it. Wait til I have to pay court costs and maybe give the Asshole Client his $500 back. I can't afford this, even with two incomes.
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I've got tabs open all over the place. Wedding rings. Dresses. Inns in Virginia, though RWKN is trying to convince me to elope in North Carolina.  And suddenly this swoopy feeling zings around my insides.  This is so right. 

Had another great cuppa with my dad. I love to make him laugh. I surprise him a lot, because he spent a lot of time dismissing me for lack of common ground, so he thought. But I'm not liberal when it comes to money and gummint in my business. I just want human beings to give each other and the world a fair shake.If my easy client goes back into government after the elections next week, I can either convince him to take me to the Hill -- where I'll still make him look good -- or my dad will we hope take over his clients and I'll go to work with my dads. And dammit, I'd like that. 

I finally had to call my mother this afternoon and admit to being in a state of panic over the next few days.  Tomorrow I'm setting up a picnic for KoE's class while they do a field trip to a city garden, then running up to Baltimore to check on a problem with the house there with Delicious.  Thursday AM I go grocery shopping with Mom for our two and a half days in the Catoctins with da Kid, and then we drive up to Thurmont VA when school's out on the half day.

So I'm already frazzled Somewhere in there I have to do about eight hours of work, and not a chance in hell of doing any of it.
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Delicious is in Seattle tonight, and we chatted while he waited for his dinner to be served.

We're both impatient to get married, stop all the wondering and waffling and doubt and just do it. A simple JoP doesn't float his boat, he wants it to be meaningful. Can we include the kids? He doesn't want my parents at the JoP because his parents wouldn't be able to be there. "How about Vegas?" he said. "We could find somewhere somewhat tasteful in Vegas? Although the words 'tasteful' and 'Vegas' don't go together at all, do they?"

"Gretna Green," I said, with a laugh. He didn't get the reference, stuck in his memory on a street in a planned subdivision. "Where all the naughty Victorian girls ran off to elope.  But they had to make it to Gretna Green, first..."

He wondered about a cruise wedding... and then his dinner came. He charged me with doing a little Interneting to see what might come up.

Bingo. Virginia is for lovers. One can very easily elope in Virginia, and there is some beautiful country here, no matter the weather. A long weekend in Virginia and I come back a Mrs.

Now, if only I could find someone to sublet a fully furnished apartment through the summer...
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Pardon the minutae of the day, if I don't write it down, tomorrow it will be gone. It's frightening to lose so much of oneself in the blink of an eye. And so I write as often as I can. It's a digital life, some detail is lost in the algorithm of writing it down, but it's better than nothing.

Thursday morning -- or was it Wednesday night?-- driving along with Delicious, he mentioned his plan... his car lease is up next year, and he is thinking of buying an inexpensive, larger car and probably leasing another sedan. I hate the fact that our married life will force me from a no-car life to a two-car family, but with two kids in two different counties, and a husband to be who travels at least one week of the month, I'm going to need my own wheels. It's going to change my life so much. I'm not necessary thrilled. But there will be freedom, no matter where we live, so that is a comfort. I don't have to stick to a place near the Metro.

Friday night, I picked up my spindle, grabbed a bag of roving, and learned how to use a drop spindle. I get it, now, one length and every thickness from bulky to fingering later. I love it. If I didn't have three sweaters to finish before Christmas, I'd be spinning like a nut. The Romney is natural, with a good bit of lanolin and only a stray bit of hay.

I went to the Kid's flute practice for orchestra Saturday. He'll get the hang of it eventually, and man, I hope he figures out how to pay attention some day. Still, he enjoys it and the teacher thinks he's a hoot, so all is well. We talked to a family of three, one girl in his class with two adorable little siblings who were all over the King of Everything like feathers on a goose. Littler kids love him. He's very kind to them.

As soon as I'd given the kid off to his paternal grandfather for a day at the Science and Technology show on the Mall, I went home, crawled into bed, and didn't wake up til it was time for him to come home. Consequently, I don't feel like kaka. A big plus for someone who thought she was going to have to crawl down the street to the Lutheran church for last rites.

Today was a hectic day. Started off with the KoE Skyping with his French grandmother (AKA Wicked Witch of Paris) and that always makes me nuts. I'm mostly immune to her now, but to sit there and pretend there's nothing wrong, her son isn't a git, she's not a nutcase, and I'm not wishing I'd never have to speak to any of them is rather exhausting, non? Apparently, she's well enough now to brave an intercontinental journey, and wants the KoE's 'schedule' so she can make plans. I suppose it would be quite amusing to be able to tell her, "Oh, you can stay at my apartment while you're here... you see, I'll be married and the place will be empty and we'll all be in Alexandria so have fun while you're in town buh-bye!" But I haven't told my son's father yet, and in all fairness, I think he should know before his mother does. I'm not sure why. The father, of course, was unavailable to speak to his son today at their scheduled time. Another nail in his paternal coffin, I'd say. The KoE hardly blinks, anymore. But I did ascertain that said sperm donor is attempting to be a... wait for it... BLACKSMITH. I can imaging his parents are HORRIFIED, sitting in their multi-million dollar apartment in the 16th arrondisment, with all the august pedigree of the step-father and the oh so dubious reputation of the mother swathed in gilt and lies... their son? a common blacksmith? but wait. It gets better. They paid for him to take some six-week course in ornamental blacksmithing, so he can now make fences and etc. etc. I would be happy for him if it weren't some big scam. Though to think on it, his girlfriend is lucky. There's not much chance he'll meet another woman at work to abscond with like he usually does. He's now living with her in whatever the equivilent of Bumfuck is in France. Maybe he'll stay with his former mistress by default?

But I digress. Off the phone with the WWoP, off to the subway with us to meet Delicious and K near their house. I'd misread the advertising and no, the harvest festival at Mount Vernon was NOT free, so we went to a church pumpkin sale instead. Picked out pumpkins for the kids to carve, and went to the grocery store for lunch fixin's. I made sloppy Joes and apple turnovers NOM. The kids bickered and played together. Delicious watched his football in relative peace. And then we got all pumpkin-gutsy in the back yard carving big pumpkins who were eating little pumpkins. KoE had a total meltdown because K wouldn't let him play games on her iPod Touch. Home. Dinner. Homework. Sleep. The end.
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I couldn't sleep last night. Something about an itchy kid in my bed and a restless worried brain combined for clock-watching.
Except I'm smart and don't have a clock in my room.

Memories and thoughts are becoming increasingly tied to a physical sensation, an idea of mass, an envisioned shape and form. It's weird, but I'm trying to work with it. Anything that helps me remember more and think more clearly is OKAY by me. But it's strange to be arrested in mid-stride by a very faint scent in your office building lobby that feels entirely out of place, and brings echos of a past that cause me to start groping around in my labyrinthine brain for a match. The Soviet Union. 1985. A museum? It smells like the USSR. I stand in two realities, present and past, and I am bewildered.

So it was last night. Probing a thought with a physical presence full of unvoiced words, emotions; defined boundaries for an unshaped content and my mind groped and fitted words and sensations against the edges, matching feelings to the contours of a realization on the brink of revelation...

this relationship, this union I have chosen to make, is a wonder to me. I could see the two of us, connected by a bridge called Marriage. Separate yet together, with a means to cross the chasm when harmony is discord, with infinite places to go along a single continuum when exploration and personal quests call. Always knowing the way back, even when the way forward stretches with infinite, unknown possibility. I know that even when things are at their toughest for the two of us, as things will inevitably become from time to time... when perhaps the two individuals we are become entirely at odds with one another, I won't be afraid. I'll lean on the bridge and trust it to lead me back to the place I want to be most, at his side, back to back when we must rally our defenses and face to face when we need to replenish our hearts, hand in hand to share in life's joys--even the most mundane--and in each others' arms in happiness and grief.

I lay on my back in the dark and explored this bridge, its strength, its resilience, its brilliant engineering. We've been building it for such a long time, and we've done our work well.
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I'm feeling a need to switch from LJ, though I can't quite do it if I can't drag you all over there with me. I don't like the facebook link. I don't want people posting my stuff to the intarwebs. I don't like the thought of it. So I might just start talking over there, and letting this Soloadventure rest, mission completed.
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Tonight, he took my hand and examined the ring for a moment. "It gets smaller every time I look at it," he grumbled.

WTF?  He bought it, he knows what size that diamond is!!! It's beautiful, its shiny, it's well-proportioned for my hand and I love it. I know he's one of those guys who shows his love in action, not words, but I doubt he'd find a rock big enough to say it in diamonds.  It's perfect. Don't upgrade it, boy!
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I heart my kid's teacher so hard. She gets my kid. She gets me. She is so thrilled to be working with him, and agrees that he is a special little guy who needs a bit different treatment than most of her other kids. She was heartbroken to find that he's still being hazed by his classmates, and is thinking of starting some trust games on Fridays at the end of the day to get the kids thinking more positively.

She had nothing but positive things to say about him.  He needs to catch up on adding and subtracting, but otherwise is confident that third grade work is by no means a stretch for him. He is beginning to help others in class, but gets frustrated when his students don't get it, even after he's explained it. I know he loves to share his knowledge, and so I've asked her to continue to encourage that, and I'll work on helping him understand that it's okay if someone doesn't get what he's saying, there's more than one way to learn.  If he can get used to saying, "Well, that's how I know to explain it, but maybe Soandso can try to explain it differently," and involve someone else in the process.

The KoE himself is in a great mood again. I think this time we've spent together over the past four days has helped him regain his balance, and his confidence. My mom will take lunch/recess tomorrow and Thurs, I'll do Wed and Friday.  We'll do this until he has learned how to transition himself out of surprises and disappointments. For now, he needs an external voice walking him through the steps.

And we've also decided that the negative voices in his head need to be given an atomic wedgie any time they show up.

I need a nap.

ETA: I totally forgot the happiest part of what I wanted to write here. This morning, we slept in, and he came pottering over to my bed around nine (nine!!) to snuggle. We had a great snuggle, a rough and tumble interlude, and lots of giggles. More, please.

Spirit Day

Oct. 3rd, 2010 05:58 pm
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Originally posted by [livejournal.com profile] neo_prodigy at Spirit Day

It’s been decided. On October 20th, 2010, we will wear purple in honor of the 6 gay boys who committed suicide in recent weeks/months due to homophobic abuse in their homes at at their schools. Purple represents Spirit on the LGBTQ flag and that’s exactly what we’d like all of you to have with you: spirit. Please know that times will get better and that you will meet people who will love you and respect you for who you are, no matter your sexuality. Please wear purple on October 20th. Tell your friends, family, co-workers, neighbors and schools.

RIP Tyler Clementi, Seth Walsh (top)
RIP Justin Aaberg, Raymond Chase (middle)
RIP Asher Brown and Billy Lucas. (bottom)

REBLOG to spread a message of love, unity and peace.

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It's beautiful country in Orange, Virginia. Mom, the kid and I drove out there  this morning to attend the Fall Fiber Festival. A tiny little event, with perhaps thirty or forty tents, under 100 artists displaying their wares. No funnel cake this year, alas. But there was roving of all types and condition, the softest alpaca  I"ve ever touched -- I should have bought some as two skeins would make a man's sweater. But I need to knit out the wool I have, first.

My push through yesterday's protesters at the Mall resulted in a lost knitting needle, and I'm sad to say it was a hand made wooden needle that I bought at the first festival we went to, just before I moved to Dubai. I was on the lookout for a new pair of 7's to continue the uncursed Boyfriend Sweater. I went back to the vendor with the tools of the trade, scooped up a beautifully engineered circular set (for those of you who knit, the needles rotate independently of the wire between them, which makes knitting on circulars so much nicer!) and my eye was drawn to another bin. Hand crafted drop spindles made by Running Deer, with inlaid wood patterns. Beautiful.

I bought myself one. I've been fascinated by spinning for years, and thought why the hell NOT!?

I have a small bag of natural white roving to spin, and two smaller kits with a range of colors I can spin.  I'm looking forward to trying it. It looks like it could be quite calming if I can do it correctly.
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I'll find it somewhere, but it's not like our budget has 'clothing' or 'vacation' categories from which to borrow. We've got transportation, food, rent and utilities, and that's all the money there is.

I'm going to try to convince the PITA client I fired that he does need to accept the fact that he reneged on his end of the contract, and the moneys paid out to the designer do NOT have to be reimbursed... but he's going to insist, and I don't want to fight with him. He's tenacious. He's needy. He will not let it go.

I'll have to ask my parents to give him dinner, and he'll be eating too many PB&J's at school, but we'll get through it somehow. All the huge work I did in September won't get paid out until November. We'll be okay, then.  

Today looked to be a continuation of yesterday's endless pile of suck.  I got up, got the kid to school, came back for a short conference call... that lasted TWO HOURS.  Hurry up, get down to the metro, where I need to stop for cash, because lunch with Mine is cash only at our favorite Pho. I go up to the bank machine and look at it for a sec, then attempt to dip my card into the slot. Rather than sliding my card in and then out, the machine ate it.

Without hope, I went to the booth and told the station master what had happened, and he kindly came out and stuck his eyeball to the slot. "Yeah, I can see it, it's right there." 

He went back to his booth with scissors, his multitool, and some masking tape and went to work, fishing for plastic. The time ticked by. I called Mine to explain to her why I'd be late. More time went by. We went to the little convenience store, but he didn't have any tweezers. I kept an eye on the book in case anyone needed him.  I try to thank him for his time, but he won't stop working on the machine. "Hey, if this is a matter of man versus machine..." I started to say.

"Oh, yeah, now it's personal," said he, and I resigned myself to letting him rummage about as long as his stubborn ol' curious self needed to do, but I was convinced my bank card was toast. Mind you, this is my only card. I don't have a credit card.

Finally, the man starts to mutter, 'what's stickier than masking tape? what do I got that's sticker than masking tape...' and DING! Off he goes back to the booth. Comes back with some Scotch tape. Sticks it to the blade of his knife... and within thirty seconds is hauling my card out of the dag-nabbed machine.

I gave him a big hug, which I think startled him, and thanked him and thanked him, and caught a train for a later than expected lunch with Mine.
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I am going to UMUC, starting whenever I can get enough loans and scholarships to cover the tuition. I don't have an extra penny to put into my own education, alas... but look at me, ma, I'm going back to COLLEGE!

But not until I prove that they should exempt me out of English 101. FEH.

Anyway. COLLEGE. ONLINE. If I have to sit at my client's office and do my homework, I will. I wonder. Can I make ends meet for a while with editing and this one dude? Let's see how hellish the course load is.
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  • until almost noon. Unapologetically, btw.
  • a chocolate torte
  • Cole slaw
  • scones
  • macerated strawberries and blueberries
  • whipped cream
  • touched up the home made potato salad I'd made Friday
  • The rest of season 4 of Angel and a couple of episode 5
  • The pieces of my camisole. Now I have to decide if I'm going to knit the two pieces together, or bind off and sew them together. Then I have to take a look at the back and decide what it's going to do, to work in with the lace piece in the front. Then it's a crochet chain or maybe I'll knit a tube out of a few stitches and call it a work of art. And after all those bits are figured out, I get to go through my bead collection and bead the damned thing with semi-precious stones and silver wire. Just cause.
  • My bed with clean sheets. The rest of the house is gone to hell but wtf. I'm not a neat person, and I work to all available space. So sue me.
  • In a Pandora station for the Mills Brothers, a few Brussels cookies, a scone, some whipped cream right out of the can, toast with local honey, and all of the other stuff listed above.
About to wash my own body and slip into something a little more appropriate to a party in the 100 degree weather.  Dad is hosting a few folks on the roof for the 4th, and as you might have guessed, I catered.
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When I left my client's office last week, I declined the offer of a drink at one of those Washington Power Establishments, saying, "No thanks, really, I have to get home to my son," and I, who have not a cent to my name until sometime after the beginning of the month, hopped into a cab and went home as fast as I could.  The KoE had called and left me a message asking me to come home. He said he was going to have dinner with grammie, and then come down so we could spend some us time together.

The front door catches all our stuff and we walk into our apartment. The kid takes in the open computer, the papers, the work-related mess all over the living room and asks, "Do you have any work you have to do, Mamma?" his face fragile, hope and resignation dancing across his eyes. 

"Boo, you called and said you wanted to spend some private time together, just you and me. And so nope, absolutely not, I do NOT have to work and I'm all yours. What do you want to do?"

"Can we play Keva planks?" he asked.  When i smiled, he ran into his room and came back with the box.  We made up this elaborate games involving towers and mazes, with little dudes in helmets and dragons and the Ruby Ducky sitting high upon a chair, the object of our hero's attention. Actually, it was a rubber duck that lights up and flashes.  All of which meant, of course, that we had to watch Ernie's Rubber Ducky song. And sing along.

The KoE has created a sort of nest out of his bottom bunk.  All the blankets and pillows and stuffed animals are piled pish-posh in there, with little areas scooped out for a boy body to take over.  And we have cannibalized some crappy, king sized sheets to create a curtain around the whole thing, so he has a safe little hideaway (and the fact that it's still light out at 9PM isn't as much of an issue).  We snuggled, and I was so tired, laying on a blanket lump or three and holding my head up with my hand. 

"Move your hand, mom!" he urged, and I laughed.  "No way, it's the only thing holding my tired head up!"
"Come on, move your hand out of the way!" so I did, and he pushed a pillow at me, smoothing it out and pushing my head gently down.  i closed my eyes.  He pulled a cotton quilt out from the mess and draped it over me, then patted me on the head.  I lay there for a moment and then, "Hmph!" I said, pulling the curtains down. "Hmph!"  which sent him into a giggling fit of glee. "Hmph!" SQUEE.

Finally, he created a parallel nest and placed his pillow below mine.  He snuggled down and was still. "I love you, mom," he breathed, and I kissed him on his forehead. "Do kisses ever go away?"

“I don’t think so, honey. I think they stay forever.”

“I think I have to wait until I’m older to kiss Fiona.” He thought for a minute. “But what happens if you kiss somebody and then you don’t like them anymore? What happens to the kisses then?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. The kisses were good when they were given, and that’s what sticks around.” Sure, I’m stretching the truth a little, but if my boy can maintain some kind thoughts for the girls who are going to break his heart, I say give him all the support you can.

He began to hum, then sing softly, a lilting melody that had a repeating motif, with magical words that almost sounded like Chinese.  The tune went on for a long time, my boy curled next to me, his sweet little voice without a trace of self-consciousness.  It brought tears to my eyes. When at last it was through I said softly, “That was beautiful, sweetheart. Thank you for singing it to me.”
“I made it up myself, and only a few of the words were Chinese.  The rest were just things I made up.”

He shifted around, and complained that he’d never be able to get to sleep with all this singing in his head.  I reminded him that I used to sing to him when he couldn’t sleep. “Would you like me to sing you a story song?”  And so I sang him “The Circle Game”, all four verses, and all the while he hummed a tuneless accompaniment beneath it.  And when it was done, he told me, “You sing beautifully, mama.  Did you notice what I was doing?” and his voice was so full of pride.
“Yes, you were humming along with me. It was very nice.”
“I love you, Mom,” he sighed.

Oh how I love him too.
He begged for more songs and really, I can’t remember words to save my life.  But I muddled my way laughingly through Bowie’s “Starman” and the kid was full of questions and wonder. Did the kids get to see the space man? Did they go with him? did they find out what he looked like?

There were more snuggles, and his delight that the two of us were curled up in his little bed.  And he let me go to brush my teeth and get ready for bed, but I had to promise to have a sleepover tomorrow night. We’ll argue over who has to sleep on the top bunk, and no matter how I try, he’ll win and insist that I take the cozy bottom bunk.  And we are going to be such tired bunnies tomorrow night, with a full day of camp and work and then the Folk Life Festival to explore.
This is the life I was meant to lead.  I need the flexibility of time, so I can give some of myself to my son, every day.  And get some of his exuberant, shiny spirit in return.
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Grumpy kid today made for a grumpy me. I don't think it was the other way around.  but we took my mom to the Bloomingdale farmer's market, my favorite little DC secret with the Big Bear Cafe and the little stalls of amazing goodness. Today's meagre haul will create some amazing meals, including farm-raised, organic Italian pork sausage I'll probably grill with some spring onions.  A lovely round little squash I'll fill with quinoa, herbs from my container garden, maybe some leftover sausage.  Passed on the squash blossoms but might get them next weekend to make a squash blossom pizza.  Some golden beets with greens. The beets have been roasted with some shallots, and tomorrow I'll sautee the greens, then toss in the shallots and roasted beets.  Again with the herbs from the garden.  A lovely mesclun mix I'll pair with the strawberrries and blueberries left over from the cobbler I'm cobbling together tomorrow. Pour a honey balsamic vivnagrette over the salad and summer lunch is served. Must save room for the cobbler, after all. I'll make the biscuit dough tomorrow and cook the cobbler for dessert tomorrow night. Already wolfed down the rainier cherries, and we devoured the croissant and chocolate croissant. The muesli bar sweetened with agave nectar, however, I'll savor for as long as possible. It's vegan. It's heaven.  RWKN, I will bring you to this bakery. mmmm. 

I understand why farmers' markets here in the city are so expensive, and I wish it were otherwise but I'd rather give them my money than Whole Paycheck.  I have delicious, inspired meals for the week and spent exactly what I said I would at the market.  

And I like showing my mom something about the city she's never seen before.  It was sweltering hot today, and unfortunately they cafe didn't turn on the hose for the kids, so I had a sad boy. But there was a random sprinkler in Logan Circle, so he ran around like a wild happy thing.

I'm 2/3 of the way through with my little camisole.  At least I have something creative for my hands.

holy toledo

Jun. 1st, 2010 06:03 pm
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Eventually, it will even occur to a basement dweller like me to wonder why I'm wandering around turning lights on in the middle of the afternoon.  A quick glance outside sent me angling towards a clock to check the time of day, because outside, it looked as though dusk had fallen with a belly-flop and was now floundering its way towards Armageddon.

Bifurcated sky sporting blue and fluffy clouds to the north, grey-green doom to the south, and my mother and kid somewhere in that mess, at school without any rain gear.  Off I went, trusty umbrella over my head, a slicker for the kid and an extra umbrella for my mother tucked into my purse. To the rescue!

Folks on the street were scanning the sky with confusion tinged with panic.  As I crossed 13th street, I happened to look down that wide expanse of tarmac towards the school.  

You couldn't see the school.  A solid wall of grey, clearly delineated, was moving up the street at, well, lightning speed. Heedless of the possible urban consequences, I tapped my fellow cross-walker on the arm and said, "Oh wow, look!", pointing.  She and I both stopped and stared for a moment, totally tharn. "Holy shhhhhhhhhhh!" she broke off, hurrying to reach the other side of the pavement.  I lingered for a moment longer, in love with that violent curtain slashing down, enthralled by the speed at which it hurled itself through town.  My feet  no sooner hit the curb than the skies opened up and fat drops of rain pounded down, painful in their insistence, gravid with wet and cold.  The wind that was pushing the storm hit those of us stranded outside and whipped us around... you could feel this was moving absolutely sideways,  no divine intervention here, this wind was a denizen of earth and it was going to town.  Even with the temporary shelter afforded by an apartment building entrance, my back got soaked, my feet squelchy.

And as suddenly as it came, it was gone with one last gust.  The rain pattered on, a regular, friendly shower.  By the time I'd reached my mother in the school library, the sun was streaming down and my rescue futile.  I squelched back up the avenue, and the sun on my back dried the storm from my dress before I'd gotten home.
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I'm full up on what I've been making for the last year. I have no more space to store things. And I'm struggling to launch my own business, so I need every extra penny I can find.  Which means, it's time for a pottery sale.

  • Locals, would you be interested in an open house sale?
  • For those of you who are far away and still want a piece or two, would you buy direct from me or through etsy so we're all covered if something went fubar? It would mean more time in set-up, etc., but I'll have to take pics and document the pots anyoldwho.
  • Are there enough of you out there interested in the pottery I'm making at Hinckley Studios to make setting up an etsy store worthwhile? 
  • Right now, I'm making tea bowls, rice bowls, noodle bowls and ceramic boxes. That doesn't mean I'm not able to do other things, it's just that this is my kick right now. If there is something you really want (berry bowl, pie plate, casserole, etc.?) would you be interested in ordering one, knowing it will take about a month to get it through the entire creative cycle?
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"I can't stress this enough. Ball bearings you can eat? FANTASTIC!"


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January 2013

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