Oh My God! We are flying to Texas in less than 3 weeks, and panic is about to erase all coherent thought from my brain. In the next 3 weeks:
* I have 2 mid-term exams.
* I have to do ALL of my xmas shopping.
* I have more than 15 pages to translate by the 5th.
* We have to pack for a 3-week stay in Texas, plus xmas gifts for the extended family.
* The regular daily grind of homework, reading, cooking, cleaning, laundry, attending classes, grocery shopping, and child-toting.
Plus, we will be losing 2 days due to outings:
* A day trip to a museum in Schweinfurt and then on to Rothenburg, home of a famous xmas market.
* A traditional Swedish smorgasbord and xmas event, where D.D. will be performing in the Lucia procession.
As you can see, I have gone into list-making mode, a sure sign that I feel overwhelmed. This is about the 4th list I've made since yesterday. L.H. has joined in the gift-planning, so that helps to alleviate one worry, but there are still plenty to take its place.
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
'Tis the Season to be Panicked, tra la la
Saturday, November 27, 2004
(Evil?) Twins and Happy Holidays
When we lived in Sweden, I often ran into doppelgangers of random people from back home. To me, that suggested Scandinavian heritage.
Now it's started in Germany. On several occasions, I've seen my dead grandmother. Even L.H. has spotted her and remarked on the resemblance. It's not surprising since my GM was 2nd or 3rd generation German-American.
Just yesterday I saw my MIL's young adult self. It turns out she's in 2 of my classes. She looks just like photos of my MIL in her early 20s. I would chalk up the resemblance to MIL's German heritage, except this girl is in German as a Foreign Language classes, so she can't be German. Weird!
***
Happy Belated Thanksgiving!
***
According to my recent blood-work, I'm severely anemic. Signs of anemia include: "fatigue, shortness of breath, pale skin colour, irritability, weakness, sore tongue, brittle nails, frontal headaches, low blood pressure, and decreased appetite". So when I get caught up on my iron, I'll be a whole new person!
I am a bit worried about losing my edge if the symptom "irritability" clears up, but don't expect me to be Little Susie Sunshine, in any case. I think bitchiness is more of a habit--a state of mind, if you will--for me, and it will take more than 6 iron pills a day to change that.
Now it's started in Germany. On several occasions, I've seen my dead grandmother. Even L.H. has spotted her and remarked on the resemblance. It's not surprising since my GM was 2nd or 3rd generation German-American.
Just yesterday I saw my MIL's young adult self. It turns out she's in 2 of my classes. She looks just like photos of my MIL in her early 20s. I would chalk up the resemblance to MIL's German heritage, except this girl is in German as a Foreign Language classes, so she can't be German. Weird!
***
Happy Belated Thanksgiving!
***
According to my recent blood-work, I'm severely anemic. Signs of anemia include: "fatigue, shortness of breath, pale skin colour, irritability, weakness, sore tongue, brittle nails, frontal headaches, low blood pressure, and decreased appetite". So when I get caught up on my iron, I'll be a whole new person!
I am a bit worried about losing my edge if the symptom "irritability" clears up, but don't expect me to be Little Susie Sunshine, in any case. I think bitchiness is more of a habit--a state of mind, if you will--for me, and it will take more than 6 iron pills a day to change that.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
A Trip to the Doctor
[composed ~2 this afternoon]
To anyone of my acquaintence who has had a bladder or kidney infection, I offer my sincere apologies if I ever secretly thought you were being a wuss.
I woke up this morning with the urgent need to pee, which is nothing new, except that the feeling didn't go away and was later joined by a constant, cramp-like feeling on the left front side. By 10, I was on the phone to L.H., crying, because I was in quite a lot of pain (that had moved to the back) and couldn't find the doctor's phone number. (Normally I only cry in jags and over stupid stuff like L.H. stealing my blanket. Sensible crying is totally outside my realm of experience.) Once again earning the "lovely" in his moniker, L.H. biked home and accompanied me to the doctor's office.
I was impressed with the service. We didn't have to wait too long, and as soon as the doctor heard me say "back pain" and "frequent urination", she hurried to draw blood before the lab tech left the building. Then I got a sonogram; I'm still gooped up from that.
The two doctors who took turns on the sonogram think it's a kidney infection, plus muscle spasms that are squeezing the kidney. Fun, eh? So I get to spend today and tomorrow at home in bed, hopped up on muscle relaxants and antibiotics. I thought I'd get some reading in, but I haven't been able to stay awake that long. D.D. went to a friend's house after school, so after I woke up I put in my favorite kid-less, sick-day movie: The South Park Movie. Delightfully irreverent. I always end up humming the Terrance and Philip song for days afterwards.
To anyone of my acquaintence who has had a bladder or kidney infection, I offer my sincere apologies if I ever secretly thought you were being a wuss.
I woke up this morning with the urgent need to pee, which is nothing new, except that the feeling didn't go away and was later joined by a constant, cramp-like feeling on the left front side. By 10, I was on the phone to L.H., crying, because I was in quite a lot of pain (that had moved to the back) and couldn't find the doctor's phone number. (Normally I only cry in jags and over stupid stuff like L.H. stealing my blanket. Sensible crying is totally outside my realm of experience.) Once again earning the "lovely" in his moniker, L.H. biked home and accompanied me to the doctor's office.
I was impressed with the service. We didn't have to wait too long, and as soon as the doctor heard me say "back pain" and "frequent urination", she hurried to draw blood before the lab tech left the building. Then I got a sonogram; I'm still gooped up from that.
The two doctors who took turns on the sonogram think it's a kidney infection, plus muscle spasms that are squeezing the kidney. Fun, eh? So I get to spend today and tomorrow at home in bed, hopped up on muscle relaxants and antibiotics. I thought I'd get some reading in, but I haven't been able to stay awake that long. D.D. went to a friend's house after school, so after I woke up I put in my favorite kid-less, sick-day movie: The South Park Movie. Delightfully irreverent. I always end up humming the Terrance and Philip song for days afterwards.
Monday, November 22, 2004
Brownian motion in my brain
I hate having a bony butt. Don't get me wrong, my butt is big, but the bones hidden within are enormous, and pointy. After sitting on a wooden chair for 4 hours straight (2 back-to-back class), my ass is killing me. Luckily, I have a 10-minute walk to my third class, but then it's another 1-1/2 hours on yet another wooden chair. I think I'm developing a bruise on my right side.
***
There's a girl in one of my classes who could give Courtney Love a run for her money, make-up wise. Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but either this girl is under the mistaken impression that C.L. is pretty (shudder), or she has some kind of degenerative eye disease and has to apply more and brighter make-up just to be able to see it. That or a stroke would explain the outside-the-lines lipstick.
***
Poor D.D. still had a fat lip this morning. It looks like she cut the inside of it up near the gums when she bonked heads with her friend yesterday.
At least she had a little fun today. She got a big kick out of the holiday advertising scheme at the restaurant where we had dinner tonight. Every few minutes, she'd laugh and say, "Merry Fishmas!" Maybe you had to be there.
***
There's a girl in one of my classes who could give Courtney Love a run for her money, make-up wise. Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but either this girl is under the mistaken impression that C.L. is pretty (shudder), or she has some kind of degenerative eye disease and has to apply more and brighter make-up just to be able to see it. That or a stroke would explain the outside-the-lines lipstick.
***
Poor D.D. still had a fat lip this morning. It looks like she cut the inside of it up near the gums when she bonked heads with her friend yesterday.
At least she had a little fun today. She got a big kick out of the holiday advertising scheme at the restaurant where we had dinner tonight. Every few minutes, she'd laugh and say, "Merry Fishmas!" Maybe you had to be there.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
'Tis the Season to be Greedy
Poor D.D. got her lip and nose smashed during a birthday party this afternoon and was brought home by the birthday mom. D.D.'s upper lip now makes her look a bit like Cindy Lou Who. We have our fingers crossed that she doesn't end up with a black eye, but we'll see in the morning.
Now that I've manage to segue into xmas via the Grinch: D.D. has declard that she is sick of wearing pink, and she wants no more pink clothes. Just a heads up for anyone considering the gift of clothes this year.
As for myself, I am still bereft after using up the very last bit of my Burt's Bees carrot lotion, which I got for xmas last year from my lovely MIL. Even L.H. likes the scent of it. Hint, hint.
L.H. has put up an amazon wish list here. He had accidentally put it on the UK site, so it has been a bit hard to find up to now.
That's all the pre-xmas wish-list-making I can manage for now without my head exploding. I might add more later.
Now that I've manage to segue into xmas via the Grinch: D.D. has declard that she is sick of wearing pink, and she wants no more pink clothes. Just a heads up for anyone considering the gift of clothes this year.
As for myself, I am still bereft after using up the very last bit of my Burt's Bees carrot lotion, which I got for xmas last year from my lovely MIL. Even L.H. likes the scent of it. Hint, hint.
L.H. has put up an amazon wish list here. He had accidentally put it on the UK site, so it has been a bit hard to find up to now.
That's all the pre-xmas wish-list-making I can manage for now without my head exploding. I might add more later.
Saturday, November 20, 2004
The Ghost of Mr. Whipple
My husband seems to be...well, obsessed with toilet paper. Here are a few instances of his new preoccupation:
D.D. had wanted to try this fizzy drink mix, a bit like Kool-Aid, so we were sampling the different flavors. The green wasn't lime like we expected; it was the mystery flavor "Waldmeister." We were a little leery of drinking something called "woods-master" (woodsman flavored?), but it turned out to have a light, flowery taste. * L.H. commented, "Reminds me of the smell of toilet paper." It was oddly true.
* It tastes flowery because it's a flower that grows in the woods. We've since seen the flavor in ice cream.
Then another time he called our fluffy Eliza-cat "Soft n Pretty." He had to explain that it is (was?) a brand of t.p.
And today he brought home an 8-pack of winter-scented Charmin. He's been looking for it since last winter; that's how big an impression it made on him. Normally he hates buying t.p. because he has to drag the groceries home on the bus, and he doesn't want anyone to know that he (whisper) uses the toilet.
I'm starting to suspect some kind of soul-selling deal with Procter and Gamble, or perhaps illicit drugs in the winter scent. Hmm....
***
D.D. School Update:
Just wanted to brag on our little brainiac. Despite being the only non-native speaker in the class, she made 0 errors on her dictation test and only 1 on her math test last week (57 out of 58 points; she forgot to do the second half of one question). The kids practice writing the dictation over several days before the test, but D.D has never managed to get all her letters properly placed on the line before, despite all the practice, so this was a really big achievement for her. The words and spelling and punctuation haven't been a problem this year, so we're glad that her cursive penmanship is improving.
D.D. had wanted to try this fizzy drink mix, a bit like Kool-Aid, so we were sampling the different flavors. The green wasn't lime like we expected; it was the mystery flavor "Waldmeister." We were a little leery of drinking something called "woods-master" (woodsman flavored?), but it turned out to have a light, flowery taste. * L.H. commented, "Reminds me of the smell of toilet paper." It was oddly true.
* It tastes flowery because it's a flower that grows in the woods. We've since seen the flavor in ice cream.
Then another time he called our fluffy Eliza-cat "Soft n Pretty." He had to explain that it is (was?) a brand of t.p.
And today he brought home an 8-pack of winter-scented Charmin. He's been looking for it since last winter; that's how big an impression it made on him. Normally he hates buying t.p. because he has to drag the groceries home on the bus, and he doesn't want anyone to know that he (whisper) uses the toilet.
I'm starting to suspect some kind of soul-selling deal with Procter and Gamble, or perhaps illicit drugs in the winter scent. Hmm....
***
D.D. School Update:
Just wanted to brag on our little brainiac. Despite being the only non-native speaker in the class, she made 0 errors on her dictation test and only 1 on her math test last week (57 out of 58 points; she forgot to do the second half of one question). The kids practice writing the dictation over several days before the test, but D.D has never managed to get all her letters properly placed on the line before, despite all the practice, so this was a really big achievement for her. The words and spelling and punctuation haven't been a problem this year, so we're glad that her cursive penmanship is improving.
The Sick Lady Blues
I don't know why I bothered to get out of bed this morning. Actually, I do know—because darling daughter played her crappy McDonald's mini-jambox repeatedly to force me out of bed. Stupid Happy Meal.
I feel a cold coming on—sore throat, squidgy stomach, stuffy head—plus the nosebleed is back (both nostrils now!), and I have my period. L.H. says I should rename this blog "The Menstrual Annals." I told him to stuff it up his ass. Well, I didn't, but I normally would. This time I took his suggestion and one-upped him: "Aunt Flo's Diary." It has a certain ring to it, no?
L.H. and D.D. are off at the movies, so I'm composing this, translating a student paper, and trying to organize the suffocating amount of school-related papers and books that keep turning up. I have 70% of the horizontal surfaces in the dining room covered, so it's time to do something with them before they spontaneously combust under the pressure of their own weight.
I feel a cold coming on—sore throat, squidgy stomach, stuffy head—plus the nosebleed is back (both nostrils now!), and I have my period. L.H. says I should rename this blog "The Menstrual Annals." I told him to stuff it up his ass. Well, I didn't, but I normally would. This time I took his suggestion and one-upped him: "Aunt Flo's Diary." It has a certain ring to it, no?
L.H. and D.D. are off at the movies, so I'm composing this, translating a student paper, and trying to organize the suffocating amount of school-related papers and books that keep turning up. I have 70% of the horizontal surfaces in the dining room covered, so it's time to do something with them before they spontaneously combust under the pressure of their own weight.
Germany is Way Cool
After more than a year here, I feel a bit like a local. Maybe not as much as my darling daughter, who is picking up our village's dialect (yes, every little village has its own dialect) from her classmates, to the delight of her linguist father, but I feel comfortable here. We've all gotten to the point where we no longer note our environment, except on rare occasions when we can see things the way we did when we first moved here.
Then we are reminded: we live in a kick-ass place.
There is a ruined castle within walking distance of my classes. I can look up and see it hulking over the town as I walk between classes. I have to cross a bridge that has been there in various incarnations since the 1200s. And there's a *witch tower* in one corner of a courtyard at the university. There is no witch-history in Texas, unless you count those Wiccans, but as far as I know, no one has ever tried to burn them or lock them up in a specially dedicated tower.
Then we are reminded: we live in a kick-ass place.
There is a ruined castle within walking distance of my classes. I can look up and see it hulking over the town as I walk between classes. I have to cross a bridge that has been there in various incarnations since the 1200s. And there's a *witch tower* in one corner of a courtyard at the university. There is no witch-history in Texas, unless you count those Wiccans, but as far as I know, no one has ever tried to burn them or lock them up in a specially dedicated tower.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Organization, My Waterloo
I have never seen a little clutter as a big deal. Of course, I've come a long way since my teen years when my grandmother threatened to have my room condemned on the odd occasions when she was at our house, but still, I have a deep-seated need to make piles. Sometimes L.H. and I joke about putting documents on the compost pile, a la Dilbert. But I can put my hands on whatever we're looking for, so the pile system isn't a complete disaster.
Normally I make my piles, then every week or 2 or 5 I sort and put away everything. Turns out that maybe I should be doing that on a daily basis for my class notes pile. I really try to keep everything sorted, but there's just so much. I seem to have misplaced my Latin notes from Monday, and it's making me a tad nuts.
[Mystery solved in the evening: the Latin notes and books were taken out of my bag, but only the books made it back in. Whew!]
***
Note scrawled on today's Latin notes:
Dull red pencil...straining—must not...stab. I need it to correct my homework.
Two chatty girls behind me, and me and 60 other people TRYING TO HEAR!
Normally I make my piles, then every week or 2 or 5 I sort and put away everything. Turns out that maybe I should be doing that on a daily basis for my class notes pile. I really try to keep everything sorted, but there's just so much. I seem to have misplaced my Latin notes from Monday, and it's making me a tad nuts.
[Mystery solved in the evening: the Latin notes and books were taken out of my bag, but only the books made it back in. Whew!]
***
Note scrawled on today's Latin notes:
Dull red pencil...straining—must not...stab. I need it to correct my homework.
Two chatty girls behind me, and me and 60 other people TRYING TO HEAR!
That time of this and that
It's that time of year when we bundle up and hunker down at home as much as possible. Lovely husband gets stir crazy after a while and tries to drag darling daughter out, but unless there's snow on the ground to play in, it's a hard sell. For me, snow is Nature's way of saying, "Stay inside where it's warm and dry, stupid," so I must obey.
Soon it'll be a little tougher to stay in my cocoon because the xmas market is being set up in town even as I type this. It's like a magical village of tiny, wooden, unheated huts selling all kinds of delicious foods and candies and interesting knick-knacks. And it's right on the university plaza under the window of my Latin class, so that'll be good when the carousel gets going.
***
I have a bit of a schizophrenic attitude about school. On the one hand, I have this horrible egotism that I've carried around since Kindergarten. That's what happens when you're told you're "bright" your whole life, I'm afraid. So I go into class automatically assuming I'll be able to understand everything, even though I'm so far behind in my reading. I think the 2 are related.
But on the other hand, if I do get something right (like actually knowing a few etymologically related pairs of words in English and German), I feel like I've just proved the unified field theory. Deep in my black little egotistical heart I know that I'm not making enough effort; in addition, I can feel the age- and childbirth-related hardening of the brain setting in, so it's somewhat shocking to see that new info has stuck in there, info that I'm actually able to retrieve.
***
Son of a bitch! I started my period 3 days early. Then when I got home, I got a nosebleed. I had had a pretty good day up until that point, outside of being tired from a bad night's sleep that included a dream about being on the Death Star (from Star Wars, for the less geek-ily inclined), but never doubt that Mother Nature will run up and kick you in the crotch when you least expect it. She plays dirty that way.
Soon it'll be a little tougher to stay in my cocoon because the xmas market is being set up in town even as I type this. It's like a magical village of tiny, wooden, unheated huts selling all kinds of delicious foods and candies and interesting knick-knacks. And it's right on the university plaza under the window of my Latin class, so that'll be good when the carousel gets going.
***
I have a bit of a schizophrenic attitude about school. On the one hand, I have this horrible egotism that I've carried around since Kindergarten. That's what happens when you're told you're "bright" your whole life, I'm afraid. So I go into class automatically assuming I'll be able to understand everything, even though I'm so far behind in my reading. I think the 2 are related.
But on the other hand, if I do get something right (like actually knowing a few etymologically related pairs of words in English and German), I feel like I've just proved the unified field theory. Deep in my black little egotistical heart I know that I'm not making enough effort; in addition, I can feel the age- and childbirth-related hardening of the brain setting in, so it's somewhat shocking to see that new info has stuck in there, info that I'm actually able to retrieve.
***
Son of a bitch! I started my period 3 days early. Then when I got home, I got a nosebleed. I had had a pretty good day up until that point, outside of being tired from a bad night's sleep that included a dream about being on the Death Star (from Star Wars, for the less geek-ily inclined), but never doubt that Mother Nature will run up and kick you in the crotch when you least expect it. She plays dirty that way.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
FIL update
After L.H. got home, he reminded me that he had joked he was me in the joint letter to FIL, which I still don't remember, but it's been a few weeks. Anyhow, we're now 75% certain his dad realized the change in author but chose to perpetuate the "joke" that I was the one who wrote the whole thing.
ha
And I did call him and leave a message that I was passing the letter on to L.H.
From now on, L.H. doesn't get to add on to my letters. I totally support him calling his dad on his insanity, but he can do it on under his own byline. I prefer to be blissfully ignorant of his dad's religious vitriol, or at least of the full extent of it.
ha
And I did call him and leave a message that I was passing the letter on to L.H.
From now on, L.H. doesn't get to add on to my letters. I totally support him calling his dad on his insanity, but he can do it on under his own byline. I prefer to be blissfully ignorant of his dad's religious vitriol, or at least of the full extent of it.
A Rant: FIL
I know I said I would leave my FIL out of this blog, but I really have to rant to someone before my head explodes. L.H. is still at work, and I don't want to say some of these things in front of my daughter.
FIL has lost his fucking mind. That's all there is to it.
I wrote him a nice, chatty, family letter in *script*, then L.H. added to it in his mass-murderer's scrawl. L.H. never misses a chance to bust his father on some of the more absurd, racist, bigoted things he puts in his letters to us, so you can imagine that the tone of his half was a bit different from that of mine.
I get a letter from FIL today--addressed only to me--in which he addresses some of the issues L.H. had put in his part of the letter. *IT WAS NOT ME!* Arguing with FIL about religion just makes me homicidal, so I avoid it, then I get personally attacked out of the blue.
He did start with the "cute" quip, "A word of advice--stick to script; your printing is miserable." Considering how nasty he was in the rest of the letter, still addressing *me*, I wonder if he actually realizes that his *own son* wrote it, not me. It wasn't some kind of conspiracy, Dad.
Jesus H. Christ! I can't even say how much this pisses me off. I try to be a nice DIL and let him know how we are all doing, then he is so out of it that he doesn't even recognize *his own son's handwriting*!
I'd better stop, or I'll probably have a stroke. That doesn't mean that I won't continue the rant with my L.H. when he gets home.
Fuck that. I'm calling and leaving a message on the FIL's answering machine. I will be calm, but I will let him know that it wasn't me, so I'll pass his letter on to the other "little liberal, athiest [sic], pinko intellectual" in this house.
[I fixed "bigoted", but any other typos will just have to stay since I can't make the spell-check work without pop-ups enabled.]
FIL has lost his fucking mind. That's all there is to it.
I wrote him a nice, chatty, family letter in *script*, then L.H. added to it in his mass-murderer's scrawl. L.H. never misses a chance to bust his father on some of the more absurd, racist, bigoted things he puts in his letters to us, so you can imagine that the tone of his half was a bit different from that of mine.
I get a letter from FIL today--addressed only to me--in which he addresses some of the issues L.H. had put in his part of the letter. *IT WAS NOT ME!* Arguing with FIL about religion just makes me homicidal, so I avoid it, then I get personally attacked out of the blue.
He did start with the "cute" quip, "A word of advice--stick to script; your printing is miserable." Considering how nasty he was in the rest of the letter, still addressing *me*, I wonder if he actually realizes that his *own son* wrote it, not me. It wasn't some kind of conspiracy, Dad.
Jesus H. Christ! I can't even say how much this pisses me off. I try to be a nice DIL and let him know how we are all doing, then he is so out of it that he doesn't even recognize *his own son's handwriting*!
I'd better stop, or I'll probably have a stroke. That doesn't mean that I won't continue the rant with my L.H. when he gets home.
Fuck that. I'm calling and leaving a message on the FIL's answering machine. I will be calm, but I will let him know that it wasn't me, so I'll pass his letter on to the other "little liberal, athiest [sic], pinko intellectual" in this house.
[I fixed "bigoted", but any other typos will just have to stay since I can't make the spell-check work without pop-ups enabled.]
Monday, November 15, 2004
Our clever girl
Darling daughter was watching a movie, and there was a line about a "make-believe land." So she asks, "Canada?"
When lovely husband and I finally caught our breath from laughing, we were able to sort out that she had misheard the line as "Maple leaf land." She obviously knows her flags.
When lovely husband and I finally caught our breath from laughing, we were able to sort out that she had misheard the line as "Maple leaf land." She obviously knows her flags.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Random Bits
Ashcroft quit! Woo hoo! I'm doing the happy dance!
Oooh, I think I sprained something with the enthusiastic happy dancin'; no matter—I'd get up from a coma to happy dance at that news. (Ok, I know it's not exactly news at this moment, but that doesn't mean I'm not still stupidly happy about it.)
**
Many, many years ago, back when lovely husband and I were roommates with his brother, I made a dish that was equal parts garlic and penne, sauteed in oil. That is only a slight exaggeration; the recipe called for *10* cloves of garlic, and I follow recipes slavishly.
Needless to say, after consuming such heroic amounts of garlic, we all reeked. There is no way someone in our family will pass up such a garlic-laden dish, even if it burns both ways, if you know what I mean. We were walking garlic bombs for at least 2 days.
I generally learn from my mistakes, but I guess if I slipped after 10 years, you could cut me some slacks, right? I overdid it with the garlic powder on my salad last night, and neither toothbrushing nor coffee nor mint gum has killed it. I'm considering an olfactory-lobe-ectomy.
**
Today I saw a girl carrying a purse that was made out of a large fish with colorful scales that just swallows the items she wants to tote around, or perhaps the purse was made from leftover upholstery swatches cut into circles and attached like sequins. Maybe she's an interior designer and the purse is multi-purpose. Or maybe she's hoping that anyone getting close enough to mug her will have their retinas seared and thus be foiled.
**
The one day I have stuff to jot down for my blog and one of my stories (!—more on that later), I left the damn spiral at home. Damn. I have some tiny pages out of my old daytimer that I used instead. Stupid tiny pages. I couldn't use my Palm because somehow it was almost out of juice. That has not happened yet in the 11 months I've had it, and it freaked me out. Stupid Palm.
Many things have been stupid lately, due the fey mood I'm in (borrowed that from Tolkien; you've got to love a man who describes people as fey, repeatedly).
**
D.D. and L.H. are at a small procession in honor of St. Martin, a Roman who became a saint because he shared his cloak with a beggar on a cold night (like tonight!). I'm sure there's more to the story than that, but I'm getting the info from a 7-year-old who is being forced to take a Catholic religion class in school and who might not be paying as much attention as necessary for relaying all the details. Anyhow, all the little kids make paper lanterns, and there are various processions around town. D.D. is attending the one hosted by her friend's sister's (evangelic) church daycare.
There's usually a pretty big one in our village, starting at the church about half a mile up the hill past us. Last year D.D. cried and threw a pretty big fit when we tried to get her to go, so we gave up when we got to our house. I hope L.H. is having more luck with her this year. I had Latin and didn't get home until 6:30, so I missed the procession, but I am getting to cook the spaghetti, lucky me.
Oooh, I think I sprained something with the enthusiastic happy dancin'; no matter—I'd get up from a coma to happy dance at that news. (Ok, I know it's not exactly news at this moment, but that doesn't mean I'm not still stupidly happy about it.)
**
Many, many years ago, back when lovely husband and I were roommates with his brother, I made a dish that was equal parts garlic and penne, sauteed in oil. That is only a slight exaggeration; the recipe called for *10* cloves of garlic, and I follow recipes slavishly.
Needless to say, after consuming such heroic amounts of garlic, we all reeked. There is no way someone in our family will pass up such a garlic-laden dish, even if it burns both ways, if you know what I mean. We were walking garlic bombs for at least 2 days.
I generally learn from my mistakes, but I guess if I slipped after 10 years, you could cut me some slacks, right? I overdid it with the garlic powder on my salad last night, and neither toothbrushing nor coffee nor mint gum has killed it. I'm considering an olfactory-lobe-ectomy.
**
Today I saw a girl carrying a purse that was made out of a large fish with colorful scales that just swallows the items she wants to tote around, or perhaps the purse was made from leftover upholstery swatches cut into circles and attached like sequins. Maybe she's an interior designer and the purse is multi-purpose. Or maybe she's hoping that anyone getting close enough to mug her will have their retinas seared and thus be foiled.
**
The one day I have stuff to jot down for my blog and one of my stories (!—more on that later), I left the damn spiral at home. Damn. I have some tiny pages out of my old daytimer that I used instead. Stupid tiny pages. I couldn't use my Palm because somehow it was almost out of juice. That has not happened yet in the 11 months I've had it, and it freaked me out. Stupid Palm.
Many things have been stupid lately, due the fey mood I'm in (borrowed that from Tolkien; you've got to love a man who describes people as fey, repeatedly).
**
D.D. and L.H. are at a small procession in honor of St. Martin, a Roman who became a saint because he shared his cloak with a beggar on a cold night (like tonight!). I'm sure there's more to the story than that, but I'm getting the info from a 7-year-old who is being forced to take a Catholic religion class in school and who might not be paying as much attention as necessary for relaying all the details. Anyhow, all the little kids make paper lanterns, and there are various processions around town. D.D. is attending the one hosted by her friend's sister's (evangelic) church daycare.
There's usually a pretty big one in our village, starting at the church about half a mile up the hill past us. Last year D.D. cried and threw a pretty big fit when we tried to get her to go, so we gave up when we got to our house. I hope L.H. is having more luck with her this year. I had Latin and didn't get home until 6:30, so I missed the procession, but I am getting to cook the spaghetti, lucky me.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
winter is here to stay
So I was totally wrong about the snow. There were at least 3 inches on our patio furniture this morning, and it was still falling, but not heavy, when I left the house.
Darling daughter was all psyched about playing in it, so I bundled her up head to foot in snow gear and sent her off to school with her dad. Mr. "Germanic" made one concession to the cold: he wore gloves with his jacket (*not* coat). Knowing D.D.'s love of snowballs, he probably ended up pretty wet. Heh.
Darling daughter was all psyched about playing in it, so I bundled her up head to foot in snow gear and sent her off to school with her dad. Mr. "Germanic" made one concession to the cold: he wore gloves with his jacket (*not* coat). Knowing D.D.'s love of snowballs, he probably ended up pretty wet. Heh.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Let it snow, etc.
It was cold and wet (surprise!) in our village today, but it was actually snowing in the village at the top of the hill where darling daughter has ballet. Fortunately, we ride the bus, so I don't worry about sliding off the switchback road in such a heavy vehicle.
(Lovely husband wants to buy a car next year so we don't have to wait on the bus. Driving in the snow terrifies me, so I secretly have my fingers crossed that we don't find anything in our price range until about April.)
When we got home 2 hours later, it was snowing in our village, too, just not as heavily. We live up under the roof in our building, so most of our walls and windows are slanted, and the snow is starting to build up from the bottoms of the windows. It's really pretty, especially from inside, next to the heated tile oven. D.D. thinks she'll be able to sled tomorrow, but since it's barely hit freezing lately, the ground's not cold enough for the snow to stay.
Proofreading bitchiness:
I would probably be done with the tea job if all the examples weren't culled from every variety of English *except* American and British. I'm just saying.
Husband bitchiness:
We have to record our own meter readings for our utilities at the end of each year in order to set the monthly payment for the next year. Landlord showed L.H. the meters when we moved in a year ago so he could verify that the readings were correct for our lease. Now he has no idea where they are, so I've been the one who has to poke around in the dusty, musty, dirt-floored, cobwebby cellar. L.H. suggested I look "on the wall". There are 3 rooms down there. Thanks, Honey, that really clears it up for me.
(Lovely husband wants to buy a car next year so we don't have to wait on the bus. Driving in the snow terrifies me, so I secretly have my fingers crossed that we don't find anything in our price range until about April.)
When we got home 2 hours later, it was snowing in our village, too, just not as heavily. We live up under the roof in our building, so most of our walls and windows are slanted, and the snow is starting to build up from the bottoms of the windows. It's really pretty, especially from inside, next to the heated tile oven. D.D. thinks she'll be able to sled tomorrow, but since it's barely hit freezing lately, the ground's not cold enough for the snow to stay.
Proofreading bitchiness:
I would probably be done with the tea job if all the examples weren't culled from every variety of English *except* American and British. I'm just saying.
Husband bitchiness:
We have to record our own meter readings for our utilities at the end of each year in order to set the monthly payment for the next year. Landlord showed L.H. the meters when we moved in a year ago so he could verify that the readings were correct for our lease. Now he has no idea where they are, so I've been the one who has to poke around in the dusty, musty, dirt-floored, cobwebby cellar. L.H. suggested I look "on the wall". There are 3 rooms down there. Thanks, Honey, that really clears it up for me.
How I miss UT
(Too tired to type this up last night, but composed during the day.)
Those of you near and dear to me may remember me bitching (when have I not?) about the lack of central organization when I began studying at the university last year. Well, it tried to strike again, but I struck back and conquered!
The state government has declared that every couple of semesters, students must prove that they are making progress in their studies (i.e., not dead wood). There is no central database (!) for course completions and grades; we get a little certificate at the end of each course saying if we passed or not. We have to collect and keep track of these slips of paper, because no slips = no degree at the end.
So when you've reached the end of your couple of semesters, you have to hand over the slips to your academic department to prove you've been attending class. Then you get *another* certificate saying you had the right number and kind of slips (kind of like the McD Monopoly game, ick), which you get back.
According to my department, once I got the certificate, the main university would be notified electronically, automatically, without any effort on my part, that I am making progress toward my degree and to let me stay enrolled.
Do you see where this is going?
Didn't happen. Instead of getting my long-awaited student I.D., I got a letter informing me I was exmatriculated, or in other words, kicked out. Son of a bitch!
(Darling daughter wondered why I was bothering to do my homework since I was kicked out. Obviously, to her, I'm nuts!)
So I was the first person in line when the doors opened (which is no mean feat; the damn things are probably 12-feet tall and the handle is at eye level on me)—certificate in hand—and everything was fixed in about five minutes. The university people would have to deal with fewer bad-German-speaking people like me if they'd just hire a programmer so some administrative stuff could be automated.
***
After months of badgering by lovely husband, I finally cut D.D.'s waist-length hair. It's now just below the level of her armpits, and I rounded the bottom. D.D. has been fighting us tooth and nail about it, but suddenly decided as I was about to begin that she wanted it short-ish, to the top of her shoulders. I didn't think she'd like that (she's quite vain about her hair, like the rest of us), so I went with the middle length. She and L.H. were pleased at the results, and she wondered if her friends would recognize her at school the next day.
On more than one occasion, D.D has commented that she would like spikes in her hair. (Drat the influence of her red-headed boy cousin!) I told her, as soon as she starts washing and brushing her own hair and can manage products, she can do whatever she likes to her hair. At the rate we're going, she'll be 35.
***
We've finally gotten into the freezing range weather-wise. The paper yesterday said the range of temps would be 1-11 C (about 33-53 F). I've finally mastered the art of layering and bundling D.D., but she won't put the layers back on to come home, so half her wardrobe gets left at school. Poor L.H. is hopeless at remembering to fetch it from her classroom (D.D. attends after-school care in another classroom), so I end up dragging home a huge bag of clothes every other day when it's my turn for the pick-up. At least we're not both that way.
Those of you near and dear to me may remember me bitching (when have I not?) about the lack of central organization when I began studying at the university last year. Well, it tried to strike again, but I struck back and conquered!
The state government has declared that every couple of semesters, students must prove that they are making progress in their studies (i.e., not dead wood). There is no central database (!) for course completions and grades; we get a little certificate at the end of each course saying if we passed or not. We have to collect and keep track of these slips of paper, because no slips = no degree at the end.
So when you've reached the end of your couple of semesters, you have to hand over the slips to your academic department to prove you've been attending class. Then you get *another* certificate saying you had the right number and kind of slips (kind of like the McD Monopoly game, ick), which you get back.
According to my department, once I got the certificate, the main university would be notified electronically, automatically, without any effort on my part, that I am making progress toward my degree and to let me stay enrolled.
Do you see where this is going?
Didn't happen. Instead of getting my long-awaited student I.D., I got a letter informing me I was exmatriculated, or in other words, kicked out. Son of a bitch!
(Darling daughter wondered why I was bothering to do my homework since I was kicked out. Obviously, to her, I'm nuts!)
So I was the first person in line when the doors opened (which is no mean feat; the damn things are probably 12-feet tall and the handle is at eye level on me)—certificate in hand—and everything was fixed in about five minutes. The university people would have to deal with fewer bad-German-speaking people like me if they'd just hire a programmer so some administrative stuff could be automated.
***
After months of badgering by lovely husband, I finally cut D.D.'s waist-length hair. It's now just below the level of her armpits, and I rounded the bottom. D.D. has been fighting us tooth and nail about it, but suddenly decided as I was about to begin that she wanted it short-ish, to the top of her shoulders. I didn't think she'd like that (she's quite vain about her hair, like the rest of us), so I went with the middle length. She and L.H. were pleased at the results, and she wondered if her friends would recognize her at school the next day.
On more than one occasion, D.D has commented that she would like spikes in her hair. (Drat the influence of her red-headed boy cousin!) I told her, as soon as she starts washing and brushing her own hair and can manage products, she can do whatever she likes to her hair. At the rate we're going, she'll be 35.
***
We've finally gotten into the freezing range weather-wise. The paper yesterday said the range of temps would be 1-11 C (about 33-53 F). I've finally mastered the art of layering and bundling D.D., but she won't put the layers back on to come home, so half her wardrobe gets left at school. Poor L.H. is hopeless at remembering to fetch it from her classroom (D.D. attends after-school care in another classroom), so I end up dragging home a huge bag of clothes every other day when it's my turn for the pick-up. At least we're not both that way.
Friday, November 05, 2004
friends and enemies
L.H. was concerned about D.D.'s mental health when he found a picture she had drawn of a child in a cherry-covered dress, frowning and saying, "I am weird." He wasn't sure he felt any better when I explained that it was a boy from her class. She had "forced" him into these girl's clothes (oddly enough, her favorite dress from her grandma). I ascribe it to the on-going battle of the sexes at her school and am glad that she used her pen for drawing and not stabbing.
Since school is out for the week (Fall Holiday), maybe she is missing her arch-enemies. She has seen her friends a few times, and they got along ok, so maybe she just needed to get that meanness out of her system. As long as she doesn't take it out on us.
L.H. and I have been having opposite responses to the US election. He has been really agitated and upset, and I've been plugging up my ears and saying, "na na na na na na na". I can't imagine what the election fatigue in the US must be like; we didn't have the deluge of ads that USians got. And that, gentle readers, will probably be the last thing I have to say on the topic.
My FIL sent L.H. a polaroid of a biker that was taken back in the day when FIL was an undercover narcotics agent, then he pointed out how much he thought L.H. looked like this person. FIL really knows how to give a compliment. God knows what he'll come out with next—probably a comparison with Manson. He has totally lost touch with social norms and all other aspects of reality. I could really go on, but I think this should now go on the tabu topics list, or at least on the only-over-the-phone-with-the-relatives list.
(Can you see where D.D. may come by her need to get the meanness out?)
Sometimes I feel like turning off the world and losing myself in a book. Two weeks into the semester is not a good time for that feeling to come knocking, but it's a bit like PMS—I can't prevent it and just have to ride it out. I have learned that skimming books satisfies the itch, but it still takes a while to read Lord of the Rings. I haven't even felt like blogging (heaven forbid!). I guess this post is an indicator that I'm about over it.
Weather-bitching level: n.a.
I think that barring a blizzard, the weather will be predictably cold and possibly wet from now until March, so what's the point trying to put it on a scale? I'll reserve my weather comments for exceptionally unusual weather, like sunshine (which we had a little of today).
Since school is out for the week (Fall Holiday), maybe she is missing her arch-enemies. She has seen her friends a few times, and they got along ok, so maybe she just needed to get that meanness out of her system. As long as she doesn't take it out on us.
L.H. and I have been having opposite responses to the US election. He has been really agitated and upset, and I've been plugging up my ears and saying, "na na na na na na na". I can't imagine what the election fatigue in the US must be like; we didn't have the deluge of ads that USians got. And that, gentle readers, will probably be the last thing I have to say on the topic.
My FIL sent L.H. a polaroid of a biker that was taken back in the day when FIL was an undercover narcotics agent, then he pointed out how much he thought L.H. looked like this person. FIL really knows how to give a compliment. God knows what he'll come out with next—probably a comparison with Manson. He has totally lost touch with social norms and all other aspects of reality. I could really go on, but I think this should now go on the tabu topics list, or at least on the only-over-the-phone-with-the-relatives list.
(Can you see where D.D. may come by her need to get the meanness out?)
Sometimes I feel like turning off the world and losing myself in a book. Two weeks into the semester is not a good time for that feeling to come knocking, but it's a bit like PMS—I can't prevent it and just have to ride it out. I have learned that skimming books satisfies the itch, but it still takes a while to read Lord of the Rings. I haven't even felt like blogging (heaven forbid!). I guess this post is an indicator that I'm about over it.
Weather-bitching level: n.a.
I think that barring a blizzard, the weather will be predictably cold and possibly wet from now until March, so what's the point trying to put it on a scale? I'll reserve my weather comments for exceptionally unusual weather, like sunshine (which we had a little of today).
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Loverly Husband
My husband (L.H.) really is a nice man. When darling daughter (D.D.) has a friend over, he plays games with the two of them. And when the mom comes to pick her up, he chats her up for 20 or 30 minutes because he is helping her make contacts in the U.S. for an exchange program (she teaches H.S. English).
Personally, I'm just not that full of the milk of human kindness. In my case, it would be more like buttermilk. L.H. thinks I'm kind of shy, or maybe I'm holding back because of the language thing, but really, I think I'm just not that friendly.
It takes me a while to warm up to people; at my last job, it took me 2 or 3 months of seeing the same people day in and day out before I could let my innate wackiness shine through. I'm just not around anyone that much these days, so I don't see myself finding many "kindred spirits" (as Anne Shirley of Green Gables would say) any time soon. Also, humor doesn't always translate well, and I'm not sure what people here would make of my sarcastic sense of humor.
D.D. is lucky that she has one outgoing parent anyway. L.H. reminds me a bit of my mom in that respect. I found it embarrassing as a kid for her to be chatting up people in line at the grocery store, and now I'm married to a man with the same trait. He can tell me all about the neighbors, even ones not in our building, and about the parents of D.D.'s classmates because he's actually held one or more conversations with them. I usually just smile and nod in passing.
What's funny is that L.H. always thought of himself as introverted as a kid. I think that's because his dad tends to be fairly anti-social and kind of squished his kids into that mold when they were little. Nowadays we joke that L.H. is an extrovert who was raised as an introvert.
Today's Halloween party proves the point. I was ready to chuck all 11 kids out the door after an hour, but he kept them moving from one activity to the next with impressive patience. He was even so kind as to walk home a couple of kids (D.D. went home with one of them to play some more). I told him even before he left that I'd rather clean up after 50 kids than have to deal with any of them a minute longer.
My grandmother and mother keep telling me that I'm such a good mom and that I should have had more kids. The reason I'm such a good mom is *because* I only have one kid. I'll admit it: I'm selfish. I need some time to myself, if not physically then mentally apart from my family, and multiple children doesn't seem conducive to that. MIL told me of a woman of her online acquaintance with 9 children! That first caesarean section must have come with a labotomy!
I'll be the first one to admit that L.H. has oodles and gobs more patience than I; I can give D.D. boundless love and lots of silliness, and I know a trick or two to help her when she is in a bad mood or upset, but L.H. is the one who will sit on the floor and play Barbies with her. He should be in line for sainthood for that alone.
Weather-bitching update: 0.5
Clouds, some sun, no rain. It could have been worse.
Personally, I'm just not that full of the milk of human kindness. In my case, it would be more like buttermilk. L.H. thinks I'm kind of shy, or maybe I'm holding back because of the language thing, but really, I think I'm just not that friendly.
It takes me a while to warm up to people; at my last job, it took me 2 or 3 months of seeing the same people day in and day out before I could let my innate wackiness shine through. I'm just not around anyone that much these days, so I don't see myself finding many "kindred spirits" (as Anne Shirley of Green Gables would say) any time soon. Also, humor doesn't always translate well, and I'm not sure what people here would make of my sarcastic sense of humor.
D.D. is lucky that she has one outgoing parent anyway. L.H. reminds me a bit of my mom in that respect. I found it embarrassing as a kid for her to be chatting up people in line at the grocery store, and now I'm married to a man with the same trait. He can tell me all about the neighbors, even ones not in our building, and about the parents of D.D.'s classmates because he's actually held one or more conversations with them. I usually just smile and nod in passing.
What's funny is that L.H. always thought of himself as introverted as a kid. I think that's because his dad tends to be fairly anti-social and kind of squished his kids into that mold when they were little. Nowadays we joke that L.H. is an extrovert who was raised as an introvert.
Today's Halloween party proves the point. I was ready to chuck all 11 kids out the door after an hour, but he kept them moving from one activity to the next with impressive patience. He was even so kind as to walk home a couple of kids (D.D. went home with one of them to play some more). I told him even before he left that I'd rather clean up after 50 kids than have to deal with any of them a minute longer.
My grandmother and mother keep telling me that I'm such a good mom and that I should have had more kids. The reason I'm such a good mom is *because* I only have one kid. I'll admit it: I'm selfish. I need some time to myself, if not physically then mentally apart from my family, and multiple children doesn't seem conducive to that. MIL told me of a woman of her online acquaintance with 9 children! That first caesarean section must have come with a labotomy!
I'll be the first one to admit that L.H. has oodles and gobs more patience than I; I can give D.D. boundless love and lots of silliness, and I know a trick or two to help her when she is in a bad mood or upset, but L.H. is the one who will sit on the floor and play Barbies with her. He should be in line for sainthood for that alone.
Weather-bitching update: 0.5
Clouds, some sun, no rain. It could have been worse.
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Footwear for the 21st century
I was awoken to the sound of Eliza-cat meowing mutedly; I figured she was stuck in the closet. Turns out she was downstairs with L.H. and D.D., so she is now officially "the cat who cried 'stuck'."
Later, she fell off the stairs. She's not much smarter than a pair of slippers at this point; it won't be much of a change when I'm wearing her on my feet.
I expect my new slippers will be more attractive than these boots, at least. I saw a woman wearing something similar the other day. It was much too warm for such heavy-duty boots, and I thought, "Her poor dog-sled team! They must be baking."
Later, she fell off the stairs. She's not much smarter than a pair of slippers at this point; it won't be much of a change when I'm wearing her on my feet.
I expect my new slippers will be more attractive than these boots, at least. I saw a woman wearing something similar the other day. It was much too warm for such heavy-duty boots, and I thought, "Her poor dog-sled team! They must be baking."
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