Begging Your Pardon

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Daddy-o’s thought for the day for February 19th:

One who forgives an affront fosters friendship, but one who dwells on disputes will alienate a friend. Proverbs 17:9


From childhood I was taught to seek Jesus in everyone. The result is that I’m easy pickings for spare change requests. Earlier this week I was accosted at the grocery by a guy who wouldn’t shut it on his beg. This guy wouldn’t let up. He stood there blah blahing while I loaded the groceries from my cart to my car. I finally said, “That’s enough. I have $2 you are welcome to all of it.” I also gave him a banana. He walked off without even returning my cart as people usually do when I give them cash. That’s was definitely NOT Jesus nor even a friend.

Later I received a real-time communication that read, “Shouldn’t you be out raising chickens or saving the world or something?” I’m paraphrasing, but that’s the gist. The writer immediately slammed the virtual door upon making this quip, leaving me no chance to reply. Well, looky here. I haven’t blogged since Daisy died and it’s not because I’m in mourning (though that really SUCKED). I’ve been living my not so fabulous life.

The past week, this life has required two souls to execute it and so the Hubster has helped as my right handed man – Mr. Right in all the right ways. Today as I was buried under Girl Scout cookie boxes, the Hubster attended church services for me. He summarized the sermon for me in part:

[The sermonizer] preached about “sodomy” as “inhospitality” in sacred ancient texts, not ass sex. Jesus didn’t talk about sex, he talked about the poor and the sick.

Other than this being HI-larious, as are most things the Hubster says, I am reminded of the myriad ways I’ve been inhospitable this past week. On the other hand, a friend delivered the most thoughtful apology this weekend. An apology shouldn’t have been required had I been more heartfully hospitable. More indication that my friends are way more awesomer than I – except for Wampus. He’s a snark and I can’t wait for the chance to slam the virtual door after I cut him to the quick with my quick wit. If only I had one.

A Breath of Fresh Air

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Those who know and love me understand that I am going to let them down at the holidays. It’s just not my thing – not that I haven’t tried. Not that I haven’t tried to do it up, that is, not not that I haven’t tried to let folks down. It’s inevitable that I let you down, because even though I try, I’m not that good at doing it up. Huh?

Point is, I suck at holidays regardless of my intention, but I’m a spectacular holiday voyeur. If I were to do Valentine’s Day for all ya’ll, I’d give you the gift of clean, fresh air. TreeHugger just posted a list of the plants I would consider for you. How cute is this Philodendron oxycardium (in lay terms, heartleaf philodendron)? It’s perfect for Valentine’s Day and a good air filterer to boot (whatever “to boot” means). Incidentally, you can buy a whole book, How to Grow Fresh Air: 50 House Plants that Purify Your Home or Office, on this subject. Maybe you could even pair the plant and book.*

I’m sure that I’m breaking some bloggy rule by reposting for a third year in a row an excerpt from a Valentine’s Day past post, but no one is paying attention anyway. This year, I think I might rather like some Garbage Soup.

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February 12, 2007

Please don’t go out on Valentine’s Day and drop a chunk of change on flowers that were coated in pesticides, kept in a green house, and shipped across the country. What is that supposed to say? “I love you so muchly that I’m giving you something unnaturally begotten. Also, in its making a part of the world was poisoned. Lastly, even with the aspirin dissolving in the water, it’s doomed to die leaving nothing to show for the cash. THIS is the symbol of my love for you.” Please. Save your money.**

…

I am compelled to request that you forget the expensive roses! Instead, share this recipe for Garbage Soup, from Dining with the Desert Museum* (with editorial). It would be good for your wallet, the environment, and an honest statement about the longevity of love.

INGREDIENTS:
water (the elixir of life)
vegetable waste (eggplant sounds like elegant fare for a Valentine dinner, but gack!)
coffee grounds (from the pot you shared over morning breath)
eggshells (you already walked on them so they are nicely crushed)
other similar kitchen waste (so not the shit you sling at each other like monkeys after the kids are in bed)
not grease (this is about living plants not the yummy goodness of slaughtered lambs)

DIRECTIONS: Chop waste in food processor or blender with equal parts water. Mix it up until it’s as convoluted as your fights. Bury soup around outer edges of plants along side the hatchet.

Commercial fertilizers can kill beneficial microorganisms in the soil. This recipe for plants can be used in lieu of those fertilizers. Can you feel the love?

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* Did I mention I am a sell-out, er, Amazon Associate?

** Populist, perhaps you could illuminate for us the reasons why guys buy temporary tokens of their love as you told me outright last year, “Your understanding about why men give Valentine’s gifts is obviously different from mine.” I’m willing to wager dollar to dime even in this recession that you know a damn sight more on the subject than I do. What would Grace think?

My House of Carbs

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Look at this, wouldja? Just look it! Robyn gave me some Amish Friendship bread.


Robyn isn’t Amish. I think she just wanted a bloggy shout out. She’s such a blog whore. If it were possible for me to exist in Arizona, or Earth for that matter, without Robyn – forget it. It’s not possible and I don’t want to contemplate an Earth without her. I wanted to hate her friendship bread because she’s always so sickeningly spectacular (Girl Scout leader, social worker, gaiety engineer), but I couldn’t. The crust was sweet and chewy, the center oh so moist. I still don’t want a baggie of dough sitting on my counter cluttering my tidy collection of clutter, thank you very much, but I’ll take more bread.

Ah, but this wasn’t my only gift of grub. The Interim Rector’s wife gave me some of her Irish soda bread.


Her ingredient list includes currants, orange peel, and brandy. Add some butter and lightly toast it. HEY OH! She recommends marmalade or honey as a topper. I have it pictured here with the last bit of the Hubster’s aunt’s pepper jelly. You wouldn’t want to use it, but it sure makes a pretty picture.

Once again my friends shine with generosity.

A Chick Flick

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I love my hens just a little more now that they aren’t all molting and nekked. And my hens seem to love me ever so slightly more. Maybe that’s because I hand feed them raisins, a trick the neighbors taught me. The chicks don’t mind so much the huntress kitty cat, and Boris is largely unconcerned by the whole lot of us outside the Hubster. I dubbed the video sound to cover my yelling, “NO RAISINS FOR YOU!” I seem to be the only one who doesn’t kowtow to the Hubster’s Vader-like presence.

Oh, this is just too low. Pet blogging.

Inspirations:

Firstly,
Eons ago, when I was addicted to My Space and not Facebook, April March’s Chick Habit was Anna’s profile song. I thought it rocked and so I bought it.

Secondly,
Listen up

Poins: Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
Falstaff: What, upon compulsion? Zounds, and I were at the strappado or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you upon compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.
(Henry IV, Part One, 2.4.246-42)
Best, Michael. Shakespeare’s Life and Times. Internet Shakespeare Editions, University of Victoria: Victoria, BC, 2001-2005.

Fun with Google: Part 1?

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To get my job, now that it’s legit, I gots ta update the resume. Time to hit the Googles. Citizen’s League, check. Language Arts, check. But wait! There’s more!

You may or may not know that I got skills. Yup. I sure do. Perhaps you can’t think of a single one, but I did recently earn honorable mention in a photography competition that was judged by impartial professional photographers. It’s true. Here’s the evidence.

Why is the hubster smelling his fingers? Beyond the mystery, there’s not much else to recommend this photo. I presumed I was offering it up for a beginning of the year slide show for his department and didn’t realize that there was a judicial process involved. Mine was the first honorable mention. Of course I have a beginning of the alphabet sort of name and so far as I know every entrant won at least an honorable mention. Whatever. I’m totally putting it on my resume.

Once, I had an article published. Yup. I sure did. In it I provided basic information featuring the Canada goose. I bet you thought it was Canadian, but that’s not the case. Here’s the proof.

Let me just say, the article is well and heavily edited. I don’t know anything about the Canada goose. The publication resulted from me begging Outdoor Oklahoma for a writing gig. My dream of running away to NYC to work on a high-gloss magazine was just beginning to fade. Just as well because as surely as video killed the radio star, Internet killed the printing press. Regardless, I’m going to put this on my resume too.

My favorite Google result is the following:
Rebecca Ballenger’s, Martha Stein’s and Mary Sweeney’s vaginal images are seductively soft, yet menacing creatures with a life of their own (especially …

If only I had the log-in. On first read, it seems that our vaginae are soft and menacing as revealed by images. Then it can also read as though we captured images of other soft and menacing vaginae. Oh, if only either one was true, then perhaps I could retire and avoid putting a resume together at all.

Because It’s All About Me

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I should have worn my Bali bra with modesty petals.

As it was, I chose a lumpy dumpy message t-shirt over anything fashionable.

The result was less cute college co-ed and more public school mommy volunteer out in the cold January rain.

I imagined Denise Richards, but all things considered I should give up the Tom Cruise samurai hair don’t. Imagine this hooker hair only less Rodeo Drive and more Main Street.

I was reminded on the way out the door at 4:30 a.m. that last time I was on television, I was made to remove my glasses (video unavailable). Not being able to see, I looked like an oggling goggler. So I put my contacts in and revealed my partially inherited, partially earned under-eye baggage.

Finally, though I’m already bloated from my premenstrual Eve’s apple thing, a mike pack was hidden under my shirt at my waistline.

And if I were to make it on to a national television show, that is how I would present myself. Of course, the media were only interested in the phenomenal teacher who made it all happen, so this is total vanity.

Yesterday’s schedule:
4:30-7 a.m. local news
7:45 a.m. – 2:45 p.m. – film crew contracted by Rachael Ray
10 a.m. – TUSD Focus reporters
1 p.m. – different local news
8 p.m. – crash

Of course I can’t find the live coverage from the local news, but their edited piece is online and my kids are in it!

More to come – if I feel like it.

Perpetuating a Fraud

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If I could be anyone in the world, I’d be the person described in this blog post. She sounds cool what with that community garden, bird sanctuary, and borrowed solar oven. A person like that has friends because those types of things don’t happen without the efforts of many.

To be featured by Ruth Tobias, who has written for, among other places*, The Boston Globe, is most assuredly an honor. When I stalked her on Facebook and claimed her for my network, my in box filed with reverent salutations and requests for friendship from those who otherwise wouldn’t give me the time of day. I could feel my social e-capital rising via the express elevator. Of course, this is something of which I am certain Ruth is unaware or at least would dismiss.

When I am famous for being famous, because I can’t be famous for much else, I will look back at this, my second (the first being relatively unnoticed by the masses) bloggy shout-out. Thank you Ruth. You made me look like chiltepins.

(If you visit her blog, please be sure to say “hello” for me!)

* Zagatsurvey 2004/05 Boston Restaurants (Zagatsurvey: Boston Restaurants)

* Mealtime at the movies: 15 food films.(food): An article from: World Literature Today

SUCK IT!

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I guess I was supposed to make a big “to-do” about my 100th post. Oh, well. YAY for you last post I posted! Anyway, onward and onward.

I couldn’t have predicted my adventish anticipation for January 20th. Inauguration is also the 100th day of school for my children and both their schools are planning celebrations. Plus, Arizona just made it to the Superbowl. Additionally, I just adore my friends. I have spectacular friends. My friends are great because they give me stuff. Good stuff. Stuff I bet you wish you had. A la la la.

Magical Martha, who can make anything happen and does, gave me lemons from her tree. Not only that, she gave me freshly squozen lemon juice and promises of a rockin’ lemonade recipe. THEN, our neighbors dropped by with more lemons. We are flush with the fruit. OMG! I want to make lemon everything! Got a good recipe?

Next up is the tale of my own greed and gluttony. A member of my book club, whose hubby heads up some biodiesel group here in town, gets fry grease from local restaurants and turns it into gas in their backyard for her car. The byproduct of this process is glycerin. Yup. Soap. They’ve packaged it as Grease Monkey soap and I think they should totally make it a commercial venture. I’m so in awe of this process because the oil was 1) used to cook food, 2) used to power a car, and 3) used to wash up, which means that it’s used, reused, and rereused with NO WASTE LEFT OVER. When her book club holiday exchange gift was Grease Monkey soap, well, I sorta threw a hissy fit. “I want some!” She’s a better person than I am (let’s face it, most people are), and made more soap – enough for our whole group.

And not related to my friends who are generous, I just want to do a quick shout out to Robyn. If you don’t know her, you should. Life would be gray and dull without her. I know this unequivocally. I watched her sew today and that was, it was, the penultimate.

Wanna know what I give my friends? NOTHING! HA! Suck it! Perhaps I should feel badly that I inspire such generosity without being generous myself – but I don’t! So, while some look at their buddies and wonder “what have they done for me lately?”, I’m going to suck a lemon, take a shower, and call Robyn to schedule a Superbowl clatch.