For the first time, I was all by myself for Christmas. No parents or kids, just three rotten cats who had puked all over the house and violated my apple pie. The boy was off with his dad, the girl - well, who knows where the girl was. I feel bad that I don't feel bad about her not being around, but I have to admit life has been more peaceful these last six months, especially when it seemed she was not going to try to break into the house. I even contemplate whether I can remove the chain lock on my bedroom door that would keep her from getting in if she jimmied the knob lock. I know she still frequents the neighborhood, probably still stealing metal from the abandoned naval center. I still keep the doors locked at all times and the windows locked or prevented from opening far enough to crawl in. She has no compunctions about slitting a screen, probably not for breaking a window either, but so far she has refrained.
Unlike most of humanity, I like being alone, although it was a little dull. I'm preparing to yarnbomb the library (with their permission, so it's not any kind of artistic anarchy) so I was cranking out pieces made with random unwanted yarn that will fit around various structures, and wishing I had planned ahead with Netflix to have something good to watch. I considered watching something through the computer, but they want to download a Microsoft program and I'm not sure I want or can use that on my Mac. I finished "The Age of Innocence" (book) on the Kindle and downloaded Storm Front by Jim Butcher at the boy's recommendation. Reminds me of the Laurel K. Hamilton books, both the Anita Blake and faerie series. The boy hasn't read them, so he thinks this is original. I'll bet he'd like to, once he finds out how detailed the Hamilton sex scenes are.
The ex gave the boy a huge HD TV for Christmas. I told him he's responsible for removing the old one, but boy and I both think he's not going to follow through, dick that he is. I e-mailed to ask him specifically to help with lifting the old one and the new one, so we'll see what happens. Boy returns home today, maybe I can get him to undress the tree and pack it away before he heads out with friends. I really need to get him in the car - I told him I wouldn't take him for his driver's test again until he has at least 25 hours under his belt. At 10 minutes at a time before he starts to freak out, that will take a while. Maybe summer. I could really use another driver in the house. If he's not driving that car it doesn't make sense for me to keep it any pay for insurance, especially since I'm still paying to insure the girl, but he doesn't want me to get rid of it.
I started thinking about the dollhouse again, now that it's winter and I don't have any current yarn projects that have deadlines. I'm going through the rooms and making lists of what each one needs to look more complete/realistic. The problem is getting myself to start the projects.
Nearly 2012. Time to make lists.
Dec 26, 2011
Nov 22, 2011
In a better space
Wow, a lot has happened since that last post in January. Things were even worse with the girl than I knew or expected, and there was a huge amount of drama. The last I saw of her was June 26th, when she tricked me into turning my back, stole my wallet for the second time, and ran out the door into the waiting car her junkie friend was driving. Since then, no contact, and I gradually ceased to care. This may be a bad way for a mother to look at her child, but I think I did everything I could. I bailed her out, I paid fines, I provided a car and insurance, I took her to the doctor when requested, I offered advice (never taken), I offered shelter, I moved her out of her shithole apartment when she was evicted, I provided way too much money, and I trusted far more than I should have. I lost money, jewelry, time, almost lost my auto insurance, and got nothing, absolutely nothing in return. Other than acting as host to her parasite, nothing I did mattered to her. But we're talking about a person who burned the word "HATE" into her arm in 2 inch letters and sold her brother's video games for cash to feed her habit. A person who never knew or cared what time or what day it was and no concept of "on time". A person who had total indifference to the pain she might cause someone else. A perfect sociopath.
She moved on, defriending all family members and making no effort to be in touch. At least she's not using my car to do it, although I still have to carry her on my insurance. She is 21, and I will not be responsible for her any more, her choice and mine. Although I still get reminded of things she did that made me confused or angry and have to deal with that. Specific events or instances of lying or items that I no longer have because she stole and sold them. Many, many stories, but I will not cover them now. I copied most of the e-mails about her to a Word document and it took about 65 pages to cover a few months.
I think I'm in a better head space than I was then. I no longer have two very significant sources of stress: Ex, and girl. I'm gradually redoing all the parts of the house that were not tended for a long time. Bathroom is better (although I'm not happy with the contractors and all of their work). Just finished painting walls in girl's room. I spent weeks packing up and weeding out her things - boxes and boxes of clothes, most I never saw her wear. Huge quantities of jewelry making supplies. Lots and lots of bulky yarn. I can't imagine she could have made enough money, given how few jobs she could hold onto, to pay for this, so I have to assume there was a lot of shoplifting going on. It's mostly gone now, to Goodwill, the library, neighbors and friends.
I have moved outside my comfort zone in social areas. I now teach crocheting at JoAnn's, knitting and crocheting (for free!) at the library (where I have a small circle of regulars), and how to be gluten-free for beginners. I still have the problem of not remembering anybody's name, which is kind of rude for a teacher, but I tell everybody that I have a brain deficiency in that area and they seem to accept it. I take classes at the community college, and other students seek me out to talk to me, even though my first impulse in any social situation is to isolate myself. They ignored any such signals I gave off and talk to me because they want to, which I always find surprising. I find I have a knack for teaching people who want to learn. Who knew?
I'll try to keep this up, not because anybody cares, but because sometimes I want to document things. It's good discipline and practice. More later. Now I have to clean the house before the parents come.
She moved on, defriending all family members and making no effort to be in touch. At least she's not using my car to do it, although I still have to carry her on my insurance. She is 21, and I will not be responsible for her any more, her choice and mine. Although I still get reminded of things she did that made me confused or angry and have to deal with that. Specific events or instances of lying or items that I no longer have because she stole and sold them. Many, many stories, but I will not cover them now. I copied most of the e-mails about her to a Word document and it took about 65 pages to cover a few months.
I think I'm in a better head space than I was then. I no longer have two very significant sources of stress: Ex, and girl. I'm gradually redoing all the parts of the house that were not tended for a long time. Bathroom is better (although I'm not happy with the contractors and all of their work). Just finished painting walls in girl's room. I spent weeks packing up and weeding out her things - boxes and boxes of clothes, most I never saw her wear. Huge quantities of jewelry making supplies. Lots and lots of bulky yarn. I can't imagine she could have made enough money, given how few jobs she could hold onto, to pay for this, so I have to assume there was a lot of shoplifting going on. It's mostly gone now, to Goodwill, the library, neighbors and friends.
I have moved outside my comfort zone in social areas. I now teach crocheting at JoAnn's, knitting and crocheting (for free!) at the library (where I have a small circle of regulars), and how to be gluten-free for beginners. I still have the problem of not remembering anybody's name, which is kind of rude for a teacher, but I tell everybody that I have a brain deficiency in that area and they seem to accept it. I take classes at the community college, and other students seek me out to talk to me, even though my first impulse in any social situation is to isolate myself. They ignored any such signals I gave off and talk to me because they want to, which I always find surprising. I find I have a knack for teaching people who want to learn. Who knew?
I'll try to keep this up, not because anybody cares, but because sometimes I want to document things. It's good discipline and practice. More later. Now I have to clean the house before the parents come.
Jan 1, 2011
Let's start again
Apparently it has been almost a year since I posted. Sigh. Let's try this again. If nothing else I can vent to nobody in particular.
When can I stop worrying and providing like a mom to someone who should be old enough to do it herself? It's a constant conflict - I know jobs are in short supply, but I don't think she tries hard enough. She can't wake up to an alarm clock or get herself out of bed in the morning. She doesn't have the training for anything for which a second or third shift would be an option, or even the smarts to apply for afternoon/evening jobs only. She seems headed for a life content to be on welfare and food stamps. I don't see signs of a return to drug use, but I can't rule it out for the future. She had her wallet and phone stolen last night because she can't seem to master the need to keep her valuables safe at all times, especially in the skeevy places she goes to. I was hoping for less drama this year, but I can't see that as an option. It's inconvenient and expensive to have her in my house, but she has nowhere else to go. I can't figure out how much I should contribute, help, or even care. I can't stop giving advice that isn't appreciated or wanted. This sucks and I'm frustrated. I don't want to give her ownership of the car she drives, but she has beat the crap out of it such that I could probably never sell it, and when she commits a traffic violation and they don't have an officer talk to her and get her license, the bill and violation goes to me because it's in my name, so is it time to sign it over to her and make it solely her problem?
The boy gained 30 pounds since his last doctor's visit in 2009. All overeating and inaction on his part. I'm going to try packing him lunches. He's going to try to go to kung fu as often as I can get him there, and has a P90X DVD to try (thanks, Joey). He has also agreed to try Gluten-Free January, but we'll see how far that gets. The girl is the one who appears to have a gluten reaction similar to mine, but good luck getting her to pay attention to her diet.
At least the job seems to be secure for this year, assuming I don't piss my boss off too much. I didn't realize that she can't take opposition in any way without taking it personally, so now I walk on eggshells. Still working on completing the prerequisites for the Medical Lab Tech degree at the community college just in case.
Linkin Park concert Jan. 31! Something just for me. Now if the weather can just cooperate...
When can I stop worrying and providing like a mom to someone who should be old enough to do it herself? It's a constant conflict - I know jobs are in short supply, but I don't think she tries hard enough. She can't wake up to an alarm clock or get herself out of bed in the morning. She doesn't have the training for anything for which a second or third shift would be an option, or even the smarts to apply for afternoon/evening jobs only. She seems headed for a life content to be on welfare and food stamps. I don't see signs of a return to drug use, but I can't rule it out for the future. She had her wallet and phone stolen last night because she can't seem to master the need to keep her valuables safe at all times, especially in the skeevy places she goes to. I was hoping for less drama this year, but I can't see that as an option. It's inconvenient and expensive to have her in my house, but she has nowhere else to go. I can't figure out how much I should contribute, help, or even care. I can't stop giving advice that isn't appreciated or wanted. This sucks and I'm frustrated. I don't want to give her ownership of the car she drives, but she has beat the crap out of it such that I could probably never sell it, and when she commits a traffic violation and they don't have an officer talk to her and get her license, the bill and violation goes to me because it's in my name, so is it time to sign it over to her and make it solely her problem?
The boy gained 30 pounds since his last doctor's visit in 2009. All overeating and inaction on his part. I'm going to try packing him lunches. He's going to try to go to kung fu as often as I can get him there, and has a P90X DVD to try (thanks, Joey). He has also agreed to try Gluten-Free January, but we'll see how far that gets. The girl is the one who appears to have a gluten reaction similar to mine, but good luck getting her to pay attention to her diet.
At least the job seems to be secure for this year, assuming I don't piss my boss off too much. I didn't realize that she can't take opposition in any way without taking it personally, so now I walk on eggshells. Still working on completing the prerequisites for the Medical Lab Tech degree at the community college just in case.
Linkin Park concert Jan. 31! Something just for me. Now if the weather can just cooperate...
Jan 15, 2010
Increments
I don't know when it happened, but I have become at peace with incremental progress. Maybe somewhere I leveled up in Patience and acquired the Consciousness of Progress skill. All I know is that I can now be content with the progress of a project involving many, many tiny steps and can see the end approaching ever closer without the feeling of impatience and endless futility that I used to feel.
It's a good thing, because a lot of what I do involves many tiny, repetitious steps. At work I fill endless numbers of 96-well plates, one well at a time, with as much precision as experience and good instruments can bring. At least there, I have measurable progress and an endpoint within hours, certainly by the end of the day. But what I do for fun is much worse. I knit. I needlepoint. I cross-stitch. Yes, the womanly arts of the needle offer many chances to drive yourself crazy doing something thousands of times to cover very tiny amounts of real estate. Knitting is good for slowly building something one stitch at a time. There's no equivalent of a multi-channel pipettor for knitting (okay, there are machines, but they don't count as far as I'm concerned). A mitten is good for fairly rapid progress, allowing me to actually complete something in one evening, but other projects call for serious amounts of time. Yet the finish line doesn't seem as endlessly far away now as it used to - I can appreciate two rows of the Pirate Queen's Booty Bag completed in a night's work as a substantial contribution instead of feeling it to be a hopelessly small addition to the whole. What brought about this change in perspective?
I have a huge needlepoint canvas - La Licorne Captive it says at the top, the Unicorn in Captivity from the tapestries at the Cloisters. It is 25" wide by probably at least 36" long (I don't want to unroll it to measure), with 10 stitches per inch = 100 stitches/square inch, so approximately 90,000 stitches to finish it. A two foot length of wool seems to cover maybe two square inches at the most, and I can usually manage about 3 or 4 of those in a sitting. After months of off-and-on work I have maybe 3/4 of the top half completed, but I can feel all those tiny bits adding up with great satisfaction. I could just as easily see my slow progress with despair over the infinity of stitches ahead of me, but somewhere along the line I learned to appreciate the slow accumulation of tiny elements into a whole. I find it easier to see days becoming years, too. Maybe it's just age - each year is now 1/50th of my experience instead of a larger part. Whatever the cause, I hope this perspective gives me some kind of advantage or insight or patience outside the realm of the needle. But now, back to the Booty Bag!
It's a good thing, because a lot of what I do involves many tiny, repetitious steps. At work I fill endless numbers of 96-well plates, one well at a time, with as much precision as experience and good instruments can bring. At least there, I have measurable progress and an endpoint within hours, certainly by the end of the day. But what I do for fun is much worse. I knit. I needlepoint. I cross-stitch. Yes, the womanly arts of the needle offer many chances to drive yourself crazy doing something thousands of times to cover very tiny amounts of real estate. Knitting is good for slowly building something one stitch at a time. There's no equivalent of a multi-channel pipettor for knitting (okay, there are machines, but they don't count as far as I'm concerned). A mitten is good for fairly rapid progress, allowing me to actually complete something in one evening, but other projects call for serious amounts of time. Yet the finish line doesn't seem as endlessly far away now as it used to - I can appreciate two rows of the Pirate Queen's Booty Bag completed in a night's work as a substantial contribution instead of feeling it to be a hopelessly small addition to the whole. What brought about this change in perspective?
I have a huge needlepoint canvas - La Licorne Captive it says at the top, the Unicorn in Captivity from the tapestries at the Cloisters. It is 25" wide by probably at least 36" long (I don't want to unroll it to measure), with 10 stitches per inch = 100 stitches/square inch, so approximately 90,000 stitches to finish it. A two foot length of wool seems to cover maybe two square inches at the most, and I can usually manage about 3 or 4 of those in a sitting. After months of off-and-on work I have maybe 3/4 of the top half completed, but I can feel all those tiny bits adding up with great satisfaction. I could just as easily see my slow progress with despair over the infinity of stitches ahead of me, but somewhere along the line I learned to appreciate the slow accumulation of tiny elements into a whole. I find it easier to see days becoming years, too. Maybe it's just age - each year is now 1/50th of my experience instead of a larger part. Whatever the cause, I hope this perspective gives me some kind of advantage or insight or patience outside the realm of the needle. But now, back to the Booty Bag!
Jan 2, 2010
Could be worse
It's cold out, and inside I have it set for 68F, which seems cold to me but saves money. But I minimize my complaining by reflecting on every century before the last, and how cold everyone must have been.
Read Dickens, or Little House on the Prarie (or anywhere else the Little House set up) and you'll realize that the rooms inside houses were often very little warmer than the outside. For most of human history people had little more warmth in winter than the deer and the birds. Sure, there was fire, but if you didn't stay right next to it, the effects weren't far-reaching. Imagine a tipi or yurt. Laura Ingalls would wake to see frost on the inside of the windows and on the nails sticking through the unceilinged roof. People in books speak of having to break the ice on their bowl of water before washing their faces in the morning. I stand around and wait for the tap water to get warm before I wash my dainty hands. How much stronger these people would be than we are in the same situations. Kids would go barefoot until frost, and probably did so indoors to save on shoe wear. No down parkas, just whatever skins you could wrestle from their furbearing owners or whatever you could weave or knit from your woolbeasts. It helps keep my woes in perspective to think that people survived a world warmed only by open fires (or at best, tile ovens) for centuries.
Did they feel as cold as I would? Were they so used to it that they were comfortable at a 50 degree room? Did mothers' hands feel the iciness of metal needles as they knit the next pair of socks like mine do?
And walking - in Dickens, people walk to a town 10 miles away because they can't afford any other transit. Characters take 2 hour walks just for fun every morning. If I walk 2 miles to my grocery store, I'm pooped and can't picture myself carrying bags of groceries back, so I use the car for that short trip, feeling secretly ashamed. But it's not just the walking, it's the time. Two hours of leisure walking time every morning? An hour each way to walk to the store? They didn't seem to mind cold, dark, rain - if it rains on your 10 mile walk you hang your wool coat and shawl before the fire at your destination and don them again for the walk back. And you'd be cheerfully conversing with your companion the whole way.
Shall we go into water? Would Americans be taking daily baths if they had to pump the water and chop the wood to fuel the stove to heat it? Would we do as much of any washing as we do now?
Do I have to weave my own fabrics? Do I have to grow or slay or can my own food? Do I have to use a chamber pot or outhouse? I keep all this in the back of my mind to remind me to appreciate this way life and not abuse it. And I always have this nagging feeling that we should never forget these things because we may some day need this knowledge again. Our current way of life (for Americans, at least) is probably unsustainable in the long run, and there's that "live simply that others may simply live" that ticks in the back of my mind. For now I will continue to appreciate 68 degrees and electricity and indoor plumbing. I'm not ready to go off the grid yet.
Read Dickens, or Little House on the Prarie (or anywhere else the Little House set up) and you'll realize that the rooms inside houses were often very little warmer than the outside. For most of human history people had little more warmth in winter than the deer and the birds. Sure, there was fire, but if you didn't stay right next to it, the effects weren't far-reaching. Imagine a tipi or yurt. Laura Ingalls would wake to see frost on the inside of the windows and on the nails sticking through the unceilinged roof. People in books speak of having to break the ice on their bowl of water before washing their faces in the morning. I stand around and wait for the tap water to get warm before I wash my dainty hands. How much stronger these people would be than we are in the same situations. Kids would go barefoot until frost, and probably did so indoors to save on shoe wear. No down parkas, just whatever skins you could wrestle from their furbearing owners or whatever you could weave or knit from your woolbeasts. It helps keep my woes in perspective to think that people survived a world warmed only by open fires (or at best, tile ovens) for centuries.
Did they feel as cold as I would? Were they so used to it that they were comfortable at a 50 degree room? Did mothers' hands feel the iciness of metal needles as they knit the next pair of socks like mine do?
And walking - in Dickens, people walk to a town 10 miles away because they can't afford any other transit. Characters take 2 hour walks just for fun every morning. If I walk 2 miles to my grocery store, I'm pooped and can't picture myself carrying bags of groceries back, so I use the car for that short trip, feeling secretly ashamed. But it's not just the walking, it's the time. Two hours of leisure walking time every morning? An hour each way to walk to the store? They didn't seem to mind cold, dark, rain - if it rains on your 10 mile walk you hang your wool coat and shawl before the fire at your destination and don them again for the walk back. And you'd be cheerfully conversing with your companion the whole way.
Shall we go into water? Would Americans be taking daily baths if they had to pump the water and chop the wood to fuel the stove to heat it? Would we do as much of any washing as we do now?
Do I have to weave my own fabrics? Do I have to grow or slay or can my own food? Do I have to use a chamber pot or outhouse? I keep all this in the back of my mind to remind me to appreciate this way life and not abuse it. And I always have this nagging feeling that we should never forget these things because we may some day need this knowledge again. Our current way of life (for Americans, at least) is probably unsustainable in the long run, and there's that "live simply that others may simply live" that ticks in the back of my mind. For now I will continue to appreciate 68 degrees and electricity and indoor plumbing. I'm not ready to go off the grid yet.
Mar 7, 2009
How to enjoy toast
It has been too long, hasn't it? Too bad you don't have access to the many postings I've written in my head.
How to Enjoy Toast.
Don't eat toast for a long, long time. When you do, eat disappointing bread. That way when you do get some really good toast you will have a keener appreciation for the whole experience. When you finally have baked a loaf of bread that is honestly, actually good in flavor and texture, your hands will tremble with the anticipation as you carefully slice it to an even thickness. Gently introduce in into the toaster and wait to see how it comes out. Put it back in if necessary to get the proper level of brown. Upon that perfectly browned toast spread a generous layer of real butter at room temperature, covering the entire surface of the slice from crust to crust, including the crust (which is not too thick in this nearly perfect loaf). Let the butter melt and sink in, so that the surface crunches under your teeth, while the still-soft layer beneath is now infused with the melted butter. The crunch, the softness within, the butter, the flavor of the bread - those of you who eat toast casually and easily have no idea what a sensual experience it can be. It was worth the hunt for millet flour to add to the other 6 flours in the recipe.
In addition to that racy bit of oral stimulation, I have been working on my dollhouse. I got 4 kits for furniture from eBay (thus losing my eBay virginity) and ordered different size doors to see which fit which openings. So far I have built 3 of the kits and am working on the 4th, which is much more complex, requiring more input from me than just gluing and staining. I realized the other night that the part I like most of all is that I have a place where I can set up this stuff and LEAVE IT THERE. For so many years I couldn't get out the sewing machine or do a jigsaw puzzle or set up any kind of craft without having it on a shared surface like the kitchen table, thus having to put it away every time the table was needed for something else. Now I have an entire room set up just the way I want it: table to work on with a stereo and TV to entertain me, lights I can focus on my work, and nobody else needing the space for any other reason. This is so satisfying, after years of compromise - I can't tell you how delightful it is. Just having that space exclusively for myself is something I so needed. True, I'm sanding and dropping pieces of wood on the rug and making a mess, but it's my mess and I am solely responsible for it. Love it.
I bought a piano, which sounds like an extravagance, but my tax refund and bonus and a fire sale all came together to make a great opportunity. Nothing is wrong with my old one except the tone, which sounds like the piano is wrapped in layers of blankets, and I had the chance to buy something brighter so I went for it. So far no luck finding a charity to take the old one, but I have interest from an ad in the paper. I can throw in a pile of old lesson books - my kids never play, after all those lessons. I had reconciled myself to just living with this dull piano because the money for a new one could be better spent on other things, but this was a good deal. I hope it's as good a piano as it sounded in the store. It's a Pearl River - I didn't spring for a Yamaha or anything nicer, but for a lower-end piano it sounded good. But I gotta get the old one out before I can move it in. Now I'll get back to saving for college.
Speaking of college, they say there are a lot of scholarships available for kids in FIRST Robotics - I hope so. They didn't do well at the regional competition they went to last weekend - 50th out of 61 robots, but they are also going to a regional in Annapolis where they have a chance to do better. The robot was designed poorly - they went with one of the possible design choices and it was the wrong choice, but they may be able to modify by then. They did get an award for their community service projects, though. I can put a few pictures of the team up on Flickr if I remember how. The boy now has glasses and a haircut and went from hippie to nerd overnight, in looks anyway.
The girl is still looking (so she tells me) for a job and hanging with dead-end boyfriend. She thinks she might want to go to art school spring semester, but I don't think she's motivated enough to do the work to get to that point. She thinks she wants to go spend a few weeks with her grandparents in Florida to get away from it all here. I can't see that working well on either side, but maybe try 5-7 days. I still have a ticket for her that she didn't use earlier. I think she will be bored out of her mind and they will be stressed, maybe shocked by her. I have to think about it more. Lots of alarm bells go off in my head.
How to Enjoy Toast.
Don't eat toast for a long, long time. When you do, eat disappointing bread. That way when you do get some really good toast you will have a keener appreciation for the whole experience. When you finally have baked a loaf of bread that is honestly, actually good in flavor and texture, your hands will tremble with the anticipation as you carefully slice it to an even thickness. Gently introduce in into the toaster and wait to see how it comes out. Put it back in if necessary to get the proper level of brown. Upon that perfectly browned toast spread a generous layer of real butter at room temperature, covering the entire surface of the slice from crust to crust, including the crust (which is not too thick in this nearly perfect loaf). Let the butter melt and sink in, so that the surface crunches under your teeth, while the still-soft layer beneath is now infused with the melted butter. The crunch, the softness within, the butter, the flavor of the bread - those of you who eat toast casually and easily have no idea what a sensual experience it can be. It was worth the hunt for millet flour to add to the other 6 flours in the recipe.
In addition to that racy bit of oral stimulation, I have been working on my dollhouse. I got 4 kits for furniture from eBay (thus losing my eBay virginity) and ordered different size doors to see which fit which openings. So far I have built 3 of the kits and am working on the 4th, which is much more complex, requiring more input from me than just gluing and staining. I realized the other night that the part I like most of all is that I have a place where I can set up this stuff and LEAVE IT THERE. For so many years I couldn't get out the sewing machine or do a jigsaw puzzle or set up any kind of craft without having it on a shared surface like the kitchen table, thus having to put it away every time the table was needed for something else. Now I have an entire room set up just the way I want it: table to work on with a stereo and TV to entertain me, lights I can focus on my work, and nobody else needing the space for any other reason. This is so satisfying, after years of compromise - I can't tell you how delightful it is. Just having that space exclusively for myself is something I so needed. True, I'm sanding and dropping pieces of wood on the rug and making a mess, but it's my mess and I am solely responsible for it. Love it.
I bought a piano, which sounds like an extravagance, but my tax refund and bonus and a fire sale all came together to make a great opportunity. Nothing is wrong with my old one except the tone, which sounds like the piano is wrapped in layers of blankets, and I had the chance to buy something brighter so I went for it. So far no luck finding a charity to take the old one, but I have interest from an ad in the paper. I can throw in a pile of old lesson books - my kids never play, after all those lessons. I had reconciled myself to just living with this dull piano because the money for a new one could be better spent on other things, but this was a good deal. I hope it's as good a piano as it sounded in the store. It's a Pearl River - I didn't spring for a Yamaha or anything nicer, but for a lower-end piano it sounded good. But I gotta get the old one out before I can move it in. Now I'll get back to saving for college.
Speaking of college, they say there are a lot of scholarships available for kids in FIRST Robotics - I hope so. They didn't do well at the regional competition they went to last weekend - 50th out of 61 robots, but they are also going to a regional in Annapolis where they have a chance to do better. The robot was designed poorly - they went with one of the possible design choices and it was the wrong choice, but they may be able to modify by then. They did get an award for their community service projects, though. I can put a few pictures of the team up on Flickr if I remember how. The boy now has glasses and a haircut and went from hippie to nerd overnight, in looks anyway.
The girl is still looking (so she tells me) for a job and hanging with dead-end boyfriend. She thinks she might want to go to art school spring semester, but I don't think she's motivated enough to do the work to get to that point. She thinks she wants to go spend a few weeks with her grandparents in Florida to get away from it all here. I can't see that working well on either side, but maybe try 5-7 days. I still have a ticket for her that she didn't use earlier. I think she will be bored out of her mind and they will be stressed, maybe shocked by her. I have to think about it more. Lots of alarm bells go off in my head.
Dec 7, 2008
Bread and more
These are a pair of nice-looking loaves, aren't they? Too bad they're not really that nice to eat. One is regular bread for crumbs, and the darker one is mock pumpernickel. I had some of that toasted for breakfast, some with tuna for lunch, and the rest is in the oven becoming croutons to have with the split pea soup I'm also making. It was pretty dry and dense aroung the edges. I can now make pretty loaves that don't rise to ridiculous heights with holes all throughout, but I still can't make them edible. What you can't see on those pretty loaves is the evidence I found this morning. I put them in plastic bags on the counter overnight, and this morning I discovered that someone had flang a fang into one, right through the bag. Many little holes, nibbled crust. Stupid cat. It might be the same one who licks plastic bags for no particular reason, or the one who believes that everything edible in the house is rightfully hers. I also have a piece of beef in the crockpot with some onions, so it smells like Grandmommy's house. There will be no limas, however. This is my weekend cooking orgy so I have decent food during the week. If the boy doesn't like it he can eat Spaghettios.
I took the boy out to get Christmas presents today, and actually bought myself something I didn't need. It probably helped that I wasn't spending my own money - I had a gift card from my last co-op. I got CDs of Leonard Bernstein's Candide and his Beethoven's 9th. Barbara Cook's soprano makes the hair stand up on my neck, it's so good. And you can even understand the words, unlike opera singers.
Parking lot story. I pulled in, 3 spaces from a cart return. Lady next to me, 2 spaces from the cart return, sails in with her full cart and bangs it into my car. While I'm sitting in it. Never pauses or looks. Unloads her stuff, bangs into my car again (leaving a dent), then drives the cart around my car to park it 4 spaces from the cart return. Go figure. That one had me shaking my head all the way home.
Not much to report, but I'm trying to stay in the habit of writing. Just brain droppings, really. Oh, and the vanilla macaroni and cheese tasted fine - smelled like vanilla but didn't taste like it. Maybe make pudding with the rest of the rice milk. Weird stuff.
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