Oh No, Jenny O!

I Can't Let You Do That, O

2012-01-24T22:34:00.001-08:00

Computer is on the fritz, so I'm doing this via phone. It's been one of those days, anyway, so rather than subject you to the half-hearted doodles I turned out, here is a photo of the OTHER design I did yesterday:

Never mind, it won't let me do that. So. Obviously it's bedtime, and I can deal with all of this tomorrow.

Life Patterns

2012-01-23T21:29:00.000-08:00

One of the things Nathan has been adamant about getting for the house is curtains. He lacks my utter un-self-consciousness (some might say "exhibitionism") and desires a bit more privacy for the lower floor. I have been stubbornly ignoring his requests because I like light, and as far as I was concerned curtains = death to light. But finally this past weekend I gave in and got us some curtain rods, with the intention of sewing some curtains in the next few weeks. I was feeling very petulant about it, too, informing him that the only sorts of curtains that don't make me utterly puke are sheers (because of the whole letting-light-in thing). He was fine with that, so long as there was something. So this morning I was looking up curtain-making tutorials and I saw... well, I saw some awfully cute curtains. And I thought, "Hey, maybe curtains don't have to be ugly or blah. Maybe I can use awesome fabric!" so I got on Etsy and started looking for awesome fabric. And, do you know, I found some? I found some I wanted so badly for curtains I could taste it- the only problem is that the particular fabric I had the poor taste to fall in love with is printed exclusively for a shop that uses it to make custom bags. As in, I cannot get that fabric. And so I sulked and said to myself, "Well how does one print fabric, anyway?"

And thus did I discover Spoonflower, where you can print your own textile designs. And I nearly choked with excitement over the implications. I could not just have cool curtains, I could have cool curtains featuring my own artwork!? Yes freaking please. And I immediately started designing patterns.

Here, have a taste:

Can you see this as a pattern against my bright orange wall? Because I TOTALLY CAN.

Sketchy Accounts

2012-01-22T19:03:00.000-08:00

I was recently came into possession of some old family documents- namely paternal grandfather's father's genealogical research he did in 1940, which just so happened to include the transcription of a Civil War era journal. When I first discovered these items I was beside myself with wiggly glee; I am an obsessive journal-er, and the chance to delve into an ancestor's journal made me feel like a piece of that person's DNA was proudly expressing itself in my veins.

Which I suppose is still technically true, even tho', after several hours of untangling and re-organizing, I've come to realize that Matthew Owens was not a direct ancestor, but rather my great-grandfather's paternal uncle (died without issue, as far as I can tell). Ah well. Still, it was an interesting read, if only for the sheer glee of coming across the phrase, "...the Rebs skeedaddled..." (he was a Union volunteer), not to mention an amusing account of insults exchanged with an exceptionally drunken officer (because it seemed the thing to do?) More sobering were his accounts of some of his comrades wounds- he visited the field hospital after a battle and remarked, "...it is not a place for the chicken-hearted..." Matthew was killed in 1864, in the Second Battle of the Wilderness.

So what does all of this have to do with today's sketch? Nothing whatsoever.

I could stand to brush up on my horse anatomy, I think.

Costume Update

2012-01-21T19:51:00.000-08:00

I've laid down the flat colors for that costume I designed a few weeks back. It was time-consuming as all get-out, and I've yet to lay in the shadows (obviously), but I'm pretty pleased with how it's coming along.

Pazhir (yeah, she has a name now)

And how here are a few fun facts about this character and her people:

Pazhir comes from a particularly wealthy family, which you can tell by the amount of pearls adorning her outfit (she even uses them as buttons- quite extravagant). Her people live on the steppes, so pearls are hard to come by- the vast majority are posessed by those families that can trace their roots back to the tribe's migration from the Western Sea (that's what the image on her skirt panel references: she's from one of the Original Families). The second tier families can trace their roots back to the migration from the mountains (in between the Western Sea and the steppes). They've heard tell of another ocean far to the south, but the rumor is that it's bright blue (as opposed to the gray of the Western Sea).

When they're children both males and females keep their hair neatly braided in a single plait: once the females reach menarche they use a special paste which gives their hair a deeper orange tinge and allows them to form something like dreadlocks: the males shave their heads at age fourteen.

The indigo-dye used to mark married females will stay on the skin for about three months. The women renew the mark every month on the new moon. Allowing the mark to fade is how you divorce your husband: he has no say in the matter. The priestesses of the tribe have permanently-stained fingers, because they use the dye for all sorts of rituals (in addition to performing marriages).

Pazhir's favorite color is green, although she prefers it in accents rather than large swaths. (You might just notice that only gemstone in all of her rings is green.) Her bodice and gorget are made of boiled deer leather and function as a lightweight armor- her people have a very violent history, which still shows in some of their fashion, although they haven't had a systematic war in a very long time. The wide embroidered hem of her skirt and on the sleeves of her short jacket are detachable: she changes them to change her outfit, as well as the trim on her skirt panel. The one she's wearing in the picture is meant for spring (hence the pink flower).

Mistress of the Munchkins

2012-01-20T21:38:00.000-08:00

This is the sort of thing that happens when one spends too much time thinking about Oz...

Wicked? Or the victim of a Postmortem Defamation Campaign?

Truth be told, I didn't intend to put down as much color as I did. Not tonight, anyway... but it's also not as detailed as I'd like it to be. But I seriously have got to get ready for bed, no matter how inspiring my music is...

Feeling Good About Feeling Sore

2012-01-19T18:39:00.000-08:00

It's been a really good day so far. I've been on track, and it has me feeling both physically and mentally satisfied. I got up when my alarm went off (this is a pretty big accomplishment for me, so right away I was feeling like a winner), did my sun salutations (because I made a third-week-of-January-resolution to bring my stretching regimin back), made breakfast, took out the garbage and recyling, and made it to work on time. While at work I made the meal plan for next week, ate a primal lunch, and did not let Lazy Self talk me out of going to the rock gym after work. I was feeling sullen about it- I felt ugly (it is very hard for me to want to do anything when I don't feel attractive- I'm not sure if this is just a weird quirk of mine or if all people get this...), I felt irritable, I didn't want to walk through the rain... so many excuses, but I shut them all down and forced myself to go because I'd made a commitment. And I'm so glad that I did, because after flailing around (and failing and falling down a few times) I made a new belaying friend who was oh-so-patient with me (he was flying up 5.11s with no discernible effort, so it really was kind of him to take me under his wing) and with his help I conquered another 5.9, so even though I'd spent the day feeling like a haggard... well, hag, after I completed that climb I felt awesome and gorgeous and The Best At Everything Always. Which, as you know, is my natural state.

So Nathan picked me up at the designated time, and I was actually a little sad I hadn't set it half an hour later... which I suppose I'll do next time. And now he's making dinner while I update this blog (taking breaks to rub my screaming forearms). And now I present you with the fulfillment of my other commitment:

Feruchemist

These are some doodles of Sazed, from Brandon Sanderson's Mistborn series. He is one of my all-time favorite characters, partially because his character arc is so compelling. (Sazed is a eunuch, which is why I've drawn him with such androgynous features.)

Am I Your Mother?

2012-01-18T18:10:00.000-08:00

Nathan and I have been giving much discussion to (and obsession over) getting a dog, and because we are both giant nerds we've been doing a bajillion times the amount of research any normal person might conceive of doing before getting a pet (cats are easy, man- you just find one and be done with it. Dogs have... traits...)

Anyway, I did a quiz today about what dog might fit best into our family and lifestyle, and apparently the breed which most closely fits our needs/desires is the Black and Tan Coonhound.

Who's a good little corpse-tracker? You are! Yes you are!

Unfortunately the quiz did not ask about tolerance-for-baying, and so I disqualified Mr. Black-and-Tan for one of the runners up, the Canaan Dog. Of course, this is all sort of a moot point since any dog we get will be a rescue from a shelter, but it is helping me figure out what physical clues to look for in those adorable mutts.

Creepy is the New Cool

2012-01-17T17:28:00.000-08:00

If you're in the habit of drawing people from life (outside the context of a studio) you get very good about being sneaky. "What? Oh? I'm not staring at you, my eyes are just gliding over you before coming to rest on that... um... that clock right there. And now I flick my eyes around the room a little more as though I'm... awesome you've looked away again time to draw!" I mean, you don't have to be sneaky, I guess- unless you want your subject to get up and leave which, in my experience, is what people tend to do if you stare at them too long- especially if they notice that you're drawing while you do it.

Which is why, gentle readers, you will find a great many drawings of sleeping people in my sketch books. It's nice not to have to hide the creepy.

Some people nap in the terminal, some people draw people who nap. It's like the circle of life.

Of course, that doesn't stop everyone else around you from being creeped out and giving you the appropriately scandalized looks of, "Is this behavior acceptable?", and which also makes the whole nonchalant, eyes-flicking-around-the-room thing a lot more difficult to make believable when you later move on to drawing them... but still. At least napping guy still thinks I'm cool.

Of a Feather

2012-01-16T17:09:00.000-08:00

I love the ocean, and I love approximately 95% of the creatures involved with the ocean (that percentage is higher if you only count vertebrates, or if I could somehow reconcile my horror of/fascination with jellyfish). One of the most entertaining denizens of the coast I'm currently on (and most coasts, I guess) is the always hilarious sandpiper. I mean really. Those legs! Ridiculous! And awesome! Anyway, have some coastal bird drawings.

(with an exotic pigeon and a partial night jar face thrown in for good measure)

Rediscovering Old Friends

2012-01-15T16:57:00.000-08:00

Remember when my Katie got me a copic pen? Sure you do. Anyway I found it in the bottom of my purse the other day, and decided I'd better give it a good workout. As I waited for my aunt to get ready this morning I filled up a page with doodles of her dog- and many, many other things.

(Okay mostly crows and trees/veins. Whatever.)

I'm not sure what it is, exactly, about a brush pen that compels me to really fill up the space, but there must be something because I sure do seem to do it... maybe because I get so enamored with playing with line width... anyway...

I Will Hang Out With You, Mindy Kaling

2012-01-14T16:46:00.000-08:00

Today I spent the vast majority of my day on a plane, and, as is my habit whilst so engaged, I passed the time by reading. Nathan had gotten me Mindy Kaling's book for my e-reader, and I was super excited to read it, because let's face it- Mindy Kaling is pretty effin' funny.

I really enjoyed the book, and not just because it was funny- also because it was such a joy to read about the exploits of a fellow nerdy-girl-with-parents-who-had-expectations-without-being-psycho-who-enjoys-comedy-but-doesn't-find-cruelty-funny-and-what's-wrong-with-being-polite-anyway?

Did I lose you there? I think I lost me. Anyway, my point is that I had only one complaint about Mindy's book:

(See, sometimes I do hasty sketches, too)

I Have an Uncle

2012-01-13T18:36:00.000-08:00

And that Uncle occasionally introduces me to Excellent Things. One of the more recent excellent things he sent my way was Neal Stephenson's Anathem. Readers, I loved that book so much I wanted to roll around in it. Science fiction at its best, I tell you (which is to say, heavy on the philosophy). At any rate, here is my drawing of the main character, Erasmus, in the happy days before his world gets turned hypotenuse over angle:

Oh Erasmus... you deserve more diligence than I have given this piece....

You may have noticed that I made the beginner mistake of not placing my subject properly, which has resulted in poor Raz losing his feet. All I can say to that is... well, I got lazy. And moreover my headache/nausea/joint aches have declared that I remain that way. I am not particularly looking forward to tomorrow's flight. ::sigh::

Yep, flight. I'll be gone for a few days (four at most), and as such there will be a hiatus on updates- but I'll catch it up all proper when I get back. Expect to see a great many pen doodles from my journal. Maybe I'll even get crazy and use my special brush pen. We shall see...

Blasted Petticoats

2012-01-12T18:06:00.000-08:00

One of my wonderful brothers-in-law got me the Monster Blood Trilogy for Christmas, and I have started reading it. I'm enjoying it quite a bit, and I thought I might do a little doodle of one of the characters. Now, there are two problems with this decision: the first is that it's never wise to draw a character before you've finished the book, because a few pages after you've done your doodle you come across the word "petticoats" and immediately kick yourself for leaving that out of the drawing. Ah well. The second problem is that the author is himself an artist, and as such has put his own illustrations into the book. I had to very firmly ignore them in order to make my own drawing- which, I assure you, was difficult to do, because his drawings are quite good (as you will see if you go to that link I so kindly provided).

Europe is a Fulgar, which means she uses electricity to fight monsters.

That Doodle She Does Do

2012-01-11T22:48:00.000-08:00

Ask any of my former bosses and they will tell you- I am a doodler. I doodle during meetings. Believe it or not, it helps me stay focused- some of my best notes from college are absolutely covered in relevant doodles (my art history notes were especially good for that). Anyway, I had a business meeting today, and thus did some doodles... which I then cut out and taped into my sketch book:

As you can see, I was revisiting my character from yesterday, and also trying my hand at the male version of the garb. I'm not particularly satisfied with it, so I'm sure there will be more iterations in the future. What's nice is that the more I doodle of them, the more their culture (and eventually stories) take shape in my brain... (which is how I can be pretty sure that, among their people, the adult males shave their heads, which is part of what's so wrong with that doodle...)

This evening I started laying down colors on yesterday's picture, but it's going to take several more hours to get to a point even resembling "finished". Still, it's exciting to see what's in my brain start to appear on the screen.

Costume Design

2012-01-10T22:14:00.000-08:00

You may have noticed that, for the most part, I am not what one might call a "fussy" illustrator. I like simple, clean lines, and so that is how I draw. But every once in a while I get an urge to do a lot of tiny details, and when that happens it leads to incidents like me passing on going inside Westminster Abbey in favor of drawing its outsides.

Also this happens:

She doesn't have a name yet, but that mark on her brow means she's married.

(I very much look forward to laying in the color on this one, because you guys- it's going to be so cool.)

The inspiration for this little doodle, by the way, came from the manga I was reading today, called A Bride's Story, by Kaoru Mori. The artwork is some of the most gorgeous I've ever encountered. That woman draws sheep like nobody's business, I tell you what, and the costumes the people are wearing in the comic made me say to myself, "Hmm, Self- normally we draw our characters in very simple things like slip dresses or maybe jeans and a t-shirt. What if we were to try our hand at something more elaborate?" What if, indeed...

Games With Girls

2012-01-09T22:53:00.000-08:00


(a transcribed conversation with Nathan, on the topic of me once again dominating at a game of Scattegories)

"Man, don't play word games with Jenny, that's all I'm sayin'."
"Is that what you've learned?"
"Maybe games of strength are in order."

(It's true that all the men in my life can totally own me physically. Super annoying.)

Young Heroine

2012-01-08T18:47:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time I started a story that I called Blue Menagerie. I got stuck on it, so it's sort of been languishing in my brain for two years, but it's still there- and I still think about it, and the characters. One such character is the protagonist, Salome Thoris (aka Sallie), and she makes appearances in my sketch books from time to time. This drawing of her is actually based on a photograph of my niece Quail, but since Quail is growing up to look an awful lot like Sallie, it works out pretty well:

(I will come back to this story eventually. Probably just rewrite the whole thing...)

Eating Habits

2012-01-07T23:50:00.000-08:00

(this is me with wet hair, in case you were wondering)

Tool or Toy?

2012-01-06T20:46:00.000-08:00

When Nathan and I got home this afternoon we found that our littlest cat, Krumpet (aka Krumps) had left us a present...

Not as disgusting as originally feared.

On Levels of Commitment

2012-01-05T21:15:00.000-08:00

I was listening to an interview today, by Terry Gross of Carrie Brownstein and Fred Armisen (of Portlandia fame- amongst other projects), and the subject of tattoos came up, which in turn led to Terry asking whether or not they'd ever met anyone with a tattoo of, well them. And Carrie had, and when Terry asked her what that was like, she said this:

"It's one of those things, because of course the reaction is to be flattered, do you know what I mean? It's like you just think, 'That is a level of commitment that I've never made to anyone. And you've made that to me, and we're strangers.' So there's a real disconnect there. And you are grateful, but also a little weirded out, I will say. And you're thinking, "Wow, that picture of me. That version of me.' You want to just slowly update it. You're like, 'Oh gosh, you got the hair wrong.' Just go in there and take a little pen and change it."

Now, as a person with tattoos (no famous people, sorry), and as an artist, and as a highly self-involved individual who spends way too much time philosophizing to myself, this got me thinking about... me. And my level of commitment to things- specifically myself- and the "version[s] of me". Which led to an idea, which led to a sketch, which led to this...

Underneath My Skin

...which will, in turn, lead to a better version of that. Eventually.

I mean, there's just so much to unpack here... I get excited just thinking about the symbolism of self and self-perception, of what we choose to permanently mark ourselves with- and what we don't. The list goes on and on, and if I get into it right now I won't get to bed, and so I'm just going to have to cut it short and say: discuss amongst yourselves. (even if, like me, that means amongst your Selves)

Climb On

2012-01-04T22:01:00.000-08:00

There was more I'd intended to do with this (you know- like actually put in the rest of the damn climbing holds) but it's waaaaaay past time for me to get ready for bed, sooo.... maybe you'll see a properly done version this weekend. (Maybe.)

(Click to embiggen)

Winners

2012-01-03T22:23:00.000-08:00

Tonight was Nerd Night, so here I present you with a doodle of one of my fellow nerds, and a choice exchange of the evening:

"If blowing something up doesn't work the first time, blow it up again!"
"That's right! Because quitters never win, and winners never quit! And winners blow shit up."

The Madame McWilskyton

F Bomb

2012-01-02T17:12:00.000-08:00

There is a certain word that begins with an F that a lot of women (and men, for that matter) seem uncomfortable using, especially as it applies to them. I have a difficult time understanding this discomfort, and I can only attribute it to an imperfect understanding of the word's meaning. In fact, it was my reading an interview of a young starlet that prompted me to write this. Her grasp of the F word was... well, the nicest thing I can say about it was that at least it was benign.

That F word, by the way, is "Feminism". And for the purpose of my blog entry today, that word is "Feminist".

I am a feminist. And no, unlike so many celebrities who, when asked point blank whether or not they are, I have absolutely no qualifiers to that statement. I am a feminist.

But what does that mean? Well, here's the actual definition of the word:

...which is all well and good, as far as it goes, but as we all know, a word is more than its denotation. There is also connotation to consider. So when I say I'm a feminist, I'm saying the following:

I have the right to choose.

And no, I'm not talking about the abortion debate (in this entry). I'm talking about the right to choose what I do with my life, with myself. I'm talking about the right to work any job I'm physically and mentally qualified for, and get paid a fair wage for it, and not be harassed while I'm at it. I'm talking about the right to leave my (theoretical) children with caregivers so I can do that job- and not be guilt-tripped for doing so. But I'm also talking about the right to stay at home with those children and be a full-time parent, and not be told I'm "squandering opportunities". And I'm talking about the right to choose not have any kids at all, and not be made to feel any less of a female.

I'm talking about the right to burn a bra- or to wear a push-up. I'm talking about the right to dress in a mini-skirt or a hijab, as my own conscience dictates, and not be hassled for it either way. I'm talking about the right to use all the tools in one's personal arsenal: intellect, humor, physical strength, and yeah- physical attractiveness. I'm talking about the right to make my own decisions, and to have an equal say in the decisions that affect my family unit.

But do you know what else I'm talking about? I'm talking about men being able to make those choices for themselves, too. This isn't about "us vs. them", because when I say I'm a feminist, I'm saying that I believe in equal rights- be they civil, economic, social, or cultural- for all people, regardless of gender.

New Year, New(ly Re-established) Habits

2012-01-01T17:25:00.000-08:00

I (like many people, I suppose) have a Certain Superstition about New Year's. Which is to say, I believe that whatever it is that I do on the first day of the year is a reflection of my behavior for the coming year. That being said, I do my best to make sure that the behaviors I exhibit are behaviors which I'd like to see kept up throughout the year. This year said behaviors included things like making sure my house was clean, making brunch for my bestest friend, and doing art. And now I'm writing, just to round things out (although I may have to go write some fiction after this, just to make certain I cover all my bases...)

We were going to go for a hike this afternoon, but since my knee is still complaining about the abuse it suffered during the flights home from Birmingham, that has been tabled for a while. Instead I laid down color on the afore-mentioned art, and assisted Nathan with his newest 365 project. That's right: he's doing it again. This year he's going to focus on portraits, and rather than be locked into one per day he's decided to go the route of seven per week. And I, in my best Supportive Wifey Mode, have started my own new project. It's basically a re-working of 2011's abandoned project, which was to draw every day. This year? Oh this year I'm going to make a return to the little comics I used to draw, once upon a time... my goal is to update at least once a week, with the higher goal of six black-and-white updates and one color update, and a more realistic higher goal of three times a week (once in color). We shall see what we shall see...

In the meantime, here is the fruits of today's labor, a mostly-accurate representation of our New Year's Eve Celebration:

(The plan was to have a LotR marathon: we didn't quite make it to Lothlorien...)

Dodging Holiday Bullets

2011-12-16T19:52:00.000-08:00

It's been mentioned a time or two on this blog that my husband and I do not share a religion. He's Christian, I'm... not. As such, Christmas is a holy day for him and his family, whereas for me it's... well, not. Christmas, for me, is an entirely secular holiday, an excuse to not go to work, to exchange presents, and to see my family (or friends, those years I was working retail. But I respect that it's a sacred day for many people, and as such I have never felt comfortable sending out Christmas cards, per se.

Yep, you read that right: I sent out "Happy Holiday" cards not because I'm "at war with Christmas", but because I respect it, and because I don't want to falsely represent myself as someone who observes it as a religious holiday.

This caused me to have a tiny little crisis during out first Christmas as a married couple, because- as I mentioned- Nathan is Christian, and as much as I don't want to falsely represent myself as a Christian, I don't want to falsely represent him as not. He celebrates Christmas, his family celebrates Christmas, and they are the type of people who do not settle for a generic "happy holidays": nor should they. They have a specific holiday, and it's theirs, and they shouldn't have to censor their greetings any more than I should be censured for saying "Happy Solstice!" (which falls on the 22nd this year, in case you were curious).

Now, let me clarify: Nathan doesn't care about holiday cards, Christmas or otherwise. Left up to him, there would be no seasonal greetings upon card stock, let alone photos and letters, etc etc. So he was just as happy not sending anything- which was a perfectly reasonable solution to my holiday-spirit-ual dilema.

But I was not okay not sending anything. I like sending out cards (you should see me around Valentine's Day), and I didn't want to not do it just because we couldn't agree on the wording (and by "we", I mean my own brain). At last, however, a solution sprang fully formed from the aether, allowing me to to make everyone happy- including, most importantly, myself.

Thus did my tradition of sending "Happy New Year!" cards begin.

This Man is Not Afraid to wish you a Merry Christmas

The Adventures of Weenie McSissyPants

2011-12-03T11:25:00.000-08:00

After my excellent reintroduction to climbing the other evening, I was very excited to get up and go bouldering this morning. I waltzed into the gym about an hour after they opened, found it pleasingly underpopulated, and slipped on my shoes. Then I sauntered over to the empty bouldering area, stretched out, sat back, and considered my routes.

I shall start with a V0, I thought. Just to get warmed up. And then move my way up until I get tired. No need to rush right into a V2.

No need, indeed, gentle readers, for that V0 I first tried my hand(s) at was only just barely conquered- and it was my only victory of the morning. I was swiftly- and humbly- reminded how much freaking harder bouldering is than harness climbing, especially when most of the bouldering area seems to consist of overhangs. Verily, my hiney was most thoroughly kicked.

And so it was I found myself taking my shoes off after about half an hour of good-faith effort, the words weenie mcsissypants floating through my head. Fortunately, however, Older and Wiser O was able to counter those words with, "For the love of stars, you haven't bouldered in at least six years. It is going to take time to build your muscles back up. Not to mention your technique. So just be pleased that you managed to complete even one problem, and then go look at the message board for someone you might want to be belay partners with."

And I did.

Stress Relief

2011-12-01T22:02:00.000-08:00

Egads, it's December!

...but chances are you knew that already.

I am feeling good right now, the sort of sore looseness that only comes after a good workout. It is a much needed looseness, coming as it does after the Thanksgiving holiday which, while wonderful and full of family, was also full of Stress (capital S). Not even Thanksgiving per se (or, as I prefer to call it, Turkey Liberation Day), but the following Tuesday. That was the day my mom and stepdad headed back home, which came on top of a couple of other (non-related) Emotional Low Blows. As such I did not go to work that day, but instead engaged in two sure-fire stress relievers: I made lists, and I cleaned house.

That was not enough, and so last night I baked.

I was still feeling like Blah this morning, but that was okay because I knew what adventure this evening held: my brush-up climbing class at Vancouver's new rock gym. Although to be perfectly candid, as the hour drew near I found it was adding to my stress rather than relieving it. I started to feel really nervous, and vomitty, and all-around I-don't-want-to-go-ish (because what if I look like a fool??). But I did go, and I had a really excellent time. I found that I hadn't forgotten nearly as much as I'd thought I had in the three years since I last put on a harness, and moreover that it's really every bit as fun as I remembered. After warming up on a couple of routes, I pushed myself by doing a 5.8, and although I took a fall on that one my partner (brand new to belaying) caught me and all was well (and then I finished it, which was even more well). By the time I finished my last climb of the night (a 5.7 with the teensiest bit of overhang that my triceps are currently making much of) I'd worked up a happy, healthy sweat, and a determination to make it out there at least three times a week. Not to mention the happy sore looseness.

And now? Now we sleep the sleep of the (stress-free) righteous.

My First Foray into Gluten-Free Baking

2011-11-20T13:32:00.000-08:00

Okay, I promise that my blog is not going to be about the food I eat for the rest of forever... but this entry definitely is. You see, when I first came to terms with the whole, "No more gluten" thing, my immediate response was to reach out to some of the people in my life who are already dealing with it, and get their recommendations on cookbooks, etc. One thing that I kept hearing, over and over again, was that "Gluten-free baking is a pain in the posterior," usually followed by, "So I just don't bother."

This distressed me, Gentle Readers, because I like to bake. Not to the extent that I want to do it for a living, or blog about it all the time, but I genuinely enjoy baking as a leisure/stress-relief activity, and I genuinely love sharing the results with others. So "not bothering" with baking was not really an option.

Of course, my extreme dietary restrictions over the past month or so have meant that any sort of baking, gluten-free or otherwise, was off the table. But now that I've been adding things back in (including sugars, nuts, and eggs) I'm at a point where it was feasible once more.

Enter my totally awesome mother.

She has been very supportive of my "weird new diet" (my words, not hers) and when I got her back to my house from the airport (she's visiting for a while- yay!) one of the very first things she unpacked (possibly even the first) was a handful of gluten-free baked-goods recipes.

Did I mention how totally awesome she is?

Also I totally roped her into being the photographer for my messier-hand-moments.

So this morning (with a giant mental shout-out to my pumpkin-loving-paleo-pal Lara) I tried my hand at the Civilized Caveman Cooking Creations' Pumpkin Cranberry Scones. Except... well, no one ever spices things enough for my tastes, so I definitely modified the spices. Behold!

Ingredients:

Some day I will convince my photographer husband he should spend more time photographing for my blog and then you will not be forced to deal with my camera-phone images all the time...

2c almond flour
1/2c pumpkin puree (This is not the same as pumpkin in a can. Which I did not know, so it's a good thing I saw a display of the stuff as I was walking towards the front of the store with my canned pumpkin...)
1/2c dried cranberries
1/4c shredded coconut
1/4c crushed pecans (My mom, who is visiting from the South, was mortified by how expensive these nuts are up here. She promised to send me some from her front yard. Score!)
1 large egg
3Tbsp raw honey (It should go without saying to use local stuff- it is so much more flavorful than Mr. Bear)
1tsp sea salt
1tsp baking powder
2.5tsp cinnamon
2tsp ginger
healthy dash of cloves
healthy dash of nutmeg (I think I did seven shakes?)

Instructions:

pre-heat oven to 400
line a large baking sheet with parchment paper
mix your dry ingredients in a large bowl, then add wet ingredients and knead by hand until well-mixed

One of the afore-mentioned messier-hand-moments.

use a spoon to dollop out the dough onto the parchment paper (I made it an even dozen)
shape into tiny adorable triangles about 1/4" thick

My dread pastry fleet, just prior to deployment.

put the baking sheet (parchment paper, raw scones, and all) onto a second (preferably larger) baking sheet, to ensure the bottoms don't burn

bake in oven apx 15 minutes (I checked mine at 12, then kept them in another 4)
remove when tops starts to brown and a toothpick pushed into the center of a scone comes back clean
remove from oven, set baking pan to cool on rack. gently loosen scones after about 2-3 min, continue to cool an additional 2-3, then enjoy!

Striking a smug baker's pose is part of my enjoyment.

We had ours with tea, because we have some British heritage in there somewhere. (That's a lie- mine was tisane, not tea!)

On the cusp of the Moment of Truth!

Super-flattering. Thanks Mom.

Considering...

...considering...

DELICIOUS SUCCESS!

For some reason Mom didn't want photographic evidence of her chowing down on scones...

Detox: Day Twenty-One (or: Free At Last!)

2011-11-06T17:27:00.000-08:00

Here it is, my final "detox" entry (knock on wood). Aren't you excited? I know I sure as heck am, as I plan on allowing myself a single piece of chocolate this evening to celebrate my return to the world of (new)normal eating. And I'm definitely going out on some decent food:

Breakfast: four pieces of Canadian bacon (aka ham) (eaten on the go, because we had places to be)
Lunch: lots of raspberries and strawberries
Dinner: lamb burgers topped with mashed up avocados seasoned with cilantro, cumin, lime juice and bacon. So very Mexican-y and delicious!

Just wrap and enjoy!

Now, as much as I'd like to just jump back in to all my old favorite foods at once (baked potato stuffed with butter and mushrooms and cheese and sour cream and hell some chili while we're at it? Yesplease!) the reality of the situation is that I'm now to ease myself back into naughty foods, taking it slowly so I can process how my body... well, processes each new thing. I debated for a long time on what to go back to first, and (as you may have guessed) sugars won out. Hence the piece of dark chocolate this evening. Tomorrow morning it will be a smoothie with some high-glycemic fruits (hello banana base!) and my vanilla coconut milk. In a few days, who knows? Maybe grains. Maybe eggs. We'll see how I feel...

In the meantime, expect this blog to get back to more fictional-type writings. I figure NaNo is a great time for me to toss out some excerpts, eh?

Detox: Day Twenty (or: Nothing But Protein!)

2011-11-05T22:35:00.000-07:00

Today was a day I needed Much Strength, and so my menu looked like this:

Breakfast: three pieces of canadian bacon, sauteed pear
Lunch: three pieces of American bacon, handful of blackberries
Dinner: Two lamb-burgers topped with avocado and (you guessed it) more bacon! Wrapped in romaine

Why the need for so much meat, you ask? Well, this morning I needed physical strength to help my friends move into their new apartment (Nathan did not fortify, and thus had the very unpleasant experience of bonking later in the day) and then in the evening I needed emotional strength to deal with the Alabama/LSU game. (which did not, I might add, end well. There is not sunshine in Timaru at the moment... mighty Bama has struck out...)

I have to admit, tho'- there came a moment during lunch in which I thought to myself the rather blasphemous thought, "Perhaps I am getting a little sick of bacon."

Good thing tomorrow is the last day, eh?

Detox: Day Nineteen (or: Let's Pretend I Have a Mail Bag!)

2011-11-04T19:22:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine posted this in yesterday's comments:

Teacher Jamie said...

Is bacon required? I mean...there is nothing wrong with bacon. Is it just the choice you made for breakfast most days? I guess there is little else to have for breakfast when eggs and grains are out. I would be interested to read more about the specific fruits and vegetables that are not allowed. This cleanse sounds all kinds of healthy :) Good work.

And I started to answer her in the comments, but as my answer got longer and longer I realized that I should just make it my post for today. So here we go!

***

Bacon is not required, but I definitely need protein in the mornings (can't make it up that hill without it!), and bacon is the most delicious/convenient option for me at the moment. I will not try to pretend that there's not a bit of, "Well if I can't have chocolate at least I can have all the bacon I want!" going on with that decision...

Once eggs are allowed back in, I expect there will be more of that, not to mention once I can have the full range of fruits again- woo smoothies! The truth is that as much as I love bacon, it's not exactly a quickly-made breakfast, you know? And I do tend to, um, be a bit rushed in the mornings? Because I am bad about getting out of bed when the first alarm goes off? (this is an entirely different Bad Habit which needs breaking... but I can only handle one or two Major Projects at a time...)

I am not allowed to have any high-glycemic fruits, which is a pretty long freaking list (including things like bananas and mangos and pineapples- oh my!) In terms of fruit it's easier to give you the ALLOWED list:

apples
pears
peaches
nectarines
berries
cherries
grapefruit (not that I've taken advantage of that one)
oranges
plums (ooo, or that one- maybe I'll remedy that this weekend...)

Aaaaand that's about it. Grapes maybe, but it's pushing it, so I don't.

In terms of veggies, it's the NOT ALLOWED list that is shorter, because it's limited to "nightshade vegetables" (not all of which are technically vegetables, but whatever):

peppers (including sweet and cayenne)
tomatoes
potatoes
eggplant
mushrooms

So pretty easy to avoid, really. I mean, don't get me wrong- I love everything on that list (except eggplants, with which I have a cordial relationship) but it's not like you're going to find any of those things ACCIDENTALLY IN YOUR FOOD. (Well, except cayenne, maybe, as evidenced by my "oh crap" moment with my curried squash soup a couple of weeks ago...)

And there you have it, folks! A more in-detail breakdown of my non-meat yays-and-nays (meat is all yay). It is very healthy, and I do feel pretty damn good, but I'm also so ready for it to be over. It's getting harder and harder to say "no" to a piece of chocolate. At this point I'm so exhausted with behaving myself that it just seems easier to unwrap that damn piece of candy and put it in my mouth than it does to keep up the emotional effort of being disciplined.

But I can do anything for three weeks. And I will.

(Oh hey, speaking of yay...)

Breakfast: four slices of bacon, handful of blackberries (switchin' it up- woo!)
Lunch: leftover beef-and-onion-and-garlic bidness
Snack: two mandarin oranges, a handful of blackberies
Dinner: medium-rare steak and a generous helping of mashed cauliflower (much better texture this time, as I remembered to leave out the water)

Detox: Day Eighteen (or: What Can I Say)

2011-11-03T19:21:00.000-07:00

I do not have clever things to say this evening, as I have poured them all into today's NaNo writing (all 4000 hand-written words of it, thankyouverymuch). As such, I am going to go curl up and read more of The Strain, which I cannot recommend highly enough. It creeps me out so badly, but I just can't stop reading...

Breakfast: four slices of bacon, a handful of blueberries (what can I say- I like routine)
Grazing: a gazillion carrots, two mandarin oranges (what can I say- I didn't have anything to bring for lunch other than a bag of stupid carrots)
Dinner: spaghetti squash with ground beef, onion, and garlic tossed with olive oil, salt, pepper, and Jamaican allspice (what can I say- Nathan's been on an allspice kick)

Detox: Day Seventeen (or: Man I Write A Lot)

2011-11-02T20:04:00.000-07:00

I just got done transcribing today's 3500 NaNo words, and I am so sorely tempted to just push through and match yesterday's count. But the truth is I'm tired, and even more than I want to show off my ability to churn out words (no comment on quality of said words, mind you) I want to stop staring at the computer screen and go curl up with my husband on the couch. But before I can do that I have to update the blog...

...and so here we are.

The very best thing about today is this:

What is that, you may ask? That, my friends, is an empty jar which once held the dread substance RepaireVite. I took my last dose ever this evening, and I am so incredibly stoked that I'm done with it. Slightly confused, because it was supposedly a four-week supply, but what do I care? I finished it all, it's all through my system, woo hoo no more gross powder!

Breakfast tomorrow is going to be just brilliant.

Speaking of which:

Breakfast: four slices of bacon and two handfuls of blueberries
Lunch: most of a giant granny smith apple (yes I know that's not a real lunch)
Snack: more blueberries
Dinner: grilled pork, onions, apple, and pear. Nathan seasoned it all with salt, pepper, cumin, and allspice, and it was freaking fabulous. The variety of textures was really nice, too.

Detox: Day Sixteen (or: NaNo Begins)

2011-11-01T22:31:00.000-07:00

NaNoWriMo starts today. Perhaps you remember my adventures with it last year?

I am a little concerned about the twin brain-drains of focusing on the detox and focusing on pounding out a minimum of 2000 words a day (that's my personal minimum- technically I only need to write 1667 to hit the 50,000 word goal) but hey- go big or go home, right? And anyway I only have like five days left on this detox-wagon. And then? Oh such mindless culinary delights that shall be mine!

The other concern I have is that this year I will not have the same all-hours access to my netbook as I did last year. At first I was really worried about when I would find time to write- but then I suddenly remembered the advanced technology of pen and paper.

Yes, pen and paper, Gentle Readers! So portable, so versatile! So cutting edge! I used these amazing tools during every slow moment I had at work today, and when I finally got around to transcribing my 27 hand-scribbled pages, it came out to about 3800 words. So. I think I'll be okay...

(although Nathan pointed out I'm going to need a much bigger notebook- and soon)

Breakfast: pieces of chicken breast fried in bacon fat, a handful of blueberries
Lunch: 5 oz tuna, mandarin, mackintosh
Snack: four pieces of bacon, handful of blackberries
Dinner: gyro meat with bacon and avocado, served on a bed of spinach and romaine

Detox: Day Fifteen (Hyper Halloween Edition)

2011-10-31T22:56:00.000-07:00

Breakfast: roasted pears sprinkled with Jamaican allspice
Snack: three mandarin oranges
Lunch: 5 oz tuna, one mackintosh
Snack: a few pieces of chicken breast, a handful of blueberries
Dinner: roasted butternut squash, onion, and carrots tossed with olive oil, salt, and pepper (ridiculously delicious and autumnal)

Happy Halloween!

(of course, for some of you it's already All Hallow's. Sorry about that mom...)

Ah yes, once again we return to my Mostest Favoritest Holiday. Not being able to surreptitiously snack on candy had cast a bit of a pall on the day, but that pall was completely blown away once evening came. And why is that, you might wonder? Trick-or-treaters! At long last, I had actual trick-or-treaters come to my door, and I got to give out candy, and it made me so happy I was making joyful squee-y noises every time I closed the door behind them. Seriously, every time the doorbell rang I opened it with my heart in my throat until I heard the magic words-

"Trick or treat!"

-and spied the bevy of adorable little faces just waiting to get enough sugar to turn into little demons that I wouldn't have to deal with. And my heart melted into a dribbly smile all over my face. Awesome.

In fact, I made so many happy noises that Nathan said, "You like Halloween way too much."

"Pish tosh!" said I. "It is impossible to like Halloween 'too much'," and then I went back to watching The Vampire Diaries.

What was particularly amusing to me was that not a single kid knew what I was, something that hadn't even occurred to me. (My favorite response was from a little girl about six or so saying, "You're pretty!" pause "What are you?") Quite a few parents got it, however, so I was soothed by that. Well, okay, to be completely honest they "got" that I was from Star Trek. They did not get who I was, because I was missing my most important accessory:

Bold.

Yes, the Riker to my Troi had secluded himself on the holodeck, as it were. But the man had already hosted a five+-hour HalloWarming party for me, so I gave him a buy for the Actual Evening.

And now for some of those promised photos of me carving the pumpkins:

Gutting "Nathan's" pumpking

Little did these seeds realize the horrible, non-edible fate that awaited them!

Why yes, I DO glow with a holy light during Creative Moments.

And the pumpkins themselves!

Also I learned that it doesn't matter WHERE you put the pumpkin- some kid WILL trip over it.

Hard to tell from this photo, but that leaf in the middle glowed, too.

Seeking out new civilizations!

I also tried to get a shot of the paper mache pumpkins I set up in the window all lit up (they got a lot of, "Oh wow! Look at all those pumpkins!" from the kids, which was pretty gratifying after all the time and effort I put into the damnable things) but my poor little phone just couldn't handle the dark, and so you must extrapolate from the Daytime Photo:

There are like twelve paper mache pumpkins in that window, and I ASSURE YOU, they looked awesome at night.

And finally? Tribbles.

The sign we had up during the party.

Are Trouble.

And sassy.

Especially when they mutate into four-limbed critters.

"I'm sensing... great confusion!"

Detox: Day Fourteen (or: Couch Day)

2011-10-30T20:48:00.000-07:00

I got up earlier than I thought I would this morning, and spent a couple of hours finishing the post-party clean up. Then I sat down on the couch to play a video game... and stayed there the rest of the day.

I wasn't playing video games that whole time, mind you. In fact I only played the game for about an hour, before Nathan came home and I turned it off so we could eat lunch. But at that point my memories of the day's timeline start to get a little confused. Suffice to say, I know I spent the next seven or so hours on the couch, and at various points I was either trying to read, or napping, or contemplating the structure within the space I could see outside our front window (or the fall of light in the crafting nook), or watching whatever movie Nathan put on.

I was not feeling my best.

On the upside, I have finally seen Strictly Ballroom, and I loved it. And now? A pre-nine-o'clock bedtime. We'll see about work in the morning.

Breakfast: five pieces of bacon and three pieces of apple fried in bacon fat
Lunch: lamb burger on romaine
Dinner: roasted pear slices dusted with cinnamon, and roasted sweet potatoes with olive oil, salt, and pepepr

Detox: Day Thirteen (or: Jenny O is a Masochist)

2011-10-29T23:59:00.000-07:00

(yeah yeah yeah- the party went past midnight so the time-stamp/tense on this entry is a lie, but whatever...)

Today was... dear holy stars, today was.

I can't break my menu down for you, because I didn't really divide my meals up into what anyone might consider "meals". Instead I steadily grazed throughout the day on leftover strips of flank steak, baby carrots, and (once the party got started) entirely too many green apple slices. Oh, and pears, because some of my lovely guests made it a point to bring something I could actually eat, the darlings. I told people not to bother worrying about my diet (after all, I was one of like twenty people, and if I wasn't catering the party menu to myself- which I most adamantly was not- there was no need for anyone else to do so) but I must say it was nice to have a change from the apple slices...

Setting up for the party was torture. Such torture. I opened the bag of candy-corn and it was like I'd opened a portal to heaven and allowed its scent to come wafting out into the mortal realms. And I'm not even a particularly big fan of candy corn! The gummy worms, of which I am a huge fan, were even worse. Warming up the caramel? Which happens to be one of my most favorite things in the universe? Yeah. I wanted to lick the spoon so badly I was on the verge of tears. But I persevered in the face of all these yummy things...

Of the things in this picture I think I can perhaps eat the toothpicks.

...and in those that came out later. The sausages Nathan grilled? My stomach started up a protest march that we weren't allowed to eat any. "It's meat! We're allowed meat!" yelled my stomach. "Yeah, meat! Gimmee!" cried my tongue.

"But its meat with stuff it. Sugar stuff," I explained, partially wishing I hadn't read the ingredients.

"We don't care! Give it!"

But "give it" I did not. I remained strong throughout the entire evening, although I may have over-done it on the mulled cider... and really it was a lovely time, with more people coming than I had expected, and such clever costumes! Here is a small sampling:

Watson, Holmes, The Lady, The Pirate

Unfortunately I did not get a lot of photos (I don't even have one of me and Nathan!) because I was too busy playing hostess. Ah well... there's still Halloween itself!

Detox: Day Twelve (or: The Beef, and Where It Can Be Found [Hint: My Belly])

2011-10-28T19:56:00.000-07:00

I gleefully cut out early from work today... so that I could come home and work on cleaning the house. Ah, adulthood: such are your questionable pleasures. I've gotten a good portion done- still need to scrub the upstairs bathroom and the kitchen counters, and then do all the floors (my biggest dirt-pet-peeve)... but I'm thinking the kitchen and floors can wait until tomorrow.

Nothing particularly interesting happened today, and I didn't have anything particularly remarkable in the way of food, which leaves me with a dilemma:

What to write about.

Hmmm...

Fortunately, I remembered that I'd been wanting to talk about my recent uptick in bacon consumption. Actually, more to the point, the uptick in my meat consumption in general. I believe it is safe to say that in the past two weeks I've eaten more animal flesh than I'd eaten in the entirety of the previous two months.

No, I am not a heavy consumer of animal proteins (or, at least, I wasn't).

See, I went mostly-vegetarian right not too long after college. This decision was not born of any health or moral concerns- no, I stopped eating meat because I was poor and meat was expensive. It wasn't a particularly huge sacrifice for me- there wasn't a lot of meat that I actively enjoyed, anyway (bacon being the obvious exception to this- but I was too poor to eat out much and damned if I knew how to cook my own.) Not to mention the fact that any time I have beef that's too fatty it... does unpleasant things to my digestion.

My meat-intake went up a bit once I moved to Birmingham and introduced Nathan to a grill. In fact, once we were married it was very easy to tell who had cooked dinner by checking for whether or not it had meat in it (keeping in mind that that I don't like to handle raw meat). But even so, I'd say we had meat no more than three times a week in an extravagant week (remember the part where it's expensive?)

So this meat-every-day, sometimes-twice-or-thrice-a-day thing is a bit overwhelming for me, and there are times when I feel pretty rebellious about (admittedly most of those times are when I get a gander at our butcher's bill. Meat in general is expensive, yes, but the price of grass-fed beef makes my inner miser shriek in mortified agony) . But it's important that I get protein, and right now meat is the only way I can get it. In another nine days I can have eggs again, which will help (especially since I freaking love me some easy-to-prep eggs).

In the meantime, here's what my meat-thrice-a-day menu looked like:

Breakfast: half an avocado mashed up with four strips of bacon (and I have to officially say that Trader Joe's, much as I love that store, sucks for avocados)
Lunch: 5 oz of tuna, mackintosh apple
Snack: baby carrots out the wazoo
Dinner: grilled flank steak with steamed broccoli. A lot of broccoli. Tossed with olive oil, salt, and pepper.

Detox: Day Eleven (or: I Miss Being Lazy)

2011-10-27T21:31:00.000-07:00

Remember how yesterday I was all, "Oh blah blah blah, positive attitude, yay!"?

Yeeeeaaaaah.

Today I was a Crankasaurus Rex (or Regina, if you will), and although it had nothing to do with my diet restrictions, it sure did make me feel Put Upon in the Extreme. I'm tired of not being able to be thoughtless with my food. Everything is so planned out, and I can't just come home and go, "Snacking on whatever I feel like, la la la." I came home starving for a snack, and the only thing available to me (without further prep) were some baby carrots. Which, don't get me wrong- I am a person who enjoys baby carrots, but I'm getting a bit sick of them.

I don't know what my deal was today. I was just irritable all around, and ridiculously hungry even tho' I was eating perfectly reasonable amounts of food. Check it out:

Breakfast: bacon
Lunch: 5 oz tuna (for real in water this time), mackintosh, mandarin
Snack: baby carrots
Dinner: grilled fish with fennel-and-avocado salad
Late Snack: more of my salad, and three pieces of bacon because I was craving it so badly

Salad Fixings

My strangely unsatisfying dinner.

My after-dinner activity of the day was to carve our pumpkins, and make pumpkin seeds for the party. (Nathan took some photos of me carving, so you'll have to wait for him to process them- but it will be a nice change from all my phone-snapshots!)

I DID take a picture of the pumpkin guts. Did you know white pumpkins have green guts? And that they smell like honey dew melon? Yeah, neither did I.

...now that I think about it, this little tableau is kind of twisted...

The pumpkin seeds were an utter failure, by the by. It sucks not being able to be my own taste-tester. It sucks even more that I spent several hours laboring over them. Ah well- life goes on.

BURNED! (the spices, I mean- not the actual seeds)

Detox: Day Ten (or: Punching Temptation in the Throat)

2011-10-26T20:52:00.000-07:00

I have to say that my naughty-food cravings have, by and large, disappeared. What I mean to say is that they are not longer causing obsession. Yes, I will still occasionally think, "Man, I could really go for a piece of dark chocolate right now," but then the thought passes and I'm fine. So what better moment to really push my limits?!

This evening I made popcorn balls for my upcoming HalloWarming party. There was not a single component of those balls that I could eat. Not the popcorn,

It is shockingly difficult to find just PLAIN popcorn for the microwave.

not the butter, not the vanilla extract, and especially not any of what this guy was pushing:

Hello my old friend.

I came thisclose to automatically licking the honey from the jar-seal, but I remembered just in the nick of time, and was hyper-vigilant for the rest of the evening. And let me tell you, this stuff smells so heavenly, vigilance was required.

Caramelized honey. That's right.

But I did it!

Trying not to let any drool drip on them.

(Although to be completely honest, those were the only popcorn balls that got made. The rest of it refused to go into ball form, so there will be a bowl of candied popcorn next to the bowl of candy corn...)

I'm pretty damned pleased with myself- not just for resisting completely The Naughty, but also because... I don't feel bitter about it. Which means that my Attitude has become Correctly Aligned.

(now I just have to ignore the four bags of candy I bought... at least it's all gluten-free!)

Breakfast: 2.5 piece of fried ham, .5 cup blueberries
Lunch: leftover spaghetti squash with beef
Snack: two mandarin oranges, .5 cup blueberries
Dinner: fennel-encrusted pork with roasted sweet potatoes, carrots, and onions

(and no popcorn balls!)

Detox: Day Nine (or, How to Imbibe the Repulsive)

2011-10-25T23:02:00.000-07:00

After much trial-and-error (and rinse-and-repeat, sometimes literally) I have finally settled on the best way to take my horrific medicine.

First, pour a teeny bit of orange juice in a shot glass. Add the scoop of RepairVite (I'd say apx 1-2 tsp), then top with more orange juice and stir with a tiny implement. Pour about four to six ounces of orange juice into a separate, untainted glass. Inhale deeply, exhale fully, and throw the disgusto-shot back, quickly followed by a mouthful of pure orange juice to be swished around in the mouth and swallowed. Then (still without breathing) take another mouthful of orange juice, swish and swallow again. Allow oxygen to return, try to ignore the trace of gross aftertaste in your mouth as you finish off the last of the orange juice from the glass.

Objects in the photo smaller than they appear...

I've got this down to a fine art, I tell you. And I owe it all to my parents who, when I was a child, taught me the wisdom of taking medicine without breathing. Thanks Mom and Dad!

Breakfast: half an avocado mashed up with lemon juice, salt, pepper, and fresh cilantro; apx one cup of fresh blueberries

I know, I know- there is a distinct lack of protein in this picture.

Lunch: Leftover beef-and-spaghetti squash
Snack(s): one mackintosh, one mandarin, one piece of ham, about half a cup of leftover sprout slaw
Dinner: gyro meat, bacon, and avocado on a bed of romaine and spinach.

Because my Katie is clever and chose a restaurant that I could get Approved Food from. And dudes- it was so effin' good.

Detox Day Eight: (or, Pleasant Side Effects)

2011-10-24T19:04:00.000-07:00

Remember what I wrote earlier about mental fogginess? Apparently it was definitely going on last night, when I mis-titled my entry "Day Six". But it's fixed now...

As you know, the reason I'm doing this gut-repair program is, in fact, to repair my gut. And to tell the truth, I've started thinking of it less as a "detox" or a "cleanse" and more as a "reset". I'm resetting my system to not-inflamed, which has some pretty major health benefits for me. Lack of pain being chief among them.

However.

Oh however, Gentle Readers. There are some other, less-lofty and pure-of-heart side effects to this little diet of mine, and by that I mean getting all svelte-ified. Which is not to say I was particularly large before, but when three people (four if you count Nathan) comment in the space of two days that one has lost weight, and when one looks in the mirror and says, "Why hello there," and furthermore when one can wear the teeny-weeny t-shirt she used to wear as a little kid with only a minimal of gut-tightening... well.

I know, I know- it's just that I'm less internally inflamed, and retaining less water, but hey- I'll take it! Just imagine the results when I stop being so blase about my weight-resistance...

Breakfast: four slices of bacon (which I cooked myself, thank you very much) and half a honey crisp
Lunch: steak seasoned with salt, pepper, olive-oil (crafty Nathan made an extra one yesterday so I'd have it for lunch today)
Snack: one mackintosh, one mandarin, and a handful of baby carrots.
Dinner: brussel-sprout slaw

Possibly you are looking at that dinner entry and going either, "Huh?" or even "Ew." Oh Gentle Readers, allow me to enlighten you on the deliciousness of brussel-sprout slaw! And I say this as a person who was firmly convinced, prior to my first experience with the slaw, that brussel sprouts were basically evil little slime balls sent from the future to break our spirits, thereby enabling a swifter conquering via our benevolent alien overlords...

::cough::

When Lara and Chris came to visit a few weeks back, one of the things they cooked for us was brussel sprout slaw. I was (as you might have guessed, given the above passage) somewhat skeptical. But then it turned out to be so fabulous that I begged her for the recipe- and she complied.

I had to modify what she sent me, since I can't have nuts right now (and anyway I didn't have any pecans on hand), and I'm not positive that the mustard we have is gluten-free (it says "vinegar" on the ingredients label, but doesn't specify what kind of vinegar), plus I totally wanted to add avocados, because why not? So here is what I ended up doing!

First off I cooked me some bacon (I was eager to repeat this morning's success. Thank you, Betty Crocker!). Lara specified that it needed to be nice and crispy, so nice and crispy it was! Rather than chop it up like a sissy-man, I crumbled it (and then licked the crumbs off my fingers, which might have just replaced "licking the cake batter off the spoon" as my favorite food-prep perk).

Tastes like candy!

While the bacon was doing its slow-cook thing, I threw some walnuts in a pan (because I am such a good wife) and toasted 'em over medium-high heat until I thought they looked good (or, as Lara more usefully put it, "until fragrant") and then set them aside.

Next I juiced a lemon and whisked it with a little shy of 1/4 cup olive oil, 2 tsp of apple cider vinegar, and salt and pepper. Then came chopping up some scallions (I did three, but it's totally a personal preference thing), and subjecting my brussel sprouts to my food processor for some good old fashioned shredding.

Shreddin', and slicin', and wishin', and hopin'...

Also I sliced up the afore-mentioned avocado.

Technically I only used half. I'll eat the other half tomorrow- perhaps for breakfast??

I used my bacon-frying-pan (after pouring off all but about 1tbsp of fat) to saute the shredded sprouts at a medium heat until they turned bright green...

Not yet a bright-enough green. Also, naughty walnuts in the background.

...at which point I added the lemon-vinegar mix, bacon, avocado, and the other half of this morning's honey crisp apple (which I'd chopped via the food-processor while the sprouts were getting all bright green). I stirred it about a bit longer, then decided it was dinner time.

And after this was gone I had seconds.

I served Nathan's with the walnuts because (as mentioned): good wife.

We both agreed it could have used more bacon (shocking, I know) but we'd only had five pieces to work with, so that was all that went in. I think we could have doubled the bacon content and been fine.

Detox: Day Seven (or: Progress is Made)

2011-10-23T20:28:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen! I give you....

One Week.

Yes indeedy, I am one-week-down, two-weeks-to-go on the whole detox thing, and that realization (come upon me this evening) is making for some serious cheer. Also making for some (lesser, but still decent) cheer? My paper-mache pumpkins:

The one on the left looks weird because it's leaning backwards.

Oh wait, you can't really see them. Here they are in the light:

Hey, yellow pumpkins happen in nature ALL THE TIME.

Aren't they so cute? I've got about five done, and Katie helped me start five more today, and I may do a few more later in the week (she says optimistically). But as I said to her (as I carefully cut out faces with a pair of scissors), when one compares the amount of labor involved in creating these bad boys to the amount of labor involved in carving out actual pumpkins... I'm not really sure which is less labor-intensive.

("The real pumpkins," came Katie's immediate and assured response. She is probably correct.)

Speaking of Katie, since she was hanging out at Timaru she got to experience the joys of detox-diet- but I think we managed to refrain from scarring her. She cleaned her plate at both lunch and dinner... plus she introduced Nathan to The Proper Way to Prepare Spaghetti Squash. Useful girl, my Katie.

Breakfast: smoothie with coconut milk, frozen blueberries, half a cup of spinach, and frozen peaches. (it tasted basically like ice to me, which was disappointing)
Snack: one strawberry, two slices of a peach, one mandarin orange (pretty much the sum of what I could eat at the church brunch buffet)
Lunch: small bowl of leftover butternut squash soup and a perfectly prepared steak (that would be Nathan's mad skills)
Dinner: spaghetti squash smothered in onions, garlic, and ground beef (spiced with salt, pepper, oregano, marjoram, and thyme) sauteed in olive oil.

Is that Safeway bag full of candy I mayn't eat? Possibly...

Detox: Day Six (or: Spitting Out Perfectly Good Food)

2011-10-22T21:37:00.000-07:00

It was a gorgeous day today, and I wanted more than anything to be out hiking in it... but I had obligations to keep that did not involve driving to the Gorge.

The first obligation (obviously) was to eat a delicious breakfast with my husband. I do not handle raw meat if I can at all avoid it, so my portion of the prep involved slicing up a delicious honey crisp, while he cooked some delicious bacon (which he had himself brought home just the other day).

Nathan said, "Our bacon intake sure has gone up. I guess that's because it's one of the few delicious things you can still eat." Privately I've begun to consider bacon my own personal candy.

After that it was off to the market, to pick up the supplies for this next week. I'd carefully made out my meal plan and shopping list, so we were in and out pretty quickly, our car loaded down with delightful vegetables (and the odd fruit).

The first real obligation was one I had made to myself: to begin working on my paper mache jack-o-lanterns. I did a trial run the other day that came out less than stellar, but I learned a few things so I think these babies ought to come out better. Here are some of them drying:

The best part about them is that they smell like cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves!

I plan to make a few more tomorrow, with the help of my Katie.

After about three hours of carefully-mache-ing balloons, it was time for lunch. Nathan made us lamb burgers and topped 'em with bacon, and it was so good I wanted to cry. The romaine, while not quite so good as butter lettuce, was still definitely an excellent choice.

Candy burger!

Then it was back to pumpkin-making for another hour, and finally I had to wash off my hands and get gussied up for the wedding I was barista-ing at (the other real obligation, this one made to not-myself). It was fun to sling shots again- and damn I'm good at banter. But it was a special sort of torture not to be able to eat any of the food those sweet people offered me, and when they cut the cake I once again wanted to weep... but not from joy.

Cake, you guys. Seriously. It's like the Perfect Storm of currently-naughty-food: wheat, dairy, eggs, sugar. ::sigh::

But since I'd anticipated such temptations, I just put another piece of honey crisp apple in my mouth and chewed. (they really are my favorite of all the apples)

Once I got home I was more than ready for some real food, so I mashed up an avocado with salt, pepper, lemon juice, and cilantro. It was so good that Nathan declared, "I'd eat that. I'd spread it on a chip!" And now I have a sweet potato in the oven, because I want something sweet.

Which brings us to me spitting out perfectly good food. As I waited for the oven to pre-heat I thought to myself, "I could use just one more snacky thing before 'dessert'. Ooo! Edamame!" Because, you see, I'd bought edamame earlier in the day because it's one of my favorite snacks, and hey, it's a veggie, right? So I popped a few in my mouth and chewed exactly once when it suddenly came rushing back to me:

Edamame is soy!

...and I cannot have soy right now. So I spat my mouthful out in the sink and looked at it mournfully. Man, I hate wasting food.

Breakfast: about 1/4 of a honey crisp apple and three pieces of bacon
Lunch: 1/2 pound lamb burger made with salt, pepper, onion, garlic, oregano, rosemary, and basil, topped with bacon and enfolded in a leaf of romaine. 1/2 of a honey crisp apple
Snack: a honey crisp apple
Dinner: avocado mashed up with salt, pepper, lemon juice, and cilantro. soon-to-be-sweet-potato

Detox: Day Five (or: So When Does This Start Working?)

2011-10-21T21:34:00.000-07:00

First of all, here is a photo of some of the foods I am allowed to eat:

Clockwise, starting top left: honey crisp apples, spaghetti squash, butternut squash, RepairVite, sweet potatoes

Most of those things are delicious. One of those things... not so much. Ah well.

I've spoken with a handful of people who have cleansed themselves of gluten, and the general consensus is that they have never felt better, both physically and mentally. And that sounds pretty good to me. So my question is- when does that part start? Because as of today I'm not feeling particularly "awesome" either in mind or body.

I don't want you to think that I feel bad: I don't. In fact, I'm not feeling a lot of the swelling and aching I'd come to accept as part of my "now we are 30" life, but "absence of pain", while a huge relief, is not the same as "awesome". And I don't feel like I've lifted any of the mental fog that I've descended into over the past year. The worst part about it is that I can tell what's going on. I know I'm not as sharp as I once was, and frankly it's pissing me off.

Anyway my point is I'm ready to be detoxed, now.

(Granted it might help if I didn't keep inadvertently cheating. Hmmm...)

But on to today's menu!

Breakfast: smoothie made with unsweetened coconut milk, raspberries, carrots, spinach, and peaches

I have to be honest- unsweetened coconut milk is not rocking my world. This may be my last smoothie for the duration. Or maybe I'll just switch to orange juice....

Lunch: (I had to go into work early, which meant breakfast was early, which meant I had lunch at about 1050) left over pork loin and roasted veggies
Snack: Two mackintosh apples and three mandarin oranges
Dinner: pot roast with onions and carrots. (something about this disagreed with me, because my system started protesting about an hour later... we think it may have been the fat content of the roast)

And now let's end with a picture of a typical morning's dosage:

clockwise, starting left: smoothie, fish oil, RepairVite concotion, vitamin D, vitamin B12+Folic Acid

Detox: Day Four (or: Damn I Want Some Baklava)

2011-10-20T19:47:00.000-07:00

It started last night.

Honey, whispered my taste buds. We want honey.

"No, taste buds. Honey is very specifically on the NO list."

Ooo, yeah, honey! Piped up my teeth and jaw. But more specifically we want it in the form of baklava, with all its tender flaky squooshie goodness.

"Seriously, you guys? It's day three. Waaaay too early for this cravings business."

And yet. Baklava has remained on my brain for the twenty-three hours between then and now. I even googled "gluten-free phyllo" at work (I was more than a little terrified that it would be one of those non-duplicate-able items, but I found a few recipes that I'll try out in two-and-a-half-weeks).

So I'm pretty sure that the first thing I'll be letting back into my diet will be honey.

One of the other things I was trying to figure out today was how to deal with the absolutely disgusting experience that is my consumption of the RepairVite supplement. I mean it is foul. Most especially so because it's supposedly "latte flavored" and I cannot stand the taste of coffee. It's my own personal torture every morning and evening, and I hold my breath and repeat to myself (through gritted teeth):

"I can do anything for three weeks."

Anyway I searched "RepairVite is disgusting", and although I didn't find any solutions, I did find a new blog to read: Life Without Bread and Butter. Very good stuff (her writing, I mean), and she went through this detox, too (she has way more sensitivities to deal with than I do, so it helps to shut up my whiny, baklava-craving taste buds) and she also reported on what she ate each day, which means lots of exciting new inspiration for me. Huzzay!

Speaking of exciting food...

Breakfast: Four strips of peppered bacon
Lunch: Four tiny mackintosh apples and four mandarin oranges (I forgot my "real" lunch, so I had to make due with my office fruit)
Dinner: Roasted butternut squash and garlic soup

When I was making up my meal plan over the weekend, I knew I would want some sort of butternut squash dish (they are in season and delicious). Trader Joe's didn't have any when we made our grocery run on Saturday, so last night I went out and bought some, and then today I scoured the internet for an appropriate jumping-off-recipe. I found one over at The Picky Vegan, but we made some modifications. Here's what we did:

Ingredients

1 butternut squash, peeled, seeded, and cubed
1.5 heads of garlic, intact but with the top sliced off
several handfuls of baby carrots (probably around 3 cups?)
olive oil
1/2 sweet onion, diced
1.5 tbsp fresh grated ginger
5 cups water
2 tsp curry powder
salt
pepper

Instructions

Heat oven to 400
add squash and olive oil to one pan, toss
create foil packet to put in another pan, add carrots and toss with olive oil, seal packet
create foil packet for garlic, drizzle with olive oil, seal
put all in oven, check at 30 min (garlic may be done)

Are you done, garlic??

stir squash chunks, leave in an additional 30 min or until tender, remove all

Nathan checking for tenderness

spray dutch oven (we used our new coconut cooking spray- so good!) over heat, saute onion until fragrant
add ginger and saute additional 15 seconds
add water
add roasted items and curry (note: we really like curry, so you may not want to use as much as we did), salt, and pepper to taste
bring back to boil and simmer 15 min, stirring ocassionally

A moment of not-stirring

remove from heat, carefully add small amounts to blender and blend a little bit at a time, transferring to serving bowl as you go.

We are not kidding about the "careful" part

Serve and enjoy!

I might like it even better chilled...

Nathan wished he had some bread for his, and I wished I had some sour cream to dollop on top, but all in all it was a fantastic hit. Of course, it did occur to me that possibly curry is on the NO list due to the presence of red pepper aka cayenne (I assume), so next time we make it (for our upcoming HalloWarming party) I will probably just go with turmeric or saffron...

Detox: Day Three (or: Learning From Your Mistakes So You Can Make New Ones)

2011-10-19T20:12:00.000-07:00

After yesterday's moment-of-label-truth, it occurred to me this morning to take a peek at my "coconut milk beverage" ingredients... which include cane sugar. Damn. But I bought some "non-sweetened coconut milk beverage" this evening, so I'm good to go going forward.

But that wasn't today's mistake. No, today's mistake was thinking that it was no big deal being out of spinach- that romaine lettuce would work just as well in my green monster smoothie.

Not so much.

I choked it down, but it was not a pleasant experience. Unlike spinach (which stays nicely innocuous, taste-wise) romaine definitely has a very distinct flavor- which makes itself distinctly and unpleasantly apparent amidst all the fruit and such. Bleh.

But! Lesson learned. (Plus I totally bought a new bag of spinach when I went out to get the new coconut milk...)

Breakfast: smoothie consisting of lite coconut milk, carrots, frozen raspberries, icky romaine, and frozen peach bits
Lunch: leftover steak, salad, and mashed cauliflower (a very hearty lunch, which meant no need for a later snack)
Dinner: fennel-encrusted pork tenderloin with roasted sweet potatoes, carrots, and onions

This is actually a variation on a dish that we make on a fairly regular basis, but that one involves apple cider and normal potatoes. What was nice was that by substituting sweet potatoes for regular potatoes we got the sweetness that is normally provided by the apple cider. So it's quite probable that in the future this will just be "the way that we make it" rather than "a variation".

(Oh, and I should mention that Nathan browned the pork loin in bacon fat, which did extra-special wonders for the flavor.)

Detox: Day Two (or: Getting Your Screw Ups Over With)

2011-10-18T23:08:00.000-07:00

You may have picked up by this point that I'm a rip-the-band-aid-off sort of person. Not for me, the slow peel, the careful attempt at avoiding pain. If something unpleasant needs to happen, just get it over with already- I'd rather spend the time in recovery than further dread anticipation. So, you know, it's totally a good thing that it took me less than 48 hours to screw up on my detox! Now I don't have to be worried about it anymore!

Woo!

...here's how it happened:

I'd brought to work a can of tuna-in-water for my lunch-time-enjoyment. It was a 3oz can we'd had in our pantry for a while (one of a package of three), so although Nathan had bought me brand new tuna for the purpose of detox-snacking (yeah yeah, it's canned- but it's fish and water, no preservatives, so I feel like it's okay) I went ahead and brought the oldest one. And I was about halfway through said can of tuna when I idly glanced at the ingredients label...

...and there it was. My "tuna in water" was not tuna in water at all- it was tuna in water with broth! And the broth has stupid soy in it. Argh!

Perhaps I should have ditched the remaining 1.5oz, but Readers, I was hungry, and I decided that the trace amounts of soy I was imbibing was probably less of an evil than me being underfed.

Anyway it was an excellent lesson in reading all labels ahead of time, not just taking it for granted that the food is what the front label says it is (I checked the ones Nathan had bought- just good ol' tuna and water in those puppies) and I'd rather learn that lesson on day two, with my body still fairly tox-y (totally a word) than on day twenty, when I'm pure as driven snow. Or something.

But here's today's menu...

Breakfast: smoothie consisting of lite coconut milk, frozen blueberries, about a cup and a half of spinach, and half a frozen honey crisp apple. Pretty darn good.
Lunch: naughty tuna fish topped with salt and pepper, two mandarin oranges, two mackintosh apples (each one the size of a mandarin orange)
Snack: baby carrots
Dinner: spinach salad topped with chicken, peaches, and my vinagrette

Dinner was a bit tricksy today, because it was nerd night, and moreover it was my turn to feed the nerd herd. The salad actually turned out to be an inspired choice, because I was able to bring over all the separate components, so I could make mine simple (and detox-kosher) yet add yummy things like blue cheese and walnuts and almonds to theirs (except not to Katie's salad, because she feels strongly that blue cheese "smells like what would happen if feet had armpits"). Happiness and hunger-satiation for all!

Detox: Day One

2011-10-17T19:20:00.000-07:00

When my doctor first recommended the whole RepairVite thing to me she warned me that it was really hard, that she herself had done it and knew whereof she spoke. And when I initially looked the literature over, I agreed. And in the following days as I combed the internet for info I came away frustrated and agreeing even further. But then I sat down to try and make a meal plan (because I always feel better with a plan, even if I don't follow it) and I suddenly realized that it's not actually as hard as it could be. Not for an omnivore-who-likes-to-cook-from-scratch, anyway. And so I'm going to chronicle what I eat each day for the next three weeks (thrilling you loyal readers, I'm sure) in an attempt to provide some inspiration for anyone else out there going through the RepairVite Detox.

Before I lay it out, here is an abbreviated list of my NOs:

sugar (including honey)
alcohol
grains (including wheat, oats, and corn, amongst others)
high-glycemic fruits (most of them without a pit)
nightshade vegetables (think peppers)
mushrooms
potatoes
dairy (a category which, for some reason, includes eggs)
soy
lectins (ie any and every nut you can think of)
coffee
processed food
canned food

So there's that. And here's this!

Breakfast: Three pieces of bacon. Not sissy bacon, either: thick-cut, peppered bacon the way nature (and our butcher) intended
Lunch: Three more pieces of bacon and half a honey crisp apple (not what I'd intended, but I unexpectedly was home for lunch, so why not) (more on that in a later, non-food-related post)
Snack: The other half of the apple
Dinner: Steak, salad, and mashed cauliflower. Oh but wait there's more detailed awesome...

The steak was Nathan's domain (as always) and he went the classic route of olive oil, salt, and pepper. In the meantime I was getting creative with the cauliflower. I put it to steam it for about ten minutes, and while that was going on I sauteed just shy of a full bulb of garlic with olive oil and fresh rosemary from the garden. Once that was all done I dumped it all into the food processor with plenty of salt and pepper, some olive oil, and a little hot water for good measure (turned out I did not need that water- next time I'll know). Pulsed for a bit, then left it whirring it's little head off while I made a salad from butter lettuce with a vinaigrette dressing. I have a particular vinegar I normally use for this, and in the past I used canola oil, but since the vinegar has brown sugar in it and the canola is on my long-term no-no list from the doctor, I got out of my little box and used olive oil and apple cider vinegar (plus salt, pepper, and fresh scallions, of course). All in all it was highly satisfying, and not for a single moment today have I felt deprived (although maybe a little jealous as Nathan added a dollop of butter to his cauliflower...)

So as far as food goes I'm in a pretty good and optimistic mood, and damn grateful that herbs and spices are on the "YES" list.

Picking my Poisons (and Then Throwing Them Out)

2011-10-15T19:18:00.000-07:00

I mentioned a while back that I'd made an appointment with an ND. Well, about eleven days ago I had that appointment, and after talking to me and looking over my history, she posited that I might have a gluten sensitivity, as well as a problem with my adrenals. She ordered a round of tests, and a day or two later I was carefully looking the other way as a phlebotomist drew out vial after vial of the deep red stuff.

The following Tuesday I got a call from the doctor's assistant, saying that the doc wanted me to come in sooner rather than later. I took the first available opening (Thursday, which is how I knew it wasn't really serious, because in my personal experience when it's really serious they have you come in ASAP) and tried not to let the melodramatic, worst-case-scenario portion of my personality run too wild.

So in I went, and wouldn't you know it? Her initial suspicion was correct: I need to stay away from gluten. In fact she highly recommended that I do a sort of cleansing program for three weeks, to give my intestines a chance to heal up, as well as add certain supplements to my diet (such as cod liver oil. No really.)

Well I sat there listening to her and nodding, and taking my notes, and assuring her I would call with any questions, but that I needed to go home and process things before I could come up with any. In the meantime, my internal reaction was more along the lines of:

"Pffffft."

And some less-than-flattering thoughts along the lines of "quackery".

And then I went right out and had a gluten-heavy lunch.

Now, I don't want you to think that I didn't believe her. I did believe her, gentle readers. What she was telling me made perfect sense in light of what I've observed in myself over the past few years, and in light of the research I'd been doing recently. I did, in fact, believe that I needed to steer clear of gluten, and in a twisted way that's sort of why I did what I did. I ate that gluten-heavy lunch (including bread and pasta) in defiance of what I knew to be true... and when I was rolling on the bed in agony a few hours later I did not ask for sympathy (although both Nathan and Kink did provide it, bless them). The only reason I can come up with for why I (knowingly) did such a colossally stupid thing was because I needed to deal with the Denial-Brat inside of me. And I assure you, she was well and thoroughly shut-up by that little experience. She had her proof, and she stopped saying, "Pffffft."

Of course, there were other little voices that needed working on. The little voice that totally dreads my diet becoming even more "weird", and the flak I will necessarily take from some of my friends. The little voice that winces at the thought of trying to explain to my grandparents why I can't eat my old favorites. The little voice that is still crying at not being able to eat my mother's cookies while we're home over the holidays. All those voices needed some soothing, and some proving that this really is the Best Way.

It took a few more days of web-browsing and feeling-sorry-for-myself (and then feeling guilty for feeling sorry, because it's not like I'm dealing with anything life-threatening or even particularly debilitating), but I think that, for the most part, those voices are quieted. It is enormously helpful that Nathan's immediate response to the whole thing was to volunteer to become gluten-free with me. By the time I'd gotten home from the doctor he'd already started to educate himself on what I can and cannot eat- and today he helped me purge the house of gluten (we didn't actually have that much, which was surprising). Not to mention the wonderful support I've gotten from several of my friends who already eat gluten-free, either because of their own diet limitations, or because of someone they care about (or, for a select few, because they believe it's a healthier way to live). We've already cooked several purposefully-gluten-free meals and guess what: they were awesome and pretty much exactly what we'd have made even before we knew. So what was a bit scary and overwhelming a few days ago now seems like something totally do-able.

In fact, it seems crazy to think I ever thought it was even a little bit of a big deal.

Of course, I fully expect that pendulum to swing back and forth a few times before I'm really, truly at peace with My New Life. And for the next three weeks I'm dealing with a much more restricted diet than just no gluten (also no sugar, no dairy, no eggs, no nuts, no high-glycemic or nightshade fruits, etc etc) which might actually turn out to be awesome, because by the time I'm off this thing, just restricting myself to "no gluten" will seem like a piece of (coconut flour) cake.

We shall see.

House Guests and the People Who Love Them

2011-10-10T17:37:00.000-07:00

So it turns out I really love having house guests.

Of course, it could just be the people. Our friends Lara and Chris came up from California and we got to spend four glorious days together. Well, mostly together- I actually had to work for several of those days, but they are those excellent sort of people who are very adventurous and like to explore wherever they happen to be, which means I didn't have to feel guilty because while I was making money they were out hiking from Wahkeena to Multnomah, etc. So mostly I was just feeling jealous...

Anyway, one of the things that we all have in common is that we love food, and we love to cook, and so quite a bit of our socializing time was spent in the selection and preparation of delicious food (Farmer's Market for the ultimate win!) The cooking part of the endeavor was made more challenging by the fact that Nathan and I still don't have a functioning oven and b) Lara and Chris follow a mostly-paleo diet. (In fact, Lara's just started up a blog about her culinary experiments) Although as it turns out paleo lends itself pretty well to the grill-not particularly shocking when you consider the fact that our ancestors didn't have ovens, I suppose. But the results were fabulous (for example, my brainstorm of lamb-burgers served with red peppers and feta, wrapped in butter lettuce), so you may be hearing more about that sort of thing in the future.

It was just so good to have them around- I loved getting up in the morning and having someone already hanging out on the couch, willing to chat with me while I made breakfast. I loved being able to show them (or send them off to) the beautiful and interesting parts of our region (although we all reached the very sad conclusion that probably we would have done much better to split one single doughnut four ways instead of each having our own). I loved having people to play games with after dinner (although since I was the perpetual winner it's quite possible that I was the only one loving that aspect). I just love their company in general, and our shared values and history and interests. It makes me wish they lived closer... ah well, perhaps someday.

In other news, we have a HalloWarming party coming up (that's right- combo Halloween and Housewarming) which means that I am shifting to full-on-event-planning-mode. And trying to remind myself not to go overboard. Which is difficult. But do-able.

Probably.

The More You Know

2011-10-03T18:35:00.000-07:00

It was a good day for Timaru. Our new wardrobe is all mantled (as opposed to dis, naturally), and with our custom-painted two doors nestled up against one another rather than separated by a mirror it appears as though a stylized leaf-lion is peering out of it. I like it. Also, a fellow from church came over and helped Nathan with the trickier-than-anticipated installation of the ceiling fan (which up until this point had been taking up entirely too much space in my crafting nook). So we hair light again, which is pretty ideal, but also circulation. Heck yeah. And finally, a wonderful woman we shall call Bliss came around this afternoon to teach us that our garden was not as frighteningly overwhelming as I'd suspected. As it turns out, the grounds of Timaru are pretty low-maintanence.

(Thank goodness.)

As a matter of fact, in the words of the former owner of this place, the best way to maintain it is to sit in it and enjoy it with a glass of wine. I can totally do that.

Yes, you read that correctly: the former owner. I totally broke down in my garden-freak-out and found him on Facebook (fortunately we share friends) and sent him a plaintive plea for assistance. He very kindly got me in touch with Bliss, a friend of his whom he'd paid to maintain the garden after they'd moved out but before we bought it, so that she could show me about. Seriously, it does not get any better than that in terms of having someone come talk to you about your inherited garden.

Also he recommended a good reference book, which I promptly ordered (hey, the man built the garden up from literally nothing- you're darn right I'm taking his advice), so once that comes in I plan to dig right in (unintended, I swear) and become a Woman Who Gardens.

Or at least sits out back and drinks wine.

Bridesmaids: Another Movie Ruined by Expectations

2011-10-02T20:43:00.000-07:00

So by now you've probably heard of a little movie called Bridesmaids. Possibly you've even seen it, and raved about it to others, in the hopes that they would see it. In fact, maybe you were so excited about the movie, about the portrayal of women-as-people-rather-than-tropes that you went a little bit overboard with your praise. And so did thousands and thousands of other people, building this movie- which really could be most accurately called, "an Apatow movie in which the main cast has vaginae instead of penises"- up into "The Most Incredible Film in Which Women Finally Are Real, Funny People".

Gentle Readers, this is not that movie. This movie, is, as I stated above, an Apatow movie with women instead of men. Which means that by all rights I should have gone in expecting exactly that- and had I done so I'm sure I'd have enjoyed it as much as I did, say, I Love You Man (okay, not an Apatow movie, but you get the point). But the accolades heaped upon this movie led me to believe that it was going to be a Great Movie. And when it wasn't I was left... well, really disappointed.

And baffled.

Where did all this praise come from? These cries of, "Finally women have a comedic vehicle worthy of their gender!"? Because somehow I missed that part of the movie. What I saw was a movie about a not-particularly likeable character (not in itself a dealbreaker) who was supposedly best friends with a woman with whom she apparently had nothing in common with beyond their shared childhood, and whose other "best friend" is another not-particularly likeable character (although there are hints that she might at least be sympathetic- hints that are never actually expanded upon, unfortunately). What I saw was a string of stereotypes (the "bored housewife", the "naive young newlywed", the "masculine/fat-and-therefore-kind-of-gross girl") who might have stood a chance of being interesting had any of them actually done anything beyond their initial, "Here, meet the Stereotypes!" introductions. For a movie that was being heralded for its portrayal of realistic female relationships, I sure didn't see much in the way of actual friendship. Or bonds of any sort. Or really, women interacting in any way other than the completely freaking insane.

Which, again, I might have been okay with, had I not been listening to so many people use the word "real" and "realistic" in their descriptions of the movie. If I'd gone in expecting a farce, I'd not have been disappointed to get one.

Salvaging September

2011-09-30T19:46:00.000-07:00

Not that there has been anything particularly wrong with this month- just that I seem to have been seriously slacking on the updating-of-the-blog front. And not because post-worthy things (and writings) haven't been happening. No, it's just been one of those months where I think, "Oh that will make a good blog post!" and then I just... don't get around to it.

But check me out, all 'round to it!

I'm feeling more and more comfortable in my role as commuter-cyclist, to the point where I am beginning to acquire paraphernalia. Yep, I took a walk on my lunch break the other day, and ended up lugging a floor pump back to the office, where I cheerfully strapped it to my little rack and took it home. Nathan, who'd had a flat tire, was thrilled with the investment. More evidence of my total assimilation? My holiday-wish-list is starting to become peppered with items like "skirt guard" and "panniers". Yes Ladies and Gentlemen, my bike is more than just a passing craze. (Expense justified! Woo!)

We are making incremental progress on the house: both the ceiling and the walls of the master-bedroom are now painted pale blue and yellow, respectively (although the ceiling-fan remains sitting in its box down in the still-chaotic "crafting-nook"), and we installed the extra shelf in the master-bathroom, so I now have a place to put everything in there without resorting to cardboard boxes. There is still a long, long list of little tweaks and improvements and personalizations, but hey- we've got years.

Speaking of years, it's been eleven months since I first started really writing my "novel" (and I still feel compelled to put it in quotes), and I am in the middle of getting feedback from the second draft. So far it's pretty much looking like I need to just entirely re-write the first section, which is depressing. I hate to admit it, but I'm so sick of the story I just want to burn it.

But I won't.

In happier creative-news, I've gotten about 10,000 words into the Sleeping Beauty book, and I'm liking it just ever so much (we'll see how I feel in about 70,000 more words... although truthfully I think it will end up longer than the Crow book...), and I've been laying some serious ground-work for this year's NaNo book. Expect excerpts...

But back to Home Owner Adventures: our oven sort of semi-imploded the other day, which, let me tell you, was excitement all around. Fortunately a home warranty was part of the deal when we bought this house, so all we had to do was call them up and they'd take care of it.

In their own sweet time, apparently.

The oven did its scary-thing on Sunday, but no one came out to look at it until yesterday (that would be Thursday). And the verdict? Special parts needs must be ordered, so we can fully expect to be without a functioning oven until 10/11. A good sixteen days. Awesome.

Fortunately some wonderful friends had us over for dinner that first night, and we've been relying quite a bit on the grill since then. And no-cook meals, of course, like bread-and-meat-and-cheese-and-fruit platters. And, um, ordering pizza...

Speaking of not cooking (see, so many things to write about!) I've also gotten seriously hooked on green monster smoothies. Holy guacamole, they're delicious! Plus it's fun to experiment with flavors... Possibly I will be rambling on about this subject more in the future (with product-shots, naturally).

And that... ought to cover it for the latter-part-of-September ramblings. I actually do have another post percolating in my brain, but it involves scanning a drawing and that seems like an awful lot of effort at the moment. (What can I say- it's Friday and I'm a bit wiped)

'Til next time, Gentle Readers!

Color Me Alexander

2011-09-13T18:53:00.000-07:00

Which is to say I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Except I'm not.

Really, truly I'm not. There is nothing objectionable about this day, per se, it's just that I woke up in a mood that said there is. And I've been halfheartedly fighting the funk ever since.

Part of it, I'm sure, is the discomfort I'm in. For no reason that I can discern, last week some of my joints decided to freak out, and while it wasn't a big deal at first (beyond my wounded vanity over my normally-slender fingers), as the days have gone by the pain has escalated to the point where it's waking me up at night. And pain waking me up at night is usually my line in the sand. Because seriously you guys- I like my sleep.

(Not to mention a vague terror that I might not regain the strength/dexterity in my right hand. But that, like my "terrible day", is not a real thing. It's just me being neurotic and worst-case-scenario-y thing.)(It happens.)

Anyway, said line in the sand is the point at which I bother to make an appointment with a doctor, which I have done. But not just any doctor, oh no! I am biting the bullet and going outside of my provider's network so that I can, at long last, have dealings with a (highly recommended) doctor of naturopathic medicine. I am seriously looking forward to my first appointment: a full hour in which she will actually listen to me talk about my medical history and my observations regarding my health. And not send me off to get a totally pointless cat scan. I justified the extra expense by telling myself that if this doctor works out the way I hope she does, she will be just as interested as I am in preventative care, which means I won't end up having to see her as often as I would an in-network provider.

We shall see.

The other part of my general surliness is due, no doubt, to my in-laws having left today. Yes, you read that correctly: crankiness from in-laws leaving, not arriving. There were here just shy of a week, and it did not feel like long enough. Which, I suppose, is the recommended length-of-stay for house-guests: too short for the Last Day to be a true Relief. It was a fun experience, squiring them about the area, doing my Tour Guide thing. Not to mention the help they pitched in around the house. Momma B refinished our end-tables and helped me paint the master bedroom ceiling, while Pops helped me with the gutters and Nathan with the new ceiling fan (which is to say helped him come to the conclusion that we need a real electrician to install the darn thing).

But they are gone now, and I am mopey and Missing Family.

Nathan has not been entirely unaffected by all of this, either, and so he and I have agreed to spend the evening doing precisely nothing (or in my case, only things which I find soothing, such as whining to my blog and ironing sheets) (don't judge). So at least there's that to temper the awfulness of this not-actually-awful day.

Boys Is Boys

2011-09-03T19:35:00.000-07:00

I'm raining down delighted destruction upon some of the more errant of my eyebrow hairs when I hear, wafting up from the livingroom,

"I think I have some duct tape in the truck."

I freeze, tweezers poised, and yell, "You are not duct-taping the walls!" Silence from below, then a muttered,

"...think she'd let us duct tape the window?"

I roll my eyes at my reflection, but it's counterbalanced by the wave of affection swelling up in my bosom. You see, the person threatening duct tape on my dwelling is my brother, who has come down for a visit. He and Nathan have teamed up for the very serious masculine pursuit of Watching Football, but in order to watch the next game (Oregon vs LSU) they needed an antenna (which Nathan went out and bought) but more importantly they need the antenna to work, so apparently now they are now... doing things to get it to work.

I think I hear Nathan say something about painter's tape (I relax ever-so-slightly at that) and the next clear snippet of conversation that floats up is him saying,

"You hold, I'll tape."

Which makes me giggle. Few things in life make me so happy as having my loved ones near, and the combination of my husband and my brother, those two most beloved males, is enough to put me into Constant Purr Mode. I finish up my eyebrows and decide to join them...

...and they've left me a spot on the couch.

(That's the Georgia game on the smaller screen.)

Adulthood Achieved

2011-09-01T20:49:00.000-07:00

I open the mailbox and give a little squeak of delight as I see the new issue of Real Simple awaiting my careful attentions. But once I start pawing through the rest of the mail during my saunter up the driveway, the real joy comes. For there, amidst the statements and the junk mail, is a hand-addressed card.

Ooo, I think. Real mail!

And I recognize the hand, as well: it is the elegant penmanship of my old-world grandmother.

Hmph, I think. I wonder what this is all about.

And then I realize what I'm looking at. Because the card is not addressed to "Mrs. R" or even "Mr. and Mrs. R". It is addressed to "O-R"

My face splits into a giant grin. What miracle is this? Has my grandmother finally accepted that I kept my surname? After less than three full years? Hot diggity!

So I go inside and open the little card up, and do you know what it is? It's a thank you card. A thank you card! Now, maybe this is not a big deal to you, but to me? Oh, this is huge. You see, I've been sending thank you cards to my grandmother for as long as I've been able to hold a writing implement, because they are important to her and I don't want to make my mother look like she can't raise a properly courteous daughter (in time I came to enjoy writing thank you cards for their own sake, but that is another story). But never once in all that time have I received a thank-you card for any of the gifts or cards I've sent to her over the years.

Until today.

It's a lovely little card, full of sincere gratitude for the photos I'd sent and compliments for the house, and it just makes me feel so very, very happy. Because now I know that I've finally made it; no longer am I a little girl in my grandmother's eyes, too frivolous to know what I want.

No, now I know I'm adult, with all the honors, rights, and privileges pertaining thereto (including my own name).

Nerd: A Tale of Faking and Making

2011-09-01T18:13:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make.

I hate wearing my helmet. I hate it so much. And not just because I hate how it physically feels, pressing my sweat-soaked hair against my equally sweat-soaked scalp, denying me the glorious sensation of wind that is the natural born right of everyone who straddles a bike. No, my hatred and resentment goes beyond that. I hate wearing my helmet because in spite of all my ballsy proclamations that, "Safety is sexy!", the truth of the matter is that my helmet makes me look like a nerd. A nerdy-goody-two-shoes-rule-follower. And I cannot stand knowing that I look like a nerd, gentle readers...

...because I am a nerd.

I'm not talking about being a geek. I'm not talking about my love of science fiction and fantasy, of my proclivity for reading comic books and playing RPGs, or of my sporadic status as "girl gamer". None of these things make me uncool (helllllooo geek-chic). But my deep-rooted instinct to be a "good girl"? To play it safe? Total nerdsville. And I am... still kind of insecure about that.

I know, I know- I am probably the least insecure person you know. I not only am fully aware of my own awesomeness, I am fully willing to go on- at length!- about it to anyone who cares to listen. Fer Pete's sake, I write a blog. Obviously I do not have self-esteem issues, here. And for the most part that's very true... but what's also true is that my self-confidence is a decades-old, carefully cultivated facade that has slowly but surely become reality. I acted confident and uncaring-of-others'-opinions until it became the truth. More or less. But deep deep down I am afraid that any minute now people are going to look at me, see past my tattoos and bright lips and uninhibited dancing and realize:

This girl freaks out about jaywalking. Cool people do not take pause at the prospect of jaywalking.

Cool people do not wear helmets, because cool people do bother to think about the consequences of not wearing helmets. Or, if they are really cool, they do wear helmets, and don't even think about whether or not they look cool because hey- cool people are cool no matter what they do.

Which brings us back to me being a nerd. I am a nerd because I am afraid that people will see a nerd when they look at me. Not because of anything that I do, or wear, but because of who and what I am.

But I will pretend that I don't care what people think when they see me wearing my dorktastic helmet and one of these days... it will be true.

Meeting (one of) the Neighbors

2011-08-19T17:37:00.000-07:00

Our First Night went pretty well, all things considered. We weren't able to get the box spring up the stairs (we'll be picking up some plywood at a later date) so our mattress went right on the frame, which helped make our very large room seem even larger. We sat in bed for a while just marveling.

We took showers, and learned which windows really need curtains ("Hi neighbors!"). We discussed the placement of furniture and potential future additions. We decided that a ceiling fan is high on our list of "must-have" improvements. It was all very domestic and good.

After I brushed my teeth I started hearing a strangely rhythmic clinking. At first I thought we had a leak in the sink, but after about five minutes of me "Shhh!"ing Nathan (because it kept stopping and starting at random) and creeping around from place to place, I finally decided it must be coming from outside... and I could hear music, too, and maybe someone singing...

Suddenly Nathan announced, "He's practicing drumming! That weird noise- that's the ride cymbal!"

Mystery solved, we talked about whether nor not we should go ask him to keep it down. "After all," I reasoned, "It's almost eleven o'clock." I volunteered to be the one to go down (I'm better at getting my way in such a manner that the other party thinks I'm doing them a favor), but as I got dressed we realized the noise had stopped.

"Maybe he only practices until eleven?"

Well with that problem solved I got undressed again, crawled into bed, and promptly fell asleep...

...only to be jerked awake a little after midnight by even louder (and, to be honest, more offensive-to-my-ears: I'm not such a fan of death metal) music, accompanied by correspondingly enthusiastic practice-drum noises.

Once again I pulled pants and shirt on, stumbled downstairs, fumbled my shoes on, and went over to meet our musically-inclined neighbor. I went out through our front gate and walked over to their fenced-in-patio and said (in my best nonthreatening, adorable female voice), "Excuse me,"

No break in the drumming. So I turn up my own volume.

"''Scuse me!" and a startled head pops up over the fence like a paranoid meerkat. He's younger than us, and shirtless, and quite possibly... in an altered state of mind.

"Hi," I say, giving my best sleepy-yet-charming smile. "Could you turn it down a little?"

"Oh! Oh yeah, sure. Sorry," and he disappears to do so as I'm offering up my, "We just moved in..." segue. I trail off, because he is staying disappeared and obviously we are done here.

Possibly my charm is not as charming as it used to be.

But that's alright, because if nothing else, at least one neighbor is quite reasonable.

Carnivores and Their Habit(at)s

2011-08-18T20:40:00.000-07:00

Nathan took the day off from work today, and our friend Todd helped him move all the furniture into the new place. When I got home Nathan looked more or less like this:

(That's where the couch used to be.)

It was exhausting just looking at him, so I took a nice half-hour long break to recover.

Once I was feeling refreshed, we hauled over a few more bins, and did a bit of furniture arranging (and I managed to take a chunk out of the wall, so I guess I can't stop worrying about when I'll do that) and then Nathan grilled us our very first meal at Timaru: a couple of petite sirloins.

Aaaaand then we realized that while we had thought to bring over the plates, we somehow didn't think to grab the silverware. But if you're going to be eating meat you may as well be a barbarian about it, right? Right. So we tore in with our bare fingers and teeth, sitting in the backyard and enjoying the breeze from the west.

It was delicious.

And now? Now we get to spend our first night in our new home. Huzzay!

New Neighbors

2011-08-17T21:03:00.000-07:00

"Do you think they're nice?"

"I don't think it matters if they're nice, because we're not going to talk to them. We're not even going to let them see us. In fact, we ought to leave now."

"Pssh, don't be such a nymph. They're too busy carrying stuff to notice us. Nobody said anything about not watching them."

"It's implied."

"Oh it is not. Anyway you can leave if you want to. Then there won't be any witnesses."

"Witnesses for what?"

"Doesn't matter- you won't be here."

"Fine. I'll stay. But only to keep you out of trouble!"

"...I like the look of that one."

"Which one?"

"The female. Look at her eyes- she has proper eyes, all slanty like ours."

"So does the male."

"Yeah, but he looks grumpy. She looks... like she still believes in fairies."

"Don't be ridiculous. You know the grown ones never believe in fairies."

"That one does. I can tell."

"You'd better hope she doesn't. The last thing we need is for her to recognize signs of our presence. Then we'd have to move again, and I like it here."

Pemberly, Tara, Ashgrove... and Timaru

2011-08-16T22:47:00.000-07:00

That is a Smooch of Ownership.

The last two evenings have been spent in a whirlwind of dusting and scrubbing and vacuuming, but now at last our new home is at the super-ultra-clean Starting Point I wanted it to be. Nathan, game fellow that he is, went along with the madness in spite of his firmly stated opinion that the house was already clean. (And it was, but not by my inner-German-grandmother standards...)

Which means that now we can start moving stuff in- which we did, actually. Mostly just a few (of the many) boxes of books, but it's deeply satisfying to see some of our stuff in our house. Which, as you may have gathered, I have christened "Timaru". I came across the word in a poem and thought, "Oh what a lovely sound- that would be a perfect name for our new house!" And then I thought, "Hmm, I'd better make sure it doesn't mean something like 'dung beetle'," so I looked it up and lo-and-behold, it's a city in New Zealand that takes its name from the Māori phrase Te Maru, meaning 'place of shelter'. Which means that "Timaru" is, in fact, the perfect name for our new house.

Frustrations and Bad Habits

2011-08-13T20:37:00.000-07:00

Here is what "closing on the house" meant in my brain:

We show up at the house, we sign papers, we get the keys. Hooray!

Here is what "closing on the house" actually meant.

We showed up at the title loan company, we signed papers, we... came back to our apartment and do some more packing. Because the closing paperwork has to be processed. Which could not happen the same day that we signed because the cut-off time was 1:30, and we didn't finish everything until closer to 2:00

So no house for us until some time Monday. Which is... somewhat aggravating, to say the least.

In the meantime I've become shamelessly infatuated with MTV's 16 and Pregnant. I know, I know... I'm not proud. But seriously- that show is fascinating. It's such an interesting study of different psyches... not to mention I definitely get to feel smug and superior when I watch it. So... that's probably not the most healthy thing in the world for my psyche. Not to mention there are way better things I could be doing with my time.

...like packing...

Homeowner? I Don't Think So.

2011-08-11T20:08:00.000-07:00

First of all, this:

Seven Stacks of... Script?

No, we are not having a boisterous bacchanalia; that pile o'packets is the sum total of our books (mostly). Liquor boxes are small and sturdy, which makes them excellent for transporting our trades (seriously- someone stop me) which means I've been making friends down on Main Street.... And pretending to be deaf to heavily-Russian-accented-voices and their opinions of my bosom and the rights it affords me. ::cough::

We close on the house tomorrow, and- me being who I am- I spent last night reviewing the 90+ pages of closing documents (and catching errors and questionable entries). As I slogged through that tome (the trick to deciphering legalese is to avoid distractions- like music- and to go reeeaaaaallly slowly to ensure you don't revert to "this-is-boring-let's-skim-it" habits) I came to a realization:

We are not going to be home-owners.

Everyone keeps using phrases like, 'first-time home-owners' and 'finally own your own place!', but the thing is- we aren't. We really, really aren't. We're going to be mortgage-owners. Long-term-home-buyers might be the most optimistic way of phrasing it. And I think that's something that too many people either gloss over, or just don't give too much thought to. But it's right there in the contract- we are expressly forbidden from doing anything that might lower the value of the property. Do you know who gets to dictate what is and isn't allowed to be done to something? Yeah, the person who owns it. Which in this case is the bank. Sobering, isn't it?

Anyway, back to packing...

Rounding the Homestretch

2011-08-06T12:48:00.000-07:00

As we enter into this final stage of our lives as non-home-owners, and I am doing things that involve Grid Paper and Tiny Paper Couches, I find myself looking around at our apartment and sighing. Not so much because I feel any sort of nostalgia about this dwelling (really it was only ever meant to be a placeholder) but because... well, it's only a little two-bedroom apartment (under 1000 square feet) and really, we don't have that much stuff- but holy crap we have so much stuff. And I'm trying to figure out the most logical way to pack it all up. Again. The difference being that instead of moving it cross-country I only have to move it cross-town (and not even that, really- it's only like 2.5 miles) which honestly always seems like such a bigger pain in the posterior. And since this will be my tenth move in as many years (including moves ranging from 3000 miles to 30 yards) I feel more than qualified to make that judgment.

It's the books, mostly. So many damn (and damnably heavy) books. And the thing is? It's not that many books! I've given up so many over the past years- and yet so many remain. I comfort myself that having a house means having the luxury of not having to constantly par down on books- but I may be only kidding myself, because really, if I didn't keep a strict hand on how many books share space with us, they would swiftly bury us in an avalanche of paper and ink.

(We all have our vices.)

At any rate, we're on schedule to close in less than a week, and it has been pointed out to me by certain individuals that I haven't actually shared any photos on this blog. And so I shall take this entry to remedy that glaring oversight:

Front of the house (crying out for a rocking chair or two)

Back of the house/garage (that porch demands parties!)

Living area- front door to the right

Nathan has declared I may use this for my crafting nook...

Looking from the crafting nook towards the kitchen (that's the home inspector there)

Kitchen! With high cabinets!

Guest bedroom/Nathan's office

Upstairs looking down. So many things to love in this picture.

Hypothetical kid's room/my office

Master bedroom

Sink in the master bathroom. It makes me happy.

So there you have it, Gentle Readers- a brief tour of the house-that-shall-be-ours. I even have a name picked out for her (a friend of mine rightly pointed out that all the best homes have names) but I won't be revealing it until the keys are in our hot little hands. In the meantime... back to planning my packing.

Sigh.

The Tragi-Comedic Life of Jenny O (Emphasis on Comedic)

2011-08-02T18:03:00.000-07:00

Maybe this ought to be two posts, but since I'd already been working on writing up the First Event when the Second One occurred, you get a(n exceptionally long) Twofer. I actually have a third one that's been bouncing around in my head for a few weeks, but it may never actually make it to the page... we'll see...

Sunday was an odd day for me. In spite of my glorious mood from the night before, I woke up... not wanting to wake up. And certainly not wanting to get out of bed. And double certainly not wanting to leave the house for church and to deal with people, of all hideous things. But I did all of these things, and even comported myself in a manner which I do not believe belied my Mopey Funk- although on the drive home Nathan asked if I was okay, since I was so quiet. I said that maybe sometimes I was just quiet, and he straight up called me on that BS.

We'd been talking all week about doing a hike Sunday afternoon, and although I dearly wanted to just lay in bed and Be Depressed, two things kept me from that course of action: the first was the memory of Nathan dancing with me the night before. The second was my determination not to be That Girl anymore. I've said it before, and I'll likely say it again- depression is like a comfortable old sweater to me. It's cozy. It's familiar. But giving into the fuzzy sweater is just Lazy- and I will not be lazy. Especially because I knew that hiking would eventually put me in a better mood. So I changed clothes and we headed out and started our hike and I was quiet but not sulky, and sure enough- eventually we reached a good spot for photography and I lay on my back and stared up through the trees while Nathan worked and I started to Feel Better. Then we scrambled up a waterfall and I started to feel a lot better. Happy, even. See?

Happy Campers. Er, hikers.

Anyway it was about then that tragedy struck- or maybe I should say I struck. A branch. With my naked toe. And it hurt, but I scolded myself for reacting so strongly, saying, "O you are just being a big baby- it didn't hurt that badly. You're reacting to the shock, not the pain." So I stuck my feet in the glacier-cold water and felt better. Eventually we got out and dried our feet and started the 2.5 hike back, and at first it was a little painful, but then the pain sort of eased and I thought, "See, you're fine."

Oh but then. Then I turned my foot a little, and put pressure on said injured toe from the side- and I was not fine. I was not even remotely fine, as the pain exploded through my foot and up into my leg, and my stomach dropped out. I kept moving (there may, perhaps, have been some obscenities) and soon enough it was fine again. Walking normally was not at all a problem, and now that I knew that side pressure was, I was very careful about my foot placement. I only screwed up twice more, and both times swiftly corrected.

We got back to the car and, out of curiosity, I took my shoe and sock off:

An instance wherein purple is NOT my favorite color.

"That may be a broken toe," I said to Nathan (although what I meant was "fractured" since obviously it wasn't broken broken). I was all for just taping it to the next toe and calling it good, but at my wise mother's insistence I did end up going to the doctor this morning. Here's what my toe looked like by then:

You can't tell, but the discoloration goes up into the foot...

The doctor was great (I do have something of a fondness for podiatrists- they never talk down to me or make me do pointless tests or try to force pills on me). I expressed my fear that I was just being a baby and it was nothing more than a bruise, but he took one look at it and said that usually when it looks like that there actually is something wrong with it. A few x-rays later we had our answer- not fractured, but definitely torn. Oh so torn. He commended me for listening to my mother, and then gave me a freaking sweet laser treatment. With this machine:

It was like Star Trek. With fewer catsuits.

Anyway, he told me to keep doing what I've been doing (mostly elevation and not-doing-the-painful-thing, as it will impede the healing process) and that I was not a baby. He also said I could do the buddy-tape thing to help stabilize, but after wearing the tape for about five minutes I realized it was hurting, so I've decided to forgo that for the time being.

So that was that adventure. And now we come to part two,

You may or may not remember, but a while back I submitted some stuff to a magazine. And they accepted. Well today I went to the mailbox, and what should I find but a package! And what was in that package? Why, two copies of a magazine!

As you might imagine, Elation ensued. I immediately flipped to the contents page:...

Click to Embiggen

...and immediately burst into laughter. Why? Take a closer look:

(My tablet isn't working right now, so forgive the funky touchpad-writing)

Ah well, I thought. Published is published, right? And it wouldn't be the first time my name had been published incorrectly (the first time was in college- and they not only credited the wrong artist, they didn't even get the title of my piece correct- or bother to get permission before using it.) So I flipped to the story....

...and started laughing even harder:

Because seriously, you guys? This:

Yes, that is the author-photo I submitted. With my name in the photo.

::sigh::

But I maintain that I can still call myself a published author, inconsistently spelled name or not. (Although Nathan definitely had fun saying, "I don't know who you are," and the like...)

I sent them a gentle email to point out the oversights, but really- I'm not upset. I've worked as an editor, I know how hard it is to catch every little thing (especially because these women also work day jobs), and quite frankly, it makes for a better story this way.

And really, that's all I ask from life- good stories.

EDIT: I got a very sweet response from the editor! She apologized profusely, and said she'd fix the online version ASAP- before it goes live tomorrow! (She also promised to get the spelling right for any future submissions I might make... tee hee!) See, mistakes happen to the best of us- but if you're willing to take responsibility and make it right, it's really not that big of a deal. ^_^

When Love is Stronger Than Fear

2011-07-30T22:32:00.000-07:00

The last wedding I was at, Responsibilities were Required of me. That was fine- I love weddings, and I love being In Charge of Things, so it was win-win, in my estimation. Today's wedding, on the other hand, I got to be Just a Guest, and I have to say- that was pretty great, too. Especially since this was the first wedding (since our own) that I got to bring Nathan with me, so on top of my typical "I love weddings and happy people!" blubbering there was also, "Oh remember what we did at our wedding?" blubbering (on my part, anyway). Also the thing that, had you asked me before this evening, I'd have sworn would never happen:

Ladies and gentlemen, my husband danced with me. On a dance floor. In public. There were witnesses! Possibly even photographic evidence! It was... so incredibly moving, because he is a person that does not dance. Can not dance, to hear him tell it. He does not "get" expressing one's self through The Art of Dance, and he is embarrassed by my proclivity for busting a move wherever/whenever (especially in grocery stores). It should therefore come as no surprise that, when the dancing portion of the reception started, I was out on the dance floor with some other brave souls getting my Exuberance on, while Nathan calmly sipped beer and shot photos from the safe seclusion of our table. So when Elvis Presley's "Love Me Tender" started playing and I made pitiful eyes at him, I did not actually expect him to respond beyond his typical head shake. But... he didn't shake his head. He took off his camera, stood up, and walked over to me- and we danced!

And readers, I almost started crying again. Happy crying, because it was such a perfect example of him valuing me more than his own pride. I know he was afraid of looking like a fool on the dance floor, but he got out there, anyway, because he knew it would mean something to me.

And that's the secret, all you non-life-partnered peeps wondering just what it is you you should be looking for: happily ever after is not a magic trophy that someone hands you when you get everything Just Right. It's found in those small moments when love overcomes fear.

Oh Glorious Day!

2011-07-23T22:08:00.000-07:00

Today has gone just about as well as a day can go.

This morning Nathan and I loaded up the car, strapped Ruli to the rack, and nipped down to Portland to pick up my Katie. From there we traveled three hours to Otter Rock, where they released me into the wild to surf whilst they went about their esoteric photographer business.

This is only the third or fourth time I've gotten out since being back, and I have to admit that the previous times have left me feeling a little discouraged. It's been cold (really cold), it's been rainy (which I don't mind for surfing, per se, but it sure makes me feel guilty about anyone who's come along with me), and I was out of surfing shape, which means I couldn't go for more than about half an hour to an hour at a time. But today- well for starters it was an insanely gorgeous day: sunny with a nice wind (maybe not so nice for surfing purposes, but nice for non-surfing pursuits) and the water just normally cold instead of dangerously cold. I was afraid such lovely weather might make for a crowded beach, but as it turned out it wasn't that bad- and what was really awesome was that it was the largest gathering of female surfers I've ever seen on an Oregon beach. And all surfing at about my level, so it really felt like a community- lots of smiles and laughing and encouragement. Very comfortable, very empowering, very good.

And then, of course, the coup de grace to my previous discouragement: I'm back in shape. The daily cycling commute has got my cardio back up to where it needs to be, and my back finally seems to be recovering from whatever it was I to it back in March (it involved dancing and alcohol and back-bending too exuberantly) which means my pop-ups are far less painful. That combined with the small, pleasant waves meant that I was actually catching and riding more than I was missing- and I had one especially beautiful, long ride that felt like pure triumph. My soul was singing all day long, happy to be home again in the ocean.

Happy happy- but see how my hair was already drying from the sun? I'd been out not even an hour at that point.

Once the other two lured me back on shore we headed out to in search of fish and chips, which, as you may recall, is something of a favorite of mine. I've not had particularly good luck finding any of decent quality on this side of the Atlantic, but I am happy to announce that the fare to be had at The Chowder Bowl in Newport, while not perhaps on par with the docks of Portsmouth, was definitely the best I've had stateside.

Woo, mission accomplished!

So that was particularly pleasing, as well. Not to mention the scrumptiousness of Katie's clam chowder, followed up by bread pudding with a generous dollop of brandy. (Hmm, I am beginning to detect a Certain Correlation between my Best Days and Delicious Food. Mere coincidence? Or something more sinister...)

On the drive home we got to talking about how nice it will be to have the house, and access to a driveway and a hose. I'll be able to rinse off Ruli, and clean up all my gear without Ridiculous Shower Acrobatics, and give the Blueberry a bath without worrying about what might happen to our various racks. The sewer scope came back good, so we're still on track to close by the 15th. It was pointed out to me that I've not yet posted any pictures of the house on this blog, so that will be an entry in the near future. But now? Now it's time for bed, 'cos Nathan's gotten it into his head that we should go hike around Mirror Lake tomorrow, and I definitely need to recover from today's activities!

A Return to Fiction

2011-07-17T21:43:00.000-07:00

Several Literary Related Events went down today. First off, we finally got to see the new Harry Potter movie ("finally"? It's only been out three days... sheesh...), and I'll have you know I went in prepared with a hankie. Which I used. And of course I have my nerd-core complaints about it (which I shall not get into here lest Spoilers Occur) but all in all I just really enjoyed the hell out of that movie. The dragon alone sent me in to rapturous wriggles of beautifully-rendered-anatomy artist-glee.

From there we walked up a block to the brand new library, which was having its Grand Opening today, so I could pick up my five books on hold (mmm, graphic novel glut). It's a gorgeous library- so modern and lovely and just... wonderful. (And my pocket-book breathes a sigh of relief that the temptation-to-impulse-buy-books has been once again reduced to manageable levels.)

So both of those things put me in a brilliant mood, as did the subsequent reading of Daytripper (beautiful on so many levels- exquisite linework, exquisite sentiment: I highly highly highly recommend it to anyone, but especially anyone who ponders death, life, and the intersections thereof) and the cherry on all of that delicious cake was getting a text from one of my beta readers this morning saying that she now finds my protagonist "curious and spirited" which is a vast improvement over "I want to slap the hell out of her" (said beta's reaction to draft one). Needless to say, all of this fictional goodness but me in excellent spirits to sit down and work on "the new one", so that is what I did. And then I realized that I haven't thrown any fiction up here for a good long while, so I thought I'd share a bit...

***
Whenever Urgrosma had spoken of the wall that surrounded the castle of the Sleeping Rose she had said it had grown out of a plant called verbrenindorn, a word which translated, more or less, to “burning thorn”. I’d always thought she had meant nettles- those stinging plants that itched like fire if bare skin accidently brushed against them. But what I stood before now was nothing that had grown naturally in our world.

I stared at the thorns, trying to discern why exactly they made the hair on the back of my neck rise up in alarm. The casual observer might have chalked it up to the ghostly blue fire that danced along the spines- and although it’s true such obvious proof of its magical nature was a bit… unsettling, I did not think it was that alone which gave me the sense of danger. The flame did not give off any heat, and did not burn the grass around it- nor did it melt the tip of my spear when I poked it experimentally. But something- something about this had led to the scattered skeletons I saw- some laying right at my feet, others visible deeper within the thorns: all charred. Could it be that the barrier was slowing growing outward? Was that why there were bones at different depths? Or was there something hiding amidst the thorns, sometimes emerging to kill, other times dragging its prey in? The dragon, perhaps?

As I was pondering this, my horse let out an irritated squeal and danced sidewise, knocking into me in such a way that I slammed my face into the pommel of my sword. Pain spiked through my skull in that way that only hitting your nose can cause, followed by the unpleasant sensation of blood pouring from my nostrils.

“Skyfather’s tits!” I swore, wiping the blood away with a swipe of my hand that ended in flinging the red fluid onto the thorns. Anything other blasphemies I might have been tempted to utter were immediately silenced by what I noticed then.

The blood was burning.

Not the blood on my hand, or smeared across my face- but every droplet that had struck the eerie blue light of the thorns had burst into white-hot flame. I stared at it in disbelief for a moment, then gathered more from my upper lip and held it above the plant. I flicked my fingers and again, wherever the blood touched the blue fire it sizzled and burned.

A magic that turned blood flammable, attached to thorns that looked sharp as any blade.

I took a step backwards, suddenly realizing why the skeletons were at different depths in the wall: those further in had hacked their way through the barrier for a while- until a single thorn had pierced their skin.

I had a brief moment of illness as I imagined what it might feel like to burn to death from the inside out- then felt overwhelming gratitude for whatever insect had stung my heretofore gentle mare.

“Good girl,” I said, grabbing her reins and leading her away from the verbrenindorn. “Very, very good girl.”

Flashback

2011-07-06T19:22:00.000-07:00

Dusk is just starting to settle her skirts as we wheel our bicycles out of the apartment. It's still fairly warm out, so my tissue-thin, white-is-most-visible t-shirt is feeling quite comfortable- although I've strapped a fleece to the Zuri's carrier, just in case.

I let Nathan take point- it's true that I prefer to lead (in this as in most things) but trial-and-error has taught me that after dark it's wiser to fall back, because checking my six with him behind me invariably leads to me being blinded. At least it gives me the fun of swinging my own headlight back and forth, back and forth across his form in a private game of Searchlight. ("Are you having an epileptic fit back there?")

People are out in the streets shooting off firecrackers (as people do on the 4th) and I have to admit- it's more than a little nerve wracking. The noise, the lights- the general drunkenness that means people don't necessarily recognize a cyclist as someone to look out for. I'm stressing out a little, and I'm thinking about the men and women in the military who have to deal with said conditions on a daily basis- without the comforting knowledge that it's just firecrackers, and that if anyone gets hit it will more likely than not be an accident. And not fatal. How odd that we celebrate our independence by reconstructing the sounds and smells of war- by taming it, making it a pet whose claws we've gilded.

It's three miles down to the waterfront, and we find a grassy patch to park our bikes and our selves. Our timing is impeccable: not five minutes later the show over the fort gets started. Since we didn't pay to get in we get to experience the strange disconnect between flash and bang, and I find myself making a game of guessing what noise each display will make.

I ask Nathan what his favorites are, and he tells me that it's the ones that are mostly noise- just a big flash and a big bang. Me? I like the glittery ones- specifically the gold, although I never say no to purple. The ones that seem to swim like minnows intrigue me, too- I've only seen them in recent years, and they always make me think of Gandalf, or maybe Hogwarts... they have a sort of life to them I'd not have though possible with mere gunpowder.

I watch explosion after explosion and I realize I'm a little bored. It makes me sad: when did fireworks stop being a big deal? Is this a natural part of growing up? Or am I just spoiled? Either way, when the finale comes (the real one- we thought it happened twice before it did) we don't waste much time hopping back on our bikes and cycling home. There are fewer explosions now that it's nearing midnight, but definitely more drunks- and more belligerent drunks, at that. Although I'm not afraid, exactly, I am grateful for the nimble speed of my aluminum steed, and for Nathan's imposing bulk beside me.

We cruise through quieter neighborhoods and talk in giddy terms about the house that will soon be ours. I realize how happy I am in this moment, with this man, and I feel overwhelmed with gratitude for this life that we have found and made together. And as we put our bikes to bed in our safe little apartment I think of the soldiers out in the darkness, who will never feel jaded about fiery night-time explosions, and I feel grateful for them, too- and I hope they too get to go home soon.

Acceptance

2011-07-02T22:55:00.000-07:00

Well, they countered our offer, and we countered their counter... and they accepted! Woo hoo! I cannot begin to tell you how freaking excited I am. Don't get me wrong- I'm trying to hold at least part of me in "let's see what the inspection says" skepticism, but mostly... I'm just freaking excited. I've been rolling the phrase "our house" around on my tongue, and have found its taste to be surprisingly similar in both quality and satisfaction to the phrase "my husband".

(I always have thought getting a mortgage together was ever so much more of a commitment than marriage...)

Schrodinger's Accuracy

2011-07-02T15:50:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in the bathroom, watching the color creep up the stick, and I'm thinking to myself,

Right now, in this moment, it could go either way. Right now, in this moment, it is both ways.

It may surprise you to discover that I'm not actually referring to whether or not I'm harboring a new life form within my womb. No, what I'm pondering in this moment is a person's faith in the accuracy of at-home pregnancy tests. And really, it all comes down to the result of said test. Or, to be stricly accurate, the desired result.

In this instance, the result is negative, and so my reaction is,

Pfft, these things are wrong all the time.

Of course, this is in direct opposition to the rush of overwhelming relief that flooded through me the first time I got a negative from such a test (I was a freshman in college, if that tells you anything about my mental state). I tossed the stick away and set off about my life with a spring in my step and a whistle on my lips: in no way did I feel the urge to second-guess that single blue line.

Likewise, had it been a little blue plus sign I was staring at a few moments ago, I'd have taken it as Gospel Truth... but it wasn't, and so I remain skeptical.

(Which, let's face it, is preferable to being crushed.)

Not How I Imagined My Day Ending

2011-07-01T19:24:00.000-07:00

I was expecting it to be a good day.

I got to sleep in a little, rolled in to work about half an hour later than I normally do (but still before opening, so I was fine), and then had enough work to keep me occupied (but not overwhelmed or annoyed) until the market closed at 1300. I'd already arranged with my boss to shut things down at that point, so I flipped the sign to Closed, changed back into my cycling gear (yes, I'm now one of those people) and enjoyed the hell out of my ride home in the summer sun.

Nathan and I were scheduled to do three walk-throughs starting at 1400 (hence my having arranged a short day), so I got about half an hour of decompression time before it was back out the door once more. The first house we looked at was shockingly appealing (especially at the price). I'd been a little dubious about that one, but Nathan was adamant it had serious potential. I'm so glad he was right!

The second house was the one I was really excited about- another little yellow house (are we seeing a trend here? Perhaps...) that was suspiciously charming on the outside, and in the photos. But we'd been burned before, so our hopes weren't super high as we drove over.

When our agent got out of the car he had a sheepish look on his face- turned out he'd left his Realtor key back at his office (I cannot judge- I got to work the other day and had to call Nathan to drive over and bring me my keys...). I told him we didn't mind sitting on the porch while he ran back to get it, so that's what we did. Well, after a while. First I sat on the tree swing in the back, and then we sat on a little garden wall and imagined kids playing in the grass. Then we sat on the back porch and enjoyed the cool breeze. Then we moved to the front porch and sat on the bench there and decided we'd rather have a pair of rockers. We were definitely falling in love with all the exterior aspects of the house (and I decided I wanted to be best friends with the current owners- they compost, and have a rain barrel, and a little veggie garden, and bicycles, and impeccable style as evidenced by the subtle red detailing about the windows) but again- trying not to get sucked in before we saw the interior.

Then our agent returned, key in hand, and we finally got to see the inside.

Love. It is the most perfect, perfect house. It is exactly what we were looking for. Completely. No compromises. Beautifully updated and maintained- you can tell the people that live there genuinely love that house, and have taken care of it accordingly (so important). It even smelled clean. Actually clean, not just "I threw some pine-sol down about twenty minutes ago" clean; after doing as many walk-throughs as I now have, I cannot tell you how rare that is.

We went to look at the third house, but it was just for form's sake. It was a decent place, but after seeing the Yellow House, nothing can compare. I asked our Realtor if there were any offers on it- he said no, and I felt downright insulted on behalf of the house.

So we remedied the situation.

That's right, gentle readers: we made an offer on a house today. So not at all what I had in mind when I woke up this morning. And thus the day ends, not "good" as I had imagined, but rather "great".

(....and I struggle to balance optimism and non-attachment....)

Also Have Some Art

2011-06-30T22:32:00.000-07:00

I must say, I cannot take credit for the linework: that was my Katie. But I did do the colors... they're going to be part of a Spiderman mock-cover that's going to be a wedding gift for people we don't actually know.

Moochos Smoochos, I'm sure

Tiny and Adorable is a GO!

We do not know these people, but they're getting married. Yay them!

And now it's so past my bedtime...

Second Generation Geek

2011-06-30T20:23:00.000-07:00

I can't remember whether or not I've mentioned this on here before (the lack of tags suggests not) but I am a second-generation geek. Demand ye evidence? Know this, then: my parents were avid readers of fantasy and sci-fi; they bought a personal computer the nanosecond they were able to; they were fans of both the original and Star Trek and Star Wars; and by golly, they played first-edition D&D.

Now that you're aware of this, you will not, perhaps, be so shocked to discover that I, too, get my Role Play on (and have since I was about fifteen or so... ah, Vampire...) I haven't been part of a game in about two years, but now that I'm back with my fellow nerds we're starting up a new one (set in Victorian London, no less), and I'm so stoked. As such I've been character building, and I thought that I might toss that up here, seeing as how there's been a certain dearth of fiction, lately... so here you go, my cross-dresser's story in her/his own words...

***

I should have been born a boy. As first-born, it was my duty to be male, and therefore an heir- but I wasn't one, so I couldn't be the other. I was a carroty-girl, not even a beauty they might marry off, although my parents never seemed to hold that against me. Mother would say, "The blessed Virgin gives more wisely than we can understand," and kiss my freckled forehead. My little brother was born four years after me, and he came out dark and lovely like our Mother's people, so perhaps she was rewarded for her faith. Or perhaps not- she died two years later, and once she did Father disappeared.

Well no, not disappeared, not like he has now. But he stopped being around so much, save in letters. My brother and I were left to the nursemaid, and then the governess, and really to whichever of the help did not shoo us away. Father would come around about once or twice a year, and oh what lovely times those were! We fair worshipped him, and how could we not? A tall man, with hair more fiery than mine has turned out, very handsome, and always with gifts for us. But his eyes were haunted, and each time he returned home, it seemed less and less as though he belonged there with us, or even with the living.

My brother and I grew, as children do, and he remained dark and lovely- but also delicate. Some less charitable folk might say sickly. He’s an elegant young man, my brother, with far nicer manners than my own- he’s more suited to a life of books and ledgers, whereas I was made for a life under the sun and atop the waves.

Our lands are on an island in Galway County, tou see, and I’ve been on fishing and merchant vessels almost as long as I’ve been walking. Been chased off ‘em a fair deal, as well, but eventually the men gave up. Hard to say “no” to the Lord and Master’s daughter, isn’t it? Especially when she takes such a genuine interest, and has the skill to match. As such, I’m a fair hand with a boat, and I know quality goods from bad. And, truth be told, I can hold my own in a dockyard brawl- maybe not win ‘em all, but I made more than one ship’s boy think twice before coming back for more. My form might not be much for attracting a husband, but it serves me well enough for those things I’m actually interested in.

But Father. The last time we had word from him was nigh on three years ago- he sent us a small packet, “in case you should ever have need of my Club,” his letter said. The packet held two items- the first a letter of introduction to Blacks in London, and the second this strange medallion you see here. The first time I held it in my palm I swear it felt hot as a live coal- I almost dropped it! But then the moment passed, and my brother felt nothing out of the ordinary, so I put it from my mind.

We put the items away, but when a year passed, and no further word arrived, we began to worry. After two years we decided something must be done- thanks to our fleet of ships our lands managed to escape the worst of the Great Famine, but things were not comfortable by any means- and funds are dwindling. And so, after a bit of arguing, it was agreed that I’d assume my brother’s identity and travel to London to see if I couldn’t unearth what had become of Father. At which point my brother pointed out that my manners were not all they might be for a lady going to London, let alone a Lord, and so he spent six torturous months teaching me how to bow properly, amongst other things.

***

(And in case you were wondering, yes: having the father's club be "Blacks" is my little hat-tip to the Aubrey/Maturin books)

An Open Letter to Delta, Whom I Hate

2011-06-24T20:13:00.000-07:00

In response to the laughable question, "How can we help?" on Delta's complaint form:

"You know what? You can't help. Or perhaps I should say, you WON'T help. You never have in the past, and I don't know why you even bother to use that term on your website, or anywhere else in your literature. Nor do I understand your insistence on using the phrase “customer care”, when it’s so obvious you DON’T. I chose to stop VOLUNTARILY flying Delta over three years ago, in large part because of how bad your “customer service” had become (also because at least 25% of the time- and I’m being GENEROUS- you seem to be incapable of getting a flight to any given destination on schedule) but there are times when I, or my family members, MUST fly, and Delta is unfortunately the only option. Such is the current scenario, wherein my husband, who had to go to the east coast for work, is currently stuck in Columbus, Georgia. Now don't get me wrong- I understand that it's not your fault Atlanta closed due to weather. I get that. What I do NOT get is why, even though his flight was diverted and landed in Columbus FIRST, the other two flights that arrived AFTER him were gotten out of there before him (his flight is still trapped there, over three hours later). Even more than that, I don't understand why you had over 100 people milling around the airport (with only ONE agent) for OVER AN HOUR before ANY sort of announcement was made. Furthermore, I don't understand why, when a Delta agent FINALLY called my husband back after an hour, the man told him that his system was "locked up" and then HUNG UP ON HIM. Weather happens, and you have no control over it- but the fact that you tolerate such unprofessional and callous behavior amongst your employees is INEXCUSABLE.

Would you like to hear more?

I expressed my displeasure via a post on FaceBook, and a friend responded by sharing her most recent experience (also from today). She was flying in to New York from Tennessee: her travel time should have been three hours, according to her tickets, but it turned into eight. First they sat on the runway for a long, inexplicable while, only to find out there was electric generator failure. So they taxied back to the tarmac and deplaned, waited on another plane, and once it arrived proceeded to wait on the crew. Finally she had the pleasure of circling three turbulent holding patterns. Again- we understand that mechanical failures aren't REALLY your fault. But the way you treat passengers while they wait IS.

Another story that was shared with me today was about Delta shafting my 70+ year old grandparents. I did not hear this from them, of course; they’re too old school to complain about that sort of thing. I heard this from my mother, who related to me that AFTER she had paid for FIRST CLASS TICKETS for her parents, you guys decided to bump them off their flight, and then pressure them to take coach seats on another flight. The agent told them that if they took the coach then they'd be reimbursed the difference in price, and since my mother was the one who had paid they went ahead and took the coach seats (the promise of reimbursement is the ONLY reason they even mentioned this heinous treatment to my mother). Well after three months of your "help", my mother finally gave up trying to get her money back. And you know what? It's not even about the money. It's about the fact that you bullied a pair of senior citizens (one of whom is a WAR VETERAN, if that means anything to you) because YOU overbooked a flight, and then refused to take responsibility for it. I guess it’s good to know that not even paying more can make you care about your customers. At least you’re egalitarian in your abuse.

If you want to be the great company you USED to be twenty or more years ago, you need to re-evaluate the kinds of people you let work for you. These bullies, cowards, and unfeeling louts are representing your brand, and they're doing it poorly. People HATE your company. The phrase “I’ve been Delta’d” is commonly understood amongst my social set to mean “I’ve been screwed over.” Go ahead and google "I hate Delta" or "Delta sucks" or "Delta is evil". Go on, do it- see how many hits you get. Why? Not because of weather delays, I assure you. It's because of the way your employees are allowed treat people. Maybe you should take some lessons from SouthWest or Chick-fil-A, two companies I NEVER hesitate to do business with: they treat people not just well but RIGHT. They have their share of mistakes and delays as well, but they actually APOLOGIZE, and try to MAKE IT RIGHT. They treat people like PEOPLE, and not like dumb sheep to be herded from one location to the next with kicks and scorn. It's called taking responsibility for (and pride in) what you do, and maybe it's about time Delta remembered how to do that.

But you know what? You probably stopped reading this about seven hundred words ago, and I'll probably just get a form letter response saying, "Delta apologizes for you unfortunate experience. We hope to see you soon!" and that will be the end of it. If there's still a human being reading this, prove me wrong. Prove to me that Delta hires more than just bullies, thugs, and sociopaths. Prove to me that SOMEONE in this company actually gives a damn at how much they’re hated. I dare you."

EDIT: I got my auto-reply telling me they try to respond within seven business days. We'll see.

Portland Twice in as Many Days- Oh My!

2011-06-23T21:15:00.000-07:00

And for excellent reasons both times.

Last night I headed down to meet up with an old and dear friend of mine, Zachary. We caught up on the past few years, ate delicious corn, and best of all I got to meet his long-term lady, whom I liked so well that honestly, I probably spent more time chatting with her than with him. This is something of a trend with my exes... I have one old flame in particular who married a girl so excellent that I am always hard-pressed not to steal her for pure-girlie-madness times... not that I love him any less but damn that man married a rad chick.

Anyway hanging out with them last night was just so exactly what I needed to sort of regain my chill. I'd worked myself up into a near frothing-rage during the workday, and it was good to be with people who reminded me that it's just not worth it to to let that sort of thing affect you so much.

This afternoon, however, I ventured down for an entirely different sort of stress-relief: my bike was finally ready! And so I re-visted Seven Corners, and Corey helped me get everything adjusted Just So. In fact he is so awesome he helped me (and by 'helped' I mean did it without any sort of interference from me) put it on the new roof rack:

Blue on Blue!

After it was up there I sort of squinted at it and said,

"Huh. I guess that's going to be a lot more wind resistance than a surf board," to which he replied,

"Yeah- and a lot taller. So be careful if you go through the Burger King drive through or whatever- I can't tell you how many bikes we've had to repair because people forget and go racing into their parking structure!"

Which, of course, made me totally paranoid about for the first few miles of my drive home, until the Rational part of my brain pointed out that even with the bike on top my profile was still lower than the 18-wheelers next to me on the freeway, so if they could make it through an underpass, so could I.

(Oh Rationality! So nice to see you again, however briefly...)

Once I got home I immediately took her out for a spin, and discovered that there is a really lovely biking/hiking path not half a mile down the road from the apartment (the opposite direction of work, which is why I'd never seen it before). All in all I did about four miles, and it was just so much fun! Especially since I didn't feel like I had to clutch at the handlebars to make certain the wheel stayed attached...

Back home again

I'm definitely looking forward to tomorrow: the morning's commute should be really excellent. Not to mention the fact that Nathan comes home in the evening...

Walkthroughs, Round II

2011-06-21T19:09:00.000-07:00

Oh man. Just... oh man.

I was scheduled to do two walkthroughs today. The first was sort of a whim on my and Nathan's part: an old house (gorgeous bones) that had been converted into three apartments. We thought we'd check it out just to see how feasible it might be to convert it back into one big beautiful home. The second was a house in a neighborhood that we love, and from the outside (and description/online pics) looked like exactly what we were hoping for. It was in foreclosure, which meant that it was reasonably priced, but I was also freaked out that it might sell before we even got a chance to take a look. Nathan's in Ohio this week, which meant he wasn't available for the walkthrough, but we discussed it carefully ahead of time and decided that so long as this house was live-able, we were willing to do any work that needed doing to bring it up to speed, and I should go ahead and start the process.

Now, several people expressed some (mildly insulting, if I'm being honest) shock over our plan. "Well of course you can't make any decisions without him seeing it!" about sums it up. (Nathan's response when I relayed these reactions: "Why? You're not an idiot." Great stars, I love that man.) I feel like this may be another one of those military-brat culture things; both Nathan and I witnessed our parents making major decisions (such as buying a house) without the other one being physically present. When you're military that's just the way it is some times. You talk about it ahead of time to make sure you're on the same page, but my goodness- if you can't trust your spouse with a decision like that, how can you trust them enough to be married to them?

Anyway I was fortunate in that Papa Trout was willing to come along with me and keep an eye peeled for any major structural warning signs (and give me a ballpark of how much it would take to get the houses to where we'd want them), so it wasn't like I was going in completely blind. It's a fine thing having a contractor on your side, I tell you what. Actually, strike that- it's a fine thing to have good friends in general.

We got to the three-unit and Papa Trout saw what they were asking and started laughing. "That's about $30-$40k more than they should be!" he said, and began to point things out to me (the need for a new roof, the need for a new porch, etc). He agreed with us that it has lovely bones, though, and although it would take a lot of work to get it back to a single-family dwelling it might be worth it. But then, as we were walking in the front yard we discovered something that no website will tell you about.

A man called out to us from across the alleyway, and we turned to see him shamble closer.

"I live here," he said, and my heart sank. Not because he was living there (we knew there was one tenant still in residence) but because he was obviously mentally disabled. He proceeded to tell us, "This is my home and I'm never leaving. I love it here."

That, my friends, is a headache I don't know that I care to deal with. And it makes me so grateful that he showed up when he did, because what seller in their right mind is going to reveal an issue like that? "Oh yes, well, there's a disabled person living upstairs and it's probably going to take a state-eviction to get him out. But look at the yard!"

So it was on to the next house, the one we were so excited about. We walked in and I immediately realized that, like an unwary online-dater, I had been lured in by carefully angled photographs. I won't go into all the problems with this house (Papa Trout went down to the basement, where he began laughing hysterically and yelled at me not even to bother coming down) but let's just say this: I might be willing to pay $10k for that house. If I was feeling generous.

Long story short, it's not in livable condition, and since that was the one thing Nathan and I required (such a little thing!) it has been firmly crossed off the list. (Unless they drop it to the afore-mentioned $10k, because then we can buy it outright and continue to live in our apartment while renovations are made. Do you hear me, Universe?)

I guess this is the part where the glamor of House Hunting begins to wear off, and I start to come to terms with the fact that mostly it's a lot of work for very little payout- well, until you find The One, of course. It makes me grateful that we're not under any sort of time constraint (one of the things civilian life does actually have over military) so we can wait for a house that really sings to us- and doesn't have a ceiling in danger of collapse.

The Days Are Just Packed

2011-06-16T21:51:00.000-07:00

Well stripe my posterior and call me Apis: it's been that busy around here, lately.

Yesterday we finally made good on all the bicycle research we've been doing, and headed into Seven Corners Cycles down in Portland. There we met Corey, a particularly friendly chap who ordered our bikes for us and then sent us over to see his friend Mike at Rack Attack so that we could outfit our car to actually carry the bikes once they come in. Nathan had an enjoyable hour or so putting those together (the man does love gear) while I sat in here and put more hours into... a secret project that is Coming Soon. In capitals, people. We are not messing around here. But it's taking up an enormous amount of my time (at least it feels like it has)... hopefully it will turn out to be worth it.

The other kind of research we've been doing a lot of lately is related to houses and the purchasing thereof. So today we made good on that, and went out with our realtor, who is every bit as excellent as his recommendation. We saw four houses, and all of them were good. One of them we've eliminated because we both felt positive-neutral about it, which isn't enough to justify spending that much money on a place (plus it was further out than we wanted to be). There is one house (Yellow House) that Nathan is super excited about, but I'm feeling a little more reserved. Perhaps part of that has to do with the filthy condition of the interior: I do not know how people live that way. They must be renters, because surely no one would treat a home they owned like that... surely not... But the nice thing about filth is that it's relatively easy and cheap to fix: we just have to be willing to scrub (and rip out some carpet, but we would have done that, anyway). The bones of the house really are nice- I'm just skeptical about the bathroom situation. We'll see....

The front room was immaculate compared with the rest of the house. Also there was a stupid dog yapping at our ankles the entire time, which did not help my perception of the house, I'm sure.

Nathan's next favorite house (70s House) is one that I feel much more excited about, even though there isn't a basement. But again- it's further out than we wanted to be, and definitely needs a new roof. But the interior- oh my! The people who built (or possibly remodeled) this place understood the importance of light, so it feels a lot bigger than its actual square-footage. And the master bath... is pretty great.

The kitchen made me squee with happiness- especially that hand-painted backsplash.

The other house that I sort of love (Dutch House) is lower on Nathan's list, and I can definitely understand why- it would take more work to become what I envision it as (namely having a huge master bedroom suite on the top floor- currently there are two bedrooms and a sitting area- no bathroom). Plus the kitchen is kind of non-existent, which is a real minus. But when I walk into the house it makes me happy- and its proximity to uptown is a real plus.

Upstairs sitting room, flanked by two bedrooms.

So there you go- three great houses, all with their shares of pluses and minuses- plus I'm sure we'll go see more, eventually. That's the nice thing about not being in a hurry to move (and being a staunch fatalist): you can take your time and see what else is out there.

And now? Now I get back to work on some logos I've been designing for people.

Somehow I Thought It Would Be More Complicated Than This

2011-06-10T19:51:00.000-07:00

We have a realtor.

What a strange sentence to type... but there it is, hanging around up at the top of this page; we have a realtor.

Considering the amount of bother and thought that has gone into taking this step, it was almost... insultingly easy to do. I contacted someone who came highly recommended, got a response, laid out our situation/desires... and now we have a realtor. Weeeeiiiiirrrd. He said he'll start sending us links in the morning (my heavens, I feel a bone-deep shudder of pity when I imagine how our parents did this in the ancient pre-internets days of yore), and we'll get this ball rolling. Well, right after I go get us pre-approved for some monies (also online- thefutureisnowanditistotallyawesome). I'm feeling a sort of steely determination about the whole thing, but also a sense of amusement at how Nathan, almost literally overnight, has suddenly become Majorly Stoked about buying a house. He is like, way more excited than I am. Which is not to say I'm not excited, but my excitement is tempered, I think, by the emotional attachment I've formed to my "someday I'm buying a house!" fund that's been growing (and shrinking and growing again thank you stock market) for the past twelve years or so. Even though this money has always been earmarked for a down payment on a house, it seems almost... sacrilegious to actually do anything with it (although I did take out a bit once to pay off my car in a hurry). I've always been better at saving money than spending it. Emotionally, I mean.

There is also a part of me (and I'm sure this is quite common for first-time home-buyers) that keeps looking over my shoulder, waiting for someone with aviator glasses and a badge to show up and say, "Excuse me, Miss, but you are in no way adult enough to be taking this very Adult Step." I'm trying to remember if I felt like this about getting married... I don't think I did. But then, I've always found the idea of sharing a mortgage with someone a much more terrifying commitment than just marrying them.

Where will the adult madness end? cries Interior Me. What's next? Babies??

Well, maybe. They are less scary than mortgages...

More Blathering About Bikes

2011-06-09T18:49:00.000-07:00

(Sorry guys, but you know how I am when I get a new Interest.)

First of all, today was a day of Great Achievement. Why is that, you ask? Because I finally made it all the way up the friggin' hill outside my place without having to get off and walk. I almost wasn't heavy enough to make the pedals keep going near the top, but I was and I did. So go me. I definitely was feeling pretty bad ass about that.

Second of all, I've discovered that being whistled at while on a bike is even more flattering than being whistled at while running. Possibly because more of me is covered up, and thus I can pretend their admiration is for the steely determination in my eyes as I struggle to get my bike going again from a complete stop at an intersection (oh how I dream of gears).

Speaking of my gear-lust, I have to admit that part of me is starting to feel a little smug about my lack thereof. (See the whole "feeling pretty bad ass" about getting up the hill portion of the entry...) So maybe I can kind of understand the whole fixie-obsession just a wee bit. Although I am still jumping on a new bike just as soon as I possible can, because damn I'm tired of people looking around for the source of that incessant squeaking (hint: it's me). Hopefully that day will come very soon, as we've found a Jamis dealer that comes with a great reputation. (Oh, and in case you were wondering, this is the bike I'm looking at. It's not red, but hey- we can't always have everything perfect...)

Oh the Perfection of Red on Red

Anyway we finally got "Nathan's bike" back from the shop, as well, so now we're going to see about selling them. I was thoroughly encouraged to hear the expert give me a guesstimate that perfectly matched my own, regarding fair asking price. And with Nathan's mad photographer skillz to put them in their very best light, it shouldn't be hard to find buyers at all (although I am rather hoping to be able to sell them as a matched set because I am sentimental that way).

In other, non-bicycle-related news, I've been working on a couple of projects for a couple of friends. I ought to be able to post the results in a day or two. Nothing spectacularly exciting- more along the lines of Design than Art- but pleasing nonetheless. Although I guess I did recently finish a piece of "art" that needs documenting- a random bit of embroidery done for no other reason than to amuse myself. Maybe I'll have Nathan take a photo later tonight...

PS if you'd like to see more of my lovely vintage wheels, go check out Nate's photostream

Wishing I Could Be My Own Reader

2011-06-07T21:18:00.000-07:00

So I'm up over 73k words, and I've got to say... I'm really, really sick of my story. Isn't that horrible? But I want nothing so much as to take a three-month break from it. I've just been up to my eyeballs in these characters and their exploits for the past six or seven months and... I want to work on other stuff! I want it to be done! But it won't be done until I finish writing it, and if I go wandering off to chase new story seeds I won't get around to finishing it... bleh. The truth is, I'm afraid I've ruined my own story for myself. I'll never ever be able to read it as a reader: for the rest of eternity, no matter how much I refine it, I am certain that I will continue to see ways to make it better. What a horrifying thought. But I suppose it's in no way a unique one: probably most writers get sick of their projects, and rue the fact that they'll never be able to just enjoy them. But I also suppose that makes writers awfully grateful to other writers, who kindly keep providing them with stories that they don't have to do anything to but read.

(At this particular moment I'm feeling said gratitude for Robin McKinley, specifically for The Blue Sword.)

Plus I've also swung away from the, "Hot damn I am such an excellent writer!" end of the spectrum back towards, "No one will ever willingly read this drivel!" which is certainly not helping the process. But I'm pretty sure my upcoming break will fix that (truly, I only have about four more major tweaks that need to happen before I read through it all again- and find more tweaks- and then send it off for Round Two of Feedback). Nothing like stepping away from something for a few months to refresh your perspective on it.

Ka-Ching! Ka-Ching!

2011-06-02T21:52:00.000-07:00

What? No, that's not the sound of a cash register! Don't be silly. It's the sound of my little vintage bike's little vintage bell! Ka-Ching!

Today was the day I got bold and rode the bike to and from work. I mean, to be completely honest I only rode it about halfway to work, because the first half is straight up a hill that I am not yet able to handle sans gears. I walked the bike and tried not to sob as middle-school children whizzed past me. Coming home was definitely easier (there's an uphill portion in that direction, as well, but the grade is much, much gentler), if only because the more I ride the less paranoid I get about... well, everything.

I really enjoyed it, and I look forward to riding too and fro on lovely (or even passable) days from here on out. But I have to say, I'm probably going to go ahead and trade my bike in for a new one. It kills me, because I really, truly love the aesthetic of this bike:

Outside Bad Monkey, after they'd tuned her up.

but man, it is pretty much too rickety for a Nervous Nellie like me! And the lack of gears... I am definitely not hipster enough for that inconvenience. So we'll sell her (and Nate's- it would make me sublimely happy if we could sell them as the matched pair they are) and get me a less-cool-looking, but more-practical ride.

Stupid being a grown-up.

Ratquiescat in Pace

2011-05-30T22:45:00.000-07:00

We knew last night that she was going to die.

She was curled up in the corner of the cage, acting sleepy and lethargic. We took her out and stroked her fur, held her, let her know there was love and warmth for her. A kind touch. Sometimes I think that's the only comfort you can give a dying creature- just a touch, so they know they're not alone.

Eventually we put her back in the cage, thinking she'd like to have the familiar smell around her. I continued to stroke her fur, until she let it be known that she just didn't want to be touched any more.

I can understand that, too.

We left her alone with her sister, and we went to bed, and in the morning when we got up she was dead. Dead, not "passed", because I hate that term. I stitched up a shroud, with the idea that I didn't really want to keep her from the elements- but I did want to show respect. And love.

Pale pink was the color I chose- gentle, like her.

We took her across the river to bury her. Katie and Marc came, and wove little wreaths and bouquets for the grave. I dug the grave with our newly-bought trowel, but we all contributed handfuls of dirt to the actual burial.

It's good to have friends who will indulge you.

Back into the earth from whence she sprang.

The view from the gravesite

Katie picked the spot, and it's a good one- as fine a final resting place as any one could hope for. And yes, I know that for all I buried her a full foot deep she'll probably be dug up by a scavenger before sunrise. But I'm okay with that, too. There's an importance to ritual that has nothing to do with the reality of life. Or death.


Camilla Ratkins, 2009-2011

Requiem aeternam dona eis,

et lux perpetua luceat eis

Being Productive With My Procrastination

2011-05-29T21:39:00.000-07:00

So I've been working on the novel for the past... meh, however many hours, and I need a break. So I'm getting on here to tell you about the little project I churned out yesterday, but first I need to say that if your name is either Alana or Curt you need to stop reading right here. I mean, unless your name is Alana or Curt and you're not actually any relation to me, in which case carry on. Or your name is Alana or Curt and you've already received the package I'll be taking to the post office on Tuesday, in which case you need fear no spoilers. But if your name is Alana or Curt, and you are related to me, and you have not received said package, well then you should have stopped reading several sentences ago, and I cannot be held responsible for what you're about to see.

Anyway.

Curt and Alana had a busy day the other day, what with providing Eel with a brand new little sister (whom I shall call Bee). Now, you may recall that when my nephew Grasshopper was born I embroidered a bib for him. What's that? You don't recall? Well how fortunate for you I'm such an obsessive life-chronicler. Go ahead- refresh your memory (you'll have to scroll down to the very bottom of that entry to see the picture). I'll wait. And take up some more screen space while I'm doing so.

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Are you back? Excellent.

Where was I? Oh yes, embroidering bibs. I did a hedge pig for Grasshopper, and for little Bee I've done... well, I've done this:


AKA "White Sage" AKA "Bee Sage" AKA "Sacred Sage"

The picture doesn't really do a good job of showing the details, but a)Nathan just switched over his entire system from Pentax to Nikon so he hasn't managed to replace all his lenses yet and b) I think I've pestered him enough for photos for one day. He also provided these for me, because the moment was really too hilarious not to document:

Ooo, under-chin love!

My handsome boy is very secure in his cathood.

Anyway, what I wanted to mention about my process on this one is that I used an incredibly slick floss on the white portion of the flowers. It's shiny and gorgeous, but unfortunately the afore-mentioned slickness makes it something of a bitch to work with, especially on such a tiny scale. I'd originally planned on adding little... well I'm not sure what they're called, but they look kind of like antennae:

They're an fairly prominent part of the white sage flower, but they simply were not going to happen, so rather than drive myself insane with trying to force it to work, I decided my newest niece will probably not be scarred for life just because one bib is not entirely accurate in a botanically anatomic sense.

Probably.

Anyway as I sat there stitching this up (and watching Numb3rs on Netflix and may I just say that while I loved the first season, so far the second season has mostly been pissing me off and I hope it gets better soon) I started to think about how much I would actually charge for one of these little things- and I suddenly realized that the answer is "a lot". That is to say, the price I'd slap on one of my hand-embroidered bibs is one that I would certainly never pay for a bib for any child of mine. But I simply could not justify charging less, you know? It takes me anywhere from five to eight hours of pure stitching to do one of these- and that's after I've come up with the design and done the custom drawing. Of course, there's always the thought that if I was doing this on a regular basis I'd get a lot faster, which means fewer hours spent on each one, which at least cuts down part of the hourly rate (I always calculate my hours in terms of wage- and quite frankly you should, too). But even if I could do one in, say, three hours- I'd still be looking to charge about fifty bucks. For a bib.

Just to check how insane I am, I went onto Etsy to see what hand embroidered bibs are going for. The price point is about $7-13, which just sort of boggles my mind (although less so, perhaps, when one considers the quality of some of the work). I absolutely 100% would not be okay with charging so little. Which I guess means I'll be sticking to embroidering things for presents rather than profit...

EDIT: I just looked up "hand embroidered original design" and the price point there is pretty much what I'd come up with for mine. So there may be hope for making money off my hobbies yet...

In Which I Go Into Entirely Too Much Detail About Being Ill (You've Been Warned)

2011-05-25T15:15:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning with my jaw clenched, possessed of a certainty that if I moved I would vomit.

Do you know what it's like to have a hangover? If so, then you know how I felt (although I had nothing more intoxicating than a glass of ginger ale the night before). If not, let me see if I can break it down for you- your ability to keep from vomiting is like a pair of pins balanced point to point. This improbable arrangement has only one hope of maintaining itself- complete immobility. Even breathing too hard in its vicinity is liable to bring the whole thing down. As such, I spent about half an hour in bed maintaining my iron-jaw survival response, too afraid to get vertical even long enough to make it to the bathroom.

"Hon? You'd better get up," this from a helpful husband, trying to ensure I'm not Late for Work.

"If I move," (this from between my gritted teeth) "I will vomit."

Eventually a moment came where I thought I might be able to make it to the bathroom- and I did. And never mind the details, but it involves a shower and desperate gratitude for hot water beating down on my weakened frame.

I probably spent an hour in that shower, having decided that work could get along just fine without me for the time being. Unfortunately I knew I had to go in for at least half an hour, to take care of some time-sensitive issues (stupid stock market), which I did, but on my way home I got saltines and herbal tea. Once there I crawled back into bed, drank my potion, and tried to ignore my ravaged obliques and throat long enough to slip back into sleep.

It wasn't actually that hard (thanks valerian-infused tisane!) although I had some weird dreams.

I'm awake again (obviously) and able to move about without clenching my jaw, but I have a certain delicacy about my innards that's keeping me on a cracker diet for the nonce. And I'm trying to face up to the fact that what I've long suspected- that I have a bit of a dairy intolerance- is probably pretty seriously true. (Damn you, delicious cream-based sauce). As I lamented to Nathan, I'm turning into a hipster against my own will ("No refined sugars! No dairy! No peanuts!" "They don't eat peanuts? Yeah, I guess that's right- they eat organic cashews...")

(...also I am currently waiting to get my single-gear bike back from the shop... ::sigh:: at least it's not a fixie...)

Iris Eyes are Smiling

2011-05-24T19:19:00.000-07:00

Further adventures in PS

Now that the weather is so very lovely on such a regular basis, I've taken to walking home from work more often than not. It's about a mile and a half, which is just long enough to be a really pleasant sort of meander, during which time I can get a lot of good thinking done. Most often the thinking has to do with whatever creative project I'm working on (when I was in college my fellow art majors and I would gripe about how people thought we spent so much of our time sitting around doing "nothing", but the reality was that we were churning through ideas before committing them to the tangible world) or perhaps the dreaded Feelings. Today, however, I was putting a lot of thought into What Sort of House I Want.

WSoHIW has been on the brain quite a bit lately, and as such I've been using my walks home to explore the neighborhood that I've been thinking of settling into. Today I was doing more than just enjoying the area, however- today I was actively looking at houses (and their gardens- hence the title of this post) with an eye to what appeals to me on an aesthetic basis. Which is how I can now tell you with assurance that a house without a porch is an ugly thing to me: I fact I was not aware of until this afternoon. It doesn't even have to be a big porch- a little tiny one will do- but it can't just be a door set in the flat face of a building. No depth makes it seem... ominous, somehow. Furthermore, if the windows are small it's a definite no-go- again, something I didn't realize until I started to analyze my reactions to the various houses on my route home.

Funny, isn't it, the things that do or don't appeal to us?

It's karaoke night, but I don't know that I have it in me to sing: I'm feeling queasy (I over-indulged in the lemony squash-and-cream ravioli I made). But I do have it in me to enjoy time spent with friends, and that's really what this little tradition is about, anyway...

PS: I've been watching The Dresden Files on Netflix and man- it's like they went out of their way to hire awful actors and actresses for that show. The episode I just got done watching features a woman that I'm pretty sure was a failed clone of Moreena Baccarin.

Ripping Out Stitches

2011-05-23T21:56:00.000-07:00

I'm at the point in rewrites now where it's mostly come down to a bunch of "expand here" or "fix this". And my absolute most major "fix this" got fixed today, which is really just brilliant. It was a point in the novel where I literally had written a line of dialogue as, "[I don't] know- ask the Author!" because I did not know how I was going to resolve it, and yet I had to just hurry up and get past that part in order to move on with the story. I guess it's sort of a more matter-of-fact version of me using ______ in place of names I've yet to make up. As such, I've been going back through and "ripping out stitches" (ie passages) to work them back in in such a manner that will support the newly discovered solution.

The other point I've gotten to is the "doing actual research" point. There is glassblowing in my story, and although I have a passing familiarity with the craft from my time working at The Museum of Glass (and International Art!), I don't really know enough to write a detailed scene that wouldn't get laughed out of a hot shop. I'll actually probably send my second draft out without said researched details, because I don't think my betas want to wait that long (and really those details won't be necesarry to the story- just to the authenticity of it). What's nice is that I don't have to rely solely on Senor Google, because I've managed to find a place around here where I can go and watch artisans work (and theoretically ask questions), and thereby build up enough lingo to make a respectable showing of myself. Plus, you know, maybe finally scratch my own personal glass-blowing itch via lessons.

In other exciting news, we finally took the inherited bikes down to a local shop to get them up to speed (as it were). We figured even if we don't end up using them for ourselves, we'll have an easier time selling them if they're in tip-top condition. And from the research Nathan's been doing, it seems pretty likely that it actually would cost more to build "my bike" into what I want it to be than it would cost to just buy a new one (it's because I have internal-gear love). Ah well.

Real Conversations in My Marriage

2011-05-21T22:35:00.000-07:00

Click to be able to actually read said conversation.

I've been playing around with Sketchbook Pro, to see how I like it, and to tell the truth I'm not really sure yet. I'm pretty sure it has a lot to do with me being too lazy to really look into what it can actually do outside my half-hearted doodling, but still... I'm just starting to get a feel for PhotoShop, and I'm not sure how much I want to muddy those intellectual waters.

Also, I've heard from several sources (some of whom have been saying so for years) that I ought to get back into doing the little slice-o-life comics I used to do back in college. As such, I've also been playing around with reworking my old style, and the above sketch is the result of doing so whilst making the afore-mentioned forays into Sketchbook. (I apologize if you already read the exchange over on FB...)

Best Friends and Brush Pens

2011-05-20T19:44:00.000-07:00

So my best beloved Katie girl gave me a "just because" present a few weeks ago: a copic pen. It is a lovely and excellent instrument, and I've been a'doodlin' with it:

(Check out the variety of line I can get with just one tool!)

That explosion of stars on the right is me prepping for my "next project". Yup, once I finish the rewrites of "the novel" (and submit them to the ol' Betas) (also, will I ever be able to not want to put quotation marks around that phrase?) I will busy myself with something that's been percolating for about four or five years... just a very short comic, between three to six pages. Anyway it requires a crap ton of stylized stars, so... brush pen to the rescue!

The truth of the matter is that I actually find it very satisfying to fill a page with... how would you put it... design? Pattern? I'm not sure. But there are pages in my sketch book that are nothing but waves and weaving pattern. So soothing... and I think the finished effect can look pretty good, too. Like phone doodles gone wild! I just find it an amusing, almost "secret-shame"-esque trait of mine, since I'm so friggin' adamant about being a figuragtive artist damn it! Speaking of which....

(Nathan liked this doodle, so I thought I'd put it up, too)

Headed out to the coast tomorrow- because surfing soothes what ails ya'.

Responsible Writing

2011-05-19T18:11:00.000-07:00

I may have mentioned this a time or forty, but lately I've been working on rewrites/expansions (with the goal of having my second draft done by July). In fact that's what I'm about to settle in and work on after I finish this blog entry (I've been informed by more than one person that they miss my daily updates- I've made a promise to try and be more consistent). Anyway, as part of the whole "rewrite" process, I'm working from feedback given to me by my beloved Alpha readers, and one of them mentioned that I'd failed to mention any sort of birth control, even tho' I imply that Sexy Times are occurring. Seeing as how I am a Big Fan of representing responsible intercourse (I could have kissed Pat Rothfuss for his portrayal of a male taking responsibility in The Wise Man's Fear), I gave it some thought and figured out how to work in a bit of contraception. I did actually wrestle with whether to go for the tried-and-true-fantasy-trope of hebs, or be bold and go for a barrier method, but since my story is set in a time that more or less equates (technologically) to 18th century western Europe (yes yes, I know- chemical-soaked linens and the like... and yet), I decided to stick with herbs. And made the executive decision that there are no STDs (or are they STIs these days?) in this universe- or, if there are, that the herbs protect against them, too. Not that I mention that aspect in the book... but just so you know for yourselves. (There are certain perks to inventing world whole-cloth, and I intend to take advantage of them.)

My point being, here is the scene I added in an attempt to be a (slightly more) responsible author...

***

“Hold up a moment, will you? I need to dash into the apothecary’s real quick.”

Sera halted Gert and gave Layclin a puzzled look. “Why? Are you sick?”

“Not if I can help it,” snorted the other girl, and dashed into the shop. Sera scowled and hunched up closer to Gert’s warm flank. The rain was bordering on snow, and even a short delay from getting back to the studio was irritating- never mind the trouble they’d be in if Himself heard about them using shop time for personal errands. A few moments later Layclin returned, tucking a small packet into her pocket.

“What’s that?” Sera asked as they started walking again.

“Just some maiden’s root. I was getting low.”

“Maiden’s root?”

“Good grief, girl- I can’t tell if you’re more scandalized or fascinated. Don’t tell me you don’t have your own supply, little miss man-crazy.”

“Of course not! We’re not allowed to be… doing things… like that.”

“Doing things like preventing babes?”

“Doing things that lead to the need to prevent babes!” Sera snapped.

Layclin rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Technically the rule that we’re not to fraternize with our fellow apprentices- which I’m not, thank you very much. Nobody ever said anything about what we should or shouldn’t be doing with journeymen fishers.” She winked at Sera, but then grew sober. “You really ought to have your own supply, Sera. I’ve seen the way Riamac looks at you when he thinks no one else is looking.”

“I think that maiden’s root is making you hallucinate,” Sera muttered, but her face was burning.

***

...aaaaand then later I make mention of Sera making a trip to the apothecary and ta da! No babies.

And now? Back to work. I have to rework bit of scenery, now. Wheee!

PS Thought I might mention that three separate people have walked into my living room and commented on the "red wall", so possibly I'm not as bad a wife as I'd feared.

Promise Breaker

2011-05-04T22:14:00.000-07:00

We've been feathering the ol' nest over the past month (and will continue to do so in the coming months, I'm sure) and this past week I finally got around to painting the "accent wall" in the living room (which needed to be done before we could hang my surfboard, to free up the hallway so I can hang more photos, etc etc). Now, Nathan has pretty much given me free reign regarding decorating the apartment (he insists he has no eye for that sort of thing, which I think is a lie but if it's a lie that comforts his Manliness then I'll go along with it), and when I selected a red couch-cover I was exceptionally jazzed to paint one wall a complimentary red. Red wall! The rapture! When Nathan expressed concern that it might be too dark (for some reason apartments in the PNW simply do not believe in overhead lighting for living areas), I assured him that I'd go with a lighter shade of red.

"You mean pink," he said, sounding appalled.

"No no, not pink. Lighter red!"

"Light red is pink. Do not paint the wall pink. I do not want a pink wall."

"I'm not going to paint the wall pink!" I insisted. "You'll see- it will be great!"

We went to the store and picked up paint samples, and I got a variety, and lay them out across the afore-mentioned red couch for Nathan to veto. "I really don't care," he said after giving them a glance. "You pick."

So pick I did, and I picked Strawberry Daquiri, a nice, vivid shade that I was positive would be more red than pink once it was up on the wall. I spent a few hours slathering it over the hideous khaki, then stepped back to admire the effect. Which was, as intended, quite vivid.

I'll give Nathan this- he kept a straight face as I kept repeating, in a hopeful voice, "See how red it looks in this light? Definitely red."

"Uh huh," he said, still with the manfully straight face.

But gentle readers, that wall is magenta. It is a straight-up magenta wall, and I have it on pretty good authority that magenta, although technically defined as "purplish red" is, in fact, somewhat pink.

::sigh::

Oh well. It still looks awesome, and the comics nerd in me can't help but be pleased at punch by it's addition to my cyan bathroom and yellow hallway...

In other productive news, I added about two-thousand words to the novel today, after culling about 600. I'm meeting up with one of my alpha-readers this weekend to discuss his thoughts (although first he'll need to be caught up on all the changes I've made since I originally sent him the barely fleshed bones). I've sort of be alternating days between art and writing... here's hoping I will eventually find the balance. It would help, I'm sure, if I didn't work 40 hours a week elsewhere... but hey, mouths and feeding and all that, right? Right.

And now to bed- well, to read, anyway.

Dodging Oz

2011-04-27T22:18:00.000-07:00

As some of you are probably aware, Alabama got hit by some pretty serious tornado action this afternoon- especially downtown Birmingham, where we used to live. There was about half an hour there where Nathan and I were waiting a bit pins-and-needle-ishly to hear from our family- and I, being the person who handles stress the way that I do, told everyone to go ahead and let me know if they got swept off to Oz, because we'd send out a rescue party with flying monkeys and everything.

Last we heard everyone was fine, which means that I am now allowed to let myself feel sick and freaked out. I like to save this sort of thing for after the crisis, you understand- once there's actually time to indulge in weakness. But for the past few hours while I was busy being "Meh, I'm sure everything's fine," I channeled my energies into this:

Guess who discovered how frickin' easy it is to create a pattern?

It actually sprang from this doodle in my sketchbook:

Is my underdrawing showing?

which I did while Nathan and I were watching Scrubs after dinner. I'd originally planned to do some rewriting, but my brain was not in the right zone. But hey- if you can't be disciplined one way, be disciplined in another, right? Right.

Speaking of which, I'm about to cut waaaay back on the refined sugar. Just as soon as we finish off the last of the cupcakes...

This Is the Sound of a Contented Back

2011-04-25T22:11:00.000-07:00

First of all, this:

No decoration up in the studio yet- weird to work surrounded by stark walls...

When I got home from work today, I found that the the Easter Husband had delivered unto me this wonderful (cat-hair-free) chair. Happy happy happy.

To make certain the chair would live up to it's pleathey promises, I sat down and churned out another digital doodle (working with flat colors, this time):

And the back is feeling fine...

I Need a New Chair

2011-04-24T21:26:00.000-07:00

I am bitter, gentle readers. Bitter, bitter, bitter.

Why so bitter, you might ask? Because when we moved I was strong-armed into giving up My Chair. My wonderful office chair that just so happened to be more cat fur than chair- but still! I loved that chair! And tonight, gentle readers, I miss it more than ever. Because tonight I finally got all the technical aspects of my studio set up (computer, netbook, scanner, cintiq, full-spectrum lamp), which means I sat down to start re-acquainting myself with the arcane process of producing art digitally- and I've just spent the past two hours sitting on a broken down old stool (the stool that came with my child-sized drafting table, I might add) and my back is making itself known.

So I'm thinking "new chair" goes to the top of our apartment-need-list. Screw towel racks, anyway...

But here- enjoy the fruits of my pained laboring:

Alianne of Pirate's Swoop, on the event of her first encounter with Kyprioth

Now that I'm looking at it on a smaller scale, I'm realizing I could/should have gone way more spectacular with the broken nose/black eye. Ah well... everything is a process...