...for your generous show of support. It means the world.
On another note, I need help with a blogger-related thing. How can I get one ticker and one counter box? My ticker wouldn't come up yesterday. Then, this morning, I log on and my Sophie box was gone. Of course, this threw me into near break-down mode. Haha. But, seriously, how do I get both? I'll probably post this, log on, and find them both exactly where I want them...
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Have Yourself a Merry Very Little Christmas.
It is Christmas Eve as I start this post, and will most likely be Christmas Day (or beyond) when it hits your screen. (26 hours) Okay, now it is night time, Christmas Day. No wonder I don't post for weeks - I can hardly focus long enough to write one sentence. :o) 
Nonetheless, we had an amazing Christmas! The day was incredibly fun, as was Christmas Eve! We saw our families, opened gifts, and ate a delicious variety of food. The day was painted with very mixed feelings for us. I missed Sophie tremendously, and spent much of the day imagining what my little angel would have been doing, wearing, saying, etc. While the day strongly lacked her presence for us, we did have the chance to relay our exciting new blessing. We are expecting yet again - 14 weeks along. :o) Although the pain of missing our daughter hasn't diminished, we are lucky to be given another chance to bring a baby into the world.
So much more to come...
Nonetheless, we had an amazing Christmas! The day was incredibly fun, as was Christmas Eve! We saw our families, opened gifts, and ate a delicious variety of food. The day was painted with very mixed feelings for us. I missed Sophie tremendously, and spent much of the day imagining what my little angel would have been doing, wearing, saying, etc. While the day strongly lacked her presence for us, we did have the chance to relay our exciting new blessing. We are expecting yet again - 14 weeks along. :o) Although the pain of missing our daughter hasn't diminished, we are lucky to be given another chance to bring a baby into the world.
So much more to come...
Saturday, December 16, 2006
On it like my birthday.
Thank you so much for the many words, encouraging me to continue to write. This is a promise of many posts to come. I still read your words daily - thank you for looking forward to mine. They are coming very soon.
Times.
The days have turned sunny and cold,
shocking the skin as it shimmies and shakes out the door.
The evening is still, and barren. Dry with eyes gone for months without crying.
Purple, of what looks like moisture, begins the settle around tree bases, and mossy places where only invisible things make their homes.
The nights have been ebony, darkness wrapping, caressing and gently
waving each leaf on the evergreens.
And, by morning, dark and darker compete frantically for night's last hurrah. Amidst their battle, as she does each morning, light flickers and licks through empty spaces. She meets my eyes with her shocking fluorescence, and burns me with her new bits of promise.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Miss Kitty. I miss kitty.
Sugar and spice, and everything - "Wait, she's a kitten..." you say. You, the critic in my imagination, chide me for feeling such a strong, almost chaotic emotional attachment to a cat. You wag an invisible finger at me, as I dream of holding the kitty mid-class. A student stands in front of me, asking a question. Inevitably, there is something I have left unclear, as I half-heartedly explained an upcoming assignment, while fantasizing about tormenting soft, pink feet of kitten. As the student finishes up her inane and uninteresting query, I respond with a blank expression, and issue, what must be to her, a frustrating and irritated, "Huh?". I have been dreaming of the kitty again.
The reality of the kitty is far less endearing than the image I create of her. The kitten is not the sweet, purring little ball of fur and joy she once was. The kitty is mean. (At least a vast majority of the time). For every minute the kitty spends nuzzling my face with her now smelly, adolescent cat-ten body, there are ten she spends mauling my arms and legs, slapping my face with her claws, and gnashing my jugular with her vampiress fangs. Her purr has actually become an early detection system, a warning that allows us the draw our hands frantically beneath blankets or into long sleeves, like villagers narrowly escaping a fierce plague. Our legs snap to attention and are thrown akimbo and involuntarily away from the impending, throaty siren. Fear is visible in the dog's posture, as kitty enters the room. He follows her with dark eyes only, careful not to move, because nothing incites kitty's wrath more than subtle movement (for example, breathing).
The hours known as "night" are not good ones for the kitty. First of all, the kitty is not much for sleep, as you might imagine of a beast dedicated mostly to maiming unsuspecting victims. Any time that it is not the all too rare moments that kitty might be snuggled up dreaming beside me, she is prancing, claws fully extended, carrying out her guerilla wartime march across our sleeping-then-startled faces. Her triumph at my cry of displeasure is displayed with a show of further violence. Somehow her claws seem to distend from her body, functioning like tiny needle-tipped salad tongs, clutching my cheeks (left defenseless, as I sleep with my hands wrapped in bed-sheets, mummy-style, as pre-emptive security). When I am fully in her grasp, her most potent weapons emerge. You would imagine that kitten-teeth would be harmless, used only to barely aid in gumming down kitten-chow. But, you, my imaginary friend, would be wrong. Each of her teeth is like a tiny ice-pick, lance, or chisel, depending upon its position in her mouth, which seems to have become remarkably large. I have now snapped to full wakefulness, and find myself to be wearing what appears to be an excruciating kitten-mask, made almost entirely of tooth-and-nail, any remnant of her soft fur nowhere to be felt, or seen (as in fact I am seeing nothing but thrashing and my own terror). Inevitably, at this point, I cry out, and wake Bill who jerks into an immediate frenzy. I swing my face upward, which naturally flings the kitty, still in predator-mode, crashing into Bill's somehow exposed legs. I begin to silently chide him for leaving his legs open to the air (is he not yet aware of the inherent danger?). But, before I have a chance to sigh heavily, he has cupped the small kitty in his large, flat foot and catapulted her, not only off the bed, but out the door. She huffs, depressed off to her room, not to return for three-and-a-half minutes.
Another strange practice that belongs to this kitten is intense and prolonged periods of lounging. Between episodes, she can be found stretched out, sultaness-style, across our impeccably-made bed. This is fairly typical kitten behavior, I am led to believe. However, I need only add a specific stuffed animal to create a ritual that can only be described as bizarre. This stuffed animal is a winter bear, its soft fur found poking out from my stocking this past Christmas. The kitty, I noticed, took a particular and immediate liking to this plush toy. This made me happy, as I assumed his soft and fur-like coat must have reminded her of times past, happy times spent with her birth mother, brothers and sisters. I certainly would never begrudge the kitten any healthy reminiscing. However, "healthy" may be not quite the right word. The kitty soon began kneading her precious winter bear, tiny paws alternating between balled fists and fully-extended claws (immediately causing her current family to shrink with fear). The odd process of mashing the bear soon was augmented by a ravenous suckling. Yes, imaginary you, the kitten spends literally hours, sucking and licking the fur or the winter bear. By the time the dog moves profoundly enough to incite a full-fledged attack, the bear is drenched with kitten slobber, fur matted together by her gluey saliva. If nothing else, the kitten is uncouth.
All this, in addition to typical kitten behavior, such as adorably batting the dog's eyes, ripping frantically at my dried flowers and daily scattering trash and potpourri throughout the house. And yet, somehow, those small moments of tolerable behavior, along with the very spare times of sweetness and bonding, allow us to endure the majority of her life, spent orchestrating our painful demise.
The reality of the kitty is far less endearing than the image I create of her. The kitten is not the sweet, purring little ball of fur and joy she once was. The kitty is mean. (At least a vast majority of the time). For every minute the kitty spends nuzzling my face with her now smelly, adolescent cat-ten body, there are ten she spends mauling my arms and legs, slapping my face with her claws, and gnashing my jugular with her vampiress fangs. Her purr has actually become an early detection system, a warning that allows us the draw our hands frantically beneath blankets or into long sleeves, like villagers narrowly escaping a fierce plague. Our legs snap to attention and are thrown akimbo and involuntarily away from the impending, throaty siren. Fear is visible in the dog's posture, as kitty enters the room. He follows her with dark eyes only, careful not to move, because nothing incites kitty's wrath more than subtle movement (for example, breathing).
The hours known as "night" are not good ones for the kitty. First of all, the kitty is not much for sleep, as you might imagine of a beast dedicated mostly to maiming unsuspecting victims. Any time that it is not the all too rare moments that kitty might be snuggled up dreaming beside me, she is prancing, claws fully extended, carrying out her guerilla wartime march across our sleeping-then-startled faces. Her triumph at my cry of displeasure is displayed with a show of further violence. Somehow her claws seem to distend from her body, functioning like tiny needle-tipped salad tongs, clutching my cheeks (left defenseless, as I sleep with my hands wrapped in bed-sheets, mummy-style, as pre-emptive security). When I am fully in her grasp, her most potent weapons emerge. You would imagine that kitten-teeth would be harmless, used only to barely aid in gumming down kitten-chow. But, you, my imaginary friend, would be wrong. Each of her teeth is like a tiny ice-pick, lance, or chisel, depending upon its position in her mouth, which seems to have become remarkably large. I have now snapped to full wakefulness, and find myself to be wearing what appears to be an excruciating kitten-mask, made almost entirely of tooth-and-nail, any remnant of her soft fur nowhere to be felt, or seen (as in fact I am seeing nothing but thrashing and my own terror). Inevitably, at this point, I cry out, and wake Bill who jerks into an immediate frenzy. I swing my face upward, which naturally flings the kitty, still in predator-mode, crashing into Bill's somehow exposed legs. I begin to silently chide him for leaving his legs open to the air (is he not yet aware of the inherent danger?). But, before I have a chance to sigh heavily, he has cupped the small kitty in his large, flat foot and catapulted her, not only off the bed, but out the door. She huffs, depressed off to her room, not to return for three-and-a-half minutes.
Another strange practice that belongs to this kitten is intense and prolonged periods of lounging. Between episodes, she can be found stretched out, sultaness-style, across our impeccably-made bed. This is fairly typical kitten behavior, I am led to believe. However, I need only add a specific stuffed animal to create a ritual that can only be described as bizarre. This stuffed animal is a winter bear, its soft fur found poking out from my stocking this past Christmas. The kitty, I noticed, took a particular and immediate liking to this plush toy. This made me happy, as I assumed his soft and fur-like coat must have reminded her of times past, happy times spent with her birth mother, brothers and sisters. I certainly would never begrudge the kitten any healthy reminiscing. However, "healthy" may be not quite the right word. The kitty soon began kneading her precious winter bear, tiny paws alternating between balled fists and fully-extended claws (immediately causing her current family to shrink with fear). The odd process of mashing the bear soon was augmented by a ravenous suckling. Yes, imaginary you, the kitten spends literally hours, sucking and licking the fur or the winter bear. By the time the dog moves profoundly enough to incite a full-fledged attack, the bear is drenched with kitten slobber, fur matted together by her gluey saliva. If nothing else, the kitten is uncouth.
All this, in addition to typical kitten behavior, such as adorably batting the dog's eyes, ripping frantically at my dried flowers and daily scattering trash and potpourri throughout the house. And yet, somehow, those small moments of tolerable behavior, along with the very spare times of sweetness and bonding, allow us to endure the majority of her life, spent orchestrating our painful demise.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Forgive my heart in its absence today - it is with our birthday angel, Sophie Salome.
I planned to have something written today. I didn't imagine this much of the day could have gone by without an outpouring of words. But, I also didn't imagine that the pain would be so very real. That the sadness would be profound to the point of paralysis. That it would seep into every crevice and unearth every nuanced bit of myself. Uprooted.
So, I will share two stories with you on this day.
There is a boy at my school, an eighth grader that was in my class last year. He is tall, gangly, almost disturbingly patriotic, and bordering on strange. But, as with most of my children, goodness in his heart is visible in all that he does. Last week, on the playground, he walked up to me and said, "Hey Mrs. Bayly, would you like to read my biography?" The children had interviewed loved ones to garner information about life-changing experiences. Obviously, as this child must have taken pride in his work, I replied with an enthusiastic, "Yes." After rooting through his backpack for many long impatient minutes on my part, he thrust at me two crumpled sheets of typed writing. This was a story about his mother, and sister, Christine. He was hovering over my silently crying body, as I read the story of his sister, a still born baby. He wrote of how this baby was a part of his life, and about his mother's reactions, and her urge henceforth to be an even more caring and trusting mother. Attention span of a typical preteen, he ran off to play basketball, pausing for a minute to look me in the eyes and asking me "Will you hold onto this for a while?" He was gone in an instant and couldn't have heard me whisper, "Sure Eric", as I looked back down at his family's story and he bolted toward the court.
As I let my students out toward their lockers the other day, one young lady gingerly plucked a piece of paper off the work station. It was a post-it note, yellow and tattered, and scrawled in light and messy pencil across its folded front was "Mrs. Bayly". A note for me? The students, before I could stop them, tore it open and read confusedly four touching lines of poetry. The writing was of nature's beauty and life's fragility. Even more confusing to all of us was the lettering at the bottom, claiming the work was from "F.P." I took the note from them, and walked the kids down to lunch, pondering the whole way who was this mysterious F.P. While I was walking out of the lunch room, a young man approached me. He was a quiet oddity in my seventh grade class later in the day. "Mrs. Bayly...that poem was from me." I replied "Craig, it is beautiful." He blushed and stood staring at me. "Craig, who is F.P.?" Craig looked at me with the endearing and quizzical expression I have been met with so many times since. "Fair Play", was Craig's reply.
"The sky is the gown of Mother Nature". -F.P.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
How is tonight different?
If the clock weren't digital, I would here it tick.
The moments weigh upon me, the seconds heavy - brick.
Shoulders wracked with burden mounting, night is simply still.
My mouth is zipped as winter coat, pointless acts of will.
Aching bones that speak exhaustion - beg me now to rest,
Racing wind that screams of caution, whips both east and west.
A heart is porous, sharp and soaked - body follows suit -
It's night that binds the body down, and night the soothing root.
The moments weigh upon me, the seconds heavy - brick.
Shoulders wracked with burden mounting, night is simply still.
My mouth is zipped as winter coat, pointless acts of will.
Aching bones that speak exhaustion - beg me now to rest,
Racing wind that screams of caution, whips both east and west.
A heart is porous, sharp and soaked - body follows suit -
It's night that binds the body down, and night the soothing root.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
A Perfect Day.
Well, it rained the morning of my wedding. I sobbed, screamed to the heavens, blasted tunes in the car and pretended it was sunny and warm, promised falsely my appendix, and went to St. Mary of the Mills to pray for sun. Who knows what happened (hopefully the powers-that-be will not someday exact from me one healthy, however moot, appendix), but we got sun! Our wedding went off without a hitch. By five o'clock, the sun was streaming through the leaves, just changing to shades of gold and rust. Our guests were arriving and seated in white chairs on the lawn of the garden where we wed, guitar strumming courtesy of Jon Parsons (a long-time friend). The men and women of the wedding looked beautiful. As my father walked me up the aisle, all anxiety drifted away. I felt beautiful, and sure my heart was in the right place, and being entrusted to the right hands.
I give my heart today, soft and lightning fast,
with a promise raw and brilliantly truthful.
I promise to carry you softly to harvest places, gold and lilting.
My promise is my bittersweet song when snow and dark have drifted heavy,
Blanketing our town in night’s lavender.
My promise is to hold you in my arms
And drink delicious moments of peace by your side
Until the moment we blend perfectly into nature.
I give my heart today, soft and lightning fast,
with a promise raw and brilliantly truthful.
I promise to carry you softly to harvest places, gold and lilting.
My promise is my bittersweet song when snow and dark have drifted heavy,
Blanketing our town in night’s lavender.
My promise is to hold you in my arms
And drink delicious moments of peace by your side
Until the moment we blend perfectly into nature.
I return!
So, I got back from Spain in the middle of last week. There will be many pictures shared over the next few weeks. But, first thing is first. Wedding pictures - taken by friends and family!
Monday, September 25, 2006
The Fruits of Our Labor. Or Something.
One of our major projects over the last month has been home-improvement. DIF gel, anyone? Okay, so I understand wallpaper was once popular. I really do, I mean, what's better than gaudy and intricate designs pasted almost irrevocably onto the walls of an otherwise perfectly good home? False. Wallpaper is nonsense. If you have wallpaper, I am sorry for saying this. If you actually applied wallpaper, I am sorry for the person who next moves into your house. I hate to alert wallpaper-lovers to this fact, but wallpaper is out. Seriously, HomeDepot no longer sells wallpaper. Got that? You have to really work to get the insidious wall-destroyer.
But, really, I don't hate wallpaper. I hate removing it. When a person's new house is laden with gilded pastel early-80s style paper and border, a person is left with no choice. But, we did it, with butter knives, our own nails, coasters, anything we could find to tear the cloying bubbled-up paper from its firm position on our walls. (I won't even go into the brutal transformation from ancient tan sculpted carpet to the floors you see below.) But, here is what we've got.
But, really, I don't hate wallpaper. I hate removing it. When a person's new house is laden with gilded pastel early-80s style paper and border, a person is left with no choice. But, we did it, with butter knives, our own nails, coasters, anything we could find to tear the cloying bubbled-up paper from its firm position on our walls. (I won't even go into the brutal transformation from ancient tan sculpted carpet to the floors you see below.) But, here is what we've got.
Yes, It has been weeks.
So, here I am. It has been officially the busiest month of my life so far, quite possibly. I have started back to school, teaching a particularly needy crew of middle schoolers. I am getting married in 4 1/2 days. And, of course, with that there have been innumerable parties that have required our attendance. Not to mention the new house, kitten, dogg-o, and Redskins season that all require proper attention. And, immediately after the wedding, we are headed to Spain (and, in addition to planning, packing, etc., that requires my meeting and planning with a long-term sub). Finally, let's not forget that I decided to take on a 300 page editing project (professional psychology book) over the last week, in addition to the massive amount of grading I still have to do, given that progress reports are due at school by Wednesday. So, how could I write when I haven't had a single moment to feel?
But, please enjoy some pictures of Miles and Jeffri prepping for the Redskins (and, for the fun of it, one of me looking punchy).
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Party Time!
Thank you to all of you who replied to my thought that my blog was a "downer". But, even you who appreciate and cry for our pain will be happy to see a blog with some delightful news!!!
This month is a very exciting one for me.
In exactly three weeks and 42 minutes I will be walking down the aisle.
In two weeks, six days and 42 minutes, I will be rehearsing for the big day.
In two weeks and 19 hours, Bill will be celebrating the last minutes of his bachelorhood, and the first Redskins sunday, while I will hopefully be enjoying Annie or Nick's birthdays with one or both of them .
In one week and 20 hours, I will be formally showered in all my bridal glory.
In six days and two hours, I will be bowling for Charlotte's birthday.
In two hours and 10 minutes, I will be picked up for my own bachelorette party!
Woo Hoo! Pictures and updates to come! :O)
Bill & I are about to be married!!!
This month is a very exciting one for me.
In exactly three weeks and 42 minutes I will be walking down the aisle.
In two weeks, six days and 42 minutes, I will be rehearsing for the big day.
In two weeks and 19 hours, Bill will be celebrating the last minutes of his bachelorhood, and the first Redskins sunday, while I will hopefully be enjoying Annie or Nick's birthdays with one or both of them .
In one week and 20 hours, I will be formally showered in all my bridal glory.
In six days and two hours, I will be bowling for Charlotte's birthday.
In two hours and 10 minutes, I will be picked up for my own bachelorette party!
Woo Hoo! Pictures and updates to come! :O)
Bill & I are about to be married!!!
Friday, September 08, 2006
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
It.
Tracy Chapman always says it best. Always...
She was the only one
of my flesh and blood
now I have no calling
I can do no wordly good
I sit silent
I sit all mourning
I sit listless all the day
I've mostly lost the voice to speak
and any words to say except
does heaven have enough angels yet?
I've gone hard
and I've gone cold
I can't make the pieces
of this cracked life fit
please forgive me
for wanting to know
does heaven have enough angels yet?
Together oh together
no there'll be no more of that
but I would not dare for myself to ask
does heaven have enough angels yet?
She was the only one
of my own flesh and blood
sometimes I hear her calling
straight from the house of god
Wow. Tracy Chapman rocks. And my blog is downer.
She was the only one
of my flesh and blood
now I have no calling
I can do no wordly good
I sit silent
I sit all mourning
I sit listless all the day
I've mostly lost the voice to speak
and any words to say except
does heaven have enough angels yet?
I've gone hard
and I've gone cold
I can't make the pieces
of this cracked life fit
please forgive me
for wanting to know
does heaven have enough angels yet?
Together oh together
no there'll be no more of that
but I would not dare for myself to ask
does heaven have enough angels yet?
She was the only one
of my own flesh and blood
sometimes I hear her calling
straight from the house of god
Wow. Tracy Chapman rocks. And my blog is downer.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Back to school again.
I am honestly sorry for the dearth of posts over the last week. I have, at long last, been back to school this week. No full-time kids yet, but meeting, planning, drama, morale-building, schedule arranging, classroom decor, and open houses full of anxiety, angst and apprehension. But, after our retreat today, I realized that the kids are not the only ones struggling with the idea of finding a middle school identity. I too am attempting to flag and file myself with my own peers. Why is it that the particular peers in question, the other middle school teachers at my school, turn me to a shy, sniveling child? I feel like the moment I enter the room with their boisterous clique, I regress to the ways of my own awkward school years. I mean, I know all of what you may be thinking. It is hard to be shy. Also, it is hard to enter into a preexisting group of peers, particularly when they have had years to develop a particular rapport. Yet, what choice do I have? And for those of you who know me, probably half would say I am shy, and half would describe me as, I dare say, quite outgoing. And somehow, both are true. In select situations (mostly ones in which I am made to feel wanted), I adapt easily, and quickly become an integral part of the team. And, such experiences led me to believe (falsely) that I was beyond being shy. Now, I know I am wrong. I feel like an awkward teen again. Mostly, if I don't talk to you, it's because I am doing my own thing. But, with these other teachers, I would love to be included in lunchroom discussions, and more importantly, jokes! I know I don't need anymore friends, but seriously, I love to be funny. Why is it that my sense of humor is paralyzed when it comes to these potential buddies? Advice?
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Anonymous said...
...here are some links I think you would like.
..."thnx" for the great information.
...your site is one of my favourites.
...great idea for a site.
What? Where am I getting these random and obviously form comments? I mean, how irritating. Whoever the shlepp is that feels the need to repeatedly copy and paste used and useless comments onto my blog at 4 am, the jig is up. I have caught onto your insincere and redundant additions to my page.
I mean, "kudos to your web master"...Who is under the impression that every or any blogger on this do-it-yourself site has a web master? I mean, what would he or she do? Users don't even have to know html. Come on.
"Thnx"? Who is thanking me? For what? For a sob story? Yeah, okay.
Links I would like? What makes you think that there are links I would like? And, at least, why would you comment, claiming you have some link knowledge, and the...NO LINKS! No way to even get in touch with the sender.
Anonymous my aunt.
..."thnx" for the great information.
...your site is one of my favourites.
...great idea for a site.
What? Where am I getting these random and obviously form comments? I mean, how irritating. Whoever the shlepp is that feels the need to repeatedly copy and paste used and useless comments onto my blog at 4 am, the jig is up. I have caught onto your insincere and redundant additions to my page.
I mean, "kudos to your web master"...Who is under the impression that every or any blogger on this do-it-yourself site has a web master? I mean, what would he or she do? Users don't even have to know html. Come on.
"Thnx"? Who is thanking me? For what? For a sob story? Yeah, okay.
Links I would like? What makes you think that there are links I would like? And, at least, why would you comment, claiming you have some link knowledge, and the...NO LINKS! No way to even get in touch with the sender.
Anonymous my aunt.
Foreshadowing Fall-Time.
It is decidedly chilly, and the light is pouring over the trees, just so. Red, bright and smoke-heavy. I step out outside for a moment, and feel the cold solid weighty truth of my feet rooted on the deck boards. There is a fist of twine sleeping in the pit of my stomach, and it sneaks upward through my esophogas, triggering my crying and choking as the days grow longer and fall inches toward me. It is still summer, but there is autumn in the air - smelling of burnt leaves and screaming out, harvest. I shiver in the mornings now, with anticipation. I feel an almost-intrinsic pull toward apple orchards, pumpkin patches - the reeping places of the withering season. Places that smell of apple cores, and cinnamon-rolled expanses of past. Places that remind me that death goes on in perpetuity, and cry out of the pumpkins left sad to rot on our porch late into last season. Places that remind me of the still-new, gilded gravestone, lonely bearing the name and body of my daughter. Places that remind me of a knife-sharp piercing and yet somehow serrated sadness, and the soft crackle of leaves as they drop on the small grassy spots where babies sleep away forever, amidst apartment buildings and scarecrow images marching in and out of made-identical hay maze offices. As footsteps and mothers and children and fathers and birth and dying and war and crying whip by in their frenzied timeline, I stand here amidst them all, perfectly still. I daily take on this sadness. Let myself feel the red-gold dawn of the death of deciduous times. This emptiness unspeakable, as the earth turns its way toward a time when the burning leaves and last attempts at outdoor life will surely sneak their way into my room at dusk. Curl around my throat and choke me with the smoked odor of autumn roots and life's frigid certainties. My soft, wracked body is complete and dense in its sadness, as I shudder away from a leaf that gently whispers accross my bare right shoulder on its descent to the purple, climbing earthfloor. I sob silently while my teeth are chattering, and there is the faint and imagined odor of pumpkin pie on the air as my shoulders heave in the privacy of early morning.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
I Expect A Lot From My Soap.
So, I realized this morning that I have a totally love-hate relationship with decorative soap. I mean, is there really anything more beautiful than decorative soap? I have lovely soaps inlayed with strawberries, candy canes, tomatoes, tiny stars, lemons, ducks, and poppy seeds. I have pricey little soaps cloaked in embroidered cloths, and scented like heaven. I have French soaps chiseled with quaint phrases. I have soaps shaped like animals, fruits and flowers. I even have racey little bits of soap from London boutiques, and peppermint soaps strong enough to scour kitchen floors. I have hundreds of sweetly-scented bars, chunks and statuettes quietly collecting dust, tucked away in linen closets, resting in dark caverns beneath sinks, and displayed, futile and obsolete, on oaken bathroom shelves. And yet, somehow, they just continue to accumulate. But, I never use these delicious fragrant darlings. Because, here is the dilemma - once a person unwraps and puts water to the surface of her soap, its mystery is gone. That unmarred bit of print, that soft threaded wrap, those carefully cut edges and perfectly sliced-through shapes - gone. How could I knowingly take that remarkably crafted powder-soft sweetness of some young not-yet-disillusioned soapstress and use it for the banal pleasure of cleansing dirty hands, feet and faces. I will save these things forever - for the quietest of moments with myself, in which I slowly, deliberately, peel off a perfect soap's perfect plastic wrapper, and sit for many breathes, soap cupped in warm hands. I will hold the soaps to my face, remembering where they have been and who they have known, and drink their memorable perfumes with relish. Then, someday even, I will douse them in perfectly warm water, run my hands over them and around them, and suds will form. Those suds will wash me with memories and sweet moments I will have otherwise been sure were lost long, long ago.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
For Juliet, on the day of her Christening.
As I sit, tired, my eyes are blinking over the strawberry-washed memories of the day with Juliet.
Touching a sweet small hand, that is silken and tea-warm, reminds me of the existence of life's sweet tiny joys -
And massive, sloping futures.
Juliet, in one perfect moment in chaos - an eclipse of the feelings of swooping, wingswept, and also sitting still.
She is a tiny, self-contained intricately-woven basket, capturing and enrapturing us in the reasons why we live.
Holding a new baby, soft as a sack of sandman's warm night-giving dust.
A feeling such as that resonates like deep sea booming song through the holder's torso.
Feeling a locket-sized heartsnap beautifully beating shocks sunshade-perfumed air into my lungs -
For the first time in centuries, Juliet has made me feel alive.
Touching a sweet small hand, that is silken and tea-warm, reminds me of the existence of life's sweet tiny joys -
And massive, sloping futures.
Juliet, in one perfect moment in chaos - an eclipse of the feelings of swooping, wingswept, and also sitting still.
She is a tiny, self-contained intricately-woven basket, capturing and enrapturing us in the reasons why we live.
Holding a new baby, soft as a sack of sandman's warm night-giving dust.
A feeling such as that resonates like deep sea booming song through the holder's torso.
Feeling a locket-sized heartsnap beautifully beating shocks sunshade-perfumed air into my lungs -
For the first time in centuries, Juliet has made me feel alive.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
No Name for Saturday.
I am sad today. I have my smelly dog, my lovey man, my nubbin-legged kitten, and lots of wonderful things coming up. The phone is ringing and ringing, and I am not answering. I have wonderful friends. I have been mean to Bill today. I am angry that the hoses to our new washing machine leak. I am behaving like the kind of people I dislike. Why am I crying? It is Saturday. Why is it today that I want to curl up on the couch and snuggle deep into the cushions, hiding my eyes from the light? Why am I dreading Bill coming downstairs? Why is it all I want for him to come down here? Why do I miss Sophie so much right now? Why does it hurt so badly? Why do I have to know what it really feels like for your heart to break? Why am I writing this? Why am I so self-centered? Why am I feeling so crappy lately? Why is my face so pale? Where are my colored pencils? Why is my face crumpled into such a wrinkly canvas? Why am I so tired? Why can't I think of a question to describe the loss that I feel? Just, why?
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Well, I am officially on the bandwagon...here are 100 things about me...
1) I have a new kitten with a peg leg.
2) I fancy myself a writer.
3) I drink coffee from Christmas mugs year-round.
4) I am beyond blessed to be spending forever with the love of my life.
5) I had a baby, and she died.
6) I didn't understand that the term stillborn applied to us, until other people began using it.
7) Her name is Sophie.
8) It is a miracle for people to remember those who we've lost.
9) I have a dog, Miles.
10) Only now that we have the kitty do I see him for the shiny, muscular, sweetheart that he is.
11) I have seen every episode of Gilmore Girls, AND Golden Girls at least twice.
12) I always thought I loved music, then I met Bill.
13) Despite all of the hard times, I am lucky beyond belief.
14) I do not like the ocean because it is deep, dark and cold.
15) I fear claymation.
16) My friend, Christine, from work has the same fear - she is the only one.
17) I have been a vegan for 10 years.
18) Despite all the evidence, I do not love animals, per se.
19) But, I do respect them.
20) My dog smells.
21) My kitten needs a bottle.
22) Maybe secretly I do love animals.
23) I definitely love baby humans.
24) I would like to have a pink, screaming one as soon as possible.
25) I love Bill.
26) I wonder (as does Mary) if other people love, respect, care for their mates as much as I do.
27) He is my best friend.
28) Together, we are 55% fun, 20% comfort, 20% intellectual discussion and 5% disagreement.
29) I believe the two most important things in a relationship are humor and unconditional love.
30) In fact, I am sure of that.
31) At least for me.
32) Tomatoes are my favorite food.
33) I can't wait to vacuum, because I have a new-to-me rainbow water filter vacuum, into which I will drop essential oils.
34) I have absolutely wonderful friends.
35) Not just because of our relationships with each other, but independently.
36) I simply never litter.
37) I really do care about the environment.
38) Last December, I sang in public for the first time since high school.
39) Bill and I sang a duet of "Tomorrow is a Long Time", by Bob Dylan.
40) People cried.
41) And then they cheered.
42) I was never jealous, until Sophie passed away.
43) But, I learn each day that everyone has sorrows in their hearts, that are just as painful and gripping as my own, and I think of them always.
44) I have to respect grief.
45) I am not as compassionate as I'd like to be of some gripes, however.
46) I get easily frustrated by people who complain about things they can change, but never change them.
47) I believe there are myriad things in life that we cannot control, so we must take those dissapointing things we can by the lapels, slam them up against the walls, and tear them down from within.
48) I falsely believe I have "figured myself out".
49) I used to think that when I passed, people would despair - now I do not think of that.
50) I want to live simply.
51) I relish the fact that I am not a superstar.
52) I often feel out of control.
53) Bob Dylan is playing upstairs.
54) Actually, it is a compact disc.
55) Right now is Sharkweek, which I think of as CHARkweek, because it is a passion of my friend, Charlotte's.
56) I love skirts.
57) I also love the new crayola commercial.
58) Sometimes I am sure that I am meant to die young.
59) I constantly fear losing people I love, especially Bill.
60) I used to cry at least every day, especially in the 6 months after we lost Sophie.
61) Now, I cry less than ever.
62) I've learned how to love and miss her, without being angry, jealous or frantic - mostly.
63) I think 80's commercials are just as awesome as 80's tv.
64) I have a near-constant fear that people are mad at me.
65) I never answer my phone.
66) I almost never exercise; I need to start.
67) I am an awesome speller.
68) I am a total last minute worker.
69) I used to love, I mean LOVE, pot.
70) But, I have not smoked or drank liquor over 2 years.
71) Now I love a well-sharpened pencil.
72) I used to eschew dancing, because I used to be self-conscious.
73) Now, I am a "dancing" machine.
74) As the time nears for us to try for another baby, I am terrified.
75) I want to stay home when we have another little one.
76) Bill is trying super-hard to make that dream come true.
77) Bill loves when I go to bed after he does.
78) It makes him feel safe that I am up and about.
79) So, often I stay up an extra 30 minutes or so.
80) I delight in children of all ages.
81) I have nearly boundless patience with children.
82) When Bill kisses me, and says he loves me, I know he means it.
83) At the hospital, moments after Sophie was born still, the nurse told us "this will either bond you together forever, or tear you apart".
84) I think LLCoolJ is hot.
85) My parents and friends were surprised that I am marrying a white guy.
86) Bill wants to make a movie about a white girl, who only dates black guys, and the story of her forbidden relationship with a white man.
87) Bill has the greatest movie ideas.
88) Other people's pain makes me shudder.
89) Especially when I know that my mother is sad.
90) I am reading Loser, by Jerry Spinelli, and it is making me cringe with sadness already.
91) This list has taken me 3 days.
92) I still dream that I will find my Sophie somewhere, and adopt her, never knowing whether it is her or just another baby sent from above.
93) I know what a wonderful father Bill would have been/is/will be.
94) At least every minute, I think of Sophie.
95) I am emotional.
96) I want to own a farm, with horses, peach orchards, cows, pumpkins and petting animals.
97) Sophie died on Halloween.
98) I always loved Halloween.
99) I will give my all this Halloween.
100) Only the best candy, decorations, cupcakes, and costumes forever.
2) I fancy myself a writer.
3) I drink coffee from Christmas mugs year-round.
4) I am beyond blessed to be spending forever with the love of my life.
5) I had a baby, and she died.
6) I didn't understand that the term stillborn applied to us, until other people began using it.
7) Her name is Sophie.
8) It is a miracle for people to remember those who we've lost.
9) I have a dog, Miles.
10) Only now that we have the kitty do I see him for the shiny, muscular, sweetheart that he is.
11) I have seen every episode of Gilmore Girls, AND Golden Girls at least twice.
12) I always thought I loved music, then I met Bill.
13) Despite all of the hard times, I am lucky beyond belief.
14) I do not like the ocean because it is deep, dark and cold.
15) I fear claymation.
16) My friend, Christine, from work has the same fear - she is the only one.
17) I have been a vegan for 10 years.
18) Despite all the evidence, I do not love animals, per se.
19) But, I do respect them.
20) My dog smells.
21) My kitten needs a bottle.
22) Maybe secretly I do love animals.
23) I definitely love baby humans.
24) I would like to have a pink, screaming one as soon as possible.
25) I love Bill.
26) I wonder (as does Mary) if other people love, respect, care for their mates as much as I do.
27) He is my best friend.
28) Together, we are 55% fun, 20% comfort, 20% intellectual discussion and 5% disagreement.
29) I believe the two most important things in a relationship are humor and unconditional love.
30) In fact, I am sure of that.
31) At least for me.
32) Tomatoes are my favorite food.
33) I can't wait to vacuum, because I have a new-to-me rainbow water filter vacuum, into which I will drop essential oils.
34) I have absolutely wonderful friends.
35) Not just because of our relationships with each other, but independently.
36) I simply never litter.
37) I really do care about the environment.
38) Last December, I sang in public for the first time since high school.
39) Bill and I sang a duet of "Tomorrow is a Long Time", by Bob Dylan.
40) People cried.
41) And then they cheered.
42) I was never jealous, until Sophie passed away.
43) But, I learn each day that everyone has sorrows in their hearts, that are just as painful and gripping as my own, and I think of them always.
44) I have to respect grief.
45) I am not as compassionate as I'd like to be of some gripes, however.
46) I get easily frustrated by people who complain about things they can change, but never change them.
47) I believe there are myriad things in life that we cannot control, so we must take those dissapointing things we can by the lapels, slam them up against the walls, and tear them down from within.
48) I falsely believe I have "figured myself out".
49) I used to think that when I passed, people would despair - now I do not think of that.
50) I want to live simply.
51) I relish the fact that I am not a superstar.
52) I often feel out of control.
53) Bob Dylan is playing upstairs.
54) Actually, it is a compact disc.
55) Right now is Sharkweek, which I think of as CHARkweek, because it is a passion of my friend, Charlotte's.
56) I love skirts.
57) I also love the new crayola commercial.
58) Sometimes I am sure that I am meant to die young.
59) I constantly fear losing people I love, especially Bill.
60) I used to cry at least every day, especially in the 6 months after we lost Sophie.
61) Now, I cry less than ever.
62) I've learned how to love and miss her, without being angry, jealous or frantic - mostly.
63) I think 80's commercials are just as awesome as 80's tv.
64) I have a near-constant fear that people are mad at me.
65) I never answer my phone.
66) I almost never exercise; I need to start.
67) I am an awesome speller.
68) I am a total last minute worker.
69) I used to love, I mean LOVE, pot.
70) But, I have not smoked or drank liquor over 2 years.
71) Now I love a well-sharpened pencil.
72) I used to eschew dancing, because I used to be self-conscious.
73) Now, I am a "dancing" machine.
74) As the time nears for us to try for another baby, I am terrified.
75) I want to stay home when we have another little one.
76) Bill is trying super-hard to make that dream come true.
77) Bill loves when I go to bed after he does.
78) It makes him feel safe that I am up and about.
79) So, often I stay up an extra 30 minutes or so.
80) I delight in children of all ages.
81) I have nearly boundless patience with children.
82) When Bill kisses me, and says he loves me, I know he means it.
83) At the hospital, moments after Sophie was born still, the nurse told us "this will either bond you together forever, or tear you apart".
84) I think LLCoolJ is hot.
85) My parents and friends were surprised that I am marrying a white guy.
86) Bill wants to make a movie about a white girl, who only dates black guys, and the story of her forbidden relationship with a white man.
87) Bill has the greatest movie ideas.
88) Other people's pain makes me shudder.
89) Especially when I know that my mother is sad.
90) I am reading Loser, by Jerry Spinelli, and it is making me cringe with sadness already.
91) This list has taken me 3 days.
92) I still dream that I will find my Sophie somewhere, and adopt her, never knowing whether it is her or just another baby sent from above.
93) I know what a wonderful father Bill would have been/is/will be.
94) At least every minute, I think of Sophie.
95) I am emotional.
96) I want to own a farm, with horses, peach orchards, cows, pumpkins and petting animals.
97) Sophie died on Halloween.
98) I always loved Halloween.
99) I will give my all this Halloween.
100) Only the best candy, decorations, cupcakes, and costumes forever.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Two Great Things!!!
We were super nervous about letting Miles and Jeffri begin to interact, because Jeffri is literally THIS SMALL... 
But..............Miles and Jeffri are FRIENDS!!!! FOR LIFE!!! :o) He spent time licking her, trying to pick her up, and mustering up every ounce of his patience to be her personal jungle gym...
But..............Miles and Jeffri are FRIENDS!!!! FOR LIFE!!! :o) He spent time licking her, trying to pick her up, and mustering up every ounce of his patience to be her personal jungle gym...
Secondly, I just realized that one week from today, I will be a Godmother for the first time! My Goddaughter, Juliet, and I are going to have a special relationship, and for that, I am honored and super excited. Life is good.
Thank you, Criss family!
Friday, July 28, 2006
It's a Girl...We Think.
So, inaddition to moving, planning a wedding, and regular stuff Bill and I have officially become the foster parents of a 5-week old kitten. The kitten's momma got an infection and could no longer nurse her kittens, forcing her owners to disperse the kittens amongst friends. So, of course, my ever-compassionate friend, Sabrina, ended up with three kitties...Oso (black), Blanche/Samuel (tan), and Stumpy, aka Jeffri (grey).
Sabrina planned to keep Oso from the moment they fell in love, early in his life. Her brother had chosen Blanche/Samuel. Sabrina would have kept and loved the kitten they attectionately named Stumpy, but I offered my nurturing services. This kitten is the runt, significantly smaller than her brothers, shown above. Also, she was born with a nubbin-back leg. Imagine the pad of a cat's foot, but without toes. Just one soft, pink, wad-of-bubble gum. So, the kitten is on a regimen of bottle feeding every four hours, and at that point is also given some exercise, crawling and sliding all over the kitchen floor. Finally, I did change her name from Stumpy, which in her case was a totally appropriate name. But, I had always imagined having a nubbin-legged horse named Jeffrey. So, Jeffrey it was. However, upon closer inspection, Jeffrey turned out the be a girl! So, "ey" became "i", and we have a Jeffri (pronounced "jeffREE"). Here are some picture of her first night with us.
Of course, I do have some reservations. Most that I let myself recognize after we had brought Jeffri home. We have SO much to do. If unpacking, painting, cleaning and getting settled into a new house aren't daunting enough tasks, now I am dreading doing them with the added pressure of a 4 oz., crawling kitten. It will be a much more careful project now, which I guess we will try to do in the few weeks until she is still tiny, but wildly active. Also, I am allergic to some cats, which is part of the reason we are taking this on as a foster situation. If I turn out not to be able to handle her dander, than I know we will have to find her a home that can. Finally, our sweet but very nervous dog, Miles...We have no real idea how he will react. We have let them partake in some very supervised play time. (Like Jeffri in Bill's hands, and me holding Miles on the leash.) I am afraid to step back and see how Miles (half hound) will treat something that, at this point, is indistinguishable from a small squirrel, which naturally he loves to chase. It is a delicate balance, because, in some ways, now would be a great time to introduce Miles and Jeffri, because she is too young to run, so she won't trigger his chasing instincts. And, at the same time, she is so small that one little misstep and he could really hurt her. And, let's be honest, Miles is not the most patient of dogs.
Either way, I am looking at this as an opportunity to nurse Jeffri to health. I left out the "back" in "to health", because she never fell out of health - she is just small and young and needs as much love as possible!
The sign Bill made while I was out picking up Jeffri. :o)
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Luke Perry, and more...
I just looked up at the tv, and who did I see? You guessed it, Luke Perry. I mean, I guess he is still allowed on the t.v.
I went and saw "The Devil Wears Prada" alone today. I love seeing movies alone. Ann Hathaway, Meryl Streep, Adrian Garnier, that Aussie, oh yeah. Bildungsroman. The movie, just my type, so good.
Moving into the house in just about 36 hours. So freaking happy about that.
And finally, at last I am really excited about the wedding. The ribbons did it. Blasted ribbons. Crimson, vermillion, gold, butter-yellow, rust, chocolate, ivory and sage...Autumn splendor. Yeah, so now I am so freaking excited. Blast. And food.
Speaking of food, I also ate half a cherry pie today. That is a win win. Actually, there is not really a second "win" to eating that much pie, regardless of the fruit involved (or the tub of accompanying soy ice cream). It is just "win". There was no second bird I killed with that one stone, unless you count fooling myself into thinking I am in heaven.
Speaking of heaven, I saw "The Devil Wears Prada Today". Oops, already wrote that. Umm, I saw Luke Perry on t.v. Darn, another repeat. Oh, try this on for size, Bill and I split a double gulp of fruit punch gatorade. Beat that. You can't.
I went and saw "The Devil Wears Prada" alone today. I love seeing movies alone. Ann Hathaway, Meryl Streep, Adrian Garnier, that Aussie, oh yeah. Bildungsroman. The movie, just my type, so good.
Moving into the house in just about 36 hours. So freaking happy about that.
And finally, at last I am really excited about the wedding. The ribbons did it. Blasted ribbons. Crimson, vermillion, gold, butter-yellow, rust, chocolate, ivory and sage...Autumn splendor. Yeah, so now I am so freaking excited. Blast. And food.
Speaking of food, I also ate half a cherry pie today. That is a win win. Actually, there is not really a second "win" to eating that much pie, regardless of the fruit involved (or the tub of accompanying soy ice cream). It is just "win". There was no second bird I killed with that one stone, unless you count fooling myself into thinking I am in heaven.
Speaking of heaven, I saw "The Devil Wears Prada Today". Oops, already wrote that. Umm, I saw Luke Perry on t.v. Darn, another repeat. Oh, try this on for size, Bill and I split a double gulp of fruit punch gatorade. Beat that. You can't.
"The fire in her heart is out..."-Oasis
Actually, I guess it is the fire in her room. And not quite the fire, but the tiny bugs nightlight. I guess it lasted a good ten months. Maybe ten, since I think we had the nursery set up for well over a month before Sophie emerged. But, I went to bed last night, and lying there, I realized it was quite dark. I groped amidst the moving boxes into the desolate cleared out space that is the once honey-dipped nursery. Now, darkness has settled there too. Ironically, this happened on the eve of the day that her father lovingly transported the chest he made for her to the new house. It is a cedar chest, painted the brilliant color of her room, as if we could ever forget, and emblazoned with a large "S", marking a place for her in our physical home forever. I carefully and tearfully filled it with embroidered Sophie Salome blankets, books and wall hangings, butterfly quilts, congratulations cards bundled with ribbon, sympathy cards bundled with ribbon...I, of course, always want to see events as bits of evidence that Sophie is still with us. Does she know we are moving? Did her perfect spirit leave with her perfect chest, knowing not to stay in this old house forever? I hope she isn't at the new house alone, with the chest...I guess I just have to know she is with me, as much as she is anywhere...
As I get back into the spirit of school, I have written a haiku and a cinquain. How silly...
I miss her tonight.
Burning like fire on my skin.
Licks toward my hair.
Short life
Held in my heart
Lifespan of butterflies
Silent and raw with nuances
Cut cord
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Fuck-a-Plan. Wait, no, don't.
That's right. I wrote "fuck". I titled this blog "fuck-a-plan". Since Sophie passed silent from my broken womb, people have been telling me things like "everything happens for a reason", and "it's part of [God's] plan". And, my response, up until last week: "Fuck-a-plan". I have never said these angry, and somehow fun to say, words to anyone's face. But, surely I have thought them. Anyone who has experienced a stillbirth, or maybe any loss, knows that people say things with the best of intentions, and almost always keeping in mind what will make you "feel better", however futile. But, not these people. These people do not care about easing my discomfort. They speak of plans, purposes, and reasons because they absolutely believe these things to be true, regardless of any impact on me. And up until last week, their words have always sparked feelings of anger in my heart and mind. I have always thought, "How can these people, who do not know my pain, look me in the face, and tell me that my baby died for a reason? Her death was part of some plan that no one knows?" Somehow indicating that her death was for the greater good, or even my personal good, was offensive and unbelievably hurtful. And, I wondered how they could say that without seeing that I would rather have my Sophie than any other wonderful thing that could happen, ever. Despite all of the truly amazing things that have happened in the last few months, I always felt angry with those people who spoke of plans, because how could the death of my baby be part of some fantastic plan for my own life. I have always known that these people were talking about my relationship with my soul mate, but still, I couldn't allow myself to see Sophie's death as a catalyst for that, as if somehow that meant I wasn't sad beyond belief. But, over the last week, I have realized on my own something very different. I can see now that there must have been a plan, and Sophie's life has and will always play an integral part in it. Sophie's life. Sophie's short life was an invaluable part of the delicate plan of Bill's and my life, relationship, past, present, family and future. It was not her death that fulfilled some need, not her loss that was part of the mystery and the providence. Her life is our eternal blessing. I will miss her every moment, but as grief's hold lightens on our hearts, our love is grander and more beautiful that ever before - and we owe that to our Sophie's life - shor
t, soft and yet, somehow, infinite.
t, soft and yet, somehow, infinite.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
A Tuff Weekend
So, on Friday we found out that our brand new house is laden with mildew and animal urine. Sweet. We assumed our first project would simply be moving in. But, you know what they say about assumptions...And about new houses...Anyway, so we spent Saturday morning at the new house, slicing and tearing at the carpets we thought we would be living on. Now, we have to wait an entire extra week until the new carpets and floors are installed to move ourselves in fully.
Immediately after ripping out our carpets, we showered and were off to a wedding. A pretty odd wedding. Doves, jelly bellies, long lines and waits, and strippers. Interesting.
Then, Sunday morning, we were off to the Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church. I mean, I am pretty liberal, enough so that I can laugh at the habits of the liberal intellectual DC elite. I mean, imagine...take a sampling of 100 college English professors, 25 yoga teachers, 150 PhDs in pyschology, 40 lawyers, 15 writers, 6 equine massuers and 30 Chakra practicioners. Then, gently stir into a house-sized portion of Ethos-brand water that has reached a rolling boil. Next, simmer on medium heat for 5 days, or until the yuppies have cooked down to half volume. At this point, you may ladle and enjoy this syrupy leftist compote. :o) PS - Their king may minister our wedding.
Finally, Bill and I parted ways, and I met my bridesmaids for some bridezilla marathon dressing room bonding time. I ended up so stressed by the end, that I chose red for the dresses. Red? Red. Red? Yes. Is there anything less me and Bill than red bridesmaid dresses? No. So, I am now reconsidering my color choice...And, Bill spent the whole day moving boxes into the kitchen of our new house. A hot endeavour, irritating for him as we cannot officially put anything anywhere else, because the kitchen is the only room with acceptable floors. Oh, and he paid our rent on the house we actually still live in. But, finally we are both home. Chinese food. Bandcamp, the movie. I guess I am in heaven.
Here are some pictures of me and Bill this past Thanksgiving, on our annual trip to Vermont. I put these up, because, as you can see from this posting, we are TUFF. Forgive my extra pounds.
Immediately after ripping out our carpets, we showered and were off to a wedding. A pretty odd wedding. Doves, jelly bellies, long lines and waits, and strippers. Interesting.
Then, Sunday morning, we were off to the Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church. I mean, I am pretty liberal, enough so that I can laugh at the habits of the liberal intellectual DC elite. I mean, imagine...take a sampling of 100 college English professors, 25 yoga teachers, 150 PhDs in pyschology, 40 lawyers, 15 writers, 6 equine massuers and 30 Chakra practicioners. Then, gently stir into a house-sized portion of Ethos-brand water that has reached a rolling boil. Next, simmer on medium heat for 5 days, or until the yuppies have cooked down to half volume. At this point, you may ladle and enjoy this syrupy leftist compote. :o) PS - Their king may minister our wedding.
Finally, Bill and I parted ways, and I met my bridesmaids for some bridezilla marathon dressing room bonding time. I ended up so stressed by the end, that I chose red for the dresses. Red? Red. Red? Yes. Is there anything less me and Bill than red bridesmaid dresses? No. So, I am now reconsidering my color choice...And, Bill spent the whole day moving boxes into the kitchen of our new house. A hot endeavour, irritating for him as we cannot officially put anything anywhere else, because the kitchen is the only room with acceptable floors. Oh, and he paid our rent on the house we actually still live in. But, finally we are both home. Chinese food. Bandcamp, the movie. I guess I am in heaven.
Here are some pictures of me and Bill this past Thanksgiving, on our annual trip to Vermont. I put these up, because, as you can see from this posting, we are TUFF. Forgive my extra pounds.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Have a Day.
Two Major Events for the Day (and One Bummer):
At 1:28 PM, the Criss family introduced a new baby to the world. Juliet Caden Criss. I was at the hospital, but unable to stick around long to enough to actually see mot
her or baby. But, I will surely be there tomorrow. Congratulations, and welcome! 
At 9:45 PM, after waiting 3 1/2 hours for a settlement officer, Bill and I officially became homeowners. So, we expected to close at 4:30, but didn't start until 8. Finally, upon the arrival of the much-awaited settlement woman, we signed our financial lives away on a series of one million documents. Woo hoo. We were too tired to go to the house, but at least we have the keys.
At 10:30
, Bill and I arrived home, after being gone much longer than expected (see above). We were welcomed by an odor beyond human comprehension. Upon opening the door, we found the floors of four rooms of the house laden with feces, blood, and vomit. Apparently, our sweet Miles, who abhors pooping in the house (he never does), had been left alone just a little too long. He must have really tried to hold it, throwing up and even tearing bits of his innards in the process. (Sorry, that's disgusting.)
All in all, an emotional, difficult, thrilling, stinky, wonderful, gruesome, suspenseful, and gratifying day.
At 1:28 PM, the Criss family introduced a new baby to the world. Juliet Caden Criss. I was at the hospital, but unable to stick around long to enough to actually see mot
her or baby. But, I will surely be there tomorrow. Congratulations, and welcome! 
At 9:45 PM, after waiting 3 1/2 hours for a settlement officer, Bill and I officially became homeowners. So, we expected to close at 4:30, but didn't start until 8. Finally, upon the arrival of the much-awaited settlement woman, we signed our financial lives away on a series of one million documents. Woo hoo. We were too tired to go to the house, but at least we have the keys.
At 10:30
, Bill and I arrived home, after being gone much longer than expected (see above). We were welcomed by an odor beyond human comprehension. Upon opening the door, we found the floors of four rooms of the house laden with feces, blood, and vomit. Apparently, our sweet Miles, who abhors pooping in the house (he never does), had been left alone just a little too long. He must have really tried to hold it, throwing up and even tearing bits of his innards in the process. (Sorry, that's disgusting.)All in all, an emotional, difficult, thrilling, stinky, wonderful, gruesome, suspenseful, and gratifying day.
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