did you hear the one about...

... the family that got lost in the mountains for three days while trying to chop down a Christmas tree? Yet another reason why gas station trees rule.

i love michael cera

seriously.

O Tannenbaum

We just got our Christmas tree! Yay! I know many people have this idea that you need to go out in the woods on a snowy day and chop your own perfect, fresh tree down for the quintessential holiday experience, but I am a firm believer in the gas station tree. A woman I know told me that she got her tree at Gulf Station across from the Pizza Hut on Marsh Rd. for $35...so the things that went through my mind were 1) bargain, and 2) no long commute to Smyrna or Middletown. So off we went tonight for a scenic tour of the lights of North Wilmington, and then a stop at the gas station. It could not have been more perfect. The guys running the lot were, as we call them in my family for some reason, hooples -- several mullets and not very many teeth. And one of them was even a little person. They were nice as could be and super helpful, and my lovely Frasier Fir from Schuylkill Township was cut down just three days ago. It smells just like Christmas, even though it came from the Gulf Station. We are baking cookies tommorrow and decorating the tree. It will be so festive! Come join us!

cheese glorious cheese

My family has a long-standing tradition that if you get straight-A's on your report card, you get to have what is cleverly known as a "Straight-A Dinner." When I was growing up, this meant that you got to pick the menu for my mom to cook. Of course, Lucy's childhood, while in many ways similar to mine (I was an only child until I was almost nine, I was not allowed to have Atari, I liked to read), is also different in significant ways. First, her report cards don't even have A's on them -- just numbers and pluses and asterisks. So, we had to make a concession, allowing for a "Straight A Dinner" even when it should now be called a "Straight 4s and Asterisks and Pluses and Lucy is an excellent role model for her classmates Dinner." Second, instead of getting to have her mom make her spaghetti and meatballs or porkchops, she got to pick a trip to Toscana for a NY Strip Steak, followed by a Godiva Chocolate Mousse Bombe (which is pronounced "Godeeva Chocolate Mouse Bombay").

But here's the real point. Toscana's food is good. Nothing too exciting, but pretty tasty. But the best thing they have there is a FRESH FRESH FRESH mozzarella di bufalo. It is to die for. Richard, Lucy and I are getting to be quite the cheese afficianados. Definitely a worthwhile pursuit. (Lucy actually knows about manchego, and humboldt fog, and brie. When I was a kid, Velveeta was exotic. My child is really spoiled, isn't she?)

by popular demand....

Lomo Homos.

(Jocelyn, this one's for you.)

Lomo (not to be confused with Homo)

I found a digital photo manipulation website through my friend Ran's flickr gallery, and have discovered a new love: the lomography treatment. Apparently, lomography is a both a photo technique and a philosophy. The technique revolves around a certain kind of cheap mass-produced Russian camera that takes over-saturated pictures with weird distortion, and the philosophy focuses on taking pictures in the moment, without any focus on what is "good." I have no interest in pursuing actual lomography (way too much work, when dumpr.net will do it for me!), but I am loving what the digital manipulation does to my pictures. They look grainy and bright and cool. In researching lomography, I learned, however, that it is apparently hot with hipsters, because you can buy all kinds of gear from Urban Outfitters. Weird. Richard says I need to embrace my inner-hipster. I already have the glasses.

THANKSgiving

You know me. I am not prone to extravagant displays of love and affection. In fact, my heart is firmly encased in a thick protective layer of irony and sarcasm. (My sixth grade science teacher told me I was so sarcastic that people were afraid to be my friend....maybe if the girls in the burgeoning "clique" had not been so mean to me in 5th and 6th grades, I would now be writing romantic poetry and working on my disney princesses movie collection instead of finely honing my dry wit and snarky sense of humor...but we'll never know now, will we?)
Anyway...in honor of the Thanksgiving holiday (which is Richard's favorite for three reasons: 1) it's all about food; 2) there are no presents to exchange thereby leading to inevitable disappointment; and 3) did I mention the food?), I thought I would try to lower my defensive irony, and name some things for which I am thankful this year.

1) Lucy and Richard. This has been kind of a tough year for me, and I have not always been much fun to be around, but Lucy and Richard have been great. Lucy is so incredibly smart and funny -- she is just way cooler and more confident than I will ever be, and I am proud to be her mom. Richard is the best husband there is -- supportive, helpful, a great dad -- and smart and funny too. I love them both very much.
2) My siblings. My brother and sisters are the best. We have so much fun together, I sometimes feel sorry for other people who hang out with us and have no idea about half of the things we are talking and laughing about. Awesome.
3) My parents (and my stepmother). My dad is my hero. Totally level-headed, but funny as hell (we all live to make my dad laugh -- there is nothing like it), and always supportive. My mom can be prickly, but she loves us all like a lioness, and would do anything for us. And if I don't know how to cook something, I always call her first. My stepmother Jenny is under appreciated. She is willing to help us in any way she can, and she is a great Granny to Lucy.
4) My fake family -- the Trigg-Lowry-Lebberns. I've known these guys since I was six, and I love them all to death. Even though Lindsay and I make each other a little nuts (we are very different people), she is my best friend in the world. Barbie is like my second, much cooler, mom. And Jocelyn -- what can I say? Cyber-stalking JoJo is one of my favorite pastimes. I can't wait until she is back on the east coast so I can even see her in person. It was such a treat to spend time with everyone in California this summer -- I had a blast (shout out to the whole fam: Linz, Ian, Max, Barbara, Justin, Jocelyn, Ally, and Skip).
5) My siblings' significant others, roommates, and friends. I love that they are willing to spend time with my crazy family even when they don't have to. I love Marianne, Brian, Chelsea, Andrea, and Tall Chris. So cute.
6) All my creature comforts. I am definitely thankful that I have the financial resources to allow me to be a member of the bourgeoisie. Sometimes I feel guilty that I have so much stuff, but most of the time I am just happy it's all there -- the nice house in the cute neighborhood, the pets (namecheck: Sadie, Butterstick, Fred Weasley, Chomper, Oliver, and Maddie), the giant TV and digital cable, my iPod and my iBook. Which brings me to...
7) The internet. What would I do without Facebook, Google, Blogger, Flickr and iTunes? I am a web-a-holic. Mostly I love how the interweb let's me keep up with friends that I don't often see in person (like Jocelyn and Ran).
8) Pharmaceuticals. As I mentioned before, this was kind of a tough year for me. But, thanks largely to the power of prescription drugs, I am feeling and sleeping much better. Thanks, big Pharma.

There are many more things for which I am thankful (PostSecret, podcasts of This American Life and StoryCorps, arts and crafts, books, crossword puzzles, Tom Bergeron, etc.) but I can feel the snark creeping back into my heart. So, in closing, have a great Thanksgiving. Thanks for everything. Love love. Kirsten

my 7-year old has a blog?

I was out all afternoon (taking pictures of merchandise at Lindsay's store, Sanity, for her upcoming website launch...link to be posted soon!) and Richard and Lucy were left to their own devices. Not only did they get our Thanksgiving turkey -- a 16 pound Butterball (feel free to stop by for dinner Thursday at 4 pm) -- and new winter coats, but they also started a blog. Lucy's Black Bandanna features her latest writing, so you can expect lots of great pop songs and even a book review or two. It is pretty cool. You won't be disappointed.

life stories

Do you know about StoryCorps? It is one of my new obsessions, because I am now so middle-aged that I sometimes prefer to listen to talk radio podcasts in the car instead of music. (The other day on a trip to Dover I listened to both a "This American Life" and a "CarTalk". Man, you could blow the dust off me, I swear. Before too long I will be wearing cardigans and listening to the Glenn Miller Orchestra.) Anyway, StoryCorps is so cool, each mini-episode featuring two regular people talking to each other about their lives. These small vignettes about average (and not-so-average) lives totally thrill my inner-voyeur. There is a permanent StoryCorps recording booth in NYC, but it turns out that the mobile studio is in Philadelphia until December. I really want to go. Any volunteers to submit to my penetrating gaze and personal questions?

a private family moment, blog-style

Now that I have figured out how to post photos to my blog, it's a whole new ball game. I took this picture with my camera phone a couple of weeks ago. I think Richard and Lucy are so cute, but there is something about the whole thing that looks a little sketchy. Totally reminds me of a Sally Mann photograph (if Sally Mann's chosen photographic format was a Samsung cell phone instead of some really nice 8x10 Leica or what-have-you). Don't call Child Protective Services on me, please.

dealer?

I am thinking this might be a good business for me to get into if the whole non-profit thing doesn't work out. Not trucking, although I am an excellent driver. I want to become a "dealer in pork, the other white meat."

a top ten (or nine) list

Richard and I have had a long-standing discussion about our top ten favorite songs, and whether or not it is even possible to come up with a list like this. So much about the music that we (a royal "we") like is situational - where we are in our lives, what music is popular, and what things resonate with us. There are songs that you love and could listen to over and over again without getting sick of them, that really don't mean anything in particular. Or songs that remind you of a person or event -- where the love of the song has little to do with the song itself. Or songs that just nail an emotion or experience -- not even one that has necessarily happened to you.

I have been racking my brain to come up with a list of my Top Ten Favorite Songs -- and it has been tough. But here is what I have so far, in no particular order -- because that would be impossible.

"Wishlist" -- Pearl Jam. I like Pearl Jam just fine, but would not put them on my top ten favorite bands list. "Wishlist," however, is amazing. The lyrics capture obsessive love perfectly. Best line: "I wish I was the souvenir you kept your house keys on."

"Hands Down" -- Dashboard Confessional with Michael Stipe. I probably know three Dashboard Confessional songs, including this one, and in this case, much prefer the version with Michael Stipe to the original. This song evokes the perfect teenage summer lust so clearly -- the lyrics play out cinematically in my mind. And if you crank it really loud in the car, it is super-fun to sing along to.

"Casimir Pulaski Day" -- Sufjan Stevens. Another cinematic song. Heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Lose Yourself" -- Eminem. I am hardly a rap afficionado, but this is a damn fine song. Awesome fist-pumping lyrics. And how many people can work a shout-out to Mehkhi Phifer into their rhymes?

"Beautiful Disaster" -- Kelly Clarkson. So overwrought in every way, and therefore, unparalleled for singing along to. Kelly will always be my American Idol.

"Top of the World" -- Dixie Chicks. This song gets me every time. A clear warning not to turn into a bitter, lonely old man.

"Shaking Hands (Soldier's Joy)" -- Michelle Shocked. A charming little ditty about a morphine-addicted Civil War soldier. Richard and I listened to this album (Arkansas Traveler) non-stop on our honeymoon -- a three-week long cross-country drive. Good times.

"Standing" -- Giles from the Cast of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Poor Giles -- he just wanted to be Buffy's dad, and Buffy could never get that. Buffy played a big part in my family for many years. And the musical episode makes for a rollicking sing-along. Even Lucy knows all the words.

"Toxic" -- Britney Spears. Say what you will about Britney, but this song rocks. And it reminds me of the first summer we went to Camp Tockwogh for Family Camp. I challenge you NOT to dance or sing along when you hear it.

OK -- that's nine. There are so many more, so I am copping out now, before I have to make tough choices. I'd love to hear what some of your favorite songs are, loyal reader(s). Please let me know.

you can't go home again (and do you really want to, anyway?)

I went to a very small private school here in Wilmington from 4th grade through 12th grade. There were roughly 50 kids in my class, a large percentage of whom attended Tower Hill from pre-kindergarten through graduation (suffice it to say, most of us knew each other pretty well by the end of senior year). It was kind of a weird experience for me. My father was really the driving force behind my attendance at the school, wanting what he perceived to be the best education for his kids, and also, I think, trying to fit in to the world of Wilmington lawyers, as an outsider from a working class family in Western New York. My mother, on the other hand, was very uncomfortable with the school and what it stood for (also from a working class family in Western New York, and a social worker to boot). She railed against the elitism mightily, and was a frequent caller to the school, registering her complaints without compunction. And they both were right, in their own way. It was (and is) a great school, with incredible teachers and unbelievable resources. But, it was (and is) homogeneous and elitist. Example 1: there were no African-American kids in my class; Example 2: many people were quite rich. While my family was certainly comfortably upper-middle class, we never went skiing in the Alps over spring break. I know -- boo hoo for me. (I am bummed that I could not make a link work here that I felt illuminated my point perfectly about the continued homogeneity and elitism. In a recent TH publication, there was a very well-intentioned student piece about how the Spanish Culture Club invited a member of the grounds crew to come and speak about the Mexican experience. Wow.)

In spite of the weird family dichotomy, I would say that overall, my experience at Tower Hill was overwhelmingly positive. I liked most of the kids I went to school with, I was challenged academically, and in general, I had fun. That being said, even if I could afford it, I would probably not send my daughter there -- because of the same elitism that made my mom bristle (the apple does not fall far from the tree). And I think that the biggest drawback to my secondary school education was that it kept my horizons very narrow. When it came time to look at colleges, I wanted to go somewhere small where I felt like I could get to know people (and I think subconsciously, I wanted the people at college to be similar to the ones I grew up with). In fact, the idea of a big college in a big city absolutely freaked me out. I ended up applying to 5 small liberal arts colleges in the northeast -- all pretty interchangeable, I think. I ended up at Trinity College in Hartford, CT, largely because the Director of Admissions at Tower Hill had just come from Trinity, so there was a definite push for attendance there, and also because the campus was really pretty when I visited (and again, subconsciously, because a number of kids I knew were going there).

Trinity only has about 2,000 students -- really tiny for a college. Despite the fact that it is downtown Hartford, which has an overwhelmingly minority population, it draws the vast majority of its students from just the kind of elite, un-diverse schools that I myself attended. And when I got there, this was ok, or at least comfortable. But over time, I began to find it incredibly stifling. Again, the educational experience was great -- I had some wonderful (read "liberal") professors who really opened my eyes much more to the world around me. I made a few good friends, drank a lot of beer, and had a decent time. But overall, the four years there left me deeply unsatisfied.

This has been on my mind a lot lately. My 15-year reunion is coming up (which is in itself an answer to the title of my last post), and while I have absolutely no intention of going, the alumni mail has been coming fast and furious. Then, Richard, Lucy and I took a trip to Connecticut last weekend to visit my cousin, Sarah, who lives about an hour outside of Hartford. When we planned the trip to CT, I had no plans to visit Trinity. But Sunday, Sarah had to work, and the weather was beautiful (in fact, I always associate clear fall weather with Trinity), so we decided to make the trip. And I have to say, the campus is still stunning, and being there was much less uncomfortable than I had expected it to be. It was actually kind of fun showing Richard and Lucy around (Richard loved the library, and Lucy loved the cannons). But then, in the car, on the ride back, I read the weekly student paper. And quickly remembered what I didn't like about the school. The article that pushed me over the edge was an opinion piece about why the school needs to bring back the "drunk bus" because the shuttle that they are using now does not allow alcohol on board, so many students would rather risk their lives to walk across campus than pour out their beers. Now maybe, if I were still in the 18-22 demographic, I would feel a sense of outrage about the tragic potential waste of beer, and would be able to ignore the implicit elitism that surrounds any talk of crime on campus. But probably not. And one look at the "campus safety" blotter would surely dispel most fears about "townies," since all reported incidents involved drunk students. The whole thing just pissed me off, and took me back 15 years much more viscerally than the trip to campus itself.

Ack. This blog has gotten much more strident and self-important than I ever intended. And now I have missed "30 Rock." But I have gotten some very deep and insightful points out into the blogosphere, and I've really made you think, right? You're welcome. (I promise my next post will be short, and maybe even amusing, to reward you for slogging through this one, if you got this far.)

am i old? wait...don't answer that.

I am 36 (and three-quarters). I have a husband, a kid, a house, a job, and way too many pets (two dogs is two dogs too many, just ask Richard). But, about 90% of my social life is related to spending time with my brother and sister, who are 28 and 25, and their partners, roommates, and friends. (The other 10% of my social life seems to be spent sending facebook messages and blog comments to Jocelyn, who is 23.) And I love this, I really do. But it is sometimes weird. I worry about turning into an old person who is trying too hard to be young and cool and fun. I think I am having an early midlife crisis, probably. I have always been the responsible older sister -- I even drove the carpool when I was in high school, for god's sake. I got married when I was 23, while living in Cecil County, MD, the pinnacle of all that is cool (if you are into Wal-Mart and hunting). Suffice it to say that I did not spend my 20s in hip cities with roommates and trolleys and bars. But maybe I am not so old and desperate -- maybe 36 is the new 26? I don't know.

I do know that this past weekend, after a really long work week, I wanted to go out and drink many beers. So I called Margit and made some plans. I met up with "the kids" (Margit and Marianne, Andrew and Brian) in West Philly and after making and eating some delicious soups (a creamy delicato squash, and a fresh corn chowder -- yay Clark Park Farmers Market) and hearty grilled cheese sandwiches (thank you crusty artisan bread and fresh tomatoes from Andrew's garden), we hit the town.

First, Bob and Barbara's, a hipster dive bar festooned with PBR paraphenalia. I drank several "citywide specials" -- how can you say no to a can of PBR and a shot of Jim Beam for $3? (as a side note on this portion of the expedition, if you are a really overweight guy, don't wear a big football shirt with the name "Jibbles" written on the back -- it's not a good look.) Then, when the boys pussied out at around midnight, Margit, Marianne, and I headed over to the Gayborhood and hit a piano bar (duh) and then the famous lesbian bar, Sisters (finally, after all these years of hearing about it, I witnessed the magic in person). The girls wanted to give me the complete Philly experience, so after closing, we took a cab to South Philly and joined the long line of drunkards at Pat's, for the ultimate hangover prevention -- a "cheesesteak wit whiz." For you west coasters (jocelyn...whatever), that's a cheesesteak with fried onions and yummy yummy cheesewhiz. mmmmmmmm. We then took a cab back to the girls' apartment (during the cab ride, I made Margit text me a message reminding me to see if "Taxicab Confessions" is available on DVD from Netflix...makes it sound like things got racy in cab, doesn't it?) where I crashed in their roommate's bed (thanks Chelsea) at around 3:30 am. Amazingly, when I woke up the next morning, I was not hungover -- I fully credit Pat's for that.

Long story short, I had a really good time. But was it weird? Should I be hanging out with other moms, drinking cosmos, and playing Bunco instead of hitting hipster bars with 20-somethings, drinking cheap nasty beer and making fun of guys named Jibbles? (At the very least, I think I should stay away from the PBR in the future -- it was not friends with my intestines.)

So let me know what you think -- am I a desperate old hag or just a 36-year-old who is young at heart? All opinions are welcome. Unless you think I am a desperate old hag. Keep that to yourself.

eating pancakes but missing the omelette?

Since Jocelyn announced that she is not blogging about food (I think "Dustbin" should keep his opinions to himself, personally. I enjoyed hearing about heirloom tomatoes and Humboldt fog cheese....), I have decided to take up the challenge for today. Let me preface this by saying that, obviously, I like food (my blog is named "eat cake," for God's sake. More on that later.) but I wouldn't consider myself a "foodie." I was raised on standard 1950s middle class white people food -- pot roast, meatloaf, ham and scalloped potatoes, and for some added foreign flair, American Chop Suey or Spanish Rice. As an adult, I would say that I have become a pretty good cook, and have definitely expanded my food horizons. I make a mean tagine-cooked chicken, lemon, and olives, and made the most ridiculously delicious chicken and mushroom pie (without a recipe, even) a few weeks ago.

That all being said, I still love me some old school comfort food, particularly breakfast. And even better than breakfast, "breakfast for dinner." And what's the best breakfast for dinner food of all? Pancakes, of course. There is a proud tradition of pancake-eating in my family -- my father once ate 17 pancakes at brunch at the Hotel duPont's Green Room ("But they were silver-dollar pancakes!" my father will say to defend his gluttony). Suffice it to say, I have eaten a lot of pancakes in my life -- have I mentioned that I like to eat?

If you are a Wilmingtonian, you know about the Ranch House (fondly referred to as either the Raunch House or the Roach House....you get the idea, right?). The Ranch House has recently been re-opened as Lucky's Coffee Shop -- with a full 50s retro makeover. Our old neighbor Mickey is one of the owners, and our old friend Davey is one of the cooks, so we have been going there quite a lot. Every Thursday evening before Lucy's ice skating lessons, in fact. The atmosphere is great, and the food has been good (the homemade non-Sysco chocolate cake is super-tasty), and the coffee is way better than your typical diner joe. But tonight, in the mood for some stick-to-your ribs comfort food before I headed to the 40 degree ice rink, I ordered the short stack with sausage, and reached Pancake Nirvana. Seriously. The pancakes were just unbelievable tasty -- not too sweet and not too thick and full of cute little bubbles. And once topped with butter (butter makes everything better) and maple syrup with some unidentifiable fall spice, the pancakes soared to new heights. And deserved a blog, Dustbin be damned.

undergarment update

I threw caution to the wind and wore the red underwear today...(ok, all the black pairs are in the dirty clothes basket)....and honestly, it just felt all wrong, like my ass knew the undies weren't black. I know, too much information. Sorry.

classy

I have a funny, and embarrassing, story to tell, so what better place to do it than on a public blog?

Some background....about five years ago, I found this underwear that I really liked, and decided that I would buy about a million pairs of it, all in black. Over time, I have added to my stock, but always the same underwear, and always in black. (Well, that's not totally true. I did buy a red pair once but never wore it...too flashy.) While I have added to the collection over the last few years, I rarely get rid of a pair -- after all, they are black, and they hold up very well. However, for some reason, some pairs are more comfortable than others, but this seems largely dependent on the pair of pants that I am wearing at the time.

Last Friday, I was at work, and the pair of underwear that I was wearing, indistinguishable from the other 20 pairs in my drawer, was just not right -- it was riding up and generally annoying me. So, classy chick that I am, I went to the bathroom and removed the offensive undies, tucked them in my pocket, and spent the rest of the workday commando. Later that evening, I spent a brief moment wondering where precisely I had put the underwear when I went back to my office, but...like a squirrel with a shiny thing...my brain moved on to some other critically important thought (stopping global warming? troop withdrawal from Irag? ending homelessness?) without resolving the underwear mystery.

Flash forward to Monday. Seeking refuge from the constant interruptions in the office, I packed up my laptop and the grant proposal I was working on (which I should be working on right now instead of crafting this highly intellectual blog post), and headed off to the Trolley Square Brew Ha Ha. After about 4 hours and several cups of coffee (and multiple trips to the bathroom, natch), I got up to pack up my belongings and head back to the office. When I leaned down to grab my computer bag, there, staring at my from under my table, was, yes, you guessed it -- my underwear. If you know me, which you do if you are reading this, you are probably not very surprised.

america's funniest home videos...

...is damn funny. And I have an inexplicable love for Tom Bergeron. Does this all make me a bad person? It does, doesn't it.

endless possibilities

The other day, Lucy said to me, "I know what I am going to be when I grow up." And attentive mom that I am, I popped my head up from my facebook account and said, "Oh really? What are you going to be?" To which Lucy replied, "An artist." (brief digression...I understand why author Cormac McCarthy writes all his dialogue without quotation marks -- punctuation is kind of a pain.)

Now at various times in the recent past, Lucy has wanted to be: a veterinarian -- until she helped our friend Andrea clean out the disgustingly stinky ears of my mom's new (pre-owned, but without Honda's generous 200-point certification) dog; a professional ice skater -- but since she only takes one lesson a week and never practices, this seems unlikely; and of course, a rock star -- she and her friend Dylan have even started a band, but Lucy plays no instruments, and Dylan can only play two chords on his guitar, and thus, one song ("What amazing song could that be?" you are asking yourself. Well, America's "A Horse With No Name," of course. What seven-year old's musical repertoire would be complete without that classic? It's in your head now, isn't it? Sorry. Really. Welcome to my world.)

But an artist? That was new. But then Lucy went on to explain why she thought this was an appropriate career path. "Well, Mom. You just said that you liked that picture that I drew of Erica today. You said you thought it was really good. So I think I might be an artist."

Wow. Imagine how this could apply in adult life. You change the big water bottle in the cooler at work (which I have to do all the time because the women I work with are little girly babies), and someone compliments you on how strong you are, and you think, "You know, you're right. I am really strong. I think I might quit my job as an __________ (insert unsatisfying job here), and become a professional weightlifter, or maybe a lumberjack." Or you drive through West Philadelphia to the Vietnamese deli for a tofu hoagie, and your husband comments on your excellent navigational skills (this part of the story is ripped from the headlines, as they say on Law and Order), and you decide right then and there to leave everything behind to become a long-haul truck driver, or a navigator on the space shuttle. The possibilities are endless.

But for better or worse, now that I am an adult (and Jocelyn, in response to your Peter Pan blog post, I don't think anyone ever really feels like a grown-up), the possibilities just don't feel as possible as they did when I was seven (I wanted to work in a pet store. I guess this is actually an attainable goal. Does anyone know if PetSmart is hiring?). I have been thinking a lot about this lately, largely due to recent employment-related anxiety. If I really put my mind to it, could I quit my job, sell my house, and pack up the family for a big move to England, and a job in a coffee shop? Could I hop off the career path, go to grad school for an art degree, and then live the bohemian life of an artiste? And perhaps more importantly, do I really want to? I don't know the answer to this. I would say that I am 95% satisfied with my life -- love my family, house, and creature comforts -- but that 5% dissatisfaction (or maybe just curiosity?) is always in the back of my mind, nagging at me. Maybe this is just a natural resistance to growing up.

I do know for sure, though, that if Lucy wants to be an artist...or a veterinarian...or a rock star, I will be behind her 100% of the way. (Maybe only 95% for ice skating....that is just so not my scene.)

good intentions

I have nothing but the best intentions. I fully mean to RSVP to every party that Lucy is invited to the minute the cards come, and then wait until the last day. I really want to write thank you notes to tell people how perfect their gifts were, and how happy I am they thought of me...but then time slips by and it seems like it is too late. I pack my bag with work at the end of the day, and then leave the bag untouched by the front door until it's time to go to work again (seemingly minutes after I have gotten home).

This week, I have so much work to do, and feel certain that there are not enough hours in the week to get it all done. So, of course, before I left the office today, I filled my bag with files and lugged it home, and now...wait for it....I am watching "Pushing Daisies" and blogging. (And will be watching "Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares" at 9, and "Top Chef" at 10.) And believe me, tomorrow, when the clock ticks toward 5 PM, I will be so annoyed with myself for leaving my files untouched. (However, since I have started taking anti-anxiety meds, I don't get nearly as disgusted with myself as I used to. Maybe this is a good thing?)

What can I do about this? Stop procrastinating? Stop worrying about procrastinating (more meds would probably be necessary)? I think for now, I will just zone out in front of the TV, and put off the worrying until tomorrow.

into the breach

I am just a copycat. Jocelyn started a blog, and hers is so interesting and fun to read, it made me want to have a blog too. Of course, I am pretty sure that my narration of life as a 36-year old working mom in Delaware will be nowhere near as exciting as what JoJo writes about her life as a 23-year old single gal (don't you just hate that word?) living with her mom in Napa, California. (When you write it like that, it doesn't really sound that exciting. Sorry JoJo.) But I will try.

It turns out that I actually signed up for a Blogger account in November 2004. Honestly, I don't remember doing it, and never posted anything but a test message. It is telling though, that I named that blog Aghast, only days after the 2004 presidential election. And although I have remained aghast at what has happened politically, I have clearly not been aghast enough to blog about it....Maybe now that we are heading full-bore into the new election cycle, my aghasted-ness will return.

But for now, I think the point of this blog will be to share whatever random things I might think are interesting that can't be summed up in the "About Me" section of my facebook page (I am currently addicted to facebook. Big time.). I will try not to borrow too heavily from my favorite book, An Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, in which the author (Amy Krouse Rosenthal) describes her life in alphabetic entries (the entry that made me know that Amy and I were destined to be best friends was the one in which she talks about her love for the way NPR correspondent Sylvia Poggioli says her name – I have always loved that too, and wait with bated breath for stories from Rome. It was awesome when they were picking the new pope - Sylvia was on-air daily.).

It looks like this blog may be a little bit digressive, so bear with me.