Letter B

Victory

So long, November! At least I didn't have to grow a mustache. (I did anyway, but not because I had to.) Thanks for hanging around. Thanks for reading all my posts. Thanks for leaving comments.

I always enjoy NaBloPoMo, at the end anyway. In the middle I hate it. But now I have warm and fuzzy feelings, and that's not just the beaujolais talking. NaBloPoMo always reminds me that I actually love my blog. That I really wouldn't know what to do without it. Did you know I often neglect what I love? It's a terrible habit. I usually end this month with a promise to write more. I usually blow that promise right away. No promises this year, just a wink. I'll try.

Ha, It Would Be So Funny If I Forgot To Post On The 29th

...is what I thought to myself earlier this evening. And here I almost did it. NOT SO FUNNY.

But I'm on it. I have nothing really to say other than damn, a hot toasty fire and a mug of tea will sure put you in the forgetting mood. 

Zzzzzzzz...

Is it just me or does this look like a fire in HD?

Goodnight.

Love It Lunday

If you are the type that loves to make something for people at the holidays you have to check out Sew, Mama, Sew's awesome Handmade Holidays guide. Every day is a different category with a round up of great tutorials of stuff to sew, knit, make, cook, etc. from around the crafty web. And they also have stuff to buy in the guide too, thankfully, as the road to panicked last-minute gift buying is paved with handmade intentions. Ahem.

 

True Story

Willa really did this. I often wonder if she has a writer on staff somewhere.

Done Knitting

We had a great Thanksgiving yesterday with friends and family. As we went into the evening there was a planned sleepover but only one child was game. I had to bring Willa the partypooper home so the night was cut a little short. I was grumpy about that, but the silver lining? I finished the hat. And now it's on my head which is good because baby, it's cold outside.

Happy Thanksgiving

Hand turkey FTW. I love that Lowell drew us inside the turkey. Turnabout is fair play, no?

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

Tune Twednesday

I'm digging this Ben Folds - Nick Hornby collaboration. I was skeptical, but goddamn, I LOVE THIS SONG.

Gone Knitting

Trying to finish this hat before it gets cold again this week. I knit so sloooooowly. Case in point, this is from a "knit this in a couple hours!"-type pattern book. I'm on week three.

Now We Are Six

 

When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three
I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am Six,
I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.

-A.A. Milne 

Happiest of birthdays to you, beautiful boy.

Visions of Butter Cream

Look. If, say, someone in your family requests strawberry frosting for their birthday cake then I have the recipe for you:

Sprinkles' Strawberry Frosting

I took the advice in the comments and simmered the puree down first to concentrate the strawberry flavor. The frosting was ridiculously delicious. I let the kids have some with their breakfast this morning (because I am the greatest mom on the planet) which resulted in major num-num noises. So good.

Doppelganger Effect

I came home from running around all day from errand to errand and noticed that I had a message on our home phone. (Yes, we still have a home phone. With an answering machine. I also churn butter and use lye soap.) I played it and was startled to hear my own voice coming out of the speaker. I listened but not really to the words because I was struck with panic. I had no recollection of leaving this message and that meant I must have called when I was running around and not even remembered it. I started mentally running through a list of neurological disorders that might be the culprit (thanks, House!) until I heard, "okay, and I wanted to wish Lowell an early happy birthday, so call me back." Then I thought, "Wow, I have really lost, no wait, that was Kara." Everyone, EVERYONE, always tells me that my sister, Kara, and I sound exactly alike. And I can kind of hear it, but not really, because I am me and I can't really hear what my voice sounds like except on a recording. Now when people say that I will just say "RIGHT? I know, it's freaky."

We Have Achieved Pigtails

Willa has the slowest growing hair on the planet. In the great scheme of things, this is no big deal at all, and I love her short hair - most people assume we cut it that way. But now her hair, at least the hair in the back, is long enough for pigtails. Oh my freaking GOD how I have waited (and waited, and waited) for this day. She ripped them out almost immediately, of course, but not before whipping them and twirling them around with her fingers while she stared in the mirror. She seemed almost as thrilled by them as I was.

OMG! OMG! It's Heeeeere!

Two days ago I noticed that my husband had brought the mail in and that there was a Dwell Studio catalog on the top of the pile. For a second I wondered "hmm, how'd I get on that mailing list?" and then went on my merry way. Tonight I noticed it again and decided to pick it up and when I turned it over I saw that, no, it was not a Dwell Studio catalog but my copy of Anthology magazine, Issue No. 1. And then I hypervenilated, ran up to my room, slammed the door, and screamed for everyone to leave me alone.

Here it is:

These dark days of glossies folding left and right have left a magazine-shaped hole in my heart. This little beauty is helping to fill that void. It even helps me to feel a little better about the demise of so many of my favorite titles because the indie mag movement seems to be getting stronger than ever with the extra breathing room. If you loved Domino or Blueprint you should run out and get this. Or better yet subscribe. It's a gem and I'm already anxiously awaiting the next issue.

Wideo Wednesday

I have posted 17 days in a row and am only now resorting to a cat video. I RULE. Here's one to get you into the holiday spirit.

Tune Tuesday

Is it weird that my kids know every word to this song?

GPOYD Monday

 

Willa working it. It's all her own creation, of course. That's a small sword in her hand on the right there. Very Alexander McQueen. The dress is tucked into her undies, which I'm pretty sure Junya Watanabe did in the fall Paris shows. Personally, I think she has a future. But then, I am her mom.

Also, NaBloPoMo, day 15. Halfway.

Storybook

The other day as we were having lunch at a depressing strip mall deli near a Verizon store where I had dragged the kids, Lowell looked up at me and said, squinching his face thoughtfully, "I think I'll draw this in my journal tomorrow." I immediately had the strange, even slightly unpleasant thought that probably my husband, other family members, and several of my friends have had: oh sh*t, this is going to be blogged.

In Lowell's kindergarten class each kid keeps a journal where they think of a story from the last couple days, draw a picture of it, and then explain it to their group. It's part of a literacy program and when I first heard about it I thought it was a marvelous thing. Now, I am not so sure. From what I can gather he has been choosing some pretty funny details of his day to write about and someday (soon, parent-teacher conferences are this week) I will have to sit there and experience his version of our family life as his teacher explains his drawings to me. Yeah, yeah, irony is rich, blah, blah. (Stop laughing.) But I am definitely feeling a little nervous. It's apparant (daily) that he has inherited the embellishment and exaggeration genes that plague our family. And the boy loves to go for a punchline. Needless to say I'll be bringing his teacher the biggest box of chocolates I can find.

Seriously though, I am also a little thrilled when he says he's going to journal something. One of the best things about having a blog is that it often makes me observe things a little more closely when I think I might write about them. I pay attention more, I take in the details, and feel a little more present in even the most mundane moments. It's lovely to think that he is experiencing that, and looking at the world as not only his reality, but also as his story.

Whoops!

Very nearly forgot to post. I'm sitting here knitting a hat and watching "Bridget Jones's Diary" for the hundredth thousandth time because I know how to party on a Saturday night. I'm trying to think of a detail from my day that I might turn into a decent little vignette but ah, fuggit. I am going to go back to the hat and listening for flaws in Renee Zellweger's accent. Ta!

Leafy!

I was inspired to make this leaf wreath by a beautiful leaf gradient I saw as part of the 10/10/10 group on Flickr. As soon as I saw it I thought a leaf gradient would make a great wreath. When the leaves really started to change around here I picked up as many colors of maple leaves as I could find. I put them in books to press them (finally - a good use for my out-of-date Chicago Manual of Style) and then yesterday I glued them all on a form I cut out of some cardboard. It was really easy and took maybe an hour from start to finish. I took pictures as I went along, so if you're interested in making one or just seeing the process, click below for a tutorial. This is also cross-posted on Roses Are Blue.

Went into the city tonight to see the Shutter Sisters and celebrate their gorgeous new book Expressive Photography. I was hoping to catch up with a few friends, especially miss Jen Lemen, who is one of my favorite people in both the blogosphere and the regular sphere. But it turned out to be one of those funny nights when you really hear what you needed to hear. The importance of fallow time (which never really is - thank you Jen), the key to time management (it's tomatoes, thanks Neil & Isabel), and that insider gossip on reality shows rules! (Thanks, you-know-whos.) Oh, and thanks, Universe. You are the wind beneath my wings.

(*Updated to add photo which I could not get to show up for the life of me when I published this from the train.)

Craftaholic

So, I made a cool wreath today and had every intention of posting the whole process here and on the craft blog but then I went to a planning meeting at Willa's school for a winter craft day and then from there went to a friend's craft night and hi, I like crafts.

I'll post it tomorrow. Teaser shot:

 

Tune Tuesday

Today I was testing out a new boombox that we bought for the kids' room. (By the way, good God, what are we calling them now? I can't believe I can never come up with anything better than "boombox.") It has an iPod dock so I set mine to shuffle, plugged it in and let it play. Right away this song's shreddingly delicious opening solo came pealing out of the speakers and I had one of those Proustian jolts back to my past. This time: San Francisco, 1993, my old apartment. I'm smoking and watching the fog pour down into the Lower Haight.

I've been noticing as I get older that, paradoxically, these moments of pure memory are becoming clearer. I'll be, say, going over my grocery list in my head and a song, or a smell, or a sight, any of the usual triggers, presents itself and instantly I'm filled with a longing so intense that it brings tears to my eyes. It's not like this didn't happen when I was younger but lately it seems stronger and sharper, and even when the memory is a happy one, it can be just on the edge of unpleasant.

I was reading recently that "nostalgia" was once considered a disease, a kind of severe homesickness. I think this is the right word for it then. A longing for a place that only exists in your brain to where there's no hope of return. Exiled in the present, I can only turn the volume up and sing along. Okay, and play air guitar.

 

Snowed

Yesterday I posted about linear time, today I am posting about the weather. I like to write about things that are totally within my control, obviously.

It snowed this morning. Lowell and I were just about to walk to school when I saw something unexpected in my peripheral vison. I peered out the front door and saw a whole bunch of leaves blowing down in the wind. I thought, "Wait, white leaves? That's weird..." My brain then quickly made the shift that it couldn't possibly be white leaves, it had to be pieces of paper. Yes, that's it, uniform pieces of paper are raining down from the sky. No, no, no, that can't be right, brain! So we settled upon ash. It had to be ashes from someone burning leaves next door or something. Then Lowell looked up from putting on his shoes and said "HEY! IT'S SNOWING!"

Oh, yeah, right. Snow. Forgot about that stuff.

It's The Mooooost Lo-oooo-ongest Day of The Year!

Move over summer solstice. You have nothing on End-Of-Daylight-Savings Day.

Saturday night I checked to see if Matthew had turned his clock back before bed. He hadn't so I made a mental note of it and went to sleep. When the children, those lovely songbirds of the morn, came traipsing into our bedroom today I looked over at the clock to see that it read "5:35." Good God. If it read 5:35 that meant it was actually 4:35 and of course that's what time I could expect to be waking for the rest of the week. This is an EXTREMELY unfortunate way to start any day. Even more unfortunate than just being woken at 5:35. We finally got the kids, through a mixture of firm words, outright threats, and abject begging, to stay in their rooms until the clock said 6:30, which of course, I calculated, was actually 5:30. I went downstairs with them at that point and was basically in tears. Until I saw the kitchen wall clock. An analog piece of crap that runs off one AA battery that I didn't bother turning back the night before. The big hand was on the 7 and the little hand was on the 6, AKA 7:30. Confused yet? I stood there staring at it and realized that Matthew's new alarm clock falls back all by itself. A feature I must have known about since I bought the damn thing (FYI, compulsive manual reader, here). So I got to start this dumb day with double the time angst. Really not okay. Either all the clocks in the world need to change themselves for Daylight Savings or none of them should have this functionality. Otherwise we are headed to chaos. CHAOS, I TELL YOU. Of course, I only have to get up at 5:30, not 4:30, for the next week so, hey, bonus!

And that was just the beginning. It's now only 9:37 PM and I feel like I have lived half my lifetime in this day. Do you know how many words a (nearly) 6-year-old can compulsively spell out to you given an extra hour? Or, with those extra minutes, how many times a 3-year-old can shriek directly into your ear that she does not want to wear her coat? Or her hat? Or her shoes? Or any clothes in general that are not softy-soft? People, let's just say that number contains many, many zeroes. Every single time I checked my watch today it was followed by a sotto voce string of swear words. And of course there was all that early darkness to look forward to. Yay! Thanks a lot, farmers! Just happy that this dumb day with its dumb time change is over. Dumb time and its stupid artificial linear construct. Grumble. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Put the Blame on Blame, Boys.

Oh Zenyatta! You came so, so close.

If you watched the Breeders' Cup Classic today then you know already that the wonder mare, Zenyatta, lost by a nose to Blame. Absolute heartbreaker of a race. Her last race before retirement after winning all 19 of her previous starts. Ach. This is why I should give up being a horseracing fan for good. Not because of all the other (valid, serious) reasons, but because my heart can't take it anymore. It's worse than rooting for the Mets. Someone please remind me of this before the first Saturday in May next year.

All That Jazz

Here is something you might not know about me. If I watch more than ten minutes of an old movie I will not turn it off until the final credits. It's a sickness. I can't tell you how many times I have sat down to just watch a great scene and end up turning off the TV at 2 AM. This is strange because in general I hate watching movies on TV. Just ask my husband, who is constantly annoyed by my inability to tell him whether I want to watch a movie on any given night. (It's too much of a commitment. I have a similar problem with showering, but that's another subject for another post. I'm sure you can't wait.) But, if the film is from before, I don't know, 1985, I can't turn it off. One reason is that if a movie from before 1985 is on TV, it's probably a classic. The biggest reason I hate watching contemporary films is because 93% of them suck so badly that I get enraged over the wasted time. Getting caught up in something playing on TCM is a much safer bet. But more than anything it's the amateur anthropologist side of me that can't stop watching. I look at everything, how a set is styled, the makeup, the costumes, I listen to the actors' elocution and slang, and god help me if there is a true location shot. I have been known to pause a film just to study a certain shot like a diorama. It's endlessly fascinating to me.

Tonight it was "All That Jazz."  I have both an unhealthy fascination with Ann Reinking and a unwavering belief that FOSSE IS GOD (seriously, unabashedly and completely unironically) so there wasn't even a second of doubt that I would be watching it to the end. Even with a new "30 Rock" sitting in my DVR queue. And so I did watch it. Do you remember when prescriptions medication had lables that were typed? With a typewriter? How about houseplants? Did you have eleventy-thousand of them in your house in the 70's? We did. And nurses with those white hats. One of my first career choices at about six years old was to be a nurse for that accessory alone. (I also wanted to be a nun for the habit. Clearly, I was disturbed.) Did you know that you can see the birth of the 80's in that film's final number? You can. It's like ur-MTV. Anyway. Now it's late and I am tired but I don't regret it. I rarely do. It's almost always worth the lost sleep. Which is more than I can say for "The Devil Wears Prada." A film I'm sure I'll find absolutely charming in 20 years.

When Life Gives You Hashtags You Should Smoke Them

Just read this great roundup of hashtags for writing and book-related chats on Twitter on the CSM site. I knew about exactly one of them already (#followreader) so I was thrilled to see how many other lit conversations are going on out there.

If the above sentence makes no sense at all quick Twitter hashtag chat primer: People put phrases after a hashtag (#) to group what would otherwise be random tweets together and form a conversation. When you search on Twitter for the hashtag (like, for instance, #nablopomo) you see all of the tweets on the subject and follow the conversation people are having on the agreed upon topic. It's a hack, but one of the best parts of Twitter. When people ask me "what do you do on twitter" I often say make fart jokes have interesting intellectual conversations. The nice thing is that you don't have to have a Twitter account to see what others are saying. But if you want to participate you do have to sign up. And follow me. Both accounts (@letterb & @momku). That's in the user agreement.

I actually did make a fart joke today. How can you resist?

 

I Just Adore A Penthouse View

Okay, it wasn't a penthouse but it was a pretty sweet board room in the Met Life building on 6th Avenue. This was taken in April when I was at a 140Conf meet up. Even though I lived in New York for 10 years I still never get tired of a cool view. And this is a million-dollar one. I actually took the video for the kids, but I also thought, "Oh, it would make a good post." And now it finally does.

 

Votelag

I should have known better than to wait until the end of this day to post. It would have been better to post this morning before the polls even opened. Then I would have been all shiny and earnest and been all "get out there and vote, gosh darn it!" Now it's last call and I'm grizzled and sloppy and making an ass of myself with maudlin pronouncements about the state of the world. Thankfully no one can hear them but me. Me and the dog, who is by her nature, non-partisan (and also non-english-speaking). Currently checking in on the race for my congressman and things are not looking good. He barely won this district last time around so I guess I shouldn't be surprised that it's going to a Tea Party-appeasing Republican nincompoop. And yet, this morning I had hope. And eggs.

Going to bed now and hoping to hear lots of good spin on NPR in the morning about how this setback is actually going to help Obama and his agenda.

P.S. The first person I hear say "Speaker Boehner" is going to get punched in the face. (I am such a lousy buddhist.)

Some Spooky Sh*t

Hi. It's November first so I am compelled to post if only to put a foot in the door for NaBloPoMo. My theme for the month is publishing all the orphan posts that I dreamt up over the past 11 months and then never put up here. Some are languishing away in my drafts folder and some are just rattling around in my head, clanking their chains reproachfully. Time to get them out of there.

Traditionally I start with a Halloween post. Look at our door!

 

Went all out this year with some posterboard and a dollar store plastic tablecloth. I'll do anything to keep my hands out of a pumpkin.

Lowell went as Robin Hood and Willa chose to be a witch. Both costumes were easy since I had already made a Robin Hood costume (made = cut out of fleece) for a birthday party last year and Willa created her costume herself out of dress-up clothes. The most stress-free costume choices ever. Thank you again, children.

 

The highlight of the trick or treating came at the very end. We went up to a decorated house that Lowell wanted to go to and all of a sudden these (actually) very scary dressed-up guys came out from around the back and started doing their best to frighten the bejesus out of a 3-year-old and a (nearly) 6-year-old. There was a scary clown, a ghoul, a Saw-masked dude, and a giant guy dressed up as Frankenstein. It was just this side of inappropriate because they really didn't need to freak out little kids, but I always maintain that it's important to be occasionally scared on Halloween, so I didn't make a big deal out of it. Willa was glued to my leg but I nudged Lowell towards the porch and said "It's okay, go get your candy." He went up on the lawn but seemed to be confused where to go and so went right up to the Frankenstein who started putting his hands up and coming toward him. Lowell, obviously and openly scared, looked up at Frankenstein and then, I think confused by his open arms, just went up and hugged him. Took the wind right out of the scary dudes who didn't know what to make of little trusting Robin Hood. They yelled at him to turn around and get his candy, which he did, and then we all beat it the hell out of there. It was pretty awesome. Except that Willa still hasn't stopped talking about the scary clown. I think we may have witnessed the birth of a phobia.

Okay, first down-to-the-wire post done. 29 to go.