secondhand gods

things i am not sure about

1.) whether I can resist the siren song of television tonight, or whether I will make the same heroic effort as last night, occupying myself by taking a long walk and sitting outside in the backyard admiring nature

2.) whether my job is safe

3.) whether I care

4.) whether I should get my hair cut short (perhaps a kneejerk reaction that will make me feel overly matronly)

5.) whether I will sleep any better tonight than I did last night

6.) what time GB will be home tomorrow

7.) what people really think of me

8.) whether that little tiny eggplant I discovered in the garden yesterday will grow to fruitful adulthood, or be ravaged by a marauding chipmunk

9.) whether that mama duck and all of her baby ducks that I saw hanging uncertainly by the curb on my way home tonight made it safely across the busy rush hour thoroughfare

10.) whether I will drive back that way tomorrow morning and check, at the risk of bursting into tears if I see fluff in the road

11.) turning 35 tomorrow.

sunday

 

a little bit of weather, eating, reading

The weather here in Detroit has been absolutely lovely lately. There are red tulips in the beds and baby leaves on the trees and cardinals on the feeder, all of which are very cheerful.

GB has been traveling for the past 2 weeks and will be gone again next week as well. *sigh* I know it's his job and for the most part he really likes his job, so that makes me agreeable to it, but I certainly miss him when he is gone.

The travel is difficult for him as well, and he doesn't like being away from home, living out of a suitcase and eating restaurant food* all the time. But again, it comes with the job and he likes his job and there are trade-offs.

*Actually, this isn't true, because most of the time he'll sniff out a Trader Joe's in his port of call and load up on snacks. GB is one of those rare people who can get a nice loaf of bread and some tapenade, some good cheese, fruit and nuts and other little munchies, and be perfectly content to call it supper. I, on the other hand, am not. Anyway.

When GB is gone I eat a lot of cereal, lounge in the bathtub, go to bed early, eat snacks, and do a lot of reading. During his recent voyages I have consumed the following:

Beekeeper's Apprentice & Justice Hall - Laurie R. King. Typically, the idea of an author cadging another author's character, particularly an iconic one such as Sherlock Holmes, is so distasteful to me that I can't even pick up the book without shuddering. But my library chose Beekeeper as a recent book club selection, so I thought I would try it too. To my surprise, it was palatable. They didn't have the sequel, so I got the third in the series, and it was better than the first. Oh, not great -- merely passable -- but Sherlock Holmes is definitely recognizable as Sherlock Holmes even if his turn of the century feminist sidekick is laid on a bit thick for my taste. And it gave me the icky creeps to think that a Holmes in his mid-sixties would marry a twenty-year old. What is this, a Harrison Ford movie? But all in all, they were quick reads and while not particularly memorable, I couldn't complain too much. They paired well with a bowl of Cream of Wheat and some banana slices on toast.

Rhett Butler's People - Donald McCaig. This was an unmitigated disaster. I couldn't even finish it. Perhaps the relative success of the Sherlock Holmes thing in the above books made me cocky, but I pushed my luck. It wasn't even a sequel -- it was an actual attempt at rewriting bits of GWTW from Rhett's perspective. Unfortunately, this Rhett Butler was an utter ponce. I wish I could have those hours of my life back. I would have rather been watching Rock of Love 2 on VH1. Paired with grilled cheese sandwiches and Key Lime pie yogurt. Reading the nutrition info on the yogurt was more entertaining than this book.

Duma Key - Stephen King. I love Stephen King and although he has let me down in the past (Tales from a Buick 8, The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, the last few novels of the Dark Tower series), he is always worth the time. I think his early works -- the ones written when he was by his own admission drinking Scope out of the bottle when he ran out of other intoxicants -- are unparalleled. I was lukewarm on the most recent Lisey's Story but started out liking Duma Key. I thought it was creepy, atmospheric, the characters engaging, the story brisk but the book itself satisfyingly thick (I hate books that take me as long to read as People magazine.) I would find myself sitting in dull Widget Central meetings with my mind wandering to the beach at Duma Key and wishing the time would move more quickly so I could hurry home in rush hour and get back to Big Pink. And he still knows how to make you regret reading him after dark in an empty house.

However, he has never quite mastered the art of the successful ending -- The Stand being a prime example of a masterpiece of a book marred by a hasty and disappointing finale. Duma Key ended on a disjointed, ludicrous note with far too many loose flapping ends and a general sense of anticlimax. However, I can't complain too much because I did enjoy 75% of the story. Also, I read this one whilst enjoying a particularly fine bunch of sweet green grapes and really superior Thai takeout from the great little joint around the corner (Pad Almond, medium, with a spring roll and plum sauce), and Trader Joe's Cinnamon Schoolbook cookies (which I can recommend more highly than the book.)

Next in the queue: Monsters of Templeton - Lauren Groff. Hopefully with a Peanut Buster Parfait from DQ.

signs of spring

There is birdsong in the mornings, and the lilac trees have tiny green leaf buds on them.

The sparrows have taken up residence in our birdhouses.

The were-rabbit has been spotted.

And at 22 weeks, I am huge.

a very special first birthday

I've never been to a dog birthday party before, but my skepticism was ill-founded. Turns out that a lot of the same traditions apply.

There was cake.

Don't worry, the two-legged guests got their own cake, too.

And the guest of honor was forced to wear several funny hats.

Despite the indignities of headgear, no one cried, everyone shared, and all the guests went home full, and with aching sides from all of the merriment.

day seven - experiment over

Saturday morning and GB & I did Saturday morning things; he awoke and went out to work on the yard, sucking up autumn leaves and doing some general winterizing. The weather is clear & brisk; we walked downtown, went to the library and the bank, and while he got his hair cut at the corner barber shop, I went to the Farmer's Market and Starbucks. The scarecrows are out in full effect so from here until Halloween, you'll get many more glimpses of our little village's creativity where that is concerned.

Day seven and my little experiment is over. My posting schedule will return to normalcy & comments will be back.

I enjoyed the week, but I think it would be very challenging to try daily posting for any longer...I felt a sense of desperation that my life is too mundane to support it. I enjoyed not having to worry about comments -- it was definitely liberating. But it also made me feel like I was just talking in my own head, and that nobody was out there listening. A bit isolating. I hope to hear from all of my meager smattering of loyal readers when this is over, I've missed you. Except for Heather from five sweetpeas, who was very sweet and thoughtful to email me after I posted pictures of my hair. Thank you, Heather, it was nice to know that someone was out there after all!

day six - fragrances & a homecoming

Last night while I was at the mall, I made a special trip to pick up some goodies at Bath & Body Works. I have a few indulgences in life. I love to eat, and I love to read, and knit, and I love to take baths. Especially when I can indulge in some good-smelling things to pour in the bathwater and then smooth on to moisturize afterwards. Buying bubble bath and lotion always seems like a bit of an extravagance, but you know, I'm worth it. At least some of the time.

I grew up in a house with two parents who have very strong scent aversions. Both of them tend to despise strong fragrances, perfumes, and perfumed lotions, so it took me a long time to realize that my grandmother's adoration for fragrance had skipped a generation in my mom and landed squarely on me. I still tend to avoid putting on perfume when I go home to visit my folks. But I've gotten over most of the shame of being a fragrance addict.

The thing is, I'm very particular about scents, and I go through seasonal preferences. I like light, clean-smelling things when the weather turns warm -- very light florals, citrus, and berry notes. I like musky, woodsy, oriental tones in the fall -- sandalwood, patchouli, clove, bergamot. I like comforting, warm, almost edible fragrances in the winter, like essential vanilla oil, cranberry, pear, and cinnamon. And I tend to associate scents with times and places, so if I buy a lotion to use at home, I cannot use it in the mornings before going to work or as a hand lotion at work in case I have a bad day, because I might never want to wear it again. I have a special bath & lotion stash just for when I am home, weekends, and vacations.

I went through this recently, which was leftover from Christmas. I didn't like it when I received it, but I started to get fond of it once the weather began to mellow a bit. It was a great transition from summer to fall.

 

Last night, I actually went for this, which has been my all-time favorite product of theirs since college. But they were all out, which made me want to wail and rend my garments.

So I went looking for other things. Knowing that the weather is turning cold, I wanted to find something with cinnamon and vanilla. I considered one of these, but quickly abandoned the idea as they just all smelled like cheap frosting in a bottle. Way too sugary and over the top -- not the rich, subtle, warm fragrance I was looking for.

I really liked both of these.

And ended up getting the top one, which had more of a spicy, but still sweet, fragrance. I'm still mulling over whether to pick up some of the Blackberry Amber.

 

I also got some of this because I go back to plain, comforting herbal scents on a regular basis. Sort of to cleanse my scent palate.

GB came home today and it is lovely to have him back. I'd given him a haircut play-by-play on the phone last night. Despite initial wariness regarding the amount I had shorn, being a long-hair kind of guy, he was very complimentary, as were most people at work. I came home to a happy reunion, a fire crackling in the hearth, and dinner in the oven. Speaking of scents and fragrances, the house is filled with baking apples and woodsmoke, and if I could bottle that, I would wear it all the time.

Happy Friday.

day five

Home late tonight so you don't get a lot of words.

You do, however, get some pictures.

Because the reason I was late, see, is that I was getting this done...

About six inches chopped right off, baby.

It looked this good after taking out the garbage in the rain, too.

The only problem is that I KNOW it's not going to look this good tomorrow. It never does, does it?

day four

I can barely wait until December 7.

You can find out your own daemon on the Golden Compass movie site...

I think mine is quite accurate, really (she said modestly.)

Fall has truly arrived today -- the sky boiled with dark clouds and autumn leaves scudded down rain-splattered streets. I couldn't have enjoyed the atmospheric gloom more. I came home this evening to put on some thick socks, fuzzy jammies, and to avoid opening the mail or eating off a real plate for another day. I typically tend to avoid these minor life annoyances when GB is out of town.

In other news, after what must be the briefest strike in history (probably not, I know, but look, it was pretty freaking short,) Chrysler and the UAW reached a tentative deal. This is mostly good news as the minute the strike was called, about eight hundred picketers descended on Chrysler campus in Auburn Hills and generally wreaked havoc. The ramps off I-75 that provide access to the large site were closed down this afternoon, and I worried about my friends who work there. Getting in and out past a picket line is no joke and mobs can get out of hand at a moment's notice. I will refrain from any additional editorial comment at this time, although I have some pretty vehement feelings about the matter.

Finally, an update to this post. Apparently we bloody-minded Yanks are not the only ones heedless of the cost of squirrel life; England is on board, too.

day three

*one of the numerous entries in the village Scarecrow Contest currently lining Main Street.

I had to go grocery shopping after work tonight, which never fails to piss me off. I have a very limited amount of private, personal time in the evenings. By the time I get home from work, there are about three and a half hours that I can spend any way I want -- knitting, writing, watching "Rock of Love," whatever -- before I have to get in bed in order to be fully functional the next day. While I understand the intrinsic value of grocery shopping, when I am forced by poor planning or GB's travel schedule to do it on a weeknight, it never fails to annoy me.

I don't really desire to be a non-worker. If we won a million dollars tomorrow, I don't really think I would give up working altogether. I just wish I had a flexible schedule and was more my own boss. There might be days when I would choose to work five or six hours, other days maybe only two or three. I wish I could do something along those lines, something that didn't feel like work and didn't require me to conform so rigidly to what someone else judges to be productive hours. Welcome to the machine, I know.

Still, I know I complain about it a lot, but I do (mostly) enjoy my job. I really do get to work with some fabulously interesting and diverse people in the widget mines. Today I got to learn about transfer cases from someone who spent the weekend incarcerated for brawling with a motorcycle gang. And the mercurial, brilliant marketing honcho, who spent several years with his family living overseas as well and carries himself with the booming panache of a Shakespearian stage actor, out of nowhere stopped me in the aisle and rather shyly asked me if by any chance I had read Phillip Pullman's trilogy "His Dark Materials." We spent several enthusiastic moments whispering about it like conspirators, surrounded by a sea of gearheads and number crunchers, and when we parted it was with the significant glance of kindred spirits.