Life in the Slow Lane

(Hint: For more information on my travels and even a few pictures, jaunt on over to serapio's blog. He has had the time, patience, and digital camera to upload more than I have.)

There are some things that you don't realize you miss until you find it necessary for you to do it again. Sometimes it doesn't even make sense for you to miss them. But I've realized in the last few weeks that I've missed hanging laundry on the line (especially sheets) and I've missed the warm humidity that turns to rain without warning and I've missed sitting on the back of a little motorcycle, holding all sorts of things balanced between me and the driver. It is odd how these things stick with you.

Today was Christmas here in the Slowlane. Last night we went walking in Recife Antiguo and looked at all of the Christmas lights, which are still up, and the New Year's lights, which have just recently been put up. Then we drove home in the rain with enough time before bed time that we could stuff stockings. We were a little short on stockings this year (read "none at all") and so we borrowed a few from a friend who already had made good use of hers this year and then we made the rest. It is amazing what you can do with a two-liter soda bottle and some tissue paper. You can't quite make it look like a sock, but you can make a very festive receptical that can hold all sorts of goodies. We were also a little short on wrapping paper this year (read "just enough to make two-liter stockings and to wrap three gifts") so we made our gift wrap with printer paper and crayons. I saw several people sneaking their gift wrap in amongst their presents so that it would avo

Eight people are staying in a house. There is one bathroom. 1) How soon before I get a drink of water should I get in line at the bathroom? 2) If waking up in the morning causes everyone to break out in sweat, how frequently will people want to shower? 3) If there are eight people who, on the average, want to take 27 showers between them, how long will it take them to get out of the house in the morning? (Hint: the answer is sometime after 8 pm.) 4) If two more people are joining them, should we outlaw drinking anything more than two teaspoons of liquid a day? (To clarify, there is another toilet available, it just requires finding the right key out of 25, unsticking a door, unlocking a padlock, fighting off a rat dog that can't make up its mind about whether it is a kangaroo or a cat, skirting around a large van, wading through a patch of weeds, dodging a load of laundry hanging to dry, unsticking another door, and figuring out where the toilet paper is stashed. Only the brave and

A couple of days ago, I had the occasion to attend two Brazilian formaturas. Think kindergarten graduation meets coming out party meets colonial era formality meets small town party. I have collected a few descriptors so that you will never have occasion to roll your eyes at another graduation ever again. 1) All female kindergarten graduates wear elaborate white dresses. It is what you might find flower girls wearing in the US. 2) All of the males wear suits. 3) Each graduate is escorted by another small child in even more elaborate dress. 4) They progress up to a stage where they receive a hat, a ring and a kiss from the escort while their names, their parents names, and the escort´s names are read aloud. 5) They are presented with a doctorate in letters. (In other words, they learned to read.) 6) After the three and a half hour ceremony with incongruous displays of odds and ends, everyone retires to the party area where each child has their own table with their own elaborate cake, re

Most buses in Recife are easily recognizeable as proper city buses. They may have broken glass on half a dozen seats or they may have a driver who is trying to make up for being behind schedule after having made stops to buy lottery tickets and snacks and to catch up with old friends. But for the most part, city buses look like city buses. Every once in a while, however, there is a route that supplements their buses with a VW bus. Perhaps you have been inside of a VW bus before and perhaps you've noticed, as I have, that they can fit nine people snuggly. So what do you call it when the bus stops and my sister and I are passenger numbers 15 and 16, not counting lap children, groceries, etc.? The man in charge of collecting the fare, opening and closing the door, and calling out the stops to potential passengers, stepped down from the bus, sizing up our rear ends, calculating the space available and the space required. (Just as you might decide how to fit another plate and bowl into

1) Install back up lights or warning noises or something to seats in airplanes. This would drastically cut down on bruised heads (sleeping with your head on the tray table in front of you is one of the most comfortable positions in an airplane), pinched toes (sleeping with your legs draped over a partially open tray table is also one of the more comfortable positions), and general unhappiness on an airplane. 2) Require all airport personel to travel to a country where they do not speak the language. 3) If step two is followed, it will diminish the need for this, but either a) teach airport personel that yelling "boarding pass! boarding pass!" louder and louder and pointing here and there and swearing is not, in fact, productive or b) teach them how to say "boarding pass" in half a dozen of the world's most spoken languages or c) have a sample boarding pass that they can point to. In two separate airports, on two opposite edges of the US I was immediately present

And so I pack my bags for my fourth summer this year. I am contemplating the following strategy: I will flip through all of my pictures of the previous summers I have had this year, and then I will just pack whatever I see in the pictures. The only problem comes when I come to something that should have received an honorable burrial two months ago. Oh yeah... I don't think I ever took a picture of myself with my toothbrush. I'll have to remedy that this summer so that next summer I can implement my new strategy.

Well folks, the deed is done. The wedding dress only required a dozen or so on-the-spot alterations. We were able to go without the helium balloons and the bride still managed to float down the aisle. For the reception, it was decided to shed the hula hoops so the bride could have improved mobility, but due to the course of events, I'm wondering if maybe I should have made the hoops a little more permanent. I was ambushed. I was chased down and ambushed by the bride even though she was carrying her six foot train and her bouquet. Of course, my way was a little impeded since I was at the front of a crowd of single women, aged two and older. So yes, I "caught" the bouquet with about the same amount of effort as you might catch a cold after you've taken vitamin C, echinacea, and lots of water. Imagine my efforts in trying to explain that one to the on lookers. An eight year old: "I thought she was supposed to throw it." The volunteer caterer: "Just keep in

Only a three year old boy would have Teletubbies dance in the pre-show of his monster truck jam.

No doubt, many of you have been losing sleep, wondering exactly how many plastic pieces it requires to make a hula hoop rattle. As always, we at Slowlane Labs aim to make your life better and have taken it upon ourselves to solve this particular mystery. The answer is one. Unfortunately, most hula hoops have between 100 and 300. But fortunately, that same little bit of plastic piece that makes so much noise in a hula hoop does not make any noise inside of a cat.

Weighed wedding dress. Began engineering ways to insert helium balloons to offset weight. (Don't worry, El, we'll make sure the wedding dress doesn't keep you from floating.)

Mission Wedding Dress to be completed in eight days or less Day 1: Remarked on vastness of white Day 2: Remarked on vastness of white Day 3: Started search team for poofy petticoat Day 4: Acessed biggest petticoat. Agreed with search and rescue team that it has a distinct fish smell. Agreed with mission head that the biggest petticoat still lacks in desired poofiness. Day 5: Made trip to Walmart. Purchased two "Maui Hoops" (formerly known as hula hoops) and three yards of tulle. Set up dress form with a swivel bar stool, two file boxes, and an upside down salad bowl. Got lost in tulle. Re-emerged to find wedding dress approaching desired poofiness. Problems still to tackle: How to remove noise makers from inside hoops. How to keep bright pink and blue patterns on hoops from showing through the white. How to ascertain that hoops will not keep bride from sitting down nor keep groom from coming within three feet of bride. (Perhaps the true reason that it is considered bad luck f

I am happy to announce the arrival of Sir Pimple Ginormous. As always, his impeccable sense of timing allows him to be in attendance for the upcoming festivities.

It is a good thing that my bed is queen-sized, because for the last sevaral days, there has been a mountain of white taking up more than half of the bed. Part of the reason that it is still there is because I'm not sure I have the faith of a mustard seed to move it. You see, it is a wedding dress... a wedding dress that I need to make alterations on. We have a lovely dining table. We have seated as many as 13 people at it before, but for the last couple days (ever since the Thanksgiving meal, actually) we have moved two chairs into the kitchen where we have taken turns sitting down to eat. That is because the makings of five vests for groomsmen are sprawled across the table. I keep wishing I had a clipboard that I could attach to my waist so that everytime I thought of something I could note it down, but it doesn't seem that I can hang on to any particular thought long enough to jot it down. I suspect that some time around May I will suddenly remember what I have already forgot

Several years ago I read a book on house cleaning where the author claimed that the good house keeper should be able to make a bed by circling the bed only once. I've made many beds since then, of many different sizes, and the only bed I was able to accomplish that feat with was a doll bed which only had one blanket. On a good day with a normal mattress, I have to circle once for the fitted sheet, once for the top sheet, and once for each of the blankets and comforter. On a bad day, the mattress pad and fitted sheet pop off of the corner adjacent to the one I'm working on, preceding me all around the bed as I attempt to anchor it. On a bad day, the top sheet and each of the blankets will not land evenly and so I go from one side to the other, pulling to even things out. Maybe the author was a relation of Mary Poppins.

I was somewhat distracted when one of my boys informed me that he had the hiccups. I'm always interested in hearing how people "cure" hiccups, so I asked him if he knew how to get rid of them, hoping to gain some interesting anthropological data. With my brain now occupied with two different things (wondering what method his family used and building my Thomas train track), I didn't notice him lean into my ear. That is, I didn't notice until he yelled into it. If I had been the patient, I would have been cured. I pointed that out to him... that someone was supposed to scare him, not that he was supposed to scare someone else. My heart still pounding, I suggested that he try holding his breath. He immediately complied by clamping his mouth shut, puffing his cheeks out with air, and breathing through his nose.

For the last four years, every time winter approaches, my hands get to be as soft as a baby's bottom. Unfortunately, it's a baby with diaper rash. At least this year I have access to Desitin.

One of my kids is just at that point in life where blowing bubbles and catching the bubbles begins to be as fun as bursting the bubbles I blow. He still hasn't reached the point where it is fun to build sand castles and see how big they can get rather than smashing them as fast as he can. And block towers? Hah! So far blocks are for scattering to the farthest reaches of the room. It is fun to see this slow change, though. The dawning realization that strength and ability can do more than just destroy... that it can be used to build and create. I want to whisper while he's sleeping "Don't let yourself believe that destruction is more fun than creating. One day you will be capable of cynicism, criticism, and biting wit, but don't let the thrill of that keep you from learning the joy of building."

walnut2 Originally uploaded by biukalee . It has come to my attention that many of you are not getting enough sleep. It has also come to my attention that I have not yet posted my walnut drawings for you to view. I naturally conclude that you have not been getting enough sleep because I haven't shown you my walnut drawings. What follows are four of the 13 images that I drew of my lovely walnut. Now you can go get some sleep.

walnut Originally uploaded by biukalee .

walnut5 Originally uploaded by biukalee .

walnut3 Originally uploaded by biukalee .

I've fallen in love. Sunday afternoon I went to a concert featuring my piano teacher and her husband. They played all sorts of four handed pieces, some on the same piano, some on two separate pianos. Whenever I go to a live performance, I feel like I hear more with my eyes than with my ears, but this concert was more enriched by seeing it than many other performances that I've been to. Not only did they play the William Tell Overture which required one person's hand playing directly beneath the other's, but they played P.D.Q. Bach's Sonata Innamorata which requires the pianists to switch sides on the piano bench while playing. The Sonata is named Innamorata for a reason. Another favorite of the afternoon was an arrangement of Gershwin songs taken from piano rolls he crafted. While the piano roll could be played on one piano, it takes two people on separate pianos to accomplish the same sound. I've always liked the sound of the piano, but now I think I'm

The best place to keep a watermelon is NOT in the back of your truck. It kind of has the same results as keeping a bowling ball back there, only more mushy.

I think there must be a market for renting kids. Just imagine, you want to go on a walk. You don't want to look like your car broke down. You don't want to look like you are too lazy to run. You don't want to worry about pooperscoopers as you walk behind a dog. The obvious solution is to rent a kid. Or, rather, rent a kid that can sit in a stroller as you push it in front of you on your walk. Now, you may wonder why you should go through the bother of renting the child when you could just rent the stroller and pretend there is a child inside, but there is always the chance that you will walk by a curious seven year old who will ask "Do you have a baby in there?" And, as everybody knows, if your life can't pass the inspection of a curious seven year old, something is wrong. Which provides us with another reason for why you might need to rent a kid.

Drawing a walnut in its husk is a bit of a challenge. Fortunately, I accidentally sat on the walnut and crushed the husk to a fine dust that got lost in the seat cushions of my truck. I no longer had to worry about the husk. But then drawing the walnut shell proved difficult because I was frequently interrupted by a rambunctious three year old and nice women who worried that I was straining my eyes and so would change the main source of light, changing all of the shadows and highlights. But friends, these difficulties are minor when compared to the difficulty of drawing the meat of the walnut. A freshly shelled walnut, sitting all by itself right in front of you... I cannot tell you how many times I reached out to pop that nut into my mouth. Maybe in the light of day I will notice a glaring error in my drawing and wish to correct it against the nut, but tonight, oh, that nut was sweet.

I am full of Grinch-like attitude about the upcoming festivities. No, not Christmas. Halloween. I just don't understand why someone who gets so embarrassed about spider webs in their house will go purchase spider webs to drape their bushes and entry way. And why do people who buy beautiful homes try to make them look haunted? Why do people who cannot stand to have a friendly garden spider to catch bugs put great, big, hideous, black, eight legged somethings on their roof? Why do people who worry about attracting flies carve pumpkins and leave them on their door step for weeks? Why do people spend lots of money making sure their lawn stays green and groomed and then install a graveyard in the middle, complete with stones, skeletons, and poorly upkept graves? I know, I know, call me a grinch.

I have begun to wonder if I have been mistaken for some secret agent or other underground persona. I feel as if I have been told secret information in code only I don't have the key to figure it out. There is a woman in my sewing class who mumbles things to me nearly every day. Over the sound of my sewing machine, I hardly even notice she is talking to me, so when I realize she is looking at me, waiting for a response, I say "I'm sorry, what did you say?" "*mumble, mumble, mumble* grandmother *mumble, mumble* alive." "I'm sorry, I still didn't hear you. What did you say?" "I said, I think my grandmother's heart was burried alive." Now I am fairly certain I got all of the words, but I have no idea what she means. "What?!?" "I think my grandmother's heart was burried alive." "I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean." "Don't worry, you'll understand later," she tells

Despite the efforts of several women to find me a good Okie to marry, I and my heart have returned to California. Although, I did spend a delightful afternoon with the family of a certain star from a certain soap opera and receive, as a gift, a picture of said celebrity. I don't remember the celebrity's name, and I don't believe I ever knew his character's name and I accidentally spilled water all over his picture, but I'm sure that if I happened to put the show's name on my blog I would receive a ton of hits. I must admit that the celebrity looks rather cute, but I would also like to point out that his niece and nephew are absolutely darling.

When you have an assignment to draw a walnut, it really helps if you can keep the walnut in the same position with the same lighting while you sit in the same position with the same crick in your neck. But traveling to Oklahoma and chasing around a three year old does not really provide that sort of atmosphere. After much contemplation coinciding with trying to decide whether I should erase what I have or try and remember what the walnut looked like before I had to move, I have decided that still life is not refering to whatever it is that you happen to be drawing. Still life is what your life has to look like in order to finish. Maybe that is why so many artists of still life work are dead.

So I got an email from caedmonstia the other day and she asked me if I knew what we were going to do for Christmas, as it looks like we are all going to be rather broke. She suggested that maybe we should pick a price limit for how much we can spend per gift, you know, like maybe $2. Now I know that money goes farther in Brazil, and I know that, as her blog url suggests, she has been broke for a very long time, but $2 doesn't sound like it will go very far. So I think I'm going to suggest a limit that will give us more to work with. How about $3 plus tax?

Has any one else found it disturbing that "word verification" is a misnomer that attacks both the morals this nation was founded on and our basic understanding of language? When we are called upon to use "word verification" we are called to affirm random letters as a word. We are being forced to agree that something is what it is not. In addition, our very definition of "word" is being challenged. My friends, we cannot let this happen. The greater good of our nation is at stake. Rise up in protest against the subtle attacks of evil on the internet. Do not stand idly by! (Never fear, however, I am positive that the good of commenting on my blog outways the ill of affirming random letters to be a word.)

Here at Slowlane Labs, we are always working to improve your quality of life. Recently we conducted several tests in the hopes of offering time saving solutions to those of you who feel pressed for time and I'm here to share the results with you. These results have been compiled with several previous ones so that those of you who never were fortunate enough to come across them can now benefit from the high quality work that goes on daily here at Slowlane Labs. Activities that can be accomplished simultaneously without lengthening the total time elapsed: Reading homework while eating breakfast Putting on socks and shoes while riding in a moving vehicle Practicing dance routines while sorting laundry Blow drying your hair while brushing your teeth Activities that cannot be accomplished simultaneously without lengthening the total time elapsed: Eating a breakfast bagel while showering Putting on eye make up while riding in a moving vehicle Painting nails while in a moving vehicle Eati

Man's best friend may be Dog, but Dog's worst nemesis is Boy.

Today I cleaned the laundry room. I made $1.04. Maybe tomorrow I will clean the couch.

Yesterday, at the Slowlane residence, a grand dance party was held. Guests of honor were Miss Em T. Bedd and Mr. Karpe Ted Fluor, both recently returned from an extended period of service undercover. Also in attendence were Miss Wynne Doe, Mr. Al Armklok, and the Mr. Nick Nax family. Each of the Misters Shu were accompanied by their lovely wives. Mr. Claus Ett and Mr. Lon Daree Basquette appeared fully recovered from their recent troubles. Mr. C.D. Plaer has not been quite so fortunate, and still suffers from the sticky situation that occured when he found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time: a helpless bystander of the tar and feathering of two catty females in possession of a feather boa and a poorly balanced can of soda. Party goers were uncertain as to the presence of known spy, Dir Webb, but a fun time was had by all, and many in attendance hoped that Miss Bedd and Mr. Flour could enjoy many years before another such undercover assignment.

The problem with spending the majority of a 24 hour period in a class on music for children is that you then spend the next 24 hours trying to find some respite from the annoying tunes running through your brain. Which is why when I learned that Sarah tagged me, I thought it rather unfortunate that the songs I've been listening to are all rather annoying... The Hokey Pokey , Little Bunny Foo Foo , Five Little Pumpkins , I'm Squishing Up My Baby Bumble Bee ; plus the typical songs which are a part of my job hazards: Barney (I love you, you love me, we're a happy family), The Wiggles (Rolling down the sand hill, ooh, ah, wee!), and "Twinkle, Twinkle E F G"; plus the techno-australian-pop-jazz that plays during my art class. It is enough to make me want to run a Q-tip through my ears. (Or at least to share enough of the songs with other people that I am not the only one suffering. Should I have put a content warning on this post?) But with a little bit of work, I re

In spring cleaning my room, I have realized that much of the needed organization is like separating a yolk from the rest of the egg. I keep passing the stuff back and forth, from bed to floor and from floor to bed, picking out little bit by little bit. When I finally give up on separating out any more, I shall label what remains "Useful Sorts Of Junk" and put it in a shoe box under by bed. Oh. I just happened to remember that I already have a box like that under my bed. Great. Another egg to separate and it isn't even Spring yet.

The King and I Originally uploaded by biukalee . I've been waiting for this photo for quite some time to share it with all of you. This is during the last formal dinner we had in China where I had the important job of keeping my charge from reaching towards the boiling pot of water, the Vice Principal had the job of feeding him, and the lovely three waitresses had the job of wiping his face, picking up whatever he dropped, and providing entertainment with his dinner. I couldn't help but wonder "Do they know something about this kid that I don't?"

Your favorite traveling nanny (I am your favorite, aren't I?) will be on the road again soon, flying towards new adventures in distant lands. So stay tuned for tales of nannying in the rural reaches of.... Oklahoma! Look for it beginning the third week of October.

Today I was told that I can draw my toe with great sensitivity. You would think that maybe I had made it more slender or drawn in better nail polish or ignored the hairy hobbit likeness or, at the very least, lied about its age. But I did none of that, and really don't know what the difference is between the sensitivity in which I drew the toe and the lack of sensitivity in which I drew my eye. And trust a male teacher to be insensitive about drawing the entire class' attention to my chipping toenail polish.

I have a few confessions to make. The first is that I have been spending some time not in the fast lane, per se, but not in the slow lane either. Don't worry, it isn't the carpool lane either. The second is that sometime during the last week I inadvertently unplugged my computer from the internet and as of yet, have not figured out how to plug it back in. While it has guaranteed that I spend less time in front of my computer, it also has guaranteed that I spend less time blogging. The third confession I have to make is that I have a statistics counter on my blog. Mostly I use it to prove to myself that people do, indeed, read my blog. But I also like to see how people find my blog. While there very rarely is anything unusual in how you, my dear readers, arrive, occassionally there is a poor lost seeker who comes to my blog looking for help that my blog is woefully equipped to provide. To help remedy this dilemma, I will endeavor to answer some of the greater issues at hand. For

Here in the Slow Lane we are busy with Spring cleaning now. This turn of events was made necessary by a small avalanche in my closet which made it impossible to open it. Of course the only way to clean a room thouroughly is to start in the corner opposite of the door. And if you are about to organize your room, you may as well rearrange the furniture. So the first step is to empty everything that may at one point or another get in your way on to your bed. This provides added incentive for you to finish the project. The second step is to move a bookshelf. When moving a six foot high bookshelf by yourself, it is a good idea to remove the books. Everything else can stay on, provided you haven't dusted recently. The more dust, the less likely your curios will be able to fall off. The third step is to stack your dresser drawers in the bathroom so they are out of your way while you move the dresser. This also provides good incentive for later on. The fourth step is to empty the contents

Recently I have become bothered by the weight of my fingernails. My toenails, too, seem to be an uncomfortable feature. They are not ridiculously long nor burried in unslightly inches of polish, I just wish that I could take them off to give my fingers a rest. Now I don't wish to do without them, but like a hair clip or a retainer or a watch or a pair of shoes, I imagine it would be nice to take them off for just awhile before putting them back on. It really is too bad that they are attached so well.

In drawing, one of your best friends is the kneaded eraser. It brings out highlights, it increases contrast, and of course, it takes away things that you would rather not keep. But the best part of it all is that every little while you must stop drawing and knead the eraser. If the drawing is going well, then this gives you time to think about the next few steps. If the drawing is coming along but still has a lot to go, then kneading the eraser helps your hand from getting cramped. And, as is frequently the case, if the drawing is not going well at all, then you can take advantage of the distinct pleasure of watching the eraser stretch and snap. Maybe I should buy a few more erasers.

I realized today that I have failed my readers. In just over one year of posting about life in the slow lane, I have never once written about picnics. What good is life in the slow lane if you never have a picnic? So today, dear readers, I am fixing this problem. There is something very old fashioned in packing a picnic lunch that includes baked chicken. There is something slightly less old fashioned about packing a picnic lunch that includes pre-packaged pudding, but we won't let that spoil the mood. But one very important thing to be remembered is this: the main difference between packing a lunch and packing a picnic lunch is that a picnic lunch cannot be something that you could eat while driving your car or while holding a book open with your elbows. And a picnic lunch must always have more things in it than you could manage to eat in fifteen minutes.

Today I discovered the sound of a cat falling into the turtle tank. One dollar and 83 cents worth of crickets were sitting on top of the turtle tank in two plastic bags, waiting for their fated appointment with Farah the tarantula. Curiosity may have killed some cat at one time or another, but Spikey's curiosity only got her good and soaked as she attempted to reach the crickets. Of course, her curiosity also got the dining room and the path to the front door good and soaked, too, but the memory of her little wet, startled looking face kept me laughing through the clean up. The turtle, too, was rather startled. She didn't do her little "feed me dance" when I walked by her tank. Or maybe she wasn't startled, maybe she was just disheartened that she had missed her chance to finally get a good sized meal.

Junior had three poop accidents yesterday and he's already had one today. Junior has been sick the last couple of days, but I don't think he is contagious anymore. We have a half-wild cat in that room, so try to keep the kids out of there. We didn't want to call and tell you that there will be another kid for you to watch because in reality she'll probably be a calming influence on the other five. We were over at a friend's house and they had a lot of sweets. How late can you stay? If she throws a tantrum, this is how to hold her arms and legs without getting hurt. We will probably be back late. Junior has never gone to sleep without me before, so it's okay if he is still up when we get back. If we don't come back, make sure my son is raised in a Christian home. The will is in the safe.

Number of house keys on my key chain: 6 Number of car keys on my key chain: 6 Number of seconds it takes for a door to lock shut behind me: 0.03 Number of keys outside with me: 0 Number of animals waiting behind locked doors: 5 Number of windows examined to determine ease of breaking in: 7 Number of people involved in figuring out a solution: 26 Number of hours until everything was set right: 4 At least this all happened once I was fully dressed and not earlier when I was summoned from my shower to let a few workmen into the backyard. I think it all would have taken considerably longer if I had been stranded in my towel.

For the last several days I have been trying to decide if I am a safer driver when I drive an automatic or manual transmission. In an automatic I am less likely to stall with cars lining up behind me. But I am more likely to talk on my cell phone while driving. In a manual I am less likely to reach freeway speeds (or even slowlane, slowville freeway speeds) by the time I reach the freeway. But I am also less likely to speed. In an automatic I am more likely to come to a complete stop at a stop sign. But I am also more likely to get impatient with other drivers. Hm... Tough call. I just hope all of you are remembering to add five minutes to your estimated commute time. With me driving the little pick-up, I'm sure everyone's commute time has increased.

I discovered that I have a thing against soft serve machines that spit chocolate milk all over my shirt.

Nearly a month ago I was tagged by Elena . Now I tag elbereth elentari (because I know she has nothing better to do), The girl with the red hat ,(because she needs to have an easy exercise to figure out the idiosyncrasies of her new laptop), and Elsiene (because she needs a second post). Here are the "questions." Answer five of them, and tag three more friends. =) If I could be a scientist...If I could be a farmer...If I could be a musician...If I could be a doctor...If I could be a painter...If I could be a gardener...If I could be a missionary...If I could be a chef...If I could be an architect...If I could be a linguist...If I could be a psychologist...If I could be a librarian...If I could be an athlete...If I could be a lawyer...If I could be an inn-keeper...If I could be a professor...If I could be a writer...If I could be a llama-rider...If I could be a bonnie pirate...If I could be an astronaut...If I could be a world famous blogger...If I could be a justice on any o

Pride goeth before learning how to drive stick shift.

This semester I have decided to take classes that will foster my creative side. I'm taking piano, clothing construction (no hammers required), and drawing. I signed up for creative writing, but as you read in my previous rant on the subject, I don't care to have a teacher read what I write and decide that what I really mean to write has a great deal more sex, language, and violence. So I've decided to drop that class. But don't worry, in order to keep with my theme of fostering my creative genius I have decided to take Personal Finance.

I think that with very little effort you could probably convince me that the reason men's voices are lower than women's voices is because men damage their vocal chords making numerous engine sounds as children. I have been repeatedly scolded by two preschool boys for not making the proper engine noises when driving my monster truck, motorcycle, and race car. Whenever I do manage to come close to making a sound that they approve of, my throat hurts for quite some time afterwards.

That is what you get when you take the create out of the creative. You wind up with something sick, something maintaining life in some unnatural way. Yet for some reason, "creative" means that you can talk about the perverse and about honorable things without a trace of reverence. You can laugh about child abuse and infidelity. You can stir the muck of your mind, throw it on paper, and call it good. Repulsive. How can I learn to write well when the teacher wallows in filth and then admires how he looks? How can I bring an objection when it has already been established that everyone who objects is equal to Hitler and Stalin? If the pen is mightier than the sword, wish me good aim.

I realized that if all goes as planned, this year I will set foot on four continents. If any of you would like to contribute funds so that I can make it to the other three (or even just the other two inhabited ones) just let me know.

Sometimes I think the air holds ideas just like it holds humidity. One day you wake up and find yourself just dripping with something you hadn't noticed before. Yesterday I was caught by surprise to have two conversations on the very same topic with a five year old, who may not make it through highschool if she keeps to her socio-economic expectations, and a two year old, who probably won't stop short of a doctorate, if he keeps to his socio-economic expectations. The topic of these conversations was humor. They would present to me a scenario and then say "That's funny, huh." And I would be obliged to answer "yes" or "no, not really." Humor is a strange thing to figure out. An infant may laugh endlessly about a clothes hanger dropping on the floor. A three year old thinks it is hilarious to hear someone talk with their nose plugged. A junior higher snickers about things better left in their knickers. And a middle aged man loves to twist in a pu

Here is something I wrote elsewhere about one of my experiences in China. I was going to rewrite it just for my gentle readers, but because I am currently house sitting, I have expended all of my extra creative energies trying to figure out how to out maneuver a large clingy dog. So, I am sorry to say, you get a hand-me-down post today. I was trying to eat with my left hand. With chopsticks. This wasn’t just a whim to test my skill. My right hand was holding 14 month old Kyle on my lap at an angle that would make it more difficult for him to reach towards the boiling pot of food which was part of each place setting. Three waitresses and the principal’s assistant hovered around Kyle, feeding him, wiping his face clean, picking up things from the floor, and trying to figure out what to do with the water bottle lid that made it into his mouth between each bite. With the honored principal, the even more honored guests, the assistant, and a government official, here I was sitting at the ta

Now that you have a few pictures to help you imagine what life was like to go out with a white baby in China, I thought I would share a list with you. Things My Charge Collected From Passersby and Near Strangers Candy Fruit Rolls A large ball Two choking hazardous toys A rose from a vendor in the Amazing Department Store A mostly flat ball dug out of the back of a closet Steamed bread A stuffed panda bear toy A bean bag Chinese pig (We know it is a Chinese pig because of the slanted eyes.) A peach A Chinese Opera T-shirt A small Chinese flag Orange Soda from a street vendor Chunks of sugar crystals Seven flowers picked with a few furtive glances to see who might be watching Sips of Orange Soda in a restaurant kitchen (The number of times that baby went into a kitchen!) A key chain to snap on his stroller A key chain with a light Just in case you were wondering, we accidentally on purpose left a few of those things behind.

What follows is a small sampling of the photos I took during my time in China. If you are interested in seeing more of them, there is a larger sampling on my flikr account which you can get to by clicking on any one of the pictures. If you want to see all of the photos I took in China, um... too bad. I also found another roll of pictures I took during my trip to Europe in June. Those will be added to my others in a month or so.

City streets 2 Originally uploaded by biukalee .

Star attraction Originally uploaded by biukalee . This is one of the only times where the camera was able to capture both the crowd and the attraction. Usually the crowd completely surrounded my charge.

Speeding along on the Great Wall Originally uploaded by biukalee . This was at a time when we were still able to move.

New weight loss plan Originally uploaded by biukalee . I'm so glad that it is so easy to remain fit.

Having just finished twenty four days in Beijing, I have the following recommendations for changes they should make before they host the Olympics in 2008. Because of course they will ask me. 1) Improve traveler comfort in airport. (see previous post) 2) Improve subway system. (There are plans in the works for this.) 3) Hire many native English speakers to proof read. ( "We give you bank, your money. and more, we give you another one!" "Warn: Do not scramble the escalator" "To remain fit: no spitting." While the errors produce merriment, they do not promote understanding.) 4) Line the mountains with giant fans to push the mud hanging in the air out of the city. (I know it doesn't sound feasible, but neither does the Great Wall.) 5) Introduce a campaign to curb public displays of human waste. (They have signs all over to tell people not to spit... I think taking care of sewage would rank as a higher priority, but maybe that is just a result of my ignoran

I was taken against my will to Shanghai. Granted I wasn't knocked over the head and dragged onto a ship, but when airline travel is slower than the train system, I develop a pretty serious headache. I tried calculating our average speed that we traveled, and for twelve hours I figure that we managed an average of 0.083 mph. All this to say, Beijing has some pretty important changes to make before the Olympics in 2008. Arriving at the Beijing airport at 9:15 am on July 31, the first step was to join the hundreds of other travelers with their mountains of luggage trying to fit through a four foot wide opening where one person collected the customs card that maybe you were saavy enough to know to fill out. No lines. Just hundreds of people trying to make room for themselves with a few good pushes of their luggage cart. And then it was on to the airline counters where maybe you were fortunate enough to get in the line that would actually accept luggage for your flight. And maybe you fo

There is a place here in Beijing that I (not so) affectionately call The Crazy Market. Imagine four floors of wall to wall shops, one shop selling the same thing that 15 other shops are selling, all displayed with bright colors and lights and each shop having two or three people who call out "Hello! What are you looking for?" "Hello! We give you good price!" "Hello! How many coats you want buy?" "Hello! We have your size shoe!" (This one makes me want to stop and say "Oh, I greatly doubt it.") "Hello! Nice pearls for you!" If you so much as look at an item, it is immediately assumed that you will buy it and so they call out "What is your highest price? We give you good discount." The only exception to this is the very bottom floor that is filled with every imaginable and unimagineable sea creature and various sea creature parts in various stages of life. This serves as a good aroma which frequently makes its way up t

For all of my visions of germs dancing through the city, I look forward to the two cool times of the day, in the morning and evening, when toddlers and infants and elders and roller blading kids fill the courtyards and sidewalks. Then it is a good time to be pushing a child and to nod at the others and exchange greetings and smiles.

For all of my inability to understand certain aspects of the Chinese culture, I am amazed at their design of buildings and gardens. They do both with amazing innovation and incorporation of beautiful things. Yesterday we went to the Summer Palace where we walked over the bridge of the 17 Hallways to the Temple of Extreme Moisture and Rain. It was only fitting that at this point we were soaked from the knees down and that by the end of our visit most of us would be soaked clear through. I must admit that I enjoyed the rain a bit more than my travel companions (youth does have its advantages) but the absolute best thing about the Summer Palace in the rain were the lotus leaves. The leaf shoots high out of the water and then unfolds to create a large lilly pad that cups slightly. In the rain, the leaf fills up drop by drop until it gets too top heavy and then it leans over, dropping the rain on a leaf beneath it or back into the lake. To watch a large group of them fill and spill at diffe

Some of you have suggested various positives to the diaperless system, but Friday I observed a most disturbing result of this system. I was out in the cool before a rain storm with my charge in his stroller and many others were out with their small children in strollers or wagons or other wheeled toys. Many of the mothers came to coo at my baby and wanted their toddlers to shake hands with him. So they would maneuver their stroller next to his and pull their child's hand out of the slit in their pants to shake hands with my charge. I went through many, many hand wipes that day.

I've seen several variations on the book "Seven Habits of the Highly Successful" and after considerable research, I would like to introduce the abstract for my own version which shall be entitled "Seven Habits of a Tyrant or The Miseducation of a Toddler." I have done all of my research by watching what several Chinese have encouraged my charge to do. 1) Hit faces 2) Hit faces, arms, shoulders, etc with combs, rakes, toys, etc. 3) Stand on desks and counters 4) Chase after money 5) Eat two inch sugar crystals 6) Tear cards 7) Play with cell phones and other easily broken items. Now granted, some of these were taught by a woman who I think is considered foolish by her own countrywomen, but I am curious as to why so many people think it is excellent fun to teach a baby to hit people on the face. Someone suggested that maybe it is the cultural equivalent to those people in our culture who buy the noisiest toy possible for their friends' kids. Whatever it is, th

I am amazed at the lack of diapered kids running around Beijing. Well, so most of them are not yet running, but the fact that they are too young too run seems to indicate that perhaps they are too young to go diaperless. But alas, that isn't so. My charge's mother was marveling that so many people asked whether my charge was a boy or a girl. Indeed to us, it seems rather obvious that he is a boy, since he wears pants and little button down shirts and has no ribbons in his hair. But then it occured to me that all of the little boys I have seen his age have been either naked, from the waist down, or wearing an odd sort of clothing that consists of everything you might want except for the lack of a seam down the middle. Thus, it is most obvious about the gender of the child. I have been rather curious about the purpose of this item of clothing and rather concerned about the lack of the item of clothing we all consider quite necessary. If anything, in the summer you expect to see b

Although generally pleased with the condition of our dorm rooms, one aspect greatly disappointed all of us... the mattresses. They have the general level of comfort you would expect of a cement floor with a sheet on top. Due to our spoiled upbringing, we all set about to find ways that we could remedy this problem. Many of us chose to use the comforters and fold them in varying configurations to get the optimal surface area to depth ratio that we could. One of us thought in advance and brought along an inflatable pool float to stick under a sheet. One of us used the bumper pad of the crib. Some gave in and hunted down a mattress topper in the amazing department store. But one of us hunted down a total of ten pillows and carefully arranged them to cover the surface area of the cement block. This was all fine and good until the cleaning staff came to clean. I happened to be in the hall way with my charge when they first opened the door on this room and there was considerable talking amon

Yesterday we went to the Great Wall of China at Badaling. You can believe all of the pictures you see of the Great Wall. It really is that impressive and amazing. It was a misty morning and so as we climbed (and you really do climb) what was behind us disappeared and an ever lengthening stretch of wall appeared before us. It was a very magical feeling. I took a lot of pictures. But I think it is safe to say that for as many pictures as I took of the wall, an equal number of pictures were taken of me. We caught a person sneaking a picture of us, and we thought that was kind of cute, but then we stopped to rest at one point and we were nearly mobbed by probably ten to fifteen different requests for photos. It was the most bazaar thing. We kept on trying to move forward and there would be another smiling couple of people who would ask us ever so nicely if we could take a picture with them and each person in the group would have to have their own separate picture with us. We would say &quo

Near the school where I am staying is a very large department store. I suspect that I might be able to get lost there for a week. I so far have only gotten lost for a few minutes at a time, but each time I go I only go to a small part of the store and then trace my way back, looking out for the cookie crumbs that my charge has dropped as he nibbles happily. The very top floor is a grocery, and it is unlike any grocery store I have ever seen. On one end are fish tanks with all sorts of things you didn't know existed. In the middle are fruits and veggies and baked goods and then on the other far end are the packaged items like peanut oil, millet (One resaurant we went to offered Mullet Soup, that may be the only tasteful way to have a mullet.), crackers, and Oreos. I was looking for things that might appease my stomach, and while I made a few wise choices, I failed in one purchase. I thought I was buying milk. It looked like it might be milk displayed on the outside. It said "da

Sometimes, being a member of the less honored carries great advantages. Here are a couple of good quotations from the honored members of our group. "And then I saw the optic nerve and the olfactory nerve and the cerebrum." "I didn't eat the eye." "Yeah, I kind of considered the eye to be a bone." (On an unrelated note, for some reason I can post to my blog but I can't actually view my blog. I hope the formatting isn't getting all messed up and bothering you all.)

You haven't seen a tourist trap until you have been to Silk Street in Beijing. The only store where I was foolish enough to admire a blouse I had to leave dragging two sales women behind me. Each one was clasping one of my arms and pulling me back into the store demanding to know how much I wanted to pay. I'm not exagerating. One of the men I am traveling with has never had experience with street vendors and so always stops to explain why he is saying no. He has five daughters, so I imagine he believes that he is saying "no" a lot more forcefully than he actually is. Anyway, on Silk Street, we couldn't find him after wandering around for half an hour and so went out to find him. Eventually we found him... in the very FIRST store we had passed by. He had been trying to leave for 29 minutes and hadn't been able to yet. We try to keep an eye on him since then. While we are on the subject of tourist traps... beware of kite salesmen in the dark. It is kind of hard

I was in China for quite some time before Ｉ　ｒｅａｌｉｚｅｄ　ｔｈａｔ　Ｉcould stop digging。 Let‘s just say that the air is a little thick here。 Maybe one of you can take a picture of blue sky and email it to me so that Iｃａｎ　ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒ　ｗｈａｔ　ｉｔ　ｌｏｏｋｓ　ｌｉｋｅ。 Ｍｏｒｅ　ｌａｔｅｒ。

Well folks, tomorrow I start digging the hole in my back yard. According to my calculations, I should arrive in China 50 hours after I begin. I hope that I haven't miscalculated the diameter of the earth. Try checking back in a week or so for updates.

Six kids. Three kittens. One half-wild cat. Two colds. One hole in the floor. Six peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. One potty accident. Eight cups of juice One spilled juice. One broken toy. Six cups of milk. Fifty grapes NOW! One know-it-all. One whiner. One clinger. One Veggie Tales movie. One Rescue Rangers movie. One Little Peoples movie. One very large headache.

And so we begin international packing job number four of the summer. (For those who are counting on their fingers... two bags to Brazil, one bag to Europe, one bag to Cameroon, and now this one to China. For those who are trying to figure out if they missed out on hearing about all of my travels, I actually didn't travel with the bags to Brazil and to Cameroon. If this sounds confusing, maybe it will help to know that I packed those bags as a favor to others.) You would think that I would have this all figured out by now. I could just wake up one morning and think "Today I will pack my things and then I won't have to worry about it until I leave." Alas, tis not so. When I pack other people's bags, packing carries almost the same satisfaction as loading a dishwasher. The goal is to see how much you can fit in without rendering your work useless. In a dishwasher, that means making sure everything will get clean. In a suitcase, that means making sure nothing will get

I'm not sure whether I should be impressed with the amount of success or have a good laugh at the lack of it. Mr. Four Year Old Says "You can't put guns on your machine. We can't put guns on our machines at school and let's pretend we are at school, okay? Okay, now let's fight." Fighting consists of crashing your lego machine at full speed in to your opponent's machine to see which one breaks the most. Now understand that guns on these machines are never used to actually shoot things. As a matter of fact, the exact same lego piece that used to be a gun is now merely a stick in the same position, serving the same purpose. But we aren't playing with guns any more.

I have easy access to a variety of language helps, but I realized today that I am missing a critical one. It is the one that would help me know which euphemism I should use when potty training various children. I made a serious faux pas today asking a three year old if he needed to use the restroom because I used the vocabulary from another house. He stopped and told me in a very serious voice what I should have said. How embarrassing.

IMG014 Originally uploaded by biukalee . This is why people travel to Europe to shop. I only wish I had had more time to scout out a pair of shoes like the ones this guy wore. Yes, guy. He is a member of the palace guard in Athens, Greece. I got to sit about five feet away while they did part of their changing of the guard ceremony. It involved a lot of scuffing the sidewalk, high kicks, swinging legs, twirling guns, and lots and lots of tassels bouncing up and down. It was very cool.

Points go to whoever can guess what this is.

I have a question for my linguistically astute and/or my socially ept readers (please note that one does not necessarily exclude the other). What is the purpose of the phrase "I'm all" in the following conversation. "Why did she get you in trouble?" "I was eating some cheetos. I'm all, I was eating some cheetos." Previously I had considered that maybe this phrase was introduced only when the speaker was embarrassed by what they had just said and so thought to make it less embarrassing by immediately mocking themselves. But in this particular instance, nearly all of the things the speaker said included "I'm all" and she even used it in relation to me, saying "You're all, checking your stomach." Frankly, even though I have no idea what the linguistic purpose of this phrase is, I am exceedingly glad that it exists because this particular focus group tends to mumble. Is my hearing going or do teenagers just mumble more than

Today's lesson from the Great Book of Experience is this: Never drive behind a truck towing two previously used port-a-potties.

Call me slow, but I just now discovered this song: Twinkle, twinkle, E F G Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir, three bags full. Q R S T U V Like a diamond in the sky Now I know my ABC's won't you sing along with me? Or maybe it goes like this: Baa, baa black sheep, little star H I J K L M N O P Up above the world so high One for the little boy who lives down the lane Twinkle, twinkle, have you any wool? Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir, three bags full.

Five years ago when I first saw Michelangelo's David, I was relieved to find the bench skirting the wall behind it, and I sat there, studiously examining everything except his... um, let me say it another way. I sat there studying his feet, and his legs, his back and his head. It wasn't that I thought it was perverse that the only thing he wore was his sling, I just wasn't sure the gluteous maximus was all that beautiful. A lot happens in five years, and by the time we turned our backs on the slaves wrestling themselves out of the marble that birthed them, I was excited to see what Michelangelo saw when he first ransomed the flawed piece of marble. And there David stood in the center of the room, shorter than I remembered him, but not a disappointment. His brows furrowed in concentration and his hand tensed as he fingered the rock, and yet his legs were relaxed as he gazed out at the giant before him. Such amazing life like beauty carved from breathless stone! But the longe

Besides my usual tricks of travel, I added something new for my most recent adventures. I brought along a tape recorder. I think the most surprising aspect of this is not what I managed to record, but rather what I managed to hear. I have travelled looking for interesting sights, and I have travelled exploring different tastes, and frequently I have no choice but to be very aware of unusual odors, but I think this is the first time that I have sought out sounds. So when I stood in St. Peter's Square in the Vatican I heard three dozen school children singing "Benedetto" in a manner so hopeful that I kept an eye out for movement in the Pope's living quarters. And on deck of the fast moving ferry where the wind was so strong that I felt sure it would blow my hair into the sea, I heard the laughing of the North Wind, a sound so strong that no sea shell could hold it. And walking across St. Mark's Square in Venice I heard the cooing of ten thousand pigeons all intent o

When one returns to the slow lane after nearly three weeks of time travel, the to-do list looks some thing like this: 1) Wash Laundry 2) Reply to accumulated emails 3) Re-establish normal sleep schedule 4) Brush the remains of airplane meals out of your teeth and nightmares 5) Eat something other than smooshed granola bars, $6 mini-sandwiches, and the ubiquitous hard roll 6) Catch up on paper work The list of accomplished things, however, far more resembles the following: 1) Hold semi-coherent conversations 2) Catch up on reading blogs 3) Start things that you do not finish 4) Wonder if you can just swish Listerine and call it sufficient 5) Day dream about sleep 6)

And so, Gentle Readers, in case you have not figured things out, I will be unable to post updates on my blog for the next few weeks as I will be traveling by air, and not in the slow lane. That brings me to a point that I believe we can all be thankful for: Whether you live in the slow lane or the fast lane, at least you don't live in the airport.

As packing is frequently a much despised activity, and as I will be doing a great deal of it this summer, I have resolved to find the fun parts of packing and make a list of them. So far the list looks like this: The Fun Things About Packing * Fitting a roll of toilet paper in a sandwich ziplock. This is particularly satisfying when you take a super big roll, take out the cardboard inside, then squeeze it flat inside the bag, sealing all of the air out. For those of you who are curious about why I would want to pack a squished roll of toilet paper, you evidently lack experience in the toilet paperless bathrooms of the world. * Testing the camera to make sure that it is functioning properly. This involves making a tour of the house and neighborhood, trying all sorts of experimental shots to insure that the rarely used features are ready just in case. * Buying little doo dads for travel. As everyone knows, you can spend a fortune on travel accessories that you have

So it's been a little while since I've complained about cats or detailed the perplexing behavior of small children or lauded the virtues of a pair of pants. Nor do I much care to do so now. In the state of mind I am currently in, I might just laud the virtues of cats, complain about small children, or detail the perplexing behavior of a pair of pants. Instead I will brag about the pair of pies I made that auctioned off for more than $40 each. (Too bad I can't make a business of that.) And I will comment on the strange sensation of meeting someone face to face who has first come to know you through your blog (Here's to you "The girl in the red hat" and "radioboy") And I will advise you all on the virtues of ascertaining the thouroughness of your sunscreen application so that you don't wind up with finger marks of sunburn and other variations. And I will remind you of the slight panicky sensation which follows accidentally walking through a large s

I think that sometimes finals should go back to wherever they came from. I think I had one today that was straight from limbo.

To learn what I've forgotten: A very great thing, indeed. To know the names of heros and kings, To know the facts and figures of things, To learn what I've forgotten. To learn what I've forgotten: A very wise thing, indeed. To speak with words of perfect choice To speak with confidence in my voice, To learn what I've forgotten. To learn what I've forgotten: A very hard thing, indeed. To remember the things I have studied, To remember the things time has muddied, To learn what I've forgotten.

I was all fired up to go complain about the silly assessment test, and the secretary suggested that I come in at 7am Monday morning to stand in line to see a counselor. Then she suggested that to smooth things over, I should watch the online orientation video. So, dutiful me, I did. It could use some obvious re-editing, but it did offer me a very important tidbit of information. English 001 comes after English 251. As I am sure the rest of you knew, the proper way to count is 300 through 400, then 200 through 299, then 100 through 199, and finally 001-099. All this to say, I don't need to take English 001 as a prerequisite for the class I want to take. Eventually I will need to go stand in the monster line to talk to a counselor, but I get to put it off a little longer. Yay for me.

Yesterday, after fulfilling my duty and privilege of reporting as a potential juror, I made several spur of the moment decisions. The first was to catch the bus from the court house. The second was to not take the bus the rest of the way home. I figured it was a beautiful, fresh smelling day, it couldn't be much more than two or three miles, and I didn't have anything that needed to be done besides ironing, so I got off the bus and headed home. Unfortunately, the shortest distance between the two points happened to be the armpit. The stock yards. A junk yard or two. A nearly abandoned RV storage. A processing plant. A beautiful, fresh smelling day, yes. A beautiful, fresh smelling walk, no.

I am thinking dark thoughts about the multiple choice placement test that says that I need to take the "Intro to College Writing" class. Beware my dark thoughts.

For those of you who have gotten worried that I may be moving out of the slow lane, do not fear, I have not strayed too far from my roots. I have recently discovered a great satisfaction in flossing daily. I have grown to appreciate The Wiggles, although I didn't make it to any of their concerts on the West Coast. I must admit, fan that I am, that their early work carries a certain quality that their more recent work lacks. I'm not sure what exactly I would call that quality, but it is there. For class on Monday I made a potato stamp picture of a bright winter day and then in class I made a zoo out of graham crackers, pretzels, animal crackers and frosting plus a butterfly out of disgusting white bread, peanut butter, pretzels, and candy. This past Sunday I took a walk in the rain (cold, though it was) and I took time to smell the roses. Okay, so I actually didn't stop to actually smell them. And there weren't any roses, but I did see amazing wild flowers. And today I&#

Hello. I've recently begun to notice that I see several common sayings as salutations and not for the meanings the words denote. Part of this realization is due to overhearing a conversation where the manager scolded the cashier for saying "How are you?" before "Hi" or "Hello." I don't think there is too much trouble with "How are you?" replacing "Hello" because eventually, if someone really wants to know, it is asked a second time a little bit later in the dialog. I seem to be having more trouble with leave takings when people say "Have a good day" or "Thank you" or any variation on those and my response is "I'll see you later." Not only have I not wished them a good day in return nor thanked them nor even told them "You're welcome" but perhaps I am telling a perfect stranger that I will see them later when I have no intent of ever seeing them ever again. This language is tricky s

The problem with trying to portray a professional and business-like attitude is that then people think that you will operate like a business. I'm traveling for nearly seven weeks this summer, and that is kind of hard to explain to my various clients who have grown used to counting on me every week and knowing that they can call me and I might be able to help them on fifteen minutes notice. Maybe I should just say that I'm going on business trips. I just hope that I still have my business when I get back.

There is a cat in the neighborhood that has decided that our front yard is her stage. Scene one: Juliet the drama kitty sits on a tree stump, looking across the great expanse at Romeo. Juliet sounds so forlorn, meowing and meowing and meowing. Romeo sits rock still, trying to poison Juliet with his glare before she can finish her monologue. Scene two: Juliet, not to be thwarted by Romeo's straying from the script, continues acting out this great tragedy. For this reason I hear horrible, pity-inducing kitty cries, and I rush out to find what ever injured cat it is. What I find looks particularly heathenish. The top of a long spade/shovel is protruding from the middle of this poor, crying cat. However, as soon as she sees me, she unwraps herself from around the spade stuck in the ground and trots off. I just hope she doesn't go prima dona on me.

Essays do not grow well in the wild. They require a great deal of cultivation. However, they do multiply in the wild. I will be slaving away on one essay, trying to get more than the heading and I will look around only to realize that two more essays have popped up. It is very disconcerting. Does anyone want to take a baby essay and help it to grow into a nice strong essay? I kind of need them by tomorrow afternoon. Tomorrow morning would be better.

Sometimes people, in an effort to be sensitive to people who do not believe as they do, go a little too far. I'm sure you can think of examples where they go a lot and a lot too far, but in this case, I just mean a little. I was wearing my butterfly patched jeans while babysitting yesterday and my charge became fascinated with an unpatched hole. The house keeper, who fits the image of a good old fashioned Oma, tried to educate my charge on the odd fashion trend of holey pants. My charge is two. "Yes," she says, in that characteristic I'm-talking-to-a-young-child voice, "That is a hole. Holey pants are the style." "Ah, dear woman," I wanted to say. "I'm not wearing these jeans because they are in, I'm wearing them because they are the most comfortable pants in the whole wide world." And then I want to defend the reputation of these pants. They aren't holey because I paid an exhorbitant amount at a snooty store. Every hole is a

Someone once told me that a friend of theirs received a package from an anonymous person that contained a pair of pants inside. It was mailed from across the country, yet the pair of pants was the right size and style for this particular person. Now I consider that to be a great mystery. But I also consider it a mystery that I wouldn't mind happening to me. Because, you see, playing with children wreaks havoc on my pants. Especially if I have the misfortune to sit down on some unknown substance which then leaves a very unfortunate colored stain in a very, very unfortunate spot. I may have to consider some creative patch work, but that, too, has its problems. I say this because I have another pair of pants that developed a hole the size of Montana near one of the back pockets. (Please do not speculate on the size of the pants based on the size of the hole.) My most beautiful sister, in what I thought was a display of pure magnanimous affection, bought me a couple of patches to fix t

"Tell me what you feel in your room when the full moon is shining in upon you and your lamp is dying out, and I will tell you how old you are, and I shall know if you are happy." Henri-Frederic Amiel, 1885 "I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve, or save, the world and a desire to enjoy, or savor, the world. This makes it hard to plan the day." E. B. White, 1969

A good week is reading a good book. A good week is wonderful, glorious, run out and sing weather. A good week is being able to breathe after coughing up two and a half lungs. A good week is losing weight while sitting still in a chair for half an hour. A good week is staying out later than you should because of a good friend. A good week is being attacked by a two-foot tall "monster" in a tutu. A good week is a cupcake with green frosting. A good week is bright orange toe nail polish.

Today I started coughing, really could not stop. I coughed out my left lung, with the other on top. I started weaving side to side, hoping for some air I opened windows, opened vents and stood on a chair. I drank some water and some punch, my mouth opened wide, I drank again, more potent stuff; cleaned out my inside I tell you this, 'cause it's true. I can't rhyme a lie I write slowly, yet rush on to end before I die.

One hundred blog posts in exactly eight months of blogging.

In a momentary surge of political activism, I decided that instead of shopping at the mega-huge corporation, I would shop at the big corporation. For those of you who are concerned that I may have gone off the deep end, don't worry, I chose a modest purchase to practice my ideals: one file folder priced at 79 cents. I agonized over my purchase, because after all, I think I could have found it for 38 cents at W- super center, but I had committed myself, and I'm not one to easily back down. So at the counter I pulled out my wallet and realized that I had 23 cents in change, not counting the 10 cents Canadian that someone slipped me, and then a five dollar bill. I tossed my five dollar bill on the counter, but the cashier didn't take it and instead asked me what change I had. I poured it out and he fished through his pockets until he came up with sixty-five cents. Pushing my three pennies back to me along with the five dollar bill, he handed me the receipt and my folder and wi