I mean, look at this.
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Absolutely a beautiful child.
Dear to the heart of the pretty.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Meeting the Babes: Lola
Today I've been thinking about Lola's cheeks. Sasha is very proud of Lola's cheeks, and so am I.
I mean, look at this.
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I mean, look at this.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Family Pictures
Over Christmas break we had our family pictures taken. The experience was not wholly what it could have been, unfortunately, as I had been throwing up violently the day before. Standing outside in heels was extremely difficult for me-- but boy am I glad I did! I am perhaps even more pasty white than usual, but it's so fun to have new family pictures since we have seven- SEVEN!- new additions to the family.
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I love my family so much. They're a pretty fun bunch.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Wednesday Winston: He sleeps on a pillow. My pillow.
Nearly every day I come home to this.
When will it stop?
Dream Cake
I once had a dream that I was eating a piece of chocolate cake.
That's boring, you're probably thinking, why are you telling us this nonsense?
Because.
It's amazing how our brains can fabricate things; they pull from thin air experiences that we have never truly felt- flying, driving a motorcycle or salsa dancing- and manifest them in sensory experiences so intensely real that we can remember how they feel hours, days, or even years after we dream them.
In all other circumstances I would agree with you. Chocolate cake is not an exciting topic for a dream. Jason has dreams where he's running from the mafia or shooting machine guns. I dream about eating. But if you had tasted this dream cake, you too would be reflecting on it with greedy relish. It was cake that could never grace the mortal Earth, like ambrosia. It was cake that my brain had fabricated just for my taste buds-- rich, luxurious, fluffy as air, fresh as a spring morning and delightful to the very end.
I woke up in a pool of my own saliva.
Hmmm... chocolate cake! I thought as I manically searched our kitchen cupboards for the object that haunted my dreams. While the malaise of the flavor still clung to my tongue, my breakfast tasted like cardboard in my mouth and I could NOT GET OVER THAT CAKE! It reminded me of that time in eighth grade when I had a dream I kissed the object of my boy crush for the first time ever. Wow, what a kiss! I couldn't believe how blissful, how beautiful, how absolutely engrossing and utterly perfect that kiss was. When I woke, I had a brand new perspective on kissing-- I couldn't wait for it to happen. Later, when I kissed that person FOR REAL, my first thought was this is weird and then this is nothing like my dream! A disappointment? Perhaps. But in my heart I think I knew that the dream kiss was not a real kiss, just like my dream cake-- which felt and tasted so magically real-- was nothing but a figment of my mind.
How is it that my brain can take something simple and make it even better than the real thing?
Sometimes the human mind frightens me.
But then I think of the chocolate cake that I ate once in my dreams- the most delicious cake imaginable- and the swooping feeling in my stomach as I'm lifted off my feet and fly high into the sky, and I close my eyes, letting the wisdom of my dreaming mind take over.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Tootles.
This is my nephew, Silas.
Isn't he beautiful?
When I am having a bad day, all I have to do is take a look at this,
Or this,
or this,
and everything is instantly better.
He really is that precious.
Thursday, January 05, 2012
The Darker Side of Christmas: What Happened to Winston.
I constantly fear for all things pertaining to Winston.
There have been late nights when I have stayed awake, bundled in my robe and slippers, calling shrilly and in vain for him to come inside. I toss and turn in the night, imagining the claws on his scratching post to be in fact claws on my couch, my throw pillows, or my duvet cover. I imagine every hiccup and every cough to be an inevitable sign that he will throw up on the kitchen floor-- or worse yet, the carpet. I imagine him being struck by a passing car and feebly dragging himself to the gutter where he cries piteously for help that won't come because I am too preoccupied with worrying about him to hear.
Once, in the middle of the night, our knife block fell from a shelf and created a stupendous crashing sound. Winston, who was sleeping next to my hand, jumped with fright at the noise. Jason awoke with a start. I sat bolt upright and screamed accusingly in my semiconscious and paranoid state, "WINSTON!!!! BAD CAT!" There were several confused moments when Jason looked at me like I was crazy, Winston looked at Jason with an expression that might have said "save me!" and I glowered at Winston, wondering how he could have jumped onto the high shelf in the kitchen, knocked the knife block over and returned to a relaxed sleeping position on our bed before it hit the ground.
This is my problem. My anxiety is completely unjustified. Winston is not a malicious animal. He's never had an accident. He rarely scratches anything he's not supposed to. He no longer is interested in his poop. He's just a lazy, laid back, easy going cat. My fear has never been warranted.
Until now.
Over the period of five days that we were visiting my parents last week, we left Winston outside with plenty of food and water and a very luxurious heated cat house (Thank you, Dad!). I was nervous but reassured. I mean.... he has a heated house. "He'll be fine," Jason said. "Yes," I would reply, unable to shake off the stories I'd heard of crazy people torturing lonely cats.
We returned from Christmas vacation to a missing Winston.The minute I stepped out of the car and there was no jingle jangle from a cat's collar to be heard, alarm bells went off in my head. Jason said, "He's fine. He's probably just wandering around. He'll come back." We unpacked our things. We contemplated dinner. Then a faint meowing came from behind the wall.
It was Winston all right. Scuffling around in there and sounding pretty desperate to get out.
I started to cry.
Here's what we think happened: Somehow, using his ridiculous climbing skills, Winston got into the apartment above us where our landlords sometimes stay when they're in town. Then he was trapped there for a day or two, possibly longer, with no food or water. The soot, however, was inexplicable. He was filthy. Completely gray. Did he try to crawl into the chimney (that is blocked off)? Or roll around on the roof? Or tunnel through the earth and then walk through extremely dense pollution? We may never know. All I know is that I was frantic, and have been terrified for him ever since.
There have been late nights when I have stayed awake, bundled in my robe and slippers, calling shrilly and in vain for him to come inside. I toss and turn in the night, imagining the claws on his scratching post to be in fact claws on my couch, my throw pillows, or my duvet cover. I imagine every hiccup and every cough to be an inevitable sign that he will throw up on the kitchen floor-- or worse yet, the carpet. I imagine him being struck by a passing car and feebly dragging himself to the gutter where he cries piteously for help that won't come because I am too preoccupied with worrying about him to hear.
Once, in the middle of the night, our knife block fell from a shelf and created a stupendous crashing sound. Winston, who was sleeping next to my hand, jumped with fright at the noise. Jason awoke with a start. I sat bolt upright and screamed accusingly in my semiconscious and paranoid state, "WINSTON!!!! BAD CAT!" There were several confused moments when Jason looked at me like I was crazy, Winston looked at Jason with an expression that might have said "save me!" and I glowered at Winston, wondering how he could have jumped onto the high shelf in the kitchen, knocked the knife block over and returned to a relaxed sleeping position on our bed before it hit the ground.
This is my problem. My anxiety is completely unjustified. Winston is not a malicious animal. He's never had an accident. He rarely scratches anything he's not supposed to. He no longer is interested in his poop. He's just a lazy, laid back, easy going cat. My fear has never been warranted.
Until now.
Over the period of five days that we were visiting my parents last week, we left Winston outside with plenty of food and water and a very luxurious heated cat house (Thank you, Dad!). I was nervous but reassured. I mean.... he has a heated house. "He'll be fine," Jason said. "Yes," I would reply, unable to shake off the stories I'd heard of crazy people torturing lonely cats.
We returned from Christmas vacation to a missing Winston.The minute I stepped out of the car and there was no jingle jangle from a cat's collar to be heard, alarm bells went off in my head. Jason said, "He's fine. He's probably just wandering around. He'll come back." We unpacked our things. We contemplated dinner. Then a faint meowing came from behind the wall.
It was Winston all right. Scuffling around in there and sounding pretty desperate to get out.
I started to cry.
Here's what we think happened: Somehow, using his ridiculous climbing skills, Winston got into the apartment above us where our landlords sometimes stay when they're in town. Then he was trapped there for a day or two, possibly longer, with no food or water. The soot, however, was inexplicable. He was filthy. Completely gray. Did he try to crawl into the chimney (that is blocked off)? Or roll around on the roof? Or tunnel through the earth and then walk through extremely dense pollution? We may never know. All I know is that I was frantic, and have been terrified for him ever since.
Not the best Christmas for poor Winsty.
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
The Worst Best Christmas Ever
Jason and I got sick over our vacation. Very sick.
This wasn't the casual sniffling of wintertime colds, but a particularly violent case of the flu including the things I fear most: throwing up and not being able to gorge myself on Christmas fare. Inexplicably, while tossing and turning in a fevered delirium, my mind would inevitably turn to food-- those chocolate milk runs where boys drink a gallon or so and then try to run a mile, or the red indian lentils simmering on the stove-- and I would beset myself again with a horrendous wave of nausea.
Jason was sick before me and was considerably worse off. His first day of illness was spent in the hospital, where he tried and failed several times to complete a coherent sentence under the influence of morphine. We were quarantined off from the rest of our family. They wore masks and gloves and refused to hug us. No, seriously. They really did. But it got better.
Much better.
There are happy and exciting things happening in Jason's family. There are happy and exciting things happening in mine.
The holidays can hold so many surprises. So many good things, so many bad.
Watching Jason puke his guts out in the Burley Emergency Room was so bad.
Seeing Si smile at me for the first time was so good. Dancing with my sisters with our pants hiked up, watching Mission Impossible from the very front row, laughing, talking late at night-- it was all so, so good.
It seems like I always forget how deeply I love my family until I see them again.
Can't wait for next time.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Wednesday Winston: Fat cat in a little coat.
The holiday poundage is really starting to take its toll.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Wednesday Winston: Lambkins.
Here is Winston posing as my cat-stole.
He loves to be serviceable in this way, but only to me.
He knows he looks prettier around my neck than Jason's.
Sorry, Jase.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
Wednesday Winston: Our Pipes are Frozen.
It happened. Two days without water and an indoor temperature of roughly 85 degrees is taking its toll on us.
Who else is ready for this week to be over?
Monday, December 05, 2011
I've been reading...
Jurassic Park and The Lost World by Michael Crichton.
I liked Jurassic Park. I've read it before and forgotten almost all of it and so decided to give it another try. It was exciting and a little graphic, a perfect expectation in a book filled with carnivorous dinosaurs. By the time I was 3/4 of the way through The Lost World, however, I had grown weary of the raptors slitting open various character's guts with their giant toenails. At times I would read a sentence, pause, and think, "Ew. That was disgusting."
Floating Island by Anne Parrish
This was a gift given to me by Koseli and I absolutely adored it. The story follows a family of dolls and their predicaments and adventures on "Floating Island" after an unfortunate shipwreck. First of all, the story is perfect. The dolls are hilarious (Mr. Doll especially!) and his various illustrations are so cute and ridiculous it made me giggle non-stop. Children, anyone? Read them this book.
Maus by Art Spiegelman
An amazing re-telling of a man's experience in the Holocaust in comic book form. It took me less than two hours to read it, and in that time I couldn't put it down. Absolutely stunning. Read it, if you haven't already.
Black Swan Green, Ghostwritten and Number9 Dream by David Mitchell.
David Mitchell is the master of character and plot switches. Black Swan Green was different than his other novels, though Mr. Mitchell incorporates some of his writing tricks into the plot (i.e. what on Earth is going on?) but successfully creates an astonishingly likable 13 year old boy as the protagonist. It's as embarrassing and heartbreaking as being a teenager again. Actually, more so, as this novel deals with coming of age, divorce, death, love, lust, bullying and integrity all in one smart little package.
Ghostwritten is an earlier novel and all the more astonishing for that. Each chapter is a different story, a different person, a different life, each intricately and surprisingly linked to one another. When I discovered yet another connection, I would think, "Oh my goodness! I can't believe she's her mother!!!!!" like the author had not been the one creating all these connections, but had stumbled across real people who just happened to know each other in the most unexpected ways possible. What's even more astonishing? There is a larger network of Mitchell characters linked from novel to novel. Simple idea? Perhaps. Genius? Absolutely.
Number9 Dream
This book explores the parallels of reality and unreality. It does this without further explanation to the reader, so be warned. The author tricks you often, and after a while, I felt my trust was diminishing. Was what just happened really happening? The first 4 chapters had me properly confused. And then the story fell together beautifully, and I was enchanted, as always.
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
Lolita was all at once heartbreaking, hilarious, and entirely creepy. This fact was not helped by the fact that I am daily surrounded by children. Nabokov's writing is absolutely gorgeous, loquacious at times, scintillating and terribly funny. I took it in turns to be revolted by Humbert Humbert, and then understanding, and then completely sorry. It has been called one of the greatest love stories of all time, which seems strange considering its taboo relationship between a grown man and a thirteen year old nymphet. However, as far as Humbert is obsessive, truly devoted and absolutely pathetic when it comes to little Lo, I may make an amendment and say that this could be the greatest story of one-sided love of all time.
The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai
Because of this book, I wish I knew more about Indian-Nepali history. On the bright side, I learned a lot. Achingly beautiful, ceaselessly sad. I finished the book and frantically started rifling through the acknowledgments in the hope that it had not ended. Alienation, family ties, war, romance, the past delicately woven into the present and of course, the ever smiling Mutt, this book was everything that I hoped it would be and more.
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
I love this book. I've read it before, but Jason and I have been listening to the audio version read by Martin Jarvis. Usually when I think of Dickens, I think of his unforgettable characters-- Miss Havisham, the Artful Dodger, Lady Deadlock, Mr. Skimpole, Pickwick, Uriah Heap-- they are unforgettable, of course, because they were formed by Mr. Dickens (and their names!! Such fabulous names). I forget, however, that Great Expectations, while sad, surprising and slightly creepy, is laugh out loud funny. Pip's commentary had me giggling from the beginning, and by the time Wemmick, The Aged and the Pockets came around, I couldn't suppress my laughter.
On another note, Martin Jarvis is fantastic, second only to Jim Dale. And anyone who knows me knows how much I love Jim Dale (POTTAH!!)
Upcoming reviews: People of the Book, Catch-22, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet, In Cold Blood, Everything is Illuminated, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Hard Times.
I liked Jurassic Park. I've read it before and forgotten almost all of it and so decided to give it another try. It was exciting and a little graphic, a perfect expectation in a book filled with carnivorous dinosaurs. By the time I was 3/4 of the way through The Lost World, however, I had grown weary of the raptors slitting open various character's guts with their giant toenails. At times I would read a sentence, pause, and think, "Ew. That was disgusting."
Floating Island by Anne Parrish
This was a gift given to me by Koseli and I absolutely adored it. The story follows a family of dolls and their predicaments and adventures on "Floating Island" after an unfortunate shipwreck. First of all, the story is perfect. The dolls are hilarious (Mr. Doll especially!) and his various illustrations are so cute and ridiculous it made me giggle non-stop. Children, anyone? Read them this book.
Maus by Art Spiegelman
An amazing re-telling of a man's experience in the Holocaust in comic book form. It took me less than two hours to read it, and in that time I couldn't put it down. Absolutely stunning. Read it, if you haven't already.
Black Swan Green, Ghostwritten and Number9 Dream by David Mitchell.
David Mitchell is the master of character and plot switches. Black Swan Green was different than his other novels, though Mr. Mitchell incorporates some of his writing tricks into the plot (i.e. what on Earth is going on?) but successfully creates an astonishingly likable 13 year old boy as the protagonist. It's as embarrassing and heartbreaking as being a teenager again. Actually, more so, as this novel deals with coming of age, divorce, death, love, lust, bullying and integrity all in one smart little package.
Ghostwritten is an earlier novel and all the more astonishing for that. Each chapter is a different story, a different person, a different life, each intricately and surprisingly linked to one another. When I discovered yet another connection, I would think, "Oh my goodness! I can't believe she's her mother!!!!!" like the author had not been the one creating all these connections, but had stumbled across real people who just happened to know each other in the most unexpected ways possible. What's even more astonishing? There is a larger network of Mitchell characters linked from novel to novel. Simple idea? Perhaps. Genius? Absolutely.
Number9 Dream
This book explores the parallels of reality and unreality. It does this without further explanation to the reader, so be warned. The author tricks you often, and after a while, I felt my trust was diminishing. Was what just happened really happening? The first 4 chapters had me properly confused. And then the story fell together beautifully, and I was enchanted, as always.
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
Lolita was all at once heartbreaking, hilarious, and entirely creepy. This fact was not helped by the fact that I am daily surrounded by children. Nabokov's writing is absolutely gorgeous, loquacious at times, scintillating and terribly funny. I took it in turns to be revolted by Humbert Humbert, and then understanding, and then completely sorry. It has been called one of the greatest love stories of all time, which seems strange considering its taboo relationship between a grown man and a thirteen year old nymphet. However, as far as Humbert is obsessive, truly devoted and absolutely pathetic when it comes to little Lo, I may make an amendment and say that this could be the greatest story of one-sided love of all time.
The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai
Because of this book, I wish I knew more about Indian-Nepali history. On the bright side, I learned a lot. Achingly beautiful, ceaselessly sad. I finished the book and frantically started rifling through the acknowledgments in the hope that it had not ended. Alienation, family ties, war, romance, the past delicately woven into the present and of course, the ever smiling Mutt, this book was everything that I hoped it would be and more.
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
I love this book. I've read it before, but Jason and I have been listening to the audio version read by Martin Jarvis. Usually when I think of Dickens, I think of his unforgettable characters-- Miss Havisham, the Artful Dodger, Lady Deadlock, Mr. Skimpole, Pickwick, Uriah Heap-- they are unforgettable, of course, because they were formed by Mr. Dickens (and their names!! Such fabulous names). I forget, however, that Great Expectations, while sad, surprising and slightly creepy, is laugh out loud funny. Pip's commentary had me giggling from the beginning, and by the time Wemmick, The Aged and the Pockets came around, I couldn't suppress my laughter.
On another note, Martin Jarvis is fantastic, second only to Jim Dale. And anyone who knows me knows how much I love Jim Dale (POTTAH!!)
Upcoming reviews: People of the Book, Catch-22, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet, In Cold Blood, Everything is Illuminated, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Hard Times.
Saturday, December 03, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Wenesday Winston: Home again, home again.
We have recently returned from a fabulous Thanksgiving in Nevada.
And beautiful Lake Tahoe.
And my lovely little niece, Lola.
And Bear, whose every song includes at least one person being run over by a dump truck.
We had so much fun with Sasha and her family, but after the long drive, we were happy to be home. Winston was positively frantic when we arrived, and hasn't stopped squeaking since. He has insisted on sleeping with his cheek pressed against mine, which would be cute if it wasn't so annoying.
Even so, it's nice to know you're missed.
And my lovely little niece, Lola.
And Bear, whose every song includes at least one person being run over by a dump truck.
We had so much fun with Sasha and her family, but after the long drive, we were happy to be home. Winston was positively frantic when we arrived, and hasn't stopped squeaking since. He has insisted on sleeping with his cheek pressed against mine, which would be cute if it wasn't so annoying.
Even so, it's nice to know you're missed.
How did you celebrate your Thanksgiving?
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