Category: Daily

Fluid Pudding was down yesterday, and when I say Fluid Pudding I mean this very website—not me. (I have been called “Pudding” before. A few people have asked, “Are you Fluid Pudding?” Honestly, I love when that happens because it makes me feel like Parker Posey.)

So, because the site was down, I wasn’t able to update, meaning I failed at my own personal NaBloPoMo. BUT, what if I update twice today? Would that make up for it? Here’s the beautiful thing: I didn’t give myself any rules. I rarely do, because I trust that I’ll do the right thing. Let’s see what happens.

Me: I’m trying to teach myself the marching band dance break.

Meredith: Why would you do that?

Me: Because I’m 48 and dependable and who knows when they might need me to step in?

Meredith: No.

Harper: Don’t ever do that again.

We’re not completely out of the woods with the site (or the use of clichés). I’ve been told I have to go into my site code and change some things.

Obstacle #1: Go into my site code. Obstacle #2: Change some things.

I’m giving myself three days.

Day One: Pretend I don’t have to figure out how to find my site code. Go to a marching band competition. Maybe eat a funnel cake.

Day Two: Make some hot tea and take some deep breaths and figure out how to go into my site code.

Day Three: Change some things.

This evening a friend and I went to a book reading and author signing at Left Bank Books. The author, who is a friend of my friend, was charming and smart and I’m looking forward to reading her book.

Looking around at the bookstore reminded me that Amazon is convenient, but Amazon isn’t really where it’s at. Left Bank Books is where it’s at.

After the reading we jumped across the street for a taco. I went with the Autumn Taco, which held sweet potatoes, spicy nuts, cranberries, and more good things I can’t remember like some sort of specially treated onion. Vegan. Perfect. The tacofication of Thanksgiving.

This morning I spent some time working on my election socks. The last time I tried to knit election socks was way back in 2008. (I haven’t yet finished my 2008 socks, but I do remember how happy I felt when Michelle Obama’s 2009 inaugural parade dress matched my unfinished socks perfectly.) Anyway, the fact that I’ve turned the heel on the first midterm sock is huge.

I asked my new Ouija socks if my mary janes are broken in enough for a bloodless public outing. They said, “Yes. Goodbye.”

Jeff and I will be celebrating our 17th anniversary on Saturday, but because we’ll be celebrating it in two different states, we decided to do a family dinner this evening. Just so you know, I ate my weight in grilled pineapple and right now my stomach hurts more than the backs of my (bloodless!) ankles. I call that a win. (I call most things a win. Glass half full and all that jazz.)

After Harper’s orthodontist appointment this morning, the girls and I met my mom for lunch. On the drive to the restaurant, we listened to Christmas music.

At the restaurant (Freddy’s if you’re nasty) I ate a veggie burger wrapped in lettuce and it was definitely the right choice.

After we ate, we went to a store down the road and suddenly it WAS Christmas and so many people (not you, of course) are yelling about how it’s too early and it’s not even Halloween yet, but you know what? I would celebrate Christmas every day of the year if I could. (Clarification: Not the gift thing, but the feel of it all. The smells. Getting up at 5 in the morning to light the tree and drink coffee with the dogs before the craziness begins.)

Side story: Two years ago I got up at 5 and made coffee. While I was turning on the tree (maybe by dancing provocatively, but probably by pressing the light button), Henry jumped onto the couch and took a drink of my coffee. Instead of getting up to pour another cup, I decided to take a deep breath and just pretend it never happened.

Just look at that tree. It’s made of wood and I love knowing that it exists. Merry Christmas, you guys. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’ve been practicing my dip pen skills. Actually, I’ve been trying to develop some skills, but it’s harder than I thought, and I’m not sure it will become a thing for me. I’ll give it a few more days.

I guess the smart thing to do would be “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.” I prefer “He’s dead and by dead I mean dating a stripper.” ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

This evening was spent eating portobello tacos and street corn with a friend who loves words as much as I do. I then drove home, read a few chapters of The Miniaturist, and worked on the gusset of a sock. This week is our fall break and what a lovely way to get it started.

And then there’s this song. I love it just as much as my kids do NOT love it. (There will undoubtedly come a day when I no longer love it, but that day is not today.)

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(photo credit: Julie F.)

This is what happens when a bunch of talented and enthusiastic young musicians get together for several hours each week. They take charts and phrases and they rehearse and then rehearse some more and they fine-tune certain things and they maybe change up other things and they focus and they care and suddenly they’re a family and it all comes together and they win. And they win big. And so much pride. And so much joy.

Parade Awards:
Best Percussion
Best Visual
First Place in Class
Parade Grand Champions

Prelim Awards:
Best Music
Best Visual
Best Percussion
First Place in Division
Peoples Choice Award

Final Awards:
Best Music
Best Visual
Best Percussion
Competition Grand Champions ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I have local honey. 60 pounds of it.
I have jars. 72 of them.
I’ve been sterilizing those jars.
I’m going to heal our town.

I’m now the person who runs to her car to grab a sprig of sage when something stressful is happening.

Lately, I’ve been into circles. As a result, my ears are freshly hooped, with the latest addition being the sparkly one up top. (Just follow the arrow!) Also, you are in luck! The photo (miraculously) captured the rarely sighted banana-wielding Viking who lives in my ear canal! His name is Vestibulocochlear Svartkollrsson. Huge Björk fan.

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(My new journal has half-photos. It’s up to me to finish them.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Yesterday I went to the Central West End, where not all of the buildings are boarded up. I share this photo only because I love these boarded up buildings, and I’ve spent so much time thinking about the people who may have lived in them or the stores that may have once been open. Kate Chopin lived in this neighborhood. (So did Tennessee Williams, T.S. Eliot, and Joseph Pulitzer.) So much history, and now there’s an art store whose grand opening is this weekend.

I have a lot of artists in my life. I went to St. Louis Art Supply with one of them yesterday during the soft opening and suddenly I wanted to write and draw and carve linoleum and drink assam tea. (We drank assam tea, because the art store shares space with a café. Magic.)

Oh my Lord. Do you see the staff nib? I didn’t purchase it, but I wanted to. I still want to. I still might. Maybe. If I had a staff nib, I couldn’t just let it sit quietly in the dark. A staff nib requires commitment.

I love the spooked feeling I get when I look down an alley. Add snow to that alley and I think I see ghosts. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>