Category: Daily

This morning I received a very exciting invitation, and I’m being intentionally vague, but please know that I’m going to have a smile on my face for the next three months and beyond.

I’ll just say this: Santa Claus isn’t the only one coming to town.

This morning after Harper got on the bus I decided to walk circles around the mall. On the way, I stopped at the store for a banana. (Our only banana was unacceptable, as I can’t deal with brown spots. I’m a princess when it comes to bananas.)

Guy Bagging Groceries (GBG): Paper or plastic for that banana?

Me: Neither. I think I’ll just carry it.

Guy Working the Register (GWR): Will you be needing help out to your car with that banana?

Me: It’s a pretty heavy banana, but I think I can manage.

GBG: It’s the peel that weighs so much. That’s how they get you. That’s why it’s 26 cents! It’s bananas!

GWR: I hope the banana is appealing! A-peeling!

GBG: Leave her alone, Phil, I think she needs to split!

People are mostly good.

I spent most of the weekend sleeping, but I also managed to eat waffles with a friend who inspires the heck out of me because she’s a fearless activist, volunteer, and writer. I left that waffle breakfast wanting to carve lino blocks and write stories and fill jars with M&M’s. I love feeling the urge to create and I love people who make something out of nothing, which is completely different than making mountains out of molehills.
‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Lady working the register at the grocery store (LWtRatGS): You work here, right?

Me: No, but I’m here all the time.

LWtRatGS: That’s right. You’re the one who needs help out to the car.

Me: No. I’m the one who opens the doughnut case just to smell the doughnuts.

LWtRatGS: I didn’t know that.

Me: I have lots of secrets. Paper bags, please.

Yesterday was a tornado day. I dropped Harp off at 8:00 then went straight to my B12 shot, to the mall for my new favorite tea, to a diaper store to pick some stuff up for a friend, to the grocery store for an envelope and bananas, to a diner for lunch with a friend, to the post office for stamps, to the drugstore for drugs (wheee!), to home for freelance, to the grocery store for dinner supplies, to school to pick Meredith up from jazz band, to another drugstore to pick up our Christmas cards, and back home where I immediately started yelling at everyone because no one knows where to put their shoes.

A few months back, my Fitbit broke. I told myself that it was a suicide of sorts because I was such a disappointing owner. When the new Fitbit arrived (free, because Fitbit customer service is amazing), I vowed to not drop below 10,000 steps per day more than once each week. As a result, if you drive by my house at 10:30 at night (Don’t do it. Seriously.), you might see a shadow in the upstairs window and it’s a lady and she’s running in place and that lady is me. In penguin pajamas. Feeling unstable yet determined to keep the Fitbit happy. After the month of NaBloPoMo, I’m feeling that same vibe of motivation for Fluid Pudding. Also, I want to spend more time with actual pens and actual paper. I need to bake more. I need to stop all of these mass shootings from happening. (Seriously, what if I have the power to do that, but I just don’t realize it? What if you do? I can bake some pretty amazing biscotti. What if that ability could somehow transfer to stop some craziness in the world?)

I watched The Wiz last night and I loved it just as much as I thought I would. (That is not a trick sentence. I thought I would love it a lot. I did love it a lot.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Me (singing with the radio in the car on the way home from school): We’ll have lots of fun with Mr. Snowman, until the other kiddies knock him down!!!

Meredith: Yeah, I don’t get it.

Me: You don’t get what?

Meredith: I don’t understand why they have so many cats in their yard.

Me: What?

Meredith: The cats that are going to knock down the snowman.

Me: Really?

Meredith: What?

This afternoon I finished bedecking a hat for a toddler and as a result, I’m 100% dipped in Christmas spirit. (Until the cats show up and start screwing with everything.)

‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

A few weeks back, I ordered glitter powder to apply to my cheeks for those days when I feel like being especially sparkly. (Tempe recommended it. She sparkles during the holiday season, and sometimes beyond.) Along with the powder, Sephora sent a sample of My Philosophy: Truthful eau de parfum and I don’t believe I have EVER typed eau de parfum before! Anyway, this morning I glittered up (It’s the final Monday of the month, and I’m feeling like Mariah Carey on a sane Mariah Carey day!) and decided to spray myself with Truthful.

Shortly after The Scenting of My Neck and Wrists, I began to freak out a bit because: What if Truthful was actually scopolamine spray, and I was about to be kidnapped and interrogated by the Czechoslovak communist state security secret police? What if I was unable to control myself and suddenly I began to confess things that I’ve managed to keep hidden until now?!

Years ago, I took an ACT test for a friend (after being not-so-gently persuaded by her parents) so that she could apply to the education department of her university. She ended up getting kicked out of the university, and I ended up crying a lot and purchasing The Dance of Anger.

When I worked at the ice cream store as a teenager, I once took money from our Salvation Army jar to pay for a pizza. Because of my lingering guilt, I nearly always give money to the Salvation Army bell ringers, even though I don’t always agree with the Salvation Army. (I’ve reimbursed them for my pizza several times over.)

One of the main things that Oprah taught me is to drink enough water so that all pee is clear. Because of that one Oprah episode, clear pee is always one of my goals. (Similarly, I strive to always have exact change plus two dollars for a tip when buying frozen yogurt.)

I took an African American History course in college, and a friend of mine wrote my final paper as a 20th birthday gift so I could go out and see a movie with my best friend. He got an A. (My grade was already strong. He didn’t need an A. Yes. I still feel guilty.)

I used to control my weight with Slim Fast and laxatives, and I would never recommend that ride to anyone. Ever.

I once worked in an office supply store at the mall. I was in charge of the scissors display. When the owner’s husband called me at home to tell me that he was getting ready to take a shower and wanted to hear my voice, I quit my job and reported him to the police. I then found out that he had been harassing other employees at the store, too, and my call was the call that finally got him banned from the mall. (That was my first and final job where I was required to wear a skirt and/or work with scissors. Wait. I worked with scissors at the yarn store. But the skirt thing? Yes. That.)

Now that you know everything, let’s close NaBloPoMo out with one of my favorite songs. (Thank you for sticking with me.)

‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

If it wasn’t NaBloPoMo, today would be one of those days that I would stay far away from Fluid Pudding.

I have nothing to report.

We went to church this morning, and someone complimented my fingerless gloves and mentioned that he has always wanted a pair, but he can’t find them in his size. I immediately made a mental note to knit some fingerless gloves for him.

After church, the girls went down to my parents’ house to help them decorate for Christmas. Jeff and I had lunch and then I worked on freelance for a few hours.

We picked the girls up, ate dinner, and now we’re home. 7:03. I’m yawning like someone who yawns a lot, but this is my B12 week so I’m about to turn right onto Open Eye Boulevard.

I smell like a Christmas tree, and in a few weeks I’ll smell like a lemon.

One year ago today I took a nap with Ramona Quimby, and I had no idea that she would be gone in less than two weeks.

Tomorrow is the final day of NaBloPoMo, and I promise to do better. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Virginia Pasley died after suffering a stroke in 1986 at the age of 80.

After graduating from Northwestern University, she took a job in 1927 as a reporter for the Chicago Herald & Examiner before moving on to The Tribune as part of their first metropolitan staff. In 1932, she scored an exclusive interview with Al Capone in Cook County Jail before he was sent to the penitentiary in Atlanta. When she and her husband moved to Washington, she had the special assignment of covering Eleanor Roosevelt.

In 1955, she wrote 21 Stayed: The Story of the American GIs Who Chose Communist China: Who They Were and Why They Stayed about the 21 American POWs who decided to stay in their capturing country when the Korean War ended.

In 1949, she wrote this:

My mom gave it to us yesterday, and Harper was inspired this morning to bake Mrs. Pasley’s Chocolate Drop Cookies.

Clearly, I am not a food photographer. The cookies were so much more delicious than they look in that photo.

I hereby salute all journalists named Virginia Pasley— both past and present.

I love that when I searched out information on Mrs. Pasley’s cookbook I came across a great article on campus racism written recently by a fellow Mizzou graduate named Virginia Pasley. Serendipity. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’ll be over here doing what I do.
With a wreath on my head.

Feel free to do what you do, too.
It’s time. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Salad and spoonfuls (I prefer spoonsful, but the world has passed me by) of green bean casserole, corn bread stuffing, sweet potato casserole, and Brussels sprouts, all eaten before I noticed that a bit of the red leaf lettuce wasn’t actually lettuce, but a woman smoking a long cigarette in a turban.

(I think it’s Dorothy Parker. I’ve always wanted to have lunch with her.)

If you celebrated Thanksgiving today, I hope it was a nice one. If you didn’t, I hope your Thursday was particularly good.

Harper spent the morning creating personalized turkeys to represent each of our guests. Mine has knitting needles coming out of her head.

‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The pies are out of the oven.

My mom and the girls are currently decorating the table.

I found my tiny bundt thinger dinger for mini pumpkin cakes.

There’s not much else to report for today. I’m currently freezing pre-cut lemon cranberry scones, and the plan is to bake them for breakfast in the morning. I scheduled my mammogram for January. I’m feeling thankful, but this year it’s with a bit of a raised eyebrow and a candle lit for everyone who is missing someone at their table. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

On the evening of Sunday, November 23, 1997, I went over to Jeff’s apartment to watch a movie. I ended up crashing on his futon with the plan of heading back to my apartment at 6:00 the next morning to get ready for work.

Upon returning to my apartment that next morning, I picked up a message from my mom telling me that my sister had gone into labor six weeks early. Mom and Dad were jumping into the car to make the four hour drive to my sister’s town, and they were going to stop by my apartment so I could ride with them.

As I listened to the message, the phone rang again. It was my mom telling me that they were less than ten minutes away.

I immediately freaked out (and am still freaking out 18 years later) because had Jen gone into labor fifteen minutes earlier, my parents would have arrived to find my apartment empty. I didn’t have a cell phone! They didn’t have Jeff’s number! Hell! In a handbasket!

I took a Tom Cruise shower, threw on clothes, and ran out to the street to meet my folks. Nearly seven hours later my nephew was born, and although he was wee (cuter than a spider monkey, but similar in size), he was able to lift his head and turn it to watch the nurses pass by his little bed. He was amazing, and he scared the crap out of me (as most babies did before I had my own).

Justin is 18 today and he is funny and smart and thoughtful and kind. If you had to go to the store and pick out an 18 year old, he would definitely be one of your top choices. He’s an Oreo in a sea of Hydrox, and he’s now able to vote.

1997 was a crazy year. Mother Teresa died, Notorious B.I.G. died, Princess Diana died, Mike Tyson bit off Evander Holyfield’s ear, OJ Simpson was found guilty, the Heaven’s Gate folks put on their Nikes, and I became an aunt.

(Three days after Justin was born, the Barney float got away from its handlers during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade. Barney had to be stabbed multiple times so that he wouldn’t fly away. It was (and continues to be) one of my very favorite Macy’s parades.)

Happy Birthday, Justin. I’m excited to see how the next 18 years unfold. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>