time capsule

Today while destroying some household records, I stumbled upon a shoebox filled with old checks. Do you remember writing checks? I mean, writing checks for something other than the rare, odd utility bill that doesn't currently have an e-pay option?

The small stacks of checks in this box, neatly bundled with purple rubberbands, sticky notes protruding with some arcane organizational system (what was the method for my madness?), covered about six months, overlapping 1996 and 1997. Back in those days, I wrote checks for everything. Everywhere. And in any amount. For example, there were checks written to Dunn Brothers, $2.97 for a cuppa and an almond croissant. I never carried cash, especially not after having been held up at gunpoint in the late 80s (you'd think I'd have gotten over it in fifteen years time, but, there you have it).

During this same time—1996—my then-manager was visiting from New York, where you’ve never been able to write a check, anywhere for anything. She was making a purchase and I challenged her to write a check. Needless to say, she was floored by how easy it was—and, she wasn't asked for ID on her out-of-state check/bank.

Those were the good 'ol days. Now you can’t write a check anywhere in the Twin Cities. So there was a special novelty to looking at these paper slips before they went through the shredder. Talk about time capsule: countless checks were written to the City of St. Paul for either $16 or $32 (pre-kid rounds of golf at the Highland 9), Green Mill (clam and garlic pizza and a delivery tip), Four Seasons (a wine shop and deli, no longer in business), Monte Carlo for $30 (two scotch and sodas for John, two vodka or gin tonics, season depending, for me), NSP (local gas and power, only $200 in February 1997), cable for $35 (no premium channels, digital service, or DVR), and Bober Drug. There were also a few checks written to people, the connection to whom I cannot remember.

One check caught my attention: $6,549.37 made out to Cash, on October 8, 1996. I scratched my head and mulled it for awhile, trying to figure out under what circumstance we would write a check so large for cash—and then it came to me. It was the down payment (minus earnest money) for the first home that John and I purchased.

The next chunk of checks backed up my theory—some were written to the guy who refinished our floors, another was to Best Buy for a TV (27") that would replace three (when stacked, each served as an antennae, allowing us to get a range of three channels per TV). Those were the days...

Don’t ever let me get away with saying that I’m not just a little sentimental.

ready for beddie

Today has been a doozy. Not a bad day, but a long day. Here it is 9:40 p.m., and I'm seriously entertaining the idea of sleep. Not "watch TV and fall asleep on the sofa" sleep, but "put thyself to bed" sleep.

I went to bed last night at 2 a.m. I have been up since 5 a.m., when I got myself awake enough to drive John to the airport (he's gone to Houston to visit his father), and when I returned home at 6 a.m., I had to stay awake to get the boys dressed, fed, and on the bus. Granted I slept on the sofa from 7:30 a.m. until, oh, about 11 a.m. but I didn't feel rested at all during the day.

I did have a good meeting with Maria, my displaced worker counselor. She gave me encouragement that has manifested itself so that I now feel optimism. I may not have a job in-hand before John's severance expires but I do feel more on the way. A debt of gratitude to Maria for a good note on which to end the day!

wiki wednesday

It's time for Wiki Wednesday!

1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.

Learned something new today! I have neither read nor viewed the works of William Monahan and must admit that I'm mildly curious.

This list of works by William Monahan classifies all known works by William Monahan (born November 3, 1960), an American screenwriter, literary novelist, and former journalist. He was awarded a 1997 Pushcart Prize for his short fiction, and in 2007 won a WGA Award and an Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay for The Departed, his second produced script.

Monahan attended the University of Massachusetts at Amherst in the 1980s to study English literature, and later wrote fiction in several of the zines and literary magazines that had recently launched in the Pioneer Valley; he also played guitar in a local band called the Slags.[1] His earliest known published piece, a short story titled "At the Village Hall", appeared in 1991 in the Northampton zine Perkins Press.[2] Two years later, his first novel, Light House, was published serially in the Amherst literary magazine Old Crow Review. In 1994 Monahan moved to New York City and began writing for the alternative weekly newspaper New York Press. Over the following years he wrote and edited for various magazines, including the last four issues of Spy.

In 1998, Monahan sold Light House to Penguin Putnam and was hired by Warner Bros. to adapt it into a film. He committed to a screenwriting career while waiting for his novel to be published as Light House: A Trifle in 2000; it garnered critical acclaim but had lackluster sales. However, in subsequent years he worked heavily as a screenwriter; his first produced screenplay would be Kingdom of Heaven, released to theaters in 2005. He currently resides on the North Shore of Massachusetts with his wife and two children.

ballet on tuesday

One of the small luxuries of my employment status is having the time and availability to volunteer at the boys’ school. I have a standing Tuesday morning gig in the first grade to evaluate emerging readers, and, selectively, I chaperone field trips. This morning I accompanied Winston’s class to see the James Sewell Ballet at the O’Shaughnessy Auditorium, and it was a blast.

The top-notch performances were completely (brilliantly, I might add) accessible to elementary students, most of whom have VERY limited attention spans. The Ballet performed pieces choreographed by James Sewell, including “Winter” (set to “Winter” from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons), which stunningly conveyed the season through dance movements suggesting snowball fights and snow angels. Sewell, a Twin Cities native who formerly danced with the American Ballet Theatre in NYC, has also created the “Name Dances” for each of the eight dancers in his troupe. We saw “Hi! My Name is Emily,” set to music by a local composer who used the mechanical sounds of music boxes. During the Q&A at the end, another dancer, who sports significant tattoos across his back and shoulders, told us that his Name Dance explores what it is like to be a tattooed dancer. He explained, as you might guess, that it’s highly unusual for ballet dancers to have tattoos and that most troupes don’t allow them. I’d love to see Chris’s piece.

In addition to the perfect program, I enjoyed observing the first-graders, normally quite energetic and loud, as they became absolutely rapt when the dancers were performing. Winston didn’t tell me much about the post-mortem so we conducted our own on the drive home from school. Concepts of music and movement, as well as the intersection art (dance) and sports (football), were not lost on him. It was pretty exciting to hear his ideas.

I would highly recommend, to anyone who asks, seeing James Sewell Ballet, especially if you like dance and particularly if they’re doing their performances for schools. Go with your child’s class, if you have a chance!

weekend report and other stuff

First, I want to extend huge thank you and to reciprocate the hugs given to me last week. The support of friends does so much to buoy spirits. I hate dropping bombs about personal misfortune, especially if any news has the slightest stink of drama, but conventional wisdom over losing a job is to tell everyone. You never know who might have an opportunity or a connection to opportunity.

Since my penultimate post, I have been frantically applying for jobs—not that there are any positions in my industry to which I can send my resume. Rather, I’m stretching outside my comfort zone to find jobs that require some parts of my skill set, no matter how fleeting. I have no idea what I’m doing scouting out corporate communications jobs (I’ve never done PR) or project management (I have no formal training) but I’m putting myself out there—nothing to lose. Mostly I am allowing all kinds of potential doors to open.

Enough about my crazy job search. For now.

Chez Little Trooper, we had a fantastic long weekend. The boys had a “release” day on Friday so we had a very lazy morning, followed by a long bike ride in which we explored the Midtown Greenway. Running roughly parallel to Lake Street, this very cool bike/walk path follows rails—we even saw a train come through while we were riding—and provides a safe commute between Minneapolis and St. Paul. It’s a flat, smooth ride, and if the weather ever reaches 50-plus degrees F again, John and I have plans to see how far west the path stretches.

On Saturday, after a bliss-inducing yoga session, we collected a few of Simon’s friends (Sydney and Theo) for a low-key birthday celebration. Simon turned nine a week ago and has waited patiently for an opportunity to have a party. He decided to invite two friends for a sleepover, which he carefully choreographed to include plenty of Nintendo DS play, a macaroni and cheese dinner, a birthday cake, and spooky storytelling late into the night. John and I treated the kids to a live performance of eccentric science, Beakman’s World, at In the Heart of the Beast puppet theater. Honestly, the show was lame and Beakman was a little washed up, but the kids loved it and, afterward, stood in line for his autograph.

Winston, my budding phenologist, took special note of the fact that it snowed on Sunday. Still and yet, we had plans to go to the Farmers Market and so we did. Quick as a bunny, we cruised the stalls to pick up cauliflower, broccoli, turnips (does anyone have a great recipe for these gorgeous creamy, violet-tipped wonders?), and Honeycrisp apples. I helped Winston with homework for, pretty much, the remainder of the day, then tinkered over a roasted chicken from Whole Foods, which I transformed into individual biscuit-topped pot pies.

It was a busy and not very restorative weekend but had all the stuff that makes for good memories during a (hopefully brief) craptastic period.

wiki wednesday

It's time for Wiki Wednesday!

1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.

Today, I am pleased (?) to learn about one of Egypt's lesser-known royalty, Osorkon III.

Usermaatre Setepenamun Osorkon III Si-Ese was the famous Crown Prince and High Priest of Amun Osorkon B, son of Takelot II by his Great Royal Wife Kamama-Merytmut II. Prince Osorkon B is best attested by his Chronicle—which consists of a series of texts documenting his activities at Thebes—on the Bubastite Portal at Karnak.^[1] He later reigned as king Osorkon III in Upper Egypt for twenty-eight years after defeating the rival forces of Pedubast I/Shoshenq VI who had apparently resisted the authority of his father here. Osorkon ruled the last five years of his reign in coregency with his son, Takelot III, according to Karnak Nile Level Text No. 13.^[2] Osorkon III's formal titulary was long and elaborate: Usermaatre Setepenamun, Osorkon Si-Ese Meryamun, Netjer-Heqa-waset.^[3]

Accession

Osorkon III's precise accession date is unknown. Various Egyptologists have suggested it may have been from around the mid-790s BC to as late as 787 BC.^[4] The issue is complicated by the fact that Prince Osorkon B did not immediately declare himself king after his successful conquest of Thebes. This is evidenced by the fact that he dated this seminal event to Year 39 of Shoshenq III rather than Year 1 of his reign. Osorkon III may therefore have waited for a minimum of one or two years before proclaiming himself as a Pharaoh of the Theban-based 23rd Dynasty. Osorkon may have felt compelled to defeat or pacify any remaining supporters of the Pedubast I/Shoshenq VI rival faction in other regions of Upper Egypt whether they were in Elephantine, the Western Desert Oasis region—where Pedubast I is monumentally attested—or elsewhere in order to consolidate his position. Hence, Year 1 of Osorkon III is likely equivalent to Year 1 or Year 2 of Shoshenq IV instead, rather than Year 39 of Shoshenq III.

Identity

Osorkon III is attested by numerous impressive donation stelae and stone blocks from Herakleopolis Magna through to Thebes. He is generally thought to have been a contemporary of the Lower Egyptian 22nd Dynasty kings, Shoshenq IV, Pami, and the first decade of Shoshenq V's reign. Osorkon III's chief wife was Queen Karoadjet but his second wife was named Tentsai. A stela of Prince Osorkon B calls his spouse Tent[...] with part of the name being lost. The latter name can be rendered as either Tentsai or Tentamun. Significantly, however, both men have a daughter called Shepenupet.

Secondly, according to Ōhshiro Michinori,^[5] Anthony Leahy,^[6] and Karl Jansen-Winkeln,^[7] an important donation stela^[8] discovered in 1982 at Ṭihnā al-Ǧabal (ancient Akoris) reveals that Osorkon III was once a High Priest of Amun in his own right. The document explicitly calls Osorkon III, the High Priest of Amun. Osorkon III, thus, was almost certainly the High Priest Osorkon B, who defeated his father's opponents at Thebes in Year 39 of Shoshenq III, as Leahy notes. This theory has been accepted by many Egyptologists today, including Jürgen von Beckerath,^[9] Karl Jansen-Winkeln,^[10] Gerard Broekman,^[11] and Aidan Dodson, among others, with the notable exception of Kenneth Kitchen.^[12] Dodson and Hilton sum up the evidence by noting:

“

That Osorkon B is the same person as King Osorkon III is indicated by the fact that the former's last appearance as High Priest of Amun seems to directly precede Osorkon III's assumption of the throne, reinforcing a stela from Tehna[13] which mentions the latter with the additional title of High Priest—an unusual occurrence.

”

Osorkon probably lived into his eighties, which explains why he appointed his son Takelot as the junior coregent to the throne in his final years. He would have been in failing health by this time. Osorkon III's coregency with Takelot III is the last attested royal coregency in ancient Egyptian history. Later dynasties from Nubia, Sais, and Persia all ruled Egypt with a single king on the throne.

Karnak Nile Level Texts No. 6 and 7,^[14] dated to Year 5 and 6 of Osorkon III, calls his mother the "Chief Queen Kamama Merymut."^[15] Similarly, Prince Osorkon B's mother was identified as Queen Kamama Merymut II, wife of Takelot II.^[16] The slightly different renderings of this Queen's name almost certainly refers to the same person here: Osorkon B/III.

Consorts

According to Kenneth Kitchen, Osorkon III's chief consort, Queen Karoadjet, was the mother of Shepenupet I, the God's Wife and Divine Adoratrice of Amun, while his lesser wife Tentsai was the mother of Osorkon III's two sons: Takelot III and Rudamun.^[17] Shepenupet I would outlive both her half-brothers as the serving God's Wife of Amun at Thebes and survive into the reign of the Nubian ruler, Shebitku, where she is depicted on the small temple Osiris-Heqa-djet in the Amun precinct of Karnak, which was partially decorated by this king.

the heat is on

Allow me to explore the literal and figurative meanings to this phrase, with apologies in advance to anyone who gets the song lyrics or Glenn Frey's voice stuck in their head. I am seriously sorry.

Literal
We actually turned on the heat yesterday—flipped the switch on the thermostat. I thought we could hold out until November. In fact, that had been my goal because once you turn on the heat and rooms are nice and toasty, there's no going back. So we've all sported heavy sweaters and padded around the house in slippers, and we've piled the blankets on our beds, but yesterday morning it was so freaking cold (59 degrees F) in our house that I was unwilling to suffer another minute. Fortunately we have the thermostat on a timer, and, beyond that, can lower the temperature from its winter setting. Needless to say, my bedroom was cozier when I went to bed last night and when I got out of bed this morning to hit the first snooze. Yes, there are some things that climate control cannot mend.

Figurative
Life turned on the heat yesterday when John became a casualty in a company-wide downsize. The fact that we have both lost our jobs is so enormously, unbelievably surreal, and I'm having a really hard time wrapping my brain around it. Sure, there are all kinds of big questions looming that I'm too emotionally fragile to articulate here. And, I know that there are jobs out there and that we will find them. But I have already been looking for a job for six months and, well, that's about all I'm willing to say at the moment. We haven't told the boys about John's job. They're so young and I don't want to worry them needlessly. Hopefully soon we can just tell them that Daddy is starting a new job and let it be.

simply gorgeous

Over the weekend, in our little corner of Minnesota, we had postcard-perfect blue skies. I have been waiting for a weekend day with this kind of vivid light so that I could capture the riot of fall colors in our neighborhood. The photo above was taken on the Ford Parkway bridge over the Mighty Mississippi, looking north toward Minneapolis. The Lake Street bridge is in the distance, and it marks the crossing point of my short river loop when I ride my bike. Though it looks really far away, the distance is approximately three miles.


This photo was taken from our alley, right at the spot where John parks his car. We really do live in a "treehouse".

camp mom, the short course

It has been a busy, busy week chez little trooper. I've been running around attending to grown-up business—like finally filing our '07 income tax—so that I may fully enjoy the company of my awesome kids. School is out today and tomorrow for MEA* (statewide teachers' meetings), and I'm so excited to spend this time paling around with my boys, who typically (i.e., if I had an office job) would be in some sort of child care during "release days". Instead, we get to play!!

Both boys were really excited about an opportunity to visit John's office so he's taking each for one morning. That way, I get some one-on-one "quality time." This morning is Simon's turn with John. Simon was so excited he could hardly stand it. John works for a tech company that specializes in building websites for the media, mostly television networks, and, as such, his office has a lot of cool toys, including a Wii in the break room. Apparently Simon and another kid are playing—and raiding the vending machines.

As for Winston and me. Well, Winnie G is a bit of a homebody, so his idea of quality time with Mom is curling up under a blanket in front of the TV. Mom can read. Win can gorge himself on his guilty pleasure, Wonder Pets. Under the pretense of getting ready for the day, I have extricated myself from the mock opera, which is how I now happen to be blogging. The only way I'm going to be able to lure him out of the house is to offer a sushi lunch. We've got a date for California rolls, tekka maki, and hamachi at Saji Ya.

*I remember anticipating SDEA when I was a kid. We always visited my grandparents in Winner, SD, pheasant capital of the world, as SDEA tended to lead right into the Pheasant Opener. In caps, yes, because Pheasant Opener is an event—in fact, my parents are hosting their annual house party in Winner this weekend.

knitting season has begun

With the cooler days of fall, I am able to face one of my favorite activities—knitting. I would like to be able to knit year round. Just think of all the projects I would be able to complete! Handknits for all my friends and for every gift-giving occasion. But I absolutely cannot stand to have a heavy length of knitted wool on my lap during the summer. John chuckles whenever I make that statement, because I'm known, even on most summer nights, to curl up under a blanket while we're watching telly. Perhaps this is yet another issue I can work on with Dr. C.

Knitting just beckons in the fall. It goes with football games, leaves that crunch underfoot, and slow-cooked dinners. It's about staving off the need to turn on the heat. Keep warm by moving your hands and placing your knitted piece just-so on your lap, forming a blanket.

I have a few unfinished projects that I'd like to finish, and I will, in good time. For now though I need to have a fresh start with a new project. A few years ago, John asked me to knit another sweater for him. We went to The Yarnery on Grand Ave., where he pulled down from a shelf, the most stunning variegated bulky yarn. The skein was a Lopi (a thick Icelandic wool that is absolutely airtight—my first sweater was knit in a brown Lopi), mostly green, but with shades ranging from a dark chocolate to a light heathered gray.


Of course, the yarn shop didn't have enough skeins to make the sweater, and they couldn't order more, citing that the color was being discontinued. Calls to other local yarn shops yielded the same information. Thank goodness for our friend the internets! I was able to source thirteen skeins in the same dye lot from one of those large mail-order knitting companies. After it arrived on our doorstep, the yarn sat in a shopping bag, gathering dust for two years.

I received the cosmic signal to knit last weekend. And, little boys each asked me to knit them mittens. Since there is a pecking order, but unable to stave off increasingly colder mornings (hence the need for mittens), I thought I'd better hop to my projects. I pulled down the shopping bag labeled, "Yarn for John's sweater," took out a skein, rolled it into a ball, cast 14 stitches onto a needle, and knit a swatch to check my gauge.

My favorite thing about Lopi is how quickly it knits and how perfect each stockinette stitch looks. It's very forgiving. The pattern I'm following is pretty straightforward, too, which contributes to the ease of knitting. It comes from Yankee Knitter Designs, a company that only offers 30 patterns. Most of their instructions include child and adult sizes, so I could make this sweater—with neck, waistband, and cuff variations—for the whole family. And I probably will. I'm making the version with a roll neck, roll waistband, and roll cuff—you know, that classic 90s J.Crew design? And, until I start the armhole shaping, it's totally automatic knitting, which is ideal in front of the TV.


This is what I have, so far. Isn't it gorgeous. I am so envious of my husband and wish I'd seen that yarn first.

wiki wednesday

It's time for Wiki Wednesday!

1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.

Today I got a book! I've never read Lillian Jackson Braun's "Cat Who" series, but I remember its popularity in the late 80s.

The Cat Who Sniffed Glue is the eight book in The Cat Who Series by Lilian Jackson Braun, published in 1988.

Pickax City is first disrupted by vandalism, then by murder. Harley Fitch, vice-president of the Pickax Bank, and his wife, Belle, are found shot to death, and vandals from neighboring Chipmunk are suspected. After three suspects die in a car accident, the case is closed. But Qwilleran doesn't agree.

According to Publishers Weekly

…this [is a] tame, nonmysterious mystery…When Harley Fitch [is murdered Qwilleran] doesn't discover anything, except for the spotted pasts of the deceased. Eventually, the killer attacks Qwilleran and his identity is made known; there are no clues, no logical way for the reader to figure out whodunit. The author's device of introducing every scene with stage directions, and her reliance on stereotypical characters, may bore ….

weekend update

My multi-day birthday extravaganza has finally concluded—and it made for one fantastic weekend!

Friday, 10/3—My wish of spending the day in the kitchen came true! The pumpkin spice cake was easy to make, smelled incredible as it was baking, and tasted super delicious. Considering a whole wide world of cakes out there, and wishing for more opportunities to improve my icing skills, I am actively looking for opportunities to bake more cakes. Later that evening, we had a great time with our friends Scott and Renee. Scott also has an October birthday so he brought over a special bottle of port, one that John and I gave him for his birthday eleven years ago. He's been cellaring it for all this time. What a treat!

Saturday, 10/4—The boys made breakfast for me. Simon handled the scrambled eggs, while John made toast and sausage. Then they cleared out of the house so I could have an uninterrupted telephone conversation with my friend Krista, who lives in Seattle. And, they came home with lunch (baguette and an assortment of cheese), haircuts (school photos are coming up), and presents (books from Common Good Books, one of my favorite St. Paul indie bookstores). What a day!

After lunch, we took a family bike ride, which was one of the most harrowing rides I have ever taken. Winston fell off his bicycle now fewer than four times. Twice, he landed in the middle of the road. And, I just have to add that we had been riding on a bike path—not in the bike lane on the road. Another time he ran into a lamp post on the side of the bike path. He never injured himself seriously, just a few scraps. But, it was an exhausting, trying ride for him. I really felt for the little guy. Still and yet, he's doing a fantastic job—it's been no more that two months since we took the training wheels off his bike. And, he wanted to ride his own bike rather than on the tagalong. I'm proud of him, even when I've got to push my heart back down in my chest.


Later, one of the neighbor girls came over so John could take me out for dinner. We had an incredible meal—and an audience with executive chef, Alex Roberts—at Restaurant Alma. This is my favorite restaurant in the Twin Cities. The menu has a local and seasonal focus; the food is innovatively prepared. The dining room is comfortable, with exposed brick, high ceilings, and an open kitchen. The wait staff is warm, welcoming, and utterly unpretentious—something on which I place a premium. The wine list is approachable with many interesting bottles. You can order starters, firsts, and mains on an a la carte basis, or you can order one item from each of three columns for an affordable prix fixe price. We always choose the latter. I started with smoked white fish with beets (a surprisingly pleasant riff on the starter I served friends on Friday night); John started with bison tartare. My first course was spicy sticky rice with crispy shallots, bok choy shards, and mushrooms; John's first was masa corn and black bean cakes with shrimp. For a main, I enjoyed the most sensational—and perfectly cooked—duck breast (meat was tender and juicy, skin was crispy and salt, the layer of fat in between was liquid gold) with a port and fig sauce, and a bonus confit duck leg; John went with the seared scallops with rosemary sauce and hen of the woods mushrooms, also divine.

Sunday, 10/5—We had intended to ride our bikes (or walk) over to St. Thomas so we could cheer on runners during the Twin Cities Marathon, one of our traditions. But when we awoke, it was raining, and neither John nor I could get out of bed. And, it just felt right to lay in bed, listening to the rain hit the skylight, burrowing a little further under our quilt. After a late breakfast, we took the boys to see Igor. I remember that the trailers I had seen over the summer showed promise, but ten minutes into the movie, I could tell it was going to be a long one. Even though I adore John Cusack in any form, I am mindful of the 86 minutes I will never get back. The boys had a great time, though, which is, to me, priceless. The rest of the day was lazy and restoring, just like Sundays should be. IMO.

TGIF

My birthday is tomorrow, and part of this year's wish is the luxury of time. To do what I please. So for one day, I am casting aside the job search and most domestic duties (cleaning, laundry), as well as the angst I generate over all the unfinished projects in our home.

I want to spend the entire day in the kitchen, cooking. Some friends—one of which is a fellow Libran—are coming for dinner. Our habit with Friday night dinner is nibbles, take-out, or pizza delivery—and tons of cocktails, wine, or beer. This Friday, my goal is to maximize my birthday celebration by executing a somewhat extravagant-for-Friday-night dinner. Oktoberfest is the theme. We'll be eating sausages from Clancy's (beef, bleu, and bender; pork with fennel pollen), roasted potatoes, and red cabbage (rot kohl) as our main course. I'm making homemade mac and cheese for the children (four boys—5, 6, 7, and 8 years old), and we'll feed them first. While the kids occupy the dining table, the adults will nosh on a smoked-trout pate (which I am making) on pumpernickel toast, pickled beets that my mother made, and assorted cherry and grape tomatoes. We'll serve the hard cider I bought in Stockholm, WI, last weekend. The cider is semi-dry and still, and I can't really imagine the mouth-feel. So it will be a new experience, and I'm excited about that.

And, I'm baking myself a cake. I conducted an informal survey on my Facebook page, asking friends to cast a vote for chocolate, pumpkin spice, or red velvet. Many weighed in for red velvet; one friend suggested all three. In the end, the season dictates pumpkin spice, with a cream-cheese frosting. Yum.

John is still asking what sort of gift I want. This is a difficult question to answer, and, apparently, "nothing" is unacceptable. The cocktail ring (square-cut blue topaz surrounded by tiny diamonds) seems frivolous, and I'm kind of against frivolity. We've reached a point in our lives where, if we can afford the thing we desire—iPhone, bikes, books, music, expensive wine, meals out, cooking gear—we indulge in instant gratification.

In the spirit of the day, here's a short wish list of things I'd really like:

~ a peaceful day where each member of the family is happy and helpful
~ a decluttered house (much of that, actually, is up to me, but I'd like carte blanche to throw)
~ energy to overcome inertia
~ a job
~ world peace
~ an Obama presidency

Is it asking too much for just one of these?

wiki wednesday

It's time for Wiki Wednesday!

1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.

Today I got a train station—a truly random entry.

The Hattiesburg Amtrak Station, located in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, is served by the Crescent passenger train. The street address is 308 Newman Street, in the heart of downtown Hattiesburg.