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Archive for February, 2006

snowy night

Last Saturday night, we took LG out for her first ever “walk in the snow at night.” She thought this was incredibly cool, to go walking the sidewalks in the dark. There is a particular feel and flavor to the silence of a night-time snowfall. I don’t know how to say just how thrilled I was that she “got” it. She said later, “the best part was the sound, except there wasn’t any sound, but it sounded so cool.” Absolutely, baby.

our house in snow

While I strolled, contemplating high, holy thoughts (“the woods are lovely, dark and deep,” “silent snow, secret snow”), the less refined among us pelted me with snowballs. Paybacks will be forthcoming. The Light in the Window is our house as we returned.

paper snowflakes 2

I was the first one downstairs in the morning. This shot is through our back door, sliding glass door from the kitchen. All winter, we’ve had these wonderful paper snowflakes on it, courtesy of LG. I love this, looking through the paper snow to the real snow.

backyard snow 06

And then I opened the door . . .

playhouse snow

And looked around. BTW, these shots ARE all in color.

biscuit and snowman

Later, there was work to do. Snowman-making. Note his eyes. His eyes are made of dog treats!

sniffing the snowman

Which made Biscuit particularly appreciative of his beauty, and his scent . . .

attack

Until finally, Biscuit’s passions overcame him, and he could resist no longer!

one-eyed snowman

OH NO, MR. SNOWMAN!

guilty

There is no shortage of forensic evidence on the perp’s furry face. Guilty as charged with crimes against snomanity.

Hey! LG took all the snowman photos! Great work, baby girl.

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In the Mood

Because I have benefitted so greatly from the “blove” you all have shown here, I wanted to give you a little Valentine’s Day gift. But I had a hard time thinking of something. If you’ve been around here much, you know I usually have a song in my head, and often in my comments, too. So I thought maybe we could share some love songs with each other today. Songs that give us warm fuzzies, or other warm parts; songs that get us in the mood for love.

You know that I love Aaron Neville. But if I ever had a date with Aaron . . . we’d be listening to Smokey Robinson. Let me be clear — I don’t want to “be” with Smokey; I want to “be” with whomever I’m with when Smokey’s singing. He just does it for me, and he always has. I can’t explain it, but Smokey’s voice has always melted me, made me say “yes” before I even understood the question. Once, a few years back, Jif and I went to a Smokey concert. Ohmygosh. He sang beautifully, but even more memorable than that, he sent “ushers” up and down the aisles of the concert hall, with baskets, like they were taking an offering in church. They collected our song requests. Then Smokey stood up on stage, and picked little pieces of paper out of the baskets, and sang exactly what we asked him to. Did you ever in your life?

This is one of my favorite Smokey songs:

Let Me Be The Clock

Let me be the clock for the time of your life
Let me be the pendulum that strikes your chime
For the first time

I’m cuckoo I know
Counting hours till we will be together
When the door to my heart will open
It’s for sure that I will be hopin’, hopin’ that you

Will let me be the clock for the time of your life
And let me be the pendulum that strikes your chime
For the first time
Let it begin

Cause every moment we’re apart
Is some good feeling wasted
A good feeling deep down inside me told me
A good time for me to try to get you to hold me
Is right here and now so

Let me be the clock for the time of your life
And let me be the pendulum that strikes your chime
For the first time, for the first time

I wanna be your pendulum, baby
Striking your chime

Hickory dickory dock
I want to be your clock
Just set me for lifetime
And I’ll wake you up every morning

Let me be the pendulum striking your chime for the first time
And every time after that cause I know where it’s at

So let me, let me, let me, let me, let me
I wanna be your pendulum, baby

I LOVE that. It’s so silly and innocent, but so erotic at the same time. “Let me be the pendulum striking your chime…” “…every time after that, ’cause I know where it’s at…” And let’s face it, knowing “where the chime is at” is vital, and not always easily accomplished. Don’t make me draw you a picture — because I can —

::tangent:: Seriously, at work, I have sometimes had to draw pictures, well, diagrams of the female anatomy for couples. I don’t mind doing this at all. What I did mind once, though, was when I drew what I drew, and I assure you, I would stand behind my drawing, but the husband takes the dry-erase marker from me and says, “Actually, I thought it was more like this . . .” WTF? Dude, your wife is asking me to draw you a picture . . . get a clue, here . . . ::end tangent::

LG and I have dressed Legolas as your Valentine’s Day troubador for the occasion, and he will now take requests.

Valentine's Legolas
Note the “Happy Day” belt buckle — a great last minute gift idea!

So, what song, or what singer does it for you? 😉

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moon 3

Sunday Post ~

To be brave is to behave
bravely, when your heart is faint.

So you can be truly brave
only when you really ain’t. — Piet Hein

Psalm 121:5-8

file under: &Sunday Post

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SPF, a day late!

I haven’t played SPF in a while, and I really wanted to this week, but realworld life was quite demanding. Among other things, the Junior Girl Scouts spent the night here last night, earning their “Looking Your Best” badge — you’ll hear more about this on the next Biscuit Friday. Anyhow, I wanted to play, but I couldn’t yesterday, so I am today. Thanks Kami and Princess Kristine, for keeping SPF alive and fun.

What I love most about my house:

fireplace

No contest, it’s the fireplace. We always wanted a stone fireplace, and when we walked into this house and saw the huge one, it was all over. It is raised hearth, floor to cathedral ceiling, and we use it quite a lot. It is good for all the things fireplaces are good for — warmth, romance, even extra seating (see the pillows on the hearth?) when we have lots of company like last night. Oh, and see the striped bucket of flowers in the lower left corner? THAT is what Gumby is standing in front of in my profile pic. People have asked about that, believe it or not.

OK, you gotta give me props for the photograph, too. I wanted to try to show perspective, to show how large it is. So I lay down on the floor, flat on my back, to shoot up. That should work, right? But I took two pix and something was terribly wrong.

“Jif, something is wrong with my camera. There’s these weird lumps in the foreground of the picture.”

“Lumps?”

“Yea, I was lying down like this, with the camera right here, shooting there, and there’s these two blurry lumps. Two times. It’s gotta be the camera.”

He looks at how I’m showing him I took the pic. And he grins. “The lumps, are they gray?”

“Yea! Do you know what’s wrong?”

“Are they gray like your T-shirt?”

I look down. “Well, yea!” pause “Oooooh.” (If you’re slow like I am, just read it again, you’ll get it.) Then I was, literally, ROFL. Then I shifted to my side and took another pic 🙂

kitchen corner

Before I show the thing I hate most about my house, I wanted to show you another thing I love. Above is my kitchen. I love the wallpaper. It makes me feel good. Jif and I did it ourselves. As you can see, it’s RED. When we moved into this house, everything in it was either lavender, pink or baby blue. We are slowly changing these things. SLOWLY. So, I love the kitchen, now, except that also in the kitchen is

the thing I love least about my house:

countertop

I mean, the thing I hate most. The freakin’ pink countertops. Uglier than homemade sin. It actually looks better in this pic than it does in real life. Because I blove you all, and didn’t want to frighten you, I just put a small pic of it here. Brrrrr. We do have the ability to replace the countertops, now; it’s just a matter of going out and finding what we want. I’ll show you an “after,” soon, I hope.

Next, what I love most about myself

matreshka

I am bottom-heavy, have multiple personalities, and look really good in red. No, that’s not true. Well, actually, it IS mostly true, but that’s not what this is about. I have some of these nesting dolls at home and at work, because I love them. Because they are how I see myself, and how I see all of you, too. Inside 40something Susie is also 35-year-old Susie, and 27-year-old Susie, 19, 14, 9, baby Susie. We don’t leave our earlier selves behind. They’re still inside. And they still come out, from time to time, depending upon our situation, depending upon with whom we’re interacting. At work, I am almost always 40something. My age on this blog fluctuates considerably, sometimes even within a post — like this one. I may comment on one of your blogs as a 40something, and on the next one as 22. You with me? What I love about myself, where this is concerned, is that I have made sense of myself very thoroughly by seeing myself this way. It works for me.

Now, because one of my ages is apparently quite egotistical, I also picked something else I love most about myself. This is what I REALLY love most.

My sense of humor. My favorite thing (person) to laugh at is myself. If I’m laughing at myself, I never have to worry that I’ll take it wrong and leave me, or talk behind my back, or any of that mess. I always take it well. For a photo of my sense of humor, I’m showing you a page from a calendar I got for Christmas. When I looked through it on Christmas morning, this page made me literally LOL. When I flipped the page the other day, for February, I L’edOL again:

calendar

It says,

“If I did not wear torn pants, orthopedic shoes, frantic, disheveled hair, that is to say, if I did not tone down my beauty, people would go mad. Married men would run amuck.”

I really cannot be responsible for wreaking such havoc, so . . . I tone it down. 🙂

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It’s a horrid, horrid song. It is quite disgraceful, really, and speaks to the darkest elements in all of us: envy, lust, conceit . . . And sometimes it gets stuck in my head, and I can’t stop singing it.

Jif is at the computer, doing something totally boring productive, while I wait impatiently until I can return to the computer and waste ungodly amounts of time do a little blog-surfing.

I start to sing,

“Doncha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?
Doncha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?
Doncha? Doncha?”

And yes, of course I’m doing the dance. How can you sing the song without doing the dance? I mean, I am snuggled in a recliner, under a blanket, but yea, I’m doing it.

Jif looks mildly amused, but does not respond.

“Doncha wish your girlfriend was HOT like me?
Doncha wish your girlfriend was a FREAK like me?
Doncha? Doncha?”

Jif pauses from his keyboarding, glances at me, then goes back to work.

“Ahem. I SAID,

‘DONCHA WISH YOUR GIRLFRIEND WAS HOT LIKE ME?
DONCHA WISH YOUR GIRLFRIEND WAS A FREAK LIKE ME?
DONCHA? DONCHA?'”

Pause. I must know . . .

“DONCHA? DONCHA?”

“Yes!” He exclaims, suddenly turning toward me. “Yes, I do wish she was hot like you! Yes, I do wish she was a freak like you!”

Yes! “Well, alrighty then. That’s what I’m talkin’ about . . .”

Hey . . . .wait a minute . . .

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Have a lovely day.

I had insomnia over the weekend, as I sometimes do, and while I was thinking about doing another “things you may have heard while hanging out with us” post, I was also cleaning up my email inbox. I like to play with words, to do things with them that neither God nor man ever intended. So I did this. This is a post, including the title, composed entirely of snippets from some emails of the past week, sort of “things you may have heard while hanging out in my inbox”:

damn, I’M HUNGRY!

Is he showing up yet? Hopefully he is . . .

that’s a great story about the package!

I’m sure I meant the big one. I think it’s time for me to go to bed.

And I mean QUICK!

if that can’t lift my spirits some, nothing can.

RUN WITH IT!!!

Dear lord . . . now THAT is low-hanging fruit.

it’s gotta be the hair. There’s no other explanation.

I knew I shoulda gotten that sex change when they had the deep discounts . . .

Oh wait . . . you’re leaving off the part about the whore, right? RIGHT???

I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t share

Many people would croak if they really knew

I HAVE YOUR IP AND WILL HAND IT OVER TO THE POLICE IF THIS CONTINUES.

there’s no need to kick my ass

You are always so cute when you smoke crack!

Now? Not so much . . .

Thanks for sharing, dork.

****
Now, don’t be thinking that you can’t email me, because all your secrets will be lifted and put into a post. I was careful not to choose anything that would identify anyone, although Bucky some people may have a certain style, a certain flavor to their discourse that may make such people identifiable. These are lines from at least 8 different people. Only 1 line is mine. Can you guess which one? Think you recognize anyone else? Not that I’ll tell 😉

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Go here. I am too happy for words, so no more words right now. That is all.

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