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January 30, 2007
birthday booty
A quick inventory of all the great stuff I got for my birthday yesterday. [For the record: I'm 31 now. Apparently, when you turn 31, you don't get a kick-ass surprise birthday party like you do when you turn 30.]
The first present came at 5:59 am when D met me to run. Still half asleep, I'd forgotten that it was my birthday and wondered why D had brought a book along for our run. Ah, no, that's a present. And it's NEW YAK TRAX! My pair from last year wore down at the heel and snapped, so this year I'd been struggling in the half-plowed streets to not slip and break my neck. Can't wait to try them out--thanks, D!
Actually, the real first present came in the mail a while back; my mom sent me a hefty check. I signed up to take a yoga class once a week--thanks mom!
Next, during our impromptu cupcake feast after dinner, my family presented me with: a bag of Doritos (best present EVAR! it's the FAMILY sized but if they think I'm sharing, they'd better think again), a bag of Hersey's Nuggets (the toffee and almond variety--they know me WELL), a new can opener (chucked the old piece of sh*t in the trash immediately), AND a new Targus backpack, which I needed badly. The great messenger bag I'd been carrying, which was frankly too big, busted a fastener while I was walking on campus last week and it flew off my shoulder. Luckily, the laptop compartment was padded enough that my machine didn't sustain any damage. And while I'm sure we could have fixed the old bag, I wanted a backpack (carrying the messenger bag, even when wear it across my body, is not a comfortable as a backpack to me).
I still have some birthday money to spend recklessly, but we'll probably need it for, I don't know, groceries or some other pesky necessity.
The last present I got was in the form of a phone call from a dear dear friend who just so happens to have the same birthday I do. We talked about taking a trip to Cancun in 2009, which sounded lovely especially as I watched the snow fall and fall and fall.
And fall.
Posted by mryonker at 10:19 AM | Comments (5)
January 27, 2007
when CAN i drink?
I wanted to weigh in quickly on the current discussion about moms drinking during playdates. Melissa at Suburban Bliss took some flack a while back for posting about cocktail playgroups, and it cultivated enough discussion that she was asked to be on the Today show to talk about it. Mrs. Kennedy at Fussy responds, saying that the woman against whom Melissa was pitted during the discussion was not a mom who understood the silent, lonely, struggle with desperation that some mothers consistently deal with.
Clearly, the segment was too short, but I was interested in the ways in which Melissa and the other woman in the interview (Janet) were clearly on not on the same page; Janet's only response (and she repeated it, over and over), was that women need to find *healthier* ways to relax, to socialize, to have fun.
Duh. This woman does not DRINK AT ALL. Of course she disagrees with drinking around children; she disagrees with drinking fundamentally.
Because my question is this: if women are NOT allowed to drink around their kids, when ARE THEY ALLOWED TO DRINK?? I mean, when are the kids NOT around, or NOT a part of mom's purview? Even if I do hire a babysitter so I can leave my house to drink, I'm still responsible when I get home for them when I get home--probably still with a little liquor left in me?
Where's the discussion about dinner parties, where children and drinks are involved? Is it OK for me to have another family over for dinner, and for us to have drinks with dinner? Oh, no, probably not.
This is not a discussion about responsible drinking, or parenting. It's a discussion about control. Of which we as humans, I assert, have an amount. I can have friends over, and we can choose not to imbibe (which we do sometimes). There are many other factors in my life that could prevent me from getting my kids to the emergency room: My car not starting, for one. Me tripping and breaking both legs as we rush out the door and I slip and fall on my perpetually-icy back porch.
OK, I'm mocking a bit. But I think the more important question must make us look AWAY from the well-off suburban moms drinking expensive wine and cocktails in the afternoon. Those women are not neglecting their children. Those women are not hurting anyone, or anything. The more important questions deal with children who are abused, or neglected, or otherwise mistreated. And such treatment of children isn't ALWAYS the result of drug or alcohol abuse, anyway.
The Today Show is not finding these families and having Meredith interview them. God forbid morning television actually deal with a real problem.
Posted by mryonker at 08:17 AM | Comments (6)
January 25, 2007
a rare peek into my illogical mind
I'm sitting in the quiet house. B's at class, little J's at preschool for the morning. Big kids at school. I'm going through my initial study corpus of blogs for the diss*, scanning briefly to get an idea of what they post about, how much traffic and comments they get, how long they've been around and etc.
We** have the house set up with those automatic thermostats, so that during the day when theoretically no one is here, and at night when we're all snug under five blankets, the temp drops down to a frigid 55 degrees.
Tuesdays and Thursdays this semester, I am home. And it's quite lovely; I can run laundry and read and write in the house with only the cats to worry about.
Today, though, it's 6 degrees (sayeth the AccuWeather widget). And in the house, it didn't take but a half hour for the temp to drop from the balmy 65 it's set at for the wake-up-get-ready-for-school time slot to the 55 no-one-is-here-but-the-cats-and-they-have-full-time-fur-coats time slot.
I'm frickin' cold. So I venture out of the office into the living room to get a blanket to wear on my legs (I've already got several layers and a hoodie on the top half of me). But I forgot that in our push make the house as airtight as possible, we*** tacked up blankets in the windows of the second floor. So while usually the living room has various extra blankets folded (eh, who am I kidding? strewn about) on the couches, today when I walked into the living room (while repeating my mantra "don't look at the mess...ignore the train set scattered everywhere...") I found that the ONE blanket left was already taken.
George was fast asleep in the nest of it, warm and happy in a brief spot of sun.
I could not take the blanket from him. He has just as much right to be warm and comfy, right? I stood in the living room and argued with myself.
"He's a CAT," part of me insists. "Built-in FUR COAT. You are a poor, bald-skinned human. Take the blanket!!" But I just could not.
Because I refuse to turn the heat up (stubborn, I know. or maybe another word that begins with S-T-U. but whatever), I scrounge and find a heating pad to wrap my slippered feet in, and I get my winter coat to put on my legs.
I'm aware of the irony: I won't turn the heat up to save fuel, but I will plug an electric heating pad in, which clearly costs money. The fact that I gave up the last blanket in the house to a cat, however, should be the first clue that I'm just not all that bright.
*Notes and links will soon be up at zerodraft.newmedia29.com.
**I say we because marriage makes you one person, right? No. B put the digital thermostats in. I had nothing to do with it.
***Yeah, he pretty much does everything around here that involves fasteners and implements. I could learn to swing a hammer, but why?
Posted by mryonker at 10:53 AM | Comments (1)
January 23, 2007
post full of gratuitous Zs
Here's what I'm making today: cherry chip chocolate cookies. I found the recipe in a haggard, ragged issue of Shape magazine at H's dance studio last night, and in hasty shorthand I copied it onto a subscription postcard. Since the picture is backwards and illegible (save for the necessary note to self : YUM), I'll reproduce it here.
Oven: 350
5 Tb butter (soft)
1/2 C brown sugar
1/2 C light corn syrup
1 whole egg + 1 white
dash of vanilla extract
1 C flour
1/2 C unsweetened Dutch-processed cocoa powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1 C dried cherries (I chopped them in the food processor)
1/2 C chopped pistacios
Mix it all up (if you're retentive, you can combine wet and dry separately first, but I'm entirely too impatient for that step--it all goes into the kichen aid).
Bake on parchment for 10 minutes. They are good. I bet our beloved Mary (and you all CCR peops know to whom I refer!) would dig them.
A few quick disclaimers here:
I am not elise. I'm an ardent fan and reader of hers, but I'm not her. My photographing skillz blow AND my camera is on the complete fritz (above photo courtesy of Photobooth). So I'm sorry I don't have a pretty pic of the cookies. But they just look like chocolate cookie blobs, anyway, and it's a COOKIE, dang it, so they don't last long enough to look at.
I have never cooked with corn syrup or "Dutch-processed cocoa powder" before. Corn syrup is scary stuff. It looks like it's going to pour easy (because it's clear, and I was thinking it would be syrup as in maple syrup, which is pretty thin), but it's decidedly thick and goopy. But it's sugar, that's for sure. I think the recipe needs the corn syrup to make the fudge-texture. But anyway, don't flame me because I'm using corn syrup. They're COOKIES. They're not supposed to be GOOD for you. Wah.
As for the cocoa, I couldn't find anything that said "Dutch-processed," probably because I was at Wal*Suck and they pretty much never have what I'm looking for. They never have saffron, either. But I digress. I simply got Hersey unsweetened cocoa powder and it worked fine.
Finally, the recipe calls for nutz but I left 'em out this time. But I think ANY nut would go good in this cookie. Next time, I'll find some walnuts or something to throw in there. Pistacios are made to be eaten solo, in my opinion.
Posted by mryonker at 01:27 PM | Comments (4)
January 21, 2007
recklessly or thoughtlessly bold; foolishly rash or venturesome
I'm quickly learning to not check the temp as I leave my house to run in the morning. Once upon a time, I had a (probably smart) rule: no outdoor runs on days below 10F. I didn't make that rule up; it is a rule I remember from an old Runner's World article, or maybe it was a bit of wisdom from my uncle (a biology teacher and runner I admire). I'm not sure where it came from, but it's been in my cache of running lore, along with strange breathing techniques for remedying side stitches and partner IT band stretches, for a good while.
D and I step out this morning and oh. my. good. gravy. it's so damn cold our snot immediately freezes in our noses. We forego our normal walking start and just run because we both know we need to get this madness over with as soon as possible. My eyes water with the cold and freeze into mini icicles on my lashes and cheeks. I glance at D; wisps of her hair peeking from under her hat are white with frost; her eyebrows reminiscent of Papa Noel's.
When I get home, I check the temp. -2. I call D to tell her we're lucky we're not dead.
D: Nah. We're just hearty.
Me: Hardy like a plant? H a r d y? Or hearty? H e a r t y?
D: Oh. I meant hearty? But yeah, we're hardy. Hardy like we can take it.
Me: I don't think I really know what hearty means, anyway. I think we're hardy like plants because we're dumb like plants. Plants wouldn't go out in this shit if they could avoid it.
D: Really, we're just foolish.
Me: Yes. Dumb as rocks. AND I know how to spell that.
D: Yes. Foolish. Foolhardy.
Me: Foolhearty?
D: Yes. What time are we going tomorrow?
Posted by mryonker at 09:46 AM | Comments (1)
January 19, 2007
the snow. it cometh.
I have a confession. A minor one, but an admission I should have made about 3 weeks ago nonetheless:
I have pledged this year to run once EVERY day*. In addition, I resolved to work on** my dissertation every day.
So far, I have been successful at keeping to both resolutions solidly. I should mention that the inimitable D is in on the streaking with me, and so we're kind of checking up on one another for that, which makes it easier.
But today. Today the snow cometh. And to those of you who live south of the I-90 thruway, I know you're chuckling, thinking: "What the HELL were those crazy southerners THINKING when they moved to Parish?? Do they NOT know the phrase "lake effect" takes on new, monstrous meaning once you cross the Oneida Lake bridge??"
Yeah. Well, that's us: not always making those *really* smart decisions. But anyway, the problem you'll see if you click through to the larger photo, is that it is *still* snowing, the plows cannot keep up, and I have not run yet today.
D will be lucky and run indoors where she works. I will be unlucky and get run over by a snowplow for sure.
Lucky for me, though, it isn't that cold: 32 F according to the AccuWeather widget. Although, the widget does not register that it's snowing about 6 inches an hour, either, so I'm not sure just how ACCU it is.
* It has to be 2 miles to count. To be official streakers, we need only run ONE mile per day, but our thinking is that once we struggle into multiple bras, we need to make it worth it.
**Work constitutes just about any kind of attention: reading, thinking, or writing. I've been doing a lot of the first two verbs, and writing at least a bulleted list a day. It's not the paragraph per day that senioritis's BP smartly implored of me, but it's writing, and it's daily.
Posted by mryonker at 03:58 PM | Comments (2)
January 17, 2007
its. not. fair.
Posts and pictures like this and this make a long-buried, Donna-Reid urge surface from the reptillian depths of my brain.
I want a clean house. I want organization. I LOVE neat stacks and lines. I thrive amidst that which is tidy and findable.
How can I want this so badly and still not be able to achieve it? Here I sit at my office desk on campus, my laptop high centered on piles of student papers, banana peels, and post-it pads.
*sigh*
Posted by mryonker at 01:45 PM | Comments (5)
January 13, 2007
the morning run
I stepped off my back stoop this morning at 7:30. It was raining heavy, oily drops--not quite liquid, but not really snow yet, either.
I catch D as she's bringing her paper in, and we walk for a while, the rain/snow vacillating about which it will actually be. After a half a mile, we stand in the mouth of a small side street and stretch half-heartedly, leaning on the wet pavement and providing an interesting picture for the few drivers who pass.
As we start out, the sky decides on throwing slicing ice at us for about a mile. The wind blows the ice into our faces. I regret, briefly, that we didn't reroute for a short village loop. But once we make the turn west off the county route onto the country road that will take us out of Parish town limits into those of Mexico, the wind is no longer pressing us backwards, and the precip changes from ice to soft, wet flakes.
We talk; she recounts stories from her kindergarten class, I ramble about home improvement foibles. We discuss upcoming races and training schedules and our kids and hockey and dance and track and National Honors Society Inductions. We talk about our body parts: which parts hurt, locations of current chafing, where we're cold and and where we're hot.
We run over the train tracks, past the sheep farm, over the river. We pass abandoned farm houses, well-kept homesteads, and trailers with additions. We pass the sweet corn stand, and enter the town of Colosse, which, as far as I can tell, is nothing more than intersection on State Route 11 with a rustic (shabby) bar on one corner.
We wave to drivers that make room for us, most of them see us everyday. As we run the last stretch back toward home, we are quiet for a moment, as we are every once in a while, the only noise our breath and the occasional bird or dog. On this stretch we pass back over the river. The houses are couched in heavily wooded yards. The snow falls silently.
I remember how much I've fallen in love with living here. I love my little village. The snow and hard winters make be feel strong and hardy. I'm grateful for my kind and generous neighbors with whom we share meals and favors.
Posted by mryonker at 10:36 AM | Comments (0)
January 12, 2007
another stress dream, and a good game
I had a nearly sleepless night last night, which is something I rarely encounter. Normally, I don't have insomnia, ever. The minute I'm curled up under the covers (and I also like to sleep in a winter hat), I'm out.
And last night I fell asleep OK, but around 1 my eyes snapped open and I couldn't relax to fall back asleep; it was almost like an anxiety attack without the anxiety-inducing trigger. I drifted off probably near 3:30, and then had this horrible dream where B and I were on this old, rickety, yet incredibly fast Catalina. I had my backpack with my laptop in it, and I kept pleading with Brian to slow down, that the heeling boat would for sure throw my backpack (and all the work I've done to prep for classes, and all the diss work I've done) overboard. Sure enough, during a hard jibe the backpack goes flying and I'm in the lake swimming after the damn thing, knowing full well I should just let it sink; there's no saving a drowned MacBook. So I was awake at 4 again, sweating and shivering.
The dream surely was a reminder that I should back my work up. Now. Which I will do, in a sec. But one more note:
I'm planning on using The Wikipedia Game in my research writing class this spring, since we're reading Weinberger's Small Pieces Loosely Joined. Thanks, jo(e)!
Posted by mryonker at 08:58 AM | Comments (0)
January 11, 2007
insight comes
I tend to be hard on books. I always prefer paperback to hardcover because I like to bend them and lay on them and etc. The bindings of my books, especially those I have read and re-read, are lined with white and sometimes illegible. I am quick to lend books, and when I "lend" a book, I normally mean for the recipient to either keep it or to pass it on to someone else. I learned this from my mother; when I was growing up, my house was a channel through which books flowed freely. She would loan and replace (with a different book), loan and replace. There were always new books to read. Books are not to be kept, they are to be shared.
What I've found in academia, however, is that this tenet of mine is not regularly shared by my collegues. Clearly it's a function of books being integral to what we do, and I understand this fully, and have even adopted a "book keeping" policy for any book that I anticipate will be useful to any work I may do in the near future. But for the most part, I still am, what some would characterize as, careless with books. This makes me not the best book borrower in the world. And I am attempting to change my ways, mostly by not borrowing books unless from a library (library books I tend to treat with great respect). And I have successfully borrowed and returned unscathed books to several friends in the past year.
[No, Deb, this is not a post about me ruining the book I borrowed from you last week. You can breathe that sigh of relief now.]
But I happened upon another explanation for my irreverent treatment of books and my specific affinity for the bendy paperback today as I sat with Big J at the piano while he practiced. As we turned the pages, he and I took turns taking his primer down from the sound board and forcefully flattening and/or bending the spine of the book so it would lie still.
I remember as a child that I would beat my piano books into submission so that while I played, the pages would not turn themselves.
Posted by mryonker at 07:55 PM | Comments (2)
January 10, 2007
some obvious, some not
The posting here has been light-to-nonexistant lately. It's mostly been a function of the strange manic person I turn into over semester breaks. I spend half my time worrying about the writing I should be getting done, and the other half of my time pursuing completely unnecessary yet all-consuming projects that keep me from my writing. So, I end up feeling virutous and productive AND like a total sloth all at once, which *really* effs with my mood.
This break, I decided to paint the downstairs bathroom. Nevermind the fact that there is an entire roughed-in bathroom on my second floor that should truly be the object of all our efforts at this moment. My reasoning, though, is that *I* cannot be the one to be running plumbing and wiring; however, I do know how to wield a paint roller and blue tape rather handily.
Besides, a bathroom is a small room, right? And I should have been able to pull it off in a couple of days, by myself.
Ha. The new colors I picked, white for the wainscotting/trim and sunny (a bright yellow) for the upper walls, required that I PRIME and then use several (3) coats to cover the OLD colors (cranberry on the wainscotting and cream on top).
Needless to say, a 2-day project turned into a week-long nightmare. The bathroom is pretty now.
I finally sat down yesterday to work on diss stuff. On Monday I wrote a proposal for the Computer Connection at Cs. Today I started planning the calendars for my classes that start exactly a week from today. Hopefully this push of productivity will sustain itself and this weekend I'll have a whole BUNCH of stuff done.
Ha.
Posted by mryonker at 07:33 PM | Comments (0)
January 06, 2007
i don't own a red shirt, or I would have worn it
The power cord came in the mail yesterday (thanks, mom!).
This pic came via email today (thanks, Fran!).
Now, back to writing that conference proposal.
Posted by mryonker at 04:25 PM | Comments (3)
January 01, 2007
i'm still here
Happy New Year, y'all.
We're back from the southern pilgrimage; this year we trekked to both families' houses which means: 10 hours south to Southampton County, VA; then a 7 hour drive west to Webster County, WV; and then the inevitable 12 hour trip home. >sigh< The kids are finally not a huge PIA in the car; they read mostly and listen to music. Josh still can get a little cranky, but I no longer have to soothe any screaming unconsolables. I'm thankful for that.
The big news of the hour is that I managed to leave my power cord at my mother's house in WV, so I'm wandering around the house aimlessly, feeling lost and friendless. With the holiday today and the National Day of Mourning tomorrow, I probably won't have a machine of my own again until early next week. I called my local Apple store and cords are 80 bucks, so I'm just going to have to wait.
Clearly, as this blog entry evidences, I am not completely unconnected. But I have to share B's PC with everyone else in the house, which includes the boys watching Power Puff Girls and Ben Ten on cartoonnetwork.com and Hannah IMing with her friend next door.
Once I get my machine back, I'll have pics from the holiday revelry. Hang tight.
Posted by mryonker at 12:51 PM | Comments (0)