“You can’t help respecting anybody who can spell TUESDAY, even if he doesn’t spell it right; but spelling isn’t everything. There are days when spelling Tuesday simply doesn’t count.” – A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh
Upstairs neighbors have a pipe burst.
Spent lunch hour (and then some) cleaning up the damage of said pipe burst.
Now have to stay after work tonight to make up for the time spent cleaning up said damage.
Car needs a hose repair.
Did an hour of zumba and an hour of spinning last night – therefore can’t walk properly.
Scrambling to get all work assignments done (despite burst pipe) because I’m going out of town to visit my brother this weekend (which of course isn’t a trial at all, but in the light of other recent events is now significantly more complicated).
Still have to wrap a present for a couples shower tonight for Drill and Trixie, and pick up an ordered veggie platter.
And to top off today’s police news: bee swarm descends on campus – chaos ensues.
“In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o’clock in the morning, day after day.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald
Today, feeling sick, stressed, tired, and lonely, I went to the Oracle, otherwise known as Peregrine (fourteen years and she hasn’t steered me wrong once). Taking her advice, after I left work I went into the mountains to be alone for a bit, to think and emote.
It was invigorating to get angry about being separated from my husband – up to this point I’ve tried very hard to put up a good front and be cheerful about the whole thing, but anyone whose ever done it will tell you it’s exhausting. Thinking about job hunting, the economy, and the singular ability for the firm we want most to hear from to stretch the hiring process into more than half a year, I felt a flood of fear and anxiety. Thinking about my two bedroom flat empty but for me (Margot having moved to her place of soon to be wedded bliss), and all my friends who now like scattered along the Eastern seaboard while I’m stuck in the West, I indulged in feeling very lonely and left behind. Reviewing my life plans and realizing how little I’ve accomplished compared to what I wanted to by this point, a clutch of panic squeezed me. Thinking of what I’ve accomplished and gained instead, gratitude put in a welcome appearance. A host of other slices of me put in cameo roles too – shame, jealousy, disdain, longing, hope, happiness, and a whole lot of frustration.
About an hour later, feeling very worn out (and if I’m truthful, a bit peckish), I made it home. My problems weren’t smaller or easier to deal with, much less completely gone, but on the way I drove by a small grassy area completely overtaken with dandelions, and looking at them I suddenly felt better.
My patch.
I love dandelions. I know I’m not supposed to, no one is. I’m supposed to hate how unkempt they look, how neglectful. I’m supposed to be irritated at how hard they are to kill and how annoying they are at making more of themselves. I am supposed to find them messy, irritating, and ugly.
But I don’t. I love them for all those reasons. I love their cheerful, almost vulgar indestructibility. They are garish splotches of disorder on what should be nothing but velvety green grass. They spring up between concrete cracks, fed on nothing but sand and discarded cigarette butts. They are glorious, golden middle fingers to perfect lawns, anal groundskeepers, and people who think life should always look pretty and grass should be no more than an inch tall.
I feel like a dandelion.
I am messy and irritating. I don’t really belong where I currently live, I would rather some huge unseen hand pluck me up tomorrow and with one massive puff blow me somewhere else (preferably right to J.’s front door in London). I don’t think that life is easy or neat, even when you are doing the right or good thing. I am tough, perky, and pesky. And, let’s face it, I truly love messing with people’s well ordered lives.
I am a dandelion. And dandelions have enough gumption to make it through bad days.
“I have a stag weekend coming up and I have said I’m not doing anything more than a few drinks. I won’t have it. I will go home and watch Antiques Roadshow.” – Martin Freeman
Still a bit out of it. Normalcy will restore itself eventually.
Equilibrium slowly restoring, kitten, but still not functioning at full capacity, so with that in mind, here’s your links. I can’t quite be bothered to be exceptionally clever today. Give me the weekend and it’s usual copious amounts of PBS and we’ll see what I can stir up for you.
This offends me. I suspect J. would die a happy man. Our marriage is a strange animal.
Summer brings out the WASP ancestry in me and I begin to crave preppy things. Like these.
My old school mate does it again. Now that J. is back in London (and let’s not talk about it too much, the wound is pretty raw) I can go back to my mostly vegetarian eating habits. To be clear I’m not anti-meat, pro-vegan, or any you-must-live-this-way-or-forever-be-deemed-a-heathen sorts of philosophies. I just like the financial, culinary, and caloric break of not needing to eat meat everyday. J. may have acclimated himself to salads and vegetables living with me, but heaven help you if that’s all you feed him!
Fascinating look at our ever evolving relationship to social media, the importance of being along, and difference between that and being lonely. An equally fascinating interview with the author.
“Ambition is a poor excuse for not having sense enough to be lazy.”
~ Charlie McCarthy
Ducklings? Come, sit by me and let’s have a semi-serious musing together, alright?
Ponder with me.
Do you ever get bored? That is a ridiculous question, and I’m aware of it, but I’m honestly curious. I ask because when scrolling through the list of incredible and incredibly talented friends that make up my address book, I am struck at how many of them look at their accomplishments and feel an overwhelming sense of “whatever.” Multiple friends and acquaintances, whose experiences and opportunities I genuinely envy and admire, have recently expressed how unimpressed with or apathetic they are towards those things I’d kill to have right now.
It makes me feel better, because I feel as if my life is incredibly unimpressive (at least of late), and apparently I’m in good company. But it doesn’t stop the feelings of apathy, boredom, listlessness, and (occasionally) resentment from cropping up.
It certainly affects my writing. From time to time I try to figure out just what exactly I’m doing with this blog. It started as a way to just get me to write when I was getting lazy, it morphed into a way to share the funny stories of my workplace and served as a place for me to comment snidely but fondly on the tiny slice of humanity I am privileged to observe so closely. I like this little blog of mine, I have no intention of abandoning it, but on it’s journey that so closely mirrors my own, it’s a bit stale and lacking focus. Not entirely unlike myself.
We’re coming up on another major life shift in the near future (the end of schooling for both parties in my marriage) and with all life shifts one has to sit down and figure out, “What the hell do I do now?” It’s cliche and trite, but it’s not a trivial question. For the first time in years I’m getting the chance to really make some decisions about the direction I want my/our life to go… and I’m discovering that my ability to be proactive, my gumption, and my basic major-life-shift skills have all atrophied somewhat.
I’ve gotten complacent. I’ve not been a major actor in my own life (or so it feels) in a long time. I am faced with trying something new and for the first time I feel so incredibly daunted. I’ve hopped continents during major terrorist threats and made it through earthquakes and typhoons with less trepidation! I’m desperate for change, growth, new opportunity, but a little worried that I’m not as capable of handling it as I once was.
Then of course, every once in a while reason reasserts itself and says, “C., you of all people know that, will you, nill you, life goes on. And you also know that whether or not you choose to worry about, you will have no choice but to just get on with it. And, finally, you know that you generally land on your feet. This philosophizing of yours is fun, but hardly necessary.”
My subconscious never lets me wallow. It’s useful, but annoying.
So, minions, do you find yourself getting bored? Complacent? Underwhelmed? Ready for a change? And what do you do if you still have to wait a while to shake things up (even if the wait is only a couple of months)? More importantly, how do you jumpstart your own lives after letting things coast for a while?
“It’s 4:58 on Friday afternoon. Do you know where your margarita is?” ― Amy Neftzger
Have my lectures really sunk in? I may have accidentially put myself out of work...
Another day, another seemingly crime free week on campus.
I’m starting to feel badly, ducklings, I used to have all sorts of tales of human silliness for you, but the well has run dry the last few months. I don’t know if that means I’ve finally reached the point of saturation where even truly heinous examples of Darwinism at work are so commonplace that I don’t even register them…or if it’s time to find a new topic. I suspect the latter.
We’ll make that Monday’s post, in the meantime, look at the shiny things I found for you to play with this weekend! Don’t put them in your mouth, you don’t know where they’ve been.
J. is a huge Muppet fan (this may be the grossest understatement of the century). I am too, but my love is as peanuts compared to his. I have never seen him turn into a shrieking little boy but for once, in the Smithsonian Museum of American History looking at a case filled with Henson’s original creations. But I digress. In addition to the Muppets proper, we were both raised on Sesame Street and have fond memories of the monsters who rehearsed the ABC’s with us. Grover was my favorite, but Elmo seems to be the universal beloved. You’d never guess how the man behind him came to be – which is why anyone who loved the red furry beast should check out the documentary Being Elmo: A Puppeteer’s Journey. J. and I watched it the other night and I admit my eyes watered. (We watched it on Independent Lens, and although it’s not available on the website yet, it may be soon. Otherwise, Netflix this sucker!)
Here, more fun and pretty baubles for you to look at. I am particularly coveting this bag. Minions should remember my birthday is fast approaching… ahem!
I hoarded books from a young age, and even as a kid I remember loving some books for no other reason than their illustrations. Here are some of the most beloved children’s book illustrators according to flavorwire. Gustave Doré, and Ivan Bilibin are illustrators whose work I remember from my childhood, though I had no idea who they were then. Virginia Frances Sterret is someone I need to look into more.
This is a link originally passed on to me by Peregrine, who always manages to find some of the best articles out there. I’ve been having more than usually strong wander lust twitches lately (it’s been made exponentially worse with J. in London, I’ve planned all sorts of imaginary weekend getaways!), and I’ll add walking across Provence to the list.
The great change is…not upon me for several years yet…but lately my skin has been going through a mid-20’s change. Suddenly blemishes have been turning up where there never were before – not even during puberty! This has been obnoxious as I’ve always been rather fond of my good skin, it’s the pride of my dermatologist, but as always there are cures. I’ve discovered this. It’s fantastic.
Tumblr find of the week. The best part? She submitted one of her own! (Edited to add: like all good things, as soon as I find it, it goes away. I have the same effect on certain brands and cuts of work trousers. Alas! Luckily Facebook is helping keep this glorious thing alive.)
“Middle age is when you’re sitting at home on a Saturday night and the telephone rings and you hope it isn’t for you.”
~ Ogden Nash
Randomness today, pumpkins. There is no theme or cohesion, don’t look for one, and for Odin’s sake don’t read too much into anything. Just enjoy the links.
See? Random.
I love museums. I LOVE museums. The British Museum, the V&A, the Louvre, the Smithsonian, the MOMA…if I could spend every weekend burried in a museum I’d be a happy Small Dog. Here are a few things I found in various museums this past week. Votes for women! The need of orthodontia! J. will want to see this exhibition, I’m positive.
Nutmeg is probably my favorite spice. I use it in my Mac n’ Cheese recipe, in soups, in cakes and cookies – I love it. But I had no idea what the process was to get it from beginning to end, or that mace (the spice…not the thing you carry to deter attackers and those people who chase you with fliers demanding you come see their installation art exhibit) came from the same plant!
Mum lived in Japan as a girl and it instilled in her a love of Asian antiques, our house is crammed with them. She also collected some textiles that she uses to decorate, which is probably what led me to read this article on Kabuki theatre costumes. I prefer the cabinets and tables myself (the siblings and I are going to have to arm wrestle one another for inheritance rights) but those kimono are pretty fabulous.
These sound delicious. I’m thinking of getting Dad a few for Father’s Day.
Here, the cover picture should cure you of your recent love affair with sheep pictures (seriously, minions, did I miss a memo and are sheep a thing now?). Mind you read the article in its entirety.
Here’s some Good Friday stuff after all. I am a huge fan of eating the proper foods on corresponding holidays. The food liturgical calendar in the Small Dog clan is strictly observed, and we’ve picked up tons of holidays – and their respective foods – we don’t even celebrate from all the places we’ve lived. Try it sometime, it’s a blast! Here’s a good place to start, good old English hot cross buns!
“It must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays.” – Douglas Adams
A few meandering thoughts for you today.
The office ladies and I held a vote, we’ve decided it should be Friday.
Leaving the gym the other day I passed the entirety of the football team leaving one of the practice facilities. A hoard of hulking men in padding lurched across the street and I found myself thinking, “Good grief, they’re young. Infants!” And then I clutched my pearls to think that I was nearly 4-8 years older than most of them. They can crush me…but I think they’re babies…
For some reason bright lipstick has recently become necessary to my happiness. I blame spring fever.
My secret stash of dark chocolate, hidden in my desk for emergencies, is running dangerously low. On an unrelated note, my exercising regimen has suffered with J. being in town. On another unrelated note, we’re eating out way too much because I still don’t apparently make enough food to keep him fed.
Scarlett just sent me her next manuscript to edit. Someday I will have read the next Young Adult literary craze months ahead of the rest of the public.
Speaking of, should probably read The Hunger Games at some point. Currently I’m in a theological phase reading the Confessions of St Augustine and a tome on the Book of Revelation by a scholar of gnostic Christianity. No doubt I’ll be in the mood for something easier soon.
I think there are some Thursdays that should be spent out in the Spring sun and not in fluorescent light bulb lit offices.
“He looks it, I admit. But speak-to-me-only-with-thine-eyes isn’t a really reliable reason for embroidering doilies and hemstitching tablecloths.” – Lucy Maud Montgomery, Anne of the Island
Sybil, darling, let’s practice shall we?
When your hot Irish revolutionary secret boyfriend says, “I’ll make something of myself… Then bet on me, and if your family cast you off it will not be forever. They’ll come round. And until they do, I promise to devote every waking moment to your happiness,” your response should not be, “I’m terribly flattered.”
Try instead, “And you’ve still got my bags, how handy!”
And when said gorgeous, devoted slice of bolshevik goodness declares he’s delaying The Revolution for love of you, “I’ll stay at Downton until you want to run away with me, ” it makes the minions – or maybe just me – want to tear their hair to hear you reply, “Don’t be ridiculous!”
A better idea? “Gee, show me how fast can you turn that car crank.”
I’m just saying. I know it’s hard, I know it’s scary, but your world will not last (the very curling irons herald the end of ladies maids and electricity the death of the servant legions) and this man’s the future. Plus he adores you and is absolutely delicious, this should not be a hard decision! (We scream, with perfect twentieth century hindsight…). Fellowes! I’m losing patience!
“Most of life is routine – dull and grubby, but routine is the momentum that keeps a man going.” – Ben Nicholas
I’ve always found post-tragedy a bit surreal. Somehow, in spite of the calamity that has just taken place and probably changed your life forever, the world just keeps on going. People still need to eat, sleep, work, and go about day to day tasks, you can’t just check out. After the typhoons, the damage needs to be cleaned up. After the earthquake, pictures need to be rehung.
Life goes on.
Weird.
It’s hopelessly British, but the stiff upper lip is a lifesaver, kittens. There is nothing to keep you going through a tough slog, or helpful when your nearest and dearest are slogging along their own troubles, like routine.
What small things keep you going when Stuff Happens, m’dears? Nothing is insignificant.
“No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as a manor of thy friends or of thine own were; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee” – John Donne
Life can get a bit overwhelming, darlings, even when you’re a few degrees removed, so please indulge.
Sav lost her brother over the Christmas holiday.
Lizzie is getting divorced.
Marie’s health is still shaky from her pancreatic attacks and other car accident health residue, plus a few family issues, and separation from her own husband for 3 months as he goes through job training. She’s looking at another surgery soon.
Worst of all, one of Margot’s dear friends ended her life Saturday night. We’ve tried to help as best we can, Margot in particular has been feeding people, soothing, and being a true lady of mercy, but she’s hurting too.
Troubles do not play favorites, and no one is immune. Please keep these friends of mine, as well as your own in your thoughts, my dears, and take them time to help a friend out today. We all know someone who’s hurting or needs just a bit of encouragement (and we very well may be that person!), so let’s do a bit extra to take care of one another.
Small Dog Syndrome 