“Pride is still aiming at the best houses.” – Alexander Pope
This time of year gets a bit tricksy with the budget, after all presents must be bought! But I had an interesting moment yesterday whilst writing out a check for December rent and simultaneously bemoaning car maintenance (new tires) – I realized I’m only going to be writing (probably) two more rent checks to our current landlord. Part of our contract involved paying first and last month’s rent up front, and I’m currently working on the theory that we’ll be leaving the area sometime in March. Thus there’s only January and February to go
Just like that, a rather hectic day improved. London is very close.
Mum rather blew the fairy dust off of my first grown up/married flat when she came to visit this past summer (her exact words were, “Well, this is a bit grim, huh?”), and I like to tease her for it, but it’s true. Our little flat is old and cheap, there is no dishwasher or laundry hookups, the furnace is a couple centuries below code, but it works. It’s been good to us. And the chances of us getting another two bedroom place in London for such a ridiculously low price are so infinitesimal as to be laughable.
I’m not sad to be moving on to new things, and I’m not sad that I have only two more rent checks to write here, but I’m always going to fond of our little place.
(Work’s still ridiculous, so posts this week are going to be blurb style. I mostly write this blog to keep my hand in, and I’ve been neglecting it. For shame, C.! I could be lazy and wait for the new year to make a resolution, but I think that procrastinating resolutions rather defeats the purpose, no? Prepare yourself for stream of consciousness, links, and ramblings!)
Fridays are not ‘pants optional.’ – Nancy Cartwright
I’m busy, but I’m on track to finish my whole To Do list by the end of the day. Here, look at the shiny things and let Aunty C. work!
I am this happy.
What’s that, minion? You say you’re feeling a bit down and discouraged? Allow me to help.
(Dad, skip this one. In fact, anyone uncomfortable with anything have to do with, ah, conjugal activity, skip this one. The more prurient of you read on in badly suppressed shame:) A couple of years ago, J. and I were listening to NPR when a story came on about the Bad Sex Awards, a prize given for the worst depiction of – well, let’s keep it coy here – in a non-erotic work of fiction. And they are hysterical. Naturally, this is a British invention. Seriously, this is too funny to me not to share but this is your last warning: if you plan on clicking through, do so in the privacy of your own home – if for no other reason to keep your friends and associates from hearing you howl in laughter at the awfulness. (Sorry, Dad.)
“I celebrated Thanksgiving in an old-fashioned way. I invited everyone in my neighborhood to my house, we had an enormous feast, and then I killed them and took their land.”
― Jon Stewart
Going home for the holidays is always so restful for me – sure a tiff or two might crop up, but they’re rare, usually solved with a tussle or a game, and the food more than makes up for it. Besides my house is the only place where the following conversation could take place and everyone would think it was normal:
Me, to Buddy: “You needed a fez for that.”
Buddy: “I know, but I couldn’t find one.”
Dad: “What do you mean? I have a fez.”
Buddy (incensed): “How did I not know this!”
Dad (matter-of-factly): “Not my fault. You have never asked me if I had a fez.”
A typical Autumn evening with the Small Dog clan.
This image of my brothers might provide some visual clarity to our collective mental state.
This year the turkey surprised us all by finishing a full two hours ahead of schedule (seriously, we’re baffled, we’ve only ever experienced the opposite) and we had to scramble and mobilize all the troops to get things finished and the table set for our feast. But all was well!
It is not possible that you could sense this through the screen, kittens, but these are the two best pies in creation – both recipes family secrets – and I will fight anyone who says differently.
These pies were the source of much hilarity. You see, that pie on the right is my mother’s rightly famous one, and she has always had very particular ideas about how it should be done. Namely, there is normally a piece of dough fashioned in the shape of autumn leaves that it left on top and bakes nicely into the pumpkin filling (made, traditionally, from the remains of our Halloween jack-o’lanterns). The last time we were there for Thanksgiving my mother, upon realizing that she had popped the pie in the oven without it’s customary finishing leaf, whipped up a special batch of dough just to put the darn thing on. This year I pointed out that the leaf was missing and she tossed her head with a magnificent, “Whatever!”
The road to our land, loving referred to as The Estate.
My father’s land is also the source of some hilarity for me, but perhaps I’ll save that for another post. It’s his pride and joy. When he first bought it, the handful of acres that weren’t forest were covered in brush taller than I was at the time. Now he has several cleared acres that support his berry bushes, a small orchard in the making, and plans for a pond. He was born in the wrong century, he was meant to be a gentleman farmer.
Fun fact about our land, American Founding Father Patrick Henry had his first job as a lawyer in our town, the road he walked to get to work runs across our property, and won his first election to represent the county locally. Also, the parents of J. Sargeant Reynolds (of the aluminum fame) are supposedly buried somewhere on our property as well, though we don’t have a lot of proof for that one. There are an amazing amount of old houses (with fantastic estate names) and many of the families have been in the area for generations (and a handful for centuries) so many properties have private family cemeteries on them – but alas for the Reynolds, they’ll only be discovered if we ever break ground for a house or something.
Dad’s latest project is bee-keeping. And those little guys are prolific, we have several pounds of wild honey stored in the basement.
That J. and I have puppy lust is already well documented, but he compounded the problem by spending the entire vacation playing with Mika, supplanting all of us in her affections by tummy rubs, sneaking her treats, and taking her for runs. The man needs a dog. We also went out to play with Maxi and Niney, the dogs on our property to keep it deer and bear free. Oh, and a bear apparently lives in a copse behind a house just up the street from my parents and likes to set all the neighborhood pets off at night by wandering around.
One of the dogs frolicking.
A week of doing next to nothing means that in the eternal balance of things, I’m now absolutely swamped at work. The continued lack of a replacement for Officer Lampost really is affecting my ability to work as effectively as I would like (which is a much less whiny way of saying that I had a twenty minute lunch break on Monday and Tuesday, and still had to stay after a full two hours on the latter to just get through my list of things to do). Vacation is over, friends, and no mistake! Luckily, I’m working on a few projects I’m really interested in and my work seems to be impressing several of my bosses, so onward towards Christmas, minions.
We’re alive, but currently in turkey induced comas, breakfasting largely on pie, and playing excessive amounts of board games. We are also refusing to shop on moral principle.
How were your holiday celebrations, pumpkins? Tell me everything!
“Heat prickled my cheeks. My palms went clammy. Love is a lot like food poisoning.” ― Suzanne Supplee, Artichoke’s Heart
Yes, hotels.com guy, I really do.
Where have I been, you ask, kittens? Oh, just comatose with food poisoning for two days and run off my feet for the other three days at work trying to get everything done before I go tromping off to the woods next week. Poor J. spent his birthday sick as a dog with a wife who couldn’t walk much less take him out to dinner. Since I haven’t had so much as a lunch break since I got back on my feet, much less gone home on time, and we still have to pack before our 5am flight tomorrow: here are your links, none of them particularly worthwhile, because Aunty C.’s brain is fried. Amuse yourselves and be quiet. We’ll report from the homestead next week – if you’re good and we’re conscious.
This handy list brought to me by a friend who lives in Germany now, and which I (having once lived in Germany) find hysterical.
It was Veterans’ Day and Remembrance Sunday this past week, there are many generations of military service in my family and the price is often high. Here’s an article about some of the realities and treatments of shell shock after WWI – because I think it’s important to see and know the effects of war.
Here’s some slightly more poetic tragedy. Someday that brilliant city will have be visited only by scuba gear.
Zsa Zsa Gabor – equal parts insightful, and round the twist.
J. actually requested I pick up some Ding Dongs on the way home from work, because apparently his grief needs to be drowned in Hostess foods to commemorate their downfall. Thoughts on the end of the brand?
Last week a childhood book, this week a tribute to a childhood movie!
And apparently, everyone in government is sexing everyone else these days (allowing both politicians and large chunks of the media to avoid talking about, you know, the governance of the country) and Stephen Colbert takes us through it in his usual style.
‘They gave it me,’ Humpty Dumpty continued thoughtfully as he crossed one knee over the other and clasped his hands round it, ‘they gave it me — for an un-birthday present.’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ Alice said with a puzzled air. ‘I’m not offended,’ said Humpty Dumpty. ‘I mean, what is an un-birthday present?’ ‘A present given when it isn’t your birthday, of course.’ – Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll
We just stumbled in the door from J.’s pre-birthday festivities, which involved a lovely dinner, cake at his sister’s, and rather copious amounts of our nieces and nephews beating the tar out of us. As the resident childless aunt and uncle, our sole purpose in their eyes is to entertain them and we have a lot of fun doing so – although the bruises do accumulate. We’re stuffed with cake so here are your links and happy weekend to you!
You guys, my childhood! Did anyone else read and love this book?
And when they were done, they took the best bits with them and put them in museums in London. For which I am personally grateful, but secretly a bit guilty about.
I’m seriously excited about the new Bond movie. And honestly the thing that made me wild to see it was the moment on the trailer when he swings into a half exploded train and straightens his cuff. Class. Sexy, sexy class. In honor of the franchise’s 50th anniversary, I give you this to play with. Submit your best ones in the comments.
“The test of good manners is to be patient with bad ones.”
~Gabirol (Solomon ben Yehuda ibn Gabirol), The Choice of Pearls
It may be true that the general attitude of Small Dog Enterprises is, “If you haven’t got anything nice to say about anybody, come sit next to me,” but today I’m calling it, minions.
Calm it the hell down.
The ridiculous political hyperbole, predictions about the end of the society/religion/freedom/whatever, slimy gloating over a rival’s defeat, threats to move to another county/state/country, and especially the nasty comments calling for overthrow, revolution, and apparently the death of not a few elected individuals (shameon you!), all make the problems we face worse.
Knock it off.
Stop trying to out scream the opposite of whatever team you’re on and express a little patriotism and loyalty. Commit to continuing to make your voice heard in the political process and stop calling each other Fascist/baby killing/Socialists or illiterate/uninformed/hate mongers. Constructive criticism is welcomed, well thought out reflections are encouraged – claiming the world is ending is not. Honestly, people, a little objective perspective, please!
Minions failing to comply immediately will be sacked. Aunty C. stayed up very late last night and woke to find a lot of nastiness swarming through her various circles (some of it directed at her) and she is in the mood to disinherit a few people. She also hasn’t had her tea or a very filling breakfast, which as you know has lead to various unfortunate episodes in the past.
Don’t you Remember, The Fifth of November, ‘Twas Gunpowder Treason Day, I let off my gun, And made’em all run. And Stole all their Bonfire away. – English Bonfire Day Ballad (1742)
English minions should have spent yesterday indulging in some harmless arson to commemorate the preservation of Parliament (at least the Lords) and the failure of an assassination plot against the king.
American minions are forbidden from following their English friends in arson of any kind today, no matter how high tensions get.
And can we just have a moment to appreciate that she’s nailing that sign with a gun? It was a simpler time, kittens.
“Anyone who says they’re not afraid at the time of a hurricane is either a fool or a liar, or a little bit of both.” – Anderson Cooper
(image from Wikipedia)
So…Halloween was good, the hurricane was bad, and the upcoming elections are middling. Sounds about right. Here are your links, ducklings, equal parts frivolous and sober.
A cruel friend recently brought this to my attention, shortly after I found out about Disney buying Star Wars. File under: please Odin, no!
We’re three weeks from descending on my family on the East Coast, and I’m beyond excited. Sometimes you just need to hang out in the backwoods with no TV with fun people and good food. I’m currently scouring for a good puzzle because we usually do huge ones when we get together. The reigning favorite is a thousand piece replica of the Sistine Chapel which just celebrated a birthday yesterday.
I am a nail polish junkie, but I have…opinions about these. Thoughts?
I’ve been on a bit of an cosmos kick recently, reading up on some scientific research developments, reading some (very, very easy!) books on physics – my high school education was really excellent in the humanities, but terribly lacking in science and I constantly feel like I’m playing catch up. But I find astronomy fascinating. Here are a couple of my favorite articles found this week.
How gorgeous are these shades from Ilia? See, apart from being a polish junkie, I’m a lipstick fiend and the bolder the better. Bang Bang is calling my name with it’s dark siren’s song…but then, so is Crimson and Clover from the 2012 line. Poverty may make a girl willing to sacrifice, but we can still window shop!
The only thing I ever found in my fireplace was scraps of Santa’s torn pants and his boot print – planted. This is much cooler, if slightly macabre, I think.
There are a lot of people impacted by superstorm Sandy and there are a lot of ways to help. The Red Cross is in desperate need of blood, money, and donations. Please consider helping out if you can! I still can’t give blood (because of that one trip to China years ago!), but I have a couple of bags of things I was going to drop off locally that I’m going to get to the local Red Cross chapter instead. There is no such thing as a small donation, kittens.
Friend and Favorite of the Blog, Caitlin Kelly has a personal piece on Broadside about the aftermath of Sandy that is well worth a read. Having lived through several typhoons myself, I think her points are absolutely spot on. You don’t know how little you can actually live on until something big comes along and makes life extremely hard. Conversely, you realize just how dependent we are on other people (governments, companies, roads) to get those few necessities.
Last item of official business for American minions: VOTE. If you think yours doesn’t matter, if you live in a primarily red/blue state and believe voting blue/red won’t make a difference, if you think voting is a waste of time or inconvenient – do it anyway. It matters, and it’s important. Vote or forfeit the right to any complaints/victory dances for four years, no exceptions.
“I need to ask you to come over and clean my house,” Chief exclaimed when he saw my outfit today.
“Sir?”
“You’re supposed to be a cleaner, right? Or a housekeeper?”
Quoth I, cheerfully but not without a bit of spice, “I am the exact opposite of a housekeeper.”
J. managed to use that tree to “Popeye” my forearm a bit. We are neither of us photographers.
Small Dog Syndrome 