tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249573842012-02-02T03:07:52.590-06:00the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.comBlogger7421100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-60430025754149308052012-01-30T21:45:00.000-06:002012-01-30T21:45:00.256-06:00

Sleep not coming easily these days. The mind is muddled and is in need of some clearing. Perhaps the randoms will help, certainly a near perfect day like today does: ♥ It was 50 (plus) degrees today. Sunny. Clear. My daughter snapped this picture as she was leaving school today. Lovely, lovely sky.In fact, it was a lovely day. I read tomorrow is to be even better. I know some folks are missing

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-70698069571410474732012-01-22T20:45:00.000-06:002012-01-22T21:28:18.411-06:00

Friday's fall wasn't as much as last February's (photo evidence) but it was enough. Enough to snarl traffic and to change plans, not only for the evening but the entire weekend. Well, mine anyway. Passing up an invite to hear some jazz because of a prior engagement only to pass on the prior engagement because of not only event of snow but also the timing of same (the bulk of it coming just

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-62999809376822873992012-01-14T20:35:00.000-06:002012-01-14T20:35:01.015-06:00

 Sunday: 9,852  measurable steps taken. Atypical for me in that 1: I don't usually wear the gadget on the weekends. 2. a low daily total (judging by the weekday totals) for me. 3. Left to my own devices, I chose to take myself to the movies. Pariah I'll just say this for now: see this film!   Monday: 10,633 measurable steps. Most weekday evenings I'm home between 6--6:15. Since I'm home before

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-19853227361525927892012-01-02T18:15:00.000-06:002012-01-02T18:15:00.879-06:00

In the many days since the previous post several topics, reasons to write presented themselves as possibly post-worthy. And then they were not, in fact, posted for they couldn't in all honesty post themselves. I would have to play blog post conduit and for one reason or another, I couldn't. d is for December And then there we were at year-end and if there is ever a topic ready-made for

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-44295640548435331132011-12-17T05:00:00.000-06:002011-12-30T17:32:02.137-06:00

Some years ago I had the bright idea to stage the Christmas tree in the dining room. Prior to that ephipany the Christmas tree held court front and center in the living room. Lights ablaze, blinds cranked open, a dazzling array for the world to see. Well, at least the part of the world who happened down our street and then happened to look up a bit. The first year The Middle Girl's Family

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-6102887499317121032011-12-15T22:00:00.000-06:002011-12-30T17:31:17.098-06:00

This space, middle girl dot blogspot dot com began March 29, 2006 after several months of my finding, lurking, and then commenting on other personal blogs.  My search for a community led me to a cadre of some amazing women (mostly). That is to say there were mostly women, all totally amazing.  Many of those visited then are long gone now. Some others lie dormant but available for the random

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-26912515369744478292011-12-03T23:55:00.000-06:002011-12-03T23:55:00.755-06:00

  A part of me feels the need to write about my father but a much larger part is sick and tired of the entire rather road weary affair.  It must be addressed and it will be, just not here or now. I will say that the let's get his family together experiment is, in the words of SJP's Carrie Bradshaw, "so over we need a new word for over." Let us then move on to a new game, Holiday (psst,

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-42496368495704567772011-11-23T23:15:00.000-06:002011-11-23T23:55:24.310-06:00

For days I've felt a little . . . off, for lack of a more descriptive word. I thought it was tiredness brought on by too much work and too little rest. Or perhaps a malaise brought on by dreary weather accompanied by inexplicable? bloating, achy knees, odd cravings, emotional jags.   Then I attributed the out of step feeling with the chore of first, reading (objectively) and then commenting to

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-14132009495032673372011-11-12T21:59:00.001-06:002011-12-30T17:33:02.157-06:00

 . . . were some sweet posts. Well, not really. The first was about dating, or more specifically one date conducted via telephone for she is in another state (in more ways than one.) It is probably good that the post got eaten by a post eating animal, as it wasn't very . . . well, sweet.  The second post I lost was about my bat shit crazy older brother. I won't express just how un-sweet the

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-23740428892574230142011-11-02T19:47:00.000-05:002011-11-02T19:47:00.250-05:00

For the record I didn't hear the gunfire, only reports its existence. While walking to the train station on my way home from work on that particular day, talking to Dad on the phone, three ladies in scrubs standing outside of the Respiratory Health Center smoking warned me against advancing further toward the park by shouting in unison, "there was gunfire over there, don't go over there!!"  

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-42889549928415069162011-10-26T22:30:00.002-05:002011-10-26T22:30:00.618-05:00

 Monday: A patchwork of emotions welling up inside, threatening to bubble over the surface at any given moment.  Tuesday: Much like Monday except for the charming spillage of hot tea all over the desk creating accidental watercolors of hand-written reports.  Wednesday: What was that? Gunfire? Right where I need(ed) to be? Abort Mission (at least temporarily).  Thursday: Another conversation with

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-23453971438273417332011-10-16T13:30:00.001-05:002011-10-16T13:10:51.406-05:00

Like me she is a middle daughter with an older and a younger brother. However, unlike me she also has bonus siblings; an older and younger sister. So envious I was of those: sisters. I remember my mom telling me decades ago she always wanted four children. I've often wondered if  the fourth had been a girl and how I might have been different with a sister in my life. It was not to be. Mom and Dad

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-62366930245736085832011-10-11T01:00:00.028-05:002011-10-11T01:00:01.557-05:00

♥ For some October spells Autumn in fuller force. The trees are turning, the leaves are falling, the skies are clear and the air just a tad crisp. For some others October spells Halloween. Costumes are planned (made/secured) treats are purchased, pumpkins are carved, and parties attended. For still others, October spells apples; seeing favored varieties at the local market, bobbing heads in

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-46344233733655579442011-10-01T19:45:00.001-05:002011-10-01T19:45:00.416-05:00

family: a six letter word maze.   A couple of Sundays ago both brothers bounced into my day-to-day. You need a little background to know how incredibly odd a happenstance that is: we were never close (emotionally) my brothers and me. Older brother our home state when he was twenty-five. For over a decade there was no communication from or news of him or his whereabouts. During that period

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-22582647750858893162011-09-24T18:30:00.001-05:002011-09-24T18:30:01.061-05:00

*My contribution to the project: Pummelling the pull of potato chips. *Found via a blog I read. 

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-27016253935836810842011-09-16T01:30:00.015-05:002011-09-16T01:30:02.703-05:00

On this date in history, in addition to recollections reverent memorials and extending warm birthday greetings,   I will recall the first conversation I'v had with my father in . . . I don't know how long. It would have been long before Katrina, for he called sometime after, but got my machine. I called him back, getting his machine and from that moment to this, SILENCE. He'd called me way back

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-44062830434517456222011-09-03T23:00:00.003-05:002011-09-03T23:00:00.183-05:00

Someone in my building or someone (at the very least) with access to the front hall of the building sliced down more than half of the sunflower stalk growing, flourishing out in the front yard. I'd left my pruning shears sitting on one of the tables (holding my indoor plants) planning to use them at some point during the week to touch up some of the shrubbery following some aggressive growth

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-57881629463415036782011-08-25T22:35:00.002-05:002011-08-27T19:35:25.517-05:00

Opening email from the home unit means doing so in full view of whomever may be sitting in the living room. Depending on the day and time of day, that means in full view of the actor as the living room his room since he is temporarily in residence. A few nights ago I opened a  message with the subject line: friends? The body of the message was a photo of a voluptuous woman, dressed rather

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-32068973961328798302011-08-19T22:30:00.001-05:002011-08-19T22:42:04.437-05:00

 If you look closely you can see my brand new haircut. I did it myself!  My shoulders have been aching for several days. NOW I know why. Welcome to the Weekend. *for my friend, eb ef elf

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-82310275998600974972011-08-13T23:15:00.001-05:002011-08-13T23:15:00.269-05:00

If you've ever heard a rap performance* you'll recognize the familiar call: Throw your hands up in the a-ir. Wave 'em like you just don't c-are I hear the line (and the hip-hop melody) in my head three, four times a week; not due to any feelings of nostalgia for rap days gone by, but rather as accompaniment to the near misses suffered at the hands and feet of various motor vehicle operators.

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-17614569859011188662011-08-04T20:00:00.037-05:002011-08-04T20:00:01.515-05:00

Today is the second day of my bike to work week. I didn't start at the beginning of the week because my transit pass didn't expire until Tuesday night. I decided not to buy a new pass and plan to ride through the end of this week and through Tuesday of next week. From that point, it will be a day-to-day decision. Well, point of fact, it is a day-to-day decision now because if the weather is at

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-35140336108898456542011-07-27T23:40:00.002-05:002011-07-28T06:43:15.675-05:00

Brenda and I met over thirty years ago. She and my cousin C were girlfriend and boyfriend through high school, then an engaged couple a bit beyond high school, and then, a married couple from that moment to her last. A couple of daughters followed very shortly and a third (that elusive search for a male child) followed several years later. I have it on good authority that my cousin C never really

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-14104078859642509342011-07-22T01:10:00.002-05:002011-07-22T01:10:00.043-05:00

Lifted from my friend because . . . well, just because. A. Age In just a bit over a week I'll turn the clock on 51. Not nearly as troubled about my age as I am over the fact that in a bit over six months I will be the parent of a 30 year old son. Thirty. When that day arrives and we're being all celebratory and what-have-you I'll likely say something like, seems like only yesterday  . . .  B.

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-11784774169674517282011-07-12T18:30:00.004-05:002011-07-12T18:30:02.961-05:00

That would be me, judging by the scathing letter my mother sent me several days ago. She accuses me of many infractions some small, some tall, all add up to me being horrible, just horrible. I took a moment for these letters are not uncommon. My usual tactic is to quietly seethe (ok, maybe not so quietly, but certainly in the privacy of my rooms) call her proceed in my own daughterly fashion.

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-85337384180405610942011-07-06T00:30:00.002-05:002011-07-06T00:30:03.901-05:00

" . . . from deep in my soul I wish you Happy, Happy, Happy . . . "  The weekend, meaning "the holiday" was quiet by design.  No big family gatherings. No mountains of bar-b-que and potato salad. No fuss and very little muss. Just me, the cats, the dog, M (though I didn't know he'd be around all weekend) and D. Quiet. Relatively. It was bliss. Well, except for the few anxious moments I spent

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-69697140718306653532011-06-26T22:45:00.001-05:002011-06-26T22:45:00.980-05:00

The weekend began with such promise. Though worn out from a work week of moving the business from one location to another, working feverishly to keep to "business as usual" all the while, I kept my meet-up reservation promise and went to the Pride Festival on Friday night. I was a bit subdued as a companion who had promised to join me backed out at the last minute, but I solidered on and wound

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-1512731782808194222011-06-17T05:00:00.001-05:002011-06-17T05:00:03.905-05:00

As of this writing Miss Brin is still one wheel less. I haven't ventured out to secure a wheel, tube, and tire for Miss Brin because my mom has an acquaintance. Mom told me her acquaintance had bike parts; lots and lots of bike parts. She further told me that said acquaintance would be happy to check his bike parts stash and if he located the parts I (and Brin) needed he'd give them to me (us). 

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-46233052788557230572011-06-15T23:00:00.001-05:002011-06-15T23:00:04.310-05:00

The evening leaked away from me. The plan? Come home, shower, get into softer clothes, fix a plate of whatever delectable delight my lovely daughter prepared, eat, drink a beer (or two) watch So You Think You Can Dance? brush my teeth, read, write a letter (or in my journal) click on something to watch until my eyelids could no longer defy gravity. Well, the eyelids no longer defying gravity

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-15848590721901719782011-06-12T05:00:00.002-05:002011-06-12T05:00:00.086-05:00

The play in which my son currently appears is quite a story. A story, I must admit, I hadn't heard until he was doing his preparation research. And while I always enjoy seeing my son on stage, this time no exception. And while this production is very superbly directed and deftly acted by all cast members, it was a difficult play to watch. That being said, I was happy the director staged the

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-80083551730537820942011-06-08T22:15:00.004-05:002011-06-08T22:17:19.248-05:00

My hands, especially the one on the right side, look like they've been dipped in rubber cement for a game of "let's play who can make the best rub-off pattern." That is to say they are peeling and not healing. I know, enough with the skin already. But ladies and gents, it IS an issue. Stands to reason because I was running late this morning that I'd miss not one but two buses. On our beer run

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-56595541007007490662011-06-06T22:45:00.001-05:002011-06-06T22:45:00.045-05:00

I can't begin to tell you what seeing a clump of mushrooms popping up out of the earth does to my skin. Even now, I can't even look at this picture without feeling the creepy crawlies all over my body. It doesn't take much, especially these days, to send me into a cat scratch fever meltdown and clumps of mushrooms are just the ticket to send me over the edge.  And wouldn't you know it 'shrooms

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-91420083084245652792011-05-31T06:00:00.008-05:002011-05-31T06:00:02.886-05:00

My mother turned seventy-one a few days ago and to celebrate I took her out to breakfast this past Saturday. Normally, our trips to dining establishments (well, most any place actually) are fraught with,  well, just fraught.  Mom can be a challenge. But, as we both grow older I find that I'm developing a kind of barrier, I guess, to her, stuff, for lack of deeper, more comprehensive word.  I

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-18355065466056382392011-05-29T19:00:00.001-05:002011-05-29T19:02:04.385-05:00

It has been a horrible spring, i.e. beginnings of bike riding season. Leaving aside the cold and wet weather, as well as the skin ills and other stresses there were bike repairs to execute before any riding could be done.  Repairs executed, Brin* and I did get out toward the end of last month for a few laps around one of the local parks. The plan this year as in years past was to use the early

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-54583176867152491142011-05-26T19:30:00.001-05:002011-05-26T19:30:01.211-05:00

For several weeks now my skin has been under attack. As to whether the cause was some things I'd eaten, some things in the air, some things on my clothes, stresses, or various combinations of those some things or more, ceased being the point last Friday. Severe eczema outbreak. For whatever reason none of the usual, tried and true home remedies, diet modifications and the like seemed to stem

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-42259162628372041882011-05-18T20:32:00.001-05:002011-05-18T20:32:00.114-05:00

 What do you mean it is only Wednesday: COLD WORK HARD ITCH WHAT F*CK RATE LOSS FILL SHIP SCAB SCAR PAIN DAMN POST SELL TEST MATH EYES ASHY HAND FOOT MUFF EDIT CALL CELL MIKE DANI BANK F*CK GIFT GLAD . . . THIS DAY IS NEARLY ENDING. NEXT? BODY MIND REST.

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-3249971068417452052011-05-11T20:29:00.000-05:002011-05-13T15:29:22.542-05:00

1. Well it is an unofficial summer edition. We've gone from Winter to Summer in the last two days and no, I'm not complaining. I have up the idea of having a Spring weeks ago. I'm just making an observation. And those folks bitching about the cold, now bitching about the heat? Well, they just like bitching. I do wish they'd take it somewhere else.2. Do you know how much energy it takes to resist

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-12538695286048730722011-05-04T21:25:00.000-05:002011-05-04T21:25:00.098-05:00

Wednesday. I'm never 100% positive I'm spelling that right the first time. You'd think it be etched in my memory after all these years, but no, I have to stop and think, for at least a fraction of a second, to be sure it is correct. It is annoying. I do get annoyed I misspell (or mis-type) something, especially something simple or relatively routine, like "music". I discovered recently I left off

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-66900321132290532072011-04-29T19:30:00.000-05:002011-04-29T19:30:00.996-05:00

Well, no is isn't Thursday. I meant it for Thursday, but that didn't happen. Where have I heard that (or something similar) before? Anyhoo, it isn't Thursday, but this is this or that. So, piano players, not necessarily, Ms. Alicia, but generally. That is to say, tickling the ivories? Or . . .Plucking or strumming the strings. Recently, I had occasion to hear a woman telling a story whilst she

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-88814416220153750032011-04-25T23:50:00.001-05:002011-04-25T23:50:00.496-05:00

Post title courtesy of one of an earlier Chicagoist entry which reminds me yet again, that no matter how bad mine might be, someone else is catching it harder. Not, mind you, that I needed the minder. I'm faced with that reality each and every day. And on this day, I am grateful that my problems are infinitesimal compared to that others in my sphere face. On this day, I am grateful for two (

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-38966119220841835782011-04-22T17:00:00.000-05:002011-04-22T17:00:01.384-05:00

It is Friday and of course, you know what that means, RAIN and in the words of a work associate, "as if we haven't had enough." Truly. But, still rain is good. Good for the grass, the trees, the flowers, the knees...oh, well, maybe not the knees. Still, the rain is better than the alternative, SNOW, which we also saw this week. Monday's snowfall (a trace amount, really, less than an inch) broke a

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-72633382798841192392011-04-18T19:50:00.000-05:002011-04-18T19:50:00.527-05:00

Over the past couple of years one circumstance or another prevented me from accepting any one of a variety of invites to experience what I now recognize as one of Chicago's treasures. This year once circumstance and then another fell into place which is how I came to accept the most recent invite and found myself among a throng of folks cheering (wildly, in some cases) the home team Chicago Force

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-20272280792788101702011-04-12T20:00:00.001-05:002011-04-12T20:00:03.481-05:00

Delivered with far less exuberance than the former CTA CSA's "Good Morning Precious" the current CTA CSA's "Welcome to Wednesday" greeting falls somewhere between, "Hey, at least it isn't Monday" and "Hey, it is almost Friday" in the cheery schematic. Mostly, she sounds bored but feels compelled to offer some greeting to her customers. Though, I've noted, she apparently feels no such compunction

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-18280341226695064872011-04-04T23:00:00.001-05:002011-04-04T23:00:09.881-05:00

. . . or another week of random stuff. It's like needing to clean the closet, you can't move on until the underused, no longer fitting, the "what the heck was I thinking?" are purged from your cramped space.My head feels like a cramped closet. Thus . . .The actor's current show is entering the final weekend. I was saw the show this past Thursday and again on Sunday. Sunday made three. The Irving

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-55071043433145608262011-03-29T23:49:00.002-05:002011-03-30T00:01:44.187-05:00

A meeting site that I visit on occasion asks, among many things, "six things you can't do without" as part of the fleshing out of one's profile. As you might guess the responses vary as widely as the respondents. Some folks are literal. Some are surreal. Some have only one or two things, some exceed six by six or more.But, whether a respondent is smart or smart-alecky, the responses say a bit

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-84435829765880188722011-03-21T21:30:00.001-05:002011-03-21T21:30:01.077-05:00

Many evenings I sit with my fingers poised over the keyboard, mind full of words, thoughts, impressions . . . news to share, to spill. And many evenings I log off, shut everything down, frustrated by the inability to quiet my mind enough to put forth a coherent thought. This evening isn't much different but I shall try, hard(er) for I don't know when this opportunity will arise again, being home

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-67491444490999308212011-03-10T20:56:00.005-06:002011-03-10T22:24:51.310-06:00

. . . except, soon it shall be Friday and I do intend to act like it, dammit.

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-77231797533511907862011-03-04T00:30:00.001-06:002011-03-04T00:30:01.984-06:00

. . I feel no shame, I'm in love Not the romantic, "I want to spend the rest of my life basking in the glow of your beautiful smile and melting from the heat of your embrace" kind of love. But, the love of and for friends who share of themselves freely and fully. I'm in for that kind of love*, any day, every day; basking in the glow, melting from the heat. A fanciful piece of whimsy came

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-87159959166703903642011-02-25T20:40:00.001-06:002011-02-25T20:40:00.333-06:00

Most, if not all have been there; the thousand pound weight pressing on your bladder screaming for a body to get thee to the nearest relief station PDQ or else . . . Often most, if not all have been able (thanks to kegels?) to urge the pressing weight back up the canal, so to speak, allowing those precious extra minutes for a body to locate the nearest station toward partaking of sweet,

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-91656524631026660852011-02-21T12:00:00.001-06:002011-02-21T12:00:06.922-06:00

Now and again there is a craving. The craving usually centers itself around candy. The candy is almost always chocolate and almost always with nuts, like whatchamacallit ™ Likely, something that can be picked up in a rush, impulsively. Now and again there is a craving centering itself around cookies. More often than not the cookies are chocolate, with chips and sometimes, nuts. White chocolate,

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-20218467667897676562011-02-14T19:45:00.001-06:002011-02-14T19:45:01.162-06:00

first, let me wish myself a happy 4th birthday, since it seems like no one else around here is going to do it. i share a birth date with that tall fella that seems to be talking to himself all the time, though not in his normal voice. every time i ask what he's doing he replies, "i'm rehearsing." i'm not sure i know what that means and moreover i'm not sure i care. i'm probably coming off as

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-47211983601107771252011-02-08T01:30:00.000-06:002011-02-08T01:30:01.568-06:00

He came into the world in the usual way. Well, usual in that for centuries women were giving birth to babies. Baby boys, even. And in that way, usual as there was nothing extraordinary about his birth, except of course, that it was happening to me for the first time. Not a usual day for me. He arrived sooner than expected. The end of February was circled on the calendar. But, given that he

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-17277925707662950812011-01-31T21:00:00.000-06:002011-01-31T21:00:02.288-06:00

The task of breaking down cardboard cartons is herculean. The difficultly level ranking right up there with the likes of brain surgery. From the intricacies of slicing reinforced tape to the precision needed to massage creases to fold in on themselves, the entire operation is a daunting challenge. Daunting, yet many of your neighbors met the challenge with an eye toward tidiness and compacting

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-75559311973667435982011-01-24T21:00:00.001-06:002011-01-24T21:00:02.881-06:00

What is your preference, smooth or chunky? On a slice of wheat or oat bread, topped with either cinnamon or bananas (or both). Paired with a cup of skim or the newly favored almond milk . . . What is your preference, smooth or chunky? **note: product shown not necessarily an endorsement, though it is one of the brands currently in my cupboard.

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-16793209946188194672011-01-19T00:20:00.000-06:002011-01-19T00:20:00.432-06:00

For all the ugliness we witness, hear and read about, or perhaps even inflict, please take a moment and then a moment longer to recognize and rejoice.

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-62314335201222503722011-01-14T22:45:00.000-06:002011-01-14T22:45:00.576-06:00

Whew, finally. Friday.Rising early (thanks to Buttah the chest sitter and Peter the poker) to get down to the workplace neighborhood to have breakfast with a friend*before checking in to work for the day, was a real treat. We were sooo into our girl time, that time flew right by. It was nearly 9:30 and we were nearly an hour late for work. Oh. Goodness. Thankfully, the breakfast spot was only a

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-37502638902675314672011-01-06T23:20:00.001-06:002011-01-06T23:20:00.107-06:00

The note was in the box and next to the note, a bottle of . . . sex*, and it was hot. Well, not hot as it is best served chilled, but oh so hot to have received it. It was good, very . . . well, in a word, YUM.I know new(est) recruit reads here and I am sending her much love and wellness wishes. To respect her privacy I won't go further, but suffice to say she's going through some stuff and my ♥

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-23502929068027419592011-01-01T01:15:00.000-06:002011-01-01T01:15:00.822-06:00

Just about an hour in (CST) and so far 2011 feels a lot like 2010. No, I didn't expect BIG changes overnight, or even little ones. But, there has been news that will render twenty eleven different in some way, in many ways. Different better? Worse? Remains to be seen. In either case minutes will pass and adjustments will be made. It is what it is and what we make it. Does it amaze you that you

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-42809056962902299672010-12-27T23:30:00.001-06:002010-12-27T23:30:00.338-06:00

Of the definitions I found for salad this one fills the bill, a usually incongruous mixture: hodgepodge for Snicker™ Salad, most. When I first heard mention of the concoction in question I had a similar reaction, WTH?But yes, there is such a thing as Snicker ™ Salad and from my recent (and very brief) research this salad would be of the dessert variety, of course. Also, from my research there are

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-53484003182761380102010-12-21T20:00:00.000-06:002010-12-21T20:00:01.129-06:00

Well, to answer tiff's query the work get together was, well, here is part of what newest recruit said, "The people we work with are . . . unique. I'll leave it at that." And I'll leave it there too except to say, thanks to newest recruit a good amount of food was good. Beyond good. I will be singing the praises of (her version) of Snicker Salad for the rest of my singing days. Yum. Yum. Yum.

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-59169277104748437062010-12-16T21:30:00.000-06:002010-12-16T21:30:01.156-06:00

This week that is nearly done has been in a word, odd. I'm not quite sure I can adequately encapsulate the oddity that was this week nearly done but I can say that I believe the oddness began with a book club meeting last Saturday where the one (other) participant who came to the meet failed to finish the book. Me? Oh, I was only up until 3 in the morning finishing and making my notes for the

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-16434169404356580172010-12-09T20:06:00.001-06:002010-12-09T20:37:51.015-06:00

I'm trying, really, I am. Or not. But, I am, a little. The dating. On-Line. Yes, I'm trying. Still. Kinda. Sorta. Really, I don't want to date (I don't think) so much as to meet someone or a couple of someones to "hang out" with, after some time conversing, of course. But, I can't seem to get past the profiles. And pictures. Of dogs. No, not figuratively. I mean literally, pictures of dogs. As

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-86222744532503582642010-12-08T22:00:00.001-06:002011-12-30T10:45:21.679-06:00

'Tis the post where I admit, I sat on the cat. He wasn't wearing a hat, which is perhaps how I missed he was in the chair upon which I sat. That, and it is still frickin cold, but that isn't worthy of poetry or prose. 'Tis December. Chicago. 'Nuff said. In other news, some reviews were released for M's most recent play. He doesn't read them but can't totally escape them. I might not have

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-87017816659208148412010-12-06T20:30:00.000-06:002010-12-06T20:30:00.992-06:00

We had snow overnight Friday to Saturday. By the afternoon most of the major streets were clear. Many of the sidewalks were still fairly treacherous. I cleared our walk before I went on my excursion around town, but as it was still snowing I had to clear again before the day was done. As I understand it, hot dog man dances. However, when I saw him he was just waving his arms, point toward the "

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-39103830457489501282010-12-05T22:00:00.001-06:002010-12-06T09:30:42.254-06:00

On this date four years ago, I wrote about momentous events and among them, my 27th anniversary with 'the company' and now here I am trumpeting number thirty-one. A lifetime. I've been with the company longer than I was married. Longer than I've been a parent. My longest running relationship.Not sure how that sits with me today. Sure, I'm happy (thrilled, in this climate) to be gainfully employed

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-23643205449117206002010-12-02T22:00:00.000-06:002010-12-02T22:00:00.104-06:00

Don't know if Jessica and Jennifer are a new couple, an old couple, or and unrequited couple but it made me smile to receive this declaration on my dollar bill change. I hope they are happy, forever and ever and ever. And in keeping with the theme, my daughter noticed I brought home a parcel today and in her usual inquisitive fashion (especially around the 'daze) she asks, "what's in the box?"

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-35958487978331342972010-11-30T21:00:00.001-06:002010-11-30T21:00:04.010-06:00

It is another Tuesday, this one marking the end of another month another ahhhh November. November is a month full of the frenzy of clearing out after Halloween if that is your thing and getting ready for "the holidays." Not just Thanksgiving, or even primarily Thanksgiving but the BiG one.The first day of winter. Ok no, not that. The other big one. Well, actually December is full of big

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-87584807085518707832010-11-29T20:40:00.001-06:002010-11-29T20:40:26.615-06:00

. . . about the first work day following a four day holiday weekend is coming home to a full on quiet space. Only the sound of rain smattering the windows, the wind rattling the wood panes (in the back) and diva dog's intermittent barking stemming from occasional ghost sightings (must be ghosts as I sure don't see what has her all riled up) pierces the quiet. Pete has draped himself across the

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-14776478336388652682010-11-27T21:00:00.000-06:002010-11-27T21:00:00.610-06:00

One extra big bonus to holiday weekends is the extra day. On this, my second Saturday was an easy, slow going kind of day. The air was the cold but the skies were clear. There was some outside time (after a laze about morning with the sometimes pesky, sometimes lovable Orange Boy) with the Diva aka Diamond. She had to change out of her holiday dress for the outdoors for she has either lost a

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-74299601826951925182010-11-25T18:30:00.002-06:002010-11-25T19:19:26.651-06:00

Everything was humming along just fine, according to plan. The greens were done and so too was the dressing. The ham had only minutes to go, the turkey much longer. D was beginning prep for her cupcakes and spinach artichoke dip. I was beginning the prep for the macaroni and cheese and thinking about how to serve, where to stage. Something felt off. Something was off . . . the oven. Oh, damn.

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-56839452603493472262010-11-24T23:15:00.001-06:002010-11-24T23:15:00.192-06:00

All day long and now into the night memories have popped into my head, stories out of my mouth. The kids got into the spirit and began sharing tales of days gone by as well as notable moments from today. And so on this day (every day, really) with the aromas of part of tomorrow's dinner wafting through our space, I am thankful for memories and for the joyous times I've had with my son and

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-71973842934057044972010-11-23T20:45:00.000-06:002010-11-23T20:45:00.384-06:00

Since I can never remember which channel Comc*st / Xf*nity has assigned to The Weather one of my first early morning rituals is to grab my phone (device, whatever) and check the weather; cloudy, sunny, or any part thereof, and the temperature. Monday morning? 60. THIS morning? 30. And shortly afterward, Pete sneezed three times. Then the day was full of the usual workday routines, frustrations,

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-56733010547692769302010-11-22T19:26:00.003-06:002010-11-22T19:56:56.230-06:00

Hard pressed to find something to be thankful about today, well, except for the whole being alive thing. And for my son, daughter, mom (and other family) and pets. And . . . ok, not so hard pressed. But, it was a difficult day made more so by the rain. Oh. The. Rain. However, thankfully, (so far) my area has escaped the worst of it and though my feet, ankles, shins, knees (and the fabric covering

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-36274020503574074892010-11-20T18:30:00.000-06:002010-11-20T18:30:01.171-06:00

Thankful . . . for a sunshiny day. for mom's gracious gift of food (and most importantly, shopping) for daughter's breakfast treat.for comfy shoes. for that crazy cat. for bullet points. for being closer rather than farther from home when a nail flattened the bike's rear tire. . . . to be continued. . .

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-81942176179237432272010-11-19T20:30:00.000-06:002010-11-19T20:30:00.704-06:00

. . . to be thankful for Friday. It's Friday, for cripes sake! But truth be told these last several Fridays have been somewhat blah. Well, not that the Fridays have been blah. It is more that I've been blah about the Fridays. The Fridays were doing their level best to stir my interest but, very little interest was to be had. Fridays were nothing more than a beacon, signaling the end of a long

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-84041198401511034382010-11-18T19:12:00.003-06:002010-11-18T19:18:57.636-06:00

Orange boy vomited on my bed today and while that doesn't play as a thankful item, I am thankful that 1. daughter was home and 2. was thoughtful enough to remove the soiled sheets. And given that Wednesday was somehow skipped over, I am doubly thankful that I completed winterizing mom's apartment before the days and nights became too much colder.

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-61785334764096110752010-11-16T19:14:00.002-06:002010-11-16T19:33:05.200-06:00

'tis all quiet except for the occasional tingle of Buttah's collar and he saunters and then leaps to his bowl, the click clack of Diamond's nails as she scampers across the living room chasing her well worn soccer ball toy, and Pete's mews as the tries to rescue the map hanging by my desk from the frame that houses it. Thankful for the quiet and relative peacefulness of the scenes.

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-8085378662045301182010-11-15T18:30:00.000-06:002010-11-15T18:30:00.260-06:00

. . . my associate's safe return and getting back into the ease of all things routine. And laughter.

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-52874576355785182082010-11-12T18:00:00.000-06:002010-11-12T18:00:01.020-06:00

for e. Hot dogs are not in my top ten (or even 20) but now and again I get a hankering. Said, hankering calls for a Chicago style dog, celery salt, poppyseed bun, and sport peppers included. Though, I can do without the putrid green relish. Icky-poo. Hi-ever, add some kick-ass fries and aaahhh hankering satisfied, till the next time.Onward to the giving thanks moment: I am thankful for the

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-52402245637689570552010-11-11T23:00:00.001-06:002010-11-11T23:08:42.215-06:00

Mom has given us (me, son, and daughter) our Thanksgiving cards. She handed them to me last weekend while I was at her place, winterizing. She asked me to hold on to them. I asked why? And she replied, "because it is so early." Well, without going into the back and forth we had over this, let me just say, I didn't hold on to the cards. I gave them theirs, opened mine. And in the spirit of giving

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-5326309633097189302010-11-10T18:57:00.002-06:002010-11-10T20:14:39.206-06:00

You are hereby summoned: Jury Duty. The summons was for stand-by, which meant calling after 4:30 p.m. the day before to learn IF I had to trek nearly 16 miles to the county courthouse near Chicago's "North Shore". The recorded message said, "if your last name begins with B as in Bravo through and including Z as in Zulu, you must appear." And so, I had to prepare myself for the trek. The public

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-44603534040743813862010-11-08T21:09:00.002-06:002010-11-08T21:17:38.362-06:00

1. Cookies: most any kind will do. Of late, chunky chocolate chip and white chocolate, macadamia nut. Yum 2. Fried pie: generic, mass produced, apple. 3. The actor's epiphany had to do with current role. He struggled with how to play his character's opening scene. Walking home from rehearsal the other night--inspiration (epiphany) struck. He talked it out, worked it out, played it out for for

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-28579359863579454722010-11-03T23:15:00.000-05:002010-11-03T23:15:34.439-05:00

1. My brain is fried. 2. I had a bite of fried pie today. The first in many, many years. 3. I know why I've stayed away from fried pies. 4. Hi-ever, the taste of fried pie triggers: cookies. 5. Except there aren't any cookies. 6. That's probably a good thing. 7. The actor is home and he's had an epiphany. 8. He's fun. 9. As is the pup as she tosses her soccer ball to herself. 10. Did someone say

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-48087047941982051812010-10-30T19:30:00.007-05:002010-11-01T23:09:18.550-05:00

In addition to the written test (twenty questions and fifteen signs) there was the vision screening. I was next to an applicant who had the following exchange with a state clerk facilitating vision screening: a: G H B . . . sc: try again, that isn't a G a: G . . sc: try again, not a G a: Gsc: no ma'am, not a G try again(a's aide, grand-daughter repeats: not a G)a: Gsc: no ma'am I don't hear the

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-53820812083831315142010-10-27T20:00:00.000-05:002010-10-27T20:00:03.162-05:00

Spoons. Four years ago there was a brief mention of disappearing spoons. I am happy to report that the spoons didn't keep disappearing. The household wasn't rendered slowly but surely, totally spoon less.Now, however the issue is forks. Forks are walking away (not with the spoons, the spoons are staying put) at a slow and steady pace. But oddly enough, not all the forks, only the smaller forks,

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-64931056000649289162010-10-25T21:00:00.004-05:002010-10-25T21:00:02.013-05:00

I had high hopes for "The Whole Truth" mostly because I'm crazy wild over Maura Tierney and it is a law and order type show, my preferred televised genre.It appears that "The Whole Truth" and several others are on the bubble. I don't have a vested interest in any of the other shows, but I did want Maura's to survive. But, I must admit after seeing 3 episodes I can see why viewers aren't streaming

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-53280815967119821672010-10-21T22:00:00.001-05:002010-10-21T22:00:03.359-05:00

Diamond is begging, bouncing on her hind legs, for my peanut butter (chunky) and pineapple preserves on a very nutty bread, sandwich. Pete is splayed in the middle of my bed and will become all harumpfy when go back to retire for the night. Buttah is right here on the desk, helping me tyyype. As you might imagine he isn't much help. But, he insists on being part of the process, whatever process

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-34445229291405235992010-10-18T22:00:00.000-05:002010-10-18T22:00:03.212-05:00

. . . or, "how to throw a wrench into a quiet night." 1. Your mom (and her crew) deliver a new (free) refrigerator 30 minutes early, freaking out the furries (well, except people friendly Buttah). 2. Due to the early arrival no chance to clear a place, prep the area which results in chaos (and other people IN my kitchen and old fridge) 3. Spending the bulk of the evening shifting 2 refrigerators

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-73437800812587307392010-10-18T00:15:00.000-05:002010-10-18T00:15:00.708-05:00

Most mornings I have myself together enough to walk (or ride the bike) the five or so blocks to the train going in to work. Most mornings I prefer the walk over the riding as the walk affords the opportunity to gaze at the splendor of the trees. This time of year most of the trees still have their leaves and most are still green. But there are a few that sport leaves in various stages of greens,

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-2855711695867023872010-10-12T23:30:00.002-05:002010-10-17T10:10:23.505-05:00

Shoes to fasten, hands to hold. A fierce little girl who was rarely quiet, quite often bold. A fierce little girl who was rarely quiet, quite often bold. Arms and heart wide open truth be told.Has become a young woman, lo and behold! My darling daughter celebrated birthday number twenty-five, October 11th. And while this hasn't been a stellar year for her (us) she (we) are forging on. As some

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-89768253697896880602010-10-08T23:00:00.001-05:002010-10-08T23:00:01.432-05:00

This array is for my friend (who is NOT a cat person) who also is of the opinion that Pete is a pretty cat. We were at D and D's are of a similar opinion. The two boys couldn't be more different, though as noted previously, get along famously. Mike (also not a cat person) tends to favor Pete over Buttah because Pete is more of a loner. Just tonight he said about Pete, "attitude, dripping . . .

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-53253384945790573292010-10-06T22:00:00.000-05:002010-10-06T22:00:00.748-05:00

Yes, another tale of the orange boy. The chill(ing) pic is old. You may recall, the simpatico note...Buttah sitting on top of daughter's A/C unit (which yes, IS but soooo should not be ON the DR table). She took it out of her window when the nighttime temps dipped to the upper 40s recently. I'll be re-locating the unit to the winter time storage space as it must be lifted overhead and placed on

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-17024749831861918382010-10-01T20:45:00.001-05:002010-10-01T20:45:00.507-05:00

It was gently suggested that I might but casting blame at Buttah where none was due, that he might be taking the rap for one or both of his furry companions. Granted, I didn't witness Buttah breaking the teapot, but all the gathered evidence, circumstantial it may be, points to the orange boy. His reputation precedes him. Still, that isn't to suggest that the grey / brown boy is by any means

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-82800451723728843822010-09-30T21:00:00.001-05:002010-09-30T21:00:00.383-05:00

It is a small, ceramic, green teapot. It once posed decoratively on the lowest of a three shelf book and/or knick-knack shelving unit. It is now in two pieces. Well, technically three, the two base pieces held together by the bamboo handle.It can be repaired. Hot glue should do.Once repaired it will nestle snugly in my daughter's moving (eventually) box where some of other precious breakables

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-21601957058903350282010-09-26T08:45:00.000-05:002010-09-26T08:45:00.632-05:00

Peter, my brown tabby is joining me for coffee this morning. It has been awhile since he has hung out with me here at the computer, that is usually Buttah's domain. But, this morning, it's Peter, or rather, Pete. I really only call him Peter when I'm upset frustrated with his antics. I feel for him though. Several times a day (judging by what I witness most evenings and over the weekend) he has

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-23489171857944627582010-09-21T21:45:00.001-05:002010-09-21T21:45:00.803-05:00

During Saturday morning errands the bike and me got caught in the rain. Not, mind you, a light summer rain, but sheets of rain. And thunder. And lightning. I don't like riding in the rain, but especially don't like riding in flash flood type rains. So, I took cover under the massive awning of a massive gas station. I stepped inside the mini-mart to to purchase some tissues to use for wiping off

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-41174889273638551122010-09-19T00:30:00.000-05:002010-09-19T00:30:00.080-05:00

This has not been one of my better weeks. Between the stress of the work situation, the cold I try to rationalize away, and the eczema flare-up (my neck is raw--aaarrgggh) lopped atop my already wonky sleep pattern, well, let's just say, tired, cranky, somewhat un-focused has been the order of the days. Additionally, there have been dreams. Or rather, snippets of dreams. Or more accurately, I'm

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-16107800270544472362010-09-16T23:40:00.000-05:002010-09-16T23:40:01.020-05:00

Coughing, that is the worst. You're on the train and the fit comes over you. Best not to try to suppress, for that only makes matters worse. You hack and wheeze up a lung. Some riders try to ignore you, others stare daggers at you as though you are deliberately trying to make them sick, while still others, offer you a cough drop. Or ten. Coughing, that is the worst. Or no, worst than coughing is

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-87201617287611788922010-09-14T23:45:00.000-05:002010-09-14T23:45:00.257-05:00

The story alluded to in the earlier post isn't written. It may be written at some point, but can't be written now. There was a beginning, or rather, the workings of a beginning but it hasn't gone much further. Yet.And perhaps it won't. Like I said before, I can't think. I'm not drinking today, but still, I can't think. That is to say that I'm having trouble thinking beyond the here and now. And

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-37552601758675852042010-09-10T23:30:00.000-05:002010-09-10T23:34:45.297-05:00

As far as actual posts it is six hundred and forty five, but I have a draft pending, which may in fact, be deleted because I'm having a bit of difficulty framing the thoughts---it's a story, from a photo prompt. I may scrap it because, I'm having difficulty framing the thoughts. The thoughts that continue to circle my mind are mired in devastation--and various folks reaction to same. And I

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24957384.post-14308357880322675932010-09-08T21:30:00.000-05:002010-09-08T21:30:00.072-05:00

1. My eyes are watery, yet dry and scratchy. Allergies.2. Number one is making for challenging work days and yet another cause for sleepless nights. 3. Still, I manage to get another Gayborhood entry done. 4. I don't think I mentioned August's entry. 5. Have I mentioned how much fun these are to do? Oh sure, I agonize over a topic for a few days, but that's part of the fun. :) 6. If you're

the only daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12334580430376973159noreply@blogger.com1