Ship

I bet not all of you know the story of the ship painting, am I right? It's very large, this painting. And full of ships. Ships firing cannons at one another and burning. Also, do you think we have enough fishing poles?  No? Oh, don't worry, that's only some of them. Anyway, back to the ship painting: it made the trek over to the new house last night. I had high hopes that it was going into the Goodwill pile, but no such luck. Since I guess it's here to stay, I thought it would be fun to revisit the story of its genesis, circa 2008/2009:

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Will someone please poke me in the eye with a sharp stick?

Please, I beg of you! Someone, anyone? Lloyd is buying 'art'. Yeah, yeah, yeah, blindness is no joke, blah blah blah. My apologies to all the blind people reading my oh-so-popular blog. Now, if I may continue. Lloyd and I have TOTALLY different tastes in, well, everything. We never, ever like the same furniture, housewares, decorative items, clothes or anything else. Marital fealty prevents me from fully exploring my true feelings about Lloyd's taste in art here, so let's just let Lloyd's own words speak for themselves.

But first, a little background: Lloyd has commissioned a local artist to paint a picture of an epic naval battle, circa 1700's. He has been down at the gallery at least twice a week, giving direction: A little more tattering on the sail, please, and there's not quite enough orange in the cannon fire, and so on. The artist doesn't seem to be annoyed by this, but I guess when you are a big-shot art patron paying over a hundred smackers for a custom piece, the sky's the limit, right?

A word about the gallery- outside, as advertising, they show paintings done from photos. The paintings remind me of the 'King of Queens' episode where Deacon and Kelly give Doug and Carrie a hideous painting of themselves (Doug and Carrie, that is) for their anniversary. Doug's teeth are huge, and Carrie's arm is freakishly misshapen. Doug and Carrie hate it so much that they stage a robbery to get rid of it.

And now, here's Lloyd:

"The artist used to paint in New York and he said this size painting would sell for $19,000!" So I guess we're getting a real bargain. I didn't know paintings were sold by the square inch. 

"I told him that it had to be just right because we're going to hang it in a place of honor and pass it down from generation to generation!" Forget the sharp stick; just put me out of my misery entirely.

And, the absolute worst, the one that sent chills down my spine: "I'm going to get him to do another one, this one of a New England scene!" When I suggested maybe we get a New England scene from a New England artist, he said, "But do you know how much that would cost?" Umm, no, let me get out my measuring tape and calculator and figure it out!

Sunday, July 20, 2008

The masterpiece has arrived

Lloyd picked up his painting today from the shop. I'm not sure when the big unveiling will be but I am all aquiver with anticipation. I will put up a picture as soon as possible. In the meantime, this photo is of the very alarming painting outside the gallery. Is it just me, or does the woman look like she has a combined shoulder and elbow, or shelbow, if you will?

Monday, July 21, 2008

The moment you've all been waiting for....

Without further ado, here is the painting. I have to say, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. It is, however, very large. And, we discovered it does not have one of the agreed-upon modifications: a third ship, smoldering and foundering in the background. I'm not sure if Lloyd plans to take it back for alterations (revisions? restroking? insertions? Not sure of the correct terminology, or if such terminology exists). Also, we do not have the necessary hardware to hang it on the wall. So for now, it has found a happy home in the laundry room, propped up by a gallon of antifreeze. Hehehehehe.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Sunday

Here are some photos of Shane playing in a box that came in the mail from Grandma the other day. Weston went to Vacation Bible School this morning at church. He had a good time, though he didn't want to go beforehand. Lloyd stopped on the way home to check on his painting. It has the third ship burning in the background now, but the smoke is not quite right; it should be drifting with the wind and not going straight up into the sky. I'm pretty sure I could have learned some Korean swear words today if I had been paying attention, but they were hard to make out through the gritting-teeth smile.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

The Bad Penny Turns Up, and it has a friend

Well, it was inevitable. You may recall that Lloyd had taken his painting back to the shop for modifications. If you're unfamiliar with the painting saga, you can read about it here, here and here. Yesterday, we had a sitter so we went downtown for lunch. After a delicious meal of hot shredded beef soup, bibimbap and kimchi dumplings, Lloyd said, 'Hey! Let's go check on my painting!' I died a little inside, but I pasted a smile on my face and off we went to the 'Blue Boy Gallery'. The painting was done, and Lloyd was very pleased with it. The smoke is apparently just right now. I asked him how he was going to bring it home, because it's quite large (and valuable!) and we were on foot. He said, 'Oh, I'm just going to wait until the other one is done and get them at the same time." My head spun, I blacked out just a little, and everything started moving in slow motion. I understand that's a common reaction to shocking and traumatic incidents, like car accidents or when you fall through the ceiling. Not that I would know. Anyway, I said, 'Whaaaaaa?', and Lloyd pointed to an easel where a small canvas rested. Clearly visible were the outlines of the two ships, and it was obvious even in my discombobulation that there will soon be another, similar painting released into an unprepared world. If you're getting a little nervous, I totally understand, but you can rest easy. It turns out that his mother admired the painting, and so he is having a similar, smaller one done for her. Whew.

Cue the Spooky Music

Well, my friends, the day has come. The paintings are back from the shop, propped up in the bedroom, awaiting the unwrapping. They don't look so bad with that pretty paper covering them up, do they? If only the paper could remain... But no, I mustn't give myself false hope. Fear not, I do have options: I can always throw myself to the badgers.

If you are not familiar with the sad saga of the paintings, you can read about it here, here,
here and here. Then you can send your condolences to storiesfromkorea@gmail.com.

So! That's the epic beginning of the infamous painting. I'm still plotting its ending. The Goodwill thing didn't work out for me, SO FAR, but I'm a resourceful girl.....

House

Heheheheheheeheheh..... that's the sound of me laughing hysterically, in order to keep from crumpling up into a fetal ball and whimpering until I fall asleep in a sodden, tear-soaked heap. Remember last week, when Lloyd was going to move us while I was out of town? Well, he did. Sort of.  When I came home, I took one look and then had an overwhelming urge to light out for Mexico and consume mucho, mucho cervesas, but sadly all the cars were jammed full of garbage bags, boxes and miscellaneous flotsam and jetsam. No beers, either. Truly, it was..... well, here, see for yourself: 

So, yeah. It's pretty daunting. The garages at both the old house and the new house are full, there is a huge pile of junk awaiting a dump run, even more that needs to go to Goodwill, and nothing is where it belongs. For example, it's obvious that weapons, antlers and pilot crap all belong in the garage, right? But funny, that's not where they are. Hmmmmmm. 


On the plus side, the outside is awesome, and I haven't even been to the swamp yet. For the first time, my kimchi pots have a proper home. Oh, if you click on that link to read about when I bought my pots, just ignore the extraneous story about how I accidentally got trapped in the men's room in a Korean discount store, okay? Thanks in advance.


Here are some pictures of the outside. The garden is going to be in the front where the blueberries are; that's the spot that gets the most light. There are also empty beds all along the front. The dirt doesn't look super good but luckily there is a big pile of old rabbit poop next to the garage. Seriously, how fantastic is this place?!?!?!? You can almost NEVER find a house that comes with rabbit poop. 


Weston really wants to get some chickens right this very second but I'm pretty sure I'm not quite prepared for that. I have to go out of town again soon, though, and I never know what I'm going to find when I come back. Hell, we might have emus or something.  I'm a little concerned about the french drain that runs the entire length of the uphill side of the house, but oh well, we need to get rid of a bunch more useless stuff anyway, and flooding is as good a method as any.  


Have a good weekend, my friends, I am heading out to work in the garden!

Huckleberry in front yard

Storage building, blueberry bushes, and wellhouse

Kimchi pots

Backyard with salmonberries

View from wine drinking spot deck

Move

****Updated: in retrospect, I feel the tiniest bit sorry and guilty for what might be construed by some as Lloyd mocking. By 'some', I mean Lloyd, of course. Not quite bad enough to take this post down, only bad enough to add this disclaimer, and to state that I did, in fact, probably agree to undertake the moving methods described in an unflattering manner below. I might even have helped. But I was under duress.****

Yep, we've been in the same house for a full eighteen months now, time to move! I counted them up today, we've moved ten times in a little less than ten years. This time is a little different, of course- it's the first time we will have to pack ourselves. By 'we', I mean Lloyd, because I will be working out of town. See the picture up top? It's part of the garage. I stopped going in there, as you may recall, some time ago when I noticed Lloyd had the corpse-stashing cooler, some hefty bags, a mop and a case of bleach staged by the door. I sucked it up today, though, so I could illustrate what a daunting task the move is going to be. The first thing I noticed was the pile of firewood the size of a small sports stadium; it's much larger than it used to be. I mean, I like wood as much as the next girl, but there's a limit, am I right?

So, okay, now it's Sunday night. I started this early in the weekend and had big plans to finish up a nice long post about the new house and how I didn't see it first, which gave my sister conniptions but all my military spouse friends will know that you get to see the new house before it's picked out only about half the time, which in my experience is about the same ratio at which you get your husband to be present at the births of your children. But let's face it, I'm well into the second glass of wine and the posts don't write themselves, even though it seems like it sometimes, so I'm going to finish it up combat style:

• The new house is awesome. It has about a million huckleberry, salmonberry and blackberry bushes, its own stream and swamp, ample hoses and limited carpet, among many other fine features.

• I can't decide if I feel sorrier for Lloyd, or for myself. He has to move however many millions of pounds of crap we have, but I have to live with the aftermath. I'm thinking of the time he drove my car into the back of a U-Haul and then tossed a crib on top of it for a move from Florida to Louisiana and scraped up both sides AND the top. Oh, and also of the time he put my ridiculously-expensive-purchased-foolishly -for-a-first-child leather glider in the back of his truck and didn't secure it so it rocked back and forth until it rocked right out onto the road, and then tried to throw it away. Oh, sorry, is my bitter showing? And I changed my mind. I DEFINITELY feel sorrier for me.

• Don't worry about me, though, I have all my important junk stuffed in plastic bags in my car. I am not even kidding. I could live comfortably for quite some time.

• We had a nice picnic at Grandpa's house over the weekend. Well, nice to everyone except Shane, who informed me that it was the worst bad picnic ever. I'm not sure, but I think it was because Aunt Jennifer called a premature halt to the dirt clod throwing. Doesn't he look TRAUMATIZED? You'd almost think he was about to move.

• I'll keep you posted; I'm pretty sure I can blog from the car. Have a good week, my friends!

Yellow

****WARNING for Helen: immediately below this warning is a picture of my foot. It probably won't traumatize you as much as this one, but you are likely to suffer moderate discomfort. Please click here for Hilarity in Shoes, which I think you will like much better than feet****

Well, I guess the Easter bunny can live to terrify small children for another year. I caved in and bought the yellow coat this morning, so there will be no need to skin his yellow fur off for a cape. Wait, if you didn't read yesterday's post, you will probably have NO IDEA what I'm talking about, even though it makes PERFECT SENSE. So, let me explain. No, there is no time. Let me sum up. See, I had this brilliant plan to..... Oh, NEVER MIND. It's a long story, and trust me, the scheme was genius beyond words. In any case, it ends like this: I have a beautiful new yellow coat. So beautiful that I painted my toenails to match it. I do like sandal season but sadly, it appears that boot season may be behind me. Bittersweet, I know, and as a result I have been thinking ALL DAY about my motorcycle boots that I lost in the great Osan mold epidemic of '08. Oh, those would have been SO AWESOME with my new yellow coat.

Also, I noticed another problem caused by the fantastic new coat: it's sort of like when you put in a new kitchen floor, and then you realize how ratty your cabinets and countertops are. Then you replace those, and start noticing the chips in your china and how your pans are all scratched up and how you don't have NEARLY enough wine. No? Maybe it's just me. In the case of the coat, I decided it would look stunning with navy, and I don't have any navy. And maybe some blue and green toned scarves. And a crisp white shirt, and DEFINITELY some new purses. And probably a lot of new open-toed shoes. So you know what happens next, right? Yep, I am for sure taking that sucker back tomorrow. Okay, fine, I am totally just kidding. Wanna go thrifting with me? I will be there every day for AT LEAST the next three weeks. Maybe I will even find some new motorcycle boots!

Well, that's all for now, I have to go rest up for all that shopping. Have a good week, my friends, wherever you are!

Easter

Happy Easter! Oh, I know Easter is not actually until tomorrow. I have just never felt especially bound by convention, and besides, my sister did all the work and she said we were having Easter today. If she hadn't done all the work, we wouldn't have even HAD Easter. I told that to some people in the office the other day and they looked at me as if I had two heads, both with horns. I didn't realize not wanting to tell lies to your kids about some giant imaginary rabbit and then bust your ass to hide eggs full of sugar and chemicals for them to ingest was so controversial. But I guess it is.

So, we went to Grandpa's house, he cooked a ham, Jennifer made all the kids lovely baskets, Stefan hid about 4,372 eggs and a great time was had by all. Even the dogs and the garden statues were all decked out for the occasion. You'll note Ranger has a yellow Easter bunny attached to his collar. Do you guys think the Easter bunny really is yellow? I'm not a huge fan of holidays in general, especially ones that create work for me, and I've been coveting that snappy lemon-colored coat, you know. But I could go with a fur cape, too. The ears could attach around the front in a jaunty bow, what do you think? I've seen pink and green Easter bunnies, too, though, and those aren't really my colors so much. At least this season. Oooh, that gives me an idea for winter, too: can't you just see me in a deep red velvet? With white trim!

The kids especially enjoyed playing in the dirt pile in the driveway- they got out bowls and dumped in some pond water to make concrete. Something about the Easter bunny sleeping with the fishes, I dunno. You don't think my cape will be ruined if he gets waterlogged, do you? One thing I really require in a garment is that it can be easily laundered. I suppose he has to shower, what with all that hopping and egg-delivering, so you'd think it could go in the wash. In any event, all four of the kids got all muddy, marked up the garbage bins with dirty handprints to trick Grandpa into thinking there were aliens there, dug holes in the lawn, made piles to look like poop and threw dirt clods at each other. Then Jennifer came out and gave me the stinkeye for letting them get so dirty. I keep thinking she'll stop letting me watch them one of these days but no luck so far. It was BARELY questionable activity, anyway, not like they were chasing each other with sharp tools. At least not for very long. Then Stefan finally got sick of the mess and gave them an involuntary hosing down; they threw fits and we all went home. About the usual holiday outing, all things considered.

On the brown sweater front, I have been shopping multiple times with very limited success. I went to Goodwill today and while THE sweater continues to elude me, I did see two things that I dropped off the week before, which always amuses me. I'm not sure why, except that I am apparently very easily entertained.

And that's the Easter report from here; I hope you all have a great weekend!

April

Haha, fooled you! This isn't a real post. I WOULD write a real post but ***insert whiny excuse here***. Also, I can't find a brown sweater that suits my exacting specifications and I can think of little else. I keep expecting the universe to drop one in my lap as reparations for the scarf episode but no such luck so far. In fact, the desired sweater has so thoroughly crowded everything else out of my head that I successfully resisted purchasing multiple cunning coats while sweater shopping, if you can believe such a crazy thing. Even a delicious-looking lemon-yellow one with front pockets and..... soft, smooth, mahogany-colored....wait, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, instead of an actual post, the latest and greatest:

-Shane has decided he is going to be both a jet pilot AND a swordfighter. Thanks a lot, LLOYD.

-The boys are working on a secret club called hmmmm hmmmm doodle. Oops, I hope I didn't blow their cover. I would make a terrible secret agent. I'm not really clear on the full scope of this effort but there is going to be fish. I'm a little scared, because these big bowls of water with rocks and small dishes in them are appearing all over the house.

-Jennifer has some beautiful spring pictures up at her blog, check them out. I WOULD have put up some beautiful spring pictures only insert whiny excuse here I am lazy as hell I am too obsessed with my imaginary super soft, rich chocolaty-brown sweater to even consider taking pictures or doing anything else productive in any way I don't have any.

And, that's all the news from here for today; let me know if the universe accidentally gives you my sweater! I'll take that yellow coat, too, if you don't want it. Have a good week!

Beautiful

Wow, is it a beautiful day! The boys are outside wreaking havoc in their bare feet; it's hard to believe that this was the scene outside my office two days ago:

That is the smoker's shelter outside the office, collapsed under three or four inches of wet snow. Boy, you have never seen such a crabby bunch of tokers, I'm not kidding. But that's all in the past, right? And all that nasty ridiculously late snow is gone. The sun is shining, the dandelions are blooming, and the grass is lush and tasty:

I think we can all see what's wrong with this video, don't you? I was shocked, I tell you, SHOCKED, to learn that Lloyd does not allow the boys to eat grass. I KNOW! What is he thinking? I put a lot of effort into encouraging them to be self-reliant; that really cuts down on the number of cheese quesadillas and peanut butter sandwiches I have to throw at them. Mostly my efforts consist of ignoring their ever more insistent requests for food until they give up and scrounge something for themselves. And really, they are excellent foragers. They know all the edible weeds in the yard and are pretty agile at snapping up bugs. The less food we need, the more cash available for wine! Besides, a little grass never hurt anyone, right?

He probably also doesn't let them jump out of trees, but I didn't want to ask. What I don't know doesn't hurt me, I always say! Not captured on video:

Weston (approximately 10 feet up the apple tree in his bare feet): Can I jump from here?

Me: I don't know, can you?

Weston: Tell me if it's safe!

Me: You'll have to decide for yourself. I don't know if I'd do it, myself, from that high up with no shoes on.

Weston: Will I die?

Me: No.

Weston: But is it safe?

Shane: It's safe! Do it!

Weston: No! (climbs down gingerly)

I think I might be taking this self-reliance thing a little too far, though. When I came out of the shower this morning, I discovered Shane, naked, plunging the toilet and Weston on the computer, shopping for turtles. They're starting to scare me a little, I don't mind saying. I'm pretty sure there's no going back now, though. All I can do is hang on for the ride. And stock up on wine. Okay, fine, I would do that anyway. WHATEVER.

Returned

Remember when my scarf disappeared? And I was super pissed off at the universe? I am not kidding, I looked EVERYWHERE for that thing. I looked especially hard in my closet, because I figured that was the most likely place for it to be, unless it was purloined to construct a robot kitty army or similar (also fairly likely). I looked on the shelves, under my purses, in all the corners. I even crawled around with a flashlight in case it slipped down behind the shoes or under my possibly-too-large collection of coats. So you can imagine my surprise this morning when I found it folded on a shelf IN MY CLOSET, almost in plain sight. I took a picture of it in case the universe decides to yank my chain again and I need to put up flyers. Notice how the back and front are different? I love that about it because I can dial down the orange if I want. I tried to take a picture of myself wearing it so you know what it looks like on. You know, so if it disappears again and you see someone wearing it you can kick some scarf-stealing ass. Unfortunately, I am not very good at taking pictures of myself, apparently, as I made approximately eight thousand attempts and ended up with not one publishable photo for my trouble. So you will just have to use your imagination when you are trying to decide whether you should attack someone to get my scarf back for me.

Anyway, you might surmise that the scarf was in my closet all along and I just didn't see it, but you would be dead wrong. The scarf was not in the closet. It disappeared and then it came back. I don't know why, and I don't especially care. My friend Sarah thinks I earned some karma points after the poker chips yesterday and the spaghetti mess this morning. See, I dropped a giant steaming plate of pasta and sauce as I was heating up leftovers for breakfast. It landed all over the microwave, the stove, the floor and me. The clean-up was pretty daunting; I was thinking of just moving out. To a clothing-free community. So maybe she's right, because that WAS pretty bad and definitely deserving of some redistribution of spiritual wealth.

The scarf is back, and that's good, but I like to plan ahead a little. Just a little, mind you, mostly I'm a flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. At least until my pants rip and I crash and burn in a bloody heap, but that almost never happens. Right now, though, I'm thinking I should stock up on scarves so I always have a couple of spares for the next time the universe gets all smart with me. This one came from Qatar, so if you know someone at The Deid that wants to go can tolerate scarf shopping for me, let me know!

And on an unrelated note, I have a minor correction and also a comment about yesterday's post. I have been informed that what I described as a hole to China in the lawn is actually a hole to Africa. Presumably it makes a sharp turn down there somewhere, perhaps around the Mohorovicic Discontinuity. And finally, I feel I was unfairly accused of whining in the comments, when in fact I was not whining at all, but merely stating facts.

That's all, my friends; catch you next week! If you have time, check out Doraville for some new entries from my mother's book. My beloved Helen has been working like crazy posting them; isn't she the best?!?!?!!? Of course, if you know Helen, you already know that. But a reminder doesn't hurt- love you, Helen!

St. Patrick's Day

Happy St. Patrick's Day! I just looked it up; I had absolutely no idea that it was a Christian holiday, though I suppose the St. part might have been kind of a giveaway. At least St. Patrick doesn't sound like too much of an asshole, unlike some of those other jerks. In any case, I'm a fan of any saint that properly appreciates beer and drunken nakedness. I've never understood why we need a special day for that; usually I just call it 'Thursday'.

We are having a pretty standard weekend here, bizarre holiday or no. The boys are out cutting up sticks in the back yard after having collected a plastic container full of innocent unsuspecting spiders, constructed some sort of robot out of a flashlight, broken toys, nails and fishing line, and dug a hole to China in the lawn. There is also a small pile of charred debris on the back porch; I'm not even going to ASK about that, as I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. Additionally, I am deeply regretting the day in December when I optimistically purchased a thrift store set of approximately nine billion poker chips in a spinning holder for a Christmas present for them. I was thinking of how nicely it would supplement their math education, of course.

I'm sure you know where this is going. Those cursed plastic tokens are all over the house, and Shane will be asking for Jack and Coke and plotting a road trip to Vegas any day now. On the other hand, Weston's most recent math lesson consisted of some algebra problems that are probably not addressed in most first grade curricula. Most likely the poker chips were instrumental, and now he can develop some brilliant casino scam for Shane to execute. Then I'm taking my cut right off the top and going to the spa. With wine. At least that's what I tell myself every time I get another one of those damn things jammed into my foot.

Hmmmm, what else? Oh, yes. There is a woolly bear caterpillar loose in the house. Apparently, it was released from the container it lives in for a little exercise, and Shane was supposed to be 'babysitting' it to keep it from getting lost but fell down on the job. Also, there are traps set around the living room. The traps consist of balls wrapped in blankets. See, you step on the blanket, not realizing there is a ball in there and you slip and fall. It's surprisingly effective. Geez, forget the spa and just bring on the wine, baby! And make it snappy, because now Shane is planning to acquire four baby cheetahs. He's a resourceful little thing, too, I wouldn't rule it out.

Have a good weekend, my friends! I was planning to lounge on the couch with wine but now I'm scared of accidentally falling asleep and getting cheetah-mauled. I'm definitely in the market for a good plan B. I can't cross the living room so I might be stuck here at the computer. I'll see you on Facebook as soon as I finish my wine delivery order.

Wrap-up

So! I didn't write all week, sorry! I have been working extra super duper hard lately and it takes some getting used to. I can barely lift up my wine glass and text all my friends at the end of the day, seriously. Last night I got the most awesome series of wrong number texts ever:

1. please control your girlfriend

2. (attached recording of loud drunk obnoxious woman)

3. IM SO SORRY

4. This is the wrong number!

I was so worn out I didn't even write back, can you believe that? Because that would be some high quality entertainment right there. The possibilities were endless and it was almost physically painful to have to let the opportunity pass me by.

I have high hopes for next week, though. In fact, I'm planning to get my skates out of the trunk of my car for the first time since I fell down on the path outside my office at lunch time and had to hide my arm from the safety nerds for fear they would make me fill out a form. I'm working in a different office for a while and there isn't a good place to throw rocks, so I figure vigorous skating might suffice for getting out some of my aggression. Or knocking me unconscious. Either one works for me.

Let's see, what else? Oh, my sister Jennifer has a piece in a new show that opens on March 23rd. You can read about it and see her piece on her blog. And, my friend Leah has a new post on her guest blog at girlfriendology.com. It ends with a quote from me so check it out! I feel very clever and famous, thanks, Leah!

On the book front, I am reading 'Why my Third Husband Will be a Dog' by Lisa Scottoline. I think I picked it up at Goodwill because it has the best title ever and I am not disappointed with it. It's a collection of mostly funny essays; definitely recommended. I also recently read 'Think' by Lisa Bloom; I might have written about it before. I liked almost the whole thing except for one chapter where I thought she was totally out to lunch. Too bad I can't remember what the issue was. Anyway, good book, give it a read if you get a chance.

That's the weekly report; I'll try to be a little more prolific in the future. Have a good weekend, y'all!

SCARFU

I am pretty sure I have had a tragic SNAFU with my favorite scarf, making, naturally, a SCARFU. I'm not totally positive because I haven't finished tossing the boys' room but it appears that I might have accidentally given the best scarf ever to the Goodwill. Somewhat surprisingly, this has never happened to me before, at least as far as I can recall. Perhaps the universe has decided it's time for the scarf to have a new home, and I'm not sure how I feel about this. I'm picky about scarves, so it can't be easily replaced, but I've often heard that the universe knows what it's doing even if it doesn't meet with my approval. I don't believe this, of course, but the fact remains that my scarf is gone and I can either stomp my feet and cry, or go Goodwilling for a new one. I guess we all know the right answer to that one. And if YOU are out thrifting and it looks like the universe has decided that a super soft black, brown and orange leaf/paisley patterned pashmina needs to go home with you, you can just bring it right back to me, got it? Because I'm not done with it, and I don't give a rat's ass what the universe says.

Moving on, because more scarf talk is just going to vex me, I got a couple of interesting comments on my post about the first aid kit/dangerous unicorn of the other day that I would like to address. First, I was forced to choose a fierce animal persona at work, not at home. Apparently that wasn't quite clear, but if it had happened at home it wouldn't even have merited a mention. Sadly, I can't post the majority of the conversation, though I would dearly love to. It was highly amusing and enlightening but has high potential for getting me outed.

And, secondly, someone who shall remain nameless thinks I should have just shut up about the first aid kit because.... oh, never mind, I'm not going to try to paraphrase. Here is the direct quote: "if you can make such a commotion about one band-aid--how busy are you really?? Either that or you have totally gone over the edge with too much work/stress in your life. Or, maybe that is just how things work there and you are certain you weren't aggravating the situation. I am just saying...... Maybe this is a time when you should have used the mantra "...don't sweat the small stuff..."" Well, nameless commenter, as it happens, it really wasn't about one band-aid, but more about preventing a multitude of toe stabbings. Although, perhaps, there might be the tiniest kernel of truth in the part where I should just shut my gob at work. But then I wouldn't have so much to post about, now would I?

Remember when I got my tiara? I do, that was such an awesome day. So awesome that I bought myself a magic wand to go with it. Well, gotta go, I'm going to go see if I can whomp myself up a new scarf.

***updated to add: I have finished my search of the boys' room. No scarf, but I did find a life-sized glow-in-the-dark skeleton, three apple cores, a pair of pliers and fourteen stuffed cats.

Caution: DANGEROUS UNICORN

Holy roadkill, people. You would not believe the day at work I just had. I feel like I got run over by a steamroller and then scraped up with a pitchfork, tossed into an incinerator and dumped at a landfill by the Pentagon. It started out okay, until I had a little accident and my finger started bleeding. That's all. Just a tiny little cut that started an avalanche of crazy.

I have this problem with the bandages at my office. The truth is, I'm kind of a menace and I frequently need minor medical attention, so I'm a connoisseur of adhesive bandages. We have first aid kits on the wall in multiple locations but I'm sorry to report that the bandages are often missing and always substandard. And I must point out that I am well-versed in opening the first aid kit, retrieving what I need, and then successfully latching it and walking away with minimal trauma. You can imagine my delight, then, when I spotted a brand new first aid kit affixed to the wall this morning. I unlatched it so fast your head would spin, eager to check out the new bandages, only to cry in dismay as the supplies tumbled down onto the floor. In fact, if I had been wearing open-toed shoes, I might have suffered an injury from the baby delivering/tracheotomy scissors. Naturally I never wear open-toed shoes, even though I have the most awesome sea green toenail polish on right now. I WOULD wear open-toed shoes, only I can barely keep from tripping over my own feet when I'm wearing sensible boots. NOT RELEVANT.

Because I am a kind-hearted person, my first inclination was to fix this problem so it wouldn't happen to anyone else. After I punched my whiteboard, I mean, and the guy that hung up a first aid kit that was meant to lay flat. I went to talk to him about how we needed to either put the thing somewhere else, or put a note on it so people knew not to open it while it was on the wall. Shockingly, he looked at me like I was the stupidest thing to ever walk the earth on two legs and said that I should have KNOWN that I needed to take it off the wall before I opened it. So I canvassed the office. Every single person that I asked, with one notable exception, agreed that I was right and he was grievously wrong. WRONG, WRONG, WRONG. If a first aid kit hangs on the wall, it is reasonable and logical to assume it can be opened ON THE WALL. So I told him to shut up and put the note on the first aid kit.

Then all hell broke loose. One of my pollees mentioned the dispute to the facilities manager, who hit the roof. The first aid kit is unapproved, unauthorized, unmapped, cannot be hung on the wall and was requisitioned improperly. Now the first aid kit guy hates me and I still can't get a damn bandage. And that was all before lunchtime. I don't even have the energy right now to write about the afternoon, when I was forced to choose a fierce animal to be. I went for a unicorn with a big stabby horn and then someone called me a My Little Pony. I wish I was making this up. Lucky for me my dream castle has wine AND margaritas on tap. Come on over if you want, but watch out for the horn. It's sharp and did I mention I'm a little dangerous? It could get bloody if I start swinging that thing around and bandages are hard to come by these days. I better put a sign up.

Fork!

So, how was YOUR day? I am getting mixed reports from all my friends. One reports that her teenager locked his keys in his running car for the second day in a row, her dog chewed up her phone, and her own car wouldn't start. Another friend, on the other hand, enjoyed a close-up view of a bunch of otters playing in the wild.

As for me, hmmmmmm......... my day at work had its usual ups and downs. Trust me, you don't want to hear about them. When I got home, I discovered that Weston can multiply two three digit numbers together and Shane can do front walkovers. Then I had to go to the dreaded swimming lessons, followed by a stop at the store for wine and various other necessities. Sadly, my shopping skills were severely degraded because I was doing what I like to call multi-tasking but what you might call gossiping or chitchatting. In fact, I was busily receiving the all-important daily reports about poodles and otters from my pals and as a result I neglected to bring home the most important bag: the one with the wine and breakfasting supplies for my two small children. One can't go without wine, now can one? Well, maybe another one can, but not this one. In any case, I had to trek back to the store, most definitely a forkable moment.

Oh, wait, I bet you don't know about the fork rating system yet. You will, though, because everyone definitely needs to read about it. It was invented by Leah, one of my most stunning, brilliant and funny friends from Korea. She is writing a new guest blog at girlfriendology.com, so please go check it out; you won't be sorry! Comments would be greatly appreciated, so let her know what you think. Maybe even share your own fork story! She also has some fantastic advice for when your friends are having those fork-worthy days. It might surprise you, or not, to know that she highly recommends chocolates and margaritas. You can adapt her system to your own needs, though. For example, say your friend goes shopping and accidentally leaves her wine at the store. I'm pretty sure you know how to help her. Want to come over?? Please? And don't forget the chocolates! Good night, my friends, I hope your day was great, wherever you are!

Home

Okay, okay, no more crocus pictures! FINE. But sometimes the devil you know is better than the one you don't, right? Or so I've heard. Anyway, we are home from the beach. It was the usual collection of sand, pop rocks, frigid water, wine, bingo, arguments, running, rocket launching, howling, shopping, peeing on the beach and trashy television. I'll leave it to you to sort out the kid activities from the canine fun from the adult pursuits. I bet you won't get it right, either, but it doesn't really matter, now does it? Because we're home and what goes on at the beach stays at the beach. And that's all I have to say about THAT.

On the way home, we stopped at Doraville. As you may know, Doraville is what my mother's grandfather, Josef, named his homestead, after his wife, Dora. Josef spent years clearing trees to build his house. The picture on top is of an apple tree located at the original orchard near where the house stood, and the second one is the view down the hill from near where the house was. When Josef first claimed the land, it was thick with old growth fir that he cleared by hand. He was quite the writer, Josef was, leaving us, among other efforts, years of journals detailing his exploits. One of my favorite stories is this one about the winter of 1887 when he was nearly killed by giant trees crashing to the ground in hurricane force winds.

Perhaps slightly ironically, then, the homestead is now my uncle's sustainable tree farm. While we were there, they were logging a stand of fifteen year old trees with a super cool machine that clips them off near the ground, strips off the limbs, and lays them down, ready to be placed smartly into a self-loading log truck.

I thought the boys would like the tree clipper; because who doesn't love diesel powered equipment? I have no idea what's it's really called, but I think tree clipper is pretty suitable, so that's its name from now on until I die. We watched it for a little while, and then the boys ran off to the true attraction on the farm: thick, sticky red-brown mud. Seriously, that stuff is nasty. I wouldn't even let them in the van, and you know my standards for car cleanliness are pretty low. Plus the van was already full of the remnants of all the questionable beach activities noted above, so you'd think a person with substandards like mine might feel that a little mud wouldn't hurt anything. But you would be wrong; that's how bad it is. I knew before I let them play in it, of course, because I spent almost every summer of my childhood there, along with many, many weekends, and I was often coated in the stuff myself. I don't like to stifle their creativity, though, and feel strongly that a willingness to get filthy is an admirable trait that will serve them well. Still don't want it in the car, though!

So I made them strip down and roll around in the wet grass and wear trash bags the rest of the way home. I figure that's good for them, too, because coming from Josef's family, they are definitely meant to be country boys and there's not always a hose or even a rusty cattle water trough when you need to wipe the muck off, am I right? Oh yes, I'm a country girl, you didn't know that? As long as the country has wine and a thrift store, I'm good. But I have to admit, it's good to be home to the 'burbs where there's a Starbucks and an eco-friendly dry cleaner on every corner. Have a good weekend, my friends! I'll be doing laundry and picking caked-on red brown clay out of little tiny crevices. And drinking wine.