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.....

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!

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.

A Good Bird

****Dead Bird Warning: this post contains dead birds. My more sensitive readers may want to look away now. Please be aware, however, that the birds were long deceased through no fault of my own before I sat down to write and no birds were harmed during the making of this post. I agree, the warning might be a little over the top, but I have such delicate readers these days, and also, I am just now getting those PETA freaks off my back for the whole hamster ball thing.*****

Whew, that was EXHAUSTING. Seriously, I need some fortification before I can even get to the point of my post. But first, I know you all want to know the all-important status of the pool-soaked phone. Sadly, I have to report NO JOY. I did figure out how to get my messages using another phone, only to find out that my jury duty scheduled for tomorrow got cancelled. Too bad for me, I was looking forward to performing my civic duty lounging around the courthouse, watching people crazier than me go by. Naturally, the appeal dims somewhat if I don't have a device upon which I can gossip about the crazy people with all my friends. I can do that at work, of course, which is where I will now be spending my day instead.

I'm trying to be patient on the phone and let the rice work its magic for a while longer but I'm not sure how much longer I can go. I might have to hit the zombie store before bed tonight. Oh, geez, I just thought of something. If I recall correctly, I was going to use my shampoo/conditioner/deodorant money to fund the new phone. I'm not sure what else I can give up, plus I started using shampoo again. Dammit. Anyway, that is NOT what we're talking about today. No, we are talking about A Good Bird. Two good birds, to be precise. A blue jay and a sparrow, to be even more precise. And no, I do not want to argue about blue jays and steller's jays, DAD. They are blue in color, hence they are blue jays. The end.

Moving on, you might remember the rat wars at my house. Well, the rats are back, and the war has been raging on for the last week. In some ways, this is good, because it keeps Lloyd occupied, and you probably know he is very dangerous when he has too much time on his hands. Remember the earthquake exercise? Unfortunately, though, there were a couple of unanticipated bird trappings over the course of this new campaign, or as Lloyd likes to call them, 'acceptable collateral damage/civilian casualties'. This is not unprecedented; we had a near-miss last time when a particularly stupid jay got his noggin skinned when the trap snapped. He was fine, though, he just looked like he had a reverse mohawk for a few days. No such luck this time; the two good birds bought the farm.

When I came home from work, the boys showed me their handiwork: a bird cemetery in the back yard, dug right into the lawn. They did a nice job, don't you think? The birds' names are Shane and Ago (pronounced aggo, not like in 'a long time ago'). I especially like the dandelions and the silver colored shower curtain hanger on Ago's grave. And then, for good measure, they devised a fishing line barrier around the trap to keep any more birds from getting caught. That seems like a pretty good idea, because the trap is surrounded by bird seed. There have been no rat sightings for a couple of days, so maybe the cheese and rat poison savings will offset the cost of my new phone and I can keep my shampoo. That way, everyone wins. Well, except the rats and the two good birds, I guess. As I come to the end of this post, I am really regretting the promise I made to Ina because this would be an excellent spot for some good bird/rat eating jokes. Oh well, I always keep my promises, so have a good night, everyone!

Wet

Say, do you guys remember when I got my new phone? There were zombies and everything, and it wasn't so long ago. I was terrified of it, as you might remember, but it's pretty easy to use and I have gotten sort of fond of it. I like taking pictures and sending them on the spot, texting all my friends, and reading my email at the grocery store. I have even grown to like the purple and white bird cover, and not just because it repels the zombies. I have resisted facebooking at stop lights, though, unlike some people I could mention.

Have I mentioned that we have the boys back in swimming lessons? I rooted around for a while on here and SFK looking for posts I may have written about swimming lessons before, but I couldn't find any, so I may have been too traumatized. We have tried multiple times before with less than stellar results. First at Osan, where the instructor tried to get Weston, who is timid in the water, to get his head wet by mockingly comparing him unfavorably to a girl. Then at a place around here, where the instructor let the un-buoyed and untrustworthy two year old Shane propel himself around the edge of the pool with her back turned until he went under and Lloyd had to fish him out by his hair.

This time didn't start out too promisingly, either, because the teacher forced Weston's head underwater when he wasn't expecting it. Who thinks that's a good idea? I would be so furious if someone did that to me but because he's just a kid it's okay to terrorize him? Anyway, he was willing to go back if he didn't have to have his head underwater unless he wanted to, so we talked to the teacher and she agreed. Actually, Lloyd had to threaten her, I think. He still won't tell me what he said to her, but whatever it was worked, and the lessons have been going fine for several weeks now.

So, tonight, we were at the pool. I was minding my own business, daydreaming about the tropics in the moist warm air, when the teacher told Shane for about the sixteenth time to hang on to the edge of the pool while she wasn't looking instead of paddling around. Sensible, because he can't swim, of course. I walked over to the edge and bent over to remind him that at swimming lessons we listen to Miss Denice and do what she says or else we can't come back to the pool. When I did, my new phone slipped out of my shirt pocket, bounced on the concrete and slipped through my grasping hands straight into the pool. Right now it is resting peacefully in a bowl of rice, and I am sucking down the wine to soothe the withdrawal pains. And, I had to bust the rice out of the emergency kit. But, dude, if that's not an emergency, I don't know what is.

Geez, I hate swimming lessons.

Elk Poop. Oh, Honey, You Shouldn't Have. Really.

Merry Christmas Eve, my sweet friends! What did you do today? Whatever it was, I bet you didn't get to see elk poop. It was a beautiful day here in the Pacific Northwest after raining all night. I know this because the cats woke me up at least thirteen times by rolling around in the wrapping paper I left on the floor and I could hear the rain pounding the roof every single time.

The clouds started to lift about mid-morning and we packed up and headed to Elkville. Lloyd mocked me for toting along a huge backpack filled with food, water, antibiotics, rappelling gear and a rubber raft, but I've been out in the woods with him before. I'll write about it someday, after I'm over the PTSD, but for now just remember that if we are ever out triangulating together and I tell you to move your compass away from the truck before you get your bearing because the needle is pointing straight at the engine block, you should listen to me.

Moving on, because I'm starting to twitch and my medication is in the backpack: check out the pictures! We traversed some twisty logging roads that went high, high into some steep terrain. In fact, it was so twisty, high and steep that Shane commented, 'I would be damn scared if I had to walk all the way up here.' Four, people. He is FOUR. My mother is rolling over in her handcrafted artisan urn right this very second. There were no actual elk, but Lloyd was thrilled to see the piles of droppings. Personally, when it comes to elk poop, I can take it or leave it, but live and let live, I always say! There were also tons of birds and some very cool rocks.

I hope you all have a fantastic Christmas! As for me, I can hardly wait for Lloyd to plunge his hand into his stocking on Christmas morning.

Veteran's Day

Happy Veteran's Day! I actually think our veterans would be much better served with adequate pay, benefits and support than with a day of celebration in November. I guess it's a nice gesture. That makes lots of money for corporate America, no doubt. Sort of like Mother's Day and Father's Day. Tons of cashola for retail giants but no family friendly policies anywhere in sight. So that's business as usual. Have a nice day, veterans! Sorry about that TBI; you know how it is. We found a corporation that had to pay a few bucks in taxes, so we have to remedy that instead of fixing your head that we damaged in the first place. Among other issues, veterans are much more likely to be unemployed than non-veterans, and non-veterans aren't doing all that well, employment-wise, these days. Lots of families don't have enough food- it's a great time to donate to Northwest Harvest or a food bank near you. You can probably donate right at the cash register the next time you go grocery shopping.

Anyway, moving on, because that is super depressing, I got a new pair of boots today! The guilt-inducing ones I ordered last week came today. They are quite fabulous, and Shane turned the box into a WALL-E type contraption and wore it around the house all day with nothing else on except his teeny-tiny tighty whities- SUPER CUTE! Also, I discovered what Lloyd and the boys do all day. I strapped Shane in his seat this afternoon to hit the grocery store, and he said, "I would like to go to Starbucks for a hot chocolate and a blueberry scone, please."

Sorry I didn't post all week- I MEANT to, but there was this giant hurricane-ish storm in the Bering Sea so I had to work from 0'dark thirty to a million o' clock all week. Lloyd was gone, too, requiring painful, expensive and exhausting child care machinations. Thank God I get a celebratory day in May! I'm not sure about this standard time thing, either. It seems like it shouldn't be THAT big of a deal but I have not been sleeping properly ever since we fell back. It's such a stupid idea, anyway: it's not as if we REALLY get any more daylight. I have an idea! Let's donate Mother's Day, and bust it up into 24 one hour chunks, which we can then spread out for an actual extra hour on 24 different days! Brilliant, right?

And call me crazy, but I am getting some new-to-me cats tomorrow. I found them on Craigslist, and one of them looks exactly like Henry! We have been easing into the idea for a while, but the Fur Real cat Weston got at the Goodwill last week was the final straw for Lloyd. He said if we're going to have that creepy hideous thing around here, we might as well have real cats, as long as they're free. Lloyd has a real aversion to paying good money for used cats, especially if that money could be used for hot chocolates and blueberry scones. I'll keep you posted.

Have a good weekend!

Busted

Oh, I have so much to say! Sometimes the stuff to say is just oozing out of my ears and I don't get it down, and then I forget about it. Or, more likely, I'm just flat-out too lazy to sit down and write it. All the typing, and thinking, it's a lot of work, you know.

I had an interesting conversation with Weston the other day- we were driving to the Goodwill (where he found a Fur Real cat that looked brand new, to his everlasting delight, for $2.99) and we passed some of those people with flags and 'Support Our Troops' signs. He asked what that was all about so I explained that troops are military members and many of them are fighting wars overseas, and that some people think they should stay, and some think they should come home. He asked more about the wars so I tried to explain they aren't really battlefield wars against countries like we see in books, and that the enemy doesn't have boats and planes, but mostly just people and they try to be sneaky and blow things up. 'Oh,' he said, 'You mean guerilla warfare?' He went on to ask if they also used camouflage and sabotage. Surprised because Lloyd usually leaves the tricky conversations to me, I said, 'Did Daddy explain that to you?' 'No,' he said, 'It was on Underdog'. So now I'm frantically scouring our cartoon collection for the episode about the birds and the bees, and the one where Underdog's mommy's blog pokes good-natured fun at his daddy.

Yes, he told me this morning that my blog says mean things and makes fun of people. I told him that I am always very careful about what I write and that sometimes I exaggerate just the tiniest bit, to make a story funnier. I'm not sure he got it, though. Geez, where is Underdog when you need him? Or, as Polly Purebred would sing, 'Where, oh where has my Underdog gone??' Here's an interesting tidbit: Sweet Polly was voiced by Norma Macmillan, who is the mother of Alison Arngrim. Alison, as we all know, played the fabulously evil Nellie Oleson on Little House on the Prairie. If you have not read Alison's book, 'Confessions of a Prairie Bitch', you simply must. Melissa Gilbert, who of course played Laura, also has a fairly recent book out, called 'Prairie Tale: A Memoir'. It, also, is worth the read. She was engaged to Rob Lowe before he became VERY famous and has some extremely good old school gossip to share. Did I write about those two books? I meant to. The writing, it's a lot of work and I'm lazy; have I mentioned that?

Wow, that was a tangent. Anyway, speaking of mocking Lloyd* and exaggerating, he's off getting some stuff for his upcoming hunting trip. He's very excited about bringing home large quantities of lean, organic meat. I'd be thrilled too, only according to my calculations, the cost per pound is about $867. The bullets, the new pants, socks and boots, the special food, more giant coolers, tags and licenses, the gear for Weston, the gas, it adds up. But it's cheaper than fishing. Those beautiful big fat salmon I posted pictures of this summer? That penciled out to about $2372/lb. Lloyd doesn't care, though. He just says I should throw my pencil away. That's a good idea, because if we spend any more on that crap I'll need to replace it with an adding machine.

Well, that's it for now. I have to get ready for work. We're moving, you know. If you missed the post called 'Doom' that was up over the weekend and want to see it, email me at womanwithadeadcat@gmail.com and I'll send it to you. I thought it was only slightly questionable but my judgement's not that good, so I try to be extra careful.

*in case you were wondering, Lloyd thinks I am BRILLIANT and HILARIOUS when I tease him on here. Okay, fine, I'm exaggerating again. He mostly just doesn't care what anyone thinks, and that's good, too.

Columbus Day

Man, Columbus sure is getting a bad rap lately. Come ON, people; he didn't personally steal land from some adorable rosy-cheeked pappooses, you know! He was LONG dead by the time the pappooses had to go to crappy reservations and work in baby sweatshops making dreamcatchers, bear claw necklaces and fringed leather jackets. I'm not necessarily defending him but I AM getting a little concerned he might get his day-off-from-work-in-October celebratory occasion stripped from him. I don't really care so much as long as it gets replaced by Sacajawea Day or similar. I'm an equal opportunity day-off-from-work enjoyer; I'm kind of awesome that way.

I hope you all had a nice holiday weekend. Nothing too exciting here- we changed over the car emergency kits to the winter version. It's an excellent time to put a blanket and hats and jackets for everyone in there if you haven't already done it. It's also a good time to change the batteries in your smoke alarms and flashlights, check the expiration dates on your emergency supplies, clean the bathrooms and perform those other pesky semi-annual chores. Oh, and start bulb shopping!

It's getting cooler, and so Lloyd took the boys shopping for a few fall/winter things. I sent a list, of course, but it doesn't really matter, does it? I've tried super detailed instructions, but that never works, because Lloyd says he can't read my writing. I have to give him that one, because truly, my penmanship is virtually illegible. It's never been good, but since the dawn of the digital age it's really gone downhill. Seriously, who cares? It's pretty much a waste of finger muscles. Pretty soon we're all going to have hands like tree frogs, and those scrawny things can't write worth a damn, or so I hear. I have an idea to solve this problem, though: a specific and reward-linked list. Come home with the proper item, and you get the commensurate reward. Here's an example:

- Size 8 olive colored cargo pants = new fishing lure

- Aveeno brand moisturizing lotion spf 30 = 20 minutes beer and tv

See? Use your imagination; the possibilities are endless! You could take the opposite approach, too, and have penalties for the wrong items. They could vary based on how far wrong they are. If you can use the object for the intended purpose you only have to scrub the tub. Like, say, if you get milk chocolate instead of dark. Or merlot instead of cab. But if the purchased object is entirely useless, it's time to clean the basement. Like if you need medical supplies and instead get beer and live fish. This has actually happened to me. I'll come clean here- you know me, always telling the complete unadulterated truth*: I totally got this idea from the Berenstain Bears, in a tome entitled 'The Berenstain Bears Forget Their Manners'. As true Berenstain Bears scholars know, Mama Bear doesn't always treat Papa Bear with the utmost respect, often relating to him the same way she does Brother Bear and Sister Bear, in this case doling out chores as penalties for bad manners. I'm generally not a fan of this sort of marital dynamic but sometimes a bear's got to call it like she sees it, am I right? In any event, I prefer the carrot to the stick, myself, though I can see that the carrot approach is going to be a lot more expensive and won't help my house get clean.

We also took the boys to see 'Dolphin Tale'; have you seen it? It's about a real dolphin named Winter, who has a prosthetic tail. It was cute, if a little cheesy. You can see her for realsies at seewinter.com. The over-the-top stuff is all fictionalized and consists of a cute but troubled kid whose love for the dolphin helps him overcome his troubles, his swimming champion cousin who has been injured and traumatized while serving in the army, and an evil land developer who wants to turn the marine hospital into a resort. Geez, really? They had to make up a bunch of run of the mill melodrama to jazz the story up? A dolphin with an engineered tail isn't good enough by itself? Because that is pretty freaking cool, if you ask me.

And that's all the news for today; what's going on at YOUR house??

*Lloyd would perhaps take issue with this; he didn't like how I said he was opposed to electric guitars in the church post the other day. To be fair, he does tolerate them, though he PREFERS their non-presence. They are not in the same category as sheet metal, which he simply will not abide. Nonetheless, I will have to insist that the statement still qualifies as TRUE.

Laundromat

Remember how my refrigerator was broken last week? I think maybe my appliances have some kind of virus because now the washer is leaking all over the hall. It's been wet in the hallway for a couple of weeks now, but I have two little boys and a pilot, so that's pretty much business as usual. Tonight, though, the sound of water gushing out of the soap well onto the floor was unmistakable and there was no denying something needed to be done. Desperate times call for desperate measures, my friends. Lloyd got out his utility multi-tool and headed for the laundry room. He's super handy, don't get me wrong, it's just that he scares me a little.

'I'm just going to unscrew this and see what happens,' Lloyd said, right before I took the picture. I was thinking, 'Ten bucks says I know what's going to happen; we're going to be spending the next month at the laundromat.' Turns out we had the soap holder set for powder instead of liquid, and somehow the detergent clogged the tube that funnels water and soap into the... what the hell is that round part where the clothes get all tossed around called? The tumbler? The barrel? Whatever, you know what I mean. Anyway, we started thinking about how strange it was that the clothes had been pretty dry after the wash cycle was complete lately. Say! Maybe it was because the water that was supposed to be washing clothes was instead making a puddle in the hall, you think? We then realized that the clean pile had been a little stinkier than usual, too.

He had the absolute gall to blame my homemade laundry detergent, simply because sometimes it has lumps, while I'm entirely certain his bad laundry habits are at fault. Seriously, you should see him. Oh, it gets done fast, but he cram-jams that thing so full that you can almost hear my crisp white button downs crying for mercy as they get crushed by filthy towels and jeans covered in fish guts. Dry clean only? Gentle cycle with like colors? Dry flat? Might as well be written in cuneiform. I don't complain, though. Not to his face. Because then I'd have to do it myself. NO THANKS. I just toss the things that get ruined and then hit the thrift store for more disposable clothes.

So, what to do? Generally speaking, which one of us is more brilliant is pretty much a toss-up. My ideas were to dump boiling water or vinegar and baking soda or Drano down the clogged line. Lloyd thought we should Shop-vac it or snake a wire down it. Since he was the one wielding the multi-tool, he got to choose, and he hauled the Shop-vac in from the garage. A few minutes later, voila! The washer was running good as new and I was feeling a little sheepish about my lack of faith in his plumbing skills.

Until I grabbed the Shop-vac to suck the water out of the carpet in the hall, that is. To my surprise and dismay, the hose ended abruptly with a ragged edge. The attachment that is supposed to be on the end was laying forlornly a few feet away. As it happens, the attachment wouldn't fit down in the well where the clog was, so he just sliced it off, leaving the ragged stump. 'Oh well', I shrugged, 'at least it worked, right?' 'Yes', he replied, 'but it might have been the boiling water; I poured that down there first.' All's well that ends well, that's what Ma Ingalls always says, and she's right. Lloyd can get right back to ruining my clothes and we can all live happily ever after. As soon as we get the Shop-vac fixed.

School

You probably know we homeschool, and that we are about to start Weston's second year of Dead Cat Academy. Last year we did 'Kindergarden'. We had a pretty tough final but he squeaked by, so now we are planning 'First Grade'. I have just started scheduling the first half of the year. It's been our experience that the plans go out the window after a few weeks so it seems we could just cut them out entirely and save me a significant effort, but Lloyd likes to have the illusion of control. I'm pretty unschooly myself, and left to my own devices I would probably go commando when it comes to structure of any kind. Unfortunately for lazyass me, the threat of pandemonium of this nature strikes fear into Lloyd's deeply organized pilot's heart. As a result, I am forced to drag out my book and pencil and whomp up some placebos to soothe his soul.

This year, we are also going to try some proto-schooling for Shane. I'm not super optimistic about this, as he is currently too busy building artificial intelligence from sacks of robot parts acquired from the thrift store and Grandpa's basement to have much interest in such common pursuits as the alphabet and the integers. I'm not kidding, he can't even spell R2D2, but if you want a robot that eats the imaginary garbage off the floor, he's your man. So yeah, I'll be watching with interest. From afar.

As for Weston, I asked him what he wanted to learn about this year, and here is his list, in order:

Water

George Washington

Civil War

Fish

Atoms and Cells

Mushrooms

Light

Planets

How Cars Work

Rocks

Shrimp

Planets

Why It's Easier to Sleep on a Soft Bed than a Hard One

Plants

How Boys and Girls are Different

How Bodies Work

Why Daddy Always Wears Underwear

I'm reasonably convinced, but not entirely certain, that the last one was a joke. Either way, have fun, honey!

Rasputin, Revisited

I know everyone has been waiting breathlessly for me to tackle a weighty topic in a mature, thoughtful manner. I've been ruminating like mad, and as result, I'm pleased to bring you this treatise on naughty chickens. This, of course, is a subject that's near and dear to my heart, and one I've recently been reminded of. First, by The Bloggess' brilliant story of Beyonce, and then again just yesterday by the tale of my friend Cheryl's bad bird, Peaches. If you have known me for a long time, or if you used to read Stories from Korea, you might remember the story of Rasputin. Mischievous poultry, must, of course, be approached with the appropriate gravity, but as we all know, I am very lazy, so I am presenting here the reworked story of Rasputin for your reading pleasure:

RASPUTIN

When we were living in Pensacola, Lloyd used to buy quail and plant them in the bushes and then take Ranger out to train him to sniff out birds, or whatever it is hunting dogs are supposed to do. Besides fart and snore, I mean. One day when he was buying his quail, the redneck he bought them from asked him if he wanted a rooster for free, because it was fighting with his other chickens and he needed to get rid of it. We lived in a subdivision with a no-chicken rule, among other foolish requirements. No fireworks, no yard sales, no campers, and most especially, no chickens. It's a wonder anyone wanted to live there at all. But, there we were anyway, in all of our chickenless despair. In any case, Lloyd, being a chicken lover, or a giant sucker, whichever, brought the thing home in a box along with the quail.

When he got home, he got out of his truck and heard a huge racket coming from the bird box, and it sounded like the rooster was beating up on the quail. Lloyd is a huge fan of the underbird, until he puts them in some bushes for a dog to eat, so he opened the box and grabbed the rooster. The rooster went crazy, and Lloyd swung him around, accidentally bashing his head against a tree. In our front yard. In the no-chicken subdivision. The rooster went limp and finally Lloyd started to think. He thinks, "Hmmm, Anna's going to be home soon and she is not going to like this dead rooster situation. I know! I'll throw him over the back fence and she will be none the wiser!" Behind our back fence was a strip of woods about 75 feet wide, and it ran the length of our chicken-free street, and there was another, presumably also chickenless, neighborhood on the other side.

The next day, I was laying on the couch hopped up on pain pills with my leg propped up on some pillows. I should mention here that I was on crutches from falling through the attic onto the garage floor. As a public service, I should also mention that you should never, ever, walk around in your attic unless it actually has a floor to support your weight rather than just sheetrock ceiling panels. Lloyd was outside messing around and he came tearing into the house yelling that I had to get up and look on the back fence. As you can imagine, getting up and trucking myself to the back yard was not an easy task, so I hollered at him that whatever it was had better be good. I heaved myself up and hobbled into the back yard, muttering under my breath the entire way. To my surprise, there was a brain-damaged rooster sitting on the back fence with his head all cocked over, making a sort of demented warbling noise. At that point, Lloyd had to fess up to the whole story, and we named the rooster Rasputin, for he who could not be killed. Or, he who was difficult to kill, at least.

Pretty soon, Rasputin got his crow back, and he started to crow bright and early every morning, annoying the neighbors in the no-chicken neighborhood. One day, we had a visit from animal control. Some of the neighbors had complained of a rooster crowing in the neighborhood and they thought it was coming from somewhere around our house. Had we seen it? And could they check our back yard? We glanced nervously at each other before assuring them that of course, we didn't have any chickens. We would NEVER have any chickens! Goodness, they are against the rules, we said. And certainly, we would be pleased to have them inspect the yard. Come right in, officers! Luckily Rasputin had some street smarts because he stayed out of sight and kept his gob shut. The chicken cops, stymied, left and didn't come back. Then Lloyd started thinking again, and we all know how that turns out. He decided that Rasputin might be lonely. You know where this going, right? Yep, one day he came home with two hens, and promptly chucked them over the fence, this time with their glorious chicken brains completely functional. And for all I know, all three of them are there to this day, living in polygamous bliss.

Camera

My camera has been acting up lately. The battery will only hold a charge for a couple of milliseconds, and every time I turn it on, the settings visible on the screen have gone crazy. There are all kinds of symbols and menus showing, and it's set on 8M. I can't figure out how to change it, and the manual was lost three bases ago. Must be something wrong with it.

Well, I thought to myself, it IS getting kind of old. I've had it for quite a while. I started trying to figure out just how old, so I went back through my pictures and dug out the oldest ones I could find. These two of Lloyd are from the summer of 2004 and were taken in our yard in Pensacola. These aren't the EARLIEST ones; I was pregnant with Weston then and I have some belly shots from the spring but I look hideous in all of them, and I'm very vain and didn't want to post them. I did notice, though, that I should probably go shopping, because in one of them I was wearing the same sandals I wore to work today. I also see that Lloyd still has those same boots. And shorts. And I'm a little suspicious about the shirt. He, however, does NOT need to go shopping. So, double standards aside, the camera is pretty old, for a camera and sandals. Not for boots and clothes. Lloyd's boots and clothes, I mean. Anyway, maybe it's time for a new one. Camera, that is.

But then, I squeezed off a quick video of Shane vacuuming the other day, right before he sucked up a sock in the hose. On purpose. When I downloaded it, I expected it to come up really quick; I just had the one little movie. But no. It took forever, and all of a sudden a whole passel of pictures I'd never seen before showed up in my iphoto. Fifty seven of them, including the four you see below. They were all pretty similar in composition and subject matter, and they gave me an idea about what might be wrong with the camera. Now that I think about it, I've had similar problems with the printer, the phone, the coffee maker and the alarm clock. Not that a solid diagnosis is going to help me since the manual is still missing. Also, it just took me about fifteen tries to type 'diagnosis'. There's probably something wrong with my keyboard.

Well, I guess I have some important business to attend to. See you at the thrift store! I'll be the one in the shoe department that can't make her phone work.