iTunes Troubles

The problem with the i-tunes gift card is a strange one. All day I hear or remember songs that I love on the radio, on a commercial, etc, and I think, "Why don't I have that on my ipod?" 

Enter the i-tunes gift card: a simultaneously exciting and frustrating thing. It's like going into a bookstore or a library without a list (yes, a list for the library. Don't judge). Inevitably, as soon as I walk through the doors, the thing I want disappears from my mind. Author, title, gone. Sometimes the color of the bookcover remains, but you can't exactly search the catalog for "book with yellow cover." 

I just took a cataloging class, so sadly, I know this all too well.

I sat in front of my computer yesterday for two hours trying to pinpoint the songs I'd been wanting all year. Of course one gift card isn't going to cover everything, but I could definitely get the most important ones. I remembered that there was a Bob Dylan song that I loved when I heard it on the radio, but it was also one that I didn't already own. Problem: I can't remember which one. Was it "Positively 4th Street"? I never did remember. Same thing went with several other bands. 

I finally settled on "Our House" by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young (which I have on vinyl but not on my ipod), a couple Dr. Dog songs, and the Brothers album by The Black Keys. I'm happy with those, but next time I think I'll need to keep a list.

And I just realized that maybe it wasn't Bob Dylan I was searching for but Neil Young!!

Christmas Decor

Due to Christmas and trying to stay away from the computer on my days off, the blog has fallen behind. Apologies. Here is an update.

We're kind of a train family....every year my dad would meticulously put up the train platform. It was the kind of train where you needed to nail the tracks to the platform. We used to go to bed when the platform only had a bare set of tracks and then wake up to a whole little world of houses, and tiny people, and snow. Now my brother Jake and I take care of the platform (because my dad has many jobs). Note Jake's mountains in the background.

(Snow covered lake with boat)

(wee town)

The stockings are some of my favourite decorations; each one was made by my grandmom when we were born.

(stockings by Martha)

My dad gave my mom a birdhouse..which is literally a bird shape and not technically intended to be outdoors. (Could you imagine being a bird living inside a larger bird? Would a bird think that was weird?)

(birdhouse from the Poconoes)

Sock Monkey!

For Christmas, I bought my goddaughter the Complete Adventures of Curious George (found at a book fair for something like 40% off!). She's only a year old, though, so I also wanted to get her something she could play with/chew on. In keeping with the monkey theme, I made her a sock monkey.

I cut up one red heel sock and kept the second for the body:

Even though I cut the socks according to the directions his ears kind of came out a bit too large for his face. You can see how thin he is too (despite my adding lots of stuffing), but I loved him anyway.  In a way, though, he sort of resembles Prince Charles (which is probably what I would've named him if he was my sock monkey to keep).

Because Adrienne is just one year old, I didn't want to add button eyes. So I embroidered the eyes instead (another alternative could be felt eyes, but I didn't have any felt bits).

The monkey looked pretty cold, so I knitted him a hat and scarf....after all, it's cold in Missouri too (where he was heading).

This morning I finished him up and curled him inside the box with the book about his monkey friend. I was genuinely sad to see him go; I got really attached to the wee man.

What Not to Wear: Yoga Class Edition

At my new yoga studio, there is a man who wears bicycle shorts to class. He's a tall, thin man, and as lovely as it is that he's doing yoga and being healthy, I just can't help but groan inwardly when he shows up wearing those black, spandex shorts. As he walks by cradling his mat and water bottle, I cross my fingers that he won't take up the space directly in front of me. Luckily, he seems to be the kind of guy who likes to be in the front of the class while I always hide way in the back.

He's definitely not the most awkward yoga classmate I've ever experienced, however. At a different studio, there was Sweaty Guy. This fella wore pinky rings and grunted and groaned like he was mistaking the studio for the weight room. One time, in a particularly crowded class, he almost fell over onto Steph (who was able to get out of the way quickly and discreetly). 

Another odd bird was Hairy Guy; a man who consistently needed to remove his shirt halfway in to the class only to reveal a hairy torso that would make Robin Williams proud (No wonder he was so overheated....). Hairy Guy fell asleep once at the end of a class and began to snore loudly...well, it was loud to me since I had the misfortune of being right next to him. 

Yes, one of the main points of yoga is acceptance: accepting how far you are able to push yourself (or not push yourself) as well as hanging out with a lot of different people during your workout. But at the same time, working out in groups can be a bit awkward, and it would be nice if you kept your sweat to yourself.

My point is simply this: wear roomy shorts/pants and please try not to snore.

Cheerio, Roomie!

Here is a goodbye-for-now post for one of my dearest friends. She and her husband are moving back to Australia today (I say "back" because he is from Australia), and I will miss her very much.

I was lucky enough to be able to hang out with Kelly and her husband Mike when I travelled to Pittsburgh for work this summer. We took a lovely walk through Squirrel Hill, ate yummy burritos in her sunny kitchen, giggled about college boys ("what was I thinking?!"), watched the World Cup with Mike, and had a fab dinner at the tapas restaurant Bossa Nova in the Theatre District.

(March 2007)

Cheerio, Roomie! :-)

Christmas Markets

I previously mentioned my trip to the Mifflinburg Christkindl Market with the Rodgers (sans Scott).

(Becca and myself)

Friday past I went to the Philadelphia version with my friend Steph. The Christmas Village is set up by City Hall and recently ran into some controversy because the sign has the word "Christmas" in it. Though I don't know what people expect a village of shops selling things to decorate your house for Christmas to be called. Crap for your Indoor Tree Village is hardly festive sounding.

I was happily surprised at all the really lovely, handmade German smokers, nutcrackers, ornaments, and food (real Germans too!). The day itself was freezing cold but sunny. And I got tons of Christmas shopping done (even though the only thing I was hoping for was a smoker man).

And I've always wanted to do one of these:

(Steph and myself)

Though the woman who took the photo above couldn't tell Steph and myself apart...we never realized how much people think we look alike. Well, except for the Suddenly Creepy Subway Guy, but that is a tale for another day.

Happy Christmas Shopping!

Acceptable Smoking

Since today is cold, wintery, and I had a doctor's appointment, I decided that it was time to go looking for one of my favourite men to cheer me up. After 10 minutes of rooting around in my pantry looking for a white box, I found him nestled in his small brown box on the vase shelf. Here he is, Otto:

Otto is my rauchmann (smoker man) that I was lucky enough to find at the annual Christkindlmarkt in Mifflinburg, Penna. I went with the lovely Rodgers family a few years ago, and people were literally running over each other for these wee men. The tiny trailer where the shop was set up had räucherkerzen in all shapes and sizes: hobos, barmaids, and I think even someone in a bubble bath. But the problem was that shoppers had to move in one direction; there really wasn't any going back to the beginning of the line. I had to look fast, but Becca helped narrow them down. And somehow, in all that madness, we found Otto.

I am pretty anti-smoking, but beings as this man has no lungs and isn't smoking anything addictive it's fine with me if he smokes away. Besides, he looks so jolly doing it.

Turkey Love

This is the photo I was searching for yesterday. My sister loves turkeys a lot; they kind of freak me out. But this photo makes me laugh hysterically whenever I see it (so I keep it over my desk).

(Sister and turkey)

Instruction Manual

I was looking through some old photos for something Thanksgiving appropriate. Instead I found this:

My brother Jake found my Knitting for Dummies book and modified it as a joke (poor kid has my sense of humour). I wonder if any of it could actually be applicable....

Happy almost-December and may your loved ones be easier to deal with than the thumb gusset of a glove.

Fighting the Man

I live in a house of men. Old men, but men nonetheless. My house is divided up into three apartments: Jim has the entire second floor, and the ground floor is split into my apartment and a second flat for and elderly man called George. George does not drive, and no one is really sure how old he is (every time someone asks, he gives a different number. These ages are not always in the same decade). He is completely dependent on public transport, and so we always talk about the train. Every time SEPTA raises its rates or comes out with a new kind of train, George leaves the relevant newspaper clippings in my mailbox or wedged into my storm door.

George and I are currently staging a coup d'etat against the Power Company. I came home from work last night to see George sitting outside. He asks me in a conspiratorial tone, "Do you have a computer in there?" as he pointed to my apartment with his cane.

"Yes, I do."

"In there?" he asked again, for clarity.

"Yeah, I have my own computer."

He wanted me to look up a website he'd heard of on the radio. Since the Power Company is raising its rates, he is thinking of getting all of us to talk to our landlord, Uncle Lenny, about switching. Honestly, I'm for anything that will save me over $100 a year and get me away from a company who won't take my calls about outages because they say I don't live in the area and my account doesn't exist.

(I bet they'd change their minds about that if I suddenly stopped paying my bill!)

I let George go on about the power rate increase before promising for the upteenth time to look up the website and report back. He even called out the first word of the web address before inferring that I should chime in and finish it-just to make sure I had the right one. This makes me wonder if George was a schoolteacher in his earlier days.

He even gave me a bag of apples as a bribe.

Uncomfortable Language

I am someone who can comfortably say that I love words and languages. I'm even starting to get the hang of the Daunting Crossword Puzzle as a form of amusement. However, there are the privileged few words that actually make me cringe whenever I hear or read them. Like the memory of an awkward experience in elementary school or that time you had five cavities and needed two trips to the dentist and 8 shots of Novocaine to fix them, these words pop up to haunt me at the strangest moments.

The following is by no means a comprehensive list:

• Moist: The ickiness of this word needs no explanation, though it does often remind me of used diapers
• Slice: I can literally picture someone's arm being cut off when this word is used...even in conjunction with the word "pizza" as in "slice of pizza"
• Flesh: Conjures similar imagery as the word above; used together is awful as is the saying "a pound of flesh." This word often came up in my writing classes in the phrase, "Let's flesh out that idea." I wonder if Dr. Lake ever saw me shudder every time he said that. And really, "flesh out?" What kind of sense does that make?
• Hopper: as in the toilet. I've never heard it used as anything else. I'm not sure I want to.
• Preggo: Almost like you're pregnant with an Eggo waffle or something.

I'm sure there are a few more; the problem is just that they're words that you hear, dislike, and then immediately try to dismiss from your mind.

**edit: I did come up with a phrase that bothers me too: tapped as in "he was tapped to design Kate Middleton's wedding dress." I have no logical reasoning why this should bother me. 

Smarts

Dear Conference Attendees,

One nice thing about these conferences is that you are provided with a badge that not only gets you into the sessions and exhibits hall but also helps prompt you when you meet someone whose name you should know. Sometimes the larger conferences will even give you badge holders that are designed to carry your name tag, business cards, and some pens/pencils. These are quite spiffy when you compare them to the crappy plastic envelopes with stretchy string that catches your hair and occasionally snaps the badge up to hit you in the nose when you're trying to take off your scarf.

Other meetings provide flare for your badge holder...because nothing is more lame than just a card with your name and university.

I know these conferences can be expensive, and I understand that you would want to get your money's worth. However, as much as this may be the case, and as cool as those badge holders are PLEASE stop wearing them outside the convention. You look lame. And not only that, but you are making yourself a target for muggers and hooligans in general. Don't you remember those public service announcements in the 1980s/1990s where parents were urged not to sew or otherwise attach their child's name onto their clothes? How vulnerable that made the unsuspecting child to a kidnapper. Though you, conference attendee, are grown up now, this same principle still applies. What could be more irresponsible then walking the streets of a large, unfamiliar city with a large, brightly colored square around your neck proclaiming "I don't live here!! And since I'm basically a tourist I probably have lots of cash and/or credit cards!!" 

Instead, get all you can from a conference by attending all of the receptions, poster sessions, breakfast meetings you can...basically anywhere you might find food. Drink to excess on the cheap wine and the Bud Light. Stuff those pretzels and spinach and cheese pinwheels into your suit pockets/purse/badge holder. After all, it's free, and they're just going to pitch the leftovers anyway.

Please, save yourself the embarrassment and possibly bodily harm by removing your badge as you leave the convention center/conference hotel/business meeting. Then you can go back to looking like a normal person.

Sincerely,

All the Exhibitors Who Know Better

Out of Office

Last week I spent several rainy days in Portland, Oregon. It was a work trip (so not much time for exploring), but I managed to find some time to break away on my own. Portland is a nice city for getting around inexpensively (read: free public transportation), and even though the weather was chilly and rainy it felt like appropriate fall weather.

On Wednesday, Irma from Books and I went to the well-known Powell's Bookstore on our lunch break. It was the only full day without rain-which was good because we ended up walking several blocks from the light rail stops.I'm not sure how long we were in the bookstore, but it wasn't enough time to fully explore the four stories of books on anything and everything imaginable.

We stopped at a bakery for sandwiches and then easily found the route back to the train. The neighbourhood was nice and filled with cafes and small parks...where we were suddenly confronted with some wildlife:

And I almost didn't make it back....

But everything turned out fine in the end, and now I'm back in Pennsylvania where the weather can't make up its mind and there are no elephants (but we do have a giant clothespin).

(Me in Portland)

The Dog of My Dreams

Growing up I always had a black lab. They're a little hyper when they're younger, but they're extremely loyal and sweet. Our first black lab never bit or scared my brother and me; even when we'd chase her around the house. She used to drag my brother (who was three at the time) around on the floor by holding the end of a tea towel. He would hold on to the other end and slide along on his diapered bottom. She was a good guard dog and also respected my parents' decree that she not be allowed on the carpet. But whenever there was a thunderstorm, she raced upstairs and curled up on my bed. I liked that.

A few years ago, my sister and I were watching the hound portion of the Westminster dog show. Suddenly, there he was...an Irish wolfhound. Impossibly tall, shaggy as anything, and a dusty gray color; I loved him immediately (and he won for his group). This is the kind of dog I plan on getting someday. 

Someday being when I have a house and a yard/farm large enough to accommodate a 7 foot tall dog. Or maybe we should call him a small horse as opposed to just a dog.... Either way, how lovely would it be to curl up next to such a tame beast?

Currently I will stick to Hank. He's space efficient and is currently sitting on top of his cage, curled up into a sleeping puffball.

Walks with Sister

This weekend, my sister and I took a break from our spooky movies to take a walk round the neighborhood. Saturday was a brisk, fall day; just cold enough that you needed a jacket and a scarf, but warm enough to actually enjoy being outside. The leaves were crunchy underfoot, and everyone had their pumpkins carved on displayed on porches, stoops, and stairs.

(lovely old church doors down the street)

(sister walks along)

(mums o'mine)

(sister)

(the normal sidewalk turned into this brickwalk)

Halloween and Some Kids

This Halloween weekend was a busy one, but, thanks to the Sister and Jemily (my combined nickname for my brother Jake and his girlfriend Emily), busy wasn't so bad. Nancie came over Friday night and helped me shop and eat too much; Saturday we put together a little Halloween get-together for ourselves and Jemily. On the menu:

• caramel apples (or poison apples)
• rice of death (which actually wasn't very good because it was rice and veggies in a bag; though as far as I know, it hasn't killed anyone)
• boo-ritos (vegetarian or meat-filled)
• cookies and candy (and lots of them)

(Jake likes caramels..also note the holiday-appropriate, disembodied hand in the lower corner)

Then we watched The Ghost Writer, which was not scary but still a bit of a thriller. And it had Ewan McGregor which is never a bad thing!

(We're supposed to be saying "boo")

Musical Memories

I've been listening to a lot of Pandora Radio ever since college (the undergrad years), and it's definitely gotten better over the years (complete with fewer commercials). My favorite station is the one I created based on the band She & Him; they end up playing a lot of Belle & Sebastian, Phoenix, Billie Holiday, Kate Nash, and a whole lot of Rilo Kiley. Today I've been hearing a good deal of Death Cab for Cutie: a band I haven't listened to for a few years. I loved them to pieces a few years ago, but then I got tired of the same songs playing over and over again through my ipod headphones.

But even after years of abstaining from Death Cab, whenever I hear certain songs of theirs, I am automatically transported to a strong memory. Sometimes this memory is just me walking home from work, feeling excited because I was going out with someone or a couple someones. Other times I suddenly remember being on a long train ride (probably to Altoona) on on a bus from Reno to Lake Tahoe. And I think how funny it is that one song can bring you back to that moment and the person that you were when you first heard those opening lyrics.

He's Not Heavy; He's My Brother

Besides being extremely cute and able to grow a full beard by the age of 16, my little brother Jake is quite helpful around the house. Well, he doesn't live at my house, but every now and then I can get him to come by and help out with things (some physically demanding and some not). During my Insane Summer of Work Travel, Jake and his girlfriend Emily (Jemily, collectively) were sweet enough to drive me to the airport at 4am. Two. Weeks. In. A. Row. Saints, they are.

Yesterday, Jake was back to help me take out my air conditioner and put the storm door in.  It takes him 10 minutes to do something that would take me 2 hours and lots of swearing to accomplish. And, of course, he even brings his giant purple van, known as "The Tank", to haul away said air conditioner to be stored in my parents' basement until next summer.

(He walks through doors too)

In the process of moving things around, I was stupid enough to accidentally break one of the legs on one of my antique end tables. It was bad. But who is going to save the day and fix it? Jake, of course!

That Place with the Food

Today a friend from work (and fellow red-head) and I went to lunch. We went to one of the best lunch places in the city: European Republic. They have the best wraps, and the incredibly addicting fries/frites come with any flavor of dipping sauce that you can think of (and some you never would have thought of).

Of course, we don't call it by its actual name; instead, it's "the wrap place."  Other eateries included in this category are "the noodle place" or "the place with the avocado sandwich." Many times all you have to say to someone in the office is, "Did you go to the wrap place?" and even if they're a co-worker that you hardly speak to, somehow they know what you're talking about.

Gourd-eous

I am continuing to embrace fall/autumn and its crisp weather. I am fine with crisp and cool; just not cold or freezing (which seems to be the constant temperature of the office). 

Yesterday I went to the farm stand with my mom to buy a pumpkin. It didn't take me that long; I pretty much chose the first one I saw. He just seemed perfect. So now I have 20 lbs of pumpkin hanging out by my front door, but I'm not sure if I want to carve it or just draw a face. I do, however, need to get the seeds and bake them....pumpkin seeds are one pretty nice consolation for the end of summer.

(20lbs of pumpkin)

I've also been collecting some gourds, which I love. They have such personality, and they're a good decoration for both Halloween and Thanksgiving. Some of them, though, can be downright weird.

(One of these is not a real gourd)

(Gourds have hair too)

And my apartment smells like apples and cinnamon, to boot.

Stationary

I am often sad to find that you can't just go out to a shop and find nice stationary. Not a lot of people in my life feel the need to write letters anymore, but I know a few people who do. One friend in particular likes to send me letters stamped with the cute little stamps I have bought her for holidays past.

Today I found this wee shop on Etsy: Paper Pastries. So many fun little stationary and stamp sets! This is probably the only place I've seen in years where you can get a real, wooden stamp like my dad used to use.

Someone definitely just got a Christmas gift out of this...and it's not to me, from me. :-)

Hank v. Bedsheet, Part Deux

Tonight Hank staged another attack on the sheet that (sometimes) covers his cage. He was sitting on the top of the cage happily chirping and squeaking away. I turned my head away to focus on my studying, and BAM! He lunged toward the sheet and started screeching and biting at it. This happened several times over the next hour. And every time he acted like it was the sheet that started it.

(The attack in progress)

Of course, Hank got wise to me pulling out the camera every time he attacked the sheet. He'd suddenly act like everything was fine; he doesn't attack under pressure.

(An uneasy truce)

City Walls

You are never too old to have a field trip.

Today we went on a work field trip around the city on the Mural Mile Tour. Our guide from the Mural Arts Program took us around Philly on foot, and pointed out several murals. We learned about how they are made, who helps put them together, and we even discovered a mural that didn't look like your typical mural (and a parking garage that didn't look like your typical parking garage).

If you come to Philly and are looking for something different to do, I would highly suggest the Mural Mile Tour. They also do a summer tour called "Ale and Arts"  which is something that sounds like the beginning of a lovely evening.

Yes, ale is included.

Some of my favorite murals are below:

(photo by Debbie Lovell)

(photo by Debbie Lovell)

Steve Martin Tweets

About two posts ago, I said that I thought Twitter was kind of a waste of time. I am standing by that statement. However, if you're going to waste your time in this manner, you should go the way of Steve Martin. His Twitter feed is the perfect blend of random, sarcastic, hilarious, and satiric.

More people need to be properly satirical about Twitter.

Living Differently Abroad

I think it would be fun to live in an oddly shaped home...at least for a short time. Nothing as intense as a treehouse or a house made entirely of windows, but I do like the idea of something far removed from the cookie-cutter mansions and ranchers that are mass-produced today. I mean, this is coming from someone whose house is technically a refurbished garage.

Looking on Wednesday's New York Times, I found this tall, skinny townhouse in Belgium. The outside alone caught my eye immediately. But if you take a look at the slideshow, you can peek inside. All the rooms seem like cozy little nooks, and I'm always a sucker for a spiral staircase.

Just one question/concern, though. Would the yard be enough for the giant Dog O' My Dreams?

Sadly, I don't think leasing this house is an option....

For the Love of David Sedaris

David Sedaris is quite possibly my favorite living writer. Finally he has put out a new book called Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiary. I really shouldn't say "finally a new book" because  it hasn't been that long since the last one, but I guess it just seems like a long wait when the man is so hilarious.

Here is a lovely interview with Mr. Sedaris

NPR Gets It

My sister recently showed me a fake Twitter page of famous events in history (which I can't find anymore). It was hilarious especially since

1.) I think of Twitter as kind of a waste of time

2.) I enjoy snarky humour
and

3.) Tweets were along the lines of: "Thomas Jefferson posted 7/4/1776: Declaration signed! Suck it Britain!"

Today one of the students in my class posted the following article from NPR on Facebook Statuses from Hamlet:

Something Rotten in the Facebook Statuses

Oh NPR....I love it.

A Royal Audience

What would you do for a chance to meet someone like Her Royal Highness, The Queen of England? I would do almost anything because I have royal-itis. This subject came up between myself and my esteemed work colleague (who is also a red-head, incidentally) this afternoon. 

Our most recent company newsletter focused on how a few members of the UK staff met Her Majesty at a recent event. We found it extremely unfair that our UK colleagues get to have all the fun, and both of us agreed that meeting the Queen was better even then meeting the President (any President ever, though I might make an exception for Abraham Lincoln).I feel as though I've done a lot for the company: week-long trips to middle-of-nowhere conferences in Illinois, being forced to sleep in a shady Chicago hotel because my flight home was canceled and the cast/crew of The Dark Knight were taking up all the good hotels, flying to the West Coast every other weekend...surely that warrants a meeting with the Queen!

me at Buckingham Palace (2005)

The closest I have ever gotten to royalty is viewing a pear tree planted by Prince Charles in the gardens at Hampton Court Palace and walking through the great hall where Henry VIII had his lavish parties and hung expensive tapestries. Still amazing, though...

The gardens at Hampton Court as viewed from the Queen's Quarters

But the fact remains that I have yet to meet anyone royal, and until I do, what can I add to the monthly newsletter at work? Meeting the pope might get us close, but it's still not the same.

Hank vs. Bedsheet

Hank does not seem to like the television. The other night I didn't watch tv; I was studying and listening to records, and Hank just sat on top of his cage quiet as a mouse. He climbed around a little bit, but when he did make a noise, it was at a pretty reasonable level. The possible exception to Hank's dislike for the tube would be the show Royal Pains. He LOVES it, but I think that's only because the main character is also named Hank.

Last night, however, I interrupted my studying for 30 minutes of tv, and Hank sang and whistled at the top of his (tiny) lungs for at least 15 of those 30 minutes. I know you're looking at him thinking, "That little guy? He can't possibly make any loud noises." Oh but he can. When he really starts screeching, he stands up straight and belts out the most ear-splitting noises. It's cute for half a second. Because he is a baby, he can't really control his volume.

I'm trying to teach him that the louder noise is bad. First, I just scolded him, then I yelled at him, next I made a louder noise to get his attention (but that backfired because he just got louder to drown out my noise). Finally I moved on to covering up his cage with a sheet when he gets loud, and uncovering it when he tones it down a bit. I think that's starting to get the point across to him, but it's really making him hate the sheet on his cage.

I mean straight up hate.

Whenever I pull the sheet over the cage or take it off, he looks at it murderously and hisses. If I take it outside to shake it out, he stares at it and hisses angrily until it's gone. Sometimes he attacks it by biting and screeching at the sheet. The other day I saw him contemplating how to possibly get his tiny talons involved. The thing is that the sheet is just so much bigger than Hank.And I don't think he really knows what to make of it. But he is definitely planning something...he does have a good deal of time on his hands (wings?).

If this is war, then the sheet is winning.

Leaves and Cats

All the leaves are falling, and it makes me sad. Fall is nice, but then winter always has to follow. I am not a fan of winter. Or of cleaning out my closet and putting away the summer clothes....

Because there have been so many cool nights/mornings, I've been leaving my windows open. Late last night, I was working on a paper, and I kept hearing the leaves crunch by the kitchen. Every time I hear these footsteps, it startles me. I think, "Someone is in the yard at 11pm...are they trying to see into my (tiny) kitchen window?" This morning I heard the stalking while I was washing dishes. I looked up, expecting to see a person (possibly Upstairs Neighbour), but instead there sat three cats just staring at me. Upstairs Neighbour has quite a few cats, and when he lets them out into the yard, they run and jump over the dried up twigs and leaves...the culprits of the crunchy footsteps.

So I'm being stalked by cats. I wonder if they realize that I have a bird?

Yorkie Bars, etc.

Working for a company based in the UK sometimes has its perks. Recently, one of these perks was a UK visitor who brought real Cadbury's chocolate for everyone. They never do this, you understand, but it should be a requirement. I know I'm going to sound like a snob, but after living in and visiting the UK, I can tell you that the only place I've found better chocolate is in Germany. American chocolate is boring. British chocolate is delicious even though it feels like it's going to make your teeth fall out at any moment. But you don't care because it's THAT GOOD.

My first Yorkie Bar

Whenever I'm lucky enough to go back, I always bring an extra large suitcase so I can fill most of it with Yorkie, Aero (mint especially), Galaxy, and Cadbury bars. (And tea. I always buy tons of tea, but today we're focusing on the chocolates.) And chocolate buttons...how did I live before discovering chocolate buttons?

Shopper's Dilemma

When online shopping first showed up, I was skeptical. "What is the fun in this?" I thought. But after years of living in remote areas coupled with my dislike of driving, online shopping has become kind of fun. Am I lazy? Maybe not; I think I just don't have time (can I blame grad school for this too?). And many online shops have a better selection.

Example: My little sister LOVES Stephen Colbert. For Christmas I wanted to get her something fun and cool. When I found a Stephen Colbert tote, I knew it was perfect. Unfortunately, I couldn't find it in any of the Barnes and Noble shops nearby. Solution: B&N online. You can see the result below:

Lately, I'm becoming more aware of Etsy...I think it might be perfect for the Christmas shopping that always sneaks up on me. A few friends bought me some Etsy gifts Christmas past, and they were really cute. Plus, it would help me avoid the crowds that clog up every mall and department store from Thanksgiving to mid-January.

Here are some Etsy shops that I recently discovered; they've gotten me excited about gift giving. I'm sure the more I look around, the more I'll find....

Art: AshleyG
Miscellaneous: MadisonCraft
Really fab guitar pics here (I might be a bit partial to the Beatles lyrics, tho.)
Lovely Notebooks from London.

Where's My Book?

As I may have mentioned, I am in the midst of grad school; I'm currently working on my master's degree in Library and Information Science.Today is the first day of the fall term, and we've all been asked to do the obligatory "introduce yourself" posts on the discussion boards (have I also mentioned that my grad school program is completely online? Well, it is.) One instructor asked us to talk about something we collect and how it's organized, and a lot of people chose to talk about their book collection.

For someone who wants to be a librarian, my books are not organized at all. Well, maybe not at all; I do group them together by author. But the Steinbeck is sitting next to Bridget Jones's Diary; Gertrude Stein sits next to Jonathan Safran Foer, and David Sedaris stretches out on top of everything because I have no room on the bookshelf, yet I can't get enough of him.

So I wonder if maybe I should re-organize them.... Fiction together over here, memoir on the shelf in my bedroom, super heavy books like The Complete Works of William Shakespeare on the bottom shelf of the super sturdy bookcase...but if I did all that, would I know where things were? Or would I just be shooting myself in the foot when a friend asks to borrow Jane Eyre (because so many friends do ask for that particular book).

I think there are just way too many options; which might be why I've never really had a problem with my current system. And it may be nice for someone working in an ordered library to come home to a bit of comfortable dysfunction. Otherwise I could be like John Cusack's character from High Fidelity and arrange my books-wait for it- autobiographically.

First Birthday

Yes, it's a bit belated, but happy birthday to my goddaughter Adrienne. She turned one Sunday past, and even if these birthday wishes are belated, it's okay. Because her actual presents got to her right on time. This was one of them (which I made and framed):

The others were books I thought she would like; one of them was cloth, and definitely teething-baby friendly. I am super excited to one day share my favourite Dr. Seuss book with her: Hop on Pop. My mom and I read that book so much that I still have most of it memorized ("My father can say big words too, like Constantinople and Timbuktu." I could go on....)

I know I'm a bit partial, but how many godchildren change their hair from dark brown to orange so they can match their godmother? This one did!

There's a baby in my jacket

Book Recommendation

When I was doing some work-related travel in May, my co-worker Kate and I stumbled upon a lovely little bookstore in Denver, Colorado: The Tattered Cover. The shop was three floors of books connected by a green carpeted, wooden staircase. I loved the carpeting because it reminded me of both the carpet I grew up with and the floors at my Nana's best friend's house (sometimes she would babysit me when my mom and Nana went shopping). At the foot of the staircase and a little to the left was the staff recommendation section; something that always gives me some ideas when I don't know what to read next.

One of the staff members had raved on about a little paperback with an apple green cover called The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley. The short synopsis of an eleven-year-old detective in 1950's England appealed to my obsession over all things English, and the staff review made the book sound like fun. So I bought it, hoping to get to it during my trip.

Four months later, the book sat on my bedside table unread. It's not like I hadn't tried to read it; things just kept popping up. Books I ordered from the library would come in, and I wanted to give those top priority since I didn't actually own them. The little green book became fairly well-traveled, bumping along in my suitcase during other trips to Las Vegas, Vancouver, Pittsburgh, and Maine. Every time I'd open my bag, it would look patiently up at me and then dart a dirty look at the other book I was holding in my hand.

Finally a few weeks ago, I picked it up during a lull in the constant march of library books and started reading. I loved it immediately! I'm not sure if it was originally meant for children, but it's quite wonderful for adults too. I found myself wishing I had this book when I was 12 or 13; in that awkward period between kid/teen books and adult books. Thankfully, this book is now part of a series entitled Flavia de Luce Mysteries. I am excited to get the second book (grad school schedule permitting) called The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag and put it on the very top of the pile of books at my bedside...or just forgo the pile and read it immediately.