Sunday

I got to spend my afternoon break between morning and evening church services with the Wallentines. This was a good thing in many ways, not the least of which being my first taste of Wii with Joshua and Caleb and time with sweet Ezra who was super cuddly and adorable after his nap.

He didn't want his picture taken, but I managed to sneak this one once he was absorbed in his Leapster. Which he patiently showed me how to work and let me color on.

Developments on Wisteria Lane

I'm new getting new neighbors, y'all.

The Crying, Swearing Neighbor Lady moved out in early September, and her house has stood empty ever since. There was a for-sale sign on it for a while, but I don't think it sold (no, I haven't stalked the house on Metrolist). Last week there was a flurry of activity over there -- a truck pulling a small U-Haul trailer pulled up in front, blinds open and lights ablaze, and then, the final, clear indicator: painting going on inside.

I don't know if the people are renters or new owners. What I do know is that they began some sort of construction/hammering business at 7 AM today. Yay! Welcome to the neighborhood! And that whatever they're pounding on, they hammer in multiples of eight. So all morning, it's been rapid-fire blam-blam-blam-blam-blam-blam-blam-blam, pause, blam-blam-blam-blam-blam-blam-blam-blam, etc. I keep finding myself counting each series of hammerings, and they've been remarkably consistent.

So! A new poll! Since everyone who lives on my street is weird (and ultimately annoying) in some way (except me, of course), I'm putting a poll over on the right side for us to guess what the heck it is they're doing over there and/or how it is that they will ultimately distinguish themselves, weirdness-wise. This weirdness is likely to be the source of their pseudonym for future blogging, so it's important we get it right.

Song of the day

I love Led Zeppelin. They are probably my favorite band, and no matter my mood, my situation, or the state of my achy head, they seem to have a song that just fits.

As I've been developing running play lists for myself, I'm listening to them more and more again of late. It's a little like coming home, or reconnecting with a once-best friend whom you lost touch with and from the first email or phone call, you're right back together on the same page.

Their music just all sounds so good to me, but this song, "Kashmir," is I think my favorite. Jimmy Page and Robert Plant redid it for their 1994 album No Quarter, and I really like that version, but this one is rockier, raw-er -- classic Zeppelin.

Need help with headphones

Can anyone recommend some headphones for my iPod that won't jiggle out of my ears as I run on the treadmill?

I currently have ones like these -- in-ear head phones with little silicone sleeves -- which sound great when I'm not moving too much but they fall out of my ears when I run. I bought some add-on over-the-ear sleeve thingies to use with them, but they totally don't work -- not sure if the headphones aren't meant to be used with them or what, but they barely stay on my ears in the first place and the headphones sort of wriggle out anyway as I exercise.

It's making me a little crazy, the Headphone Situation. The treadmill experience is made so much better with eardrum-thumping music, and last night I was finally just over the whole fiddling-and-still-falling-out stuff and ripped them out altogether and ran -- in silence. Which was not great.

Help? Specific brands, models and links all appreciated.

Some Daisy cuteness on video after all

It took her 'til 8:00 tonight, but she finally put on a fairly standard prancing, dancing performance.

Sorry about the videography, such as it is -- this was the first time I used the video mode on my point-and-shoot Nikon, and it shows. But you can at least get a sense of her sweet little personality as well as how obedient she is. Or isn't, as the case may be. :)

Guess who's 14 today?

I can hardly believe it, but it's true. Daisy Mae Clampitt the Wonder Dog is now 14.

I've always thought of her as Mom's dog, but in reality she's now lived with me longer than she did with her. So, she's my dog. Officially.

I wanted to take some video of her doing cute things, but she hasn't really cooperated over the last couple of days. Every time I pulled out the camera, she'd do this -- lie down in a sunbeam and bask. Which is probably when she's at her happiest, outside of when she's asleep in my bed. So, I guess this picture is appropriate after all.

Let the sun shine

The temperature, driving home from work yesterday.


Glorious sun. Two days stretch out ahead, full of promise. Yay.

I got nothing

The head's still basically not cooperating terribly well, and it's left me with little to talk about aside from medication strategies and hanging on.

Not too interesting, so I'm sparing y'all. Once I can think again, I'll be back.

In which I decide to let my hair go curly-ish

I want to preface this by saying I realize it's not a terribly interesting subject to anyone but me. Read at your own risk (and if you're bored by this, David and David, you've been warned).

So, I've been straightening my hair to some degree or other for just about 30 years. The advent of flat irons has made this task considerably easier, but I've been a slave to blow dryers and round brushes at least, if not straightening serums and gels and heat protectants, on a day-in/day-out basis for basically my entire adult life.

The problem is that my hair's not quite curly enough to be worn curly, per se, but certainly too curly for nearly any "straight" hairstyle. I was lucky that through high school in the early '80s in Texas, big wavy hair was in (when the humidity didn't wreck it or turn it frizzy). But more often than not, the styles I've chosen in the years since have leaned to sleek side.

This was made all the worse when, two springs ago, I opted for an inverted bob -- longer in front than the back and worn straight all over. Every morning, there I was with the flat iron, trying to smooth my unruly hair into a shape that was cute, but completely contrary to my hair's natural texture and wont.

Well, I'm done. Officially. I have put away the Chi and Kerastase Oleo-Relax serum and decided to just let my hair do its thing. And I feel positively liberated. Every morning is a new adventure -- I'm never sure just what my hair's going to look like or do that day, since curl is dependant upon so many factors (moisture, amount of time I spend drying it, if I have the sunroof open while I drive in to work, the phase of the moon, if it's a night game played on artificial turf, etc.). And most days I do need to do a little something to make the curl, um, more uniform or otherwise help it along in places, so I'm not completely appliance- and product-free -- at least not yet.

But having hair that is more or less doing its own thing? Versus literally ironing it into an artificial texture and style every morning? Good times.

Snow in March

The trees blooming on my street have been raining down their white and pink petals for about a week now.



It's just so pretty -- the leaves are pushing their way through the blossoms, and with even the slightest breeze, there's a snowfall of flowery snow.



The white contrasts with the lawn, greening up after spring rain and an infusion of sunshine.



We're left with the equivalent of snow drifts on the side of the road, which today's coming rain will turn dark and mushy.

Officially spring

Another glorious, sunny, warm day yesterday in Sacramento. I needed some air anyway, so I joined what seemed like every state and legislative employee downtown in heading outside to grab lunch and bask in the sun.

Our spring days are just exquisite here. There's no humidity, a light breeze, surreally blue skies and sun, sun, sun. All too soon the sun will begin mocking us, bleaching grass and plants (this is why California is called the Golden State, I think), beating down mercilessly, leaving us to huddle in air conditioning while praying for Delta breezes.


But not yesterday. Yesterday was a celebration of the end of winter. Of the arrival of spring. Of a few weeks of impossibly perfect weather until summer grabs us around the throat and grimly holds on.

An ode to Chick-Fil-A

Finally! Someone wrote a love song to Chick-Fil-A! Short but funny. And true.

Recession/retro chic: Hamburger Helper

I'm a child of the '70s. Michael Jackson. Disco. CB radios. Rainbow suspenders.

And Hamburger Helper. I probably ate my weight in this stuff by the time I graduated from high school. With a working mom and Reagonomics in full effect, the boxed mixes made for cheap, quick and easy meals. Usually we ate it as-was, but sometimes we made things fancy: grated cheese! Ro-Tel tomatoes! canned corn!

Grocery shopping Sunday, I was puzzling over what to make for dinner this week, and as I wandered the rice and pasta aisle, a very familiar box caught my eye -- I didn't know they even still made this stuff. Safeway had it on sale for two boxes for $5 (I decided to go with the brand name vs. the generic version). A pound of hamburger was I think less than $1.50 -- so, for roughly $1 per serving, I had dinner.

I went nuts and got two kinds -- Chili Cheese and Cheeseburger Macaroni, both favorites from my childhood. They're not quite as salty as I remember (not sure if Mom tricked out dinner or if the company has bowed to the Sodium Police), but not bad. For $1 a meal.

Through the looking glass

Something interesting must have transpired in my little suburb today while I was at work, because Daisy has taken up residence in this chair next to a window, and she is very intently watching. And waiting.


All that's happened so far while I've been home is a gazillion flower petals have fallen out of the trees outside like snow, but that doesn't seem to be what she's after.

Praise and glory

I feel so much better. Wow.

I think in the midst of doing battle with the last migraine spiral, I'd sort of lost track of many things. First, how long it'd been since my pain level was not eclipsing other parts of my life (a week ago Saturday, as I count back now). Second, how much of my life falls away when I hurt -- church, certainly, and clearly writing, but also keeping up with my house and going to the gym. That leads to my eating worse and getting poorer quality sleep. All of which in their way serve to fuel the headaches and perpetuate the cycle. It's a bit of a chicken-and-egg situation, but as the migraine spiral lengthens and the headaches persist, it's hard to tell where the causal agent stops and the side effects start.

The most recent spiral spun pretty well out of control Friday afternoon. I had to bail out of the PCRT conference before the evening session and missed all of yesterday's teaching (wah! Steve Lawson AND Jerry Bridges!). By the time last night rolled around, I was beginning to think that maybe, this time, finally, the headache just wouldn't ever go away. Ever. Like, this was just going to be how things would be for the rest of my life. This was not a good thought to ponder as I wandered the house Saturday, lolling on the couch, gobbling various meds and coffee, and crying a little.

I don't know what happened over night. I'm not sure if it was Artie's gentle rubbing of my neck and shoulders on Friday that began the denouement, or if watching Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone before bed relaxed me to the point that I was able to sleep well; it could be that the Lord graciously answered sweet Colette's prayers that my pain would ease so I could come back to church. In any case, I woke up this morning, for the first time in more than a week, completely pain free. Completely. Not a niggle, not a twinge -- nothing.

I danced out of bed. Danced and sang in the shower. Danced out to the car and into church. And hugged nearly everyone I crossed paths with. I was thrilled to go to Safeway with the crazy hordes of weekend shoppers. Ecstatic to tackle laundry and other long-neglected chores that have left my home somewhat randomized. Atwitter at the thought of going to the gym this afternoon, after a six-week lapse between the Dreaded Cold of Doom and then the last headache. It just feels so good to feel good!

Thank you, God.

Song of the day

Singer Jeff Buckley died at the age of 30 in 1997, way too young, way too soon.

He was famous in New York City's East Village for covering a wide range of artists' songs and had completed one studio album, Grace. He was working on new material for My Sweetheart the Drunk, which has been released posthumously, at the time of his death.

Probably his most famous song is his cover of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," which he makes his own with haunting, soulful vocals. This song, though, "Everybody Here Wants You," has long been my favorite.

Hat trick

My headaches tend to cycle. There's an occasional curve thrown in, but for the most part, there's almost a schedule-like quality to their frequency. The schedule shifts over time but tends to hold its pattern long enough for me to at least be aware of it.

I've come to see that there's great blessing in their predictability. Having a sense of when I'm likely to be down gives me an opportunity to work around the headaches, anticipate problem times. Of course, I rarely actually do this. I breeze along on good days and on the bad ones repress the tell-tale signs and live in denial that there's a day off the grid right around the corner.

When I woke up with a headache this morning, I realized I am on a seven-day cycle now. I know this because this is the third Sunday in a row that I've been in pain. Sundays, with worship and preaching and fellowship, are my favorite days of the week, and the last two weeks I haven't been able to be there because I was in pain. Today will make it three in a row.

I miss everybody so much. But I'm prayerful that this cycle will soon break and let me get back to where I so want to be.

Tonight

The Watchmen.

Opening day.

In Imax.

In El Dorado Hills, of all places, which is another story.

I'm so excited to see this movie, directed by Zach Snyder, who also directed 300, a movie about the Battle of Thermopylae.

Yay!

It is on like Donkey Kong

So true

From Natalie Dee. She has such a way of capturing things.

Memorandum

To: My cough
Re: Enough already

I finally looked at the calendar today. It was a month ago that I came down with the stupid Cold of Doom that started you. A month.

And yet you hang on, arguably worse than during the actual sickness. Little tickles. Breath grabbing hacks. Conversation interruptions. Always out of my control and totally gross sounding. And ruining my sleep.

Why are you still here? What is your purpose? And why have you afflicted Sean and Lynne as well? The office sounds like some sort of infectious respiratory disease clinic where we're all there, hacking away.

It is nearly spring. We are changing the clocks this weekend, even. You are no longer welcome.

Two great tastes that go great together

I love me some "Lost" and am a faithful PostSecret reader. So I was really happy when I saw this PostSecret posting today:

YouTubing it in

Random thoughts for a random Saturday.

First, Baby Selah. For those of you who don't know David and Christina, she's the sweet little glow-worm baby used in last winter's experiments with Daisy and baby cuddling. So far, she's still the only baby who, after I've spent time with, Daisy smells on my clothes and me and gets all giddy about.

Anyway. Baby Selah is now almost 13 months old. And as cute as the day is long. Here's a video of her being adorable. It makes me want to chew on her face. And can we talk about the wee little ears on her hoody? Just too much:



Next, a song for today. I have been haunting YouTube looking for scary metal music to play on my iPod while running. And in looking through Metallica's offerings, I found this. Dare I say it's ... sweet? Thoughtful? Loving? Apparently these guys do have hearts after all, when they're not chasing down Napster scofflaws and defending their copyright:



Last, this commercial. Have y'all seen this? I am so horrified by the, um, hair that I didn't even know it was advertising a cell phone company until I was searching for it on YouTube. It's like my brain just screams the whole time I watch. And the look on the face of the guy on the back of the bike is priceless.

Spring

I'm always surprised when spring shows up every year. Our winters here are so mild, but distinct -- lots of rain, dark skies, snow up the hill. But even in winter, the northern part of California has the sun and breezes and blue skies that make the state famous.


So when winter finally loosens her grip and starts to slowly, unwillingly, give way to spring, I'm always caught off guard. It's like, "Oh. Right. You're here." We may still get rain, the temperatures may turn cold again, but there's this shift that happens where you just know it's temporary and the sunshine and warmth have won.


Yesterday was the day I made that realization this year. I snuck out for lunch and sat in the window of a cafe like a lizard, soaking up the sun and people watching. Folks pouring out of the cathedral from noon mass. Walking around in their shirtsleeves and sunglasses. Laughing and smiling with each other.


It's that time of year.

New normal

Cora and I have had a standing Wednesday night date for nearly six years now. We aren't able to see each other every week -- the Legislature used to get in the way pretty regularly, and recently it was more likely to be her crazy 16-year-old life and schedule -- but more often than not, Wednesdays are our night.

These days, we have company on our date nights. When Baby Belinda joined the family in January, Cora's carefree schedule and life clamped down pretty considerably. She's home a lot more now, for obvious reasons, and less inclined for us to go off adventuring or to eat dinner in a restaurant somewhere on our Wednesdays. So the new routine is that I swing by her apartment, she leaves the baby with her mom, and we two drive somewhere, pick up dinner for all of us, and then return home to eat and visit and cuddle the baby and watch her nearly-two-year-old brother, Jerry's, antics.

All the way to get food and back in the car, Cora is just a chatterbox of stories and anecdotes and cute retellings of what the baby did since I saw her last. Downloading. Last night was no different -- I got a blow-by-blow recount of the weekend spent breaking the baby of her binkie addiction. It's always wonderful. By the time we get back, we've had a little time to ourselves, a glimpse of how it used to be for so many years. Just the two of us.

But when we walk in, juggling dinner, the apartment is positively awhirl with the new normal. Jerry the toddler is giddy at the prospect of food from the outside world -- and flirty for attention from the nice lady who brings it. Cora's mom is ready for adult conversation. And without fail, nearly the minute I cross the threshold, Baby Belinda is placed in my arms -- where she stays while the rest of the evening unwinds in a rush around us.

'It's going to space!'

This video has been making the rounds lately on the Interwebs, but it bears reposting.

Comedian Louis CK in an appearance on Conan O'Brien talking about the amazing time we're lucky enough to live in and how we're basically spoiled brats with no appreciation for the countless miracles happening around us every day.

Last night

Daisy, Boo and I rallied long enough last night to watch a DVR-ed version of the Oscars. Was it just me, or was it a particularly uninteresting show? Hugh Jackman was adorable, but the multiple previous Oscar winners giving little speeches to the night's nominees? Meh.

Anyway, here's the fam. They jockeyed for the coveted spot in my lap for a few minutes before working out this truce.

Song of yesterday

Yesterday, before today's headache struck and I could still listen to noise :/, I played this song over and over.

Ben Harper's voice is like velvet. And having brown eyes I'm favorably disposed to their mention in songs.

So enjoy (hopefully): Ben Harper's "Brown Eyed Blues."

Saved

Four years ago today, I became a Christian. I am nearly as surprised by this now as I was then. I was telling a friend just this week that there are times I can't believe I believe what I believe.

This was the parable that closed the deal, so to speak. God used this story, and Skinny Spice, to show Himself to me. I knew the story and had heard references to it hundreds of times, but it just took one sober reading and some gentle questioning from Skinny Spice to make everything come together. God, as it turns out, is good.

The Parable of the Prodigal Son

And he said, “There was a man who had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me.’ And he divided his property between them. Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took a journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in reckless living. And when he had spent everything, a severe famine arose in that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed pigs. And he was longing to be fed with the pods that the pigs ate, and no one gave him anything.

“But when he came to himself, he said, ‘How many of my father's hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.”’ And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him. And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’ And they began to celebrate.

“Now his older son was in the field, and as he came and drew near to the house, he heard music and dancing. And he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant. And he said to him, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fattened calf, because he has received him back safe and sound.’ But he was angry and refused to go in. His father came out and entreated him, but he answered his father, ‘Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!’ And he said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.’”

-- Luke 15:11-32

This morning

The break of day, from the back yard.

Ode to my lost sunglasses

I bought you in a last splashy splurge
Full price at Nordstrom.
But you were perfect:
Large,
Dark,
Stylish.
My headaches were the justification.

But now you're gone,
Lost to a weird Wednesday that had me whispering on my cell in a public bathroom
And bailing on Bible study
To talk to stressed friends and former coworkers.

Oh Michael Kors, you minx.
You design overpriced-yet-unquestionably-fabulous sunglasses --
Enormous lenses that were *just* dark enough
In the perfect tortoise shell frame.
Jackie O.
Carole Migden told me I looked like a movie star in them,
But of course that's another story.

What shall I do, now that you've left me,
And all that remains is a memory of your exact rightness?
Sullen, forlorn, I'll haunt Nordstrom Rack,
Searching for your doppelganger
And squinting.

Blaming it on the rain

I know I'm a couple of posts behind in meeting my "post every day" resolution. And I'm sorry about that. I just haven't had a lot to say over the last week or so.

I knew I was in trouble when I actually considered writing about the fact that I'd smacked my head really hard Monday night on the mantel over my fireplace -- I mean, really hard, like to the point that everything sort of went black around the edges and I heard a CRACK! noise on impact and thought to myself, "Oh. I'm going to pass out." But didn't.

See? Not the most interesting subject matter.

I'm wondering if it's the rain -- we have just been socked in with it lately, and since we so desperately need both rainfall and snowpack in the Sierra, I am trying not to whine. I think the darkened skies, constant dripping, nasty driving conditions and general lack of interaction with the world outside are getting to me a little, though.

We're supposed to have a few days' break until the next system comes through on Saturday, so we'll see, I suppose.

Song of the day

I love this song. Matt Maher apparently wrote it as a Valentines Day gift for a former girlfriend, but I won't hold that against it.

It's inspired by Song of Solomon. And this is not a great recording, but the best I could find of him performing it. I love that the screen to his right keeps getting the lyrics wrong, skipping ahead, losing its place.

The weekend so far

Book club! Yay!

I love my book club and the great, funny, smart, irreverent women who comprise it. The women are all connected to the Capitol in one way or other, so there's always lots of good gossip, tall tales and speculation. It's a very good time.

Last month we read Doubt (all 50 pages of it...) and coming up next we have Honeymoon with My Brother, which will include a field trip to see the author who's promoting his next book.

Sunshine peeking through the clouds

Lots of errands today. The gym (three minutes of running! woot!). Filling up the car. Off to Chick-Fil-A for lunch (my sole concession to today being Valentine's Day). And Smart & Final. More about that in a minute.

Several days of cold, overcast, drizzly weather gave way to some glorious, warm sunshine. Just a few minutes, but it was enough to get me to open the sunroof and revel.

Smart & Final, and communion

I was tasked with doing the grocery shopping for Sunday night's communion meal. So today found me at Smart & Final buying baked potato fixings for 100.

Eeks.

Anyway, here you can see most of the bags of food for tomorrow night. This doesn't include the desserts, which were in the freezer already, and the 200 pats of butter which I hustled into the refrigerator.

I am convinced I completely overbought some things (broccoli) and underbought others (cherry tomatoes). But it will all be fine in some way I can't see right now.

Tonight

Wall-E, a fire in the fireplace, a glass of wine and early to bed.

Kittens! Inspired by kittens!

I have nothing to say because my head hurts; therefore, I will leave you with this video, which is random and funny.

I love the Interwebs so much.

Um. What?

From cbs.com.

Now Batting, Rod Blagojevich?
Minor League Baseball Team Offers Disgraced Ex-Illinois Governor A Contract

(CBS) The Joliet JackHammers, a minor league baseball team in Illinois, has reportedly offered Rod Blagojevich a contract for the 2009 season.

Blagojevich's publicist said he wasn't sure how serious the team's offer was, but that the ex-Illinois governor would be interested. "The governor is a huge baseball fan, and playing in the minor leagues is something he has wanted to do as a kid and would do for nothing," Glenn Selig told the Chicago Tribune.

The club has said it would give the 52-year-old Blagojevich a standard rookie contract. Additionally, the team would hold special promotions surrounding Blagojevich, including a "Bobblehair" giveaway and the sale of "golden seats," a tongue-in-cheek nod to the ex-governor's attempt to sell President Barack Obama's Senate seat.

Also, it seems the team would give Blagojevich some extra perks. According to the JackHammers Web site, "Travel arrangements will be made exceptionally comfortable for Blagojevich. He’ll have his own seat on the luxurious coach bus during the JackHammers road trips. As is the case usually for only team veterans, Blagojevich will get his own room on the JackHammers overnight trips."

The JackHammers play a 96-game schedule as part of the Northern League.

While some fans have blanched at the prospect of seeing Blagojevich on the team, JackHammers executive vice president Kelly Sufka said he would have to earn his spot on the squad.

"He would have to work hard in spring training to find himself a regular spot in the lineup," she told the Tribune. "Most fans see the humor in it, but not all of them."

This week, Blagojevich lashed out at the lawmakers who impeached him from office. "I feel like I can serve the people in a good way now because I have all kinds of insights that virtually no one has," Blagojevich said on a Chicago radio show. "And I can give anecdotes and all kinds of stuff. I don't know if it's dirt or not. It's just facts."

"I've got my crayons ready, I'm ready to write it. I'd like to tell those stories," Blagojevich said during a Wednesday interview on WLS Radio's "The Don and Roma Morning Show."

Too true

And too funny. From the hilarious Natalie Dee:

More crazy Facebook tagging

Here's the latest. Interesting in that you only get to make one-word answers...

USING ONLY ONE WORD! It's not as easy as you might think! Copy and change the answers to suit you and pass it on. It's really hard to only use one word answers. Be sure to tag the person you received it from!

1. Where is your cell phone? COUNTER

2. Your significant other? IMAGINARY

3. Your hair? MESSY

4. Your mother? GONE

5. Your father? DEADBEAT

6. Your favorite fruit? NECTARINE

7. Your dream last night? SLEEP

8. Your favorite drink? SUPERFOOD

9. Your dream/goal? PEACE

10. What room you are in? DEN

11. Your hobby? COOKING

12. Your fear? ALONE

13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? HAPPY

14. Where were you last night? HOME

15. Something that you are not? PERFECT

16. Muffins? YES

17. Wish list item? FITNESS

18. Where you grew up? HOUSTON

19. Last thing you did? SLEEP

20. What are you wearing? SWEATS

21. Your TV? CNN

22. Your pets? FUNNY

23. Friends? AMAZING

24. Your life? MIRACULOUS

25. Your mood? AMUSED

26. Missing some one? YES

27. Car? GERMAN

28. Something you're not wearing? SOCKS

29. Your favorite store? JCREW

30. Your favorite color? PINK

33. When is the last time you laughed? MORNING

34. Last time you cried? SUNDAY

35. Who will resend this? DUNNO

36. One place that I go to over and over? PRAYER

37. One person who texts you regularly? CURTIS

38. My favorite place to eat? CHICK-FIL-A?

39. My favorite food? CHEESEBURGER

40. Favorite time of day? TWILIGHT

In which it becomes clear I am not meant to make friendship bread

OK, I don't believe in getting a "word from the Lord" or signs or whatever, but even I am beginning to catch the drift here.

This is what I woke up to this morning:

Yes, Gentle Reader(s), that is friendship bread starter. In a puddle on the floor and dribbled down the front of my cabinet.

Apparently in the night, despite my having burped the Ziploc last night before I went to bed, the yeasty starter managed to break through the seal, tip itself over and then proceed to leak out onto the counter and floor.

You can see from all the bubbles how active the yeast has been. I had high hopes for this batch, that I might both be able to keep it alive and then successfully bake. But alas, no.

A pretty big puddle. Of yeasty, sugary, creamy goodness. It's particularly fun to clean up. At 6 AM.

Various

First night on Finance Committee

It was great. The people are really smart and concerned about the church's well being. They are also pretty much hilarious. Why they want me there with them, I'm not sure, but I'm clearly the weak link with a huge learning curve ahead of me.

If the church suddenly experiences a fiscal lurch or we authorize funding for unicorn hunting or something, it's so not them -- it's me.

Sean is very happy.

We're all quite happy (maybe the more appropriate word is "relieved,") but Sean especially.

Here he is yesterday, kissing the object of his happiness. So to speak. It's a bit of a long story.

There is a Bathroom Bandit at work

I have no idea who this person is (and I say "this person" because there's at least one man who uses the first floor women's bathroom with some frequency) (which is a whole other post), but he/she is some sort of cretin. He/she leaves the counter top around the sink awash with pools of water, empty toilet paper rolls strewn on the floor, and, um, things unflushed. It's seriously gross and concerning.

It could pretty much be anybody, given the size of the Senator Hotel and its many offices, but I am on the case.

Song of the day

In working out playlists for running, I've been going back through some old CDs. Led Zeppelin's fourth album keeps cropping up, and this song, "Going to California," has been on near-constant repeat.

Some people think it was written about Joni Mitchell who both Robert Plant and Jimmy Paige were infatuated with. I don't know about that, but Paige's sweet guitar and Plant's singing get every time. The mandolin's good, too.

It was just coffee

Lynne and I kept saying this all week: "It's just coffee."

Because I had a date last night. A blind date, specifically. The first date I've been on in more than five years. Even before I became a Christian I didn't date a whole a lot, but accepting Christ has certainly complicated matters in this area.

None of the three of y'all reading this will know the person, but I'll protect the innocent nonetheless by calling him C. He's the friend of a friend (who he's known for 28 years, so I wasn't terribly concerned about being ax murdered in the Starbucks parking lot). Divorced with two kids. We chatted briefly on the phone to make arrangements to meet and then I had to reschedule last week when I came down with the Dreaded Cold of Doom.

So. 5:30. The Starbucks on Broadway. I of course got lost even with my GPS and already being downtown (is it wrong that one of the reasons I yearn for my glorified body is so I'll finally have a sense of direction?). He was there waiting when I arrived -- tall, handsome, with a nice smile. He had obviously put effort into how he looked -- there were a couple of small red spots on his left cheek from trying to get a close shave. That was endearing.

We got drinks and found a table. I had a chai and the worst piece of banana bread I've ever eaten. He'd brought a paperback with him to read while he waited for me, and I was encouraged to see it was a Janet Evanovich novel -- I read her books, too, and thought it was a nice thing to have something in common. And it was.

But there wasn't much else. In the first place, he was probably about 20 years older than I am. His "two kids" are grown women with lives of their own in Los Angeles and Seattle. It occurred to me at some point while we were talking, "Oh my gosh. I'm the younger woman. I'm never the younger woman!" In the second place he didn't ask me a single question about myself until we'd been chatting for 45 minutes. I know about nerves and prattling on without realizing it (and I am certainly guilty of doing this myself), but yeah, that wasn't great.

Third and perhaps most importantly, he's a Christian but said he's not read the Bible in its entirety. Skinny Spice tells me she thinks this is common in Christendom and likely true for the majority of Christians, but it was a point of, shall we say, demarcation between us. When he said he'd just finished Ezekiel, for example, and that it had been really tough reading (which it is for sure), I said, "Well, but when you got to the Valley of Dry Bones, didn't that make it all worth it?" Because that's one of my favorite sections of Scripture and truly amazing stuff. And he just looked at me blankly. OK, then.

After an hour of talking and coffee drinking, he asked if I wanted to get dinner. But I begged off, saying I had other plans. Which I did -- to play WoW and watch stuff from my DVR. There's clearly no spark when Tivoed Grey's Anatomy holds more appeal than a shared meal.

So -- done. The streak broken. I managed not to choke on my beverage and keep up my end of the conversation. I think I looked OK and didn't commit any grave social faux pas. So, in some respects, a success. But I don't know that I have it in me to do the blind date thing again.

Inside out

I grew up in a place that was wet and came of age in a place even wetter. I don't think I'd ever owned a bottle of lotion or moisturizer until I moved to Northern California, and the concept of going weeks, never mind months, without rain was unthinkable.

It was raining for every drivers' ed class I took in high school. Rained sometimes daily throughout the summer, often on just one of the street. Alaska actually smelled like rain, like ozone and greenness and just generally damp.

I'd heard of droughts before I moved here and I certainly knew about deserts. But I don't think I really understood there were places where even without drought or other extremity of climate, it just didn't rain at all except for a few months a year. It would have been unthinkable to me. How do you live apart from water? What about the plants and trees and yards? And just the general cycle of earth to sky and back again?

It rained so hard at times last night that it woke me up. It's been an exceptionally dry winter so far, and we're desperate for snow pack and rainfall total increases. And the long, grim summer looms, where our farms and yards will suffer without water.

It felt like a blessing, the rain. And being awake for it gave me time to think and pray. About living in a dry place. About a life so changed that rain in the night is cause for celebration.

'I love Jesus but I drink a little'

I've seen this a few places online, and every time I watch, it's just as funny as it was before.

Ellen and Gladys. Good times.

Oh my gosh! A groundhog bit Mayor Bloomberg!

This is all kinds of wrong. And what happens when we force poor hibernating groundhogs to be meteorologists.

From newsday.com:

Mayor Michael Bloomberg paid a visit to an apparently-disgruntled constituent nicknamed 'Staten Island Chuck' on Groundhog's Day -- and got bit for his trouble.

Staten Island's famous groundhog, Charles G. Hogg, inexplicably bit Mayor Bloomberg during his annual holiday ceremony on Monday, drawing blood from the billionaire.

Said Bloomberg spokesman Stu Loeser: "It nicked his hand."

Bloomberg wrapped the cut with a napkin until he could check with his doctor.

He was told there was no risk of rabies. The 2-year-old animal was born and raised in captivity and has had no interaction with other animals.

I concur

My thoughts on Groundhog Day. Brought to us by the irreverent, inappropriate geniuses at someecards.com:

My favorite Superbowl commercial

I laughed and laughed and laughed.