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Lately I’m seeing undeniable signs of spring. Oh, I’m not talking about daffodils, Easter bonnets, or robins trilling on a budding branch, though those are heartening, too. Here are a few reliable signs that spring has sprung:
- Passover Coca Cola with the yellow cap. [Previously on macbebekin, though the images are stripped.]
- And, courtesy of Jagosaurus, a harbinger of spring in our nation’s capital: the appearance of the National Cherry Festival mascot… Paddles The Beaver. No, really: Paddles The Beaver.
Two astronomical Valentines today, for geek love.
First, Ann Druyan reflects on the message she contributed to the Voyager Golden Record. [update: the original Radiolab broadcast dates from May of 2006, but I see that Morning Edition and Radiolab have replayed it as a Valentine's Day broadcast. The rebroadcast is available here, but I recommend listening to the original broadcast in all its meditative, lyrical beauty.]
Second, Jonathan Coulter’s I’m Your Moon:
I’m your moon
You’re my moon
We go round and round
From out here, it’s the rest of the world that looks so small
Promise me
You will always remember who you are
Um, hi. Remember me, Elli? What’s it been, a year? Well, it feels like it. Yes, I will admit to procrastinating a fair bit here and in other areas which can lead to a violent overcompensation. Be ye forewarned.
I just got back from my first real vacation in three years. It was cheaper and quicker to fly to Bali than the other side of Australia, thus making our decision quite easy. Neither JM or I had ever been there, nor are we likely to go again, however we did have a pleasant enough time. The area surrounding our village reminded me somewhat of New York — the smells, the many taxis, the honking, the street hawkers who don’t shout, but rather fall in step along side and try to sweep you into their stores every few hundred feet. I felt most comfortable tucked away in our villa where I spent the majority of the time either swimming in the private pool or in a comfy chair reading a book. I could pretty much do that at home though (especially if I had a pool.) We also attended a cooking class, but most of the work was done by an efficient team of Balinese women, which can take the fun and the harm right out of it. So my only injury was a slight sunburn on the back of my neck from the harsh equatorial sun on day one when we went out exploring on foot and I almost got run over by one or two of the millions of scooterists. No really, I had fun.
Now we’re back and I’m faced with the usual onslaught of thoughts including should I or shouldn’t I finally have that parathyroidectomy? When you read the words “end stage organ failure” in a doctor’s report it really makes you think. Sure, he’s merely referring to the fact that I have osteoporosis of the wrist, but it’s dramatic enough to make me think, hey, this isn’t getting any better is it? And worrying about the potential falls I could have had on the myriad of stairs in Bali really made me muse some more. So there’s a phone call I’ll be making tomorrow to my surgeon for an appointment.
Ah, now I need another day to recover from all this vacationing which is just what the procrastinator ordered…
It’s official: this year, The Fella and I are celebrating Thanksgiving at home, just the two of us. We’re having a modest vegetarian feast, and because many omnivores wonder what the hell to serve to vegetarians at traditional holiday meals, I thought I’d outline our menu here. Read the rest of this entry »
Halloween is over, and Thanksgiving is on the horizon. The good folks at Apartment Therapy’s The Kitchn have posted five tips to help you prepare now for Thanksgiving; I have to admit that you’ll find the most useful hints in the comments, not the article.
This year, both our families’ Thanksiving plans are uncertain, and The Fella and I miiiiiiight have the chance to celebrate the holiday on our own, with a modest vegetarian feast and a cuddle on the couch. We’ve been cautiously daydreaming about the menu, each dish something special that one of us especially loves, and with The Fella’s squash galettes as the centerpiece.
Do you want to know the clincher, the moment when I went from idly daydreaming to hope-hope-hoping? It was during the conversation about pies: he wants pumpkin, I want blueberry, and neither of us wants a whole darned pie. And then I remembered my mini-pie tins, tucked away in a remote cabinet. This year, I want to be thankful for teeny tiny pies.
After three spring-like days all in a row my spirits are substantially lifted. And to boot, I found a new sweater and top which I plan to wear for my 40th birthday coming up in three weeks. I’ve got the what-to-wear, now to figure out the what and where. I don’t think we’ll be able to top the 30th when JM took me to the Matterhorn, but I’m sure something will occur to me.
I’m also getting in some great walks around my neighborhood and enjoying all the old houses and tall trees. Perth, I think I love you. There are so many little parks, two within a stone’s throw from my house. I could get used to this if only we had central heating during winter…
Happy Swiss Day! To celebrate I made nachos because, hey, melted cheese, and I bought some Lindt chocolates. Mmm. Isch fein gsii. I really should have bought bread and fleischkäse as well, but I’m too tired after all this walking to hoof it to the speciality store to get it. En guete y’all.
Brides and grooms routinely kvetch about delinquent RSVPs. I’m no different. We dearly hope that our friends and family will come to the celebration, but we do need to know roughly how many people we’re seating and feeding and boozing up, and how many tables and how big a dancefloor and how many of this and how many of that.
Ten days before the wedding and a good three weeks since our RSVP date passed, we still have about 15% of RSVPs outstanding. So far this week, my sweetly toned query, “Oh, we sure hope you can you make it to the wedding! Can you?” has prompted the following responses:
“Of course we’ll be there!” They didn’t need to RSVP, because I’m psychic: I knew they wouldn’t miss it.
An offhand “Nah, we can’t make it.” They didn’t need to RSVP, because I’m psychic: I knew they’d have to miss it.
“Didn’t we RSVP? Uh… we did! I wrote you an email last week! Or a letter!” Did you? Hmmm. If you did,
A) I most likely would have received an email or a letter.
B) You’d know which one you sent.
With that in mind, I have a feeling that you didn’t RVSP, and I’m trusting that feeling, because — didn’t you hear? — I’m psychic.
At a pre-wedding tea party, my friend J was kind enough to take some photos. Because I’m The Bride, I figured in many of them. (Yikes.)
As J framed a shot, she poked her head out from behind the camera and chided me. “Elsa, every time I point the camera at you, you make a funny face.”
“I — uh, I think that’s just my face.”
There was a pause.
“Oh. It is. Okay.”
Click.
Since the BITWRATHPLOOB is apparently a longterm houseguest of some family members, it seems only courteous to extend him (?) an invitation to our wedding.
But we have to get a head count, y’know, so he’d better r.s.v.p. (And none of this “and Guest” stuff, neither.)
Elli
Elsa