Niche

Today's pointless photo isn't exactly pointless (oh no... pumpkin time...) and it isn't exactly new. I took this one a few years ago, and it's one of the coolest spider pictures I've ever been lucky enough to take. It's also the one I'm currently using as my Blogger profile photo, if it looks familiar.

What we've got here is a Goldenrod Spider defending her egg sac. She laid her eggs on that chokecherry leaf and then wrapped it up protectively with silk, giving it that triangular shape. She would have guarded the sac until she died, giving the spiderlings as good a chance as possible to survive early predation.

Lots of them would have been eaten anyway, but that's the way nature works.

Spiders have been on my mind a bit (well, a bit more than usual. My two fans already know that I have a thing for spiders) because of my doodle for this week's Illustration Friday word. The word was scary, and if you're so inclined you can find my take on the other blog. You'll probably notice, though, that spider = scary wasn't something that I really had my heart in.

Listen, I know that spiders are scary for a lot of people. I get that. I find them beautiful, but if you've already made up your mind that they're scary then my finding beauty in them isn't going to do a thing for you except convince you even further that I'm weird. Whatever. It doesn't matter.

What does matter, though, is the people who seem to equate scary with needing to be destroyed.  There are plenty of them out there, sadly. Spiders and bugs scare me -- squish them! Snakes scare me -- call the exterminator! That's the kind of thinking that makes me more than a little depressed, to be honest.

You see, all of those scary things have their niches. Their usefulnesses. Their places where they belong in the system. Without them we run into a whole boatload of trouble.

Example? Well, imagine a world without spiders. You'd better start liking insects a whole bunch, because there's going to be a massive amount more of them. So let's just get rid of the insects? Ok, then. Do you like bluebirds? Or chickadees? Or woodpeckers? All insect-eaters, and you've in effect got rid of them too.

It sounds trite to say, I know, but everything's connected. Everything has a job, as I sometimes put it to my students at the nature centre. If one thing doesn't do its job, it makes it hard for the next thing to do its job, and so on and so on and so on. The tricky part for us is that even though we're also part of the system we like to believe that we're not. That wouldn't matter so much, except that we've given ourselves an awful lot of power over systems that maybe we'd be better off leaving to themselves. We decide that one job -- say, eating bugs -- isn't really all that important, so we remove (either inadvertently or on purpose. Both happen) the "pest" that's eating bugs. Then, when we're overrun with bugs, we bring in a new predator to try to create a new balance. And when that new balance turns out to mean that the new predator doesn't have any predators of its own and happily creates its own overrun?

Incidentally, I'm not really of the school that thinks that Seven-spot Ladybirds are evil. It's just that we don't know the full extent of what their introduction has done to the North American ladybird population.

For something much more sinister that was caused by human intervention, however, may I present the Cane Toad?

I don't want to go on a full-scale interpreter rant here, so I'm going to cut this short. Or, erm, at least a lot shorter than it could easily have been. Let me just end by saying that if you're scared of something, fine. Be scared of it. Whomever knows that there are plenty of things out there that I'm scared of. Just don't assume that scary means lacking value or importance, and that scary things should all go away. Sometimes it's even scarier to find out what we're left with after the scary things are gone...

Pants

Excuse me for getting a rather juvenile giggle out of the fact that my North American readers will be getting a fairly different idea from today's post title than my UK readers are.

Yeah. I'm a five-year-old.

Oh, and new photos (believe it or not) will actually be showing up soon. Assuming that anything on the camera is worth editing, of course.

Anyway. Pants. Yes, I really do want to talk pants. It'll be starting with the trouser variety, but we'll see where it goes from there.

I've been a bit lacking in clothing lately. I won't go into the bra situation (you're welcome), but my last pair of jeans gave up the ghost a few weeks ago and since I've been too lazy to shop I've been largely existing on a couple of pairs of twills. I of course knew that couldn't go on indefinitely (no one can live on light colours alone) and had been planning to get something else... but then I got a car instead.

I might have mentioned the car.

Now, I'm not saying that car payments are going to preclude me from dressing myself. It's just that the part about knowing that I have the car payments makes me a little less excited to be spending money on other things. Not that I ever get excited about spending money on clothes (or shoes. I so don't get that whole every woman loves shoes thing. I need shoes that I'm capable of walking in -- not always the easiest thing with my ankle -- and that work ok for the things that I do in my job. That's it. Oh, and something I can wear all winter without falling flat on my arse in the snow, naturally), but I'm incredibly less excited right now.

Cut to me thinking yet again about cleaning out my closet.

I've been in the same crappy one-room apartment for yeeears now, and while I'm definitely not a hoarder I'll admit to losing track of exactly what I have in it now and then. I think that's human nature, isn't it? You stay in one place for a while, and your stuff tends to build up a bit. Anyway, recently I gained a couple of new appliances (long story, but no doubt I'll tell it at some point), and it's led to the chain reaction where can I put this? effect. I could put this here if I moved this here, but then I'd have to move this here, and where am I going to put this? Ah, the fun of a small living space.

While looking for the next here, it occurred to me that a lot of this could be solved if I'd finally get around to cleaning out some old clothes. I do it every once in a while... all right, honesty time. I do it every few years whether it kills me or not, so by now the layer of clothes that I don't or can't wear anymore is getting a little thick. Ok. Clothes, then. Start with the main closet even though it's the linen shelves (read: everything shelves. Small apartment, remember?) that really need doing. Dig to the back where it's hard to reach because of the weird angle created by the tacky folding door. That's where all the unusable stuff seems to migrate to. Find... eight pairs of pants on two organiser-style hangers that you sort of forgot you had. Sigh at the waste because even though you kind of need them now, it's more than likely none of them fit anymore. Whomever knows how long they've been there, right? Look at the size tags before bagging them for the Sally Ann. Find... hey. That might fit. Unexpectedly spend a few minutes trying on various forgotten trousers. Realise that three pairs actually fit pretty well, and another couple would do in a pinch.

Consider yourself a complete and utter moron for burying completely serviceable clothing.

Oh, and for the fashionistas among my two fans (are there any? If so, why are you following me?) who are now cringing at the idea of my wearing pants that are years out of date? Denims, mostly. Dark denims, and a couple of pairs of black dress pants. I guess not being trendy has the benefit of buying "classics" instead, since you could easily find the exact same styles out there right now.

Now if I could only have the same luck with bras...

----------

Now, back to the whole pants thing. Being from Canada I have no problem with using pants and trousers interchangeably. However, having gained some of my vocabulary from my English grandmother (she was my babysitter when my mother went back to work before my brother was born. I'm sure that I learned a fair amount of my English from her even though I was much too young to realise it at the time. Babies are language sponges, after all), I'm fully aware that I wouldn't find myself wearing denim pants in England. Fairly uncomfortable, that. For any of my two fans who aren't with me yet, pants aren't... exactly outerwear... ok, think underpants if you're still not with me.

When I had my children's choir years ago I occasionally had to send home notes to the parents reminding them of what the kids had to wear for concert attire, and being aware that several of the families had come from the UK I always made a point of stating black trousers instead of black pants to avoid any confusion (or, to be honest, inadvertent amusement). Things were fine until the day I had one of the other parents pull me aside and ask what kind of special pants her son was supposed to wear. Seems my use of trousers instead of pants had her thinking that I was looking for some sort of uppity tuxedo wear or something.

Which, to confuse matters even more, would have been evening dress to the UK parents.





Sometimes I really feel like an English-to-English translating dictionary, you know?

That totally pisses me off

I did warn you about the current lack of new pointless photos, you'll remember. Don't worry, though -- last night I took a couple of shots of my jewellery... totally not kidding...

Anyway. I did warn you about the photos, but I suppose I should have put a warning on today's title as well? Sort of sorry to those of my two fans who were dismayed at seeing a slightly colourful word up there. Sort of sorry because I do generally make an effort to tone down my language so that's what some of you are used to. Not completely sorry, though, because those of you who actually know me realise that the language in the title is pretty tame for me.

I'm not shy about my wordage, is what I'm saying. Oh, I try to use language that's appropriate to a situation, of course, but if I don't have to police myself I don't.

Anyway. This wasn't supposed to be a language post.

What was it supposed to be? Mostly just a comment on what the theme of my week seems to have been, that's all. My brain is currently wired to be annoyed, I guess. Annoyed at my neighbour's music, annoyed at the people around here who wait for everyone else to clean up, annoyed at a booking mistake, annoyed that the printer isn't currently working and I have two things that absolutely need to be printed out for the weekend shifts, annoyed at the idiot on staff who shoved a porcupine study skin on a random shelf with no form of protection around it...

Seriously? What person with a brain just throws a porcupine on a shelf without even a bag to cover it?

The whole thing just drives me nuts.

The Ontario office would say that it's more of a short putt, but whatever.

Whoa. Wasabi peas. I love them, but that last one went an awfully long way towards clearing my sinuses.

Um, yeah. Back to being pissed off. Or whatever phraseology you prefer, I suppose. I do understand that it's probably a function of my brain trying to get itself back together after such a span of being largely off-line, but it sure seems as though the world made a concerted effort to turn me green this week (erm... Hulk reference, not environment). Kind of makes a person both wonder about and dread what's going to happen next.

And how much it'll tick me off, of course.

Ah well. Back to work for me. Cross your fingers that the printer has decided that it's sufficiently added to my po'd index already and will be working before I have to leave. Here's hoping, anyway.

I... got nothing

And that's even after trying to give the whole "topic" thing a bit of effort for a change.

Just not into it today, I guess.

It doesn't help that I feel so draggy. I know I've been whining about this for a while now (tooooooo looooong) but I'd just like Whomever's in charge to know that I get the point and I'm done with feeling yucky if that's ok. Don't get me wrong -- I'm definitely feeling better. I've just got that tail-end why isn't this over yet? thing going on that doesn't make me especially good company.

Even for myself. I'm usually pretty good at liking my own company, but I'm sick of myself at the moment. Sad, that.

It doesn't help any that I have a mystery pain (well, more of a dull ache than a pain) that's nearly on the verge of turning me all hypochondriacal even though it's 99.9% guaranteed to be nothing. It's just one damned thing after another, as my grandmother would have said.

No, really. She said that a lot. My grandmother was a bit... different, I suppose.

Anyway. This is plenty of wordage for not having anything to say, so it's time to stop typing before this becomes a post. Leaving...







now.

Something or other. I really have no idea.

I suppose that I need to get out and take some new pictures, don't I? But... but... things are so dull and pre-winter here now. And boring. I swear, I'm going to end up taking photos of my junk jewellery yet.

So. Um. blog post.

I'm not sure that I remember how to do that.

Well, let's see. State of health? Somewhat better today. Digestion's settling down (tmi? Oh, believe me. You haven't heard anything), but I'm still stuffy, headachey, and tired. Ah well. At least I'm upright. Upright, but in a weird enough mood to have brought myself to giggly tears while watching a "beautiful" video about people who are putting up swings in public areas just so that people can enjoy them. The project? Nothing wrong with it. People like swings. What had me laughing was the idea that the people who were putting them up are far, far too nice. I'd've put up at least one in front of a building or something because you just know that there's someone out there who'd try it out without realising the consequences. Thump. Ow. Thump. Ow...

Wheat, by the way, now officially thinks that I'm completely insane.

Where was I? Oh yeah, trying to type myself into a topic. Typing could be a topic, since it's a bit of a difficulty at the moment. We're switching out computers here at work, you see. Sort of an internal upgrade. I'm now using Wheat's old one because it was a few years newer than mine, my old one is replacing one that's even older than mine; that sort of thing. It may sound wonky for anyone who's used to getting brand new stuff every couple of years, but for us it saves money and cuts down on the e-waste (important for a nature centre, really) to cycle things while they're still usable. Anyway, for me this means I get more speed and more capacity than I had, but it also means a new keyboard since my old one had the wrong connector. And that? Not a huge problem since this one will be fine, but it does serve to show me yet again that if you give this girl a new -- or different -- keyboard her fingers suddenly decide that they don't know how to type in English.

Which is odd, since English is their first and really only language.

Helllllooooo back button, is what I'm saying.

And with that, can we call it a post? It's five times more post than you've had in recent days, after all.




Yeah, I think that consensus is that this is, in fact, a post.

Later.

So I was going to post

... and then I realised that I wasn't even in the mood to find a pointless photo. Sorry, folks. I'm dealing with phase two of the crud, apparently, and there hasn't been much food in my system for the past couple of days.

I'd promise tomorrow, but I think at this point I'd just rather wait and see.

Ain't we got fun?

I have a headache

Yeah, I know that's probably not news to anyone who's followed me for more than a day since I often have headaches (thanks, Mom, for giving me your screwed-up neck), but this is one of those sudden I-have-no-idea-why-I-have-a-headache headaches. It's kind of frustrating.

Maybe I need to go eat something.

I guess I should have brought lunch...

Ah well. I'll be out of here soon enough. Oh, and I'm taking the weekend off from the internet, so try not to miss me excessively.

Anyway.

Topic.

I don't actually have one. Is that a problem?

Oh, I suppose we could talk problem. Minor problem, but one of those of course I should have predicted it type of things. I had to scrape the car windows this morning since we had rain yesterday and then freezing temperatures overnight. This is the first time I've scraped the new car, remember (remember my new car? I have one...). The new car seems to have a pretty decent heater on it, I now know, which is good for two reasons. Reason A is that I don't do well with cold, as my two fans can tell you. Reason B? Well, there's where we hit problem. It's a good thing that the car has a decent heater because APPARENTLY I'M TOO SHORT TO SCRAPE THE WINDOWS.

Yeah, bugger. And I should have seen it coming. The new car sits juuust that much higher than the old car so I can't reach the middle of the windshield with my current scraper. Don't get me wrong -- I can reach most of it, and definitely enough to give clear vision. I can't quite reach the final little strip, though, and that bugs me. I get annoyed by people who don't clean off their cars properly in the winter, you know. I mean those people who scrape tiny little patches and then pretend that they can see well enough out of them to be ok until the car warms up enough to take care of the rest. They're usually the same people who don't bother to clean off any of the snow from the tops of their vehicles, because naturally it will all fly off once they start driving.

Yeah. Fly off in chunks that hit the windshield of the car behind them, most likely.

The reason I get so annoyed by the lazy scrapers is that I don't do well with the cold (for those new to the program, I mean don't do well physically. Look up cold-induced urticaria, if you're curious. And let me tell you, it's an absolute joy to live with through an Alberta winter), but I can still generally manage to clean off my own bloody car to the point where it's not a hazard for everyone else around me. And if I can do that, then I'm afraid that in my book no one else has an excuse to be scraper-lazy.

And frankly, I don't want to be seen as scraper-lazy myself, even if it's because I can't reach the middle of the windshield.

Solution? Well, I'll look for a longer scraper.






That was easy.

And easily time to get back to work so that I'm not here too long today. As I said above, no internet for me this weekend. Have a good one -- see you Monday, most likely.

No, I still don't have anything

Feeling a bit better, though, she says quietly so as not to jinx anything. I've still got a headful of crud, but at least I'm not feeling like I should be going directly back to bed (do not pass go. Do not collect $200).

Ok. I just got distracted by googling Monopoly, which should tell you a lot about the state of my brain today.

So... um... grapes?

Seriously, I have nothing. How about my trying for coherency tomorrow instead, then?

Works for me.

Brain no work

This is officially a lack-of-post. Sleep hasn't been going all that well the past couple of days, and I seem to be suffering the return of the cold from hell. Not sure if I'll have a voice left after this afternoon's program.

Needless to say, none of this puts me much in blather mood. So...enjoy the vine, I guess.

Pointless photo of the day:

That's all you're getting today, I'm afraid. Busy.

Busy tomorrow too, so my two fans may be enjoying this cat for a while...

Asparagus tree

I'd be willing to bet that this is one of the only asparagus tree posts on the entire internet. And it will be about the asparagus tree.

It probably won't be very interesting, but it'll be about the asparagus tree.

Today's pointless photo is of my father's asparagus tree.Not the greatest picture, true, but I wanted to make sure that I had a shot of it before it completely goes limp with the frost.

In case anyone's wondering, that's a pretty average sized sunflower next to the asparagus tree. That should give you a sense of scale, at least.

So what's an asparagus tree? Oh, it's just happy asparagus, that's all.

You see, my dad doesn't care for asparagus too much. The asparagus was planted when my mother was still alive, and it's just basically been there since. When Mom was around it wasn't producing more than enough for just a taste or too, but in recent years? It's kind of got ridiculous. Just like the rhubarb.

Hang on. Let me see if I can find the rhubarb. I didn't take a picture of it this year, but I know I posted one of last year's rhubarb tree... Ok, here it is. And it looked much the same this year until Dad hacked it down.

So what's with the killer rhubarb and the asparagus tree? Well, we've had a couple of unusually wet years in a row, and that plus the age of the plants has given them the opportunity of establishing really, really good root systems, apparently. As a result they're both very vigorous growers now, and since they don't get used as fast as they grow you end up with inadvertent trees.

Um... the end?

I told you that this wouldn't be very interesting, didn't I? Looks like I was right, then. Ah well. I'll try for interesting tomorrow.



I won't succeed, but I'll try...

So I got this car... oh, right.

I used that title already, didn't I?

Oh well. Here it is (the car, I mean), anyway. Not a great photo, but I'm too lazy to move the thing into better light just for a blog shot.

Colour? Carbon grey, officially. Model? Pontiac Vibe (otherwise known on the internet car forums, apparently, as why the hell did GM stop making this car?). Name?

It doesn't have one. It's a car.

I should elaborate a bit on the name thing, really. I named my first car very facetiously, because I'm pretty much not a car person and also not the type who would anthropomorphise a car. A car is a car is a car, and as long as it's working and reliable (and, erm, not completely homely. Ok, I can be as shallow as the next person) that's as far as my thoughts go about it. When someone asked me what I called my first car it got a name on the spur of the moment. I told him it was Maurice because it was a Cavalier. Cavalier...Chevalier... same word, different languages. A play on words rather than a name, I guess.

Now, I'll admit that my second car had an actual name, but it was entirely accidental. Again, I was asked what I was going to call it. Again, I thought it was a car and didn't need a name. I said that it was Moe, simply because that was part of the dealer's name. Moe the car.

Moe the car became Dirty Moe over the years. I can be a little bit neglectful of car washing on occasion.

The new car? Does have a wheel (four, even. Five, if you count the spare) (and the wheel might look vaguely familiar. See? There was a method to the silliness last week) but it doesn't have a name.

Yet.

Judging by my track record, it'll have one eventually.

I've had a few suggestions. Wheat says Neo or Keeanu, since it's a Matrix in disguise. I...don't think I could drive a Keeanu. The Ontario office says Molly, to which I said that I don't drive girl cars.

Actually, I hardly ever use feminine names for inanimate objects. I wonder why? Even my plants have male names.

And yes, I'm just as serious about naming plants as I am about naming cars.

So what do I think it should be called? I dunno. It'll come if it's going to, I guess. I toyed with calling it Lionel just to see who knew their jazz, but I suppose that's a little pretentious. For now, it's the car. Or the debt.

Good debt, though, if there is such a thing. It was time for a new car. Dirty Moe served his time, but after ten years I think all I'm going to miss about Dirty Moe is (ironically) its name.







Incidentally, would anyone out there in blogland be interested in buying a used Dirty Moe? I happen to know where you could find one...

You know what sucks?

When you're having a massive chocolate craving and all the bookstore at work has is "candy bars"

Candy bars are called candy bars instead of chocolate bars for a reason, folks. There's hardly any actual chocolate in them. Now? I have a sugar rush, but I still want chocolate.

Yeah, that worked well.

Anyway. This is just a quick post (a quick, complainy post) to get me back in the post groove in case I don't get around to making a real post tonight. Today's photo? Same cats as yesterday, obviously, but this time I let the flash do its work.

I kind of like the one in the dark better, to be honest.

But I'm weird that way.

So I got this car...

The photo, of course, is not of the car. It's of the cats. The reddish light is the camera's infrared sensor, because I got bored and covered up the flash to see what effect it would give.

Anyway. I got this car.

I've had it for a couple of days, actually, but it's been a busy week (busy, did I mention?) and the blog sort of fell by the wayside.

Um, that was a statement that I really didn't have to make, seeing as all you'd have to do is look back at the recent lack of posts to figure out that I haven't been posting.

Anyway. I got this car.

I will now answer what apparently are the two most important questions about the car, based on what my friends have asked me: it's dark grey, and it doesn't have a name yet.

Seriously, people. My first new car in ten years and people want to know if it has a name? I'm beginning to think that my priorities are wrong or something. I thought that people might like to know what model it is, or what size engine it has, or how it drives, but no. Colour and name.

Ah well.

I will, no doubt, be telling you more about the car as I get to know it better, but for now I should get back to work. Just thought I'd take a moment to let my two fans know that all the silly car references in the past few posts were, in fact, leading to something.

A question, in fact.

The question would go something like: who the hell decides to test-drive and buy a car in the same week that she's had to stay home from work because she's been too sick to function? The answer would be me, it seems.





Let's hope that I don't regret this car...

Still here...

It's just been a busy week.

I'll try to post an actual post post after my program's done this afternoon if I have time (and any sort of mood). If not? Well, tomorrow. Or the next day. Or sometime.

No, really.

Lack of posts of the next few days

Busy day today. Busy (and... big? I dunno) day tomorrow. This all equals no blog content for the next couple of days, as I imagine you figured out. See you when I can.



Incidentally, should a person be happy to be going into debt? I suppose it depends on the reason for the debt in the end, doesn't it.



Later.

Thud

That would be the sound of me hitting the blather wall.

I've tried to think of a blog post. Really I have. There hasn't even been the distraction of work (since this is a holiday) or internet radio (since I haven't had it on). I guess that after yesterday's lengthy ramble -- and later weirdness -- I'm just out, temporarily.

Besides, I can't deny the fact that I'm not over this latest bout of crud yet. I'm definitely feeling better and I might even have enough voice for tomorrow's two programs, but the energy level certainly isn't where I'd like it to be and the head's still full enough that I've been ending the last few days with headaches.

So... um...

Amaryllis?

This is the other one that's been flowering. Each of them is currently sending up second flower stocks, so even if the third one that might flower decides it's not worth it I'll have colour for a little while yet. That's kind of nice.

Yep.

You know, I really think that this is all I have today. Time to stop typing, then.







Yep.

Pretty much pointless post

It's a wheel, of course.

Well, I thought with all of this car talk you might like to see a wheel.

Or maybe I had too much turkey. That could be.

The pie wasn't at all bad, by the way...

Chapter 1438: Wherein, amongst other things, Dee's father buys her a pie

We'll get to the pie in a moment. First, there's a couple of other things to take care of.

Other thing #1: Today's pointless photo features a Bad Cat. A slightly unusual Bad Cat. This particular Bad Cat isn't the most physically adept cat in the world, and while we know that she's capable of jumping up on things, it's generally after spending a good minute or so trying to gauge the jump. The other (Bad) Cat is always up on something or other, and has been known to sit on top of the fish tank now and then. BUT NOT ON THE FILTER. Sure, this particular filter isn't operating at the moment since Dad usually uses it as his backup in case the main pump stops, but still. If any Bad Cat could knock the whole system to pieces by accidentally slipping, it'd be this one. Bad Cat. Bad.

Other thing #2: Today's song, although I suppose I'd better give you a nudity warning. That bugs me, to be honest. I'm definitely on the side of those who think it's ridiculous that our society condones showing all kinds of graphic violence but completely freaks out at the sight of a nipple. I mean, everyone has nipples, right? What's the big deal? Having said that, this particular video has more than nipples, so if that sends you into hysterics don't bother to click the link.

If you do, though, I'll just say that the main reason for today's choice is that I find it really funny that a few years ago a car company chose it for their commercials. They must have heard "you've got a great car" and "I like you" and thought it would be perfect or something. Did they not notice that the very next line after the great car bit asks what's wrong with it today? The commercial always made me laugh, because it's so very common for ad companies to choose something that sounds "right" without bothering to find out the context of the song. If you're musically inclined at all it can be fun to play Let's Find the Inappropriate Song Choice, especially during the holidays.

Well, it's fun for me, anyway.

Speaking of holidays, it's time to talk pie.

Yes, finally.

It's Thanksgiving weekend here in Canada, and Dad and I will be having our turkey supper today. Since it's just the two of us we don't go to a big fuss, but we still manage to have a pretty decent meal. The turkey is small enough to fit in the rotisserie so we don't have the bother of oven-roasting (and besides, rotisserie turkey is only about fifty billion times better than oven-roasted. It stays moist, it's more evenly cooked, and, frankly, the taste tops any oven bird you'd care to show me), most of our fixings will be of the convenience variety; yeah, I know it's not gourmet, but as long as it tastes good that really doesn't matter to me.

One thing that seems to happen every year, however, occurs towards the end of the eating. I'll be enjoying my most-likely-too-big plateful, and it'll suddenly come to mind that it would have been nice to have a pumpkin pie for dessert. I'm a fan of pumpkin pie, you see. Actually I'm a fan of pie in general, so I guess it's kind of stupid that I've never made one. Stupid on the surface, anyway. In reality, it has a fair bit to do with the way I was brought up. The females in my mother's family had this weird sort of detente, you see. I've mentioned it before, but for those new to the program my mother's family was pretty competitive, and whether it was accidental or on purpose it seemed like the way to keep the peace on the feminine side was to not step on anyone else's talent. My grandmother canned, so my mother didn't. My grandmother knitted, so my mother crocheted. My grandmother made pies, so my mother made cookies.

As a result, I don't know how to make pie crust. Come to it, I'm sort of surprised that Mom ever taught me the whole cookie thing.

Anyway.

I've never made a pie. I could probably figure it out, but I've never tried. I don't usually regret it, but this time of year -- when it's too late, as I said above -- I find myself wishing that I'd made a pumpkin pie. Even if it meant the cop-out of a bought crust, I could still attempt the filling part, right? There's lots of recipes around. Heck... if I checked my mother's recipe box I might even find my grandmother's version. Every year, though, I don't think about it soon enough. And every year I find myself saying to my father that it would have been nice to have a pie.

Kind of pointless, really. Except.

Except that occasionally it gets results. When I came in to Dad's from work yesterday afternoon I opened the fridge to see what I could find for a quick lunch before we went out (more on that another day) and I saw A PIE. Seems that when Dad went down to get a few things for today's dinner he noticed the pies in the bakery and remembered that his idiot daughter bemoans her pieless state every single Thanksgiving, and so he bought me one.

He bought me a pie!

I know it doesn't seem like much, but hey! Pie! And who knows, it might even be a decent pie.





It occurs to me that this very wordy post has had a very anticlimactic ending... Let me see if I can find something to at least wrap it up a little bit. Ok, there you go. Slightly adult. No nudity.

You people and your nudity thing...

Even quicker post because now I'm really tired

There's either going to be a lot less... or a lot more blather about cars on this blog in the near future. Just saying.

Quick post because I'm tired

Another car thing, but this will be short: Have you ever noticed that when something (minor) goes wrong with a car, every other tiny (minor) thing that doesn't seem right -- that may have been happening for years but you didn't really pay attention to -- sets you completely on edge?

Maybe it's just me, then.

I wish I didn't have to have a car.






That's about it, really. Still not feeling wonderful, but slightly more functional. Apparently I'm just in that place where I can't ramble on uncomprehendingly but can manage to blather comprehensively. Or something. At this point, I guess I just don't feel like forcing it.

Later, then.

I'm so not going to describe my last few days

I've been sick. Miss-work sick, unfortunately. Anything else I say will only bore the snot out of you (but not out of me, worst luck) and reach into the realm of hyperbole since I reeeally want to be all whiny on you folks but am doing my best to hold it all in.

Ignore the grammar (or lack of same) in that last sentence, please.

On the bright side? My amaryllises are flowering. Two out of the five at the moment, which, as much as I like them, is plenty for a one room apartment.

They're funny things, amaryllises. Most people around here buy them as largely disposable Christmas flowers. Oh, you can keep them beyond that, of course. And you can follow all the directions the gardening books will give you for keeping them over to the letter, and you'll likely get growth the next year.

Growth of leaves.

Flowers? In my experience, not so much.

When I was given my first amaryllis (I've never actually bought one, come to think of it. They've all been gifts) I was a good do-bee and tried everything they tell you to do to get flowers in the next year. I lifted the bulb, stored it carefully; all of those fussy things that you're supposed to coddle the plant with. The result? Nothing. The year after that? Nothing. The only reason I didn't just throw it out was that it seemed a shame, since it was still leafing out. That was the year, though, that I got lazy about dealing with the bulb and just threw the entire pot out onto the balcony for the summer.

I brought it in when it put up a flower stalk.

I mean, sure it was in September rather than the optimal decorating time of Christmas, but it was a flower.

I still have that bulb. It flowers every year. I've even split it once. Apparently these things are into benign neglect.

Actually... most of my plants that do well are into benign neglect even if the books say that they shouldn't be. Maybe plants just don't appreciate being fussed over? It's possible.

I've since been given two other amaryllises and have five pots in all because of division. They all just live with the weather and the heat on the balcony in summer and then get brought in when things get colder or if they start flowering, whichever comes first. Right now two are flowering, two probably won't because they're the two I split up this year, and one can't seem to make up its mind. Not a bad track record for plants that just sit in a corner all summer, don't you think?

Well, I think.

And the fact that I've just written an entire blog post about amaryllises?



Shows how little my brain has had to do (or has been willing to do, really) this week.

You didn't miss much.




Bye now.

In cars

Today's pointless photo is not of cars, just so you know. It's of sunflower heads that have been scavenged by the chickadees. Since I chose the title I did, though, let's all take a moment for a technopop break...

Ok then. On to business. And I hope that I can keep this reasonably short because I was extremely wordy on both blogs yesterday. These things cost money, you know.

Well, all right, so they don't. I'll try to keep it short anyway.

I test-drove a car yesterday. It was a convenient thing to do, really, because one of the car companies (sorry boys, no free advertising) has a deal where, if your local dealership applies, they have a day where test-driving a car benefits a charity. In this case it was one of the schools in the town where I grew up, so Dad and I went down to the event and test-drove a car.

It was a convenient thing to do, did I mention? That's because I'm currently looking for a car.

Sigh.

Dirty Moe's not dead; don't worry about that. He's just getting on a bit and has had a couple of weird little things start happening. That's the kind of thing that leads to bigger weird things as a car gets older, so I decided that maybe it was time to ditch Dirty Moe before winter hits and the weird things start causing me worries. There's a problem with all of this, though.

I hate cars.

Well, maybe it's not quite hate. It's more that I only drive because I have to, I'm more or less indifferent when it comes to cars as long as they're working, and now I have to try to figure out what kind of car I should buy. This is going to suck.

It also sucks because I've been used to driving the same car for the last ten years or so, and I'm used to driving without a passenger. The idea of test-driving strange cars with an audience (an audience of one is still an audience, after all) makes me decidedly uneasy. So much so that yesterday I made Dad drive. Oh, I got brave enough to switch with him once we got on the road (even though the salesman was in the back seat. Um, yay me? I guess), but I sooo completely didn't want to drive that car when we first got down there.

Doesn't bode well for car shopping in general, does it?

Ah well. I did, after all, manage to get my olf self to do some driving in the end, and I didn't die either of nerves or embarrassment. That's breaking the ice, right? Geez, I hope so.

Anyway. I have a idea of things that I want, so that'll help. Nothing too big, preferably four-door just because it's easier to get out in small spaces, decent mileage, decent in snow (kind of a given in this country), reliable, not yellow... Um, that's about it, I guess. I'm easy to please, aren't I? I certainly hope so. The budget may not be quite so easy to please, but I guess I'll deal with that as I have to.




Cars. Bah. Who'd have 'em, anyway?

Chapter 1433: Wherein Dee tries to figure out what to post while waiting for a wash to dry

I'm so not cut out for painting.It doesn't help that I have the brush skills of a five-year-old, of course, but even worse than that is the waiting. Waiting for things to dry. And waiting.

And then maybe some waiting.

It doesn't help that I'm playing around with something a little different than my usual today. Read that as: I have no bloody idea what I'm doing. It'll probably end up looking exactly like that, too. Ah well. No one says I have to post it if that's the case, right?

It'll be the case either way, sadly.

So. While we wait... I suppose we could enjoy the daylily? No daylilies at the moment, unfortunately. We're well past flowers here at this point. I took some new, depressingly fall, photos last night but I haven't had a chance to take them off the camera yet. I'm not expecting much, because it was just dusky enough that the camera thought everything needed a flash. Best I'm hoping for is slightly weird, to be honest, but I guess we'll see.

Now, about a post topic. Anyone have one?

Oh, wait. Maybe I actually do. How about charity mail?

I don't get a lot of gimme letters in the mail overall, mostly because I don't have a lot of money to donate. I pay pretty close attention to the ones I do get, though, and I often wonder what some of these non-profits are thinking that we'd like done with our donations. Personally, if I donate to something I'd like to see as much money as possible go to the actual something I've donated to. I know that there are always going to be administration costs and things like that involved, but I have a great deal of respect for outfits that do all they can to make sure that the percentages of money going straight to the cause are high. You're much more likely to get my attention, ironically, if it's obvious that you've done the respectable minimum you had to do to get my attention.

And on the other hand?

On the other hand is the example of unsolicited mail that I got the other day. Note that I say unsolicited. This is a charity that I've never donated to, have never had contact with before, and had only peripherally ever heard of. Should I be impressed that they (and I won't say who the they is. Sadly, there are enough non-profits doing stupid things like this that it could apply to at least a dozen), without my asking for it, sent me a complete Christmas package of a dozen Christmas cards, two note pads, a pen, a gift bag, package labels, and envelope stickers? The postage bill alone must have been something to see, really. What a burst of generosity from this unnamed charity.

My response?

Sorry, you lose.

The heartfelt form letter/donation form accompanying your elaborate notice-me gift just made me wonder exactly what my money would be going to. I'd love to give you something to help *insert cause here*, but I absolutely refuse to give anything to the cause of sending how many other people a set of Christmas stuff that they weren't expecting and probably won't even want.

What an annoying waste.

And do these ploys even work? Are enough people guilted into paying -- let's face it, it's paying rather than donating -- for unwanted packages like that to make it worthwhile for the charity? There must be, or we wouldn't be getting these "gifts". That's sad, don't you think? It just encourages more waste, and means less money going to things that really need it.

And charities wonder why people get gun-shy about handing over their money? Frankly, I think people should be.

As for me, I'll continue to give my meager amounts to a couple of local outfits doing local good, and probably throw a few dollars in the Sally Ann kettle at the mall at Christmas. At least I know they won't be sending me Christmas cards.

And as for the charity Christmas cards I already have, here's the kicker: I don't send Christmas cards. Haven't for years.





Sorry, charity. Double lose.

I imagine my wash is dry by now. Time for the next layer. I feel like being a petulant child and saying that painting is stupid, but  guess I'll save that for next time that I'm frustrated with my lack-of-skill. I'm sure you'll all be looking forward to it, right?

Yeah, right, Dee.