Under construction

Phase one - We had some roofing issues. I don't know what to say. This is also where we see that prisons aren't always of our own making. Sometimes the strings are being pulled tight and tied from the outside.







Phase two - Who knew that buttercream icing was a food group? Or that chocolate covered almonds could replace shingles?

Believe it or not, they say they're not finished decorating it.

Did anyone else hear this?

The woman who's on the cover of the Sport's Illustrated swimsuit issue said, as a result of doing said cover, that she felt like she was a part of history.

She said that.

"I feel like I'm a part of history."

History? Really?

You know me, I'm all about the rainbows and sandcastles, so I won't go into a rant about economic crisis this or gloom and doom that, but come on, history?

Of course, all the men out there are going to think I'm jealous because I'm not on the cover. And you're right, I am, but only because I could totally pay off my student loans with the paycheck for a cover like that. And I'd have plenty left over to get a new car and make a down payment on a house and go home to the States for a visit.

Anyone out there got anything a little more historical we could talk about today?

And speaking of working on a building

It's school vacation again. The boys don't have school this week or next. They're with me this week - I don't have classes either so we're sleeping late and reading a lot and have finally undertaken to complete (and start) the gingerbread house.

We baked off the four walls and the roof pieces yesterday. Today will be dedicated to assembly and decoration. Think buttercream icing and candies.

And then think about what my house smells like.

Sugar and spice. Exactly that. Molasses and ginger.

Boy2 was concerned that we weren't doing this at the right time of year - Christmas being past. I told him it's still winter and gingerbread houses are a winter thing, not necessarily a Christmas thing. Which he readily accepted as a good rationale. Especially considering that the only other option was to wait until next Christmas. When I offered that as an (unlikely) alternative, he said, "Are you kidding me? No way."

On my purple ipod - Cowboys

Lorraine posted this tag and I liked it, mainly for the same reasons she did, using that swirly thing is very nice. So you put your ipod or whatever on shuffle and then you push the next button for the answer to each question.

1. What do your friends think of you?
Le monde, Thievery Corporation

2. If someone says, "Is this ok?" you say?
Working on a building, Cowboy Junkies

3. How would you describe yourself?
Starfish, Sister Hazel

4. What do you like in a guy?
Statesboro blues, The Allman Brothers Band

5. What's your life's purpose?
Three, Massive Attack

6. What's your motto?
End theme, Morcheeba

7. What do you think about very often?
American baby, Dave Matthews Band

8. What is 2+2?
All the way to Reno, REM

9. What do you think of your best friend?
3 doors down, Citizen Solider

10. What is your life story?
A beautiful mess, Jason Mraz. (No joke.)

11. What do you think of when you see the person you love?
Shimmer, Fuel

12. What will you dance to at your wedding?
Open your eyes, Snow Patrol

13. What will they play at your funeral?
Shake it, Metro Station

14. What's your hobby/interest?
Take it to the limit, The Eagles

15. What's your biggest fear?
I'm not waiting, Chris Isaak

16. What's your biggest secret?
'Round Midnight, Ella Fitzgerald

17. What do you think of your friends?
All the right friends, REM

18. Title of this post?
Cowboys, Portishead

On that one random shelf in the closet

After the shiny promises you've made yourself, filed neatly next to the nevers carved in perfect polished stone you've given yourself, facing the truths you've spared yourself, you run into what is, shaking your head as you do so, because how could you have missed it? It is so big, what is, so genuine. You think it might be heartbreaking but you hold your breath for a second when you instantly know that what is more heartbreaking is the elaborate tale you told yourself and the energy wasted looking for what is real somewhere other than on that shelf, the one lined with flowered contact paper, where you put it so long ago.

What's the craziest thing you've got in your closet?

On not knowing how the story ends

It snowed here today. For quite a while. Big, fat, fluffy flakes from maybe 10 until maybe noon or so. It was dark and snowy and swirly and windy.

And now, at 5:22 pm, it's sunny and quiet and there's not a trace, literally, of what happened this morning.

How often does that happen? How often is the only trace left behind the one you see in your mind's eye?

On not knowing where to start

Any advice?