Finally, finally, all things Italy are done.  The planning, the packing, the photos, the writing.  And when you’ve spent the time that I have getting ready for a trip like this, there’s a kind of void after it’s over.  A huge void.  Kind of like the Grand Canyon.

I just might be…

…and I’m not quite certain…

…but thinking perhaps that…

I’m bored.

Wait.

I’m never bored.

Ever.

I’m not quite sure what to do about this feeling.

And even more strange?

Because I’ve been up to my ears with all things flickr, Photoshop, iPhoto, and Blurb,  I’m not in the mood to sit here, either.  It’s Friday and the whole weekend is yawning ahead.  It is Friday, isn’t it?

I thought so.

I’ve got three cookbooks opened to some very nice brioche recipes all requiring overnight refrigeration, (I can’t decide if I want plain or chocolate…) and I’m wondering whether the MoH would like to go down to the water tonight to sit and stare at the horizon with a bit of food and something nice to drink.  Or maybe go see Mama Mia…

But there are other things to consider as well:

• Like how to get my doggo to stop her incessant scratching and my cat’s interminable yeowling. The fleas are beyond nasty this year, and although I’ve sprayed, and vacuumed, and washed, brushed, combed and yes, finally broke down and bought some Frontline (disgusting poison…), it doesn’t seem to have put a dent in them.  I.  Hate.  Fleas.  Which is why I hate carpeting.  And whomever conducted that study that reported simple vacuuming daily will eliminate up to 99% of the fleas because it destroys their shells?  What-ever, dood.  Sounds good, but no cigar.  Well, not around here, anyway.  My cat is the world’s greatest fleabus.  It doesn’t make sense to me.  We have almost NO dirt anywhere.  There are flagstones, and concrete, a few flowerbeds that are predominantly damp, a patch of damp grass…WHAT GIVES?
• I need a new book. I loved Such a Pretty Fat by Jen Lancaster (laughed my ass off…well…not quite since my scale still insists upon telling me the gawd awful truth).  It lambastes Jenny Craig and the whole concept of a weight-loss plan that includes packaged food AND has the greatest kiss-off line I’ve heard in a long time.  Click the link and watch the video.   I also just finished The Patron Saint of Liars by Ann Pachett, one of my favorite authors.  It was her first novel, and I’m letting it stew a bit before I say what I need to say about it.  But her books have that effect on me.  And since I’m on a “thinking about writing seriously” kick (again) and still have 8 gazillion books here I haven’t read that can inspire me from one perspective or another and keep me from actually doing my own writing, Dave Eggers’ A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius is next up.  It looks to prove that when you want to write a book, you can write whatever you want, and sometimes, people notice.  Yes, even people like myself, who notice, then let it sit on their bookshelf for, oh, about five or six years.
• I need to sign up for a photography class and a writing class (you know, because sometimes, homework is a good thing…) through one of the university extensions here.  I seem to have recovered from my post traumatic distress syndrome over all things “school,” and both of these classes will occupy my time, feed my creativity, and give me yet another excuse to not actually start my own real writing. Okay, so writing somewhere other than this blog.
• I have to make a fix-it list for this house. I know I used to joke quite a bit about it, but jeez.  I’m tired of putting money into having the carpet cleaned and want to rip it out of the house and heave it out the windows.  I need a painter to even out the walls where boys incapable of standing up without hanging onto the walls have left smudges that can no longer be wiped.  And the fence on the patio needs replacing (along with the neighbor it shields us from), along with the drip sprayers and lights.  Then there are the screens the cats wrecked (and the one I totaled while we were trying to break into our house last night after swimming because we were locked out….) because the extra key wasn’t in it’s normal place… and…yes, things need to be fixed.  I checked.  There is a Handyman section in the Yellow Pages.  My fingers will be walking.  Soon.  They will be walking miles.
• And last but not least, try not to feel so wistful about this blog. It’s sort of crawling along while my food blog is roaring.  Okay, so, not like the Internet Market type roar, but everything’s relative, yes?  As much as I enjoy both of them, this one is special because it’s just about whatever comes to mind.  It’s me.  And sure, so is the other one, but it’s about my food, which isn’t necessarily me, even though they say, “You are what you eat.”  Um, thank-you.  Next?  But the crickets have been chirping loudly here lately, and I’m trying to adjust to the idea that it’s okay and that I didn’t set out to write here to do anything other than expend energy and get back into the habit of writing.  From that perspective, it’s all been worth it.  One step leads to another, right?

Right.

So shut up and write.

On to the brioche…

Finally.  A new, peaceful theme.

I wasn’t truly loving the orange in my last digs, but something odd has happened as a result of that recent having to live with it for as long as I did and survive.  When I’m out and about, all things orange catch my eye.  And I have been doing a bit of shopping since our vacation is looming…

…in twelve days.

So why am I messing around with my blog theme, you ask?

I’ve been wondering that myself all afternoon.  Actually for quite a few days now.

I have this tendency to procrastinate when I least should.  Like there’s actually a good time to procrastinate?  Obviously, it’s some misguided passive aggressive behavior my subconscious has manufactured to lull me out of my humdrum existence.

Sounds good, right?

But back to the shopping and the orange.  I’d notice a sporty Carmen Ghia in a parking lot, patterns on furniture featuring a light rust.  Or cute cotton tees of a rich cantaloupe. And bright orange patent leather sandals.  I knew I had a fetish for red shoes, but orange?   Mmmmm….cute little summer sandals with little clicky heels.  Straps.  A smart bow.

Like I said, orange.  Did I actually buy them?  Sadly, no.  And that’s too bad, because they looked like a seriously good time waiting to happen.  I would not expect to have a good time walking about in Italy wearing them.  It’s so not worth the pain and scars.  Okay, so maybe sometimes it is, but not this time.  Does it count, however, that I now own an orange Mario Batalli lasagna pan?  And two — not one, but two orange tee-shirts?

When I was little, each time that I received a brand new box of Crayola crayons, first I’d inhale their waxy fragrance, then notice that two of those crayons fit right in in my “ugly color” category.  Purple.  And orange.

Who knew that I’d end up thinking about orange? Actually liking it.  And purple?  Hell will freeze over before I even think about liking purple.

So which came first?  My orange blog theme, or the fashion industry cajoling me to think about all things ORANGE?  If I learned anything from Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada, it would be that.

Who cares.  What does matter is that I also noticed I wasn’t keeping up with my writing here, and when that happens, I sort of begin to wilt a bit.  Sure, I’m spending more and more time in foodland, and…well

How could I get away with writing something as stoopid as this in foodland?

Nobody likes orange.

Do they?

It’s funny how things sometimes change, and as much as I can see that beginning to happen — to not want it to happen — it does anyway. There’s nothing I can do about it. Things that once mattered end up in a place we never intended for them to be, and they get lost amongst all the other parts of life that are…well, life.

I guess I’ve reached the point where I’m wondering what this is all about. This. At first, I began here to simply write. But I’ve never been a journaler, not having the patience to put down what happened in a day’s time I’ve always been more of someone who has a noisy mind, and writing always helped to get some of what was there, out. It’s been nice that in the process, I’ve also gotten to do something I love: work with words.

I love words. And as odd as it may seem, the simple look of some, or the feel of others as I speak are fascinating. Regardless that English has myriad synonyms able to get across a particular point, only one of those synonyms is the best for a sentence to convey exactly what I intend. When it matters.

But there seems to be so little time now, and I’m not sure why that is.

I’ve had my other speck in the bloggosphere as long as I’ve had this one, so that certainly isn’t the issue, although that speck is extremely high maintenance. Sometimes, unbearably.

I’ve enjoyed working with them both, as they’ve allowed me to know a variety of people with different interests. But with the growth of my high maintenance speck, this one — troubled as it’s been with its identity crisis — seems to get pushed aside. And now, often, it just sits here. Doing nothing.

That makes me quite sad.

As much as I love all things food, and as much as I can have my mind wrapped around it quite a good portion of my day, writing about it doesn’t provide me what this space does. And when I don’t take that time for myself, I miss it. No one wants to hear my horror-scope and then take a gander at my cookie recipe. Or survive my latest rant, and then dig into a chocolate mousse. Somehow, that doesn’t quite work. When I’m in my kitchen, I’m usually not waving a wooden spoon and complaining about the guy I have to listen to on the radio each morning when the alarm goes off. As much as writing here provides me a sense of balance, so does being in my kitchen. The two are completely unrelated.

I miss being here quite a bit.

Are blog years like dog years?

So is this the part where I sort of fade off into the sunset? I’ve noticed when others have stopped writing. Their blogs sit there unattended. Forever. Others just disappear. I know I couldn’t do that. There’s too much of my life wrapped up in these words and to me, a significant part of my life. I’d have to put it somewhere because like all the photos I’ve taken in my life, it’s part of me.

I’ve always embraced change and chided those who avoid it. Change is inevitable. It is the one thing we can count on in life — and learn from. But I also know that in spite of change, constants remain.

Maybe the constant for me here is to write when I can.

For me.

There is a little box I can check to keep my writing private.

Is that what I need? I doubt it.

I was going to write about something I saw on one of those network morning shows yesterday that really got me going. But today, it’s overcast and chilly, and I just don’t care now.

This is the part where Scarlett O’Hara would remind herself that tomorrow is another day, and Annie would begin singing, Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomorrow, you’re always a day away…

Tuesday has never been my favorite day of the week.

Last night, I couldn’t sleep for some reason, so I found myself as I have so many times in the past sitting here, staring at my Mac. Midnight is most likely not a great time to open Firefox Firebug for the very first time (thanks very much Scott!) oohing and aahing over the newness of it all.

But I had just finished going through the comments pages on my dashboard , reliving the evolution of my patch of space in Bloggsville and remembering just how things have come to pass. For those of you who are number starved, and whom I promise to continue to try and understand, I’ve included some stats. Hold on to yourself, please.

 (more…)

The anniversary of my first year as a bonafide blogger is approaching. You might think, “So what,” at first notice, but there is so much more that I’m mulling over.

My blogroll is one of them. Although it’s changed depending on the mood I’ve been in, or what mattered on a given day, it’s remained remarkably the same since I began a year ago on March 15th.

The Ides of March?

 (more…)

Well, it’s been exactly a week since I had the rude awakening of taking my lovely cat, Blackitty, to the vet and having to leave him there. I can say I’m thankful for the passing of time. Very thankful.

Scouring through all the photographs I have of him and putting them together in a digital album that will be printed and bound was very theraputic. Having a gigantic image of him on my monitor also helps because I smile at his loveliness each time I sit down to write. I seem to have developed the practice of cybernose scratching with the mouse arrow which does humor me, but seems completely pathetic. If you’re thinking I’ve crossed over some line and am headed to the nut farm, you’ve probably right. But I’ll be just fine. I don’t have my head permanently buried in the sand…

I’m completely aware that some French guy scammed one of their largest banks to the tune of $7 billion.

And that Dubyah is desperately trying to keep the U.S. presence in Iraq for the next 10 years and wouldn’t that be just great to whomever moves in to clean up the complete mess he’s made of everything over the past seven grueling years.

And that the stock market has been completely nuts and that it is having quite the impact on world economics…

Or that there’s just something wrong with the idea that a young woman can be missing and the police investigating can immediately turn to the umpteen gazillion registered sex offenders who live in her area to find out if they had anything to do with it. *insert disgusted head shaking here*

That American Idol is back, and am I mistaken or is there a new and gentler Simon and much better auditions early on that the crap we were subjected to last year? Thanks to BeckEye of The Pop Eye, my up-to-the-minute source on all things Idol. And if you didn’t click on the American Idol link, you missed her wit — and Simon in undies.

Also, that Atonement, which the MoH and I saw a few weeks ago and were mesmerized by, has been nominated for quite a few Oscars, including best picture. And don’t I just not like film critics — the epitome of “those who can’t act, direct, or produce…criticize.” Can a movie ever really be as good as the book that inspired it? No.

That this famous blogger most likely had her trip to Paradise ruined since we were POUNDED with rain and even hail last night. I hear that even more is due tomorrow. Paradise is fickle like that. And dang. One-hundred seventy-seven comments on a post is amazing. Yah think? I might be able to muster…oh, about 5 if I write about the piece of orzo that just fell between the B and N on my keyboard. No. Wait. I already did that.

And finally, that our favorite hotel in Vegas is trying to burn down…

I’m going to be working in the basement of this blog over the next few days to a week (real Wordpress upgrade, new header, page revisions, and theme…) so thanks ahead of time for your patience. And if you’re completely bored or can’t sleep at night, head on over to & Veracity: My alter ego" target="_blank">my little slice of foodland, because I’ll be pretty busy there over there trying to convince myself I love it as much as I do this one. As much as I know who I am as a cook, I struggle with the part of me that does the writing there. The photography learning curve is a 45 degree angle and my tongue hangs out routinely on that. The settings on the camera, the fact that most of the photos are taken at night, halogen, vs tungsten vs natural light…Jeez. I just want to make the stuff, okay? It is enjoyable, though, even if it’s as time consuming as it is.

I must be doing something right because I actually got my first two — yes, I said TWO — pieces of spam on my other site. In the same amount of time, this one has been hit by 4,318. I’ve also just received & Veracity" target="_blank">my first crappy comment over there. Now, I do have to confess that it had me going until I did a bit of research. The loser who posted the comment is the type of “blogger” (and I hesitate to use the word since I don’t think this particular brand of human can actually get credit for blogging…) who barfs and runs. You know the type. But in this case, the email address that accompanies the post came back immediately when I tried to use it, and the IP address was a dead end. So I looked around Whois, and found out that the whole thing was designed to lead me to a site where a domain was for sale. Whatever. Slime bag. Cockroach. Bottom dwelling mud sucker. I left the comment up and my response if you feel like getting worked up over people who do whatever they can to aggravate the rest of us to make a buck. For all I know, the scum is a neighbor and I’ll see him drive by with a shiny new car and plates similar to the ones I saw at the grocery store the other day that said LINK AD.

Sometimes, life isn’t as kind to the good guys, is it?

Anyhoo, have a swell weekend!

I guess with the upgrade that didn’t quite go as I wanted it to, I’ll be working on redoing the entire thing again. January is a good time for that…I’ve been avoiding it for quite a while.

And if I don’t tackle these things, then my learning stops, and what’s the point of that? I’m wired to keep pushing to understand things that intrigue me. And this whole business intrigues me. I know I can sit down and write, but the way this looks is an extension of me as well. So I guess I better get busy and figure out how I really want it to look.

I’ve changed over the last year. And as fond as I am of that woman in the header, she isn’t quite me anymore. That’s not a bad thing. I’m not quite ready to give her up, though, so I’ll figure out that, too.

I deplore “shopping” for themes, and with the WordPress upgrade, there seem to be so many kinks about what works with what. Sheesh.

So, I’m off to watch the Chargers play the Colts in the playoffs! GO BOLTS!

Hang in there with this thing. Okay? I promise I’m not going anywhere…