kellementology

life according to me

Author: K. Peacock Wright

  • What’s the point of this, anyway?

    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.

  • Friday in my world.

    Welcome to my Friday Follies. I figured it was a great way to cover what competes for attention in my brain. You know. In case anyone is actually interested. And since Friday is only so long, I can’t exactly include my entire list.

    Question of the Day/Week/Month/Lifetime: Would any of the unthinkably serious crap that is taking place in the world right now be happening if women ruled? Seriously. Clearly, I’m not opposed to men in general. I’m quite fond of four of my own, all of whom are quite pleasant humans. But I will never, ever understand what possesses some to be so consumed with a desire for power, that they destroy what and whomever lies in their path. It makes absolutely no sense.  I would say, “Nuke ’em ’till they glow,” but Greenpeace would revoke my membership and I’d have to take my sticker off my Mac.

    Now I’ve heard everything: BBC News is reporting today that we can now blame the obese for the planet’s energy woes. I can officially expect the BBC to pick up some of the crap I write since they have decided to bring attention to this illustrious study and call it news.

    For the shopper who has everything and can’t resist yet another… um…thing: The ultimate cake server. My VBF handed it to me unopened the other day on our morning walk saying she didn’t want it. I think it was something she received at a dinner party? Lo and behold, a wonder of design revealed itself after I was done fighting with the packaging. Just chuck the magnetized heel, and you’ve got a swanky brushed stainless cake server that may or may not fit in your utensil drawer. My VBF is sooooo getting this back.

    For summer travel plans: Consider Paradise your destination. Palm trees, fish tacos, an excellent ball park with a less than stellar ball team, and no more spine-wrenching plunges into bathtub-sized potholes! An end to days of signs warning of sewage spills at the bay? Standard & Poor has finally given our fair city an acceptable bond rating again. We will now get to use plastic to pay for street repairs, faulty sewer lines and broken water mains. Party on! Maybe they can also do something about our pump prices?

    My gentle menfolk: I am willing to act like I’m somewhat interested in anyone who can convince me that a person interested in the arts needs to take advanced mathematics. But I think I’ve heard it all before. The RTR will be bypassing pre-calculus for statistics as a junior next year since it’s the lesser of two evils and he has to take a third year of math. The MoH has concocted a bribe — monetary — if the RTR can squeak by with a “C” in Algebra II and Spanish. He does have an “A” in PE, however, which is huge when one considers that actually moving his now more than 6′-tall lankiness is not something he enjoys. And that he has a swim coach who makes the entire class do 45 laps — yes, that would be 45 — to compensate for kids caught sneaking into the locker room early. Maybe the RTR needs to swim with me this summer. And pigs will fly.

    My Tiny Paradise:

    I saw this guy early this morning when I should have been sleeping in. My VBF had an early appointment so I didn’t have to stumble out of bed at dawn’s crack to walk. Do you think I could actually sleep? Um. No. So of course I got up and thought…Hell. I can take macro snail shots while enjoying my coffee! He looked so cute, I couldn’t bring myself to chuck him over the wall into the early morning traffic. Which probably saved me a law suit now that I think of it. Gawd forbid that I hit someone’s Maserati with snail guts.

    On the menu? Feh. I never have a menu. But my friend Gina always does. *sigh* In my next life, I’ll be as organized. Our meals are all mushed around in my head with all this other crap I think about. But I have finally edited the photos from our latest dinner party featuring Rick Bayless’s Mexican cuisine and will be getting around to doing that mammoth post today. And I’m thinking next week is going to be Indian…Tiki Masala, anyone?

    Me & my mom: Things are great! We’ve only had 3 arguments, 5 disagreements, uttered 49 sighs of exasperation, clucked our tongues 89 times, and been disgusted with one another once or twice. Don’t get me wrong — that’s all normal — at least it has been since I was In High School. We have our laughs and snorts, too. We’ve been on a few field trips, (Wally World, Target…) have drunk umpteen gazillion pots of coffee, analyzed the state of the human condition at least 14 times, moved my bedroom around, and jeered each other’s candidates with gusto. Her cat finally ventured down the stairs by herself today to be greeted by my hissing pretentious attack cat, and the doggo has stopped following my mom up and down the stairs, realizing her favorite person isn’t going anywhere. Her hips thank her. The dog’s. Not my mom’s.

    I’d say that’s enough folly for a Friday.

    Don’t you?

    I feel so much better now.

  • Obama the Dream Boat?

    One of the entertaining aspects of being completely incapable of getting a good night’s sleep these days is being able to remember the dreams I have. I’m actually awake long enough to acknowledge them, think about them, and give each a kind of evaluation. Nothing complicated. Just a sort of, “Whoa. That was interesting…” and it crops up through the day as I’m putzing around. A doozie will actually garner a mention of the dream to someone.

    Like yesterday.

    I was in my less than lovely lounging attire: flannel and beyond silky soft with wear jammy bottoms, a grungy blue tee, and an old Eddie Bauer oversized so not matching blue plaid shirt. It’s day time, or as much daytime as my dreams ever are. It’s my mother’s old neighborhood. The one we lived in the longest in the house right next door to my best friend’s house. I actually wonder whether her mother still lives there in all of this strangeness. There are lots of people standing behind yellow plastic Do Not Cross tape and a tall thin man in a great suit is striding away from where I’m standing with the crowd in the street. They’re cheering and pointing at him as I walk toward him, never quite seeing his face.

    No one tries to stop me as I approach him, catching up.

    I reach around from behind to embrace him as one might someone they care about and haven’t seen in a while completely unaffected by the oddness of this situation I find myself in.

    “I missed you,” I say to him, wrapping my arms completely around until they meet and I clasp my hands at his waist.

    “Why?” he answers softly. “I’ve been here all the time.”

    “Because I spend all day reading and thinking about you,” I tell him, picturing time spent on the Internet seeing his face in a story here and and an article there.

    How romantic, but it’s a bit strange when I consider that the man is not the MoH, it’s Obama.

    Excuse me?

    I had a dream about Barack Obama?

    Okay…

    So, first of all, I don’t spend my day reading about him on the Internet. In fact, I’m quite bad at reading news on the Internet period. My “homepage” is Google. So I see bits and pieces of news on the television in passing if the news is on, or hear snippets on NPR in the car while running errands and shuttling kids to and from school. I do keep my eye on the goings on and do tune in when yet another primary is approaching just so I can make sure I’m still as sick as I was of the pundits and their crap as I have been all along.

    It sounds like a big fat load of excuses, doesn’t it?

    And couldn’t I just dream of maybe seeing him? You know, in passing after a speech or something? That might be a tad more normal, don’t you think? Slightly?

    I actually remember thinking in the dream that I could, clad as I was in my beyond tacky house potato attire, shed a poor light on his quest to be our next president. That people may not vote for him because some deranged woman, who surely must know that Michele Obama would be kicking her ass for touching her man, was, erm, touching her man. Embracing him. In public. With a crowd standing by.

    Of course I had to consult with a dream interpretation source. I filed through the alpha list of “characters,” impatiently looking for what character Obama might represent while on my way to the “P” section. Politician, right?

    Celebrity…Godzilla…Hero…Lawyer…Mummy…President…Wet Nurse? But no politician.

    What does it suggest when one can find dream interpretations for a wet nurse, pervert, or a zombie, but not a politician and I’m dreaming about one?

    Okay, so maybe it’s more about a feeling and not a character. The source mentions that dreaming of love denotes “intense feelings carried over from a waking relationship. It implies happiness and contentment with what you have and where you are in life.”

    Whew. It had me going for a while to think that maybe my subconscious had the hots for the next President of the United States. Let alone that I’d be stoopid enough to go out in public in my slovenly comfies. After all, he does have very nice suits. I would only look that much worse standing next to him.

    Or embracing him.

    Obama.

    Baby.

  • Perfect Days & Apologies

    I think this is the longest I haven’t written since beginning this place I miss so much when I don’t write. And the only legitimate explanation I have for not writing may not make much sense to most.

    I can remember living in a dreary apartment when I was finishing my degree. It was brown. Regardless of how much I enjoy that particular color at this point in my life, somehow, brown then seemed dreary. And it was. It was a means to an end, and I tolerated it because I had to.

    Well, I’ve been having trouble tolerating the orange. I know brown isn’t orange, but still. Surely you must have an inkling of an idea of why this is a problem. Let’s just say my house isn’t in order. Or my blog, in this case. It makes me sad.

    I actually like the layout. I really do. But I spent quite a bit of time on thinking about changing out the orange and switching the font, and all that sort of thing, and when I looked in my files, I saw strange things.

    Can someone please tell me why, oh, why do designers have to subject the rest of us to their particular style of code? I understand creative license, and all, but man.

    I can figure it all out. Really I can. I just don’t want to. I want to download a theme, plug in my widgets, make minor adjustments, maybe have some fun designing a header or two, and then think about writing. Because that’s the whole point of a blog, isn’t it?

    So in fewer words, I’m working on this theme, but not since Thursday, which was days and days ago.

    I guess I just become disgusted, and avoid the problem. And that causes yet another problem because I truly enjoy being here and taking the time to spread my particular style of propaganda. Except I haven’t.

    (more…)

  • Unfocusedness

    I figured it was time for one of my ADD posts. It should match my brain about now. So much for Wordless Wednesday, right?

    Le Blog: The orange is so not staying so hold on to your shorts. But I do like the layout. I just needed to find something that would run. Internet Explorer SUCKS and IE6 is not loving WordPress 2.5 or something. Well, that’s what I’m thinking, so to make sure I completely ignore Abraham Lincoln’s sage advice about not being able to please all the people all of the time, I’ve become a theme switching maniac. It won’t end anytime soon. But doods. Could you PLEASE upgrade your web browsers? It’s so not challenging. Give it a go. Hell. Splurge and download Firefox. It takes a few seconds. Firefox is terrific.

    American Noodle: Has anyone figured out that Jason doesn’t WANT to be on the show? He’s over it. It’s a game. David Arche-what-ever his shucky darn name is has turned into a male version of Mariah Carey, whom I less than enjoy listening to. I’ve never quite adapted to that whole up and down the register wailing that goes on in her songs. I do get that I’m beyond ancient, and that I am no authority on anything but what I believe sounds exceptional, but still. He’s got a good voice, but the judges are just pandering to whomever the Tweeners will choose. I’ve lost interest in his voice and his no longer believable “who me?” look of surprise when they sprinkle him with their judge-ness. They just want to be recognized as someone who gets credit for his inevitable famousness. The RTR actually got up to take a shower last night when David A was singing because he just can’t stand the hand waving squealing females in front of the stage any longer. David Cook deserves to win. Period.

    Hell’s Kitchen: Are these people for real this year? O. M. G. Do any of them actually know how to cook? I can’t figure out why we actually are spending time watching this disaster. It reminds me of why I don’t like reality shows. But hey, it’s family time. We have to watch something while we’re eating dinner (yes, that late sometimes…). and we can make fun of the nonsense together and the talking doesn’t exactly interfere with the show. Who knows?

    Vacation: Finally booked an apartment near the Campo di Fiore for the first four nights of our time in Rome this summer. I’ve got plans for that kitchen. Now, on to the Amalfi coast…I would love to stay in a little pensione…maybe schedule a trip to Capri…so many decisions, but moving along on the plans and starting to get excited. Finally.

    Politics: I am so tired of all the crap the talking heads are throwing around about the candidates. It’s beyond annoying and I’d love to market some personalized corks for each of their mouths. Big ones. Wouldn’t that be swell? I’m even more tired of people who don’t take the time to find out what they can about candidates, instead believing what the pundits say. How can anyone at this point in time actually think that the decision we’re going to make next November can be taken that lightly. Aren’t things screwed up enough in the country? Hell. In the world? I’m sooooooo looking forward to paying even more money for gasoline. Aren’t you? Yowza. I’m so cranky about it all, I can’t sit down long enough to articulately write anything specific about it. I’m disgusted. And I don’t want to hear Hilary dropping her ing endings or swilling beer with locals. It’s lame.

    Homefront: My mom is settling in here in Paradise. We went on a field trip down to the grocery store yesterday. You know, to show her some places to be familiar with. And while we were there, a rather distinguished elderly man, tall with a nice grey suit, stopped us while we were involved in a brainless discussion on what type of catfood our cats might like, and proceded to tell us four jokes. He was cute. But it was bizarre. Seriously. Then my mother ran into a woman she used to work with years ago and they talked for five minutes or so about life changing decisions like moving and giving away everything. When they were finished, Mom asked me, “Where are we going next?” and a man approaching her from behind leaned over her shoulder and said, “To the liquor store,” and she cracked up because I had just asked her if she wanted some Miller Lite. While in the checkout lane, the checker, someone I see regularly in the store blathered at us the whole time, and then told Mom she was gorgeous and that it was too bad his dad had just remarried. That he and his brother didn’t even like the new wife.

    Totally. Hilarious.

    Dooce: We used up an ENTIRE morning trying to figure out when you were going to be on the Today Show today. It TOTALLY cut into my blogging time. And when you were finally on, were you thinking you’d like to smack Kathy Lee Gifford as much as I did? What is up with women who “don’t like computers” because they can’t figure out how to use them so blame it on the computer. Huh? And you did want to pull her hair over the comments she made about Leta, right? I did. But Heather, your highlights and cut are looking terrific, girl. Way.

    And like I said. ADD.

  • Blog Wraps & Ballsy Mothers

    Clearly, my blog is having an identity crisis. A few days ago, my aunt who lives in New York emailed and said my blog wasn’t loading. Outside of that sounding like some strange kind of medical condition, I cringed knowing that things didn’t bode well for my new theme.

    I put a message up at MyBlogLog to see if I could get some responses and people were kind enough to let me know whether they could open my site or not.

    It turns out that Internet Explorer and the Evil Empire *just kidding Bill* was somehow connected to the problem. No comment on that one other than I routinely encourage everyone to download Firefox every time I get a chance, which works just fine. Scott of My Thermos offered to take a look and also pointed out that ads running on my site might also be contributing to the problem. It was pretty cool. His help. Not the problem with the ads. I had downloaded Skype some time ago so that I could IM with my baking friends, so he suggested we use that to try and figure out what the problem was. Like I said. Cool.

    In the meantime, I’ve taken everything out of my sidebars, reported the problem with the ads to BlogHer who quickly responded and guess what?

    It still doesn’t work.

    And the reason everything is purple is because I was trying out different themes this morning and then got sidetracked with my mom (which is normal because we’re sort of unfocused when we’re around each other…) and then I forgot the purple thing was up. I’m trying to find something that will work. You know, because I don’t have anything else to do but play with this ridiculous thing.

    She made it back to Paradise in one piece...catbox and all. But my mom! She made it! w00t! And our doggo has been beside herself with delirious happiness since my mom arrived. My mother is her favorite human in the world. She’s worn herself out following my mother up and down the stairs as her things have been unpacked and now she’s limping pretty badly. The doggo. Not my mother.

    She rolled in at about 3PM Sunday after leaving New York on Wednesday morning. She drove over 700 miles on Saturday alone. Amazing, huh?

    Remember those tornado warnings she drove through? The ones she was supposed to stop and find shelter from? Yes, those. She said it was like the sky just opened up, with blackness on both sides of the I-40 as it angles in a northwesterly path through Little Rock, AK. We later heard that six people died very near there in that storm.

    But she is here safe and sound. We stuffed her full of Huevos Rancheros a la MoH and some wine.

    Stay tuned for more adventures with mom.

    So for those of you who are sick of seeing those books in the background of my photos, you’ll have a change of pace since I’ve moved my Mac from the office to put together a bedroom for my mom. She’s up there fluffing her nest right now going through the things she’s managed to hang on to after moving three times in less than a year. New digs for my Mac.

    It makes me tired just thinking of it. Seriously.

    Thanks for your tolerance with my blog wrap. I’ll get situated.

    And you know about flying pigs, right?

    Um-Hmmm.

  • Dorothy, you’re sort of in Kansas.

    This morning before leaving for work, the MoH told me that my mother was headed into some very severe weather. Right before heading upstairs to see for myself, I heard that storms had gone through in the night and that someone had died in Missouri.

    Glancing at the clock, thinking of the two hour time difference, and knowing my mother’s Emily most likely woke her up at the crack of dawn, and that she’d been driving for a few hours already, I knew my mother was probably not in a great place.

    “Where are you?” I began as I have for the past few days.

    “Headed into Little Rock, AK,” she responded as I stared at the weather map opening up on my monitor covered with huge yellow and red sections punctuated with exclamation marks indicating tornado watches.

    “Mom, there’s an enormous storm headed right for Little Rock. You have to stop. Go into a coffee shop or something.”

    “Well, it’s strange, because there isn’t anybody on the road this morning.” She’s been traveling on the I-40 with lots of big rigs. “But my sister called a while ago and told me to turn on the radio and listen. I heard about last night.”

    “There’s nobody on the road because they know about the weather, Mom. You have to stop. You might have to leave Emily in the car.”

    “Okay, don’t worry about me too much.”

    About 45 minutes or so have gone by as I continue to watch the weather and I finally decided to call her again.

    Do you think she stopped? No. She drove right through it saying “it got really dark for a while, but the sun’s out now so I’m going to stop for lunch.”

    Unbelievable.

  • Open up that golden gate…

    Some time last summer, my mother decided she needed an adventure. A permanent one. She figured that before she was too old to actually do something about it, she would relocate to the East Coast. Maybe that doesn’t sound like an adventure to some, but when you’ve lived in one place for over 40 years, and you’re not planning on returning, it’s an adventure. She’s always had wanderlust, and if someone asked me to sum her up in one rich word, I’d say she’s a dreamer. And that’s not anything to be ashamed of.

    I am, too.

    How does one live any time on this earth without dreams? Without wonderings and urges or hopes to go places different than what she knows best, or become someone other than who she is now?

    I can’t imagine.

    But I’ve also learned that most often, dreams require work, and sometimes, the timing of all that’s necessary to make them come true is wrong. It takes amazing strength to admit that maybe, you’re just not strong enough to make it work. You’re tired.

    Lonely.

    My mother, who turned 70 late last year, has, with the help of her sister, once again packed up her little white car, bundled up her cat, Emily, and yesterday set out for home from upstate New York.

    She’s outfitted with a trip itinerary courtesy of her brother-in-law, a cell phone, and two daughters and a sister who are at computers, keeping watch of weather, and looking for motels along the way.

    Amazing, isn’t it?

    I think she is.

    Anyone who likes to wander,

    ought to keep this saying in his mind:

    “Absence makes the heart grow fonder”

    of the good old place you leave behind.

    When you’ve hit the trail a while

    seems you rarely see a smile;

    that’s why I must fly out yonder,

    where a frown is mighty hard to find!

    California here I come,

    right back where I started from.

    Where bowers of flowers bloom in the sun,

    Each morning at dawning

    birdies sing an’ ev’rything:

    A sun-kiss’d miss said, “don’t be late,”

    That’s why I can hardly wait,

    Open up that golden gate,

    California here I come.

    You go, Mom.

    Escape

  • Gawdy Enough?

    Jeez. If this isn’t the busiest piece of Bloggsville now, I don’t know what is. And if you haven’t figured out how persnickety I am, you’re about to find out. It’s not just about three columns.

    It’s the font, and the colors.

    And I can tell you right now, that this thing is screaming at me. Do you have ANY idea how hard it is going to be for me to write here? There’s nothing soft about it at all.

    Crap.

    Good thing I work for cheap, right?

    It’s dinnertime and there’s no dinner. So I’m heading downstairs to whip something up for us and watch American Noodle with the MoH who just got home.

    In the meantime, I sure hope you like red. Oh, and claustrophobic columns.

    But at least I get to see your smiling icon-type gravatar thingys again, which makes me smile.

    Until tomorrow…

  • Theme switching in progress…

    Hi All — I’m working on my theme today, so things will be a bit strange. So what else is new, right? You just never know around here.

    I’m probably not off to a great start when you consider that I couldn’t figure out why, when I opened a new page, it would automatically scroll to the very bottom. No matter what I did, I couldn’t figure it out.

    Until I realized my plate was sitting on my space bar — and maybe the control key, the alt key, and a few others just for good measure.

    What a dork.

    Plus, ever since I uploaded WordPress 2.5, some strange things have been happening to my widgets. Like. They’re missing. I load the code, move them where I want them, save, refresh, and huh? They’re gone.

    So enough of this nonsense.

    And you’ll be glad to know I’m multi-tasking. Cleaning the RTR’s bathroom in between loading, deleting, and just for an occasional break. Sounds efficient, doesn’t it?

    I had to do something. My mom’s expected at our house within a week and will be needing to share his bathroom. I should probably bring in the garden hose with the power nozzle.

    News at eleven on that.

    Thanks for your patience!