Had a splendid outing today in lieu of exchanging gifts with a dear friend. We drove up to the cutesy, nostalgic county courthouse square to browse and walk. We loved that the old buildings weren't being torn down, but kept wondering how the shop owners made enough money to pay the rent. I'm allergic to antiques, and don't have funds for designer jackets and handmade soaps. Who is buying all this merchandise?
Had lunch at McKinney's famous Pantry. Loved ordering at the counter, then finding a table in the old building. Wood chairs declined to scootch out of well-worn grooves. Loved being hollered at when our orders were ready. Snarfed the chocolate cream pie! Good food, honest prices, and entertaining people-watching made for a glow of customer satisfaction, unlike any of our other browsings.
Stopped at the outlet mall on the way home. Again, so many stores, and so much merch. This is the "discounted" stuff, and there's tons of it. In theory, there's a clientele for the full-price merchandise in megaquantities. Then there are the outlet customers. Then there must be the off-price vendors. Then there must be big tax write-offs and overflowing landfills. How many collanders does the average homemaker need to purchase in one life? How many antique vanities? How many UT tailgate cookbooks? Is everyone over the age of 21 burning three scented candles per day?
12/27/03
12/26/03
Rodent obits
On Christmas Day there was an obituary in the DMN with a photo of a woman wearing Mouseketeer ears. I loved the woman, even though she had been an Avon representative. It seemed to me she had anticipated the many formalities after her death as a whole lot of Mickey Mouse. She would be in Cosmic Disney World, and the rest of us would still be reading the local newspaper before lining the bottom of the birdcage!
I won't be running an obit for my computer mouse. It decided to visit the neon exercise wheel in the sky today at an inconvenient moment while I was working on my year-end inventory. My tech support sons were unable to revive the mouse with CPR or artificial respiration. We bargained for its soul with edam, gouda, jalapena jack, brie, havarti dill, swiss, and NY cheddar. Spells and incantations to the Device Manager and Installation Wizard were also unsuccessful. Right now I'm borrowing a cordless mouse (thanks to the Farmer's Wife Who Never Saw Such a Sight In Her Life).
This year I suffered from delusions of spreadsheet grandeur after learning to make rows and columns, and enter data (sort of). Still can't make the data do any tricks. The data is obviously not as smart as my aquarium fish. The fish at least know that they are likely to be fed when their light is turned on. The data refuses to do arithmetic gymnastics even though I have established the range in the field that needs to be added. =SUM(bad:headache). Bringing in a descendant consultant didn't help. Sending a history major to help an artist is the proverbial blind leading the blind. At least Jeff could supply colorful oaths from several epochs to the battle. I could only add dreamland welding equipment.
And now I am wondering about a commemorative Rosie the Riveter hamster collector's edition...
I won't be running an obit for my computer mouse. It decided to visit the neon exercise wheel in the sky today at an inconvenient moment while I was working on my year-end inventory. My tech support sons were unable to revive the mouse with CPR or artificial respiration. We bargained for its soul with edam, gouda, jalapena jack, brie, havarti dill, swiss, and NY cheddar. Spells and incantations to the Device Manager and Installation Wizard were also unsuccessful. Right now I'm borrowing a cordless mouse (thanks to the Farmer's Wife Who Never Saw Such a Sight In Her Life).
This year I suffered from delusions of spreadsheet grandeur after learning to make rows and columns, and enter data (sort of). Still can't make the data do any tricks. The data is obviously not as smart as my aquarium fish. The fish at least know that they are likely to be fed when their light is turned on. The data refuses to do arithmetic gymnastics even though I have established the range in the field that needs to be added. =SUM(bad:headache). Bringing in a descendant consultant didn't help. Sending a history major to help an artist is the proverbial blind leading the blind. At least Jeff could supply colorful oaths from several epochs to the battle. I could only add dreamland welding equipment.
And now I am wondering about a commemorative Rosie the Riveter hamster collector's edition...
12/24/03
Revenge of the Sugar Plum Fairy
When I was little I was terrified of the Rat King in the Nutcracker. Every year the black and white t.v. ballet special would be aired, probably brought to us by Kraft or Chevrolet. Every year I would watch through squinted eyes while asking, "Is this where the mice come in?" It was nearly as bad as the Oz flying monkeys.
Dreamt last night I was teaching my preschoolers in one of those morphing settings, part parlor and part warehouse. Very realistic mice were scurrying out from behind furniture, crates, and plaster molding. [Who ya gonna call?] There I was in my nightgown fighting off rodents with a blow torch. I felt like Carrie Fisher in the "Blues Brothers" stuck in a mousy early Tetris version. Clara needs those nice young men in their clean white coats...
I will have to abandon my hamster designer fashion collection due to Post Rodent Stress Disorder and Mousehole Tunnel Syndrome. Can I claim the loss as a medical expense?
If any creatures are stirring, nuke 'em.
Dreamt last night I was teaching my preschoolers in one of those morphing settings, part parlor and part warehouse. Very realistic mice were scurrying out from behind furniture, crates, and plaster molding. [Who ya gonna call?] There I was in my nightgown fighting off rodents with a blow torch. I felt like Carrie Fisher in the "Blues Brothers" stuck in a mousy early Tetris version. Clara needs those nice young men in their clean white coats...
I will have to abandon my hamster designer fashion collection due to Post Rodent Stress Disorder and Mousehole Tunnel Syndrome. Can I claim the loss as a medical expense?
If any creatures are stirring, nuke 'em.
12/23/03
Exercise wheel
What is it going to take to change my blog advertising banner from "Dancing Hamsters"?
What if I were to type
Moose
Moose
Bullwinkle
Moose
Loose
Moose
Teeny Tiny Toe Shoes
Moose on Ice
Moosepath League
Moose mobile
Moose fashions
Top Ten Moose
Dean Moose?
Would that be enough to instigate a blog ad change?
What if I were to type
Moose
Moose
Bullwinkle
Moose
Loose
Moose
Teeny Tiny Toe Shoes
Moose on Ice
Moosepath League
Moose mobile
Moose fashions
Top Ten Moose
Dean Moose?
Would that be enough to instigate a blog ad change?
I'm just ever so pleased
Yippedy-skippedy, yee-haw! My links have been restored to their former glorious functionality.
Did my Christmas baking today:
Got a baker's dozen Einstein Bagels.
Mike seized the moment to slice a hydroponic tomato and mash an avocado (still two for a dollar) with cream cheese to create a breakfast masterpiece. Carpe Bagel.
While many's the time Mike has transported me to the gates of Anxious Maternal Fury, the boy does a wonderful job detailing my Buick. I may never need hand lotion again with all that Armour-All on the steering wheel!
Since Jeff is applying to grad school in Ft. Collins, I had to determine if I imagined the whole CSU library flood year before last. The flood really did occur, but way back in 1997. Ack! The years go by so fast. I imagine the book mold has really aged by now, becoming a noxious chemical agent. Haven't mentioned it to my buddy, Tom Ridge, but I worked on the cataloging of both the Emil Kopak gift collection and the Uruguayan literature collection during my formative years at UNL. Both batches of books were thick with domestic and imported primo book mildew and mold. Plus, I only weighed 107 pounds.
Imagine, if you will, the professional wine taster visiting the academic library:
"This volume has a Great Depression-era storm cellar body, with a bouquet of soggy Farmer's Almanac, an aroma of Patagonian papyrus, and a hint of leaky gutter."
Some other day I will write about the Mari Sandoz collection. Congratulations to Mary B. as she returns triumphant to that whole arena!
Did my Christmas baking today:
Got a baker's dozen Einstein Bagels.
Mike seized the moment to slice a hydroponic tomato and mash an avocado (still two for a dollar) with cream cheese to create a breakfast masterpiece. Carpe Bagel.
While many's the time Mike has transported me to the gates of Anxious Maternal Fury, the boy does a wonderful job detailing my Buick. I may never need hand lotion again with all that Armour-All on the steering wheel!
Since Jeff is applying to grad school in Ft. Collins, I had to determine if I imagined the whole CSU library flood year before last. The flood really did occur, but way back in 1997. Ack! The years go by so fast. I imagine the book mold has really aged by now, becoming a noxious chemical agent. Haven't mentioned it to my buddy, Tom Ridge, but I worked on the cataloging of both the Emil Kopak gift collection and the Uruguayan literature collection during my formative years at UNL. Both batches of books were thick with domestic and imported primo book mildew and mold. Plus, I only weighed 107 pounds.
Imagine, if you will, the professional wine taster visiting the academic library:
"This volume has a Great Depression-era storm cellar body, with a bouquet of soggy Farmer's Almanac, an aroma of Patagonian papyrus, and a hint of leaky gutter."
Some other day I will write about the Mari Sandoz collection. Congratulations to Mary B. as she returns triumphant to that whole arena!
12/22/03
Alas...
This is the blog of CollageMama, not TechnoCyberSavvyMama. That is why my blog links no longer connect to anything. Maybe elves will help me figure it out. Kids still say the darndest things, but this blog is ArtLetter Linkless.
Sad rope swing
Went for a long walk to cure antsiness, and to procrastinate cleaning house and folding laundry. Only three days before Christmas, and it is seventy-seven degrees! Returning to our complex, I decided to walk along the creek. "Our" creek is two blocks long, and the city calls this tiny wilderness "Rustic Park". Thought I would walk along to the place where a rope swing hangs from a tall tree over the creek.
We moved to this condo complex nearly seven years ago now. We moved out of the house where we had lived as an alleged two-parent family for seven years--the only house Steven remembered. When the boys discovered the rope swing, that spot along the creek became Steven's emotional tether to our new place. Snakes and a horrible bout with poison ivy did not dissuade him. Swinging on the rope helped all of us reconstruct our ideas of what made a family and a home.
With all the fall leaves gone, the creek looked sad today, especially around the roots of the rope tree. The most obvious eyesores were the plastic bags--EVERYWHERE. Styrofoam, bottles, cans, ropes, wires, a smashed grocery cart, motor oil jugs, small rugs and a garden hose for crying out loud... I found a large Sunkist produce box and decided it was a sign to fill it up before heading home. That amount of effort did not make the rope swing inviting for any new family making a stressful transition! Next time I'll wear gloves, take clippers, and bigger boxes. I'll listen for the woodpeckers I know are there. I'll celebrate how far we've come as a family, and honor a place that helped us along. I'll probably get a bit teary next time, too.
We moved to this condo complex nearly seven years ago now. We moved out of the house where we had lived as an alleged two-parent family for seven years--the only house Steven remembered. When the boys discovered the rope swing, that spot along the creek became Steven's emotional tether to our new place. Snakes and a horrible bout with poison ivy did not dissuade him. Swinging on the rope helped all of us reconstruct our ideas of what made a family and a home.
With all the fall leaves gone, the creek looked sad today, especially around the roots of the rope tree. The most obvious eyesores were the plastic bags--EVERYWHERE. Styrofoam, bottles, cans, ropes, wires, a smashed grocery cart, motor oil jugs, small rugs and a garden hose for crying out loud... I found a large Sunkist produce box and decided it was a sign to fill it up before heading home. That amount of effort did not make the rope swing inviting for any new family making a stressful transition! Next time I'll wear gloves, take clippers, and bigger boxes. I'll listen for the woodpeckers I know are there. I'll celebrate how far we've come as a family, and honor a place that helped us along. I'll probably get a bit teary next time, too.
12/21/03
The Accidental Avocado
It is always a holiday when avocados are two for a dollar! Forget Christmas, Festivas, and the BCS. It is time for Guacamolefest, when all the Roos down in Rooderville consume all they can of that perfect food of the gods. Especially yours truly, Cindy Lou Roo.
Last evening Cindy Lou kept adding more avocados to the guac almost as fast as it was being consumed by the celebrants. Carols were playing (okay, if you count Led Zep). Bite-size Tostitos were falling, dusting Plano with a picturesque holiday glow.
When it was Cindy Lou's turn to ingest that magical, euphoria-inducing dish, she sat down in her favorite kitchen chair (the one looking out over the rooftops of Rooderville). She had consumed just enough guacamole to see the landing lights on the approach to Nirvana, when totally without warning, the chair snapped off a leg. Cindy Lou was thrown backwards into the kitchen onto her bazuzzi, whamming her head into the cabinet, and bashing up both elbows, wrists, and thumbs somehow.
Can you say, "ejection seat"? Can you picture demon-possessed home furnishings? Can you pull me up off the floor and get me some Tylenol? Fortunately, Jeff could, and he also lassoed the evil chair and took it to the dumpster. Fortunately, he didn't laugh, and was very concerned! I scraped the guac off my face and clothes feeling very sad. I think it was Dan Quayle who said, "An avocado is a guaful thing to waste."
Today I've been out spending my bonus on some new kitchen chairs. I hope they haven't gone over to the Dark Side, but there is no clear test available without posterior risk. I did buy seat cushions for the chairs since I'm going to need them for a few days. Cindy Lou Roo is thinking about getting air bags, too.
Whatever your holiday, practice moderation, and happy landings!
Last evening Cindy Lou kept adding more avocados to the guac almost as fast as it was being consumed by the celebrants. Carols were playing (okay, if you count Led Zep). Bite-size Tostitos were falling, dusting Plano with a picturesque holiday glow.
When it was Cindy Lou's turn to ingest that magical, euphoria-inducing dish, she sat down in her favorite kitchen chair (the one looking out over the rooftops of Rooderville). She had consumed just enough guacamole to see the landing lights on the approach to Nirvana, when totally without warning, the chair snapped off a leg. Cindy Lou was thrown backwards into the kitchen onto her bazuzzi, whamming her head into the cabinet, and bashing up both elbows, wrists, and thumbs somehow.
Can you say, "ejection seat"? Can you picture demon-possessed home furnishings? Can you pull me up off the floor and get me some Tylenol? Fortunately, Jeff could, and he also lassoed the evil chair and took it to the dumpster. Fortunately, he didn't laugh, and was very concerned! I scraped the guac off my face and clothes feeling very sad. I think it was Dan Quayle who said, "An avocado is a guaful thing to waste."
Today I've been out spending my bonus on some new kitchen chairs. I hope they haven't gone over to the Dark Side, but there is no clear test available without posterior risk. I did buy seat cushions for the chairs since I'm going to need them for a few days. Cindy Lou Roo is thinking about getting air bags, too.
Whatever your holiday, practice moderation, and happy landings!
12/19/03
Fx
I am stunned. My preschool students are still mimicking my scissor voices after three weeks. [See 11/25] What do you suppose the percentages are for auditory, visual, and kinetic (?) memories retained at the age of three? What percentage of them still actively flavor our actions 45 years later?
House arrest
Have spent a lovely day marooned at home with no car. It is so freeing to not have the option of running errands. I finished reading "Cordelia Underwood; or the Beginnings of the Moosepath League", which I greatly enjoyed. I look forward to reading more in that series.
Making Chex Mix in the oven (the way God, in her infinite wisdom, intended), so that the boys will know I love them and it is really Christmas. It was a pretty day, so I also cleaned the patio and walked. Got rid of all the canna and elephant ears that went all gooey after the real freeze early in the week. If you aren't familiar with these plants, imagine that bunch of celery you forgot about in the vegetable crisper for a month, but on "designer" growth hormones.
Mike brought home a duffel of dirty laundry the size of a body bag. I don't know where the duffel came from, or the nature of its intended purpose. Ran the washer and dryer all day, and folded nice warm laundry till I zoned out. Is there a 12-Step program for hot lint junkies? And wouldn't Hot Link Junkies be a good name for a hamster rock band?
This week was good for improving my work attitude. All our classes did short story/improv dramas on the stage for their parents. I was astounded at the talents of the drama teachers. We team teach, but I rarely get to see them in action. Had lots of chances to tell coworkers, friends, and students that I like and respect them, and to receive similar comments.
Have been on a pet shop theme with art projects for the last month. This week we made teeny tiny hermit crabs out of paper muffin cups. While the project was really a disguise to get kids to work on scissor and folding skills, they squealed with delight over their little hermit crabs. Some classes also got to make pet carrier/habitats with sand, shells, gobs'o'glue...
On a walk earlier in the week I discovered a new approach to outdoor Christmas decorating. At one house the whole Halloween display of pumpkins and hay bales had been spray-painted gold, then adorned with tacky fake poinsettias. Reminded me of the Camp Fire Girl sewing "baskets" made with cigar boxes glued with macaroni, bow, and shell pasta. If you are my age you remember those Readers Digest angels with styrofoam heads and pipe cleaner halos. My personal favorite is still the LP heated in the oven until it rippled, topped with a styrofoam half sphere poked with dried weeds. Most of Steven's AP sculptures so far have had to be spray-painted black, white, or silver, causing me to have these flashbacks. Why didn't the Surgeon General ever warn us that Camp Fire Girls might cause hallucinations for the rest of our lives? [In one of my inspired teacher moments my assistant and I once taught at-risk kids from the Boys and Girls Club proper spray-paint techniques. So if you see any really classy graffiti...]
Modesty has prevented me from celebrating my stellar stage debut earlier in this post. I am still reeling from the accolades and movie offers. My 1st grade art/drama class had created a play about the case of the missing Santa. After a variety of plot twists, Mrs. Claus was supposed to realize Santa might be taking a hot shower. She would pull the curtains open a bit, and say, "My goodness, he was in the shower all along!" Santa was always an imaginary figment. My merry prankster team teacher who will remain unnamed, i.e. Loree, thought it would be fun to have a real showering Santa at the actual performance, and I won the job from a host of applicants. Mrs. Claus, completely unsuspecting, opened the curtain to find yours truly in Santa hat and white wig towelling off with much booty-shaking. Mrs. Claus was not the only stunned cast member, but since she was paralyzed she couldn't close the curtain. My terry cloth spotlight moment went on much longer than anticipated. Probably used up my whole fifteen minutes of fame.
May you all be snowed-in or under house arrest one day this holiday week!
N.
Making Chex Mix in the oven (the way God, in her infinite wisdom, intended), so that the boys will know I love them and it is really Christmas. It was a pretty day, so I also cleaned the patio and walked. Got rid of all the canna and elephant ears that went all gooey after the real freeze early in the week. If you aren't familiar with these plants, imagine that bunch of celery you forgot about in the vegetable crisper for a month, but on "designer" growth hormones.
Mike brought home a duffel of dirty laundry the size of a body bag. I don't know where the duffel came from, or the nature of its intended purpose. Ran the washer and dryer all day, and folded nice warm laundry till I zoned out. Is there a 12-Step program for hot lint junkies? And wouldn't Hot Link Junkies be a good name for a hamster rock band?
This week was good for improving my work attitude. All our classes did short story/improv dramas on the stage for their parents. I was astounded at the talents of the drama teachers. We team teach, but I rarely get to see them in action. Had lots of chances to tell coworkers, friends, and students that I like and respect them, and to receive similar comments.
Have been on a pet shop theme with art projects for the last month. This week we made teeny tiny hermit crabs out of paper muffin cups. While the project was really a disguise to get kids to work on scissor and folding skills, they squealed with delight over their little hermit crabs. Some classes also got to make pet carrier/habitats with sand, shells, gobs'o'glue...
On a walk earlier in the week I discovered a new approach to outdoor Christmas decorating. At one house the whole Halloween display of pumpkins and hay bales had been spray-painted gold, then adorned with tacky fake poinsettias. Reminded me of the Camp Fire Girl sewing "baskets" made with cigar boxes glued with macaroni, bow, and shell pasta. If you are my age you remember those Readers Digest angels with styrofoam heads and pipe cleaner halos. My personal favorite is still the LP heated in the oven until it rippled, topped with a styrofoam half sphere poked with dried weeds. Most of Steven's AP sculptures so far have had to be spray-painted black, white, or silver, causing me to have these flashbacks. Why didn't the Surgeon General ever warn us that Camp Fire Girls might cause hallucinations for the rest of our lives? [In one of my inspired teacher moments my assistant and I once taught at-risk kids from the Boys and Girls Club proper spray-paint techniques. So if you see any really classy graffiti...]
Modesty has prevented me from celebrating my stellar stage debut earlier in this post. I am still reeling from the accolades and movie offers. My 1st grade art/drama class had created a play about the case of the missing Santa. After a variety of plot twists, Mrs. Claus was supposed to realize Santa might be taking a hot shower. She would pull the curtains open a bit, and say, "My goodness, he was in the shower all along!" Santa was always an imaginary figment. My merry prankster team teacher who will remain unnamed, i.e. Loree, thought it would be fun to have a real showering Santa at the actual performance, and I won the job from a host of applicants. Mrs. Claus, completely unsuspecting, opened the curtain to find yours truly in Santa hat and white wig towelling off with much booty-shaking. Mrs. Claus was not the only stunned cast member, but since she was paralyzed she couldn't close the curtain. My terry cloth spotlight moment went on much longer than anticipated. Probably used up my whole fifteen minutes of fame.
May you all be snowed-in or under house arrest one day this holiday week!
N.
12/14/03
On the hamster wheel to riches
Hamster fantasy fashions! I love it. Dog owners buy outfits. Why wouldn't hamster owners? We could make millions$$$$$ I always wanted to be the costume designer for Wishbone... I would love to see a hamster in Sherlock Holmes deerstalker and coat. Then a Sam Spade hamster. Then a Swan Lake hamster... I've been thinking about Lola, the Hamster Vamp, with bustier and fishnet stockings. Damn Yankees!
On a more practical level, I did all my holiday shopping in three hours this weekend. Spent another three hours wrapping and getting ready to mail. I am woman, hear me roar.
Now, what about a deep sea diving hamster? Itty-bitty goggles and spear? Moon walk hamster with helmet, flag, and golf club? Young Elvis and old Elvis outfits? Kung fu hamster with black belt? Julia Child hamster? No, too lifelike... Same thing with the Janis Joplin hamster outfit. Speedtrap hamster with helmet and motorcycle? Endorsed by Ponch & John... Star Trek hamster with snap-on Spock ears? Braveheart hamster with no undies... Reenact historic moments with your 1st President Bush parachute jump and 2nd President Bush flightsuit commemoratives.
No wardrobe would be complete without Prom Night hamster! Comes with its own little hotel room... Halo hamster with wings, harp, and poofy cloud? Little Mermaid hamster... Jetson hamsters with remote control flying cars. Superhero hamster capes...
Now I'm seeing hamster penthouses with tiny martini glasses and skyline views. Your hamster needs a new habitat for each outfit! Be the first on your block to own the hamster Star Wars cantina! For classier hamsters, visit the Globe Theater. Roll in cedar shavings in your own hamster Oval Office!
On a more practical level, I did all my holiday shopping in three hours this weekend. Spent another three hours wrapping and getting ready to mail. I am woman, hear me roar.
Now, what about a deep sea diving hamster? Itty-bitty goggles and spear? Moon walk hamster with helmet, flag, and golf club? Young Elvis and old Elvis outfits? Kung fu hamster with black belt? Julia Child hamster? No, too lifelike... Same thing with the Janis Joplin hamster outfit. Speedtrap hamster with helmet and motorcycle? Endorsed by Ponch & John... Star Trek hamster with snap-on Spock ears? Braveheart hamster with no undies... Reenact historic moments with your 1st President Bush parachute jump and 2nd President Bush flightsuit commemoratives.
No wardrobe would be complete without Prom Night hamster! Comes with its own little hotel room... Halo hamster with wings, harp, and poofy cloud? Little Mermaid hamster... Jetson hamsters with remote control flying cars. Superhero hamster capes...
Now I'm seeing hamster penthouses with tiny martini glasses and skyline views. Your hamster needs a new habitat for each outfit! Be the first on your block to own the hamster Star Wars cantina! For classier hamsters, visit the Globe Theater. Roll in cedar shavings in your own hamster Oval Office!
12/12/03
La Boheme
This week Steven and I had the great good fortune to attend the Dallas Opera's dress rehearsal of Puccini's "La Boheme". We went as guests of Steven's soccer coach who was performing in the opera chorus crowd scene. If I could figure out how to insert a photo at this point, I would. Instead you must just imagine the scene. Starving artists and poets are celebrating Christmas Eve in a cafe in the Latin Quarter of Paris. Love is in the air. Band members march through the square in bright red poofy clown pants, blue jackets with gold braid, and red Turkish fez hats, pretending to play flutes as they wind through the crowd of cartwheeling urchins. Perfect snowflakes fall while the tuberculine heroine sings her lungs out. It is just like my life, except for the singing part. When I had pleurisy in '95, I could barely inhale, let alone sing arias about embroidering flowers. To clarify, I could embroider flowers, but not sing about it, and couldn't do either while taking codeine. All in all, I sympathize with our heroine, Mimi. If you are going to embroider flowers, I really suggest being ten years old and sitting in a shady treehouse.
"La Boheme" did lead me to memories of my cold and starving artist days. I have written before about my art student experiences while oil painting in the converted brewery warehouse. We couldn't burn poetry or scripts in a furnace like Marcello and Rudolfo. If we had used a space heater the whole building would have erupted in flames from the turp fumes and rolls of canvas, not to mention all the dead bugs. We painted while wearing many layers of socks and sweaters, long johns, stocking caps, and sawed-off gloves. We drank tea heated with those electric coils, and adjorned often to the nearest warm tavern.
My favorite student watering hole was a bar in the backstage area of the former ornate gilded theatre turned into a doomed single-screen movie theater. The bar allowed one to enjoy a gimlet while staring up into catwalks, drops, and hanging weights. The entrance was down an icy alley to the old stage door. What a space that would have been for an artist studio/home!
Steven had to pick me up from work to drive to the opera hall. As we were going down the highway of death he asked me if I had ever heard a rustling in the glove compartment. Naturally I remarked that he should let the hamster out more often. Perhaps we have rodents eating the turn signal wiring (see entries about Cletus and Goober!). After the opera ,when we found ourselves lost in a seedy part of downtown Dallas, we were particularly concerned about big-fanged small mammal invaders blasting out of the glove box.
Coach wanted us to meet him at intermission for a quick backstage tour. Here is my true confession! My worst nightmare is when the beautician hands me the mirror to hold while she turns me around to view the back of my neck. I can no more look in the mirror to use a curling iron than I can play professional hockey. Something just shorts out in my brain, so when Coach asked us to meet him at the stage right door I conferred with my drama teacher associates for clarification. Actor's right is viewer's left, but we still missed our chance for a backstage tour.
After I switched from being a poor, cold art student to being a poor, cold library employee, I quit singing about embroidery and got married. Alas, I walked home through the snow to our apartment one freezing night to find that my law student spouse had sold our waterbed, beanbag chairs, concrete block & board bookshelves, and macrame plant-hangers to a foreign graduate student for $200.
Many thanks to Coach and the Dallas Opera for this musical trip down memory lane!
"La Boheme" did lead me to memories of my cold and starving artist days. I have written before about my art student experiences while oil painting in the converted brewery warehouse. We couldn't burn poetry or scripts in a furnace like Marcello and Rudolfo. If we had used a space heater the whole building would have erupted in flames from the turp fumes and rolls of canvas, not to mention all the dead bugs. We painted while wearing many layers of socks and sweaters, long johns, stocking caps, and sawed-off gloves. We drank tea heated with those electric coils, and adjorned often to the nearest warm tavern.
My favorite student watering hole was a bar in the backstage area of the former ornate gilded theatre turned into a doomed single-screen movie theater. The bar allowed one to enjoy a gimlet while staring up into catwalks, drops, and hanging weights. The entrance was down an icy alley to the old stage door. What a space that would have been for an artist studio/home!
Steven had to pick me up from work to drive to the opera hall. As we were going down the highway of death he asked me if I had ever heard a rustling in the glove compartment. Naturally I remarked that he should let the hamster out more often. Perhaps we have rodents eating the turn signal wiring (see entries about Cletus and Goober!). After the opera ,when we found ourselves lost in a seedy part of downtown Dallas, we were particularly concerned about big-fanged small mammal invaders blasting out of the glove box.
Coach wanted us to meet him at intermission for a quick backstage tour. Here is my true confession! My worst nightmare is when the beautician hands me the mirror to hold while she turns me around to view the back of my neck. I can no more look in the mirror to use a curling iron than I can play professional hockey. Something just shorts out in my brain, so when Coach asked us to meet him at the stage right door I conferred with my drama teacher associates for clarification. Actor's right is viewer's left, but we still missed our chance for a backstage tour.
After I switched from being a poor, cold art student to being a poor, cold library employee, I quit singing about embroidery and got married. Alas, I walked home through the snow to our apartment one freezing night to find that my law student spouse had sold our waterbed, beanbag chairs, concrete block & board bookshelves, and macrame plant-hangers to a foreign graduate student for $200.
Many thanks to Coach and the Dallas Opera for this musical trip down memory lane!
12/9/03
You know when it's time to go!
Watched a little boy about 2 1/2 years old drag his mom toward the exit at the craft fair Saturday. He was saying, "I'm ready when you are. I'm ready when you are. I'm ready when you are..." Each time he said it as one long word. He had my complete sympathy.
11/29/03
Holiday reading
During our Thanksgiving feast I got the giggles about the recipes I'd discovered by accident in Joy of Cooking while looking for the turkey instructions. "You know," I told the guys,"I found this great recipe for armadillo." This led to what would be called a "challenge" in Scrabble. I got out the reference volume, and indeed there was a recipe for armadillo. Also muskrat, raccoon, beaver tail, porcupine, possum, squirrel, rabbit with chili beans, and woodchuck. Clearly, this was new material for a holiday dramatic reading. Yes, I know, not every family needs a reference library for a holiday meal!
A few years back the guys and I went to Fredericksburg so that we could spend Thanksgiving climbing Enchanted Rock. Our motel was next door to an emu farm. We stared at the emus, and they stared right back at the same eye level. It was a bizarre Thanksgiving moment, and makes the holiday memory hit parade every year when we baste the large bird.
I always travel with a reference section in the back seat. Who knows when I might want to identify a bird, lizard, or butterfly? Where would I be without my Roadside Geology of Texas? A dictionary is good, too. Sure, this might have something to do with my husband calling me , "obstinate and recalcitrant" on a trip while we were still married. And there I was library-less and wondering if "recalcitrant" had something to do with deposits on teeth! Never again will a vacation go [further] down the tube for want of Webster's.
You will have to look up the armadillo recipe for yourself. This is my grandma's recipe for Ginger Creams:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Grease two 11x16 cookie sheets.
Heat and stir in a large saucepan
1 c. sugar
1 t. salt
1 c. Crisco or oleo
1 c. molasses
Remove from heat and stir in
2 eggs
1 t. vanilla
1 t. cinnamon
In another bowl stir together
3 c. flour
2 t. baking soda
To saucepan add 1 c. boiling water, then stir in flour/soda mix to make a stiff batter. Pour into cookie sheets. Spread and bake till done. Check with toothpick after 10-12 minutes. Let cool.
Frosting
Sift very well and measure
2 1/2 c. powdered sugar
Scald
5 T cream or milk
Blend
2 T Crisco
1 T butter
1 t. vanilla
1/4 t salt
Add 1/2 c. of the powdered sugar to the Crisco mixture. Alternately blend in the scalded cream and the rest of the powdered sugar until it reaches a nice spreading consistency. Let sit a bit, then cut into squares.
For 1/2 recipe of Ginger Creams use 2/3 recipe of frosting.
Take a walk in the fall leaves or winter snow, then eat!
A few years back the guys and I went to Fredericksburg so that we could spend Thanksgiving climbing Enchanted Rock. Our motel was next door to an emu farm. We stared at the emus, and they stared right back at the same eye level. It was a bizarre Thanksgiving moment, and makes the holiday memory hit parade every year when we baste the large bird.
I always travel with a reference section in the back seat. Who knows when I might want to identify a bird, lizard, or butterfly? Where would I be without my Roadside Geology of Texas? A dictionary is good, too. Sure, this might have something to do with my husband calling me , "obstinate and recalcitrant" on a trip while we were still married. And there I was library-less and wondering if "recalcitrant" had something to do with deposits on teeth! Never again will a vacation go [further] down the tube for want of Webster's.
You will have to look up the armadillo recipe for yourself. This is my grandma's recipe for Ginger Creams:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Grease two 11x16 cookie sheets.
Heat and stir in a large saucepan
1 c. sugar
1 t. salt
1 c. Crisco or oleo
1 c. molasses
Remove from heat and stir in
2 eggs
1 t. vanilla
1 t. cinnamon
In another bowl stir together
3 c. flour
2 t. baking soda
To saucepan add 1 c. boiling water, then stir in flour/soda mix to make a stiff batter. Pour into cookie sheets. Spread and bake till done. Check with toothpick after 10-12 minutes. Let cool.
Frosting
Sift very well and measure
2 1/2 c. powdered sugar
Scald
5 T cream or milk
Blend
2 T Crisco
1 T butter
1 t. vanilla
1/4 t salt
Add 1/2 c. of the powdered sugar to the Crisco mixture. Alternately blend in the scalded cream and the rest of the powdered sugar until it reaches a nice spreading consistency. Let sit a bit, then cut into squares.
For 1/2 recipe of Ginger Creams use 2/3 recipe of frosting.
Take a walk in the fall leaves or winter snow, then eat!
11/26/03
News from the education fornt
On a sad note, the high school marquee says "THANKSGIVING BRAKE 11/26".
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