There's nothing nutritious about a snickerdoodle

But that doesn't matter. Not everything life can be good for you.


Note: these cookies were rolled into little balls and then dusted with a cinammon-sugar mix, as it customary for snickerdoodles. My recipe says just put these lil' ball of empty calories on a baking sheet and cook.

Biff, in a shocking turn of events, insists that snickerdoodles are to be MASHED WITH A FORK and patterned up like a standard-issue peanut-butter cookie.

?????

This is heresy! No! Snickerdoodles are to be allowed to develop their crackly tops naturally, not be FORCED into the MAN'S idea of delicious cookiedom! Snickerdoodles are the free hippie sister of the cookie family, dusted in exotic spices and allowed to find their own way, not pressed into some plaid shadow of potential perfection

Why, I think the man would want to lay out tie-dye on a grid. Pressed snickdoodles, indeed.

---

OK, fine. I'll fess up here now about something SD (snickerdoodle - I'm getting tired of typing that word)-related, an the 'fork 'em or not?' quandry.

The pressed bow-to-the-man ones are just as good as the hippie ones, and, in an odd turn, are more satisfyingly 'crunchy.'

(Hippie joke! Woot!)

Tasty, yes, but they just look wrong. Like mini little manhole covers, grids of tiny eager cinammon-dusted plinths rising from pale mashed plains of body surface area. No swirls or natural crackles in sight.

And I think that's just wrong.

Do you have a dog in this hunt? Are your SDs allowed to roam free or are they smashed with metal implements until they obey to the form YOU want, like a toothless caged lion in a terrible Baltic-region zoo?

Curious minds want to know.

Tiff out.

It's not so bad until you pull a giant shard of glass out of your foot

If you're new here (and I don't really think anyone is, but hope is a stoic beast), you need to know that we started remodeling the kitchen a little under a year ago. It's still not QUITE all the way done, so there are still gripping and heartwrenching tales to tell.

Part of the kitchen remodel process was to design and build 4 stained glass panels for the hutch area over the appliance/buffet area. There are 4 cabinet doors, each with a 9-inch 'reveal' for the glass work, and about 5 inches between panels.

For about 6 months those panels have been bare of accoutrement, and still are.

But things are a-changing.

As of last Sunday, there are a hundred bucks or so of new glass in the house, the kitchen table is stretched out, covered in cardboard, and is templated. There are designs sketched. Some of those designs have made it onto corrugated plastic backing, and even more miraculous, ONE WHOLE PANEL has been cut out and pieced.

FYI - My contribution thus far has been in the design process. Biff is the layout and cutting artist. Because, the cutting thing? Sharp edges and all. Best I not be involved so much.

Anyway, last night, after having a wonderful time with a good friend here talking about stupid Xerxes and poor Vashti, drinking coffee and eating cake (CAKE!), it was decided that at least one whole panel would be cut and placed in order to make some sense of headway in the stained glass project. It was not me who decided this, as I am lazy to a fault and would have sunk gladly into the couch with a big glass of adult beverage and not moved until ennui did its job.

Biff, however, was more moved, and did a wonderful job of piecing the 'farmland' panel. Snip snip went the snippers, and tap tap went the tappers, and oh carp went the craftsman when something didn't go his way, and merrily along it went for an hour or so. Small pins of glass from edge rounding and 'uh-oh' cuts were carefully deposited in the scrap pile, though some errant few went sailing and then were swept up so that nobody would be impaled.

And lo, it was beautiful.

We finally retired to the couches with our adult beverages, and in not too long a time Biff succumbed to the soul-sucking ick that is the cold he was rapidly developing, and thus he 1) fell asleep on the couch and then 2) went to bed. I professed that I was not yet tired as he shambled off to dreamland, and so stayed awake for a massive 2.5 more minutes after his departure.

At 2:08 in the morning I woke up on the recliner. Comfy, but not as comfy as our bed, so I shuffled off toward it with a single pit stop at the kitchen sink to put away my snack dish.

Which, coincidentally, is where a rogue shard of glass was.

More specifically, on careful inspection, that shard was right under my left foot, between between my second and third toes, jammed in a good 3/4 of an inch.

Shuffling, it appears, is a very effective way to insert sharp things into your meat.

Happily, I was still mostly asleep, and so simply reached down, grabbed the offending article, and yanked. Oh, it did a little 'goopy' slide out (that you can really feel in your back teeth, I swear), but not so bad and nothing to scream about. Just a flesh wound!

And then I bled. And bled and bled and bled and bled, like I was the Olympic FREAKING CHAMPION of BLEEDING, and nothing would stop me from giving my frelling ALL in the bleeding arena.

Let it just be said that the sure cure for fountains of blood gushing forth from the pedal region involves a wad of paper towels and elevation of the wounded bit. You can, and should, leave the mop-up of the trail of gore for a few minutes until the bleeding stops. Word to the wise.

Good thing about all that blood - almost no chance of any shard retention.

Bad thing - I'm fairly sure I'm very retentive. SOMETHING is still in there. Clearly, kitchen wants to kill me.

So, because now we now seem to have a homocidal cookspace, when at last we post photos of the beautiful new stained glass project that will bring us almost all the way to done with the kitchen remodel job we started almost a year ago, please nod to the third panel from the left and thank it for not killing me dead with its sharp shards of glassy death. I'm pretty sure only your thoughts will keep it from jumping out at me now or 30 years from now and cutting me to utter bits in absolute bloodlust.

Alls I can say to that is here's to sloth and unfinished business - Tiff out.

Fetch Granny her shawl, wouldya?

So see? I can too go for over a week without posting anything on this dark backwater eddy of the internet. It's not like I forgot, or didn't want to, or couldn't make the time, oh no. I CHOSE to not post as a test of my fortitude, and lo it was good and I won.

A bet with myself!

Which I just now made up to cover my lazy sit-upon. Seriously, over a WEEK? It's like I don't even care anymore, and that's simply not true.

Onward.

In case you were wondering then, what has been going on in my world since I last sprinkled jewels of pithy wisdom and wisdomy pith about like so much animal dander, here goes:

- Thing 1 is now in Driver's Ed. Not a moment too soon, as he turns 16 in LESS THAN A MONTH and wants to get a job which will require him to get a license (as you do), but in NC the provisional licenses mean he won't be fully-fledged as a driver until he's almost 18, so yeah. Maybe we should have gotten into the classroom about a year ago.

- Skeeter the Dog is on pain meds and prednisone in an attempt to get her up and walking again. About a week ago she just went 'down' and wasn't getting back up. Oh, she's been stiff in the back end for a while, but at 12.5 years old (which is old for an Aussie) I thought it was a touch of chronology getting to her, and then she went completely lame. Hmmm, not at all like arthritis. More like paralysis. An X-ray or 2 later told the tale of The Bone Spurs, which is a cool name for a band but a really really sucky thing to happen to a dog's vertebrae. Therefore the meds. And the special prescription food. And for a moment, some hope that she would get better. A week into treatment and she's wobbling almost as bad as she was before starting, but at least now she can stand up on her own and, if there's carpet or yard under her, can walk and take care of her own business. I hate that she's crippled up; Aussies are hyperactive dogs, even into their old age, and Skeeter perhaps Queen among them for that attribute. Big ol sigh on that.

- This week is a weird one - I will be spending 3 nights in a row doing churchy stuff. I almost said churchy crap right there, but remembered that I'm churchy now and need to be a little more respectful. Also, it's not really crap at all, it's interesting stuff and some of it is instructional, some relational, some devotional, all useful. It's just seriously eating into my evening hang-out time!! I'll admit that yes, I was the one to sign up for the Bible study on Mondays (it's all-Esther, all the time for the next 9 weeks!) knowing full well that small group now meets on Wednesdays, so double-up was a given, but throw in a leader's meeting tonight and this is starting to feel like...habit. Oh, and toss in one band practice of Biff on Thursday, and by Friday you'd think we'd be glowing like Seraphim, right? Sadly, it doesn't work like that, but I suppose there's benefit in the TRYING. And I signed up to work both services again on Sunday, and thus will be standing on the hard floors of the Lincoln Theater in downtown Raleigh for another 4+ hours, answering questions, handing out pens, directing traffic, and doing whatever else is needed to make a go of the new site we just opened up. Folks, do not fear for me: I might be getting all churchy, but I promise to not be preachy. I'd probably get it wrong anyhow, and then risk being shamed on the internets for my vast stupidity. Can't have that, nossir. Shaming is right out.

- You'll notice that there's a whole lot less cussing here than there used to be. It's because I gave my share to Tracy Lynn, who needed more than were being deposited in her personal accounts. I do not begrudge her. She has a hell of a lot more shit to bitch about that I do. So, Tracy, you're welcome. Oh, and take 3 out of your pile for those ones I just used. Sorry.

- This is taking way longer than it should. Serves me right for fact-checking that Seraphim thing. SIX WINGS! GLOWS AS BRIGHT AS THE SUN! CAN STRIKE YOU BLIND WITH ONE LOOK! Seraphim, clearly, are awesome and require further research, and yet it's all I can do to not break my arm patting myself on the back for getting the reference right the first time. Seraphim. Woohoo!! (this is one example of a seraphim --> Another is the first pic of the post. Covered.In.Eyes. Still awesome)


For now, that's about it. I'll leave out my serious feelings on politics (nothing new), my anxiety over the global economy (nothing new), how getting a decent night's sleep is about the best thing ever (nothing new), and other stuff. Y'all don't need a novel, and I have to get moving before my butt grows into this seat.

Be well, Tiff out.

Between the mirrors

Some random kid I barely recognized came knocking at the door tonight.

"What time is Thing 1 going to the game?" he wanted to know.

"IDK," I said in real words. "Let me go get him."

As it's happening all over the United States lately, so it happens in Wake Forest - football season is here. Our son is a junior, and this year friends are coming by wanting him to go to the game. Friends are, apparently, also waiting for him to come to the game. Some of them with grills and tailgating plans. His friend are legion, it seems.

Oh dear - Friends are becoming his world.

Oh dear - He's not just 'mine' anymore. Pause for breath. Square shoulders. Move ahead.

As a parent will, I gave him and his neighborhood buddy a lift to the game, telling them to call me when they were ready to come home. They slid out of the van with 20 bucks in their pockets and a night full of possibility. Freedom. No parents, no siblings, no agenda. FREEDOM.

His lanky frame was quick to disappear into the crowds, but I had only the merest smidge of time to watch him go, the traffic was circling like a pack of hungry sharks and I needed to get going home. One, two, three, they're gone. Four, five, six, you wonder how this day came so fast, when they're now as old as I was when I thought I pretty much Had It All Figured Out. It doesn't take too many years for someone to go from helpless baby to strolling confident teenager, and seven eight, nine, you're getting closer every day to them flying the coop.

By 10, as it happened, I got the text - 'we're ready to be picked up.'

Bus loop, it's dark. Two tall young men side-by-side make an 11 in the shadows, gangly and lean. They slide into the work truck, we bump on home, dropping the friend off at his house a block away (I can walk from your house to mine; he said, but THIS mama bear won't have that, not while he's with ME). Once home, Thing 1, my gorgeous baby, dived into the leftover pizza, escaped to his room to play something online with people he's probably never met, and left his mama to wonder how he got this far, so fast.

A dozen years ago he was my baby, a snug towheaded bug in footie pajamas. A dozen years from now he'll be an adult, on his own, probably married. Watching him, and helping him, make those slow moves away from us and 'home' is the most excruciating work I've ever had to do as a parent.

I miss my baby boy sometimes, but I would never hold him back from his new work of becoming a man. Each time he comes home, having put a little more distance between us, I know he's doing what has to be done. He's growing up.

And I almost can't stand it.

Parenthood. It's not for sissies.

It's not all sunshine and roses, baby

Right at this moment an enormous line of thunderstorms is about done crossing over the TinyHouse and environs. There is another line of storms immediately behind it. This second line of storms is going to have to pump up the jam to match the spectacular nature of those that have just gone.

Black sky, low clouds, simultaneous thunder and lightning, torrents of rain, the works. Very exciting, all for that little risk of a tornado that lurks within these kinds of storms.

Tornadoes are real mood-killers. There's nothing to DO with a tornado, you see. You can't watch them from inside your home and feel all warm and cozy, because if you're watching a tornado you're 1) close to a window (bad) or are outside (even worse), 2) close enough to it for it to hurt you, 3) probably going to at least have chunks of other people's stuff strewn all over your yard as it passes, which mean more work for you. Tornadoes are not at all like the average thunderstorm, which is loud and crashy-bangy but not truly dangerous apart from the odd lightning strike or potential of flash flooding. They're typically OK if you're watching them from inside a comfy house, which differentiates them from the tornado, is what I'm saying.

---

An old blogging friend recently passed away after experiencing the butt-munchery that is cancer. He'd been involved with trying to defeat it for a couple of years, but cancer is a douche sometimes and did him in.

I found out about it on Facebook.

Somehow, this is appropriate.

RIP Rick Leonard. The Middle-Aged White Guy lives on in our memories.

---

A while back I wrote a post about some of my unfortunate experience with the opposite sex. It was dark, possibly uncomfortable to read, and not at all like what you usually find here.

Probably should have just left it here to stew and fester into the morass of past posts, but I didn't leave it alone. I sent it on to Violence Unsilenced, where today it is posted.

My aim with that post was to hopefully touch just one person's life, to let them know they do not have to live with fear, anger, pain, mind games, blame, shame. Just one person - that would be enough.

Today I got a message from someone telling me that they were the person I wrote that post for.

Message sent and received.

---

Took a lovely plane ride out to Edenton on Sunday afternoon with Biff. In a car it would take about 2.5 hours to get there, which is kind of a long trip for a day jaunt. In the plane? 40 minutes with a good tailwind out, 50 minute into the wind back.

Cost to drive = about half that to fly.

However,

Coolness of flying? At least twice that of driving.

See? It all evens out in the end.

Edenton was NC's first capitol, and has a bunch of really really pretty old buildings right on the Albermarle Sound. Very historic. Boxwoods everywhere. Reminded me a little of Essex, CT, which then made me homesick for CT even though I'm not from there. Fifteen years in one place though can sink into your skin, and so I reserve the right to be homesick for CT if I want to.

We took the airport's courtesy car (seriously - you leave your airplane parked and they GIVE YOU A CAR TO DRIVE) into town looking for something to gawk at, and had a lovely time walking around, taking photos, visiting the visitor's center, and eating ice cream sundaes.

All in all, taking part in the World's Most Expensive Hobby is a great way to spend an afternoon.

---

Well, here comes that second line of storms. Time to me to hang on tight.

Y'all be cool. Tiff out.

What smells like feet in heer?

There has been an incursion lately of bad smells into the Tiny House.

Currently the bad smell is like, um......unwashed bellybutton.

Or Parmesan cheese. Or really stinky feet in mesh shoes that are holding in some of the stink but not all so that you HOPE TO GOD ( The Capital G one, even!) those shoes don't come off that person's feet, ever, unless in a typhoon of hot water and lemon juice. And then maybe not even then.

It's funkay all up in hyar, and I am not a fan.

Listen, I'm a breeder of funky myself, and I am NOT talking the George Clinton variety. Oh noes. I simply can funk, Level 1, on occasion. GC could go to level 2, do the funk while being funky, or could be funky while funking, and that is OK and cool, because multiplexing the funk is awesome, but even ol' GC would shower from time to time, thus bringing the funkage to a Level 1 alert on occasion. HOWEVER - Whatever is breeding the 'woo!' around these parts is most assuredly NOT also bringing to "WOO!" to the party, a disappointing turn of events as there shall be no dancing tonight...and designating a Level 1 stink-only funk to this occasion.

And lo, doth I blame the cats.

But I do not know this: can cats smell like old cheese soup? If they do, is this a costly issue? And if so, how costly?

Curious minds want to know.

And maybe I should just go do the dishes and wash my upper lip, thereby perhaps avoiding a vet bill. Other vet-averse suggestions are welcome.

Tiff out.

Shots seen around the block

There was a plan today to put up some vacation pictures, but then I thought 'shoot, most of y'all have seen them already on Facebook and so posting them again would be super-boring for most people who visit here (I think),' and so I didn't post vacation photos, because 1) I do not want to be super-boring, and 2) vacation was over a week ago and I should have posted them already if I was going to because old news of people's vacations reeks a little like Gramma's musty attic, which is interesting and could be life-altering but stinks so much you can't spend too much time there and so miss most of the interesting stuff anyhow.

Newsflash - I am NOT your Gramma's attic, so here are a couple of photos of some things that have happened far more recently than a week ago.

---

Numbah one. A little thing called Hurricane Irene rolled through on Saturday. You may have heard about this, yes? Everyone running around crazy and stocking up on essentials like toilet paper, flashlights, and lipgloss? Oh, it was madness! Why, it rained for several hours in a row here, and even blew some, and got so crazy at one point I almost thought better of going to the grocery store for chili fixings but persevered anyhow and lo, it Was Not Such A Big Deal Around Here.

One nice thing did come of it, besides the general lack of utter mayhem in this neighborhood:


Good work on the sunset, Irene. I hope you left something of value behind in each place you visited. Like a nice buried treasure for the OBX as a start, and for New England might I suggest you would have been well served to deposit some Depends or something to soak up all that water you left behind?

---

So, hurricane, this time = no big deal. HOWEVER, we are currently being slammed with a storm that is much more thunder-y than Irene, which is to be expected, as hurricanes don't thunder much. Tonight's storm cell is very noisy, and has done some hail-fellow-well-metting about the burbs, so we are not yet without excitement.

North Carolina in August, just a big amusement park of meteorological whiz-bangery!

---

Also, it was perhaps mused about the place the other day that someone might really like a thing to hang her earrings on, as that would be ever so much nicer than digging through the bowl of jewelry every day looking for something which which to adorn the auricular area.

(It might also have been that the musing was part of a 'directed conversation,' I'll never tell. Not an argument, mind, more like a 'can you, handyfellow, do this out of random sticks and stuff?' thing))

As a result, that is what I found attached to the bathroom wall today.


Newsflash 2: I LOVE IT!!

The Biff whipped this simple sucker up in no time, during a hurricane, and then spray painted it while my back was turned, then affixed it to a wall while I was turned around again, and I'm grinning like a puppy with a new Kong.

All the earrings, save the post-y ones, are visible. Shoot, now maybe I can clear out the two jewelry boxes of stuff I haven't looked at in 10 years and get THOSE up there too!

---

So, that's it. A sunset and some baubles. It's just a day of beauty around these parts, ain't it?

Y'all be well. Tiff out.

Is it tomorrow yet?

I'm not really sure why people expect me to make good on promises to write a post on a specific day (*ahem* LL). I am a faceless blort of internet to many of you, an IP address with no real identity beyond the blonde young thing in the header who doesn't even really look like me except for those misguided days of Sun-In and Body Perms back in the early '80s.

Seriously, the '80's also involved mullets, neon socks, bandanas around rock stars' ankles, Bowie and Jagger in bed together (that WAS the '80's, right?) and many other short-lived and incredible fads. The only thing that could make ol Header Gal up there more '80's would be if she was wearing multiple Izod shirts and an add-a-bead necklace.

So, what?

Where was I?

Oh, yes. How I don't look like that girl up there and so if you were looking for someone like her to blame for inconsistent posting, you'd likely be yelling at someone else, not me. So don't do that.

Also, keep the aspersion-casting away from my actual self, as even if I do say 'see you tomorrow' I probably think it's tomorrow already and really mean 'see you the day after that' or 'sometime soon' instead of the actual 'tomorrow.' I am getting old, and time is starting to lose its meaning.

In case you were curious, THIS is what I looked like in the early '80s (at least part of them):


Fried, bleached hair? Check
Preppy button-down? Check
Arms tanned from hours in the sun with only baby oil between them and harmful UV rays? Check!
Awesome retro wallpaper? Check.
Gold chain? Check!

All that picture needs is a Pappgallo clutch and it would be nearly perfect.

This post has no point.

In case you were wondering.

----

Time to go stare anxiously at the track of hurricane Irene and think about the implications of not further battening things.

A paint can in a 40-MPH wind burst. How much harm could it possibly do?

Tiff out.

This can't be happening

So it's been a while, since I've visited here. I've thought about coming back, cracked my knuckles a few times, poured myself a long 'thinking drink,' and promptly lost the urge to express.

It's not that there haven't been things to write about, because as you all know my high-wire act and penguin farm keep me entertained and in full stock of entertaining stories, it's just that, well, I haven't felt like it.

Shameful, really, when Izzy the Emperor 'guinny just learned how to water ski, and the triple-flip I just mastered on the slack line is a thing of beauty. So.Much.Happening.

And did I mention the goats, or the rampant fungal infection of the water supply?

What about the record contract we just signed for the family brass band+kazoo orchestra? That was a surprise, but should take off in Uzbekistan. They do love a good kazoo orchestra over there. We're pretty thrilled to get the deal, as none of us are even remotely Uzbekki, though Biff comes closest with his Romanian background. Who knows? Maybe God was feeling very jolly the day we were all created and said "Hey! A little Uzbek in that crew sure would-a liven things up a bit!" and thus here we are, kazoos in hand, bugles at the ready.

Yes, it's been busy, but that's no excuse for not writing. You lose so much of the immediate impact when everything's just lumped together in one monstrous post of awesome. I am sorry for that.

I'll try to do better,

Tomorrow.

Because I can't let LL post more than me.

Tiff out.

in response

I received am inspiring message today from a SIL.

She may be a Big Thinker. Grade A if so, because this got me going:

---

1. No Tenure / No Pension.

A Congressman collects a salary while in office and receives no pay when they are out of office.

2. Congress (past, present & future) participates in Social Security.

All funds in the Congressional retirement fund move to the Social Security system immediately. All future funds flow into the Social Security system, and Congress participates with the American people. It may not be used for any other purpose.

3. Congress can purchase their own retirement plan, just as all Americans do.

4. Congress will no longer vote themselves a pay raise. Congressional pay will rise by the lower of CPI or 3%.

5. Congress loses their current health care system and participates in the same health care system as the American people.

6. Congress must equally abide by all laws they impose on the American people.

7. All contracts with past and present Congressmen are void effective 1/1/12.

The American people did not make this contract with Congressmen. Congressmen made all these contracts for themselves. Serving in Congress is an honor, not a career. The Founding Fathers envisioned citizen legislators, so ours should serve their term(s), then go home and back to work.

---

OK, so here's my thing.

Serving as a member of Congress is a strange privilege, one that should be honored, but not be a career. People burn out of good ideas and must be replaced by those who continue to burn with them.

A remuneration for years served should of course be levvied, as those who have served deserve their recognition, but this payout shouldn't be out of proportion to what they've done. MERIT BASED, any one? Just like your teachers?

Those who call themselves bold enough to politic on the public's behalf should also be bold enough to declare they are of the public are not afraid of being part of them again once their term is over. That is, 'I was a politician, and now I am again a plumber.' There's no shame in that. Plumbers are, if not more worthy than, then at least as worthy as, our best politico.

---

And that's it.

I abhor politics. I enjoy politicoes, no matte what stripe, as they are globally amusing and engaging with their diatribe and enthusiasms.

Tiff out.

my friends are your friends

Spent some time today driving to The Edge of the Great Woods-Adjacent for a little gathering of friends to celebrate Renn's birthday. (that's her! --->)

Renn and I have been friends for a few years now, and have the WVSR to thank. I met kenju the same way, and Biff. The WVSR at one point was a great place to meet people, it would appear. (And maybe marry one of them.) You should go check it out now, if you don't already know of it. Today's entry is particularly good.

Anyhow...

Biff, kenju, and I, who made up the Northern Wake County contingent of this gathering, rolled merrily along the highways and byways and dirt tracks and cow paths to a land far far away to get to this party, which was being held at a home of someone none of us had ever met. Pretty ballsy of us to agree to go, ne? Oh, and we had no idea how many people would be there, or who they were going to be. EXTRA ballsy, correctamundo? Just show up at a place you've never been to party with a group of people you've never met?

(Yeah - Chachi, who arranged all this, is maybe not the best of communicators re: scope of work.) No matter - we were out for a good time.

When we pulled up, 10 minutes early, there were 2 cars in the driveway. *Ahem.* TWO. Not screaming party yet, so...

We decided to take a tour of some of the roads we hadn't already been on. It's good to get a lay of the land, in case we needed to make a quick escape.

Not finding anything of interest 5 minutes out, we turned back to see if the crowds had arrived at the fete.

None had.

I was beginning to think Chachi had punk'd us.

Not wanting to appear odd by just parking in some random driveway and WAITING, we again decided to turn back to the open roads (this having been our third trip around the cul de sac, the neighbors were waving at us and probably could have picked us out of a lineup at 20 paces), and immediately passed the Rennmobile coming into the street.

Sweet relief, we were in the right place!

In a few minutes, after Renn had gone in without seeing us (thanks Nooze for the Momma distraction!) we learned that we 3 were the bulk of the gathering, which was a nice surprise and an honor, as Renn has many friends who could have been there to light up her life. We met the hosts, met the other couple who were invited, surprised the snot out of Renn by being there, and began to party.

In this case, 'party' means eat lots of good Italian foods and chat with new and old friends (including a surprise guest call from Tracy Lynn!). Oh, and wave at an adorable baby. These are things I can do, with aplomb. So fun, the aplombing.

Then, when our bellies were full, there was the small matter of a large cake. Dear Lord, what a cake. It's like the cake all cakes want to be, but because they didn't come out of this particular kitchen, they can never be. There were FOUR layers of chocolate cake with buttercream AND whipped cream frosting AND ganache. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course, but dang. That was one heck of a cake.

Then there were prezzies too, and pictures, and funny cards, and a jolly time.

So, yeah. I like Renn's other friends. They are given my stamp of approval. Pretty sure it was the 'embarrassing moments in yoga class' stories that did it. And those cards. Well done on those, y'all. But shoot, could at least ONE of you have been nice to her? Dang. :)

Such a great way to spend the evening. Meeting new people, celebrating a momentous day with a dear friend and her family, hanging with kenju and the Biff, being part of a memory. Happy birthday Renn. You are top-drawer quality people, and I'm honored to have shared your day with you, your family, and friends.

Now I'm off to finish digesting that monstrous piece of diabolically delicious cake your devilish girlfriend made.

Tiff *burp* out.

Ever get tired of being who you are?

Something odd is happening to me, people. I'm not entirely uncomfortable with it, mind you, but still there's a feeling of strangeness about the way things are changing.

The thing is: I'm starting to become tired of who I have been. I'm starting to think that maybe reinventing myself would be a great idea. I'm starting to think that maybe getting a certification in some job-related thing is a smart move, and that exercising every day would be the right thing to do, and that maybe keeping up with the housework on a day-to-day basis instead of waiting for the "holy Smokes this place is a sty!" feeling to hit before beginning an excavation of the living room.

Is it the heat that's making me crazy? Is the lack of estrogen causing me to go all grandmotherly? Can it be that after 49+ years of life I'm finally understanding what it's like the feel like being, dare I say it, on TOP of things?

So odd. So unlike me. Why, it's gotten to the point that when I'm at work I'm nearly always, well, working. This is a strange sensation.

Did aliens come down from above and rearrange my prefrontal cortex to enhance my usually poor decision-making skills, or did God finally answer on of my Mom's prayers and smite me with a sense of responsibility?

Whatever it is, I like it. Now, this is a new sensation, and a little scary, so from time to time I retreat back into the hole that was my former MO, but then I peek my head out into the blazing light of self-realization, blinking at how CLEAR things are there and how much better things look when I'm not hiding from reality.

Backstory -

Biff and I had a conversation not long ago wherein we bemoaned our combined lack of ability to fully follow through on stuff and how giving 100% was no fun, esp when the 100 is directed at drudgery and stupid work. We chatted for a while like this, and a thought popped itno my head, so I said it : "are you living at odds with your goals?"

We both said yes.

That was kind of a buzz killer, let me tell you.

But it started me on something, a thinking kind of thing, a thing that I remind myself of a few times a day - 'are you living at odds with your goals?' DO I do things that are contrary to what I know I'm supposed to be doing or that are getting in the way of a goal I want to achieve or are hindering my future chances at 'something'?

It used to be that more often than not the answer was yes. Near constant ambushing of what I knew needed to be done with any care and forethought, almost always rushing at the last minute to get something done or make good on a promise.

Now, in just the last couple of weeks, more and more often the answer is no, I am not living at odds with my goals. And you know what? There's peace in that. There's a sense of stability knowing I'm donig 1) what needs to be done to keep me from last-minute panic attacks, then 2) what ought to be done to keep the Tiny House running and then 3) what I want to do which generally involves and adult beverage and PLENTY of time-wasting.

Wasting time, I've found, is so much more fun when you're free to waste it.

So, that's it. Me, changing again. Taking another step toward sensible adulthood. Why, by the time I'm 80, I'll have figured out at least HALF of how to do that.

Tiff out.

'Chauffing' is too a word

Spent some time yesterday living the American dream, if, by 'American dream' you mean spending lots of time in the car driving people around.

It go like dis:

5:30 - drive Thing 2 to a movie party at his friend M's house. Drive home. 25 minute total round trip.

7:45 - drive Biff, who wasn't feeling well after the Papa John's dinner pizza feste, to his gig across town. Unload, drive home. 95-minute round trip. Am grateful to do this, because he was able to get a quick nap in and felt much better on arrival.

11:00 pm - pick up Thing 2 from party. 25-minute round trip.

2:20 am - get a text saying Biff is ready to go from the gig. Go get him, load up, drive home. 90-minute round trip and clear sailing - very nice driving at that time of day. Again, he naps for most of it, and I'm glad. He's not been sleeping much lately.

Home and in bed by 4.

CAN'T SLEEP.

*Sigh*

At some point I did drift off, to dream of such oddness that it's clear my brain wasn't really allaway asleep, and by 9:45 I was starting to hope it was time to get up. And yet, with only fitful sleep I'm feeling pretty good and might almost be ready to accomplish something productive.

Who wants to be that by 4 I'll be back in bed? Anyone?

(Which reminds me of something - is "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" one of your favorites? We re-watched it the other night and I completely enjoyed it, 80's clothes and all. Also, bring back the 80's men's haircuts (at least the Bueller style). Love the close-cropped sides and neck and swingy upper bits. So rad.)

You know what? It's kind of sad that this is the sort of thing that merits a mention. Me driving places. My 25-year-old self would now like to kick my 49-year-old self' in the butt and tell me to go get a life. "Oooh, la," I'd say to myself, "you had to DRIVE places, how awful for you, you boring old hack! Whynt'cha go DO something and then write about it? Whyn'tcha use your imagination and LIVE life a little so we're not subject to the snoozefest that is your stupid boring LIFE, you boring old woman!"

To which I would reply "I WOULD do exciting things, but it's a million degrees out, doing things costs money, there are dishes in the sink and laundry on the bed. There are papers that need to be filed or shredded, pictures that need sorting and sending, floors that need cleaning, and, in general, appearances that need to be kept up with, you snotnosed free spirit! I've grown UP since I was you, and am doing all those things now that you always just asusmed you'd do when you were gorwn up, so HA! Here you are! No more wild nights partying down, no more crazy leather-pants-wearing, no more mosh pits, no more brazen flirting, no more all-night booze fests with friends in their beat-up log homes, no more of all of that because we've grown up and are doing GROWN UP THINGS NOW. Like fetching our strapping young teen son from a party, and fetching our strikingly handsome HUSBAND from his ROCK STAR GIG, so shut up, you! We are living something a little more exciting that a stupid boring life. It's a step UP from what you always wanted, here we are, let's make the most of it."

And the 25-year-old me goes "OK. You're right. I'm sorry. I do want to get married and have kids and own a house and feel loved and be a family some day. I'm just not ready to right now. I'm am having all the fun there is to be had. Someday, I'll become you. Is that OK?"

I the now- me says "Take all the time you want. Oh, and enjoy that figure while you have it, sweetie. Nothing lasts forever."

Tiff out.

A Non-remunerated pitch, though a little remuneration would have been nice

For the past several years I’ve been buying outrageously awesome Zum soap from the gals and guys at Indigo Wild. This stuff is beautiful, good for you, smells GREAT, leaves YOU smelling great for hours (like, I’ve had people ask me hours after I showered what perfume I’m wearing. Nope – not perfume, just great-smelling soap!), and comes with a dash of positive juju in every bar. Plus goats milk. And enough glycerin to make large commercial soapers cry hot tears of shame at their rampant detergenting of a nation.

Can you tell I dig this stuff?

Recently, it came to pass that we ran OUT of the outrageously awesome soap, and, for a misguided week or so, had to resort to using ‘Coast,’ which I guess is fine but nothing like the outrageously awesome soap, except that it’s like 1/3rd the price. That is small comfort, as getting clean should be a wholly pleasurable experience, part of which is coming out smelling like a rose (or patchouli, or citrus/sandalwood, or whatever the flavor of the week is) and continuing to smell like one. The Coast scent is a little too ‘gym-y’ and not nearly enough ‘hippie,’ other soaps like Dial and Ivory are also fine, but once you get used to the goat’s milky smelly goodness of the Zum there is no substitute and you, like the addict you are, need to get MOAR!

The price though. Oy! Over 5 DOLLARS for a bar, ONE BAR, of soap! Of course you know why it’s that expensive when you buy it, as goat’s milk can’t be cheap, all those essential oils can’t be cheap, the material required to do large-batch cold saponification can’t be cheap, and all those dyes used to color their soaps can’t be cheap (and they use a LOT of them – so pretty!). Also, I'm guessing that running a soap factory that employs 50 people can't be cheap either. So yeah, a LOT goes into these bars, and it's artisinal, so it's not going to be sold on the Dollar General's shelves. But still - $5.50 a bar is an expense that needs to be rationalized, every dang time we buy.

What to do then, when one is trying to do a little bit of belt-tightening and get-out-of-debtting while NEEDING the outrageously awesome soap?

Buy more of it, of course!

HERE COMES THE MATH-Y PART…

Indigo Wild sells their soaps not just in bars, but in 3-pound bricks and 20-something pound slabs. If you want a LOT of soap of one smell, this is by far the cheaper way to go, ounce for ounce. At retail, a pound of Zum bars goes for something like 28 dollars. A 3-pound brick goes for $66.50, which saves about 5 bucks a pound! A bargain it ain’t, necessarily, but it’s cheaper than buying tons of the same bar for a much higher price.

So, we are now the proud owners of a brick of their sea salt soap, a lovely blue bar with amazing skin-moistening properties and a lovely citrus scent. And because I’d already paid for shipping for this puppy, I also got a grab-bag of a pound of random soap flavors for 16 bucks and a few other bars of personal faves for the regular ‘ouch’ price, because someone here loves sandalwood-citrus a lot and someone loves patchouli a lot; lets guess who is who.

Further rationalization for the Big Buy - It’s all a part of our “Armageddon Buying” plan. We do NOT want to be stinky after the bomb drops, markets crash, debt defaults, grid goes down. Nope - we will be the sweet-smelling destitute folks holed up in our home behind the tinfoiled windows. Priorities, people!

Which reminds me – must purchase a brick of TP, a 12-pack of Sure, and a gallon of toothpaste.

BJ’s, here we come!

Tiff Out.

Gnome to scale.

The sun's coming in through the kitchen window

It's 5 p.m., nearly, and I'm already home. The Things are holidaying at home this week, and while I'm sure the lovely lovely internet can keep them company for at least 12 hours in a row, I do like to be home to listen to them kill things on their gaming systems.

Currently, they're killing zombies. And something called 'Boomers,' which I understand throw up as their main means of defense (and, not coincidentally, offense).

Also, they talk into a headset at the people with whom they play these games, so conversations are very one-sided, like 'oh man, you shot me!" and 'aw man, I died,' and 'aw man, that was uncool,' and the very occasional 'OMG! Get me out of here!'

I learn so much from them, you know. Like, it's possible to let a whole day pass without once ever thinking of brushing your teeth, and it's possible to wear holes in the carpet from rocking back and forth on what should be a chair so uncomfortable that sitting in it for more than 30 minutes might be considered to be torture, and it's possible to wear the same pair of pants 5 days in a row because, really, who's going to SEE them?

They live in their cave, and I make them come out to eat, because I'll be jiggered if I'm throwing meat and potatoes into their room and act all surprised when they finally emerge years from now, pale and doughy, thinking the only way to be friends with someone is to charge up your favorite blaster and KILL THEM.

So this Mama hangs out in the kitchen, listening closely to what's going on while her charming young men cause e-mayhem and e-death. See - I like to know when things are getting really out of hand; it's when things go quiet that I'll really need to start worrying.

Just like when they were toddlers.

---

It's weird being home at 5. The light's all wrong, and there are way too many hours left in the day. The normal rush of evening is all stretched out, with no hurry, and that's just unAmerican.

There's only one thing to do in the face of all that potential at-home productive time.

Bejeweled!

Except, HORRORS! BB on FB is down for now! Ack! What to do, what to do, to waste the half an hour I think it will take to get me in the right frame of mind to start the evening's festivities?

Laundry? Feh. That giant pile can wait.

Dishes? Feh. Did 'em yesterday, and a new batch will be there tomorrow.

Go through that stack of papers/pay bills/update the calendar? FEH! That smacks of real responsibility, and would ruin the air of near-catastrophe that bestows a certain stench of desperation to the Tiny House, which smells kind of like bacon and onions, so it's really quite lovely.

There clearly are no good alternatives to wasting time when one truly, deeply, and honestly wants to waste time.

Unless I've missed a way. How do YOU do it, the time wasting? Is there something beyond mindless 1-minute games that can chew up tremendous amounts of time that works for you? I've dabbled with FARK and Dark Roasted Blend, but those sites contain content that is nearly informational, and no good can come of that when you don't want to have anything to show for your time.

I'm relying on you, Internet friends. Save me from the productivity that might result from PopCap servers being down!

Thank you in advance - Tiff out.

for no particular reason

ape
bonobo
chilly
drill
effortless
feckless
giant
heinous
jocular
kudo
loquacious
mentation
nocturnal
obstreperous
philately
quorum
remonstrate
subterranean
titular
unguent
vellum
waxen
xanthoma
yowl
zephyr

----

1) Which of these words do you think isn't a word?

2) What's the pattern used to generate these words?

3) Which one did I miss in the pattern?

Welcome to the Adult SAT! Silly brain-teasers to poke your Abdulla Oblongata, or whatever it's called. Your brain may thank you later. Or not. If not, I prescribe wine. Then maybe you'll forget you ever started to think about this, and rest easy.

Tiff out.

Recipe Saturday - chicken chili

The recipe below is adapted from some website that adapted it from someone else's recipe that adapted it from Cooks Illustrated, apparently. I would say it IS adapted from Cook's Illustrated, but because you need to subscribe to CI before you can see their recipes (minus the teaser pics and title), I cannot make that statement with certainty. This chili is really nothing like the inspiration recipe, which looked to be more of a soup than a a thicker chili, and I didn't have some of their ingredients and subbed out others, so, yeah. My recipe. MINE!!

Tiny House Chicken Chili (Fire Engine Edition)

This is a fairly hot chili, which we like, but if you like a milder dish use fresh jalapeno pepper instead of the habanero and things should turn out fine.

Ingreeduhmints:

• 3 boneless skinless chicken breasts
• 1/2 t salt
• 1T white vinegar
• 3 c water
• 2 onions - chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 habanero pepper, minced
• 1T crushed hot red pepper
• 1T cumin
• 1 t fresh oregano
• 1/2 t ground cloves
• 1/2 t cayenne
• 1T flour
• 2 15-ounce cans kidney beans, drained
• 1/2 c corn meal

(Isn't it odd that this chili has no chili powder in it? At all? I think that's odd.)

Heat water, salt and vinegar to a low bubble, add chicken and simmer for 20 minutes. Remove from heat, cool chicken and strain broth, saving liquid. Chop up the chicken in bite-sized pieces.

Sautee the chopped onion with a touch of olive oil in a large pot (the one you made the broth is in great, seeing as it's already dirty) until tender, about 3 minutes.

Add garlic, peppers, spices, and flour to the onion, stirring to incorporate flour and spices until the mix is smooth, about 2 more minutes.

Dump in the beans, broth, and chicken, bring to a boil, turn down heat, cover, and simmer 20 minutes. Stir in corn mea lin the last 5 minutes of cooking time for a thicker chili if desired.

DING DING! You're done!

Chili can be served with cilantro, shredded cheese, tomato, or whatnot. Serves about 6, and is chock FULL of good stuff your friends and family will love. See?

Dig the FIBER this puppy has!! An overall 'A' grade is hard to get using this site to calculate your recipes, so I'm pretty proud of this one.

Wrap-up: this dish is seriously easy to prepare, doesn't require a long simmering time like is needed for tomato-based chilis, used ONE POT in preparation, and is good for you. Also? Dairy-free if you skip the cheese topping. Could also be gluten-free, if you skipped the flour part. My goodness, is this the perfect food, or what?

So, that's it from the kitchen. Here's to a great weekend!

Tiff out.

I've watched 'em go up and down

Of course you all knew that the last planned space shuttle flight came down today, safe and sound.

What's that? You've had your head buried under a rock for the last 2 weeks and did not know that the last planned space shuttle flight came down today, safe and sound? Why, how could you NOT know the last planned space shuttle flight came down today, safe and sound?

It's all over the news, you know, that the last planned space shuttle flight came down today, safe and sound.

(Except for that bit about the thermospheric lampreys Hoovering up bit of frozen astro-poo and insulating tiles, accidentally knocking off one of the rastrocouplers from the Farglander intake. Because sheesh, once you seen that happen, you never want to see it again. Sloppy eaters, and even worse breath. Terrible party guests.)

Note: that as of yesterday, the phrase, at least on NPR, was 'last PLANNED' space shuttle flight, which I think was a lovely and subtle insertion and hope-giver from the previously pandemic 'last flight ever,' don't you? The 'planned' bit is a sweet hedge against never being able to go up again to knock heads with the Termingling Fosbots from Draco's Uvula, or to swish sublimely with the fine folk from Asterurb Belcharion, who are noted dancers, what with their multiple feet an 4D vision.

I like the idea of keeping 'planned' in the mix, because if there's a rocking space party, we SHOULD be able to go, don't you think?

My thoughts exactly.

---

White chicken chili - work of the Devil or sublimeness in a bowl?

---

Hey! We have the Heat Dome now! Nice hand-off, midwest.

Next time though, please consider a bounce pass to the Atlantic ocean so that we here in the Land of Oppressive Heat Mostly Year-Round can get back to our regularly scheduled 95 degrees until September.

This 100-degree crap with a heat index of 112? It's enough to drive even the most stoic Southerner up a nut tree.

---

I hope y'all are all keeping well. It's a good time to sit and take stock of what we have, as it's too dang hot to do much else around these parts.

Tiff out.

Felicitations on the anniversary of your natal day!

Many years ago I declared that I couldn't take the opinions of anyone born in the 70's seriously, because if they were born in the 70's it meant that they were too young to have an opinion.

Much to my shock and chagrin, I realize I must change my views, because people born in the 70's are now, it appears, not only old enough to have opinions but children, jobs, responsibility, and fulfilling lives as well!

Some of them even have a birthday today, one of whom I know. It is to this person that I owe an apology for the very silly voicemail message left last night in a response to a request by a family member to leave voicemail messages in honor or their birthday.

I'm sorry, person to whom I left a very silly voicemail message last night - I should never have used 'gorilla' and 'happy birthday' in the same phrase, and I apologize. I was mic-shocked, and hadn't prepared well. This is what I should have said:

Happy birthday to one of the worlds Greatest Enunciators! You are to be congratulated on NEVER being misunderstood. As if that wasn't enough (because a life of clarity is to be celebrated!), you are also one of the most caring, creative, and clever people I've met. You really live out your best characteristics and therefore generate goodwill and great humor as a result. Also, I dig those inflatable buffet things and your accent.

Because, really, her accent (though I bet she doesn't think she has one) is crazily charming.

----

Not that this has ANYTHING to do with the above sentimentality, but I think you deserve to know that when someone screams 'you have floor ants!' you'd better run, and run FAST, because those suckers will be ON you in a heartbeat looking for anything at all to eat. What you should also know is that they don't like meat, so you're safe, but being covered with millions and millions of them is scary-bad and itch-inducing.

The good thing is they die within minutes of being released from the colony ball, so even though every available surface might be covered in a writhing mass of dark chitinous bodies, the really icky part doesn't last that long and in a little while you can go about the business of sweeping up.

And so now you know part of what I learned from my dreams last night.

This was about the ONLY good thing that happened in them. The other parts about the

• dreadful amusement park full of hazards; traps; and 'lazy bayou' mud bogs featuring fake alligators, kraken, and savages all surging out of the mud at you while you slog through them laden with giant bags of sugar on your back you're not allowed to get wet
• the giant octopus,
• elevators that take you noplace fast when you need to meet with the VP and don't have keys to your dorm room and might be, in fact, mostly naked and slightly singed
• old boyfriends appearing like moths at a light to serenade the crowds of people who are gathering around waiting for you to give a presentation you have no idea you were supposed to give and you're still muddy, slightly singed, mostly naked, and very very angry?

Not so good. Be glad I didn't tell you about them.

---

Well - it's time to go. The shower and work call me to activity. I'd stay here all day, you know, wandering around bumping into things, thinking of taking a nap or making something to eat, but people EXPECT things of me and need me to go to meetings and tell them stuff about things, and then think I might be at my desk waiting for them to swing by and catch up...which is annoying but has the happy side effect of paying the bills.

Begs the Question - If you won a mega-lottery and had all the money you ever needed, therefore didn't have to occupy yourself with a job or home work or other drudgely things, what would you do for the first week?

I think I'd spend it not telling anyone. I might keep going to work, reveling on the inside and feeling very superior to all the other working stiffs who didn't have millions in the bank. I might even shoot for mental haughtiness, recapturing the strong ego I had when I was young and believed I was better, stronger, and faster than most people around me. Ah, the salad days of youth, when the mirror of self-reflection was still firmly packed up in a musty corner of adulthood.

But that's just me - what about you?

Tiff out.

First things first

I have a friend who has written a book. You can buy that book. You don't even have to be her friend. Just be someone who has enough money to buy her book. See? It's simple.

This is her book:

I've heard it makes a great gift. :)

See Lisa? I DO read the copy.

-------------

Also, it's clear to me now that I am of an age where I need to tack on a couple of days AFTER a vacation to recover from vacation.

A week's worth of boating, floating, eating, drinking, singing ,playing, and general FROLIC wore me out so much that upon arrival back home on Saturday afternoon it was all I could do to get the car unpacked and then fall into bed...for a 3-hour snooze.

(Did anyone else just hear the theme song to Gilligan's Island? Just me? OK then, moving on)

Which I followed up with about 10 hours of sleep that night.

Who knew all that treading water and riding about in boats could be so dang exhausting? Well, me, because that's what happens EVERY year. Somehow, in the 12 intervening months, I forget. Old age has its benefits, I guess is what I'm saying...

Once thing I know for sure, and that I will never forget, is that as much I drive them nuts and as much as they make me wish for a padded room sometimes (I like the quiet!!), I love my family. A week is just not enough to spend with the people who know me best.

Even the noisy ones.

----------

I hope you have been keeping well and that your parts of the world are blossoming with possibilities and the fruit of the money tree.

For now, still basking, Tiff out.