All Adither

Word swoon

Last week I went to a coffee shop in Queen Anne (the same one where Bossy and I met with Paul Nyhan from the P-I almost a year ago.). On the walls of this particular coffee shop was artwork that I fell madly in love with on sight.

Hung throughout the narrow space of Café Ladro were photos of words. Small chunks from books and dictionaries. And the photographer (or the photoshopper) had focused on a couple lines of text, making them so much more significant than when you see the whole page.

I had to try it myself.

Okay, my gaussian blur is pretty sloppy.

How about this one?

No Photoshopping involved.

This one is probably my favorite...

Yeah, I'll keep practicing. 

Still 39

You're still kind of young in your 30s, right? I mean, not midriff-baring young. Or binge-drinking young. But, relatively young.

I'm turning 40 in three days. I never thought I'd have a problem with 40. Or any age. In fact, when people complain about being old, it annoys me. I find it graceless. I throw all the platitudes at them: But you're wiser! And more distinguished! And you're so much more interesting than boring midriff-baring, binge-drinking youngsters.

Sigh. Now here I am. About to flip my first digit to a 4. And, yeah, I'm freaking out a little.

I started compiling a list of activities I could still get away with as a 39-year-old that maybe, when I'm 40, not so much. I reasoned that if I busted out three a day, I could fit them all in before Friday. 

They were all things like Go Clubbing. Get Hair Extensions. Toss the F-word around without caring who hears it.

Which, really, if I'm mourning skanky hair, pounding beer until I can't see straight and cursing, then forty's probably not going to be so bad.

I'm pretty in touch with my inner old soul as it is. I am prone to sitting around and listening to the quiet (or a brook! or Matlock! Not really!) and knitting. I cannot consume more than two glasses of wine on any given night. I like slippers.

So what am I freaking out about, really? 40! Who cares. I scoff at 40. 

I will kick 40's ass and make it wish it were 25.

I'll do my dreaming with my eyes wide open

~Tony Arata

A couple weeks ago, before I had to have my cat put down, before our frigid-but-fun camping trip, I posted the first chapter of my WoManuscript, The Goodness of Meredith Beam.

Not only did several of you amazing internet buddies of mine actually sit down to read it, but you left me long, astute, spot-on critiques that I believe will not only help me immensely with this novel, but will change the course of my writing for the better.

Thank you so much The Mom, M, Ninja Mama, Mama O'Matrices, Wendy, Mommy Time, Anne Nahm, Laura in LA, Foolery, Deb and BOSSY. And thank you Kristy Alley, Slouching Mom and Doobleh-Vay for emailing me offline and offering to read my revised chapter.

I am completely blown away by your generosity. I mean, really. There is nothing tangible in this for you. You're simply helping a fellow blogger with her dream and for that I am SO grateful. And hopeful for mankind too.

If any of you are interested, I've posted a revised version of Chapter One in my sidebar. Over there to the right under the Feed Icon.

•••••

One night last week I had the pleasure of getting together with some Seattle Mom Bloggers. In attendance were Kathryn from Daring Young Mom, Jenny from Absolutely Bananas, Carrie, of Growing a Baby in Seattle fame, Eve of Good Enough, Carrie from Stop Screaming I'm Driving, Stacy, Miss Mama-Om and Mona from Kirida.

Even though I was using a clunky old, 2 Megapixel Canon that I had to bash with my palm three times before every snap, I got a couple cute pics.

The sky, on the way home, was GORGEOUS.

I tried to capture the Space Needle from a stoplight and, well, I got this.

Seattle. First and Denny. A cold, clear night.

Crappy weather camping

This week J. has been hauling out his old camping gear. He used to be quite the outdoorsman. Sadly, a legal career, two small kids and a middling-to-unoutdoorsy wife has put a temporary kibosh on that.

Saturday night though, we're going camping with four other families. When I agreed to the outside overnight, it was winter. And I when I imagined the first weekend of June I couldn't help but think of sun. And warmth. Chirping birds and bikini tops (not really).

Instead, we're supposed to get this:

Huddling in the tent playing cards and eating cookies I guess. Is that what you do during a rainy camping trip? I'm not sure.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to pack all these:

and this:

and most importantly, this:

Halp!

My new blog: The Half Assed Kitchen

I was sitting around the other day with a Real Simple open on my lap, a chunk of Cadbury Carmello in my mouth and an icey daiquiri on the table next to me, trying to decide what to do with all my extra time. Now that I'm not cleaning up cat messes and the two kids are basically taking care of themselves (Ha!), I needed a project.

So, of course, I started another blog.

It's called The Half Assed Kitchen and has some of my favorite kitcheny recipes and tips. It's definitely NOT a foodie blog. Nor does it offer tutorials on how to make Tater Tot Casseroles or Cream of Mushroom Chicken (not that there's anything wrong with those). It focuses on easyish, simple recipes that can be passed off as elegant and presentable. 

I'll be adding to it regularly.

Please stop by, won't you?

All Adither's Best-of-the-Oscars

Best Sparkly Necklace Looping Over A Right Boob: Nicole Kidman

Most-Trashed-Guitar: Glen's, of the duo who crooned the song from Once

Best Smirky Cheekbones: Renee Zellweger

Best Who-The-Hell-Is-That For What-The-Hell-Is-That? Marion Cotillard for La Vie en Rose. (Actually, she was a favorite, I'm just ignorant)

Best Compassionate Face: Laura Linney during tribute to 98-year-old Robert Boyle

Most Authentic Look: Diablo Cody who was garish, to be sure, but completely real

Most Shocking-About-To-Detonate-Forehead-Vein: Daniel Day Lewis's in There Will Be Blood clip

Coolest Amazon Woman: Tilda Swinton, who I think might actually be as tall as I am and who looks like she could kick some serious ass

Best Acceptance Speech That I Didn't Understand A Word Of: Javier Bardem's. (Am a stupid American who doesn't know anything beyond uno, dos, tres)

Best Posh-Bob On A Man: Daniel Day Lewis

Heaviest Application of Black Rustoleum to Scalp: John Travolta

Least Satisfying Montage: Tribute for those who had passed to the bright stage lights in the sky (I know it's awful, but I wanted a solid block of Heath Ledger)

Rudest Awakening: It's effing eleven-thirty and WHERE HAS MY EVENING GONE?

Belltown evening

I wish I had a good camera that could capture the skeletal tree outside the window of Uptown Espresso. The peachy glow of a street light across the tops of its wet, gleaming branches, the darker etching of another bare maple (?) behind it and the gray rain against an inky sky.

Open Letter to the Starbucks Eggnog scone

I tried you. You were okay. You certainly possessed a strong eggnog essence, complete with nutmeg sprinkled throughout your crumbly entrails. But your blandness was uninspiring and your layer of frosting too thin. My daughter and I unenthusiastically consumed you, skimming off your glaze and then picking at your dry bottom half (as if you were a muffin, which you definitely were not).

I wished you were bigger until I went to the Starbucks website and discovered that you’re 480 calories with 19 grams of fat. Perhaps I could order you again and forget your artery-obstructing properties and banality if you were made with real rum.

Most likely, next time, I’ll just order your cousin––the reduced fat cinnamon swirl coffee cake.

Because every blog needs a bad haiku

Slippers. Comfy. Warm.
Threadbare. I love you most on
frosty winter nights

So much to see in Suburbia!

I'm a rotten, spoiled brat because I get to be a stay-at-home mom, plus have a babysitter come two mornings a week. Usually I spend this time running errands, writing in Tully's or going to various appointments.

This morning, I had to fritter away my precious time off at the dentist.

I thought my cleaning would be a breeze since I've recently taken to flossing EVERY DAY! I can hardly believe I've managed it. But the cleaning was not as breezalicious as I would've hoped. I'd forgotten that, during my last cleaning, the power went out and the hygenist finished me up in a half-assed way while another of the hygenists held a flashlight pointed at my mouth. So, I don't think it was super thorough and despite my rabid flossing, there was a lot, today, to chip away at.

Afterwards, on my way to the grocery store, I saw an eighty-year-old woman (okay, she could've been 90) driving a Scion.

I think they can actually be converted so they're wheel-chair friendly and I thought, how much better than a van is that?

I also saw another vehicular curiosity: a sedan, at a stop light, started spuming thick, gray smoke from under its hood. I was sure I was about to witness a real live car fire (which I haven't seen since the last time I was in Detroit--and that one was unattended and, apparently, unconcerning to anyone passing by) and watch someone dive from his passenger-side door onto the curb.

Alas, the light turned green and the driver just motored ahead, like nothing was amiss.

While I was out, I also picked up a clown costume for Fruit Bat, because that is what he wants to be for All Hallowed Eve. He is now watching Dora while wearing his clown suit, complete with red, spongy nose. Kitty cat is purple, orange and red with envy.