When I came home from work last night I discovered that the husband had, uncharacteristically, gone shopping while I was away. I walked into the kitchen to find…one hundred pounds of rice. It just seems so absurd. We go through a lot of rice, but one hundred pounds? All at once? True, the co-op doesn’t have everything we need in the quantities we desire. There a dinky one pound bag of rice costs $3 or more. The husband went elsewhere to procure the fifty pound bags of rice…for just $20 each. I guess bigger can be better. And, hey, if the neighborhood experiences any flooding this Spring we can protect our property with our giant rice bags. In other food related news, enjoy some brilliant banana info from the Japan Banana Council or somesuch:
The pamphlet then takes a moment to proudly declare that “Sugar Spots” are the black, freckle-like markings on bananas which act as “barometers of sweetness”.
Mmmmm, sweet.

Hope is alive. Yesterday I saw a number of women wearing flip-flops…with parkas. Only in Minnesota. It’s also the time of year for me to, once again, covet a cruiser. Much to my chagrin, and to the amusement of a certain friend, I’ve been bikeless for years. And yes, I still know to ride one. I think. I’d love one of the Paul Frank models, but any of them would do, really (though it’s been pointed out that I might have trouble negotiating the hills in my neighborhood with a fixed gear). Riding to work would be so much faster than walking. Speaking of alternate modes of transportation…Strike! Blog posted a link to the journal of a cab driver. Turns out it’s an old friend of mine. Check out Dr. Toxic’s unique perspective at Four Dollar Minimum.

In the last 24 hours a few things have helped improve my mood.
1: Going to the Grandview to see Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (I think we all have a few memories we wouldn’t mind erasing).
2: Finally being able to focus, and make significant progress working on two projects that should have been taken care of ages ago.
3: And, most importantly, retrieving the little man…who’d stayed over at his grandparents. It was just one night, but the house seemed empty and lifeless without him.

An old friend of ours was hesitant to break the news. After a long, hard road she is expecting her first child. I want to wish her the best, and to do so with an easy heart, but I’m not quite there yet. The husband is a man of few words but this morning we agreed on one sentiment: Fuck everyone else and their stupid happiness. Yes, we’re angry. And we’re bitter. What would have been my due date is approaching (around Mother’s Day, which, this year, coincides with the fifteenth anniversary of my brother’s death). And older people, from generations where larger broods were common, seem to blow off our loss with handy catchphrases like “better luck next time” (I don’t even know if there will be a next time). After my brother died I remember such a person…who’d had the gall to proclaim “your parents should have had more children”. I was left speechless at the time, but fifteen years later I’ve thought of a comeback…it’s about quality, not quantity.

I probably shouldn’t have walked to work today. I can tell you why in five words: air quality warning and mermaid skirt. But that’s not why I demanded a ride home. That would be another word: thundershowers (though they were lovely while they lasted).

Observations and announcements on this fine hump day.
Music Today: This morning Zophia and I procured our tickets (orchestra row G, in your face!) to The Magnetic Fields show. And, bonus, Neil Gaiman may open for them.
Pedestrian Problems: On my daily walks I have, all too frequently, come across cars half-pulled out of driveways or parking lots, blocking my path as their drivers wait to merge into traffic. Whenever I start to walk around them they roar away, leaving me midway through a suddenly pointless course correction.
Especially For Chuck: I’m all fuzzy.
Conspicuous Consumption: I think it’s wonderful that the little man is growing up a Dr. Seuss fan, but I’m wishing I’d gotten him The Lorax book rather than the video. The onbnoxious early 70s music sends me into flashback mode, reliving an era I was unfortunate enough to have experienced firsthand.
Optical Allusions: For months my glasses were far too loose, the bows hyperextended and flopping off at unnatural angles, causing them to hover just above or beyond my ears. If I were to tilt my head too much in, well, any direction my eyewear would slide right off. This morning I decided to do something about it. After walking in and showing my lugubrious glasses to the technician she gave me a look, paused, then said “they are a bit…wide”. She then stole away into the back room…where she may have overcompensated just a tidge, I fear. Since The Tightening I’ve felt that my poor head is being held in a vice-grip. It’s like that crazy old man character from KiTH has carried through with his threats and really is crushing my head.

The novelty of walking to work has worn off, but the trek would be made more bearable if the neighborhood would just come to life already. Spring has nearly sprung, but not quite. The trees are still bare and the grass mostly brown. But the snow has melted, mostly, and temperatures are on the rise. Optimistic neighbors have busted out their bbq grills. And the area children, after being cooped up all winter, are obviously overjoyed to be playing outside. Normally this sort of thing causes me to smile on the way home, but not tonight. Just as I was heading out of the office the husband broke the bad news, that the little man’s bus hadn’t turned up…making it twenty or more minutes late. I can be calm in a crisis, but this is my baby we’re talking about (I realize some day I’ll have to deal with not knowing where he is every minute of the day, unless I get him that LoJack implant, but I’m not ready for either yet). I was able to tell the husband where to locate the school’s phone number before my mind started racing…through dozens of worst case scenarios, culled from made for TV movies, overhyped headlines, and my overactive imagination. Heading home I hauled ass, nearly deaf to the constant roar of non-bus vehicular traffic and the pounding of my heart…but also to the twee chirping of my teeny cell phone, which was buried at the bottom of my bag. It wasn’t until I was just blocks from home that I realized the husband had called, oh, a dozen times or so, to let me know that all was well. He’d been slightly more successful reaching the school. After several attempts someone answered and informed him that the little man’s regular bus had broken down (it’s not clear if it was before or after the children had boarded) so the kids had to wait for a replacement bus. Apparently a representative of the school was supposed to have called to let us know this…so that we wouldn’t panic, as I so clearly did.

Feeling especially moody (in the disheartened, bitter, and burned out sense) this evening. Trying to reverse this downward spiral by focusing on the small stuff…things that can make me happy, or at least smile a bit.
I love this lone bike photo (and many of the other photos, especially those taken with the Great Wall camera).
Maganda is always a pleasure, but especially her Good Things, Illustrated Edition.
Been listening to The Beatles’ White Album, for the first time in ages, and trying to decide if I prefer their version of Long, Long, Long…or Low’s. Listening to both over and over again in an effort to decide…or blur the lines even more.
It’s sad that Princess Julianna (of the Netherlands) has passed away, but it sounds like she was one heckuva lady. Reading about her long and interesting life was cheering.
Looking forward to the next Shift.org photo project…Q&A, the photographic interview (20 questions, and your 20 photographic answers).
Maggie often makes me laugh, especially when she’s mocking celebrities.
Rosa, the Brazilian dollmaker and hipmama, makes me wish I could speak Portugese…but I’ll settle for ogling her creations.
Then there’s the little man, of course. The other night he was taking a bath. He’d been in the old clawfoot for some time when I checked in, asking if he was ready to get out. He replied, in a slightly condescending tone, “I’m still working, mom”. I hadn’t realized baths were such hard work…for him. A minute later he started giggling like mad, and never clued me in to what was so funny.

Saturday: I shirked some duties (not just posting…I really should have gone to the anti-war demo), some plans and perhaps a bit of parenting…in favor of finishing a book. I picked up Michael Chabon’s enchanting Summerland at the library the other day. It held me in its thrall from the very first to the last page. After getting there, and kicking the ending around in my head for a bit, well then, and only then, was I released…and able to get on with my life. Unfortunately it was too late in the day to make it to the rally. And I had to deny the little man, who desperately wanted to toss the frisbee around in the back yard. But that was because of the gusting winds. Winds strong enough to knock out our power (again) for a bit. Winds that would likely have snatched up that sad little frisbee, carried it over the bluffs and plunged it down into the nearby river. Instead we played inside, until it was time to depart for the evening’s events. He for a rare visit with the bio-dad…me, to get my rock on with my special ladyfriend, Zophia. Though the joint wasn’t very rocking. The all ages show was totally dead (I’m sure everyone went to the drunk show later on). Still, we had an awesome time. We realized we hadn’t seen the headlining band together since that fateful night five years ago…when I announced to her that I was pregnant with the little man. It’s odd how that pushed certain people out of my life, but managed to bring Zophia and I closer together, which I am thankful for. I’ll admit…some of these thoughts floated through my head while a couple of the opening bands stumbled through their sets. It can’t be very inspiring to play to a room of less than a dozen skinnyass punk boys, and the odd female (and I mean odd). Afterwards we retrieved the little man, who was up a bit past his bedtime. Once home, I stayed up past my bedtime as well…to hang out with the husband. But it made it that much easier to let down my guard, and allow myself to be manipulated by In America. But I didn’t mind. I enjoyed the film, aside from my overprotective mom mode that kicked in a few times, setting off alarms with thoughts like “I would never allow my child to do that” or “I would never put my child in that situation”. Captain Safety strikes again.
Sunday: Today I slacked some more. Had just enough sleep to be unmotivated rather than entirely useless. Still, started the day off well…with the husband treating us to blueberry pancakes. The little man must have tried to absorb their deliciousness through his skin, rather than just his mouth, as he wound up looking like Violet Beauregarde from Willy Wonka. Nearly had to hose the lad down. After some lounging we decided to head to the Children’s Museum, with an intrepid friend. Unfortunately our membership has lapsed, because we’re broke, but today was their free third Sunday. A day I usually avoid, because I’ve always figured it would be insanely crowded. Nothing could prepare me for the reality of it. Thankfully the little man thrives on chaos but I do not. It seemed like throngs from the State Fair, Mall of America, and Uptown Arts Festival had all simultaneously wormholed their way in, filling up every available nook and cranny with humanity…and pushy, cranky humanity at that. I started worrying about fire codes, and found myself irritated by the numbers of parents bulldozing their way through with strollers in no stroller zones, and feeding their children in galleries where food is not allowed (and for good reason). But there was nothing for the overwhelmed museum staff to do but stand back and let the teeming masses wend their way through…and over…and under…and around. Somehow we lasted a full hour there, with each moment spent in claustrophobic conditions reinforcing a single thought…come hell or highwater, I am renewing that damned membership. It was with much relief that we headed home (on the way we encountered the most colorful backhoe I’ve ever seen at the site of the St. Paul Farmer’s Market renovation). The winds died down a bit today, but the temperature dropped as well. I suggested to the little man that we go outside to play, and perhaps find the frisbee. And find it we did…frozen to a patch of grass. The boy managed to pull it up, along with a good bit of compost stuck to it. We settled for blowing some bubbles…and smashing up some ice in the sandbox. All in all, not a bad weekend.

It seems I am prone to mischief without the husband around (well, he’s here, but asleep) to act as my voice of reason. Take tonight, for instance. First the little man and I dined on tofu dogs and potato chips. Afterwards I further negated any positive effects of my daily walks…by spontaneously whipping up a batch of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. While creaming the sugar and margarine I noticed my right wrist beginning to ache. My first thought…”oh no, not my Scrabble hand” (ah, my many vices). Seems the little man has inherited my love of cookie dough as well. He hovered, licking the spoon (after I was finished with it) while begging for chunks of cookie dough. We ate more of the stuff than we did baked cookies, and now I feel ill. That’ll learn me. Hopefully. In other news…what would I do without Pitchfork? Today they revealed that The Magnetic Fields will be playing town the night before my birthday. They’ll also be playing Chicago on my birthday, and for two nights afterwards. And that’s on a weekend. I would love to take an extra special birthday road trip to Shy Town, but I doubt the finances (or the husband) will be in favor of it.