Happy Halloween! Wow. It is the last day of October already. A quick assessment. No, I did not make it to the NaNoWriMo kickoff party Friday night, but I did make it into my pajamas by 8pm. I should have spent the evening hanging out with the husband, before he headed out for his trip, but I was too busy with the sleeping. What else? I am no luddite. I have even worked in tech support (not that that is saying much, necessarily) but I was repeatedly thwarted by technology over the weekend, which figures, with the husband, my personal tech support specialist, now in California. First, on Friday, I’d plugged my cell phone into its charger overnight but in the morning I found it had been unable to charge…after I had left the house. I’d also plugged in my new iPod, to format it, and during setup I managed to fatfinger something and accidentally set it to “Dansk” instead of English. Doh. And, just before he left, the husband was upgrading the server software behind the Squeezebox wireless music player, and rendered it completely useless. Oops, gotta run, see you, bye. Umm, thanks. So I had to lug our giantass ancient boombox back down to the kitchen, the one that is nearly as big as the little man, just to have something to listen to while I prepared for yesterday’s little pumpkin carving party. And it was on the little side, which was all right. We had a much smaller turnout than we do to most of our events. A lot of friends were out of town or overbooked for the day. A few, I realized later, I had neglected to invite or to remind. But we had a total of 13 peeps in the house (including resident humans) which is an auspicious number for a Halloween event. And our resulting jack-o-lanterns were silly and scary or somewhere in between. And one of the cutest moments of the evening was after everyone had gone. The little man went out to the front porch…to say goodnight to our pumpkins.
Bonus: I have to figure out the best way to make use of a Big Brain Comics gift certificate. What a dreadful dilemma, I know. Squeee! Anyhow, at the top of my list is Ex Machina. Any other suggestions?
Plus: I know, I know, I’ve been making with the NaNoWriMo references left and right, but it begins tomorrow, for reals. Posting may be light around here. Then again, it may not be.
And: Full photoset on flickr.

Where are the brakes? I am, oddly enough, not ready for today to be Friday. Tonight is the local NaNoWriMo kickoff event.
Tomorrow morning the husband flies out to Palo Alto, for a week on business, with at least one trip to Maggie Mudd planned.
Sunday the little man and I are hosting a pumpkin carving party and potluck.
Monday is Halloween.
And Tuesday, ack, sees the start of National Novel Writing Month itself.
I am already feeling woefully ill-prepared and as though I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, as usual. And that the husband should be gone during the first week of Nano, when my novel will be in its infancy, well, talk about triumph over adversity if I actually make it to the finish line this year. Last night the little man crawled into bed with us, turned around the wrong way, and kicked me in the chin for about an hour, keeping me awake around this time. Tonight I have no excuse…so maybe this will become my daily writing hour during Nano. Sigh.

Bonus: Receptionista’s hitting the road, jack. Best wishes on the journey to her new home.
Plus: Zak Sally has quit Low. Umm, again. I think it’s for real this time. But the show must go on. Tickets are on sale for their special holiday show in the main room, on December 9th.
And: The below photo is of one of the little man’s teeny tiny old shoes, that is really much smaller than it looks, that was found at the back of my closet during what will be forever known as The Great Purge of ‘05.

Last night the little man asked for a goodnight peck on the cheek, but then pulled away abruptly, demanding to know just what was wrong with my lips. Ah, the bluntness of youth. My lips are chapped, I told him. Why, he wanted to know. It’s the sudden cold and dry weather, I said. That, and the lack of abundant, reliable vegan lip balm options.

This morning, while quietly waiting in line at my neighborhood coffee shop, a little old man informed me that I’m “awful pretty.” Then he paused, and noted that the “awful” part didn’t sound like much of a compliment so he decided to change it to “you’re very pretty.” I thanked him, giggling all the while. Also sweet (and sweeeeeet, dude) there were so many vegan baked goods to be had, I had difficulty choosing from the varieties. I went with the cherry strudel and it was quite tasty.

On the topic of vegan sweets, our good friends over at Compasstionate Action for Animals put together this vegan-friendly Halloween Candy guide. For me, personally, this meant that I could print off the list and then go out and buy Halloween candy for the trick-or-treaters (and we get a lot of them) without having to stand in the aisle reading the ingredients off of every bag. I simply consulted my list then snatched a corresponding bag off the shelf. It was a much simpler method.

Over the weekend I was in the mood for vegan mac’n'cheese, so I suggested to the husband that he should whip us up a batch. He replied with something along the lines of, “oh, but yours turns out so much better.” It didn’t occur to me to be suspicious. Until I was pulling the pan out of the oven. He and I (and most of the vegans we know) use essentially the same recipe, just slightly modified. So maybe he doesn’t really like mine better. Maybe he was just feeling lazy. But then I took my first bite. Mine really is better.

Also over the weekend we attended a little boy’s pirate-themed birthday party. It was scheduled for a rather early hour on Sunday morning, by certain people’s standards, so the husband was not yet conscious when it was time for us to set sail. But the little man and I, we’d been up for quite a while, and had had time to dress up like quite the scallywags (though my striped knee socks were more reminiscent of an 80s perky goth look). It was a well-planned party, with an elaborate treasure hunt and everything, and an excellent time was had by all. By the time we returned to the house we found that not only had the husband managed to rouse himself, he was standing in the middle of our bedroom, looking rather insect-like, wearing a respirator mask (because of his cat allergies, and my cats), and was dredging up items from the very depths of our closets. I knew this big purge was coming, though I had long been avoiding it. I am a pack rat. It is in my nature. But with the husband’s help, and not-so-gentle prodding, I was able to send six, count them, SIX giant garbage bags of clothing and shoes on their way to the Goodwill. These were items that I either could no longer fit into, or wouldn’t want to be seen in, whether or not I could still fit into them. Many were things I had been dragging around with me since freaking high school. Oy. So now our closets are much more open (the floor! It is visible!) and no longer spewing out into the rest of the bedroom. And the bedroom, in general, feels much less cluttered and cramped. Also, during the big purge I came across quite a few treasures. Just to name a few:

• My favorite hat, made of black polar fleece, with the kitty ears;
• A pair of Pucca house slippers;
• The big bunny t-shirt that the husband just bought me for my last birthday, but which had already gone missing in the madness;
• A ten dollar bill, crammed into the pocket of a pair of pants unworn since, oh, 2002 or so.

Now if I can only curb my tendency to hoard…so I won’t be going through this same painful exercise in another couple of years. Oh, but we haven’t gone through the little man’s closet yet. Sigh.
Plus: Because this is just the way things work for us…right after we purchased and set up our delightful Squeezebox wireless music player (seriously, just over a week later) we find out today they’ve gone and come out with a shiny new model. Curses.
And: One week until NaNoWriMo kicks off! Eeep!

Somehow I talked the husband into going to The Decemberists show last night…in my place. I was feeling far too craptacular to go. The plan had been for me to attend, and for him to stay home with the little man, as is the homebody husband’s preference with these things. But last night my preferred plan, as it is has been of late, was to go home and crawl into bed, long before the band would even have taken the stage (damned drogas). Still, I’m amazed I talked the man into going. It was with our mutual friend, yes, but it was the husband’s first live music show since, oh, back in 2002, when we saw Low play at the Pantages Theater.
Bonus: Congratulations to Julie and Michael! I heartily endorse the elopement route, for its simplicity, and lack of stress. And having also been married by a representative of the Universal Life Church, with their free online ordination, well, that part never ceases to amuse me.
Plus: I loved la Coquette anyway, but she earns bonus points with her funny Skype story.
And: Making Fiends has posted a special little Halloween treat.
And another thing: Just knowing that there is a vegan-friendly restaurant out there, in Canadia, named TofuLand, well, it gives me the warm fuzzies.

This week there has been more of the sleeping and less of the posting, but I don’t feel rested. Dammit. Oh well. Some thoughts had while horizontal…

Third time’s the charm, right? The third roofing contractor was supposed to come out to the house yesterday to give us *his* opinion on the state of our roof. Then the plan was to decide which of the three opinions we most agree with and go with one. But dude never showed, and a phone call revealed that they’re behind schedule, so that whole exterior thing is sort of in limbo. In interior news, next Wednesday the electrician comes. But the time at which the electrician is coming is highly entertaining, to me, at least. You see, the husband works from home, and his company is on West Coast time. So he generally doesn’t start working, or even wake up, until around 10am daily. This suits him well. But the electrician is most decidedly not on West Coast time. The electrician is coming to the house at 7am. It would be funnier still if I didn’t have to be the husband’s human alarm clock, but at least I’ll be able to bug out shortly after waking him up.

When we were in Duluth recently I made a breakthrough with my plan for NaNo, while I was in the shower, naturally. That’s where I have all my best thoughts…but I lose most of them before I can capture them in any meaningful way (note to self: still need to obtain waterproof voice recorder that won’t make me sound like a ninny). Anyhow, the idea is this. The novel I wrote last year will actually be the sequel to the novel I write this year, which means the novel I write this year will be the prequel. So it’s sort of a good thing I never got around to editing last year’s novel after all, because I’ll be needing to edit a few bits and pieces, but not too much. It’s all going to come together perfectly, I can feel it. Umm, sure.

Bonus: Episode 20 of Making Fiends is on the scene. It is big and fancily fiendish, and little man approved.
Plus: There are many types of creative types in the world, of course, and I admire all sorts. Especially these folks (via Loobylu).
And: I recently loaned my Firefly boxset to our friend Big Dave, who watched and enjoyed all of the episodes. If only I could get the husband to stop referring to the show as “Buffy in Space” now, and maybe even have him watch at least, oh, one episode. But no, somehow I married a Whedon-hater.

Next time I’m bringing a stopwatch. The neurologist couldn’t have been in the examining room with me for more than three minutes, tops. My prediction was that he would ask how the migraine meds were working, I would tell him they weren’t (that, in fact, they’re making me feel worse), he would then prescribe me something else. I was close. Instead he upped my dosage and told me to come back in a month. He did say that if the drugs still aren’t working at that time, then we’ll try something else. Wash, rinse, repeat. The husband thinks I should cut my losses and run at this point, and I’m considering it, but I’m afraid I’d just be switching to another neurologist who would be making exactly the same recommendations anyway…just maybe in a slightly more reassuring and less robotic manner.

Afterwards I picked up the little man from his after school program, and took him along to Walgreen’s, to roam the aisles as we waited for my higher dosage prescription to be filled. Bad move. I completely neglected to pick up several of more essential items (say, things that would allow me to breathe through my nose, damnable allergies), yet somehow we left the store with a new light saber and Darth Vader costume for the little man. And these are not even Halloween-related, but more of your everday, round-the-house dress up items.

It’s only Tuesday, and I’m already looking ahead to another jam-packed weekend. Friday night I’m going to see The Decemberists at First Avenue (yay!), but that same night Xelias, our very own local aerial performance company and circus school, is having a performance, and I’ve just been invited to a pie-baking contest/party at a friend’s house. My vegan pumpkin pie would have kicked ass, but, alas, I can’t do it all. Dagnabit. Then Saturday night we have dinner plans with other friends, and Sunday will see us at a pirate-themed birthday party for one of the little man’s little friends. Busy busy.

Life goes on. Having the little man around helps. So rather than going on my bi-annual melancholy trek to my brother’s grave, I took the little man to a place my brother and I greatly enjoyed when we were children. The Pine Tree Apple Orchard. It seems a much a happier way to remember him, driving past some of the landmarks from our childhood, like the golf course where we would occasionally go sledding in the winter, and where he began to caddy in the summer, when he was old enough. Anyhow. I somehow managed to drag the husband along on this outing, but we skipped the apple-buying part (we prefer our apples organic) in favor of a trip to the pumpkin patch. It was a beautiful, clear day, and we certainly weren’t the only folks with the perfect pumpkin in mind. There were many of us wandering around, poking and peering at what nature had to offer. After a time we left with a few pumpkins that will make mighty fine jack-o-lanterns, when the time is right. Then we drove clear to the other side of the Twin Cities for lunch at Evergreen, followed by some more out-of-character consumerism. Now that we have the new dining room set, we needed new dinnerware and flatware, to use upon it, naturally.
Bonus: This is just sad, but not at all surprising: The Hidden Costs of Documentaries.
Plus: I’d intended to make it to this evening’s Found magazine event…but instead we’re hosting a dinner, to spend time with some folks visiting from out of town, and to make use of our newly acquired table and accoutrements.
And: I did pick up the Joan Didion book, and what I have read is, of course, very good so far, but for a little levity I also grabbed Jasper Fforde’s latest. Which I read in nearly one sitting. Doh.

The topics of grief and grieving were already on my mind, even before I caught the tail end of Joan Didion’s interview on Fresh Air last night. Another year has gone by and my brother is still dead. Today he would have been 35 years old. I don’t expect this is going to get any easier. I’m thinking I might read Joan Didion’s book, on the death of her husband. It sounds as though it might be painful to read. Sometimes that can be good, to really feel something. To connect with the grief. This bit from the article reminded me of something:

She structured her story by giving it no structure. She wanted to show how the mind works in grief, and through grief. Obsessively, she circled back to that fatal moment, looking for signs, imagining a different ending, believing her husband could somehow return, a symptom of her “magical thinking.”

I have a moment like that. The day Tom died we had all just stayed overnight at the hospital. The next morning we got up, left the room for a bit to stretch our legs, have a crappy breakfast in the cafeteria, step outside for just a minute, really, to get a breath of fresh air, and then we went back inside. And he was gone. I was washing my hands when I was told. It didn’t register. Had to wash my hands before entering his room you know, didn’t want to bring in any germs with his immune system weakened as it was from the chemo, only it didn’t matter anymore. Except my stunned brain wasn’t acknowledging that part. That he was gone. I think part of me will always be stuck in that moment, imagining a different outcome to Tom’s illness…a much happier one. One that would allow me to be celebrating his 35th birthday with him today.

I am not very good at doing, well, nothing. But it was one of the conditions I had to agree to just to get the husband out of the house and on this trip. In many ways I don’t have much to work with with this man. He can be pushed, or pulled, only so far…like trying to drag a cat on a leash. So we went away to Duluth for a few a days but it was just the basics. No frills. No scenic drives. No scenic overlooks (except for that one, at the rest stop). No scenic strolls. But still, it was good to get away. The little man was stoked to return to the “treehouses” (what he calls the Mountain Villas, and hey, I think it’s a better name for them). Nothing exceptional happened during our stay, just a series of small moments.

• When we first drove in to town I got turned around. The husband has no sense of direction and at one point I whined that he should be a better navigator. From the backseat a slightly sleepy little man scolded me. “Mom,” he said, seriously, “that’s not nice. He is not an alligator.”
• Around lunchtime on day two I started making the little man a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Standard. Midway through the process I was pulling the jelly jar out of the fridge and managed to drop it squarely on the toes of my left foot. I cried out and started doing a little dance of pain. The little man asked what was going on. The husband explained. The little man looked concerned. Then he asked, “but where is the bread?”
• One of the perks at our treehouse was a whirlpool/hot tub. Unfortunately to enjoy it properly, without causing permanent hearing loss to each occupant of said treehouse, we would all have needed heavy duty hearing protection. It was so very loud.
• We were mostly unplugged on this trip. I’d meant to bring my old laptop, to do some writing, but couldn’t locate the power cords before we left. The husband did bring his laptop, but he couldn’t locate a WiFi signal from up in the treehouse. At one point we headed down into the city again, to go to the co-op, but got a little turned around. We wound up doing a little wardriving on West Fourth Street. The husband whipped out his laptop, found a signal, and got some directions from google maps. Turns out all we needed to do was turn around and go the other direction. It might have been easier to just ask someone at the corner store.
• Our last night in Duluth the guys wanted Pizza Luce for dinner, but didn’t want to leave the treehouse to get it. So I was sent out to retrieve it. On my return drive I was treated to a view that’s hard to describe. Duluth is a hilly town with ribbons of concrete running in and out of it. I was driving into the sunset and looked up to see a railroad bridge, and on it a string of boxcars perfectly silhouetted against the darkening sky.

I wasn’t ready to leave yet, but I must say the timing of our return was pretty decent. When we pulled up to the house, our new Squeezebox was waiting for us on the front doorsteps (more on that later) before it started raining in earnest, so the box was not soaked through. And not long after we settled in a phone call informed us that our new dining room table and chairs are being delivered today. Yay us and our conspicuous consumerism! Now it’s back to work.
Bonus: I’m quite glad that I haven’t had to work this sort of customer service job a while, but Amanda had the moxie to say Suck it! to that rudeass customer, when the rest of us, we would only have been daydreaming about it.
Plus: There is something so daydreamy (in a nice way) and otherworldly about James spending his Saturday snapping off Polaroids of a southern belle dressed up as Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. I do so wish he could share the results.
And: There’s a small Duluth photoset on flickr.