In Which I Wax Philosophical About Dishes

Dear Folks,

Yesterday we spent the day at my-dead-grandma-who-isn't-really-dead's house, while Dad fixed the plumbing. That meant spending the entire day without running water. I've been through this sort of thing before, but it was rather miserable, and I can't really  recommend the experience.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that you inevitably eat the messiest meal when there isn't any running water. We had barbecued venison ribs. A delightful meal, but not a clean one. There were a lot of sticky dishes after we were done eating, an no water to wash them with. So they just sat on the counter and were frightfully in the way

Anyone who knows me knows that I absolutely despise doing dishes with every single fiber of my being. Every single one. But, being without water has reminded me that, despite the raging hatred I feel towards this one particular chore, it's really much better to do the dishes and be done with them than to let them sit around on your counter getting your way. Who would have thought I'd learn a life lesson from this trying experience?  I shall take this newfound knowledge and apply it to my life henceforth. (When I told my Excellent Mother of this she nearly fainted.) 

Supposedly dishes are supposed to be therapeutic. I have never yet found it to be so, but perhaps if I try them out with my newfound enlightenment fresh in mind will be a different story? They say there is something almost spiritual about how things go into the water and come out clean and pure. (I've heard dishes being compared to baptism once or twice. I think it's stuff and nonsense, to be sure, but then, the parallels are there, I suppose.)

If I still find dishes to be as tortuous as ever I shall remember my day at Grandmama's house and bear my suffering in silence, as a truly saintly martyr and when I am dead of overwork and allergic reactions to cheep dish soap they shall write poems about my steadfastness and dedication. It will all be dreadfully touching, you know, and they shall water the roses that are planted on my grave with dishwater in remembrance.

In other news: I had a bad reaction to the barbecue sauce we used on our venison ribs, and now I have a rash at the right corner of my mouth about the size of a half-dollar, and after looking it up, they say I'll be lucky to see it fade in under two weeks, and it's likely to last up to four weeks. That was a bit of a kick in the gut. It's the Christmas season, and the height of picture taking season. Fa la la la la, la la, la, la and all that.

P.S. Merry Christmas, y'all!

When Hobbi Drowned the Cat

Our new kitten, Cameo, has fleas. This horrifying discovery was made by Pippin yesterday. Today Hobbi took it upon herself to rid poor Cameo of her tormentors.

She had a good motive, but alas, knows nothing about bathing animals. She also did not take stock of our supplies. We have no shampoo, no flea comb, and no flea collar. Thus, no way to properly wash her, no way to remove any fleas we found, and no way to keep her flea-less once she's been cleansed.

Regardless of all these things, and many others, Hobbi proceeded to shove the kitten into the sink, douse her thoroughly, and scrub her with a new toothbrush.

This did nothing but aggravate poor Cameo, who is no longer speaking to us.

Hopefully tomorrow we shall give her a better version of a bath, but I fear Cameo has been taught to fear water and shall never forgive us for this trespass against her.

Camping

I am not an outdoorsy sort of person. I'm just not. I don't like heat or humidity, I don't like cold and damp, I don't like dirt, I don't like mud, and I especially don't like bugs. *shudder* You could say I've been domesticated, if you like.

We went camping last week.

I didn't want to go. (See above paragraph as to why. Also, it was likely to rain on top of that all.) Like I said, I've been thoroughly domesticated. I don't like tents, they always smell funny and I inevitably end up sleeping on a rock about the size of my foot. I also don't like setting up, as it takes hoooouuuurs, or leave-taking, which takes even longer then the setup.

Nevertheless, being the guest of my aunt and uncle and not wanting to make myself a burden I held my tongue and helped pack. We packed and packed an packed. Now me, I'm a purist. If I am going to be forced to go camping, I will do it right!  That is to say, you take a sleeping bag, a skillet, a fishingpole and hook, a jackknife, and, if you're really a wimp, you'll take bug spray and a tarp. Hot-dogs and marshmallows are traditional, so you can take those too without being branded a softy. Usually. Oh yeah, and don't forget the coffee. Never forget the coffee.

We, however, packed everything and the kitchen sink, and we even packed the bathroom sink too, just to be absolutely sure we weren't missing anything,ya know? I was growing more and more worried as the time wore on. How would we fit it all into the van? It turns out we didn't have to. We fit it in a trailer instead. that really grated on my purist nerves, but I put on a brave face and said nothing as we packed things into the trailer.

Then, when everything, including the bathroom sink, was strapped in and tied down, off we went on a two-and-a-half-hour drive to reach the camping site.

Let me just interject something here. I, being the purist I am, have a conviction against camping sites. If you're gonna go camping, go ALL THE WAY and camp out in the virgin wilderness. Campsites are for babies. I also have a conviction against campers, but I'll bet you already guessed that. Ain't no-body gonna haul their precious ten-million dollar, air-conditioned, wi-fi equiped camper out into the wilds. It might get scratched.

This was the campsite. Isn't it pretty? All green, all leafy and most importantly, all the poison ivy was on the other side of the path. This cheered me up immensely. I have only once had an encounter with poison ivy, and it was when I was five. I don't remember it that well, but one of my cousins recently had it ALL OVER her face. It has become my goal in life never to let poison ivy near my person. 

This was the path leading to the boy's campsite. They had to have their own because they didn't want to hang out with the girls. I'm pretty sure they spent the time complaining about how much stuff we brought. 

We settled in, and I was surprised at how not-miserable I was. Before leaving the safety of the dry, air-conditioned vehicle I had sprayed myself all over with my peppermint water. It has originally been only for my hair, but it has come to my attention that most bloodthirsty insects detest peppermint. Added to it's insect-repelling qualities, peppermint water does not smell like bug spray. Or taste like it.

 Two of my aunts and two of my cousins began supper preparations at once, while the rest of us set up camp and fetched and carried. I was a fetcher-and-carrier because I am exceedingly useless when it comes to setting up tents. I am too short for one, and for another I can't make heads or tails of all the random pieces of canvas, metal rods, or nylon rope. It is my firm belief that modern tents defy both logic and gravity. How they manage to remain upright, especially when missing several pieces, is a mystery to me. 

Once camp was set up we sat down around the campfire to feast. Now, being a purist, I would have probably have brought a package of hotdogs and left it at that and we would have starved. Fortunately, my aunts are not purists and they grilled shish kebabs, made potato salad, and cut up a massive watermelon. It was divine. One misses things when one is a purist, it seems.

After eating, we went on a walk to explore. 

Aunt Reggie told me these are mountain laurels. There were hundreds of these flowering buses everywhere. It was lovely.

This here is the Pennsylvania grand canyon.

I will admit that I was extremely disappointed at how small it was, but it was PA after all, and it was quite pretty whatever the size. 

When we returned to the campsite we made smores with dark chocolate and it was very fine. After that we sat around the fire and talked (or in my case, read) until it was dark, when we did what campers traditionally do around a campfire at night. We sang songs. We sang "The Little Brown Church in the Vale" and "Shenandoah" and "Goodbye Old Paint" and "To God be the Glory." My uncles taught me the tune "Beautiful Dreamer" so I could play it on my recorder. My relatives on my Excellent Mother's side all sing in parts, and it sounded very grand indeed. (I cannot sing parts, which is extremely frustrating.)

Then we went to bed, and since it was dark and we had two flashlights among the sixteen of us, this was slightly problematic. We girls were getting settled in our tent, arranging bedding, situating backpacks and washing feet, when we suddenly heard Uncle Elon cry out, "I feel a lump!" Very loudly. (In his defense the ground was very hard and lumpy and sleeping bags are not much good at saving your back.) All six of us girls burst out laughing, which inflated his ego and he spent the next hour calling out about how hard and painful the ground was. By the time the hour was up we felt so well acquainted with the lump that we named it Gerald and asked Uncle Elon to stop squashing it. 

The next morning we had a wonderful breakfast of potatoes and sausages and watermelon, which would have been a wonderful breakfast of potatoes, sausages, watermelon and scrambled eggs, but the eggs were tipped into the fire on accident and we spent the rest of our breakfast mourning them. Also there was coffee. It was the sort of breakfast, which I, as a purist, would not have been able to enjoy if I'd been the one to pack. 

All in all I quite enjoyed camping and am actually looking forward to doing it again. And that's coming from a thoroughly domesticated miss! 

Lissy is the Bestest Artist in the WHOLE world!

Hey folks,

(Every time I write 'folks' autocorrect sits me down and says, "Honey, y'all ain't Texan. You can't use 'folks' that's cultural appropriation. The word you're looking for is 'fools.' You're welcome." No thank you autocorrect, my readers aren't fools!)

Moving on.

I'm sure you're all thrilled to learn that I didn't die in a horrific accident while driving. So far so good. I still hate driving but I'm getting...no, actually I'm not getting better at it. I'm still super bad. I traumatized my mother so badly while driving home from church Sunday night two weeks ago that she has yet to let me behind the wheel again. That's okay with me. Postponing death is my favorite hobby.

To completely switch topics, let's talk about little Lissy. Little Lissy was adorable. The most adorable child in the Millah household (obviously). Little Lissy liked to draw. She wanted to be "The bestest artist in the whole world." I specifically remember using the word 'bestest' when I explained this dream to my Excellent Mother. At the same time I handed her a picture of a humanoid with a vast head, tiny arms and straggling yellow dreadlocks. At this creature's beslippered, itty-bitty feet, were great big pink and blue flowers, which clashed spectacularly with the purple dress my crayola creation was wearing. Yes, Little Lissy was sure to go places.

Guess what, despite my glaring lack of skill, I still wanted to draw twelve years later. So I tried. And failed. And lowered my standards and tried again. And failed. So I looked for an easier form of drawing. I found it.

I've been doing a lot of drawings lately. Unfortunately, my type of drawing is unlikely to get me places. I don't draw people, or flora and fauna, I don't even draw inanimate objects. I draw tangles. It's fun and relatively easy.

A tangle is a drawing made out of random patterns. Here's the one I put in my music notebook.

My favorite type of pen is one with blue ink. I draw almost all my tangles with blue ink. This tangle was made with eleven blue ink pens of various shades. It's the only one of it's kind that I've made so far. I designed it very randomly, and it reminds me of a crazy quilt. 

Here are two of my newer, full sized tangles. These two are consistently favorites. Out of all the tangles I've drawn these two are always picked as the best. Tell me which is your favorite.

Squares

Or Circles

Kennedy says Circles looks like cells. Weird. Arthur says both are a blight on his eyesight and haunt his nightmares. Ungrateful fowl. 

I'm also making bookmarks to give as tokens of friendship and to slip into library books as gifts to nameless strangers. Because I'm very fond of finding things in library books. Being as fond as I am of it, I assume other people also like to find things in library books, so I put things there for them to find. It's like hiding Easter eggs, but you don't know who will find it, or when! It's lot's of fun. Does anyone else do this? Am I alone? Or weird? Or alone and weird? Anyway, here's some of my bookmarks, which one do you like best?

In other news, look at this nifty satchel I picked up today!

It serves as a handy background (for whatever reason I decided to put my tangles on the satchel instead of directly on the bed, and by the time I'd taken all the pictures and realized how ridiculous it was to photograph drawings on a satchel I'd already taken all the pictures and didn't want to redo them. I am a very lazy photographer, I'm afraid.) and hopefully it will be sturdy and hold up well  for a good long time so I can carry all my books and notebooks around without spilling them out of reusable bags every time I slam on the brakes. Yes?

A Tale of Terror and Woe etc.

Dear friends,

I am come to tell you a tale of unspeakable danger, a tale fraught with tribulation and woe. I call this tale "The Epic of Lissy's Journey to Claim Her Extremely Belated Driver's Permit and Subsequent Adventures."

Yes. I finally have my permit. Three years late. 'Twas entirely my fault. I was too scared of driving to take the last step and finally get my permit. I'd taken the online course and whatnot...but I was terrified of the actual driving and never went further than that. In retrospect that was really, really stupid of me. I could have been such a help to my parents during all our recent moves and taken the burden of shopping off my Excellent Mother's shoulders. I could have gone to the library so many times! But alas, I was an imbecilic coward and let my fears control me and now I am an adult who is still learning to drive. *facepalm*

So, on to the tale. I studied the booklet minutely for two weeks, memorizing it cover to cover so I could take a written test. When I think of my exhaustive study I am filled with indignation. All that for the dinky little fifty questions that were so obviously easy a six-year-old could manage them. Wretchedness supreme.

After wading through piles and piles of paperwork (being homeschooled meant I required even more paperwork than the average peasants) the dragon behind the desk finally handed over my permit and told me to offer up a sacrifice of gratitude. Apparently the usual offering is a hefty goat or sheep. I only had twenty-five dollars on me. The dragon sniffed it two or three times and then (after one if her minions informed her that "cash" may be used to purchase things like chickens and unicorn flesh) accepted it and sent me away with the following warning, "You must drive for thirty hours as a penance for your sins, lest the lesser deities of the department sentence you to an age in purgatory. Go, and don't show your face here again until you can traverse the roads without mowing down innocent pilgrims and wayfarers!"

Thus Lissy of Twelve Acre Wood received her driver's permit...upon the Ides of March, no less. I expect something unfortunate will come of this.

After receiving said permit our intrepid heroine is forced by a cruel and unrelenting troll (my Esteemed Father, in disguise) to drive along the streets of the city, and had many harrowing adventures.

I do not recommend learning to drive in the city. At all. Luckily I was only in the city for about four minutes. I am a new driver and that is immediately obvious. I skittered about the roads in such a fashion that people were watching me with expressions like these: 😬 😕 😵 😲 😵 😱😨 😒 and 🙅. It was...well, to be honest it was terrifying and absolutely, utterly mortifying.

Driving in the countryside was a mite better, even if the road was hardly more than a hairsbreadth in width with massive, yawning chasms on either side. At every intersection a semi would inevitably leap out at me, dead set on causing my demise. (I made that pun on accident. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad one.) Yawning chasms and murderous semi's aside though, country driving is relatively simple, even for me. Driving in the city is pure wretchedness. Signs and lights everywhere, cars also everywhere, people passing you left and right and pedestrians at every street corner and crosswalk. I cannot tell you how glad I was to get home with nothing more that a mild case of whiplash. Our loathsome twelve passenger van is huge, I had no idea how much I needed to brake to stop it. So what if I braked too quickly the first...and second time. I learned my lesson. Mostly.

I drove myself and the ruthless troll to my piano lessons on Thursday. We only died twice. (Possibly the three times--that last time we headed into the light I think it was just the sun glancing off the cover of my notebook, I can't be sure though.) I consider that an accomplishment.

P.S. If this blog suddenly goes on an eternal hiatus you may assume the worst. I could tell you stories about car crashes. The details have been etched into my brain and shall remain there forever and always. Ugh.

Birthdays and Bugs

Blerghhhh. I had my birthday this week. It was nice. We had chocolate cake (I managed to blow out all the candles but one) and homemade butter pecan ice cream that was a pain in the neck to make but tasted fabulous.

I got lots of nice gifts, and am awaiting the big one. (I won't tell you what that one is, I won't get it 'til June sometime, so y'all will give to wait.) Most of the gifts were small, practical gifts. Hobbi gave me chapstick, Krisbie gave me some peppermint tea, Pippin gave me a candle. I was also given some double pointed knitting needles. I won't tell you who gave them to me, but I will say that my Esteemed Father has been begging for a pair of handmade socks and bought me a skein of sock yarn not too long ago...

So yeah, it was a nice day.

But now I'm on the tail end of a shower of birthday cards and well wishes and I'm sitting here on my bed reading them and crying and eating lemonheads (also a birthday gift). Some of them are from friends back West. They miss me. I miss them.

I kinda hate living here. I hated it worse two months ago, but no matter how long I'm here I can't get used to it. Maybe it's because I'm not letting go of my old home. I try, but I lived out West for thirteen years. I loved it. I loved the hills of golden grass and I loved my mountains and the everblue sky and the scraggly junipers and the dry air that you didn't need gills to breath. I miss how clean the grasslands were. No bugs. You saw a grasshopper or cricket every now and then. Sometimes a centipede or a rollypolly. Miller moths would come out in the summer in droves, and you had to shake out your clothes if you hung 'em on a line, but the bugs out there were large and not particularly gross or bloodthirsty.

Moving East was a nightmare for a bug-hating person like myself. THERE ARE FLEES IN THE GRASS!!! And ticks! And all manner of evil bloodsuckers. And so many other creepy crawlies. June bugs. Boxelder bugs. Asian lady beetles. Slugs and snails. All manner of wicked, plant feeding garden monstrosities. Giant grey ants. Horrendous xylophagous larvae that turn into hideous abominations of wretchedness. Horse-flies! The list doesn't end. It doesn't end! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Actually, you know what, I was gonna make a much longer post complaining about how utterly depraved the East is, but honestly, need I say more? I had a bit of fun bashing insects and if I keep on complaining I'll depress myself.

In summary: I miss the West and my old friends, this desolate mitten is home to faaaaaar to many evil devil horrors, and if I eat another lemonhead I will become exceedingly ill. That's all for now folks.

The Simple Questions Tag

              

I got tagged! Yay! Thank you Rachel! (You can find her blog at A Girls Place. It's super cute, she likes period dramas, and has lots of pretty pictures.)

Here be the questions and answers:

1. How does your morning start?

I usually wake up at seven thirty (shameful, I know) and start my day by checking my email, looking over the blogs I follow and watching a video on YouTube, then I put on some music and read my bible. That done, I get dressed and wander out into the kitchen to see if breakfast is ready. It isn't, (Hobbi gets up at six, but she insists on doing all her school before she makes breakfast. *sigh*) so I come back to my room to wait for it. I generally try to write something, but I usually end up on Goodreads instead.

2. What's your favourite colour?

Grey-blue, to match my eyes. 

3. What book are you reading right now?

The Fellowship of the Ring, by J. R. R. Tolkien. It's super good. ;) Sam and Pippin are the best. (Pippin Took, not to be confused with my brother Pippin, who is also the best, but is not a Took.)

4. What is your opinion about having a mobile phone?

If you're older than sixteen it can be a useful tool. If you're younger than sixteen it's probably not so useful and is more of a distraction than anything else and you should probably be spending your time on other things. Cellphones aren't bad but they've become semi-problematic, as young people have started using them constantly. I'm not against people having or using them, but I think this addiction many children have is an extremely bad thing. 

5. Your favourite actress? (Pick at least two)

Oh dear me. I don't really keep up with who's who in Hollywood. I guess I'd say Emma Thompson and Audrey Hepburn. They appear in some of my favorite movies.

6. What's your favourite movie right now?

Um...oh dear. Probably The Two Towers, 'cause Rohan! But can I also say that my favorite TV series is Little Dorrit? They stayed remarkably close to the book. I was impressed.

7. Snow or rain?

Snow. Rain is muddy right away, snow gets to be pretty first. Also rain can't be made into snowballs and dropped inside Kennedy's collar. 

8. What's your favourite ice cream flavour?

Butter Pecan. Somebody is having a birthday soon and is requesting this as a dessert. ;)  

9. To which country's have you been?

Canada. That's it. I live in America and I've been  Canada. I'm boring like that. 

10. What are you doing mostly in the evening?

I read and watch movies with Dad. Usually I read and he watches the movie, but if the movie's any good I'll set aside my book and embroider or knit instead.

11. How old are you?

I am not one-and-twenty (I'm not! That leaves lots of other ages to guess. For all you know I could be two hundred and seventy-seven, that's not one-and-twenty.)

12. Which country's do you really want to visit?

Wales. Or Italy. I've got lots of Welsh in me and a smidgen of Italian. Nothing like getting back to your roots, eh? Besides, both countries are beautiful. 

13. What's your dream career?

Librarian, though I'm considering midwifery. 

14. If you where casted in a movie, which character would you love to play?

If they would make a movie of The Secret School by Avi, I would love to play Ida Bidson. I love that book. I think it'd make an absolutely adorable movie.

And there you have it. My first tag. That was fun! Thanks again for tagging me Rachel!

Snowball Fights!

(Well, that was embarrassing. Somehow I posted this before it was done, in all its half-written, unrevised glory. Ouch. Well, those of you who may have seen this...that's what a first draft looks like. Typos and all. I'm surprised you weren't blinded by it.)

Twelve Acre Wood really is very pretty. Especially with snow to cover all its imperfections.

This afternoon was pretty bright, which is unusual right around this time of year, so instead of being a hermit and reading in my room, I took myself out to the living room and read in there. It is terribly romantic to sit in a rocking chair in front of a fire and read an old book. (Dear Enemy by Jean Webster, in case you want to know.) I was feeling as sentimental as can be when I looked out the window, and lo and behold, the snow was falling gently to the ground oh so artistically.

I like to get outside at least once a day (though I tend to put it off until it's nearly dark and so cold that I catch pneumonia the instant I crack open the door). However, it looked so pleasant that I decided to go out right then. I put on my shawl, my cloak (yes I wear a cloak, I'm cool like that) a pair of leggings, mittens and a scarf. I pulled on two pairs of socks, stepped into my epic mud boots and ventured out into the cold and snow with my brother Pip at my side to explore the frozen wastes.

Pics of said frozen wastes:

I took the camera, 'cause why waste an opportunity, and snapped some pictures. I'm not sure if you can tell, but it was actually snowing while I took those pictures, and I was excited to try and capture that. Yeah, those poorly defined white blurs are snowflakes.

Also there were birds. Proof:

(This Picture is called "Spot the Gold Finch.")

There was a really gorgeous bird with a red breast (probably a robin, but I am no bird expert and shall ask Rego before irrevocably naming it as such) that I tried to capture, but I couldn't hold the camera still enough, and thus failed miserably at the attempt. Alas for poor Lissy.

After the pictures were taken I gave my brother his camera back and because it was still nice and semi-sunny out Pip and I played in the snow. I wrote out my name with my footprints, Pip showed me a frozen mud puddle to slide on, and we ended the outting with a good old fashioned snowball fight. (No pics, sadly. I didn't dare risk Kennedy's camera in that war zone.)

I am bad at snowball fights. My baby brother, who is ten year younger than I am, has far better hand eye coordination than I do. Do you know what he did? He caught my snowballs right out of the air and threw them back at me! The little diel! (That's not a typo, that's Scotch!) I couldn't win for losing. He'd throw his at me and then throw mine too! It was absolutely unfair. There should be rules against that.

And then my hands got cold and I went inside and made myself a mug of hot cocoa. It was fun. I need to play in the snow more often.

As a side note: My spell check doesn't know what snow is. It has auto corrected it to 'slide,' 'Sylvie,' 'site,' and 'snore' and several other non-snowy things besides. How bothersome.

Here's a picture of Twelve Acre Bridge in the snow.

Spell Check

So. I'm sure you've all noticed my typos. There are a lot of them, to be honest. Every time I thought I have rid my blog of the last one another comes to light. I have an excuse though. I write most of my posts on a tablet. Upon this self same tablet there is a thing some people call 'spell check' and that I call my arch nemesis.

In a fit of annoyance I have penned a song to commemorate my deep abiding hatreds of spell check. This song must be sung to the tune of "Mother Knows Best." It's not my best poetical work, but I'm short on time and patience, so bear with me, I pray.


Behold, my masterpiece!

Spell check: Spell check knows best
listen to your Spell check
it's a scary world out there
Spell check knows best
One way or another
Something will go wrong, I swear
RUffians, thuggggs
Poyzin ivvy, quacksand
Kannibals adn snakEs
Teh plaige.

Me: Surely not.

Spell check: Yes!

Me: But...

Spell check: Also bugs large,
Pointy teethed mans and--
Stop, no more, you'll just upset me
Spell check is right here,
Spell check will protect you,
Darling here's what I suggest
Skip the drama
You can't even spell 'mama'
Spell check knows best!
Spell check knows best
Take it from your Spell check
On your own, you won't survive
Sloppy, ungrammatical
On the keyboard your are clumsy
Please, you'll roast yourself alive!
You gullible knave,
You're positively nerdy
Ditzy--you can't even spell 'vague!'
Plus I believe, getting kinda wordy,
I'm just saying 'cause I love you (not)
Spell check understands,
Spell check's here to help you
All I have is one request!
Lissy?

Me: ...yes?

Spell check: Don't you ever turn off your spell check again!

Me: *sigh* Yes, Spell check.

Spell check: Don't forget it
You'll regret it
SPELL CHECK KNOWS BEST!!!

Spinach.

Peeps, I am in the depths of despair. Last week, as you may remember, was crummy. I felt a little off and had a skin problem and my nails kept breaking...there were several reasons for this, but I'm pretty sure I've tracked down the culprit.

Coffee.

You don't know me, so you cannot understand the utter horror of this realization. I love coffee. I know we modern people say the word love far too easily but I do love coffee.

It has such a wondrous bitter flavor. Now I'm not going to deny that I'm a little odd when it comes to the flavor of my food and drink. I do err on the side of the exotic. I like bitter, sour, and spicy things. My family will attest to the fact. I happen to like Tabasco sauce in my lemonade and I add red pepper to nearly everything. Stir-fry, beef stew, chocolate milk, ginger tonic, honey (I love red pepper with honey). You name it and I've probably added red pepper to it.

Anyway, I love coffee. I drink a cup or two a day. Of late I've been drinking more. Sometimes up to four or five cups a day. (Note: I drink out of small coffee cups, not gigantic mugs.) Not a huge amount compared to some folks I know, but still a fair amount.

And coffee is good for you. It stimulates the brain and muscles. It contains essential nutrients. It lowers risk of diabetes, liver disease, Alzheimer's and Parkinson's. It's also my most effective painkiller.

However, coffee also makes it more difficult for your body to absorb iron. Not so drastically as to make it bad for you: most Americans have a diet that's pretty high in iron, so a cup or two of coffee shouldn't hurt. However, at four cups a day (including tea and other caffeinated beverages) it adds up. I seem to be a little deficient in iron and that means no more coffee until I feel better.

This may seem quite trivial, but remember, I love coffee. I can't remember the last day I went without it. So it's going to be difficult and I'm going to be irritable. Suffice it to say that I am not looking forward to this next week or so.

To make matters worse, it is recommended that people with iron deficiency eat things like spinach and peas. I do not like spinach and peas.

I just ate a bowl of spinach and I am in the depths of despair.

Fare thee well and may your life be blessed with many cups of gloriously caffeinated delight. Mine shan't.

Crumbs, Plays, and Birthdays

Last week was kinda crummy so I didn't write anything. Crumminess is uninspiring.

However, I did have one really good thing come out of it. Much Ado About Nothing. I have a confession to make. For the last four or five years I was convinced that I hated Shakespeare. When I was ten I was given a book of Shakespearean plays as a birthday present. I read it faithfully several times a year until I lost it when I was fourteen. I didn't really care for them, but I was proving to my Excellent Mother that I was familiar with the classics and was reading something aside from fantasy or sci-fi (which she is convinced are the scourge of the libraries).

Being a ten year old, I didn't particularly like them. Actually, that isn't strong enough. I hated them. Especially A Midsummer's Night Dream. I also hated Othello, never actually finished it, though I tried many times. The only one I could abide was Much Ado About Nothing. Even that one was a bit difficult for ten year old me get through. And in successive rereads I still didn't develop a taste for Shakespeare. When I lost the book I was actually kind of glad that I didn't have to go through it anymore and I gave up Shakespeare for good.

Or so I thought.

On Monday evening last week I was a little sad and stressed out. I'd just completed a batch of bread--which I had neglected to put any sugar or salt or oil in--and it came out crunchy and flavorless. You could say it was really...crumby. Anyway, I wanted to wind down so I looked for something to watch on YouTube and heigh ho, what was in the recommendations but a rendition of Much Ado About Nothing. I didn't have anything else to do, so I sighed and hit play.

Oh my.

Oh my.

I loved it. I couldn't keep this priceless treasure to myself, so I fetched Kennedy and we watched it together. He liked it as much as I did (which surprised me) and we stayed up until after twelve watching it.

I was hooked. When I find something that I like so much I go into a phase which lasts a couple days. The first day is obsession. I think about it constantly, it fills my head pretty thoroughly. I kept going back to the computer and looking over the play again and analyzing the scenes and dialogue.

The next day I was more rational and I only rewatched my favorite scenes about ten times.

 By Wednesday I was fine. I was still interested in Much Ado About Nothing, but I left it alone. Same on Thursday.

On Friday I caved in and actually read the play. It was waaaaaaay more awesome than I remembered. Apparently ten year old me wasn't a good judge of plays.

On Saturday I searched for a new rendition, found a good one and watched it with my sisters. We liked it so well that we watched it with the rest of the family on Saturday evening. The only one who was Not Impressed was my Esteemed Father. But I don't hold it against him.

I'm  going to have to read more Shakespeare.




My brother Rego had his birthday this week. Krisbie made the cake and it was excellent, but a little sweet because my Esteemed Father snuck into the kitchen after Krisbie had frosted it and put an extra container of frosting on it. (He insists that cake is simply the vehicle of the frosting, being a tasty and convenient way to convey it to one's mouth. But, should cake be unavailable, a spoon will do just as well. Cutting out the middleman and whatnot.)

Rego got a lot of cool presents but my personal  favorite was Mum's present to  him. Rego loves birdwatching. He takes a lot of pictures of the birds that  visit his feeders. He has a lot of really stunning ones, but everybody's favorite is one of a cardinal in midflight against a background of snowy trees. My Excellent Mother got it professionally printed for him to hang somewhere conspicuous.

There, that's my update. Here  are some pictures I took on my stroll today. The whole world is melting and I think it's beautiful (in a drab, grey-brown sort of way).

 (This is  what's left of the bridge at Twelve Acre Wood.  Suffice it to say that we do not use it. Ever.)

Meet The Millahs!

Seeing as how January is the eighth month I will have had this blog I figure it's time to introduce my family.


See, we're the average, everyday, one-of-a-kind sort of family, ya know? There are eight of us all together (Mum and Dad included), and in modern America that's kinda big. We stand out when we go places. In the church we attended before we moved our Pastor Jim and his family were from Boston. When he or his wife would greet us at the door they would call out "It's the Millahs!" In their snazzy Bostonian accents. It stuck. We are The Millahs. Even among people who never met our wonderful Pastor Jim we are "The Millahs."

So, here I am to introduce the rest of The Millahs. (In order of age.)


-My Excellent Mother: Has epic hair. Plays the handbells. Sings tenor.

-My Esteemed Father: Jack of all trades. Usually has sawdust in his hair. Writes poems.

-Kennedy: Younger than me by a year. Is a 'cuber.' Does parkour. Is taller than me.

-Krisbe (de la Squankie): Shorter than me. Has longer, thicker, prettier hair than me. Really good at paper art of various kinds.

-Rego: Also taller than me. Bird-watcher supreme. Keeper of the Mighty Flame of Twelve Acre Wood.

-Hobbi: Our Golden Princess. Little pepperpot. Draws adorable pictures of the characters from Pride and Prejudice.

-Pippin: Smol. Energetic. Wants to build a helicopter/submarine hybrid when he grows up.

-Arthur: Krisbie's duck. Very uncivil. Does not believe in lizards.

There you have it, the notorious Millahs.

(This is the picture Hobbi drew of Jane Bennet. Isn't it darling?)