The Rock Dove

Okay, this particular little bit of info goes specifically to my friends Mike, Rob and Lynn who were all at OVC on Sunday. Mike had asked what the difference is between pigeons and doves, and we all assured him that there was none.
The Pirate had come freshly from Barnes & Noble and had bought the "National Audobon Society Field Guide to North American Birds: Western Region" which has color photographs of all the birds listed.
Careful perusal of its color plates shows that the bird that everyone here calls a "pigeon," you know - that grey-bodied bird with the oil-slicked head, is in fact a "rock dove."
So, now you know.

She's Back and I've Got Her

The baby's back. Except that this isn't the baby that left two weeks ago. This new and improved baby is more tan and has the newfound confidence of a credentialed preschool swimming program graduate. In the .03 conversations I had with her during her two and a half weeks out of the house, she said a grand total of about 4 different words, so I had forgotten just how articulate she is. When I asked if she had a good time in Phoenix with her sister, she told me, "My sissy was only at Nanny's house. Then I got to go to my Susie's house and play with Jason, but he doesn't know that the park is lonely when you're three." Ah, well, how soon we forget our toddler angst.
And she seemed genuinely happy to be back in "baby school" with her friends. She was beaming at the attention lavished on her by the doting daycare ladies (let's hear it for the daycare ladies - the most underappreciated women on earth!).
Now if I could just have the other one back, I'd be complete again.

Absolution and Redemption

Yesterday sucked. I'm talking about a level of suckage that involves big rubber lips and leaves a hickey on your forehead that spells out a rude word. It's not that anybody was actually mean or rude - it's more like people were indifferent or apologetically unhelpful, and the universe itself conspired against me. I missed my lunchtime workout to go to the bank, but I got lost and when I did get to the bank the computers were down and it ended up being a wasted trip. And while I was in the bank, a bird pooped on my motorcycle seat. On the way home from work I realized that someone had screwed with my trip meter which tells me how far I've gone since my last gas fill up. And almost on cue, I ran out of gas. And then I rode my bicycle to Fry's after work to get a camera, but the chain fell off halfway there. I got to Fry's and wanted to know about a digital camera, except that there was nobody to answer my question, so I was forced to resort to standing and yelling "Help!" at the top of my lungs until someone came and helped me.
Just before I fell asleep, I remembered the dream I had the night before. The bulk of the dream was unremarkable, but the very end was good. There was a woman in the dream who was frustrated because she had been given an assignment to make a teapot in the shape of God. She kept throwing the clay on the wheel and starting to make a pot shape, and then stopping because she couldn't think what to do next. It got me wondering what a teapot in the shape of God would even look like. Would it appear different to everyone? How would it operate? It's the subject of my next short story. I'm looking forward to it!
Today is starting out very, very well. I've been absolved.

Lying on a Cloud of Pretty Darned Good

Went to the opera with the Pirate this afternoon. Saw Il Trovatore. The music and the singing were fabulous. A cast of really first-rate performers who weren't drowned out (as the cast of La Cenerentola was last time) by the orchestra. The basses were notable, as was the woman who sang the part of Azucena. The set design and stage direction, however, SUCKED OUT LOUD. I want the sets of an opera to facilitate my understanding of the story. I most certainly do not want to spend the entire first act wondering when they're going to explain the giant horse's head or the piano with a bite taken out of it, or why the last scene seemed to have been played from the filthiest public toilet in Scotland. The staging and set design were so awful that the Pirate and I bitched about them all the way from the opera house to Haight Street where we went for Ethiopian food. And then we started talking about religion and felt much better.
The girls are gone for a couple of weeks and I'm already feeling at loose ends. I had a dream last night that I was suddenly rooming with everyone I worked with, and I woke up realizing that I need to set some better limits for my work group. I don't want them invading my home life.
For the next two weeks, I would like to finish up the writing portion of my novel. It's undergoing pretty major surgery, but I'm almost halfway done with that and am pretty pleased at it. I'll keep everyone who cares posted.
And I've just sent a short story over to Cliff for his critique. It couldn't be in better hands, as I know that he will read it with both a critical eye AND a kind heart (hear that? I'm counting on you! Firm but compassionate. So, get out your thesaurus and look up euphemisms for "sucks.")
And I miss all of you. A lot.