It's Not Really Inter-Species Dating

I like pillows. On my bed I have one big bolster, two squishy king sized, two firm king sized, and about six twin sized of various firmnesses and textures. I really like pillows.

My cat apparently likes pillows too, but for him, it's entirely different. And disturbing. Every night when we go to bed, the bulk of the pillows end up on the floor next to the bed. I only use one (more often none) of them for actual sleeping, so they sit there on the floor until I make the bed in the morning.

One night as the Pirate and I were lying in bed just before going to sleep when we heard the cat at the side of the bed making a sort of chirping noise. We peeked over the side of the bed and there's the cat. He's up on the pillows, and he's managed to bunch one up under him. He's holding part of it with his teeth, he's got his front paws around it, and he's having his wicked way with it.

The Pirate and I did a sort of double take. "Ewww! He's not...Is he?" "It sure looks like it." "So, um...what do we do? Do we leave the room? Take the pillow away from him?" "Do you want that pillow back?" "Good point."

It was all over pretty quickly, and after smoking a little catnip cigarette, he left.

The next night the pillows were still on the bed and the Pirate and I were sitting up in bed under the covers doing a crossword puzzle. We heard the chirping again, and suddenly the Pirate was shaking his leg violently, yelling "Get him off my foot!"

We realized after a while that it wasn't all the pillows, or just any pillow. He had a favorite. We figured it was harmless, it made him happy, we'd just let him do his thing and not mention it. Sort of like when your two-year-old starts masturbating at the dinner table.

So, we came back from our little jaunt to LA to find his pillow out in the living room. Not just out in the living room, but right in front of the fireplace. Apparently, while we were out, he was having himself a little fireside romance. But apparently, our cat is a lover of some discernment. It wasn't just the pillow dragged out by the fire. Next to it was a dress of my daugher's. A little red velvet dress with long sleeves cuffed with maribou feathers dyed to match.

So, he's dressing his little girlfriend up, too.

I looked around, half expecting to see some little used kitty condoms or one of those airline-sized bottles of champagne, but I guess he got rid of those. The dress itself was lying to one side like it had been taken off in a hurry and tossed aside. Okay, maybe it was just that he couldn't drag it that far, but still.

Now, where was the other one? Where was our little girl kitty during this sordid night of cat-on-pillow debauchery? Well, she might have been under one of the beds, her little paws pressed over her ears thinking "I'm not hearing this. I'm not hearing this." She may have been holding the video camera.

Frankly, I think she was sitting, snug under the coffee table thinking "Better you than me, sweetheart."

I have been thinking about whether or not we should put a stop to this illicit romance. The one thing I know is that if we don't stop it, we're going to have a whole shitload of little furry throwpillows lying around the house.

Monsoon Wedding

The wedding happened on Xmas day, as planned, during the worst storm in 20 years, which was not planned.

We got there on the 20th, and things started out really well. Finished the last-minute shopping, fitted the dress, prepared my sister's house and yard for the lovely outdoor service we had planned.

But as the time drew closer, there seemed to be more and more to do than any of us realized, and tensions mounted. And, the whole time, the sky darkened. On the 22nd and 23rd, it sprinkled briefly, prompting many jokes about rain on the wedding day. We weren't too worried. The national weather service, weather.com and the almanac all seemed to disagree about the chances of rain, but all three seemed to agree that if it happened at all, it would happen in the morning and be light and brief.
I woke up in the morning to the patter of rain on the roof, and panicked. I lay there thinking about what my options were, but then the Pirate looked out the window and said "It's not raining. It's the sound of the water from the tree over the house falling on the metal eaves above our window." Whew!

We went outside and sure enough, there was a weird, thick mist, but no rain. We figured that the mist would clear itself up by midday and everything would be great.

BUT NO.

We got to my sister's house and began setting up for Xmas dinner, which would be happening at 2 p.m. We decided that we would leave the pavilion in the driveway for now, and that we would have Xmas dinner under the pavilion and open the garage door and have the food inside the garage.

By this time, my sister and I were freely wigging out. The mist got thicker and heavier and when we finally started sniping at each other, the skies opened up and poured forth with a Biblical downpour. My family gathered under the outdoor pavilion and started saying things like "Can we change the theme of the wedding to Survivor? And you guys can be the hosts and we can vote people out of the wedding and stuff?" No. No we can't.

We watched in horror as the wind blew the sides of the pavilion against the backs of the people eating dinner. The family huddled pathetically around the heaters, and the water collecting in a part of the pavilion roof made a little waterfall down one side. Someone suggested that we could still have the wedding outside, with the guests under the pavilion and the Pirate and I standing outside with something to cover our clothes. But what would be large enough to adequately cover our clothes? And where would we stand, other than just outside the garage in the mud? Well, that's fine. We could stand outside in the mud, and we could put trashbags over our clothes. So...we could get married in trashbags in the mud. This was pretty much the planning nadir.

The Pirate's father came up with the key to his church, and at the last minute, everything was moved there. Maps were drawn, stuff was moved in great haste, people were pressed into service. The Pirate's father said, in a message to his family's mailing list, that God loves a wedding and sent the wind to blow this one to His house. Fair enough.

And in the end, it all came out right enough. Someone told us that rain on your
wedding day is a blessing. Man, oh man are we blessed.

I Fall For It Every Time

I woke up at 11:30, spent an hour and a quarter loading stuff and babies into the truck, and then drove the five hours to Los Angeles.

It happens every time. As I'm coming over the Angeles mountains, I always mistake the bruised, purple-red sky over LA for dawn. Usually it's about 4:00 as I'm coming through that pass. Dawn's a long way off, but I'm always anxious to get to where I'm going, so I see what I want to see. The real dawn comes forty minutes later, the sickly yellow purple of a healing bruise, and is much less pretty. By the time actual dawn is apparent, I've come through the valley.

At 4:30-5:00 a.m., the whole San Fernando valley reeks of bacon. There are two kinds of people up and eating breakfast at that time of the morning. They're all middle aged or older, most of them work jobs that start before the latte crowd are even out of bed. But beyond that, there are the oatmeal eaters and the bacon eaters.

The oatmeal eaters are ex-hippies. In the hotter months they'll eat kashi with either soy milk or goat's milk, or no milk, instead mixing it into yogurt. They probably garden, know their cholesterol count, can name their state assemblyperson.

The bacon eaters are almost all men - blue collar workers on their way to a shift job for which they are trying to gird their loins. With pig fat. They smile a lot, are fatalistic about politics which they don't perceive as having an impact on their actual day-to-day life, and just want to get through the day without having to be pissed off at anyone.

The bacon smell subsides almost as soon as we're past the Getty Center. From there, it's about half an hour to where we're going, and I know that I can make it. No matter how tired I am, I've made this drive before, I'll make it this time, and people I love are waiting for me at the end of it.

Baby Party, Techticipation, Goin' to the Chapel

The baby's preschool had their holiday party last night. There were twenty-ish little kids arranged in two rows, all wearing Santa hats and singing a selection of Xmas carols to the delight of the assembled parents and grandparents.

Except for two little kids. One was my daughter's best friend, a four-year-old with lovely long red hair who was happy upon arrival, but from the second the kids were led out to the chairs where they would perform began to cry and didn't stop for the entire performance.
And, to absolutely no one's surprise, the other one was my kid. She didn't cry, she just refused to wear the Santa hat, refused to sing, and refused to be in the front row. It wasn't until the very last song that she was persuaded by two of her teachers to put on the hat, and even then she would dance, but not sing.

Later, when Santa made an appearance, Jamie and Baby were the only two who sat by themselves at the other end of the room and flatly REFUSED to go anywhere near Santa. Meanwhile, everyone was exhorting the two of them to "Go see Santa! Don't you want to go see Santa?" I wanted to intervene and say "No, she doesn't want to bloody well go see Santa. Let the poor introverted kids alone. They'd like to sit here at the back and just watch, thank you very much!"

As it was, I was happy to get through the evening without her telling anyone to piss off.

The Pirate has been checking the new laptop's trek toward our house. The old laptop has died, and we ordered the new one a couple of weeks ago. It shipped, and as of this morning, it is in San Jose on a truck. It will be waiting for me when I get home. Don't ask me what it is. The Pirate got it for me and I told him "Whatever you think is best." Mostly because I'm too abominably lazy to sit there looking at a page full of specs and trying to figure out what they mean and how it relates to what I need.
That said, I'll be spending part of this Xmas taking stuff off the old laptop and putting it onto the new. And playing with the new one.

Poking buttons, clicking keys, trying not to lick the screen...

And, in other news, the wedding is Thursday. I'm almost ready. Most of you know that the Pirate and I eloped in February. Those of you who didn't know do now.

But our families don't know, and they want a wedding. His family more than mine, as it would be his first wedding. I feel like I should be nervous, but I'm not at all. I'm really excited. We're going to be surrounded by our families who love us, a very few of our closest friends, and after a very brief ceremony (I'm talking ten minutes if everyone talks s-l-o-w-l-y) we're going to have cake and eggnog and laugh and talk and have a lovely time, and everyone will know that we're married and we love each other.

I can't think of a better way to spend an evening.

So, I hope that everyone has a really good Xmas and New Year and that everyone stays safe and healthy.

Got My Martha Stewart Groove On!

Sunday I made seven batches of jalapeño jam. Sunday, Monday and yesterday nights I stamped a design of Celtic knots onto 5 yards of muslin in vermillion fabric paint. Yesterday I took pinking shears and cut it up into 6" squares and fastened the red-printed muslin to the tops of the jars with dark green ribbon. The resulting 54 jars of jalapeño jam covered in Celtic knot-printed muslin are wedding favors for the Pirate's and my wedding next week.

With the exception of actually decorating the venue, hemming the dress and making the cake (red velvet cake with white frosting arranged in three tiers on a sort of plate holder thing [I'm describing it badly] with milagros sprinkled over the cakes), we're all done. The week in Los Angeles will be light of responsibility and heavy in relaxation time.
I'm in the middle of listening to The Iliad. It's...dense. I'm having a little bit of a hard time telling who's on what side, as we don't really have just Trojans and Greeks. Each side has about a million little tribes with them, and each tribe has a dozen noblemen and everyone has six nicknames. At least the two Ajaxes are on the same side. I want to read it to the girls, but I think we're going to make up something like flashcards in different colors for the different teams, otherwise, they'll never remember them either.

I love Xmas, as it gives me a chance and a reason to get out all the crafting stuff I own and use it. Yay!

Am I the Same Person?

Sunday at midnight, I drove my family from LA to San Jose in five hours. I had a nap when I got home and I got up and wrapped all the Xmas prezzies and made lists of the things that needed doing. I had it all figured out.

On Monday, I got up and hit the ground running. I made calls, I ran errands, I achieved, accomplished, set 'em up and knocked 'em down. On Tuesday, I tied up loose ends, put out feelers, got my ducks in a row and took care of business.

And then Wednesday came. I dragged my sorry ass outta bed. I tapped halfheartedly at my keyboard, stared at the few stragglers still clinging stubbornly to my To Do list, checked my email far too often. I realized only after I got home and drank a Coke that I hadn't had any caffeine, and that explained my headache and inability to wake up.

Yesterday, I was a little more purposeful, but not much. I know what needs doing, but I'm having such a hard time convincing myself to do it. I have a giant project that needs to be done before I leave for Xmas, but I don't know if I'm going to be able to get it done. Then again, I'm at my most amazing only under pressure.

Today, I'm having to convince myself, minute by minute, not to leave work and just go home. Things at home are calling me. "Finish the laundry!" "Mop the floor!" "Halloween's over - clean the cobwebs up!" "Finish the Xmas shopping!"

And even though I am being crushed under a mountain of things that need to get done, all I really want to do is sleep. Just sleep for at least twenty hours. And then wake up and NOT get dressed.

Dance of the Sugar Plum Buicks

I love December. It's hands-down my favorite month of the year, because at this time of year, the universe just seems to be conspiring to surround me with that special, warm glow.

People are walking around smiling in anticipation of the wonderful ways their loved ones are going to show their affection come the 25th. These are the people who haven't learned yet, and who will, come January, be some of the bitterest people on earth. But for now, I'll take all the goodwill they're giving.

The arts are in full swing this month. Every radio station is dusting off their Xmas classics. By the 25th, I estimate that I'll have heard Nat King Cole roasting his chestnuts 1,612 times. But it's never enough, because I still don't know the words. I just hear ol' Nat's voice and go all gooey. He could be singing a recipe for pot roast and I'd still sigh.

But by far my favorite is the ballet. I'm a sucker for it. The twinkling lights, the suspended animation of the performers as they swoop and soar and seem to defy the rule of both gravity and common sense... I'm not talking about the Nutcracker. I'm talking about cars on the road and in parking lots. I was negotiating my way out of a popularly-placed spot this afternoon, coordinating with my fellow ballerinas (two giant SUVs and a hopelessly outmatched Toyota). The Toyota and one SUV did a graceful swoop in the background while I backed carefully out of my space, allowing the other SUV to glide gracefully in. The spray from the puddles in the parking lot was vaguely reminiscent of tutus.

Then, on my way out of the parking lot, I happened to be in the outer of the two left-turn lanes. The light turns green, and instantly the car to my right (not in a turn lane at all) shot ahead of me, across four lanes and into the left lane, the car to my left shot ahead of me, across four lanes and into the right-most lane, and I forged ahead, dazzled at the sheer beauty of the spectacle. Spectators held their breath, waiting for the exciting, inevitable crunch of metal, the delightful tinkle of broken glass and the breathtaking glitter of a spray of safety glass. I held my breath right along with everyone else, only to laugh with joy when it all came out okay in the end.

I just can't decide whether it's life imitating art, or art imitating idiots.

Happy Thanksgiving

I know. Thanksgiving's gone. Nobody's doing that anymore. We gave thanks, and we're not about to do it again for another year. That's okay.
My Thanksgiving was really good. The drive down to LA was blissfully uneventful. We only forgot one thing (albeit one important thing) which meant that I had to mail something when I got back. No big deal. Thanksgiving dinner with my family and my in-laws was wonderful. Our families get along great, and the Pirate's mother had to work anyway, so Dad wasn't about to cook for himself.

The only small downside was that my sister's dog wasn't looking good. I decided to jog to my sister's house from my in-laws' house, and when I got to my sister's house, I was greeted by an almost visible wall of dog funk. It was RANK. So, I extended my jog just far enough to hit up the grocery store for some Febreze and rug deodorizer. Then I helped my sister hoist the ancient, giant, cancer-riddled dog into the tub for a wash. That did the trick, and the house smelled fine. The dog was outside for Thanksgiving evening, and the only worry was the occasional noise from outside. We had to help her up and down the three porch steps. After dinner, the dog came back into the house and was treated to turkey skin, turkey heart and cream cheese.

The next morning, my sister went out to run some errands. As she walked out the door, the dog was on the couch, snoring loudly. She had forgotten her purse and when she went back into the house, the dog had fallen off the couch and died.

Before you offer consolation, I must tell you that the feeling was mostly relief. My poor sister just didn't have the heart to put the poor dog to sleep, even though at the end, she was so obviously suffering. The dog died peacefully, in her sleep, after a night of yummy treats and a warm bed. She had a good run. One friend put forward the thought that the dog died because after the delicious food and the warm bed, she just figured it wasn't going to get any better for her.

What's even more amusing is that on the same day, a friend of mine in Oklahoma got a new dog and without hearing anything from me, gave it the old dog's name - Sassy. Life goes on. And it's mostly good.

While we were in LA, we got so much done. Many wedding details were sorted, decided, fixed. Invitations were finally sent, many Xmas prezzies were bought, friends and relatives seen. When we got home, we came with a sense of purpose and clarity. We made lists, we sent emails, we gathered information and then took action. I feel that I've more than made up for November's unavailability.

I've decided that for the month of December, my goal is to take very good care of myself and my family. Making sure that we get enough sleep, that things are kept clean and tidy, that we eat well and correctly this month. We'll feel better come January for it, I hope.