Saturday, September 29, 2012


The tiniest of tiny green lizards trying in vain to find some sunlight today.
God speed, tiny lizard. If you find any, let us know.
Why, yes, I'll go ahead and join the crowd of bloggers gushing about leaves changing, a nip in the air, crisp mornings, etc and so forth and autumn and fall and so on.
I feel no shame. I love me some fall and I ain't afraid to show it.
In my defense, though, the South has odd seasonal switches. I mean, actual winter only seems to take up about three weeks in late January/early February, then we're right into spring until May, then suddenly it feels like summer to me right up until mid-September. After what seems like five straight months of baking humidity, I am so ready to be able to let fresh air in my house.
This is just a kind of shrub. Only the tops of the actual trees seems to be showing anything, and even those are just the faintest spray of yellowing or reddish edges.
I'm not worried.
I can wait.
Look, it's a spotted turtle!
Also known as what I do while watching Netflix, because it's hard for me to just let my hands be completely still while we make our current way through the entire run of Frasier. Next up - Cheers.
Also - I like turtles. Deal with it.
I mean, we all made it through the cougar picture. If we band together, I think we can make it through the turtle, too.
... and to top things off, I have decided things are a little too serious around here, so here's a photo of me stickin' my tongue out.
Because I am a classy lady.
Also, while I've got this captive audience, I would like to wish my dad a happy birthday!
I am trying to decide when to call. That may seem like a simple decision, but farmers have this thing they do in late September. You know, where they, like, harvest plants and whatnot. Makes it kind of hard to time the birthday phone-call. I'm pretty sure if I call at 6 PM Central Time exactly, I should catch him? But you can never be sure.
6 PM was dinner-time my entire life, though, and I like to think that habit holds even after my parents have become empty-nesters. Although I highly doubt they consider themselves empty-nesters; I imagine my mother considers herself blissfully free every time she realizes how quiet the house is without me any of her kids stomping around flat-footed up and down the stairs.
Actually, let me go ahead and give a shout-out to my mother for enforcing a routine dinnertime where everyone sat down to dinner at the same time. That's something I don't think I properly appreciated until adulthood, and it's actually the number one thing on my list of Things I Want to Do With My Children.
I am so ready to see my family again. So very, very ready.
87 days until the next time we're in Illinois...
but it's not like I'm counting or anything.
P.S. This week also marked the birthdays of my grandma and Jason. On Jason's side of the family, his aunt and some cousins have birthdays all in mid-to-late-September, too! Late September is just a busy time for baby-havin', apparently.

Friday, September 28, 2012

Thought Heard Said Read

Things I have been thinking, seeing, hearing, or saying over the last few days:

My marriage can survive anything. Exhibit A: sweater-vests.

"Stop right there with the simile. There's no use conjuring up imagery I'll only have to repress later."

Edwin Outwater doesn't sound like a name so much as a very British description of the tides.

"Jason, if you keep this up, I am going to stick lettuce down your pants!"
"No problem. Lettuce makes a fine insulation in the winter."

"Half-Ton Aunt Too Fat to be Real Killer." This is seriously on the front page of CNN. I am never reading CNN ever again.

"Well, it's really more of a white wine dinner, but all we have is red wine."
"Katie, you know what you get when you drink red wine with a white wine dinner?"

As I thought this, I looked up and caught sight of my toddler. He was chewing on a piece of balsa wood that I think belonged to his brother's kite. He looked up at me thoughtfully, as if to say, beg your pardon? Don't mind me; I just thought I'd take a break from gnawing at your electrical cords as if I were a rodent.

"Coffee is the nectar of the gods."
"Coffee is the nectar of the Axis of Evil."
"... are you calling me evil?"

"I've decided that until I set eyes on him again, he's a myth. A person we all collectively invented but cannot conclusively prove."

Target's website and I disagree wholeheartedly over what color this sweater is. 

 "I'll teach you to shoot."
"I'll faint. That's a promise. Or squeal. Or hit myself in the face."

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Wordless Wednesday: Cougar

Sometimes there is time to sketch or doodle at work.
 I keep a sketchbook on hand for just that reason.
Apparently, I like cougars.

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Why I'm Not a Fashion Blogger and Other Random Acts of Weirdness

1. I smash colors together because they make me happy, not because they play well off of each other or I like the contrast or any other reason. You will rarely hear me wax rhapsodic about "playing with texture". But clothing makes me happy. Sometimes this means I look like a particularly eccentric teacher, sometimes it means I look like a teacher's delightfully mad sister. Which, it turns out, I actually am a teacher's delightfully mad sister? So that works out well for me.

 2. I do not have a friend or anybody out there with a fancy DSLR taking photos of me in whatever I've dreamed up that morning to wear. Very occasionally I'll ask Jason to take a couple shots, but he takes photos literally every. single. second. whether I know about it or not. We tend to end up with... shall we say, interesting pictures of my face.

3. See, look at him lookin' all smug. Or happy. I think he just looks happy? But I choose to say he looks smug because that's how we're remembering it.

4. I take photos of myself, because self-portraits have a long and storied history within my family; my siblings and I always made sure to have at least one self-portrait for each roll of film my mother developed. Now there are digital cameras and therefore no end to the self-portraits I can take! Bwahahahaha! Mine is an evil laugh!

Also, as a side note, my niece takes self-portraits and took her first self-portrait with a digital camera when she was still technically a baby. Like I said, it's a long and storied family tradition.

5. Because that shot above is my best 'fashion blogger' face. Otherwise I just smile like a normal person and look goofy. You should see all my teeth.

Well, I mean, not really. I have no idea why you'd want to look at my teeth.

6. I don't wear makeup, because makeup feels like clay on my face no matter how lightweight it is. And if I'm gonna wear clay on my face, I'm going to put on some serious designs and go free all the animals at the zoo.

Which I promise is an old in-joke between me and some old friends of mine and not something I actually plan to do.

7. ... or is it?

8. I do not ask Jason to move when I am trying to take an artful shot of my feet, so I am obviously bad at composing photos that make anybody at all care about my clothes. Not that they would anyway.

9. Because the thing that is best about this outfit is my socks. They are a gift from my friend Sarah and they are socks that are one-of-a-kind, literally; they're made not to match! Which means they are my favorite socks ever right now. I used to wear purposefully mismatched socks all the time in high school.

 You'd be surprised how many people notice and feel the need to stop you on the sidewalk and let you know that your socks don't match. I like to think they were just being helpful.I'm pretty sure it was a punk rock statement of rebellion against the restrictions of our matching-obsessed society, okay? I was sixteen. Everybody's out to make a statement at sixteen.

10. Because the most expensive thing I've even got here is the purse that cost me 30 dollars. The white T-shirt and purse are from JC Penney. The shoes and orange jacket I'm holding are from Old Navy. The jeans are from Walmart, the socks are from a little shop Sarah visited while she was on vacation, the scarf is from New York & Company like four years ago, and I made the necklace. Obviously I am rockin' the designer goods here.

11. Because I'd hate to wear clothes with anyone's amusement but my own in mind. Don't get me wrong, though; I am often amused by my own clothing. I can only hope other people in the world are also amused.

12. This has less than nothing to do with the point of the post, but I wanted to include this photo I took on my cell phone on Saturday:

This is my boss giving a lovely and polite Confederate General directions to find the school stadium he was looking for on Saturday. The town I work at had a town festival this weekend, so we saw more than one person dressed up in whichever version of period clothing they were most interested in (we had a Revolutionary War general walking around as well, and a woman in a hoop skirt dress!).

It's the first time they've done this particular festival, so everybody was still kind of getting their sea (or mountain, I guess?) legs about the whole thing. This gentleman and his wife came by trying to figure out where all the fun stuff was happening.

Most of what I took away from Saturday is that I am so glad women are no longer expected to wear anything that even remotely resembles a hoop skirt.

That seems like a good moral for this story.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Even My Clothes Are Cranky

My workplace's Native Plants Garden this morning.
You can probably imagine the opening song from the Lion King here.

When my alarm went off this morning, birds were chirping.

The sky was a pretty blue, the sun was coming up over the horizon, dogs were romping playfully in yards while their owners got ready for work.

Somewhere, I suppose, children were playing or fighting or whatever it is children do before they have to leave for school. Eating? Children eat these days, right? Is that what the kids are into now?

My husband woke up cheerfully fifteen minutes before I did, went about his business, made himself (and me! because he is so awesome and I am out of cereal) breakfast. Our cat got up with him and followed him around meowing because she hates my sleep patterns and wants me to have to wake up when everyone else does and for fifteen minutes this morning, I hated her.

My alarm went off, and birds were chirping.

The cat was chirping.

My husband was basically chirping.

I was not chirping.

I do not chirp at 6:30 in the morning and I think nothing else should, either, because morning is bad and we should make sure morning knows that it is bad.

I muttered and swore to myself and vainly kicked at things on the floor that I felt should not stand between me and whatever direction I happened to be walking at that moment, until it was time to go to work. (I did take a moment to stop groaning about morning long enough to thank Jason for breakfast, though. I'm an awesome person like that.)

I muttered about sunlight and how much I hate gorgeous mornings before I've had my coffee through my drive. NPR's news anchors insisted on sounding cheerful, which I found vaguely annoying since they should know that it's morning and morning is bad.

Even the radio is chirpy today.

I have since had my cup of coffee.

I am still not chirping.

Nothing and no one on God's green earth has the power to make a morning person out of me.

It's just not going to happen.

Some days, though, it feels like 'morning' lasts from when my alarm goes off until I go to bed at night. Today is apparently going to be one of those days.

I'm going to make more coffee with my lunch, because for some reason I feel like the Brick of Irritability hit me in the face first thing this morning and it is apparently still stuck there. All I want to do is curl up under a blanket and vainly slap my hands at anything that tries to be cheerful at me.

Instead, because I am at work and they frown on both hiding under blankets and slapping people and inanimate objects, I am going to curl up under a sweater I brought with me, drink coffee like they're startin' up the Caffeine Prohibition tomorrow, and mutter to myself about birds and their insistence on sounding happy.

Not enough coffee in the world, people.

Not enough coffee in the world.


Sunday, September 16, 2012

Then, Now, Later

 This weekend I:

ate dinner at a great Mexican place with Jason and a lovely friend
had cactus leaves and margaritas, although not together
imbibed more horchata than one person should and don't regret it
watched Frasier with Jason
discovered I can be surprised by developments in a show that aired years ago
listened to my new music nonstop
read magazines and decided on a new haircut
had a delightful, laughter-filled lunch with Jason's family
made green bean casserole (told you I was the Casserole Queen)
apparently sent several random text messages when my phone had something of a seizure and rebooted
and probably shouldn't have anything else to eat this weekend.

Right now I'm:
doing laundry
listening to music nonstop still
having Katie-time while Jason's out with some friends
lighting candles so my living room smells like what candle-makers think autumn smells like
(pumpkin pie and cinnamon, apparently?)
drinking tea.

Specifically, the tea pictured above. Without anything sweet, it's a good wake-up tea in the morning.
With plenty of milk and honey, it's the perfect relaxation technique for seven in the evening.

Tomorrow I'll:

ride my bike for a while
attempt to create something of a homemade pumpkin spice latte
run some errands
bother the cat and then wonder why she doesn't like me as much as she likes Jason
trim our wildly out-of-control bushes out front
make a haircut appointment
make an appointment to see an eye doctor for new glasses next week
hang out with Jason.

Sounds good to me.

Friday, September 14, 2012

5 Things - The Made in the USA Edition

1. I made this for dinner Tuesday night, after Jason got back from work. I'm not even sure why, really. I just wanted to make a casserole so badly Monday and Jason got groceries on the way home Tuesday, so we had everything we needed.

I am the Casserole Queen. This has already been established. Soon I will rule them all.

 It definitely made enough for a family dinner; they're not kiddin' when they say 8 - 10 servings. Obviously this is not a picture I took - I snagged it off the Whole Foods website because I didn't actually remember to take any picture of my version. Of course, being who I am, I used skim milk and whole-wheat all-purpose flour. Because that's how I do.

It tasted delicious, as anything full of smoked salmon and brie is likely to, but it was kind of problematic. The temperature that the recipe suggests baking at seems entirely too low to cook the potatoes in the time suggested - we ended up turning the oven up to 400 degrees Fahrenheit at the end for an extra 10 minutes or so. It's also partially my fault - I always start out cutting potatoes really thinly and then get bored and impatient and the slices get thicker and thicker and quicker and sloppier.

I'm not kidding, though.


Especially with hot sauce.

Just be aware that you'll probably end up baking this thing for close to an hour and a half and plan accordingly.

2. This is the website for the Made in America Movement. I've been browsing their company listings for a while now. They help support companies that make their products in America, enabling them to hopefully have an easier time connecting with consumers looking for their kinds of products.

I am a huge proponent of buying goods made in the USA. Unfortunately, I haven't been as good at keeping my end of the bargain on that as I'd like, because, well, money. The biggest problem is that labor standards and our cost-of-living mean that products made in the U.S. do tend to be more expensive, occasionally prohibitively so. One of my goals for myself in my 5-year 25-to-30 plan has been to shop more for American-made goods.

Here is a list of companies who have involved themselves with the movement and therefore get listed on the website's Products page. It's worth a browse!

My personal favorites I found off the list are The U.S. of Awesome, Eastland Shoe's Made in Maine collection, and Jacob Bromwell (The oldest housewares company in the U.S., which is pretty neat).

I should just do a blog entry one day that's my 5-year plan I made when I was 25. It's mostly sensible; what would be more fun, I suppose, is if I published my 10-year-plan from when I was 18. Or my 20-year-plan from high school. I'm pretty sure my plan was to be famous by now, or at least infamous.

3. This T-shirt from Life is Good. Because I don't just take up bicycling, I become the kind of person who wants a T-shirt with a bicycle on it. Although actually it's mostly because I really like Life is Good shirts, I love that color of green, plus also bicycle. So I'm not the bike equivalent of a crazy cat lady, I promise.

Not yet.

Actually, my ride yesterday was pretty harsh. I told Jason I think it's because I forgot to take my big water bottle home from work, so I was stuck making do with a 20 oz. instead of the 1.5 liter I usually have and I just wasn't able to drink enough water on my stops. Or something. But for whatever reason it felt like I was pushing myself four times as hard and getting nowhere.

Well, we'll just see if we can't fix that.

4. This painting by Mary Whyte, a South Carolina artist who lives on Johns Island. Some of her work is in the Greenville Museum of Art all the time, which is where I first saw any of her stuff. Since we order books for the gift shop, I get catalogs from various university presses and the latest I received from USC's press involved a press release for Whyte's newest book, which got me thinking about her again.

What is most impressive is that these paintings are watercolor, a medium generally not used for minute detail or at least not the level of detail we're seeing in Whyte's work.

But tell me that the above painting is not absolutely beautiful.

Look at that quilt! And the bark on the trees.

I'm going to be thinking about painting all day now, I can tell. Well, maybe I can take at least one of you with me. If we're all distracted, it's okay, right?

... right?

5. This blend by Caribou Coffee, which is basically all we drink at work right now.

I am in charge of coffee-making, by dint of nearly always being the first person to arrive, and also because it turns out I'm pretty good at making coffee. We go through lots of brands - Eight O'Clock is a good economic choice, New England Coffee often is on sale, but we seem always to cycle back around to Caribou Coffee's Caribou blend. Although my favorite is the Mahogany blend, I think it's a little too dark for one of my coworkers, so we rely on Caribou Blend, since it's a crowd-pleaser.

On a related note, I really wish there was a Caribou Coffee any closer to us than Charlotte, N.C. I like their coffeeshop drinks and their food a lot more than Starbucks.

Don't tell Starbucks I said that.

Now that's what I drink at work, at home I drink this:

That's Iron Brew Coffee, a South Carolina roaster whose stuff I picked up when I found it on sale a few months ago. I stocked up and I'm still working through the last bag. I try to stick to South Carolina roasters now that we live here, and it's usually either this or West End Coffee, who are located in Greenville and make the best version of Jamaican Me Crazy that has ever existed ever. I am prepared to defend that statement with fisticuffs.

Although if you actually challenge me to fisticuffs I will probably trip on my own feet, fall over, and call it a draw.

With that statement affirming my dignity, I bid you all good day.

And good coffee.

Monday, September 10, 2012

In Which I Ramble About Bicycles Again

I won't try to deny the truth; nobody looks cute sweating in a bicycle helmet.

On the other hand, I feel like if anything ever happens my brain will thank me deeply for wearing one.

Although if I start actually hearing my brain thank me, there might be bigger issues going on.

Today is absolutely gorgeous - clear blue skies, warm sun, cool breeze. We had a huge cold front move through a few days ago, and while Saturday was in the 90's, Sunday was in the mid-80's, and today is even a little bit lower, I think. Yesterday was a busy, productive housework and work in the backyard day, and today I'll be taking care of stupid no-fun grown-up stuff like bill-paying and sweeping floors and trying to remember where I put things.

So I decided to take a bike ride first.

 I only made it a half-mile further than last time, but I'm still considering it a huge leap in progress because I only walked one quarter-mile-or-less stretch on the way back where there's a hill that sweeps upwards in this huge way and I am just not ready. My last bike ride, however, I probably walked almost a mile and a half of the seven mile bike ride - and this time I walked maybe a quarter-mile of a 7.5 mile bike ride.

So, progress.

... and angry legs. But we're going to focus on the progress.

Of course I had my music in, because I figured out the "safe place" I was storing my iPod shuffle thingie in. So that counts as an accomplishment right there. There are some songs that just push you on when you're starting to flag. I listened to Imagine Dragons, Florence & the Machine, The Decemberists, and Of Monsters and Men today. Go google them if they are unknown to you, still, somehow; they are all awesome.

The most important thing I can tell you about bike riding, the all-encompassing truth, is this:

There is absolutely nothing in the world like a huge hill that you are riding down on; there is wind in the hair, sure; the lack of a need to pedal, and the constant uptick in speed until you're not sure you could stop if you wanted to. All of that is wonderful.

But the most wonderful part is that your brain is still the same brain people had 15,000 years ago - and that part of your brain can't stop the thrill of adrenaline and happiness at realizing that you are the creature moving so fast, that this is you moving as fast as a horse at full speed, if only for a moment, and you are not in a car - you did this yourself, on an invention you power yourself.

For that few seconds, you are a kid again, and the whole world slows down just for you.

That, my friends, is why people drive convertibles; because they want that wind-in-the-hair, reckless abandonment that is most intense when you are eight years old flying downhill on a bicycle with only the vaguest control of where you're going, when you're young enough that you're not really scared of the risk, but you're old enough to know there is one.

Or maybe the endorphin rush has gone to my head.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Fog, Four Poems, and Quiet Saturdays

Fog holds lights in soft hands stroking
the bay, floating across waters alive
with flickering rays. The night air whispers

of ancient sand castles and the gleam
of small stars stirring the romance of darkness.
It clings faithfully to the rise and fall

of waves washing in, swinging to
the rhythm of a sea singing love songs.
Fog holds lights in soft hands, clasps love

in tender touches, grasps hope in strong
fingers as it rolls in. Reality
blurs, an impressionist painting

lying just under the murky paint of fog.
Fog holds light in soft hands, embraces
dreams carefully as they swoop

across our sleep like moonbeams prowling
the night sky. It smothers the future and remolds
the past, leaving us in a blurred limbo.

Fog holds light in soft hands wet with tears.
When it is time for it to be gone,
it lifts silently and disappears.    
poem by Raynette Eitel  
I saw the fog grow thick,
Which soon made blind my ken;
It made tall men of boys,
And giants of tall men.

It clutched my throat, I coughed;
Nothing was in my head
Except two heavy eyes
Like balls of burning lead.

And when it grew so black
That I could know no place,
I lost all judgment then,
Of distance and of space.

The street lamps, and the lights
Upon the halted cars,
Could either be on earth
Or be the heavenly stars.

A man passed by me close,
I asked my way, he said,
"Come, follow me, my friend"—
I followed where he led.

He rapped the stones in front,
"Trust me," he said, "and come";
I followed like a child—
A blind man led me home.

A vagueness comes over everything,
as though proving color and contour
alike dispensable: the lighthouse
extinct, the islands' spruce-tips
drunk up like milk in the
universal emulsion; houses
reverting into the lost
and forgotten; granite
subsumed, a rumor
in a mumble of ocean.
      definition, however, has not been
totally banished: hanging
tassel by tassel, panicled
foxtail and needlegrass,
dropseed, furred hawkweed,
and last season's rose-hips
are vested in silenced
chimes of the finest,
clearest sea-crystal.
opens up rooms, a showcase
for the hueless moonflower
corolla, as Georgia
O'Keefe might have seen it,
of foghorns; the nodding
campanula of bell buoys;
the ticking, linear
         filigree of bird voices.      

poem by Amy Clampitt

 The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on
a very famous poem by Carl Sandburg
 It's a day so foggy that the houses across the street from me here at work are always hazy and not-quite visible. The sun will come out soon enough to burn it off, but until then I'm kind of enjoying the idea of my workplace existing all on its own, its own strange orange brick island.
These are my four favorite poems about fog. The last one is my favorite, of course, because it's short and perfect and because it's by Carl Sandburg. I will hear no ill words spoken of Carl Sandburg; he's one of my absolute favorite poets.
Which one is your favorite? Or do you have your own poem about fog you love, that I haven't put up here? Share it with me! It's looking like it'll be a quiet day at work and I'd love some new (or very, very old) poems to read to keep my brain busy. Seriously, people. If nobody helps me out I'm going to end up trying to figure out how to create a life-size dummy of myself out of gift shop products and tape.

Thursday, September 6, 2012


Today, I rode my new bike for the first time. Well, if you don't count the test ride around the parking lot at Academy Sports while my husband and my mother-in-law watched, and I don't think anyone wants to count that wobbly mess as anything.

So, today I pulled the bike out and decided to take it for a ride, since it's my late day at work. 

I got all my important bits together, grabbed a big bottle of water, dropped everything in my basket (!!!!) and decided to try it out.

Here is what I learned today:

1. Perhaps bicycling in humid swamp-weather on a very cloudy day was not my greatest idea... except of course that it felt like the worst version of a sauna ever and therefore I assume some good was done for my skin? I'm not sure if my skin agrees or disagrees with that notion. All I know is that every single time I stopped for any reason, my glasses immediately fogged up. I felt like a befuddled professor trying to get them clean.

2. The only other people bicycling on a Thursday morning are people who are serious about bicycling, and they think my jaunty cruiser is kind of amusing while they whiz by on their tiny small-frame super-serious itty-bitty-tire bikes. On the other hand, everybody on the Swamp Rabbit Trail on a weekday morning when the clouds are so low you'd swear it would rain any second (all, you know, five of us) say hi to each other. Even if they did sorta smirk at my lovely new lime-green-and-blue friend.

3. I don't even care, because my bike is the coolest bike ever, and it is perfect for me, and we are in love. It is also much, much heavier than the last bike I rode. I was not prepared for that.

Note to self: should have prepared for that.

4. There is no shame in walking your bike up a hill on the way back home, when you are panting and sweaty, after only 7 miles of riding. We have to work up to long bike rides on heavy bikes. 'We', of course, being your intrepid narrator. On the other hand, my legs are really feeling it and I only rode 7 miles. So... that's got to count for some kind of beginner's accomplishment, right?


Oh, and

5. Christmas in September rocks. Thank you, Robin and Rusty, for the new bike, helmet, and basket. Me and my bike? We're gonna have a time.

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

(Name that movie, win imaginary cookies!)

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Not Exactly Wordless Wednesday: Storm Blows In

Labor Day weekend was lovely. We were able to actually relax for a lot of it, see a couple of our friends, drink pumpkin beer, have my first pumpkin spice latte of the season, play video games and volunteer at the Swamp Rabbit Cafe's 1-year anniversary party. It's nice to be able to accomplish a lot and get some serious relaxation time in.

Last night we went with my mother-in-law to order the building that will eventually become Jason's blacksmith shop! We helped with making dinner, and then went out and I now own my very own lime-green-and-blue bicycle. We are calling this Christmas in September, and it is awesome.

In the summer, especially the late summer, a daily thunderstorm or spat of rain gets kind of expected. They sweep in, dump rain, and sweep out just as quickly. Jason and I were out walking when we saw the above clouds on their way out, which was only reassuring until we noticed another set of clouds on their way in on the other side of the road.

We walked a little more quickly after that.

Saturday, September 1, 2012


Or, you know, for Jason and I.

Actually, Jason was restless enough that he was totally behind my frozen yogurt idea; he generally prefers to go whole-hog when it comes to dairy-based treats and rolls his eyes at frozen yogurt, preferring gelato or just ice cream. And I'd agree, except fro-yo places have giant piles of fruit I can put on my frozen treat so that I can tell myself it's healthy.

As I pour chocolate sauce on it and top it with whipped cream.

Totally healthy, though - there's like seven blueberries in there. Blueberries are healthy.

I'm sure that the frosting-covered animal cracker I just delicately placed on the top has at least a few antioxidants, right?

In any case, he was a bit restless; he had run to a couple of flea markets while I was at work looking for supplies for the blacksmith's shop we're trying to put together. (By the way, if anyone reads this and knows of anyone, or knows a guy who knows a guy who is trying to get rid of some blacksmithing stuff, let us know. Let us know immediately. I may reward you with cookies or, if you are out of my general region of the state, with fluffy SmartWool socks.) Once he finished that, he didn't have a ton to do today, so we ran a couple of errands in order to have a flimsy excuse to be near the frozen yogurt place.


This picture does not adequately show my joy at having fro-yo... which I insist on calling fro-yo because it really irritates Jason, and sometimes I just can't resist.

Don't feel too bad for him, though; he actively tries to convince the cat to come lay her white-fur-covered-self down on my brand new black skirt the first time I've ever worn it.

I didn't even pretend at health tonight. I got myself a bit of chocolate and peanut butter frozen yogurt, and then I topped it with tiny bits of EVERY CHOCOLATE TOPPING EVER, and then whipped cream. And then some hot fudge sauce. Because chocolate.

Jason had chocolate and banana. He also had delicious toppings, but he did not go quite so mad with power as I did.

Jason does not like the only cell-phone photo I grabbed of him eating. Well, that's not true. I got two photos - in the other one his tongue is sticking out.

The conversation we had while I was writing this entry:

Jason: "That is a really bad picture of me."

Me: "It's not my fault you always make faces when I'm taking pictures of you."

Jason: "I'm making that face because I'm eating! You always take a picture when I'm eating. Don't put that photo up there."

Me: "It's the only one where your tongue's not sticking out. What if I copy down the conversation we just had, so people will know you didn't like it?"

Jason: "... That would be okay."

So now you know the rest of the story.