Ironically, resenting one's mother-in-law is extremely conventional.

When I'm at work--or generally with people who are not my close friends--I tend to pretend that I'm more conventional than I am: that I care about cars, makeup, celebrity gossip (I do care about work gossip). I smile, I make small talk, I laugh at dumb jokes, I stay quiet about my true thoughts and interests. I was thinking last week that perhaps that time had come to stop doing that, and start being more fearlessly myself.

But perhaps I was wrong. Yesterday Eric and I went over to his mom's so that we could visit and he could work on a video he has to do for school which isn't working on anybody's computer but his mom's. When we arrived, she was complaining about something that was wrong with her computer, so Eric naturally said he would take a look at it before starting on his work. Time went on, and his mom said something about it; he said, "I don't want to be working on this, I want to be doing my homework!" and went back to trying to figure it out. She went away. Not long after, she came back and said, "I didn't ask you to work on my problem. You shouldn't have offered if you were going to be that way about it. I didn't like your tone, and I'm tired of your rudeness."

He was surprised, since he hadn't directed it at her specifically, just meant to vent some irritation at the problem itself. He apologized, and she said again that he had been rude. Eventually she wandered away and fell asleep on the couch; he sat at the computer, upset and unable to work, and we decided to go home.

At home, he threw himself on the bed and I tried to talk to him about this, telling him that he shouldn't take it personally, that his mom had been having frustrations all day (she'd told us about them) and she was just blowing off steam. In the middle of the conversation, she called him. She started out asking why he had gone home, and whether he had finished his video. When he answered, she started a long monologue. I couldn't hear most of her words, just her tone; but in the middle she got louder and Eric sat up, and I could hear her say, "You know what it is? It's your haughty, arrogant, holier-than-thou attitude. The two of you think that you're perfect and the rest of us are constantly wrong. You criticize how Addie's being brought up, you criticize me for watching TV and getting text messaging, nobody can do anything right except for you two. It's not just me who thinks so, but I'm the only one who will say anything about it, and I'm sick of it."

She went on and on, Eric trying to interrupt, trying to say "I'm sorry," and being overriden. Finally she told him he should come over and finish his homework, and hung up.

"I guess it wasn't just her letting off steam," Eric said, and started crying.

He didn't know what she meant by most of the things she said, and neither did I--except that I know that we both (Eric especially) certainly do have opinions on things the mothers do, as well as everything else in the world, and we talk about them. So do the mothers. Essentially, Eric said, the rest of the conversation was saying that he was an arrogant, worthless human being, and the time had come for her to tell him so.

He sank into a depressive stupor. He's been clinically depressed before, and we've been thinking it's probably coming on again, especially with the stress of the past several months. Some things he said, then and later, confirmed it: that while in this catatonia he was thinking of different ways to kill himself, that if he were going to kill himself for being worthless--and since his own mother had told him he was, it must be true--he would have to hurt me too ("Sure," I said, "Otherwise, I wouldn't let you go through with it," but he said that wasn't it, it was:) just in case I happened to be carrying his child because he wouldn't want his genes passed on. That he would never actually do it because whenever he was low enough to think of it he never had the energy to carry it out.* One of my tasks today is to find a psychiatrist on our insurance plan. Eventually I got him to sleep.

*(This is why suicidal people first taking antidepressants have to be watched. The drugs give them energy before they lighten the depression itself. Finally, my psych degree comes in handy.)

Two hours later he woke, still wildly unhappy but at least able to move and talk; we had dinner and talked about what we were going to do about his mother. We toyed with the idea of never talking to her again (which had its appeal), of pretending it never happened (which didn't), of asking Edith for any suggestions, since we didn't know how serious Brenda was about what she had said or what she wanted us to do. Finally we decided we would stay away for the next couple of days, then ask Edith what she thought would be best.

(My God, this has gotten long. It's going to be much longer. Well, this is what happens when I no longer use my notebook as a regular journal.)

Not long after, of course, Brenda called. She wanted to come over. Eric agreed. She sobbed in the entryway that she didn't want to fight, though Eric hadn't been fighting and I hadn't entered the issue at all except as accused by her; then she complained that she wanted to sit but didn't want to take her shoes off (as is our rule in the house), so I told her just to walk into the living room in her shoes. "Yeah, but I just walked over in the mud," she said as she crossed the carpeted floor.

She said she knew she was overly sensitive sometimes, but we were so arrogant and cynical, and she was bothered by it. I asked what she wanted us to do differently, and she said she didn't. She and Eric discussed it, and went on a great number of tangents, and it emerged that she didn't exactly want us to change our behavior, she just wanted to tell us that she didn't like it. She couldn't explain what made us so arrogant except that we didn’t seem to like the same things she did, that most people do: that whenever we say we do things differently, that means we think we're better than her. The Addie thing was completely made up, as was the "it's not just me but I'm the only one who will say anything" bit.

"What can we do to prevent this from happening again in another six months?" I asked her, when she asked what I thought and why I was being so quiet.

"Nothing," she said.

She dragged me over for a hug, and joked at me, and asked why I gave her an inscrutable look sometimes and complained that it unnerved her. The inscrutable look is what I wear when I'm annoyed by her (or whomever) but don't want to say so. I will continue to use it. I will try not to spend much time with her. As a friend of mine (to whom I ranted about this this morning) said, I wouldn't want to be arrogant and critical. I will try to be less myself around her.

And until Eric gets sufficient help, I will try to get him to be less himself around her, too. She knows he's had problems with depression before and that he's under a lot of stress now. She doesn't believe in psychiatrists, though he's seen one in the past with excellent results; he mentioned I was going to find one for him, and she didn't actually tell him it would be useless but expounded on how there was no such thing as a good psychiatrist. (She knows I was a psych major too.)

He's feeling much better, now that they've talked. He says that when it happens next, Edith and I are to simply force them into a room together until they talk. We both know it will probably happen again. If she felt justified in attacking him this time, she'll surely feel justified in doing it some other time. He's going over today to work on his video, but I think this soon after this incident they'll be safe.

Now that he's feeling better, I'm free to feel worse, and I am. The I'd-have-to-hurt-you-too thing didn't faze me at the time, but I'm disturbed by it now. (Not that I don't think I could take him. As he frequently points out, I've taken kickboxing and fencing and I stretch daily and exercise semi-regularly, and his exercise consists of pacing in front of a blackboard all day.) I don't want to go through this again. I probably will, sometime in our lives; but I'd prefer it be for a different reason. And I still don't know how much truth there was to her accusations. Maybe I do need to continue keeping myself to myself.

Not even a year and already I'm psychoanalyzing him.

I did a bunch of work in the yard this weekend. I feel better for it, even though my back was twinging a bit last night. Apparently I really did get older; that never happened before.

Mom sent me two outfits--both rather lower-cut than I'm comfortable with--and a big black handbag, which is, she said, to replace the dreadfully old and out-of-fashion one I own. Said old and out-of-fashion purse is as sturdy and useful as ever, and considerably more reasonable-sized than the new one, at least until I become a mom, so it's not getting thrown out but I will use the new one. Eric didn't get me anything. "Your present from me isn't here yet," he said. "It's on its way?" I said, brightening because I hadn't expected him to have ordered anything. "Well, no," he said.

I then explained that while I don't necessarily need more stuff--an offer to cook dinner or vacuum (which is my job) would have been just as much or more appreciated than a book or a CD--it would have been nice to believe that he thought about me when I was not immediately before him. I would say, "Not even a year of marriage and already he's forgetting my birthday," but the thing is, he didn't forget; he just didn't do anything about it, even though he knew he ought to and voiced an intention to. He had a rough weekend, though, so I didn't push it as much as I would have liked to. There's also the question of whether his overall mood and outlook these days--i.e., possible depression or possible overmedication--is affecting his ability to get things done. He's been sliding on his homework, but then he always does that, so I don't know.

The next few days may bring that to a test, as I'm going to Pennsylvania for a training class. I'm using my new handbag to take on the plane with me. I'm in my usual "What did I forget to pack?" mode, which is normal and therefore not worrisome. This will not exactly be a vacation, but woohoo for something different!

Spoiled

Now the crazy clients have brought in the lawyers. "It's not technically breaking confidentiality if you send this information to a third party..."

Also the coworkers have got the fever. My one coworker asked me to do a couple of routine things for a client this morning. Fine; I did them, sent them to the client who had requested them, and copied the coworker to let him know it was done. "That won't work," wrote Mr. Coworker. "Here, look at this instead." Attached was a file that explained clearly what he wanted--which was nonroutine, though certainly not undoable, and which I had had no indication of before. Here's a hint, Mr. Coworker: you get faster results from me if you tell me what you want BEFORE I do it. With this revolutionary method which may not have occurred to you, not only do I get it right the first time, but there's no delay before I start my second attempt because I'm ignoring your message most of the day in order to get a grip on my temper.

I got home later than I liked because of this do-over, and spoiled my dinner with oranges and chocolate-chip cookies. I've got cinnamon roll dough rising in the kitchen--my yeast came, and my precious 3 lb. of organic pumpernickel flour, though that's not in this batch of dough--for my birthday breakfast. This weekend I shall garden and bake and write and goof off--and turn twenty-eight.

Insert generic quasibelievable story here.

I hate April Fool's Day. I hate going around for an entire day being unable to trust what anyone says. This must be what paranoid schizophrenics feel like.

Mostly bad beginnings

Well, this week isn't starting out much better than last week. However, this may be due partly to my mood. Eric's having health issues, James is having (more) health issues, my birthday's coming up, and it's That Time of Month. Of course work isn't all that calming or appealing right now.

Eric is on a couple of seizure medications, and last winter he had a scare when he thought they weren't working and we went to the ER. It turned out actually to be a potassium deficiency, but he got on extra medication anyway due to some side effects of his epilepsy he'd been noticing have increased in intensity. This stuff--Keppra--has made him a lot more tired. This past week, on his spring break, he's gotten almost nothing done because he's been tired and listless; part of this seems to be that he has no structure or stimulating influence--such as his wife nagging him--to do things, but he feels part of it is the medication, too; he's been having this problem for a while. He's going to get an appointment with his epileptologist this week, and he's going to try taking a loser dosage of the Keppra to see if that helps. I am on changed-behavior watch.

James's doctor called him Friday and said, "I got your blood test results. Um, how are you feeling?" Apparently his lipase levels are abnormally high, which is a bad sign. James is on a liquid diet (which is making him exceptionally crabby, he says) and will be getting an MRI on Tuesday, whether he can pay for it or not. Fortunately his boss is being supportive and is actually getting him on insurance early to help him out; that may take effect tomorrow or it may happen on April 15, depending on what the insurance company has to say, but at any rate he can wait two weeks. Then, another surgery and, with luck, a solution.

I talked to Mom last night and she said, "So, I'm not sure I'm supposed to tell you this, but...have you talked to James lately?" I assured her I knew what was happening, and she talked about it, mentioning that James had consulted Dad and received his advice to get it checked out and she was glad he had done it early this time. I'm pretty sure I'm the one he consulted, or at least first. I could see him not telling our parents that he talked to me, either so as not to hurt their feelings or to protect me from them being upset that I knew he was in trouble and hadn't told them. I also think it's kind of amusing, and kind of sad, how much the four of us keep things from each other, just to try to keep each other's worrying to a minimum.

I'm not too concerned about the birthday except I'd like to be able to do something for it and can't really, and I mentioned to Eric that I might want to skip the symphony (which is on that day) and he dismissed the idea instantly. So we're going out to dinner at an inexpensive Mediterranean place instead, either before or after the symphony, and I don't know what I'll do otherwise. The normal Saturday thing, I imagine.

At least it's gotten warmer. I'm going to work in the yard tonight if at all possible, and I have seeds to start and, when my order of yeast gets here, bread to bake. I tried the no-yeast pumpernickel recipe over the weekend and it turned out terribly. But I have the other pumpernickel and a multigrain sandwich and a gruyere bread recipe I want to try soon. And there are plants that need tending and dirt that needs spreading and shrubs that need trimming. Eric predicts this year we'll have no spring at all, that it won't truly warm up until it suddenly becomes hot and humid. It's happened before, he says. I suppose at least it'll be good tomato weather.

An ambiguous state of affairs.

And so ends the Week of the Crazy Clients, with a wholly appropriate visitation from a client who supplied parameters for me to calculate how much of their product we needed and then when I delivered the number said, "Please use these numbers instead."

James called. He did go to the doctor, and thanked me for recommending he do so. His pancreatitis is indeed back. The doctor was very good, he said; was going to work with him as much as possible to save him money and get his insurance to pay for what needs to be paid for, when he gets it; and is going to recommend him for a study that will offer, for free, exactly what he needs to get a diagnosis and a determination for next steps. Depending on what's causing it, he may need gall bladder removal surgery, genetic testing, and/or a lifetime's supply of pain meds. But at least they're going to figure it out.

Also apparently his cholesterol is a little high, which is probably reasonable since he tells me meat is his one unalloyed joy in life lately, and so he's trying to figure out how he can possibly avoid fat. I've volunteered to send him some recipes and meal ideas. This ought to be fun. He's told our parents about this part, so they're making a bunch of chicken and pork for him. I'll gently remind Mom that it wouldn't hurt to supply him with some of the vegetable stirfries and noodle dishes and pickles and such that he loves, either.

As I was pacing around my boss's office (he was gone, and James called in the middle of the afternoon) talking to James about pancreatic stents and idiopathic etiology and cholesterol and food preparation, it struck me how very well my experiences have prepared me for exactly this situation. Too bad it's not me instead of him...I guess. "The doctor said, 'Yeah, it's pancreatitis again. Good news: you were right!'" James said.

I have found two pumpernickel recipes I really want to try. One takes no yeast, which I'm slightly suspicious of. I might give it a pinch of sourdough starter at the least. (It sits for 24 hours, so presumably there's some fermentation going on anyway.) I ordered yeast from King Arthur ($12 for a pound, including shipping; the 4 oz. bottles in Kroger are $7) and some pumpernickel flour. It is not my last indulgence of the weekend; there's a fiber fair in Findlay tomorrow and I’m going. Our tax refund came today, so I feel okay about that. Maybe I'll send James some bread.

Grr arrgh

omg why are clients so intractable it is so good i dont have to deal with them face to face

We could probably find a renter for the house.

On the way to work today I heard a radio DJ discuss how he went with a friend to an appliance warehouse and was embarrassed when his friend tried bargaining with a salesperson for a TV. "He said, 'I don't like this price, how about X instead.' I was mortified. I put my head down and walked away. I mean, who DOES that??" I turned it off because I was yelling, "People from other cultures, you narrow-minded twit!"

We had Easter dinner with Eric's family. I assisted by braiding the dinner roll dough and setting the table. Over dinner, we discussed making biofuels, moving to the country, white asparagus, conversations you never want to have with your mother (Brenda was having one and her daughter was trying hard not to), and our house. Angie says we overpaid, at least for the amount of time we're staying here. Eric (and Angie's husband) disagreed, saying that part of that judgment was hindsight; if the economy hadn't turned south, we'd have been fine. "As it is, we might have to move a year later than we planned," he said. Brenda said, "You won't move." I said nothing.

Previous to dinner, we were sent out to Kroger to get an Easter basket for Addie. She is one year and eleven days old. We got a felt basket, a little stuffed animal, and a box of banana toddler cookies, and the mothers added shoes before they presented it. On the way back to the car, we discussed whether we would want to give our kids Easter baskets and how we would celebrate Easter, if at all, since we're not religious. (Our solution was to get invited to the nearest grandparents' house for dinner ever year. And I'd be happy to celebrate it as a "welcome to spring" sort of thing.) "I mean, Christmas is more of a secularized holiday," Eric said.

"So is Easter," I said. "At least, where I grew up it is. I had no awareness growing up of this fish-on-Fridays thing, and I still don't think that our spring breaks always included Easter like yours did. And we certainly never got Good Friday off." I looked up my old school district (Lake Washington), and I remembered correctly. Their spring break is next week. We are moving. In one year, I start job-hunting.

Crumbs

Obama's race speech was really good.

I was working on Eric's rye bread the day before yesterday and ended up solving four equations for four variables in order to get the mass and the hydration just right. It wasn't long ago that I didn't grasp the whole hydration thing; now I know some theory behind bread, and I find that pretty cool.

It's Thursday already. Thank goodness. And this is Eric's last day of work for a week and a half (he gets Good Friday and Spring Break off. Did my spring breaks always coincide with Easter? I don't remember them doing so. Certainly we never got Good Friday off) so I can sleep later in the mornings, which will be marvelous.

Analysis

I sent off an article last night, after much dithering. Eric finished his grading. We lamented our mutual lack of productivity. We squabbled. "Why are we so irritable lately?" I asked him after showering. "They say that the first year of marriage is the hardest, but it's been, what...nine months? Ten?"

"Well, partly it's the situation," he said. "Student teaching is probably annoying me subconsciously--"

"We're not getting as much sleep as we should," I said.

"Yup, and then the winter is dragging on, that's bothering us both."

"And there's the lack of money."

"No wonder we're irritable."

"I guess so." He went away and I toweled my head. A moment later I opened the bathroom door and called to him, "Do you think a lot of couples analyze themselves like this?"

"No," he said. "Maybe that's why we'll make it?"

It's terminal.

My computer has cancer. It will frequently come up with the Active Desktop turned off, for no good reason. Occasionally I will get a ".../systemced file is corrupt" error, which means I have to boot with the Windows CD and go in and change a couple of things before I can boot up. Twice now, I get a BSOD that we've only been able to fix by hooking my hard drive up with Eric's and letting his system fix it. But then the problem comes back again. Eric says he will reformat my computer during spring break (in a week). I hope that will fix it. If not, at least it'll keep Eric busy for a time.

Angry addendum

And Eric's unemployment claim was denied because his employers lied to the unemployment agency. They lied. They said, "He was in no danger of being fired." (He was given the choice to give them a resignation letter rather than being fired outright and took it, on the advice of his student teaching advisor.) I just don't believe it. To start with, they're a Catholic Diocese, and doesn't one of their commandments specifically prohibit this sort of thing? And to end with, there's no reason for them to lie except to mess him up, and supposedly that's not what they were trying to do, and even if they were this is going a little far. He can appeal, and since it's their word against his--and he can probably get some of his ex-coworkers to give evidence that he had, indeed, been threatened with dismissal--he may or may not get the benefits. At this point I don't even care about the benefits, I just don't want them to get away with lying about this.

2008 is shaping up like 2002. I don't like it.

James called me last night, saying, "I want to bounce something off you." Here's the something: he's having regular stomach pains that feel similar (though not as bad) as the ones he had when he had pancreatitis recently. His surgery was a couple of months ago. Here's the background: he has no insurance, $1500 in hospital bills, $17,000 in credit card debt, and a lousy credit rating. He's working 60 hours a week at an auto shop which has promised him all the work he can handle and a manager's position in a year, but it's not much money right now. He doesn't want to ask our parents for money to go to the doctor because they've already given him a lot of money and he feels guilty. Here's the bouncing: should he go to the doctor or not?

I don't see him really expecting me to say "No, don't go, maybe it'll go away." I didn't, anyway. I inquired into his symptoms, mentioned surgical complications, told him that his health was worth a little more debt, and suggested calling the doctor's office to see if they have any suggestions on how to afford the bill, seeing if he could get help somewhere else--essentially, that he should do whatever he can. He didn't ask for money, which surprised me a bit--but then, he hasn't asked for money since, oh, 2003, when he was behind on rent, and I've given it to him anyway for Christmases and such. Maybe he was hoping I'd offer. On the other hand, he also knows that we're short an income ourselves.

I offered to look at his budget, and he says he's spending as little as possible, but then he was calling me while driving to visit his ex-girlfriend at $3.50 a gallon in his truck. (At least, I hope she's his ex. He's said that twice, though, and the first time it didn't take.) He says he sold a bunch of our old books for $30. (I got the chance to look through them last year, so as long as they didn't include the Mark Twain book I've been missing for four years, I don't care.) Also he says he's spending all his spare money on visits to his daughter, and while I can understand the desire to do that, I wonder if he shouldn't be using that money for his existing bills instead. And even if he gets insurance through his work (I think they offer it after six months, and he's had this job for three), this will probably qualify as a pre-existing condition and won't be covered anyway.

I would send money if we weren't already tight. As it is, I'm going to see whether we have any leeway or not--it depends on when our tax refund comes and whether Eric will be taking one class or two this summer and whether he can get unemployment--and if we do, send him something for an initial appointment at least. I don't like the idea of bailing him out, but he's been in financial trouble long enough to know that gifts from family aren't enough to support him and he's going to need to straighten out his affairs for any sort of long-term viability. He's already aware that Dad's work a second part-time job for him, and it sounds like he's much more aware of how much money our parents have given him than our parents think he is.

Now may not be the time to have scruples about asking them for money, though. Or me. I've been thinking about ways I could make a little extra money, to give us a little more cushion; now I'm thinking about ways I could make a little extra money to send to my brother's doctor.

Fear

So since Shoelace is rolling nicely (for now), I decided I would appoint Mondays and Thursdays as Work on Nonfiction days. I decided this last Thursday but didn't put it into action--I had what I thought was a genuine reason but I don't remember what it was. Today, then, was to be my first nonfiction day. As the hour of nine o'clock--writing time--approached, I felt myself get actually nervous. At about ten to nine Eric pulled me into some random Internet silliness, and I let myself be pulled in, even though I knew it would take a while (end time, ten fifteen), because I didn't want to work on writing today. And not because I don't want to write; because I'm nervous about working on nonfiction. Why is this? I don't know exactly, except maybe that I'm starting from scratch in this--that and timidly venturing on a path that I dream about but have never actually done anything about. I don't know why I'm afraid to start, rather than eager. I'm also not sure whether to try again tomorrow and make myself buckle down, or wait until Thursday to see if I can figure this out.

Hot drink, cold weather, cold cash

I have ascertained that rice milk is better than soy milk, at least for my purpose. My purpose is mixing half and half with Oregon chai concentrate. I tried it with soy milk and the result was unbearably sweet. This time it's just right except for a mildly sour aftertaste--but that's probably the tea itself, or perhaps a remnant of the lentil soup from dinner, and it's preferable to the supersweetness. I have yet to try it with hot cocoa, but I will sometime soon.

The snow was less bad than they predicted. We got about six inches all told, which was the lowest limit, but it stopped midafternoon, rather than the midnight we'd heard. We shoveled the driveways and the sidewalks and I was pleased to get some exercise.

I am contemplating various ways to make money in the next three months. This is because Eric's summer tuition is going to come due, and we can't get financial aid because they're not graduate classes (even though they're required for his graduate program). So we could take out a loan, or maybe get a 0% APR balance transfer on a credit card...or earn the money beforehand, which I'd prefer to do. We'll see whether any of the things I thought of are practicable, though.

Excuse, me, Firefox, but

WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY BOOKMARKS?

Reading this post will increase your risk of expatiation by 43%.

This study says that in older women, those who ate more of current dietary guidelines (fruits, vegetables, whole grains, low-fat animal products) had a 30% less death rate from all causes, but especially cancer and cardiovascular disease.

This article describes two studies looking at the relationship between eating habits and non-Hodgkin's lymphoma (cancer of white blood cells). One showed that people who ate most vegetables had a 42% lower risk of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma; the other showed a 51% lower risk. [I'm not sure exactly what they were looking at here--the study design sounds dubious the way the article describes it--but that's not relevant to my point.]

This article describes a study finding that people who increased consumption of fruits and vegetables by approximately two servings per day reduced their risk of head and neck cancer by 6%.

(Incidentally, the Book of Daniel apparently agrees with these studies, according to Wikipedia. I'll have to pull out my Bible and see if I can find this.)

I think the way they provide this information is interesting, and not very effective. "Vegetables/fruits/whole grains lower your risk of X, Y, and Z." It's a perfectly legitimate and honest way to present their findings. But it has no real impact to me, viscerally or psychologically. Why? I think it's because (a) I don't know what my base risks of X, Y, and Z are, and (b) my assumption is that my risk is pretty low ("it can't happen to me" fallacy). So why do I need to worry about lowering my risk any further? Can't be that important. Result: I don't really care about this information.

But what if the scientists and journalists wrote it this way? "Eating two or more servings of junk food daily increased older women's risk of death by 43%." "Replacing vegetables with junk food increases your risk of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma by 70%." That means more to me. They're telling me that this is something I'm (probably) doing that's endangering my health by a lot.

Admittedly, they'd have to redesign new studies to be able to say these things. But it's interesting that scientists are looking hard at what's healthy--on the assumption that we don't know--and ignoring what's unhealthy. The basic assumption that they, and we, seem to have, is that an unhealthy diet is the standard to judge all things by.

I wonder when this happened, and how it coincided with the growth of nutritional research. And I wonder what it would take to change it.

Frustrations

Well, I decided how to vote but it didn't matter. I mean, voting never matters, except that it always matters. You know what I mean.

2,325 words on Shoelace today, all at work. It was, as you might deduct, a slow day. I didn't mind. Maybe it'll happen again tomorrow.

My newest frustration: the hunter quest in World of Warcraft. Suddenly at the top level quests start to get hard. This seems kind of unfair, considering that the difficulty level had been approximately the same for sixty levels except for remembering what all the increasingly numerous buttons do.

Also, it snowed again. Ice/snow/sleet, specifically. More snow expected Friday. I hate this winter.

Indecision 2008

I have to vote today. And I don't know who to vote for. At least I always know my answer to school levies.

Hearth and home

I'm currently craving tofu-bean paste soup with chopped-up greens and sticky rice with black onion and a tiny bit of cinnamon. Apparently I'm having a childhood gustatory moment.

This weekend I made more rye bread (with oil this time; we'll see how it turned out when Eric finishes the current loaf), garlic-rosemary bread, and oatmeal bread. The oatmeal bread was 100% whole wheat and turned out flat and dense, but Eric liked the taste, so I'll give it another try with some AP flour substituted. I'm starting to feel baked out. At least this week.

This weekend we also went up to Ann Arbor to be maudlin about our ninth anniversary of meeting. I'm glad we'll be able to go up again for number ten, but after that we'll have to find another coffee shop to be sentimental in because we'll be on the West Coast if all goes well. Well, if all goes 67% well--we're figuring that in order to move, ideally three things would happen: he gets a good job, I get a good job, and the house sells. But we can still do it--potentially--with two out of three.

Incidentally, Eric's mom is considering buying the house next door to hers. It's $70K and could probably be negotiated down further so I can kind of understand her thinking--how can you pass up a bargain like that??--only that sort of thinking applies better to, say, shoes, or books, or maybe a nice set of pots, than a house. I asked her what she would do with it, and she said, "Whatever! Use the land, build a garage..." I'd say maybe she could buy our house, but it's less convenient and would cost nearly twice as much--well, depending on how the market goes over the next year.

I'm reading up on candidates to figure out who to vote for tomorrow. My phone keeps ringing with an 800 number. I don't pick up and they never leave a message.

Snapped

It's snowing. Again. MAKE IT STOP! TOMORROW IS MARCH! MY PARENTS ARE GARDENING! STOP SNOWING!

One more winter to get through here. <whimper> Just one more.

Daydreaming

I wrote 2024 words yesterday and hit 35K. Shoelace is in a fun stage. Have I been trying to write scenes that aren't enough fun? Hard to say. I'm in that interesting place where I can tell that what I’m writing is bad (or at least not what I want), but I can't tell what to do to fix it. For now, I'm forging ahead. Eric has been very good about, when I complain aloud that my writing sucks, saying either, "No it doesn't," or "We'll fix it later, shut up and write." I love how he says "we." I can imagine this story being a good one; I hope I can do the work to get it there. And yes, I can use his help.

I also shoveled snow with Eric, designed that Celtic cable and realized that it doesn't look right with this yarn, planted the blanket flower, and realized that our floors are filthy. I didn't used to be this bad a housekeeper. (I used to have half this square footage, too.) Sigh. Today, I came in to find leftover bagels and pastries on my desk and demanded to know whether my department had had a party to celebrate my being gone. They didn't; most of them were gone too. Yesterday we had loads of requests, naturally; today, not so much, so we're all slowly getting caught up. I'm daydreaming a bit more than I ought, but I think I can afford it.

Fuzzy-sock day

It is a fuzzy-sock day. This means: I'm staying home from work today. It's a level 2 snow emergency, and the snow is still coming down, and I have two floating holidays and the excuse of being from the Pacific Northwest. Work's been slow anyway and I have remote access, so I don't expect it to be an issue. Too bad there's no policy at work allowing me to take sick time instead, though. I haven't taken a sick day since I started there.

Today is a perfect day to get caught up on Shoelace. Last week my goal was 35K, but I didn't hit it. Today, however, why not? WOW isn't available and shoveling snow only lasts so long (and we don't even have milk for hot chocolate; even my soy milk is gone). I'm also going to ponder my one type of broccoli not coming up and see if I can figure out how to do a Celtic knot pattern for a hat I want to knit from some homespun. It'll be a nice, fuzzy, inside kind of day.

Eclipsed

I saw the lunar eclipse last night. The moon really does go red at totality. It was beautiful. I thought briefly about trying to take a picture, but we've done that before and it just doesn't come out well. And we're not photography hobbyists enough to buy a camera that will handle it, so I guess there will be no eclipse pictures from us, ever.

Yesterday Eric had class and then a networking thing to go to (dozens of science teachers gathering together and swapping ideas: scaaary stuff), so I planned to stay in, cook something yummy, get some stuff done. Which I proceeded to completely not do by getting sucked into my old journal entries from 2005. Not that it's brilliant writing, but that was such an eventful time, at least inside my own head, which is what was on the paper; and at about eight-thirty Eric came home and I realized I hadn't even eaten dinner, let alone done anything else I had planned. Tonight, however, is empty, and I brought a bohemian lunch today (rustic bread, cheese, and fruit) because there was nothing else to bring (since I have eschewed the way of the peanut butter sandwich except when going to Cedar Point) so I'd better cook something tonight (can't think what should go in these parentheses but the sentence structure seems to demand it).

The weekend is almost upon us, again, already, which makes me happy. But I don't like wishing my life away. However, that's how it is, at least right now. Saturday will be busy: I have the Toledo Seed Swap to go to, Eric has BASHcon (gaming convention), and then we both have the symphony that night. Sunday I expect to spend in a lot of sloth. And then the next weekend, I can start some more seeds. When I feel I'm wishing my life away, I don't know whether I’m waiting for the next stage of my life (retirement?) or just waiting for spring.

On the hunt

Shoelace is at just over 32K. I love that I'm finally getting days where I just want to keep working on it and working on it. Even if it's dreck. And it is; it's monumentally lousy prose except for a few rare bits. But that's okay. This is only draft one, and I'm still getting back into the swing of things.

Let's try this again.

Why is this novel so much harder to write than the last one? I ask you. I'm up to about 30K, one of the two main characters is in prison, the other might as well be, but I'm finding it hard going and hating my own writing.

More baking this weekend: rye sandwich bread, olive sourdough, cookies, cinnamon rolls. The cinnamon rolls are wicked. I put in about two and a half times the amount of cinnamon called for, and it's too much, but not by a lot. I'll try them again when we've recovered from the cinnamon overload, but I think I'm close to adopting another recipe.

We'll see about the posting. I'm enjoying the garden blog, and thinking about looking for nonfiction work. Thinking in general. And feeling inclined to act, at least some of the time, which is excellent. We shall see where it leads.

More rye bread (I forgot about it during the second rise and had to refold it and give it a third rise, but it seems to be okay) and sourdough and a sourdough olive bread that tastes exactly like the one Mom used to buy for me. I adore it. The only problem is that I didn't make enough.

So yeah. More bread. Writing is coming along, at least some, work's doing, etc. I'm less and less inclined to write here anymore. It's not the blogging thing in general; I'm still doing well with the garden blog. I don't know what it is.

Bread success

My rye bread search may be at an end. I tried a new recipe I found, appropriately named Eric's Rye, on Eric yesterday. He said it was pretty good; a little too chewy, but nice taste. Today he said it was great. (I looked it up later...apparently rye always tastes better the next day.) Still a little chewy, but I can fix that, and he may for the first time have a rye bread he really likes for his sandwiches. With a good rye, I may not have to work on the wheat-flaxseed sandwich bread...though I will. I'm working my way through the failed sandwich sourdough; once it's done, I can make something else good, like tomato-basil sourdough or olive bread. I love my new hobby. "Thank you for being an awesome baker," Eric said to me today. (I also made chocolate-chip cookies.)

The coming cold

So yesterday: it was 16 degrees out; the river was frozen; our gas heat was out. So was the entire neighborhood's. They closed the schools due to cold, so a bunch of people noticed and called in, including us. Eric stayed home, shivering in the computer room with the electric heater on, and waited for the gas guy to come. The gas guy knocked but Eric didn't hear him because the heater was on, so the gas guy shut off our gas line and turned on the main line. Several hours later Eric called to ask "Where the heck is that guy with our heat?" and they got it sorted out, but the house was still cold by the time I got home that night.

We worked on our taxes, and had a sort of an issue relating to it that sucked up most of the night, so I didn't get much else done. I did talk to my brother, because he called, and gave him a little gentle advice on saving money. I bet if I could get ahold of his finances I could do wonders, but I don’t think he's at that point yet. He did ask if we were okay for money, and added, "Mom and Dad are terrified to ask." He said he's currently spending about $500 more a month than he makes, but he's working on cutting out the coffee, and buying cheaper food for his lunch, and thinking about how to get rid of his car--though I doubt he'll really do that last. At any rate, he's thinking about it, and that's good.

We're expecting snow this weekend, anywhere from three to twelve inches, depending on who you ask and which way the storm goes. I plan to bake a bunch of bread (sandwich rye and rustic rye, and maybe cinnamon rolls for Sunday) and clean the house (my God, my house is filthy) and do a bunch of writing. That's the plan, anyway.

Gah. Too much computer at work = eyes hurting and no computer time for me at home. I'm just now able to read the computer screen without pain, and I think that's mainly the acetaminophen I took earlier. (How long do those actually take to kick in?) No writing tonight, no applying to stuff, just spinning and knitting and reading in small blocks so my eyes don't focus at any one distance too long. And now, a shower, a phone call to see if my parents got home okay, and bed.

Food for thought, kind of

Slightly over two thousand words last night. I was wandering around aimlessly and asked Eric, "What should I be doing?" He said, "Writing," so I did. And I asked his mom for the Christmas riddles we wrote to apply to what would be a fun little writing project if I were selected for it. Probably not, but it won't hurt to try. (I realized recently that I have no education in writing at all, except for personal reading and perhaps the "creative writing" elective I took in seventh grade that didn't so much teach us anything as give us time to write during school.)

Two entirely different blogs I read linked this article last night: Rethinking the Meat-Guzzler. I read parts of it aloud to Eric and he was appalled. (I was feeling ever-so-slightly smug until I got to the part about switching from a Camry.) I'm going to work on Eric to eat less meat, and better meat (from the farmer's market, for example), and I think he'll be willing after hearing some of those statistics. (And we already want to get a more efficient car for our next purchase, whenever that is. Assuming I can get him off the minivan idea, if we've got kids by that point.)

Sort of relatedly, I made a quinoa-corn-black bean salad last night, in celebration of the slightly warmer temperature, and it was sooo good. Eric and I have been planning all this heavy food, lasagna and stew and potato-cheese casserole, and it's good winter fare, but it was so nice to have a break with something lighter. And right now I'm having some leftover French toast from Sunday, made from cinnamon swirl bread. I need to improve the cinnamon swirl bread, but this was definitely a good concept.

A weekend within budget.

According to the budget, we're doing okay. We have a very small amount of wiggle room, not enough to get us plane tickets to Mom and Dad's as planned, but we'll see how it goes. We went grocery shopping yesterday, first to Andersons, where we bought a bunch of produce, some stew meat and some ground beef for Eric, and some mozzarella for lasagna (we priced it at about $1.25 per person the way we make it, less if we use my own pasta sauce from the freezer). "This is going to be some seventy or eighty dollars," Eric said, but when we paid it came to $38. "For all this?" he marveled. Then we went to Kroger to get testosteroni and Gatorade bottles (he wants five bottles so that he can go a week without washing them if possible, and then will make new Gatorade from huge tubs of powder we got from Meijer to refill them with) and other processed stuff, and that came to $80. Which kind of contradicts the whole it's-cheaper-to-buy-unhealthy-food thing, but maybe I missed something.

I did winter sowing this weekend, and some baking (conclusion: sourdough is not suited for use in classic sandwich bread, at least not when made in a cold kitchen), and a little writing, but not enough. And I didn't apply to the things online that I had meant to. But we got a bunch of laundry done, and paid the credit card bill, and determined what Eric needs to do to find out if he can get unemployment. So it was a pretty good weekend as far as productivity goes. And we did a bunch of goofing off, which was a pretty good weekend as far as being a weekend goes.

On beans and rice

Eric has a placement. This means that the spring and summer will be tight, but he'll finish his certification on time and our plan to move in a year and a half is intact (assuming other things don't bottom out on us, like the job market. During a possible recession. Yeah), so bring on the beans and rice. (Actually I intended to try dry beans on Eric anyway, since he liked mujadara despite saying he doesn't like beans' texture; it may be that canned beans are just too mushy and ones we cook ourselves would be better. Or at least he might be okay with lentils.)

I don't really think it's going to be that bad, but we're going over our finances this weekend to be sure, and to figure out what our behavior has to be. I brought home a free calendar a few weeks ago, and Eric complained that it was too small. Yesterday, he started writing things on it and said, "Screw it, we're getting a new calendar."

"No discretionary spending," I said, reminding him of what we had just said a few minutes before. (Happily, he has agreed that chocolate does not fall under discretionary spending, at least not at certain times of the month.)

"It's only five dollars!" he protested.

"Five dollars will buy you three boxes of Fudgy Rounds." (Have you tried Fudgy Rounds? They're vile. He loves them.)

"I suppose," he said grudgingly. Then he said, "I could always print out a calendar."

This is going to be interesting. I've lived on a small income before, but it was by myself with lower fixed expenses (i.e. grad school the first time, and moving here with no job the second time). He's never done either the living within small means or the living by himself. He was in serious credit card debt when we first started dating. I've asked him several times why, and all he could say was that he had to spend more than he was getting. So this may be his first experience in economizing--because I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be doing it if I weren't so insistent that we not carry a balance on our credit card. "It's only about thirty dollars a month," he says, so casually. I can't be so casual about it--which is going to be good for our bank account, I think, even if it does drive us both slightly crazy.

Joshua Bell

Last night was the Joshua Bell concert. It was at the Stranahan, not the Peristyle as usual, and when we got there we saw why: it was completely packed. This was a welcome change from our usual symphony experience. We were still skewing the demographics by being younger than 95% of the people there; but we saw some people our age and even a few teenagers and kids, which was pretty cool.

The first piece was Corigliano's Promenade, which has musicians gradually coming onstage as the piece progresses. I loved the conceit, but thought it could have been better choreographed. The music and the pieces in general were good; I'm still not an avid fan, but I'm learning to like classical music more and understand more about it.

Joshua Bell was pretty good, but not as good as we were expecting. As Eric said, for all the hype, and the high price he was undoubtedly commanding, we should have received a nearly flawless performance, and we didn't. As I listened I thought it sounded like he was hitting a few wrong notes, but I don't know the piece, nor violin in general, and supposed it was just my ignorance. No: Eric confirmed that there had been several mistakes. (Of course, the encore piece was something from "The Red Violin," and I thought it sounded like someone jacking up a car to change a tire but he said it was a much better performance, so I'm still a Philistine.)

Admittedly, we were both prejudiced going in, me by the fame and by his attitude in an article I read about him, Eric by his looks--his hair was a little too long and his clothes a little too casual. We both thought his performance as performance was a little too forced, a little too much playing a part. As if his passion were for giving a good performance rather than for the music per se. Perhaps that's unfair; but that's how we perceived it. We saw Anne Akiko Meyers, also a violin soloist, last year, and her passion was evident and genuine: she played well because she loved it well--and Eric said she was the better performer, and while I'm a Philistine I agree. We would much rather see her again than Joshua Bell. Still, it was a nice concert--the orchestra itself was in good form, as usual--and I'm really glad we have these tickets now that we won't be going out much otherwise for a while.

Happier notes:

1) One of the salespeople at work called me today, saying, "You know Company X? You know Person Y?"

"Yeah," I said, grabbing my pen, expecting to be given details to do some work for Person Y.

"Well, I'm visiting their facility today, and she was raving about you. She said she doesn't want to work with anyone else at our company anymore. She's been telling all her coworkers to send their work to you."

2) I got an e-mail from a small mail-order nursery asking if I'd be willing to publish an article of theirs (an advertisement) on my garden blog for $75. I'm not doing it, of course, since I've never heard of them, but I'm totally flattered to be asked.

3) Tomorrow we're seeing Joshua Bell in concert. (Tickets were free with our season symphony tickets, which we purchased long ago.)

Ugh. And I called to beg for mercy and the guy who answered said in a professionally surprised and displeased tone, "Well, I hesitate to do anything for you as you're still overdue." I protested I had paid last night and he said, "Well, perhaps when it's gone through and I can see you've actually done something, but right now I'd hesitate. But once it's gone through, you could call back and see." And then said it again, because clearly a girl who expects an electronic transaction to take place immediately is an idiot. I should have hung up on him.

So this is how it went: We had a wedding. We went on a honeymoon. We fixed our driveway. Eric got word his boss was thinking of replacing him. We went to Seattle for Christmas. We had to call a plumber to fix a leak. Eric ordered a new computer. Eric lost his job. We went to a convention at a hotel. We went to IKEA. I discovered we never got last month's credit card bill.

Result: we owe more money on the credit card than we have. (That's not quite true--we have money in Ameritrade accounts--but with as badly as it's doing we hate to pull that money out.) I paid most of it once I realized what was going on, but there's still a balance. With Eric's last paycheck incoming, and our tax refund fairly hefty once I actually get my W2, we should be okay in a couple of weeks with some money to spare. But I found out last night that credit card debt really, really stresses me out.

It's worse that this was inadvertent debt caused by not thinking to check on the credit card bill for three weeks, of course--if we really had to carry over debt, we'd have used a lower-APR card. (We use the main one because it gives cash-back points.) And it's bad that with only my paycheck coming in, it'll take longer to pay off and replenish a cushion in the bank account. If we can. I'm going to call the credit card company to beg for mercy--we got hit with finance charges, a late fee, and a higher APR, and I'm hoping to get two of the three removed, considering I've held this card for several years and never had a late payment or a balance before.

So we talked last night about how to save a little money. Lower the thermostat, cut out all unnecessary spending (except for Eric's weekly trip to Ann Arbor...I've promised that we'll keep that if we can, but if we have to, he'll be Toledo-bounded for a while). Take off the extra hundred dollars we've been paying on the mortgage. No eating out. We have an insurance bill due April 1, and my car renewal April 5, plus the usual bills. I think we'll be okay, if tight, but we're going to have to see. I hadn't realized how much of my happiness comes from knowledge of financial security. It also--kind of--makes me happy that I can--kind of--support us both, but things will be better in the fall when Eric can teach again. Or, if he can't get a student teaching placement this semester, in a month or two when he finds a new job.

So yeah, not happy times this January. At least it's getting lighter out. And the job's going okay. And I'm writing again. And I have enough books and yarn and fiber to keep me going for entertainment through the rest of this year.

I am now the sole breadwinner in our household (as well as baker, I suppose). That's me, bringing home the vegetarian bacon-like analogue and frying it up in a pan. Eric talked to his boss and yes, they're getting a new teacher. So he's spending the afternoon saying good-bye to his fellow teachers (to most of whom this will come as a total surprise) and cleaning out his desk. He called the education program coordinator and his advisor, and it sounds like there's a decent chance that he can get another placement this semester. So we'll be tight on money, but we won't have to stay an extra year. I'm hoping that how it plays out.

For now, we have to talk about what he'll do next week (he goes crazy without a schedule) and get up to ConFusion. A weekend out of town, with people he likes and only sees once a year, constant activities and free drinks and snacks sounds like just about the right thing after news like this.

I made Rose Levy Berenbaum's flaxseed wheat bread last night, as part of my ongoing quest to make sandwich bread for Eric--I can't make rye because we haven't gotten rid of the old stuff yet. I really shouldn't have because we already have three kinds of bread in the basket, but I wanted to make bread, so I made it and froze it once it was cool. I tried a bit and it's really good! Wheaty and chewy and soft and a little sweet. Even if he doesn't like it (he had a bite, but said he'll have to try it in a sandwich to really evaluate it), I may make it again for me.

I also pulled out the sourdough no-knead bread from the freezer so that I can snack on it because the rosemary-garlic bread is gone. Despite having three kinds of bread in the basket. Um, at least this hobby is healthier than cake-baking, right?

Eric and I discussed his likely upcoming unemployment again last night, and he mentioned something I hadn't properly thought about: if he gets fired tomorrow and can't find another student teaching placement, which is likely, and he really has to teach a year in Ohio before he can get his permanent license, we have to stay here an extra year. I HATE this idea. He doesn't know for sure that the latter statement is true; he's going to call a couple of people today and ask about this, among other things. I hope it isn't. Or that he finishes his student teaching this semester. I really don't want to stay here an extra year. It would be good for house appreciation and finances and stability and such, but I want to go home. I want to get out of the Midwest before I'm thirty, darn it. But if we can't we can't.

Tonight, I'm doing a last load of laundry (and trying to felt my Palm case again...I did it once but it's still too big) and packing for ConFusion, including figuring out what knitting project to bring. And preferably cleaning. I'm so bad at keeping up with cleaning. How am I ever going to get by when we have kids? We won't be able to afford a maid, and there will be at least a six- or seven-year gap until I can start making the kids do it. (What? Isn't that why people have kids?)

So Eric had been put on probation, so to speak, at work, because his boss and his boss's boss are...inept, let's say. They came into his classroom and told his students that if they didn't behave, they would have to get a new teacher. Perhaps they thought this would be helpful? It wasn't. He's spoken to plenty of people, coworkers and mentors and such, and they're agreed that he's in a bad position that isn't his fault and what his bosses are doing is counterproductive and nonsensical...but still, there it is.

Now he's been told that he'll "know" by the end of the week. He's already lined up student teaching for this semester, already met with his supervisor...already paid tuition. If they fire him now, he presumably won't be able to student teach...unless they fire him but allow him to do the student teaching for free, which would be despicable. He might take an offer like that, or he might not; we already worked out that it wouldn’t necessarily slow him down to do student teaching another semester, it would just make our finances tighter. [ETA: I don't want him to. It would injure his pride, and therefore mine.]

Still, not a happy situation. I hope that it's good news. If it's not, I hope ConFusion is a sufficient distraction before he faces the next week unemployed. Or rather, sending job applications to places that will pay him much better.

Eric took his car to AAA on Friday to get the tire fixed and the heating system looked at--his car has stopped heating up in the mornings. I picked him up, we went shopping (potting soil, apple cider, and canvas for me for a couche), we went home, I mixed up some sourdough no-knead bread and some garlic-rosemary bread. The next morning, I went to the bank and to the farmer's market. I did very well: apples, lettuce, tomato, turnips, a huge loaf of bread (sadly Eric didn't like it--he doesn't like sesame seeds, apparently--but that just means more for me), more apple cider (cheaper!), canned chicken and noodles. As I was attempting to pay for the apples and cider, Eric called.

"There's good news and bad news," he said. "Here's the bad news. AAA called, and my water pump is completely busted. That's why I wasn't getting any heat. And they can't get the part until Monday so we'll have to carpool. The good news is, they replaced that pump last May and it's under warranty, so all we have to pay is $15 for the leaky tire."

"Sounds good to me," I said, and hung up and paid for the apples and cider.

I baked both breads (plus some chocolate chip cookies), and I’m happy with the garlic-rosemary bread now at 10 cloves (roasted and chopped) for one loaf. Now I've got to figure out what sourdough recipe I want to try next. I didn't taste the no-knead bread, because I won't be baking this weekend because I'll be at Confusion and I'm saving it to bring along for snacking there (since we normally don't get a lot in the way of real food anyway). I noticed that 80% hydration was too much; it sagged and ran all over when I baked it, though it did rise about as much as a ciabatta does, I believe--about three inches. (I'm still not sure what a ciabatta is exactly.) I've also got to work on some sandwich breads--there are two in The Bread Bible that I want to try, flax seed bread and cracked wheat bread (only I'd probably use wheat germ instead of bulgur wheat).

I'm feeling very un-well-read lately, which is a signal that I need to catch up on some of the nonfiction downstairs that I haven't read. It does not mean I need to go the bookstore. Really, it doesn't. We're paying for a bunch of stuff this month and one of our usual bookstore trips will set us back more than we need. That doesn't mean we're not going--or that we won't buy books at ConFusion--but that's what I'll tell myself as long as I can.

The pizza experiment is up here. We had grilled cheese sandwiches and soup for dinner. Tomorrow, I'm going to the farmer's market and hoping to bring home fruit other than oranges. I have potting soil for winter sowing now but no shop light for my greenhouse--the guy I asked in Anderson's listened to me ask for a 24" shop light, because we found 24" plant/aquarium light bulbs, and said, "They're here. This is $8.97." It was 48 inches. Eric said, "Is there a 24-inch one?" The guy stood there impassively. I said, "I take that as a no," and we walked away. Sigh. But I will get a light...someday. Someday within the next two months, in fact.

We did the pizza crust extravaganza last night, and except for a less consistent schedule of rising and resting and baking than I would have liked, it went off with reasonable scientific rigor. (I'm going to post it at The Fresh Loaf tonight if I remember.) We like the honey-wheat and the herbed crusts best, so the next step is to try honey-wheat-herb crust. Incidentally, doing mini-pizzas like this (each was about seven inches across) would be a great way of doing a tapas-type meal, or for a party. Bite-size pizzas would also be good, I bet, though a bit more work (but they'd bake up really fast!). Maybe I should try that for our next party. Along with the homemade pickles and salsa and ice cream. Maybe this year we'll learn to make our own tortilla chips?

Tonight I'm yet again working on the garlic-rosemary sourdough, using less garlic this time. Next week there will be no bread baking at all (we're going to ConFusion and there will be no pizza because I need time to recover from last night), so I better get my licks in now.

I got the first of my seed orders last night, from Seeds of Change. I was quite pleased--and the free seed packet was nice, of course. And then I was looking at Baker Creek and finding, among other things, seeds for a two-foot pomegranate tree. It has been very, very hard not to order those seeds. But I've got enough to deal with this upcoming growing season...especially since we've got all that landscaping to do in addition to the actual garden work. Though feeling free to call on Eric to do half of that will help a lot.

I called up the tax guy and he told me what to send in to prove I didn't live here when I was working in Dayton, so that’s fine. But the other line item, not enough Toledo tax, was due to my work taking out only the tax for the city the company is located in, which is lower than Toledo's. I checked with HR just now and they won't take out the proper amount, so I'm going to have to pay Toledo tax myself for the next couple of years. Realistically speaking this is probably better for me--I get to hang on to that extra couple of hundred dollars for longer--but it annoys me nonetheless.

We're going to the Farmer's Market tomorrow. I am determined. I wanted to go all summer last year and didn't, partly because I had my own garden and partly because it's downtown where we have no other business. Now that I know they're open in the winter--and I've been told they have greens and apple cider and eggs and apparently an entire poultry house, if Eric wants fresh chicken soup--I must visit and see what's there. I'm hoping they have cheese and potatoes, too.

It's a slow day at work, with my two big concerns being a project that's been delayed and a project with mistakes that I have to help ameliorate. I didn't make the mistakes, so I don't feel too bad about that. It hasn't been too bad for my first full work week in almost a month, though.

Huh. I wonder how many other psych majors have written a poem about Milgram.

Other than that, I'm not getting anything done tonight at all. I meant to do my pizza crust extravaganza, but I didn't feel like it. I didn't even cook, just reheated some soup I froze a couple of months ago. I've been spinning a little, and listening to Regina Spektor, and obviously coming up with weird poems. I should go exercise. I don't want to. But then, I haven't done anything else right tonight, so I suppose I should.

Ugh. I got a letter from the city of Toledo, telling me that I owe city tax for 2006 and 2005. They spelled my name wrong. The 2006 line had me working for an aerospace company, which I don't. (It's one letter off from the company I do work for.) The 2005 line? It was for the company I worked at in Dayton. When I went back and looked at my W2s I could see how that could happen; the W2 was sent to my Toledo apartment, because that's where I moved immediately after quitting. But still. Ugh. I called to see how I should go about proving I don't owe them that extra $266 and left a message.

On to happier topics. Specifically: pizza. Our next kitchen experimental subject is pizza crust, courtesy of Animal, Vegetable, Mineral and a packet of pizza crust mix I bought from Jungle Jim's and decided the time had come to use. We tried it a couple of weeks ago. The mix was awful, the Prego (?) pizza sauce mediocre, the store-brand cheese didn't even taste like mozzarella. "We can do better than this," Eric and I said, because we like pizza and it really doesn't take long to make, even from scratch. So Friday I made sourdough pizza crust, because I had some starter to use up, and we used Trader Joe's marinara, and the results were so much better...but still needed improving. We have to replace the cheese yet, and I plan to make and can our own pizza sauce in the summer when the tomatoes come in; but I can work on the crust now.

So I found three recipes online that I want to try, and made up three more based on them. There's a control, of just flour, water, salt, and yeast. There's one with oil, one with oil and wheat flour, one with oil and honey, one with wheat and honey, one with herbs, and one with herbs and oil. To be truly scientifically rigorous I'd be changing just one variable at a time, but that takes too long and I want to see how these taste in combination. So this week I'm making mini pizzas, just crust, sauce and mozzarella (so I'll be replacing it soon), and taking notes on each variation. If we don't end up with the perfect homemade pizza, it will not be for lack of trying. Or geekery.

My 2007 annual review is written and this year's goals made. I did not write down any goals related to weight (well, except the trying-to-make-a-baby one, I guess). I do in fact need to work on my weight, but really more as a sidelight to the real issue, which is working on my eating habits. I seem to go in cycles: I eat fairly well, I slide for a while, I realize I'm starting into bad habits again and catch myself, I start eating better. I'm in the process of catching myself.

I didn't have any special goals related to crafting, just to finish a couple of projects and not get too worried about them. Oh, and to decide on and start any holiday crafts by August at the latest. I had a couple of goals related to gardening, other than the "let's do this again" one: learn the Latin names of plants I like (and possibly others), do as much with the new garden as I did last year with the old, save more seeds, preserve more produce, get Eric to eat more produce. He does pretty well usually, but we can both use some improvement, and eating from the garden is always a good thing. I'm expanding my repertoire quite a bit this year; I don't think either he or I have ever tried a turnip, so we're going to. If I turn out not to be able to grow them I'll buy some.

Also, I want to cook him legumes this year. He has stated that he does not like beans, including lentils; but when we helped our friends move just before Christmas, they bought Middle Eastern food for lunch and he tried the mujadara (lentils and rice with carmelized onions) and really liked it. "Maybe I just don't like beans that are cooked until they're mushy?" he wondered, and of course now I wonder too. If he liked beans it would increase our menu overlap by so much. Even if it means buying bags of beans rather than cans--but then, that's better anyway, just not so lazy on my part.

I do have specific goals related to writing. I need--as I say all the time--to focus on this; and I need to do it now, because what good is it going to do me to wait? I haven't found anything I like better or want to do more. And with the Christmas crafts out of the way I feel an incredible lightness of being and plethora of free time. I decided not to ban crafts this year, but I'm going to go easy on them, because they do seem to be getting in my way. (Consider it my TV, except it exercises my fingers more than a remote does.)

All in all, it's "more of the same, only better" that I'm aiming for. Which is fine; it means I'm living my life more or less the way I want it.

The year's last anecdote:

Last night I made Rice Krispie treats with Michelle. She complained they didn't look as nice as the ones in the wrappers. She changed her mind when she tasted one, though. (We made a second batch for her to bring home.) "They're so good! Is this an Alton Brown recipe?" she asked. We made Alton Brown cookies before I left for her and her mother to ice, and she liked watching his Thanksgiving episodes we had on at Thanksgiving, so I guess he's present in her mind lately.

"No, it's an old recipe from the people who make the Rice Krispies," I said, though that may not be exactly true, come to think of it; but that's where I always got the recipe except we added a half-cup more marshmallows.

"Oh. Is this what the ones in the wrappers used to taste like?" she said. I did not laugh; I only pitied her.

Eric just called to tell me that our water has been shut off. There's a leak on our side, they said. We have to get a plumber. We don't know where this leak is, or whether they'll be able to turn on the water tonight if we do get a plumber in time. We were planning on having a New Year's party, but a party without water will be problematic.

Aside from that, the Christmas break has been lovely. The trip to Seattle was great; we met some online friends, I saw M for the first time in years and Eric met her for the first time ever, we ate lots, we saw family, we delivered presents, it snowed on Christmas for the third time in sixty years; good times all around. I also checked out an apartment rental brochure. Rent isn't too bad. We're thinking Lake City or Bremerton might be good places to try for if we're going to move to the Seattle area rather than Portland (or somewhere in between). Eric says it's starting to feel more familiar, which is a good step. And he enjoyed his two Jamba Juices very much.

When we got back, we exchanged presents with Eric's family, which was a bigger to-do since they like to give lots of presents. I got a rolling pin (good-bye wine bottle rolling pin), knitting needles, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, an "Ove-Glove," the non-indie Regina Spektor CD, and a greenhouse. A plastic greenhouse on wheels. I love it very much. I can't decide what to do with it, though--put it outside now and protect my strawberries and sage with it, or keep it inside for extra seed-starting room in February and March.

I gave Mom her quilt and she loved it, and Eric his astrolabe (from the Michigan Renaissance festival) and he loved that, and we gave Michelle The Daring Book for Girls and she loved that. We made friendship bracelets yesterday for her to give to her best friend. We still have a few presents to give out, but overall I think we've done very well on the gift-giving this year.

I spent an entire day in Seattle making Christmas cookies: honey-lemon cutouts, Christmas bells, gingerbread people, lemon bars, and fudge (well, James actually did that one, from a box kit). I intended to make plain chocolate chip as well, but got tired out. "Jenny always makes cookies like that," Bev commented at some point during the family party, and I was slightly concerned about being so predictable before realizing that was ludicrous since this was Christmas, wherein every little thing you do can become a tradition if you're not careful, and everyone loves the cookies. Mom requested a double batch of the bells, most of which James took home with him; Dad assisted in eliminating the cutouts with imperfect icing; Eric enjoyed making mutant gingerbread people (two heads, a peg leg and hook, a third arm, that kind of thing).

I think I need a different gingerbread recipe for next year, but otherwise I was quite pleased--even more so when Mom gave me the cookie cutters and her old Betty Crocker Cooky Book, which used to belong to Grandma, to take home with me. We're having Christmas here next year--Mom became mostly reconciled over our stay--so I'll be making the cookies here, plus Mom and Dad don't bake really anyway. They didn't even have a full set of measuring cups, and only one enormous mixing bowl.

Today I'm making cranberry-and-orange spiral cookies, for the party if we have water, for the mothers to buy the use of their bathroom if we don't. We're mostly ready for the party except for the water. I think we're ready for the new year, too.

We're off to Seattle! If all goes well, that is. I mean, we'll be off no matter what (we already are, I hear people pointing out), but if all goes well we'll arrive on time and with everything we intended to bring. We're not packed yet, though the important stuff--the Christmas presents and my knitting--are on the spare bed waiting. Eric gets off early-ish today and will be working on it, including finishing the last of the laundry so we have enough clean underwear. This has not been the most organized vacation run-up ever.

I kind of feel like this is the cutoff for my Christmas season. That isn't true; one of the first things we'll be doing in Seattle tomorrow is go buy supplies for making Christmas cookies, and one of the next things we'll (or I'll) be doing is wrapping the presents I didn't trust to stay wrapped in the luggage. There will be music and food and presents and evergreens and fun. But today is the last day I can look at my decorated home with innocent eyes (after Christmas the guilt sets in). I don't have all the presents that are staying wrapped and under the tree, and that disappoints me. I won't be able to make the cookies from my own Christmas cookie book before Christmas (unless I bring it, and I won't; I love Mom's cookie book too). My poinsettia will live or die without me.

Which is not to say I won't enjoy Christmas with my family, because I will (even with the recently-acquired knowledge that my brother is more of an idiot than I thought). I admit I'm getting tired of split holidays, though, and I've only been at them for a couple of years. My cousin Bev said recently that she wants to have Christmas at home every year, for her son. Now, they're traveling this Christmas anyway, because her son is the only grandchild around and there's much demand for him, plus she's coming up to see me at the family party on Sunday. But the concept is good. However, that'll be much easier to sustain if and when I'm settled within driving distance of my family. Until then, there will be more traveling and more dividing of Christmas.

However, it also divides up the present opening. Which is a good thing, especially considering my mother-in-law's love of giving lots of presents. (We audited our present stash last night and removed a few things to save for people's birthdays. I suspect my mother-in-law would consider us paltry givers, but I really think we did well this year; we just went slightly overboard in a couple of cases.) And to be honest, that's still one of my favorite parts of the holiday...though making Christmas cookies is also a top contender. Part of my time on the plane will be spent making a list of what to get. Flour, sugar, honey, cinnamon, lemon extract, powdered sugar...happy holidays!

I woke up yesterday morning with the phrase "A recipe is an emotional deficit" in my head. In my dreams it had meant that people were supposed to learn to cook from other people, and following some stranger's recipe was a cold way to cook. Once I woke up, I rejected it almost completely. Recipes can excite great emotion, especially when they're for something you love and couldn't get any other way and they turn out well. Who is my subconscious to say that oral tradition is superior to the written word? But it is true, I think, that learning to cook from someone is more engaging and emotionally involving than learning from a cookbook. Though that doesn't explain why I like bread baking. The garlic bread turned out well--the dough was a little too wet, so it didn't rise very high, but it was soft and yummy and garlicky. It needs a little something other than the actual garlic, but I'm not sure what. I'll figure it out as I go through the loaf.

Last night was fairly productive--I felted the koala and finished the quilting, and Eric did some dishes. Tonight must be more productive, though--I must get at least halfway through the binding, do laundry and more dishes, wrap presents, and preferably vacuum. Ugh. Why must I feel so rushed? At least my Christmas shoppign is done. Except for the family shopping. But Eric suggested Amazon, and I think that's an excellent idea. Amazon has definitely been our friend this shopping season.

It is the beginning of the Week in Which We Leave. This would be a great thing if I weren't feeling so behind on things. I'm only really behind on the quilt, and not disastrously so. I should have finished the quilt top and done all the quilting by yesterday, and I finished about half the quilting. I've got a felted koala to finish, but it's on schedule. We've got wedding pictures to put into frames and family exchange presents to (suddenly) buy, but that's just a matter of a couple of trips to Target. I've got presents to wrap and possibly cookies to make (and some roasted garlic sourdough in the fridge, because I suddenly realized I would either have to bake this week or refresh the starter and throw some out, and I've started baking every couple of weeks partly to avoid throwing starter out), but it's really not that bad.

And the weekend was quite productive. Saturday we helped some friends move, getting some much-needed exercise for the both of us. Then we decorated the Christmas tree at last, including our first tree topper (we only got one, a red one, from Andersons because Eric saw them and had to have one). It looks like the tree has a great idea. Sunday it was snowing and snowing, and we stayed inside, doing laundry and dishes and quilting until Eric's mom came over to try out her new toy, a snowblower. I told Eric I was going to yell at her for depriving Eric of the exercise he would have gotten shoveling the driveway (everyone, including him, assumed he would be doing the entire long driveway while I stayed inside, presumably warming up the cocoa and mending his shirts while his slippers waited by his easy chair), but he got such a kick out of the new toy as well that he went to help her clean off the driveway and the cars at her house, so it worked out.

Today, the work is not slowing down as my coworker has repeatedly promised. I suppose I've only got until Thursday to worry about it anyway. After that, I don’t think about work at all; instead, I will be baking Christmas cookies, meeting old friends and online friends, and unloading the heavy presents that I foolishly bought to tote 2500 miles across the country.

Eric and I get ever closer to having an actual fight. By 'fight' I mean 'both of us are mad at the other at the same time for more than five seconds and express it.' (Was it Anne or Gilbert who said, "That's a pleasure all the greater for being deferred"? Whoever it was quoted it from something else, too. I'm going to have to get those books for any daughters we might have, mainly so I can read them again myself.) In our case, it's mostly deferred by Eric's not really getting mad at me. Unfortunately for him, I've inherited my mom's disposition rather than my dad's, so the converse isn't true--but it's also usually over quickly and tinged by guilt. (Dunno whether that's really helpful, or at least healthy, but there it is.)

Last night it was sparked by the Christmas decorations--the tree, the garlands, their not-doneness; and was really caused by our mutual weariness from this semester and what I called the energy imbalance--that is, that I have more energy to do things than he does (partly because of the medication he's on, probably--but it's hard to say). Also, I care more about domestic things--having a clean kitchen, putting up decorations--than he does, and so I feel bad asking him to help, but I also feel resentful doing it myself. This is an older issue, and one we've been working on already, but it's by no means conquered. This marriage thing, it can be exhausting.

Tonight, he's got grading and I've got quilting, and we're putting this tree up but probably not decorating it. This is a problem with leaving town early for Christmas: we're both feeling very rushed. As I told him, once we have a kid we'll start having Christmases at home all the time and people can travel to us if they wish--another reason to get started on the having kids as soon as we might. Dad's already offered to come out to us next Christmas--now it's just a matter of convincing Mom. Considering the huge snowstorm they flew into the last time they visited me in Ohio, that may take some doing, but we have a year for it.

And the final tally is:

• We had to get up to the alarm on Saturday to get to the bank and the salon. I didn't find any shoes during Eric's haircut, which was disappointing. Stores are scary this time of year.
  
• I got about as much done on the quilt top as I projected--flower blocks finished. I also worked on the tree skirt; I shouldn't have used white as the main color but decided I don't care enough to put a backing on it, so all I need to do is apply the binding. This is fine, because:
  
• We didn’t get the Christmas tree because there was an ice storm warning and we decided driving was not something we wanted to do. We will today, if the weather doesn't dump more ice on us. Eric's school is closed today (and it's his last week of the classes he's taking! Hurrah!) so he should be able to finish his homework during the day and we can go as soon as I get home.
  
• The bread is baked. The sourdough was disappointing; I threw some rye and some whole wheat flour in and it's okay, but too dense, and not sour. Apparently it was just the extra-long ferment that brought out the sourness. The rye was very good structurally but the flavor wasn't as good as the previous version, and the crust is still a tad tough for Eric's liking (though much softer).
  
• PV is finished. Final count: 105,375. Final count of the "cut scenes" file: 119,999. Eric asked if he could be my reader and give me feedback, and I said he could read it but couldn't tell me I needed to change anything, and I think he was annoyed.
  
• I helped Michelle make two batches of Christmas cookie dough and bake one (cutouts). She loves my Kitchenaid stand mixer. She also loves Alton Brown, which is where the recipe came from.
  
• The kitchen is slightly cleaner than it started. Slightly. I asked Eric to put the dishes away and he said he'd definitely consider it.
  

Here's my weekend list:

• Finish the quilt top. Estimated likelihood: middling. I'm behind as usual. I'll get the flower block borders done and cut out the sashing at least.
  
• Finish PV ONCE AND FOR ALL. Estimated likelihood: good. I only have the final go-through to accomplish and this writing-at-nine-o'-clock thing is working well for me.
  
• Bake more sourdough and a different rye bread. Estimated likelihood: excellent. The sourdough starter was fed this morning and is waiting on my kitchen. (Contingent item: dry some sourdough starter as a back-up if the bread turns out well.)
  
• Bake Christmas cookies and/or make peppermint patties. Estimated likelihood: fair. I'm looking forward to it but it's a lower priority than most of the others.
  
• Clean the kitchen. Estimated likelihood: so-so. I'll clean, but will I clean again after I do all this baking? And if net cleaning is zero I don't think it counts. Like the physics concept of work, don't you know.
  
• Get our Christmas tree. Estimated likelihood: extremely high. Unless we are completely snowed in and/or one of us falls ill, we are getting our Christmas tree this weekend. Because there are less than two weeks before we leave for Seattle, and after we come back there are only a few days until New Year to enjoy it, and I wish to maximize my Christmas tree enjoyment.
  
• Sleep late. Estimated likelihood: 99.9999999%.
  

The rye is marvelous. Eric's only concern is whether the crust will soften, after a night in a plastic bag, enough to make him happy for sandwich bread--that and that the loaf could have been a little taller. If he's happy with the bread tomorrow I'll look at tweaking the recipe to increase it by just a fraction, maybe an eighth or so. There's also another recipe in the book to try; I'll try that one next week and see if it's better, worse, or just about the same.

My teeth and gums hurt. It started a couple of days ago with my gums hurting after flossing and continuing to do so for about ten minutes; now they're hurting when I eat things like an apple, or a crusty piece of bread. Dammit. I'll call the dentist Monday. What do they do to treat gingivitis, anyway? And where did this come from? I floss every day.

Woohoo! My sourdough is starting to taste sour! I made a No-Knead sourdough bread based on a recipe I found somewhere on The Fresh Loaf, but with more flour because I think my starter is more hydrated than it's supposed to be. I've been feeding it equal volumes of flour and water, not weight, and it's been fine, but I think I'll switch to weight from now on. Anyway, it was an extremely slack dough, kind of like a ciabatta, I think, so I baked it in a loaf pan, and it turned out golden and crusty and it's got a sour taste to it! Hooray!

In other news, we're one Christmas present away from done, and I have the task today of testing Christmas lights. Happily there aren't very many of them. I also need to go grocery shopping (tomorrow), finish some piecing, do the laundry, clean the kitchen, send Mom's tree skirt to her, finish my tree skirt, and make peppermint patties. Oh, and bake another loaf, this one of sourdough rye. December's starting well as far as I'm concerned.

"Oh yeah," Eric said sleepily as we settled into bed last night, huddled together to drive off the cold of the bed and the room. (Our bedroom is right above the porch, and the floor is the coldest in the house.) "I forgot about this earlier, actually we both did, but I guess that's the way it goes, so..."

"What?" I said, tense with wondering what he was going to tell me. Had we forgotten a bill? An appointment? Did we lose a bunch of money in our stocks?

"...Happy six-month anniversary."

(We just watched "Spaceballs," through all the credits as usual, and as a result I have the theme song stuck in my head. "What you've got is what we need/And all we do is dirty deeds...")

Happy Thanksgiving! I slept twelve hours last night. This is because I got four hours of sleep the night before. We watched our six-month-old niece so that her mother could go shopping at four in the morning, and she decided three AM would be a good time to get up and five a good time to go back to sleep, and six-fifteen a good time to get up again and stay up until her mother came back that afternoon. It didn't help that we also watched Michelle so the mothers could go shopping, and her injudicious attempts to get Addie back to sleep--mainly the loud singing--probably increased that two-hour window in the middle of the night. We put them in the same room--foolishly--and I was too sleep-addled to insist on moving Addie's Pack and Play, so I took Addie downstairs and got her to go to sleep on my chest. The next morning we had problems with Michelle insisting on doing everything for Addie and calling her mother to ask what to do with her, without talking to me or letting me talk to her mother. She also took the baby away from Eric while he was playing with her. Suffice it to say we will not be watching the two of them together again.

Thanksgiving itself was great. I made two kinds of bread, and while the buttermilk rolls were too heavy for my taste other people seemed to like them. All my dishes turned out well; all everyone else's dishes turned out well; with the aid of my sewing table we had enough surface area for everything; and we didn't end up with all the stuffing after everything was done, which was good since there were pounds and pounds of it. We ate a lot and played games and had a good time.

Today I helped my friend from work pack up and move. She and her husband were not as organized about it as I would have been, but then they haven't moved nearly as much as I have. Have I mentioned this will be the first time I spent two Christmases in a row living in the same house since 1999? And in the end it didn't take too long to get them on the road--they're moving to Akron, so I didn't go with them to help unpack. They're coming to our New Year's party if they can. On the way home I dropped off two bags at Goodwill for them and bought three new Christmas garlands there for a dollar each. It's not time for decorating yet, but with Thanksgiving over I can think about it. Tomorrow I work on mom's quilt and lament that I have to go back to work the next day. Why is it that a double weekend still doesn't feel long enough?

I should have known better than to have posted such a smug bit of self-congratulation. Eric may be losing his job at the end of the semester. We've calculated before that we can live on my salary...but. It would also mean he couldn't do student teaching, which would mean he couldn't work next year either, or not the whole time. (I mentioned this to my boss's boss at work--I had to ask her something and she asked how I was--and she perked up when I described his background and reminded me we have openings, some of them part-time.) Things may be getting interesting around here.

I did astonishingly well this weekend, productivity-wise. I cleaned, baked, did laundry, made ice cream (we've had no ice cream of our own in the house for weeks and weeks! Travesty!), worked in the garden, shopped, ordered Christmas presents, got an oil change, bought antifreeze and de-icer, finally decided the design for Mom's quilt, and got Eric to throw away the cough drop wrappers that seem to follow him everywhere. I feel like I have practically nothing to do this week, though that's exceptionally not true. I've got two knitting projects and one quilting project, more cleaning and cooking for Thanksgiving, and some writing to maybe someday kind of think about doing.

Eric and I were talking about money again this weekend, what we had and what to do with it and what we expect to have in the next few months. We like to do that. We like it, in fact, as I posited on Saturday, more than we would like having the things we would otherwise buy with that money. He agreed. It helps that neither of us is terribly interested in really nice cars or TVs or clothes or whatever, and it probably also helps that we have enough money to be comfortable but not enough to be extravagant. "We indulge a little," he said, and that sounds about right. As I told him, when I went shopping at Meijer I saw plenty of things that I thought would be cute or I'd like to have; I'm not immune to marketing or covetousness; but I almost always say no when I think about buying something. Which is why I came home without a pie server or butter dish or large tea strainer, even though I went out intending to buy them. (Well, in the case of the pie server, it's because I want a pretty one. I can't help it. Now that we have our cool pi pie plate, we're going to be making pies, and I don't want an ugly or plain server to serve them with. And I don't plan to go somewhere I can get a pretty one until after Thanksgiving.)

And then there's my fish bowl experience. When I was in college I often went with my friends X and M to the dollar store on the Ave. We got cheap Christmas candy and mechanical pencils and things like that. One day, I bought a plastic bowl shaped like a fish, for no reason other than I thought it was kind of neat and it was only a dollar. Several months later I sold it at a garage sale for twenty-five cents. I had never used it. That bothered me a lot, and it helped me stop buying useless frivolities (most of the time, anyway...I now own another bowl shaped like a fish, in fact, but it's stoneware and I use it for dipping sauces and I agonized over the $2 purchase until Eric just told me to buy it already). In retrospect, that was the best seventy-five cents I ever lost.

So I'm very glad Eric and I have similar attitudes towards money. Yesterday the mothers came over to look at the ductwork in our house, as they're thinking of putting in central heating and it would require similar ductwork, and we talked about the servant stairs that used to be where the coat closet is now. Apparently they're now being put into new houses again, but for kids rather than servants. One of the mothers said, "If you still have this house when you're making $300,000 a year (??) and having catered parties (???), you should consider putting them back in." The other mother said, "What makes you think they'd keep this house?" Eric said, "Why not? It's a nice house, big and well-made," and I said, "We could pay it off and keep the extra monthly income," and she said, "Do you know how many people your age wouldn't even consider that? They're all about the bigger house, the best everything," and we felt very pleased with ourselves.

Then I went to bed thinking about all the things we'd do to this house if we had the money and were staying. Eric's mom recommended we replace the patio in the back, as it's cracked as badly as our driveway was and slopes toward the house. I had actually thought about getting a quote from McMillan for it, but figured we'd see how the driveway turned out. We discussed putting in pavers ourselves, since Eric should have actual free time next year. We'd only get another year to enjoy it, but it would be good practice and would help with house appeal for when we sell it. And then, if we were really making $300,000 a year, we could put in another half-bath and put better carpet down and improve the master bedroom closet and put in more light switches and clean up the basement...but it's still a good house as it is, and I’m fairly happy with it, and I think the new garden and new driveway and patio are probably good enough.

I made this bread today. It started yesterday--well, Thursday really, with taking my sourdough starter out of the fridge and feeding it. I'm really liking this starter thing. I flubbed parts of the recipe, but the bread turned out very nice anyway--crackly brown crust, chewy inside with pretty good crumb. It makes an excellent toasting bread with cheese. Still not sour; I think I just need to wait for my starter to be older for that, but even if I never get actual sourness, the starter seems to make pretty darn good bread. This recipe made four small loaves, just enough for me to eat before it gets stale (with maybe a little help from Eric). I may freeze the others for Thanksgiving--or I may keep them for subsequent weeks. I plan to make this Buttermilk Cluster roll for Thanksgiving, so we won't be completely lacking bread.

I made a Meijer run today, while Eric was getting fitted for his first pair of glasses ever (he only needs them for driving so far, the lucky stiff), for Thanksgiving supplies. We're having Thanksgiving here--I forget if I've written this before--but not actually having it, so to speak; the mothers are still providing most of the food. But their house is undergoing a Five-Year Plan for renovations, and our dining room is bigger, so we're eating here. But I'm still making rolls and casserole and mashed potatoes (because Brenda doesn't like cheese) and squash and pie, and serving snacks and cider. So there is preliminary cleaning happening this weekend, with the bulk of it happening Wednesday (which Eric might have off), and there will be preliminary cooking and chopping Wednesday. I love the holidays. Hearing the Christmas music in the stores already is only half spoiling it. (I was in Meijer today in the shoe section and heard "And so this is Christmas," coming out of the loudspeakers, and said aloud, "No, it's not, it's not even Thanksgiving yet, people." I truly don't understand this.)

It's taken all week, but my work to-do list is finally empty. This has been an incredibly busy week. I guess that happens when half the department--the more experienced half--is on vacation. I learned quite a bit this week.

I also had a very good annual review. The only thing bothering me is that we didn't discuss money. I was told last year that I'm getting a hefty raise this year because my pay grade boundaries got raised, but I haven't heard anything this year. I'm not too concerned, but it would be nice to know what our budget for next year will look like.

And after I read that paper about EEP, I had yet another talk with Eric about how ambivalent I feel about my work and my prospects. I talked about how I'm only in the job I'm in because I know we're leaving in a year and a half, and he asked, "What do you want to do once we move?" And I didn't know. It has never occurred to me to plan something. So I'm trying to figure out a plan. This is hard, because part of my aimlessness is that I can do a lot but almost everything would take a little prep, and I haven't felt firm enough about any particular career path to do that prep and thereby forsake other choices--but that's how I've ended up doing nothing and being nothing. So I need to pick something and work at it. I don't think I've done that in a long time (except for the hobbies, I suppose). I wish this whole career thing were easier, but at least I'm thinking about it instead of just lamenting it.

Oddly, not spam.

"Your fingertips have never felt so empowered."

I think I participated in the survey for this paper, which Eric is using for a research paper he's writing. And I'm depressed. There's one quote in it that pretty perfectly sums up how I feel these days, and I'm jealous of everyone who's done better than me.

Bread

I baked my first bread made from my sourdough starter today. Aside from not actually being sour, it turned out wonderfully. I'm all excited about having grown my own yeast. The bread is soft with a crispy crust and a pretty open crumb, tastes pretty much like French bread from the store (it could use slightly more salt, too), and made a great grilled-cheese sandwich. Also good with apple butter, but then, any bread is good with apple butter.

I also received Amish friendship bread starter from Eric's sister and brother-in-law (I'm not sure which of them actually did it). It came with a recipe. The recipe requires a box of instant pudding mix. What kind of Amish recipe is that? I'm going to make the bread, as it so happens we have a box of instant pudding mix that we're unlikely ever to use up any other way, but I was tempted to track down the originator of this recipe and take issue with him or her. I'm fairly sure that boxes of instant pudding mix are not a common Amish crop.

Marvelous

The vanilla bean ice cream turned out marvelously. We made a good vanilla last year, and I used the same recipe but with a slightly higher cream:milk ratio and with the vanilla seeds simmered in the milk and cream rather than simply adding extract. The butter pecan was surprisingly good, but a little light on the flavor--if we do this again we'll amend Ben & Jerry's recipe. The lemon bar was a flop--too much lemon extract gave it a candy flavor, and the cookies didn't add all that much. And then I made cherry-vanilla using frozen cherries we had spurned for an earlier batch of ice cream, and I think it's pretty good. If it passes the taste committee (the birthday party tonight) I might try cherry-chocolate.

I also drove on our new driveway for the first time last night. So this is what a real driveway feels like! No bumps, no dips, no gentle steering around obstacles. I almost crashed into the back of the garage because I was waiting for the usual dip that tells me I've gone far enough. Marvelous. Maybe not $6803 marvelous, but marvelous nonetheless. I might even take it over ice cream--some ice cream, for some period of time, at least.

Important bulletin

It turns out freezing cream is a bad, bad idea. We had extra from the wedding, see, so I stuck it in the freezer. I pulled it out last night for ice-cream making. When I opened the carton this evening it wouldn't come out because it had clotted into a tangled mess. It smelled fine, it was just clotted and protein-y and...yuck. I made my fastest run to Kroger ever. (Where they had boxes of satsumas! At least, they said that's what they were. The boxes were $8 each and I didn't quite believe, so I didn't get any. But I will later when they get cheaper, if they're still here. If I can get satsumas out here--?)

I dreamed last night I was Christmas shopping with M and Z. Z went to try on a white butterfly shirt that I said would look good on her, only it was attached to some sort of decoration with meat hooks on it so I was worried. M and I wandered around the rest of the store, where I watched people pushing each other in the aisles and wished I had stayed away from the stores as I had intended to. Then Z came out and had us all try on suits made of carpets.

I made my first by-the-seat-of-my-pants bread Saturday. It was pretty good, but not a complete success. I put a little too much oil and salt in, and not enough yeast. The amount of rosemary was good, though, and it was nice to have some bread to snack on. And my sourdough starter is nearing readiness (I think) so I'm going to give that a shot soon. I also have to figure out what kind of bread to make for Thanksgiving. Sourdough's out, as half Eric's family doesn't like it. A rustic loaf? Rolls? Both?

I also made two batches of apple butter, sour cherry jelly (which is indeed very good, and it even jelled the first time--after I added half a second packet of pectin), and an apple pie. Plus feeding the sourdough starter and cooking meals. We own two sets of measuring spoons and three sets of measuring cups, and when I was finished I had a two-thirds cup, a one-third cup, a one-quarter teaspoon, and a one-half teaspoon left in the drawer. I even used the one-half tablespoon and one-eighth teaspoon spoons. (I did not, however, use the auxiliary set of measuring spoons--dash, pinch, and smidgen. They're not in the drawer; they're hung up on the wall.)

The next cooking step is a bunch of birthday ice cream for Wednesday. Brenda and Michelle have birthdays around now and are sharing a "family party" dinner. Originally we planned to make peach ice cream, which they both love, but the peaches I bought and lovingly ripened inside my green tomato box (rapidly turning mostly red) turned out black inside and mushy and bland. Michelle's second choice was vanilla and Brenda's was butter pecan, so those are the ones I'm proceeding with tonight. Plus I noticed Brenda's "birthday cake" was lemon bars, and I decided to try to make lemon bar ice cream. I may or may not release that to the family, depending on how the test run turns out.

I am applying for a credit card for some arbitrage as I type. OMGB. (The B stands for Becky, of course.) This makes me exceedingly nervous. The idea appeals to me in theory; actually staking my monthly bills and credit rating and peace of mind is something else.

I am also making vegetable stock as I type. It makes the house smell good (and the kitchen windows fog up). Eric agrees, which surprises me a little--though I don't know why; he does eat his vegetables. I'll have to make him some soup with my stock. Maybe some rye bread to go with it. I'm thinking about the breads I want to make, especially now that I have my KitchenAid stand mixer. Ours, I mean. Our stand mixer. Anyway, I have no-knead bread with rosemary and olive oil in the fridge and a new sourdough starter on the fridge. I do believe it's fall.