Why I haven't been blogging much lately

I'm sure everyone already saw the news on Michael's facebook page, but considering that Michael Jr. is almost three months old, it's high time for a picture. Here's to better posting habits in the future!

Spellbound

Recently Jane told me, 'C and K have the same sound.'

'Yes,' I said, 'but C also has the soft C sound, and K doesn't.'

Jane pondered this a moment, and then said, 'I know a sound that K makes that C doesn't! Silent K!'

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Yesterday she was digging out magnet letters from under the fridge. 'I got the U!' she announced.

'You got the U, and I got the I,' I told her. Ha, ha! She thought that was hilarious. It's great to be such superstars to our kids.

Small fry

For a while, it was pretty easy to talk over the children's heads. They were oblivious to all but the most obvious key words, and when all else failed, we'd spell crucial tidbits of classified info. Then Jane learned to spell, and we had to rely on more elaborate forms of code. This worked for a time, but Jane quickly adapted and began cracking our evolving code-speak. 'Big one,' 'Middlest,' '1.0,' etc. were all laid bare to her quick mind. Sometimes we'd even catch her calling Ella 'Middle One.'

Recently Michael took to calling them Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, which is pretty effective at obscuring intent, if a little outdated. Now he proposes Eeny, Meeny, and Miny, which doesn't seem quite as charming, but it gets the job done.

Now that we've started showing the girls a few (older) Disney movies, we are on the receiving end of an everlasting flood of impenetrable questions. I am reminded of the quote from Drink To Yesterday:

They call her Diana the Wise.

Why?

Because she asks such an awful lot of them.

Why-? Oh, I see.

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Michael is one of the brothers in our church's production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, a fun musical which I'd never seen but the lyrics of which are quite clever. ('Being told we're also-rans Does not make us Joseph's fans.') Opening night is two weeks from yesterday, and we're in the final grueling stretch of rehearsals, which means lots of very long days. In a month or so, we hope life will return to normal.

Back, again

We're back home after almost two weeks in Oregon. I had a good life in Virginia, and I feel happily settled in Georgia, but when I travel westward I'm convinced that Oregon is in my blood. The cool weather (such a welcome relief in July!), the lush green moss and ferns, the scent of fresh fruit wafting through the air from countless roadside stands and abundant wild trees and bushes, all struck such a familiar chord with me. And the smell of the air! I used to spend a week just breathing!

We had a great time visiting family, eating feasts at different relatives' houses every day. I miss my extended family, and hope my children can grow up with something close to what I experienced as a child. Right now, though, I'm just trying to catch up on the laundry.

Summer Solstice

Today is the first official day of summer, though it's been hot enough this fortnight. At least frequent thunderstorms have removed the necessity of watering the garden. We've gotten two pickings of green beans, two salads' worth of chard, and about six tomatoes so far. Very heartening. Too bad we're going to leave it all to the birds and the drought when we leave town next month (leaving the house sufficiently staffed with ferocious guard dogs, of course).

This week I hope to take the tots on a blueberry-picking expedition. I think Jane and Ella might be old enough to contribute to the general bucket, and if we leave early enough it might not be too hot. Meanwhile we lie about indoors under ceiling fans, trying to move as few muscles as possible and coming up with recipes for cold soup. And then Michael, who is not nearly such a martyr to frugality, comes home and rescues us by turning up the A/C. I do not relish the thought of three more months of this.

Very quickly, now

Blogger has been most annoying lately. (Or maybe it's been going on for a long time, and I just haven't posted much lately...) It seems all I have time for these days is the occasional picture post with quick captions, but I give that up all too easily whenever Blogger has conniptions. Hence few posts. It is a pity, because as Lord Goring observed, I am quite full up of information and feel like the latest edition of something-or-other, only there is no one in the house to talk to. Except, as it happens, that is hardly the case, as Jane and Ella provide ample conversation these days. Alas that baby books run out of room after about the first year.

Jane: Why does my car seat have arm rests?
Me: To rest your arms.
Jane: Or maybe to rest your elbow, when you're untangling a tangle.

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Ella: Please hold me! Jane is being Ursula!
Me: Ursula is just pretend, and Jane is not mean.
Ella (to Jane): Ursula, you are not mean.

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So we went to a tax day tea party at the state Capitol last Thursday. It was important to go, and the train ride downtown was an adventure for the girls. In truth, I've fallen under a deep cloud for the last month re: healthcare, and it's hard for me to see how any good can come of the breakdown of our economy and the dissolution of our country. Of course I always knew that America wouldn't be around for the end times, since it doesn't merit a mention in Revelation, but I never expected to be there to see it. Have I mentioned that I've been feeling rather bleak lately? Not at all related to turning thirty next week, which doesn't depress me in the least, because I'm mathematically savvy enough to realise that I entered my thirtieth year last birthday.

These are my children

Eating chocolate cake batter for breakfast:






















Stepping on each other in the snow:

















Picking bugs up off the floor:

















Sticking scissors in the mouth:

Happy Easter!

Happy Pi Day!

Bother, once again I forgot to bake a pie. Next year I shall plan better, quotha.

Now We Are Three

Behind the times

Merry Christmas y'all.

Coffee, three ways

The sonnet:

To see one cup of coffee left behind;

To put it to good use, lest it grow bitter:

To look for caramel, and not to find;

To sniff, and sip, and drink, and then to jitter.

The Facebook:

Rose Focht is glad that her guests like coffee, because now the house smells nice.

Rose Focht is annoyed to discover that there is one cup of coffee left in the coffee maker. Can't clean the counter now.

Rose Focht is hunting for some good caramel macchiato recipes, or maybe mocha. Anyone?

Rose Focht is desperate to find a home for the coffee, other than throwing it down the drain.

Rose Focht has lots of pumpkin left over from Thanksgiving. We'll give this recipe a try.

Rose Focht now has lots of excess energy to expend in trite updates. Hello world!

The old-fashioned blog post:

Apparently there is a pumpkin shortage out there, which is only a problem for people who rely on canned pumpkin. Those hardy enough to grow their own pumpkins, or fortunate enough to have friends and family who share pumpkins, can have all the pumpkin puree they need by merely slicing up dozens of pumpkins, steaming the chunks, peeling the cooked pumpkin, pureeing the interiors, and finding room in the freezer to store it all, meanwhile having carefully salvaged the seeds for roasting. (It's not really that difficult, and I find it surprising that more people don't cook up their own pumpkins. Why does a simple case of do-it-yourself, which gives off even the slightest vibe of complexity or cleverness or resourcefulness, always merit some kind of Martha Stewart comparison? Not that I ever thought she was such a much, but at least I always admired her work ethic, entrepreneurial skills, and the notion of bringing beauty to homemaking. I even felt sorry for her over that prison flap, and tried to give her the benefit of the doubt in defiance of her detractors who labeled her a pretentious overpriced control freak. But her arrogant and uncalled-for [she was at a charity event for autism, for crying out loud] dismissal of Sarah Palin as 'boring and dangerous' [how does one simultaneously achieve both adjectives, pray tell?] goes beyond the pale, and I now officially dislike Martha Stewart.)

Anyway, it turns out the pumpkin puree has more applications than mere pumpkin pie, which I dislike; I've been working it off in pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin muffins, and pumpkin rolls, where it vastly improves the texture without even affecting the taste. Latest of these discoveries is this recipe for coffee, which - but I hear children stirring, and must dash.

Remember, remember

Which led me on a merry search through Wikipedia to dig up the exact words, and a perusal of Amazon.com exploring such titles as Remember, Remember (the Fifth of November): Everything You've Ever Wanted to Know About British History with All the Boring Bits Taken Out, which is a dry book according to the review, and now I just want to dig out my copy of 1066 And All That and curl up with a nice cup of hot cocoa. November weather is here, and it’s time for tea.

Fall fun

I can see from the drop-down screen that that title was already used, probably last fall, suggesting that we should really have fun more than once a season.

Peace and quiet

This and this, among other things, are why it's been so quiet around here lately. There were several other thought-provoking articles that had been tilting me toward the notion of giving up more computer time, but I can't remember where I stumbled across them and won't bother to look them up right now. If you're reading this, then you probably already know all about wasting time on frivolous computer chatter. =) I haven't made any resolves and I'm not officially closing up shop, although I suspect that this is the way the blog ends, not with a bang but a whimper.

Words that are fun to pronounce the British way

Because you can't really pronounce the 'u' in 'honour.'

La-BOR-a-tor-y
Ad-VER-tis-ment
SHED-ule
I-DEAR

Edible complex

I like to keep things simple. Michael likes things with details. This goes even more so for the realm of food. One of our classic exchanges goes along the lines of, 'What's for supper?' 'Oh, you will like this so much! It's so complex!' As far as I am concerned, casseroles and soups are simple and efficient (not to mention cheap). Meals that involve two or more piles on the plate are complex. The more serving dishes I get dirty, the better Michael likes it. It's just one way I show my love to him.

Recently I became inspired by the notion of Olive Garden elegance, and resolved to bake my own crusty artisan bread and set it out with a bowl of olive oil and freshly ground spices at the first opportunity. Last night was the opportune moment, and we dipped our freshly baked artisan bread into the delicately spiced olive oil, only to pause, wrinkle our noses, and say, 'Hmmm, was that the olive oil or the spices?' It had a strong bitter taste, yet the bottle was a new one, expensive-looking, extra virgin, cold pressed, etc. etc. etc. What had gone wrong? Was the bottle old? Had it gone rancid?

Michael hied him ho to the computer to look up information on olive oil, and lo and behold, it was discovered that the bitter taste is the hallmark of pure, quality olive oil. We Americans aren't used to the strong taste, so most of the olive oil served for fresh eating/dipping is lite, watered down with corn or soy oil, to give it a more palatable flavour. What a rip-off! So all that elegant oil at Olive Garden, with freshly cracked black peppercorns, is merely watered down cheap stuff to deceive our ignorant senses! I tried dipping a few more bites of bread, contemplating the high quality and esoteric refinement, and it gradually started to taste a bit better. Now we are in a conundrum. Do we go on buying the cheap stuff, knowing that it's watered down and artificially engineered to pander to the common demand, or do we strive to develop a taste for the good stuff, deliberately cultivating a palate for expensive flavours? Is this merely a reversion to the whole maple syrup dichotomy? Bother. And I was going for the complicated meal, after all.

Bee it ever so bumble, there's no place like comb

We went away for Labour Day weekend. The camp was fun. The drive back was grueling. The return to hearth and home was blissful. The laundry seems unending. The fount of inspiration is now dried up.

Critical mass with disambiguation bonus

While 'critical mass' is first and foremost a scientific term having to do with nuclear fission, I've always used it in the social context, to designate that arrival at a sufficient level of jollification which is achieved by any number of independent factors. In reference to a party, for instance, critical mass would occur with the arrival of whichever guest really kicks things off. It may not be a characteristic specific to that particular guest, but rather an inevitable happening considering the other guests present and that particular concatenation of events. (I've just begun reading the Foundation Trilogy aloud to Michael, so I'm feeling rather psycho-historic, vague, and inevitable these days.)

On a far grander scale, I'm beginning to realise that we are in the process of achieving critical mass within our own family, and it's a thrilling and delightful discovery. For many a day after the arrival of Jane, the avoidance of collapsing into a blue funk of drudgery and boredom was a chief concern, to which end I sought out adequate outside activities sufficient to divert us without running us ragged. The logistical difficulties of pursuing such interests with three children in tow had been a bit of a worry, but I'm finding more and more that Jane and Ella provide their own diversion, both to me and to each other. Their activities are more independent and self-contained than ever, their conversations infinitely more amusing, their intellectual rapport growing ever more engaging. If I go for days without experiencing much adult conversation, as the cliche goes, my psyche hardly suffers anymore, because the precocious child conversation is almost as stimulating. Food, money, and other economic considerations prevent us from dropping out of society altogether, but it's nice to know that we're well on our way to forming what could be, in a pinch, an independent and self-sustaining society for rainy days.

(On a side note, I couldn't remember whether the term 'critical mass' had to do with nuclear fusion or fission, so I popped onto Wikipedia to find out, and found myself on some page describing a cycling movement. The 'critical mass' term that I was after was found on a different page, all such pages tagged with the appellation 'disambiguation.' I love reading interesting articles with lots of hyperlinks, for this led me down a charming rabbit hole of rhetorical metonymy, Naive Bayes Classifiers, and Yarowsky Algorithms. This is as close to mathematics as I get.)

Six years ago today

(We actually found we had no digital pics of the day itself, so this was staged two weeks later. But you get the idea.)