What's black and white and read all over?

Weekend, why are you so short? Three nights. Two days. Not nearly enough.

This past weekend we were lucky enough to celebrate with my friend Jipty and her family her 30th birthday. She says so far thirty is treating her well, and it certainly looks that way. She looks great, and her son is healthy and one charming little boy. She and her wife, Chris, and Ely have moved to a townhouse and are not in Worcester, and they just got back from a trip to Spain (and if I remember correctly, are planning a trip to Italy next year). Yes, I'd say thirty is being good to her so far! (As an aside, I really don't think thirty is a big deal. Turning thirty-five is a bigger deal, and turning forty is a huge deal. Turning thirty is really no different than turning 28 or 29.) Here is Jipty holding Ely, who makes the cutest little faces.The little man with the bright blue eyes (he has Chris's eyes for sure) is going to be one in about 6 weeks or so. Can you believe it? I can't. He's already taking his first solo steps. He really is a cutie, that one.

We also spent some time with Chris and Chris this past weekend, and while we haven't seen her yet because she's still in utero, we're pretty positive that baby girl chris is going to be a cutie, too. She's got a great home to be in once she leaves the womb, and two parents who will love every minute of her. I neglected to take photos of Chris, who is full term, while I was visiting, but please see her blog post for a shot of what full term looks like. I think it looks beautiful.

Of course, leaving Maine is always so difficult. Like I said to Doug, we talk about moving to Maine and we always talk ourselves out of it (these days we've got a desire to live outside of New England for a while), but every time we go there we instantly feel at home, and it's always so hard to come home. Last night in the car I spent a while just staring at the clock in the car, just watching the minutes left in Maine pass by. By the time I got home I was in need of a little pick-me-up, so while Doug was putting the new featherbed on the bed (and oh my lord, that is the most comfortable mattress pad I've ever experienced - makes it so much more difficult to wake up in the morning!) I was getting out the new cat Halloween costume we picked up at Target the other weekend. Nothing makes me feel instantly lighter than seeing the cats wearing stupid hats. This year's costume is a jester hat. Here's Meg in the hat (she hated it, of course): I'm surprised Doug was able to hold her as long as he did.

Sasha refused to wear the hat, but here's Wyatt in the hat:We have quite a few more photos of Wyatt in the hat (one of him eating in the hat, one of him sleeping in the hat), but I think that might be Jester Wyatt overkill for the average reader. For me, though, I will never stop laughing at the cats wearing stupid hats. And the fact that Wyatt tolerates it just blows my mind. Here he is being such a good cat, and his people being the idiots. Take the thirty seconds to watch this video. It's worth it. He doesn't even bat an eye.

I like people who know when to quit.

I like this post quite a lot. Doesn't tell you that you should quit when facing insurmountable odds, but it does say that quitting wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. And when is that message ever really heard? There are so many sayings about quitting essentially being tantamount to evil. God hates a quitter. Nobody likes a quitter. Quitting is for losers (I might have made that last one up, but it's something that runs through my head on a semi-regular basis). How much guilt should someone who actually does quit something be made to feel? And why should the prospect of all that guilt prevent someone from quitting something that maybe s/he should be quitting?

Now kids, don't get me wrong - you should try, try, and try again to do whatever it is that you want to do. But sometimes, and you'll know when it's that time, it's time to give in. To throw in the towel. To realize that you could try your hardest at something but you're still not going to be happy with it. Or you still won't really succeed. And in these cases I think it is indeed okay to quit. Even better than okay - quitting is beneficial to your health. For example, when you are trying to get through a book that you just don't really like, it's okay to quit reading it. Why? Because there are so many other books to read that you'll like. Or when you are trying to run around your neighborhood and you are breathing so heavily that your throat begins to hurt, and the pain in your side is so strong that you can barely lift your legs. It's okay to stop running. Why? Because tomorrow's another day, and power-walking is better on your knees.

I am indeed an advocate of knowing when to say when. Michael Jordan should have read this blog post when he came back from retirement in 2001. Perhaps David Ortiz should consider hanging up his bat. (At least I know this about David Ortiz - he should give his restaurant one more try and if it still doesn't work then he should definitely quit that business.) One doesn't have to be good forever. And one doesn't have to be good at everything. As a matter of fact, one is usually not good at everything, and if you're not good at it, or if it's really not making you happy anymore, then just quit.

Cultivating my Internet presence.

I keep hearing about how what happens on the Internet stays on the Internet, and how I should not have my blog be my personal journal, because all employers will Google me when I go for a job and will be able to see every complaint and sad-sack story I've written about my personal life. And who wants to hire a complainer or a sad-sack? I've also heard that blogs shouldn't be rambly, long, or revealing; in other words not making a blog like a personal journal. All of this hits so close to home. Because what is my blog? Definitely rambly and revealing. It's also at times very much like a personal journal. I spend a little too much time venting, perhaps. And then I also spend some time on my blog revealing my inner thoughts and fears and foibles. There some silly photos posted of me here, too. Some that aren't so flattering. Hmmm. Venting + revealing + unflattering photos = big blog faux pas. What sort of online image am I creating? Who's gonna want to hire me?

So let's only blog from part of me from now on. The part of me that likes to lay in sun spots and photograph rainbows. The part of me who, despite what I might say, still rubs Sasha's soft, little head when she's on my lap and gives her squishy body a squeeze right before it's time for me to move her. The part of me who wants to do good in the world and make a meaningful contribution. Don't want to portray a human me, one that has good days and bad, and thoughts and feelings that get beyond the surface of things. I want a future, and apparently my current Internet presence could prevent that. Well, no more. Today's a new blogging day!

My sun-spot moment of today: I did the dishes before being told and I enjoyed it. That's right - I happily did the dishes. Made me feel productive and clean. I like both of those feelings. I like being proactive, too. Welcome to the part of me that's productive and proactive. And eager and enthusiastic. This is the only part of me that the Internet should know.

The First "Snow."

Today we had our first "snow." I say "snow" because none of the flakes stuck to the ground and it stopped just about as soon as it started, but still, it was snowing! See? What gives with this weather? We've had hurricanes, tsumanis, tornadoes, droughts, unseasonably cold temperatures, unseasonably warm temperatures, extreme wet weather, record-breaking snowfalls... if one were a weather buff one would be loving these past few years. I have the book A World Without Ice on my goodreads list, but I may have to request it from the library sooner rather than later. Could be a timely read.

So today we were supposed to go to Old Sturbridge Village with my sister's family but in light of the heavy rain (and the "snow") we stayed home. This worked out well, because not only was I able to get the down comforter out of the attic and get it into its duvet cover (which takes forever, it seems), but I was able to finish my summer-to-winter clothes swap and Doug and I now have two more bags of apparel to give to the Goodwill. I itemized everything for tax purposes and am amazed with how much we're giving away again. And with how much we still have. Even Doug, who doesn't have nearly as many clothes as I do, could wear one shirt every day and not repeat wearings for a month at least. What good consumers we have been! Doing our part to save the American retail industry. Of course, most of the clothes we have in our closet right now were purchased years ago, but still, can't say we weren't part of the great consumer boom of the last ten years. My sister will be pleased - she'll get another bag of clothes from me, and even a new purse. It's so funny... I always wished I could get hand-me-down clothes from my sister, but by the time I was old enough to be able to wear her clothes I couldn't fit into them. Most of my clothes are way too big for my sister (the pants and skirts definitely so), but she's gotten quite a few shirts and sweaters from me these past few years. Thank god the super-baggy look of the mid-'90s is no longer in (for many reasons) - but she'd be way out of luck if I were still wearing all my shirts in size extra large.

Thankfully it wasn't snowing yesterday when Doug and I joined Marieke and Curt for the final Revs home game of the regular season, but it sure was cold. I wore a long-sleeve t-shirt, a wool sweater, another wool sweater, a soft-shell fleece, and a gore-tex winter coat, two pair of gloves, a scarf, a winter hat, a hood, and sat in the stands with a couple of blankets on my lap and I still managed to leave the game chilled to the bone. Here are some photos from the game: We never manage to go to games in the warm weather somehow, but the games are still fun. They are quick, and the fans are very amusing. Notice the streamers on the field... Revs fans throw them onto the field near the opposing goalie as a distraction. Revs employees work to get them untangled from the goal net, but still, the Chicago Fire's goalie on a couple occasions would sort-of kick at the streamers and gesture to the Revs staff to get the streamers out of his way. These distractions didn't cause the goalie to be so distracted that he let in a goal, though. The game ended in a tie. Another reason to like soccer - no long overtime! The game is short, sweet, and to-the-point, something I strive to be, too.

Baby, it's cold inside.

Our furnace was last serviced in April of 2008. Furnaces are supposed to be serviced each year, right? So in April of 2009, Doug and I started to say to each other, "We should call for service on the furnace. Don't want to wait until the fall... that's when everyone will be calling." Well, I didn't call for service until this past Tuesday (the fact that it was getting unseasonably cold outside triggered that action), and now we have to wait until October 30th to have someone come out and do the annual maintenance! By October 30th we'll probably be back to 70 degree weather. In the meantime, we are really trying not to turn the heat on. It's probably an irrational thought, but I don't want that warm air blowing through the house until I know that the furnace is in fine working order and we aren't going to get gassed with carbon monoxide. These last few nights, though, have been cold. During the work week we don't mind the no-heat thing so much, since we spend so few hours here at the house. But now that it's the weekend and because the temperature outside is 37... well, we're feeling a little cold. Or at least I am. Doug is still sleeping, sleeping under four blankets with three warm cats around him, but I am awake and trying to find other ways to keep myself warm.Taking pictures of myself layered up is a start, I guess, but I have since added more layers (a scarf and warm slippers) and have water on for some hot tea. It's 53 degrees in this room! That's a little chilly.

So, in honor of this cold spell, I am going to do the summer-to-winter clothes swap. As you can see, all the bins are out, all the summer clothes are in a pile to be washed, and I'm armed with the ironing board to iron out all the months of wrinkles that have settled into the winter clothes that I put away clean. Why aren't I steaming them, you might ask? Well, I am not allowed to steam anywhere except in the laundry room, and I have so many things with wrinkles in them that I would be steaming for half the day. I need to do this somewhere with a TV, or else I'll be bored to tears. Enter the ironing board, which I can use in my bedroom or in the living room and watch all kinds of bad weekend cable programming while doing this god-awful chore. But I admit to looking forward to ironing today. Might actually keep me warm.

What else might I do to keep me warm today? Well, I'm thinking of going for a short jog. I've mapped this great route around the block here. It's got everything - up-hills, down-hills, flat terrain, corners, and it's got sidewalks the whole way. The good thing, too, is that it takes me twenty minutes door to door (if I don't stop to wheeze and press on my side to alleviate the cramp I usually get under my crazy left rib). I try to do this route once a week, but if I go today I'll have done it three times! Whoa! Maybe this cold weather is a good thing. I'll be forced to exercise in order to get warm. My too-many-Hershey-Kisses butt should be thanking Mother Nature right now!

Kevin Darnett's My Boy!

Yes, I've been going through a bit of a crisis of self these past few years. Yes, I'm dwelling on it a little too much. Yes, I have faith that it won't always be this way, but in the meantime some of my blogs will have to be a bit introspective and, for lack of a better word, "woe is me." Not all of them, though. Because there are good things about life. More good than not, actually. So here's a blog about some good stuff.

This weekend Doug and I visited the Siskos in Monroe. We saw Grandpa and we saw Uncle Bruce, too. While it wasn't too uplifting to see Uncle Bruce, who is unfortunately suffering from cancer treatments and is really not doing well at all, it was good to see him. It was important and necessary to see him. We wish him well. Actually, it wasn't really uplifting to be in Monroe. There is a bit of a gray cloud over that house and the family there. Grandpa was in the hospital for a problem with his toe (and he's 90 with several health problems, so you never know how he'll be when you see him next), and Mrs. Sisko has more things wrong with her. Plus, too, their cat, Bailey, passed away a few weeks ago. A very tragic and unpleasant passing, and so we reminisced about that for a while. Here's Bailey from this past spring. He was a good cat. But, despite all the gray, it was good to see Doug's family again, and it makes you realize that your own life really isn't that bad after all.

On Sunday, too, the gray clouds rolled out and in rolled the pink clouds with our free trip to the Celtics pre-season game against the New Jersey Nets. I entered a raffle at work for free tickets to the game, and even though I knew we'd be in Monroe and should probably stay in Monroe I couldn't resist the chance to go to a game. And wouldn't you know, we won the tickets. So Doug and I left Monroe early on Sunday morning to make it to the Garden by 1pm. We just made it. And the seats were AWESOME. Four rows up from the floor. Amazing. This is how close we were: What a view of Kevin Darnett! This is the second time we've seen a Celtics game with free tickets from my work and I will say this about seeing a live game that up-close - everything seems so small. The court, the baskets, the Garden, the fans, everything. The players seem huge, though. Almost like they're playing on a Barbie-sized court. Kevin Garnett is huge, very tall and very lean. And there is this new guy called Sweetney, and he's giant. I don't mean even just tall, but he's large. Even a little fat. It's hard to see him here, but here he is throwing a foul shot:I liked him, and he might be my new boy, but he'll likely play very little during the regular season.

We were also very close to the super-hot Celtics dancers. We were able to see them shake and shimmy their way through the time-outs, and I have to say that I've never really seen more plastic-y looking women before. But maybe that's their charm?Personally, I'd rather see Lucky the Leprechaun come back to entertain us during the down times, but I'm probably not the type of fan that the Celtics Dancers are supposed to attract, anyway.

So definitely a good game. And even the tickets were cool. This is why people work in finance. The perks. No matter how much you might want to leave, when you get free tickets four rows from the court and can see the sweat dripping down Ray Allen's face and can almost smell the B.O. wafting from his armpits, then all you can do is continue to swipe your badge each morning in the hopes of living off the droppings of the man just one more time.

Are you sure there wasn't a full moon today?

Today was a bit on the crazy side. Work was crazy. People were calling and calling and emailing and emailing and it was just a little bonkers. It started out so nicely, but then quickly snowballed. Yay. I had been planning on going to the gym (there is a 20 minute abs class in the gym at work on Tuesdays and Fridays that I get to go to every once in a while) but didn't make it. Realized that I am just not disciplined enough to make myself, my health, my muscles, my physical and mental well-being, a priority, and so that got me upset and really disappointed in myself. Yay.

It also got me upset and disappointed today when I was talking to my sister. I love my sister. I always have. As a kid she was my role model, my... idol? Well, maybe I won't go that far, but I definitely looked up to her and used her as an example of what an adult person (she was always an adult for me, as I really don't remember her much before she was of driving age) should be like. As a kid I would sneak into her room when she wasn't home and would put on her clothes, her shoes - until I grew out of them - played with her make-up, and wished and hoped that I could be her. She seemed so cool to me. She still does. Because in many ways I still look up to her. She is still my role model. Which is good, because she should be a role model. She's smart, ambitious, witty, beautiful, a good mother, and someone who, despite her fears, has been moving to quell the Sheridan restlessness that plagues us all in the pit of our stomachs.

But she told me today, in not so many words, that she doesn't think that I should move to quell mine. I am sure that she meant it in the best of ways, as someone who is going through a difficult time warns someone who may be headed in that difficult direction, but it really wasn't what I wanted to hear. It is no secret that I am not truly satisfied at my current job, that something very untouchable to me at this point feels like it's missing, and I am moving towards trying to touch it. Trying to figure it out and trying to quell that restlessness. I guess I was hoping that, like my sister, pursuing a different career path would do the trick, but it doesn't seem to be doing the trick for her, at least not yet, so now I have to wonder if it would do the trick for me. If I pursued my interest in geriatrics, would I feel peaceful? If I devoted my professional life to early childhood education, or social services, would my mind be a little less active? I was really hoping so, but maybe not. I can't give up that dream, though. I'll have to try something, because that untouchable "thing" has become extremely distracting, and I need to regain focus.

One way I can quiet my active mind is to get out of the house. To do things. To see people and places and be in the world. Doug and I were in the world the weekend of Nate and Katie's wedding. Not only was it good to see family, but it was good to be reminded about things that matter (like family, and marriage, and the happy things in life). And then on Sunday, Doug and I spent the day on Cape Cod, looking at the ocean and waves, walking in the sand, and driving through the little towns that dot the Cape. Here are a few photos from the trip: All of this made me long to live on the Cape. The damp, salty air, the dry, sandy soil, the scrubby trees and the beach roses... and the cedar-shingle homes. Cape Cod! Quiet three seasons out of four, peaceful, healthy. But what would I do there? How could I afford to live there? How would we survive the in-season crowds? There, my mind is active again. Didn't take too long. I'm always looking for something to make it quiet, and what I find works for a few hours, a day or two even, and then... welcome back to that old feeling. That old restless feeling. So familiar, so hard to shake. But I have to try. Have to continue giving it the old college try. Or else I'll go insane. And I'm sure my sister's feeling will be quieted a little once she's out of school and moved on from the never-ending busyness that her life has become. I have to have faith.

Perhaps a trip to Monroe this weekend is what I need to quiet things a bit. I should stay active. Staying active is key. If I move my body a lot then my mind can't get lost in its thoughts. Exercise would help, too. Exercise has helped in the past. Maybe it's time to really and seriously take up running.

Glasses twins.

I am very much looking forward to a three-day weekend this weekend, even though we had one a couple of weeks ago. The Monday after Nate and Katie's wedding, Doug and I took a vacation day. The original plan was to go to Nantucket for an overnight, because Doug had never been and because we were a mere ferry ride away. But because it was still in-season on Nantucket with in-season prices, we decided not to go. Instead, we spent our Monday getting our eyes examined.

We went into Boston, had lunch at Stephanie's on Newbury, and then went to my eye doctor, Dr. Tanlamai. It's such a cute little mom and pop shop, but one with a great array of frames. Dr. Tanlamai and his wife own and run the shop, and they are so small, cute, and pleasant. They don't speak English very well, which makes them even cuter (listening to Mrs. Dr. Tanlamai talk about her apple picking adventures is an adventure in itself!), and I was glad that Doug liked them, too. Doug hadn't had his eyes examined in about eight years, so it was definitely due for him. He confessed that he was squinting to read the subtitles on the TV while in bed. Not good! He has a stigmatism, but if the glasses correct too much for it he gets dizzy. Dr. Tanlamai took this into account, and now Doug can see better than he has in years. Not to mention that he now has cool new frames. We both do, actually. And I think we look more alike than ever.

Doug's new look:


My new look:


Twins:
It's funny - Mrs. Dr. Tanlamai helped me pick out my frames while Doug was in his eye exam, but Doug had his picked out before he even had his eyes examined. I tried on many different pair before I finally - with help - decided on these. I asked Mrs. Dr. Tanlamai if she thought I looked too much like Doug in these frames, and she assured me that I did not. I didn't fully believe her, but I liked the frames enough to overlook that. And then when Doug and I went to pick the glasses up, we tried them on to make sure that everything fit, that we could see, etc., and the first thing that Dr. Tanlamai said (after Mrs. Dr. Tanlamai said, "Ah, you are here to pick up your geek glasses," which we took as a compliment) was, "Twins." Oh well, what can you do. Doug and I just have similar tastes, which is probably why we're a good match.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Doug and I have been sick. I know I've mentioned the Kleenexes up my nose, but let me say again that Doug and I have been ill. Doug was hit really hard with another of his respiratory infections, and I caught a lesser version of his illness. Doug is still recovering - he stayed home from work for four days, and when he tried to go to work yesterday his boss sent him home. Today was his first full day back. Me, I only caught Doug's illness on Friday, and spent Saturday and Sunday pretty miserable with a dripping nose, pounding head, and a super-deep voice, but yesterday I felt exhausted and sounded pretty bad so went home early from work. And now my head is pounding again (though I am not drinking enough and my mouth and lips feel very dry, so I figure this is just a dehydration headache). Let me say this - it's no fun being sick.

However, what is fun is that when you're sick you can relax. You have no choice. So I've become addicted to Dancing with the Stars (am watching the results show right now...), and I've been knitting. I finished the scarf that I started to knit for Doug last November (it was supposed to be a gift for his birthday, then for Christmas, and then I gave up), and gave it to him. Thought it would cheer him up. It did.Look at that. He's so bright with cheer. And not only did I finish the scarf but I've started on another, this one for myself.If I'm lucky enough to be sick again this winter, I may make good progress on it.

Hot Molasses

Doug is in a band again and it's called Hot Molasses. It's weird with Doug in a band again, but in a band with people that I don't really know. With Prime Rib and Swim Team, I was much more knowledgeable about the bands. The people, the songs, the style of music, all of it. With this one, for me, it's been more of just a place for Doug to go one night a week. I don't know any of their songs, I don't know the other band members very well (though I have met them all, except for the tambourine player, and they are all very nice), and I'm not really sure how to describe their style.

Doug had a show on Friday night, and I'm just not used to going to shows anymore. It was at the Cantab in Cambridge, which is an alright venue, but the downstairs room was hot and smelly. I've forgotten how smelly rock can be. I got there at about nine, just in time for the first band to go on. They were pretty good - a bluegrass band of sorts, I guess. Called Slim Pickins. They had really bad stage banter, though. Really bad. Hot Molasses then went on around 10pm. Great, I think - we can leave at about 11, or whenever they're done, and hopefully be home by midnight (Doug has been fighting one of his annual respiratory infections this past week, and I am now hit with a less severe form of his disease. Friday night I was just developing it, so I really wanted to be in my bed...), but what I forgot about the rockin' lifestyle is that it's poor form to leave a show and not stock around to see the other bands. That's right! I'll get the hang of this again soon...

Doug sets up his pedals, the rest of the band gets situated on stage (there are six of them on stage for most of the songs - Ben, Andrew, Pete, Julia, Doug, and Sonia, the tambourine player), and they start to play. Here is a shot of them playing their first song (and by the way, I don't know the names of any of their tunes, so don't ask which song this is): But not too far into the first song, Doug goes down for the count. His pedal board experiences technical difficulties (as in a giant cowboy boot stepped on one of his cables and disconnected something. Perhaps a band discussion is needed on everyone keeping their feet in their own designated spaces?) and he doesn't play for the rest of the song. Here's Doug troubleshooting his pedals: Doug, though, is an experienced rock veteran, so he gets things working again and begins to rock out. Another photo of the band, and this time you can see that Doug is relaxing, because he's beginning to groove a little - note his head in the upper left corner. Why don't guitar players get whiplash?

The songs are good from Hot Molasses. Here's a video of one of them; this one, according to Doug, is called The Chief. The video is about a minute long, just as a warning.
Ben has a good voice, though he shares the singing with Julia.

For the last song, everyone changed instruments to play a cover of Pablo Picasso by Jonathan Richman. Doug moved to the mini-xylophone (Andrew took his guitar).Doug enjoyed banging on that, and I liked the cover. Here's a little sample:

Pablo Picasso was their encore, so with that they were done. And now it was time for Doug and I to argue over when to leave. In the end I won out - we left around 11:40 or so, but I felt guilty. But not too guilty - Pete bailed earlier than us. And besides, we're both ill, evidenced by the giant furball Doug just coughed up in the other room and the Kleenex stuffed into my nose (not to mention my pounding head). So while we should have stayed longer, it was best for us to leave. And it was a great show. Their next show is October something. Late in the month. Perhaps I'll go to that one, too. If I do, more photos and video will be posted (but feel free in the meantime to check out all of the videos I took at the show on YouTube). Time for me to get some tea and hit the couch.

I am like Accuweather. Accurate.

I just read this article about a sleep study that says, among other things, that women describe things more accurately than men. I couldn't agree more.

To quote the article: Meanwhile, older men say their sleep is more restful than it really is. "Men completely, and much more than women, overestimate the quality of their sleep," Dr. Henning Tiemeier of Erasmus Medical Center in Rotterdam, The Netherlands, who led the study, told Reuters Health.

In fact, he added, it's not so much that women grumble more about their restless nights, but that they're simply more accurate in describing them.

As I tell Doug all the time, it's an issue of semantics. Doug likes to talk about the big picture. He's sick. His stomach doesn't feel good. He's having a bad day. I, perhaps because I am a woman, like to get right to the point, pin-point the details. I say I'm sick, but I follow that general comment with some specifics, like I have a pounding headache originating in my right temple, or for me, when I say my stomach hurts, I mean my stomach and not my whole digestive track, which is what Doug means when he says the word "stomach."

Is this one of those Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus moments of revelation where I have to admit that maybe there really are differences between the way men and women think and act? That maybe we really are hard-wired differently? That I might have to be more understanding of men when they can't get the details right, and they have to be more understanding of me and my kind when all we want is more detail? Can this extend to planning, too? Can this extend to life? Are the possibilities really that endless?