Wrapping up.

So, we leave 2011 behind in just a few hours. I don't tend to be nostalgic for the passing year, so I will not post about what I liked in 2011 and what I didn't like, or what resolutions I had and didn't keep or that I had and did keep, etc., etc. Let's just catch up on how 2011 ended, which was with a nice holiday bang.

The Christmas holiday for me and Doug now goes like this:

We wake up somewhat early on Christmas Eve morning and get ready for our Connecticut Christmas. Once everything is packed up and the cats are fed and watered, we spend some time around our tree and exchange the gifts we got each other. This is one of my favorite parts of the holiday, because it's the one I'm most awake for. I haven't yet stuffed myself silly with any of the holiday goodies that await down I-84. Plus, I like watching Doug open the gifts that I get him. I try to put thought into what he gets, for at least one of his gifts. He has stand-bys, like socks, t-shirts, underwear, and also sweaters, but I like to throw in at least one "surprise." This year it was Slowhand on vinyl.

With the new furniture arrangement (couch downstairs in basement along with TV, and record player set up in living room where TV was), we have been listening to our record player like we never have before. As a matter of fact, before we moved the couch and TV downstairs to the basement we were trying to sell the record player. We didn't think that we liked it (too much like a DJ turntable), not to mention the fact that we never listened to it. But now we listen to it quite regularly and are amassing quite the collection of classic rock albums, which sound fantastic on vinyl. Slowhand is the poster-child for this. We heard my father's copy of this album at my uncle's house in New Hampshire this past Labor Day weekend and it had such a great sound on vinyl. Doug is normally not an Eric Clapton fan, but the vinyl won him over. He talked often of the quality of that album since we heard it in New Hampshire, so I tracked down a copy. Slowly but surely we are creating for ourselves a nice library of Eric Clapton albums and are really enjoying what we are hearing.

Okay, so I surprise Doug with at least one gift that requires a little thought and creativity on my part, and Doug does the same for me. This year it was a necklace. Good job, Doug!

Once we open our gifts and give the cats one last pat good-bye, we pile in the car with all of our Christmas CDs and make the drive down to CT. This awaits us chez Sisko:

As does this:

And this:

We never forget to sing "Happy Birthday" to Doug. This year his birthday cake was a carrot cake. Whatever bakery the Siskos go to down there in Fairfield County certainly does cakes well. This cake was so moist and not sweet at all. Which reminds me - we still have some in our refrigerator. Yay! Cake tonight after Doug's homemade meatballs.

Anyway, once we celebrate well with the Siskos we head an hour north and visit with the Sheridans. This year my father, my aunt Mary, her husband Fred, and Doug jammed on their acoustics. I think that this was the first year that Doug played with them. I'm glad he did - they sounded good, and I think that the older folk are excited to play with Doug. He's in a band, after all. He's Doug Sisko, Guitar Guy. Rocker. Cool City Dude. All very impressive.

Once the family jam was over, which just may become a new Sheridan Christmas tradition, we headed over to my parents' house to spend the rest of the evening around their Christmas tree exchanging gifts with my mother, father and brother. My brother is notoriously difficult to buy for, so much so that it is a topic of conversation between me and just about every member of my immediate family in the weeks leading up to Christmas. What to get for Brian? We never have any idea. He already has his New Yorker subscription. He really doesn't need or want anything else. Really. So for the past few years I've been getting him artsy-type gifts. One year was a set of ceramic owls. One year was a Monet doll standing at an easel. This year I decided to make him a stupid sock creature (see previous post), and I think he liked it.

Then, once we all start to fall asleep on the floor surrounded by wrapping paper bits, we call it a night. Doug and I make our way back to Massachusetts the day after Christmas and get back to our regular routines. The holidays are essentially over. We tend not to do anything too thrilling for New Year's, mostly because we are tired from all the birthday and Christmas activities in December. This year is no exception. We got a bottle of champagne for Christmas so we decided to stay in and have some of it. Doug's making some meatballs, we'll cook up some cocktail weenies, we'll sit on our couch and reflect on the year that's ending and talk about things to look forward to in the new year, and, if we are lucky enough to be awake, will clink our (champagne) glasses at midnight. Sounds truly wonderful to me. I smell the meatballs cooking now. It just may be time to go out and pop that cork early!

Mostly good.

When I was thinking about what to post about today, I thought that I would list the good and the not-so-good things that have been happening lately. The only problem is that there have been mostly good things happening lately. Mostly. The post will be a little lop-sided.

Let's get the not-so-good out of the way so that we can focus on the good stuff, shall we?

It's not-so-good that I:

- am feeling anxious about work 70% of the time (has mostly to do with work politics, which I decidedly do not like)

- keep going over my texting limit on my phone plan

- keep forgetting to email people back... I am usually so good about emailing people back

- and seem to have regressed in the kitchen when it comes to baking, though this last kitchen disaster didn't have much to do with baking and was more of an equipment malfunction

Other than that, things are great. Really! Please observe:

- We got a visit from friends, and the cutest, littlest Santa was just adorable as usual.

- I have been sewing up a storm, branching out to include aprons

and more stupid sock creatures in my repertoire.

- I ran the Cambridge 5K Yulefest in a better time than I ever would have thought (placed 458 out of 813 finishers!). No walking for me. I ran the whole way and even passed people! I think it was the ungodly cold air that was propelling me - the thought of a hot cup of tea never left my mind.

- And then of course there was Doug's birthday. On the 16th we celebrated with a dinner out and some cupcakes from Sweet.

- Then, when Doug's fellow birthday-celebrator came on the 17th, we had some more cupcakes.

- Christmas celebrations are in full swing, as evidenced by my sister's family and my mother, father, and brother coming to celebrate with us. It was certainly a good day, and not just because of the wonderful array of desserts (the thumbprint cookies made post-Kitchen Aid mixer disaster, so mad props to me for picking it up, cleaning it off, putting it back together, and moving on as if it never happened). Smiles were had all around!

- Lastly, Doug, eager to try out his Christmas gift, cooked us a fine-tasting roast and carved it up for dinner last night.

Not too bad, right? Really pretty good. December has been a great month overall, and I'm looking forward to these last two weeks of it. This week brings more Christmas record-playing and Christmas gift wrapping, and another birthday celebration for Doug on Friday before we spend the holiday weekend with family. Then there's next week. Next week I have off from work and I am spending it holed up in the house wearing my new fleece pajamas and reading all the books I've been getting from the library (I should not be allowed to shelve - I do the one-for-the-shelf-one-for-me trick, which is not good for my to-read list). But don't even try to tell me that I can't finish White Teeth and read The Influencing Machine, The Lost Continent, Bossypants, Blankets, and New Moon in one week. I ran a 5K, after all. That says world domination right there.

The most wonderful time of the year.

I love this time of year. I really do. I think it's my favorite time of year (though summer, because of the sun, the warmth, and, most of all, the beach, is a very, very, very close second). From Thanksgiving until New Year's it's non-stop excitement and fun. And food!

This is a little of what I mean:

Thing 1: Thanksgiving

Doug and I hosted Thanksgiving this year, as you know. We'd happily do it again, too. What fun! I really liked picking out all of the recipes and gathering all the ingredients. And cooking it. I had a lot more fun cooking the dinner than I thought that I would. I was able to time everything well so that it was all ready at once, which was something that I was worried about. But it all came out great.

Doug was in charge of the turkey and he took great pride in his bird.

We upgraded to a 19-lb turkey because we thought we would not have enough with the 15-pounder, but 15-lbs would have been fine. As would have fewer brussels sprouts.

That's only 2/3rds of the brussels sprouts that we shredded to saute with shallots and a little white wine vinegar. The more brussels sprouts the better, though, because I have learned to love the little cabbages (and I never in a million years would have expected to say that).

So this Thanksgiving I was thankful for friends and family, no kitchen mishaps, and the chance to finally use all of the dinnerware that we got for our wedding (some of which had never been unwrapped!). I look forward to more Dedham Thanksgivings.

Thing 2: Our Nation's Capital

This year I was also thankful for our somewhat impromptu trip to Washington D.C. and Alexandria. Doug was recently in Alexandria and D.C. for work and I didn't get to go with him, so we decided to head down there for a few nights. True to form, we crammed a lot in to our short time there, like:

The new MLK Memorial, which leaves you speechless for a variety of reasons:

The National Gallery of Art, which had a nice, though small, collection of 20th century American art:

Arlington National Cemetery, at which we were able to see the JFK burial site, eternal flame, and the graves of Robert and Ted Kennedy. That was pretty moving (but I didn't take photos because it somehow felt wrong to photograph their resting place).

And historic Alexandria,VA, which is just absolutely bursting with history.

I'd be telling a lie if I said that Doug and I didn't think about moving there at least a few times during our trip, but I will happily report that this is the first time that Doug and I didn't frantically search real estate listings and job ads when we came back home. We really liked it there and could see ourselves living there, but that obsessive-compulsive need to leave our home and all of our troubles behind was distinctly lacking this trip. That was a vacation in and of itself.

Thing 3: Christmas

We came back from D.C. and suddenly Christmas was upon us. The neighbors had begun to put lights up around their houses, Christmas music had taken over the radio, and the tree was lit in Dedham Square.

This, of course, meant that it was high time that we put up our own tree, so this past Friday night we got the tree and decorations down from the attic and decorated.

The white tree has grown on me. I like how it looks. I do miss the Christmas tree smell in the house, though, and we are out of balsam fir candles. This coupled with the fact that Sherman thought that the tree was a giant chew toy when we first put it up might make us consider throwing a real tree into the Christmas tree mix some years. But for now this is what we have, and I have been dying to turn down the room lights, put on the tree, and sit and read. That's my idea of a good and relaxing holiday evening!

Thanksgiving at our house.

I used to have a three-things rule - get three things done during my day, or, in the case of my blog, cover three things in each post. I haven't really been keeping to my three-things rule. I generally like rules that I make for myself, though you'd think I'd be better at following them than I am at following those rules imposed on me by others. Doesn't seem to be the case. But I can make efforts to change that - starting now!

Thing One: 5K!

Brace yourself for this news - I am running a 5K! I am quite excited to be running in the Cambridge 5K Yulefest, as this will be my first 5K, and it gives me a reason to push my efforts at jogging, getting past my 18-minute-and-then-collapse routine into something a bit longer. The race is December 18 at 10am. If you come to watch it, I'll be the runner at the back of the pack with no costume other than my stretchy running pants, t-shirt, and my earband and gloves. My goal is to finish the race and to not stop to walk. I've been doing well at training for it so far - I have been doing 9-minute miles (approximately) both on the treadmill and outside, and I have successfully, several times, run for 30-minutes straight, also both on the treadmill and outside. If I can keep this up I should be able to meet my goal on the 18th.

Thing Two: Sherman

I haven't written about Sherman in a while (mostly because I haven't written about anything in a while) so here's my latest Sherman update. Sherman's October biopsy showed that he has some kind of allergy. Naturally, the vets do not know what is causing his allergy. We have him on special food (which he does not like and I do not like because it is sticky and smells), we are giving him prednisone, and we are supposed to be continuing with the Advantage treatments, even though he doesn't have fleas and doesn't seem to have mites. He has also tested negative for ringworm. So. Where does that leave us? It leaves us with a cat who is scratching at his head much, much less, but still scratching. It also leaves Doug having to force-feed Sherman his prednisone pill each day, which Doug does by straddling the poor thing.

I really think that it's the prednisone that is helping the cat feel better, because as we decrease the dosage he is getting itchier and itchier. This means that when I call the vet to tell her Sherman's progress I am going to request that Sherman continue with a higher dose of prednisone. Is it okay to keep your cat on these steroids for eternity? Because that's how long Sherman is going to need to be on them. Because no one can figure out what is making him itchy. And I really don't want the cat in the cone for the rest of his life. It looks like Sherman and prednisone are going to become the best of friends, and Doug is going to become expert at forcing pills down cat throats (which, believe me, is a real skill).

Thing Three: Thanksgiving at our house!

Doug and I are hosting Thanksgiving this year. We are giving my sister and brother-in-law a break from hosting the whole extended family at their house for this most wonderful holiday and having the smaller immediate family to our house for Thanksgiving - for the very first time. I'm more excited about this than nervous, though I do think I am nervous about people liking the food. Mike, my brother-in-law, is a great cook. Like, really, really good. He mixes traditional items with non-traditional items, traditional flavors with non-traditional flavors, and the result is always outstanding. I like to try new recipes and I like to cook and bake, but that doesn't mean that things always come out so good (you've seen plenty of evidence of that). But, fingers crossed that the cooking gods will be smiling down on me tonight and tomorrow as Doug and I prepare for Foodfest 2011. Here a peak at our menu:

Herb turkey (a 15-pound bird)
Herb gravy
Herb biscuits
Sautéed brussels sprouts
Honey-orange glazed carrots
Buttermilk mashed potatoes
Wild rice with mushrooms and dried cranberries
Chewy molasses cookies

All of this will be homemade by me and Doug (Doug's got turkey duty). Scared yet? I am. My sister and brother-in-law are bringing a pumpkin soup and cranberry sauce, as well as a dessert, and my mother is bringing her homemade breads and pies. I don't think we'll starve! At least not all of us. Those of us who have already poo-pooed the brussels sprouts and wild rice (ma soeur! dear nieces and nephew!) may, but that just means all the more for the others.

So. If I live to tell about Thanksgiving I'll have to do so here. Expect photos.

Happy trails.

There must be a quote by some kind of sagely person floating around out there in the sea of collective wisdom that says something to the effect of "Life is better when traveling." If there is not, then I will be the person to declare that life is better when traveling. And by traveling I don't mean getting on a plane and flying across time-zones, or even staying in hotels. I just mean leaving your cats and your chores and your life behind for a little fun away from home.

Doug and I have had a bit of that lately. We spent the weekend of the October nor'easter in Provincetown and it was wonderful. Granted I was just coming down hard with a bad headcold, and we only had about five hours of dry conditions before the winds and rain kicked in, but we enjoyed each and every minute of being near the water.

We had such fun daydreaming about buying a small condo on the far east or west end of town and spending weekends near the water. I pictured myself sitting in a light and airy room with my sewing machine, sewing whatever new creation was inspiring me that day. Artists abound in P-town (even those that compose their art right on the beach), and Doug and I like the creativity in the air there (not to mention the fresh, ocean air).

I came home to a week of feeling like poo, which is what bad colds usually do to people, and unfortunately no amount of Halloween candy could make me feel better (believe me, I gave it my all). But the bright light at the end of the tunnel that week was a trip to New York City to see Doug's band play at Arlene's Grocery. Initially I was not that thrilled about seeing him play and then having to make the drive up to his parents' place in Monroe (I'm notorious for going to bed early), but I'm glad I stayed awake for it and paid my $10 in support of his cause.

Hot Molasses played well, considering that both Doug and Julia were sick. They looked good on stage, and, even though this wasn't their best show, they had energy and sounded so much better than the band that played before them.

Doug is funny about these shows. He acts like they are no big deal, but the need to debrief is always very strong. I'd like more Doug in the songs; more Doug-driven songs. A song about Puritans could be a great addition to the set list.

What was potentially more exciting (for me, at least) was walking around SoHo. This was my first trip there, believe it or not. I've been to NYC before but never to the Lower East Side, and I think I'll be going back. I made it to Purl SoHo and The Strand! That may have been worth the lack of sleep for me. I now have two and a half more yards of fabric to craft into something very useful

and have a souvenir from one of the most overwhelming (in a good way) bookstores I have ever been in.

How much are rents in SoHo? Could we afford to live there? I could get very used to walking the twenty or so blocks up Broadway between Purl SoHo and The Strand, though I may not have any money left for rent (or any room in my minuscule apartment for all the fabric, yarn and books I'd buy).

Keep traveling. That's what I say. Those are the words I will live by.

Just stuff.

I'm not blogging from my phone today, so maybe I'll spell things correctly and use correct grammar this time. Maybe.

Life has been chugging along at a nice pace. We've been doing stuff (I'm not going to say that we're busy, because we are, but we always are so why dwell on that. And I'm not even sure if busy is a bad thing anymore. I think that it just is.). I mentioned in my last post that we had friends over for a end-of-season cookout, and you saw the remains of the beverages consumed. What's funny is that I don't think I had even one glass of wine or a sip of beer all night. I was spending my time talking, or eating, or swatting mosquitoes. Man, oh man, the mosquitoes are still deadly, even this far into October. Another effect of global warming that we have to contend with.

After our cookout two Saturdays ago my family came up to visit. We went on a walk in Boston and then ate dinner along the Boston Harbor. I am amazed at how little Doug and I go into the city. Even when we lived in Allston we rarely went into the city. However, when we're there, we ask ourselves why we don't spend more time there. We complain an awful lot about it, but what do we really know about it? For example, there was a movie being filmed right outside the Old State House. A big-budget flick, too, with Ryan Reynolds and Kevin Bacon. Who knew? Probably people who spend their time enjoying their city rather than wishing they lived anywhere but here. So we are going to change our mindsets a little and we are going to start saying things like, "I like Boston," and "What a nice place to live," and we are going to see how this goes.

We learned that Maria, my youngest niece, wants to live in a city when she grows up. And she wants to be on Broadway. So this means that she wants to live in NYC. She is pro-city and knows this with 8 year-old certainty. I like that.

Maybe this will be our backyard someday; the Boston Harbor.

It fills Doug's requirements of being near the water. It could fill the requirement of being near a public transport line that runs more frequently than the commuter rail. It could also fill the requirement of allowing for a better commute. If the Boston Harbor were in our backyard, do you think we'd actually go on a cruise of the Boston Harbor Islands?

Dreams of water views and twenty-minute commutes don't stop us from keeping things alive and cooking at home. In an effort to live our values, we rearranged some of our living spaces. I don't have many photos to share with you because I'm waiting until the rooms are "complete" to show you the final product, but here's a photo to give you an idea of what we're doing:

Where's the giant TV? In the basement. Where's the bookcase? To the left of the plaid armchair. Where's the computer and table? Out in the sunroom again. Now we have a more formal living space, but I hesitate to call it a formal living room. We are not the kind of people who have "formal" spaces. It is really more of a library, or a study zone. I have been sitting in the armchair to study. Doug has been sitting in the vinyl chair to read. And, without the couch and TV in the living room, we are eating meals at the dining table. The change has been good for us; helps us to structure our time better. We aren't watching less TV, either; we just have it on more infrequently. We use other things, like the radio or record player - or nothing at all - as background noise. There's something very civilized and natural about this arrangement.

But there's nothing natural about Sherman's arrangement with his cone. He has a new one now, because he destroyed the cone he came in. Scratched it to death. Last Saturday when one of our friends came over to our house, he took one look at Sherman, who he had never seen before, and said, "Ew." Maybe it was the ratty cone that elicited that response. Maybe it was the crinkly ear. Or the runny eyes (which are runny because he can't wipe them, thanks to the cone). Regardless, the poor guy needs help. And we just can't decide if we want to pay for it, because it seems that the kind of help Sherman needs is expensive.

Decisions, decisions. Life is all about decisions. Here's one decision that I just made and it was so terribly easy to make - I'm going to bed now. I wish they were all this easy.

Having people over.

(Warning - like my last post, this post is being sent from my mobile device, so please pardon all typos.)

I really don't like the word "entertaining." Or, more specifically, I don't like the verb "to entertain," and the phrase, "perfect for entertaining." Or the phrase, "We love to entertain." I hear these phrases all the time on home and garden shows, the ones that showcase the people shopping for the home of their dreams. Their forever home. Their overpriced, top-of-their-budget, cookie-cutter home on the end of a cul-de-sac, with plenty of yard for the kids and dog to run around free. What does entertaining mean to these people? Bringing people over for some kind of song-and-dance routine?

Doug and I like to have people over to our house. We like people to come over and sit around and enjoy being in the company of other friends, family, or similar-minded people. We like to make sure they feel welcome and taken care of when they come to our home, meaning fed and watered. We like to make sure they have a clean place to sit. That's what we like to do. We like to open our house to others.

We did that tonight. We had friends over for an end-of-season barbecue. Hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill, a couple of types of salad, chips, appetizers courtesy of our guests, and plenty of wine and beer (most of which was consumed, as you can tell by the above photo). It was nice. Very nice. We really like having people over. We like bringing people together at our house so that they can enjoy it as much as we do.

I was thinking as I was baking and cleaning and preparing for the cookout that our house is too small for having people over. That we need a bigger kitchen. That we need a deck or a more convenient door to the patio for more seamless use of the outdoor space. But then I checked myself. Because our house is just fine. Better than fine, even - it is great. It is small and compact so people are forced to be close and socialize together. It is colorful. It is clean and comfortable. It's a home that reflects our personalities. Anything larger, anything more, would be too much. We don't need more. We have enough.

This is why I never say that Doug and I "like to entertain." That phrase reminds me of women who covet dual sinks in the master bath and granite countertops in the kitchen. Doug and I like to have people over. We like to bring people together. We like to do it in our little house with our over-turned plastic totes as tabletops. The day we start "entertaining" is the day we give up hot dogs. That would be a tragic day indeed!

Testing, testing.

I am trying out something new - blogging from my phone. If this is successful then imagine the possibilities! I could blog from anywhere about anything, and even post pictures (like the one here). Maybe, if I can blog anything from anywhere at anytime, I will actually keep up with this blog more.

I took the photo in this blog the other day when I got to work. I pulled my lunch bag out of my tote bag so that I could put it in the staff refrigerator, and I was struck at how elementary school it looked. I have mentioned this at various times on this blog, but as a kid I never wanted to be anything in particular when I grew up. Had no career aspirations, and, really, my only dream was to "be old," which to my ten year-old mind meant retired. I did, however, when thinking about being an adult, think that it would be exciting to have to get dressed up for work and wear shoes that clicked along the ground as I walked. I wonder what my ten year-old self would think about my latest choice of lunch bag. And maybe it's not the bag itself that seems so elementary school, though that pattern certainly screams first grave; it's really the label. My lunch bag is labeled in the same way it would have been labeled back in the day.

Maybe this is just more evidence to help make the case that one never really leaves one's childhood behind, and every day one is, at least a little bit, one's grade-school self. If this is true, then I am glad it's being expressed through my lunch bag and not my aqua-blue high-top LA Gears.

Paging Doctor Freud.

I am taking a psychology class this semester. I'm just a few weeks into it and we're already learning about Freud. First we learned about research methods (to remind us that psychology is indeed a science) and then we moved on to biological psychology (to also remind us that psychology is indeed a science). Now we are learning about Freud and psychoanalysis. Unlike some intro psych classes that stick strictly to the textbook, we dive right in and read a primary source. Freud, probably for a variety of reasons, has a difficult style. Takes twelve words to say what could have been said in two. But I'm sloughing through, thanks to being able to read aloud to a seasoned student of psychology.

I am not taking this class because I plan to become a psychologist or a therapist or anything like that. I just thought that this would be a good way to kill off a pretty standard pre-requisite for a potential career change, if that were to ever interest me. Teaching, dental-hygiene, nursing, speech therapy, even counseling - all of these things appeal to me, and all of the additional schooling I would need in order to pursue these careers requires a psychology class. So. I'll have my bases covered.

In the meantime, it's fun to learn about the brain and about different theories of psychology. I'm learning that Freud was one whacked-out dude, but some of his overall themes I actually think are useful and relevant. Even the idea of the id, ego, and super-ego. The idea of the self, of me, trying to create and maintain a balance between the more basic, biological needs that are battling against the bloated conscience of the external world. I like that. Maybe this is why some days feel like a struggle.

Of course, now whenever I look at something I'm reminded of some kind of psychological ideal or theory that was briefly touched on in my class. I just went through the photos on my camera to dump those I wanted onto the computer and saw this one:

I immediately thought of Freud and the possibility of Tyrone unconsciously exhibiting repressed sexual tension towards my mother (one can see Freud in anything). And then I saw Sasha trying to bust into the bag of catnip that came with her new scratching post

and was reminded of those doctors, like good Doctor Freud, who experimented with the medical possibilities of cocaine, morphine, opium, heroin, and other narcotics, on themselves and wound up, in some cases, dope fiends.

So I'm enjoying this class. It's fun to learn again, to do homework assignments, to be forced to read things that I may not otherwise have read. But let's just see if I'm singing that same tune in a few weeks when I have my first mid-term exam in something like six years. I'll have to get my seasoned student of psychology to do some review sessions with me. It will be like UCONN all over again.

Postscript: A little more, a little less.

I owe my fair readers, my mother in particular, some additional, clarifying notes on my last completed post. I got an email from my mother when she read my post in which she stated, and I quote, "I can't figure out why you are always so unhappy in your jobs. You have had some very nice jobs. A lot of people would love your job." When I read that part of her email, I immediately wanted to call her up and exclaim, "I don't hate my job! I am not unhappy! No, no, no, you misunderstand!" But, in fact, is she misunderstanding? I believe I am at fault here. I believe I am putting out false impressions about my current mental state. And I believe that it deserves clarification.

Clarification: I do not hate my job. I repeat - I do not hate my job. I will even venture to go so far as to say that I like my job. Yes, that's right. I like my job. My job allows me to have a workable schedule. I like all the people with whom I work, even the ones who I feel have talents that are best suited to a different role and are maybe not appropriately matched to their position (that's my code for people who frustrate me and who I vent about (if I do actually vent, because I am doing that so, so much less now) when I come home to Doug). I feel less like a fish out of water in academia than I did in corporate finance, so I feel much more comfortable and confident when going to work each day. I am learning new things each day (different things than I learned in my research job, but still, my mind is being stimulated). I am not as sedentary in my new job. I can walk underground through a tunnel system directly into the stacks of one of the nation's most revered library collections and borrow whatever I want from it for a whole semester. I am lucky. I have a very good job. No job is perfect, but this job is closer to whatever professional perfection is for me than my last job. So please, yes, I do not hate my job. And I am not unhappy in my job.

I am beginning to think that I am just a perpetual "venter" (I hesitate to call myself a complainer, because I really don't feel like I am complaining when I talk about what I talk about. I am just getting my feelings and reactions to life out in the open.). Like I just said, I have a need to get my feelings and reactions to life out in the open and a forum for this is my blog. I am also opinionated, strangely enough, since if you have the pleasure of hanging out with me in person you may not really gather that. I tend to be more opinionated if I feel that the company I am keeping will be receptive to my opinions, and in the case of my blog, it is always receptive to my opinions. That's the great thing about a blog. So maybe that's why I tend to do a lot of venting here.

Again, clarification: I am not unhappy. I think that I may be bored, and I may have room in my life for more (more activity, more interesting-ness, more satisfaction), but I also may just have learned coping and protective habits during my development that cause my mind to run away with its thoughts. I'm overly-analytical. I think too much. And that causes a somewhat gray and swirling cloud to form above my head, not unlike that that trails Pigpen, that can be mistaken for unhappiness. I think that I have mistaken that cloud for unhappiness at times. At a lot of times. Like, fourteen years of my life. But it's not unhappiness. I enjoy my life. I like my house. I like my cats (depending on the day). I like to do my crafty hobbies, I like to read, I like to watch the movies and TV shows that I choose to watch, I like all of that. Of course there are things that I don't like, and of course there are things that I would like to change, but they are small. They are small and somewhat inconsequential, and they hardly constitute an unhappy life.

Let's just say that I am continually searching. I'm continually thinking and searching, trying to always live up to the standards that I have set for myself (and hoping that others will live up to the standards I have set for them). My mind is often tired from this, and many, many, many times I have wished that I could just have a quiet mind. That the thinking and searching could end. But it can't. I am who I am, really, and I can't change that. I can just learn how to cope with it. I suppose what you witness, either by reading this blog or my tweets or my emails or by talking with me and hanging out with me, what you witness is my learning process. Aren't you lucky?

Okay. Because I made you read through that long diatribe, let's show some more stimulating visual content. Stimulating visual content that show some of the things that make me happy.

Last Sunday I went to work at 2pm and I left work at 8am Monday morning. (Please note: I am not complaining, or even venting. Simply stating the facts). Before Doug went to bed he sent me this photo of him and Sherman to provide me with some distraction on my very long night.



I laughed out loud when I opened this photo. It made my night. Doug was so thoughtful to send me that.

And just today I opened up my email and found a series of photos from Uncle Jimmy that are documenting the progress on his house in New Hampshire. He is having some major construction done to it, including fixing up the porch and creating a second floor in the attic space. Here's a shot of the work so far:



I can't wait to see more photos!

A little more, a little less.

What's in my backpack?

I look at job ads all the time because I am still trying to figure out what one can do with a library degree. There are all kinds of jobs out there and they are all over the place. Berkeley, Middletown, CT, Maryland, everywhere. I just saw a posting the other day that made me say, "Cool!" Associate Archivist at Biltmore Estate in Asheville, NC. Of course, the job may not really be cool when you discover what it actually involves, but if I read the posting with my Antiques Roadshow goggles and think about being in Asheville, then I become very excited and I wish I had stayed in the archives program at Simmons so that I could have had a job like this. Wishes and regrets about my professional life I have plenty.

The job, you'll note, is in NC, which is not within commuting distance of my current home in Dedham, MA. The vast majority of the jobs that I see posted that make me go, "Hmmm...." are not within commuting distance of Dedham. This is a bit of a problem, since we own a home in Dedham and the market right now is pretty poor for house-selling. And, as I have said time and time again on this blog, we really like our house and we've grown used to Dedham. But this doesn't change the fact that our house ties us down. Weighs us down and keeps us in one place. Makes our backpacks very heavy.

What do we do about that? Not quite sure. We go back and forth on this topic each day. Sell or not to sell. Move or not to move. It's the same old, same old. Blah, blah. But Doug and I are in the process of lightening the load in our backpacks in other ways. Like going through our bookshelves and pulling books that we won't read or don't have any attachment to.



Doug's going through all of his pedals and is selling some. I have started a bag for clothes and shoes give-away. We are donating two chairs to Uncle Jimmy's house in New Hampshire for when the construction on his addition is completed. We have started a tag sale pile and have several things in it already, including some pots and pans that we haven't used once since we moved into this house. Things like that.

Our "Lightening the Load," our "Great Leap Forward," was side-tracked a bit while we were dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Irene. A microburst went through our neighborhood and several extremely large and old trees met their maker because of it. Also because of it we spent four days with very limited power. No power to the main parts of our house meant that I spent a lot of time crafting. I finally made my new curtain for the kitchen:



Matching placemats:



A stupid sock creature:



What's ironic is that all of these things add weight to my backpack and so counteract what I am actually trying to do by getting rid of stuff. Because all of this is just more stuff. Now I have a spare set of curtains in storage, more placemats to store for use when the company I never invite over comes over, and a stuffed sock with button eyes that sits on the dining room table and collects cat hair. But all of it was fun to make, and I think the window looks much better with the new curtain. So maybe it's worth it to add to my backpack? Or maybe it's a balance. I can add to my backpack as long as I take more out than I am adding to it. Isn't that what life is about? Balancing the good with the bad? Yes, I think it is. And so the trial for me continues.

And the boss of the year award goes to...

So, picture this. I'm on the couch, head slumped down on my chest, hair hanging across my face, while The New World is blaring in front of me. The movie is two hours and fifteen minutes long and I manage to sleep through about two-thirds of it. I wake for the last few minutes. Doug, seeing that I am conscious, comes over to the couch and tries to settle in for a late night of watching the latest episode of Ghost Hunters International. In my just-awakened state, which often finds me in a wretched mood, I want no part of it and go upstairs to put myself properly to bed. As Sasha is hovering over the water faucet trying to drink and I am putting the toothpaste onto my toothbrush, it hits me - I'm supposed to have gotten a cake for one of my staff's birthday tomorrow! I stand there in the mirror staring at myself with toothbrush halfway to my mouth. What do I do? It's 10:55pm. Said staff-person wants yellow cake with chocolate frosting; she told me this last week so I have no excuse not to have remembered to get her this cake. I am on the train at 6:45 each morning, so there's no time in the morning to go to the store (stores don't open around here until 7). I have no choice but to make her a cake from scratch! I run downstairs to find a recipe, and all recipes I find call for ingredients that I don't have. Milk, butter, cake flour... how come I don't have these things on hand? Gah!

After Doug determines that all grocery stores near us are closed, most of which closed at 11pm but some earlier (earlier?), I determine that I have no choice but to get in my car and drive around, trying to find a late-night 7-Eleven or something like that. The local Tedeschi is closed. I know of no other convenience store in the immediate area. Do I have to drive to Boston? On my way to the highway, I pass a CVS. Lights still on. I pull into the parking lot and see a person entering the building. Score! CVS must have cake mix and frosting, right? Forget this cake from scratch. Tonight calls for a box cake.

Yes, CVS does have cake mix, and even frosting. Yes, this CVS had yellow cake mix and chocolate frosting. I don't need milk or cake flour or butter for this. I make my purchase. Cake is now in the oven. Once the cake is baked and cooled I can sleep for a few hours before getting up extra early to frost it. And then the attempt to bring it to work with me (on the train) without any mishap. If this all works out, I hope she is happy, my staff-person. I hope she appreciates the cake. And I hope to god she really said that it's yellow cake with chocolate frosting that she wanted.

The positive in this situation is that I now have time to catch up on my blogging. So let's post photos of our annual trip to the Mystic Outdoor Art Festival. Every year for the past five years we have gone to this show, and every year we have come home with some kind of art. This year we came home with two things.



Doug's choice was the yellow painting on the top, which is of the Maine coast, which compliments the pink painting on the bottom of a street scene in Providence. Both are by the same artist, from Rhode Island, who has such great use of colors like yellow and pink that other artists, at least other artists that we see at the Mystic Art Show, do not use enough of (or well enough). My choice was a little more conventional:



But still a local scene. The artist is from Orleans, MA, and much of his inspiration comes from Cape Cod. This is a scene of a marsh in Provincetown. Again, the yellow struck me, as did the tactile nature of the paint. The artist uses some kind of knife technique to apply the paint, meaning that most of it comes out in big globs. I like that. I like art that you can touch.

When we are at the art show, which seems to consist of most of the same artists year after year, we always try to balance cost with appeal. Do we like a piece enough to pay that much for it? Much of what we see is very expensive, and it's not like I can really judge how much a piece of artwork should cost. I'm no artist, but I know that the labor going into some of these pieces is intense - and so much of it! Could an oil painting (oils always being more expensive than acrylics or watercolors or photographs it seems) really be worth $3500? Maybe. But those are the paintings we have to leave behind. We set a budget and don't go over that. We've amassed a nice collection of art in this house. People tend to outgrow houses because they have children. For us, we may outgrow this house because of our art.

There could be worse things, though. Worse things like brain-eating amoeba killing you after a nice swim in some nice warm water. I'm always telling Doug that if the water were warmer at the beach I'd go in and swim. But now maybe not. Can you believe that there is such a thing as brain-eating amoeba? Of course, there's flesh-eating bacteria, for real, so why not brain-eating amoeba. It's when I read things like this that I am convinced that the only way that I am going to survive this life, getting through all the anxiety of living - the risks and the dangers - is by some kind of Valium patch that delivers and maintains a constant dose of drug into my bloodstream. Some days I just can't handle all the uncertainties.

My cakes are done. Now for them to cool. This week has seemed endless. I'm definitely ready for this one to end.