The cats will not be pleased.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
One line, two line, pink line, blue line
In reality, the test I took showed two very distinct pink lines. What does that mean? Well, it means that, maybe, just maybe, if all goes well, Nathan and I will welcome a baby into our family in a few months.
The cats will not be pleased.
The cats will not be pleased.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
My Invalid Kitty
My poor kitty, Tiva, who just turned 13 at the beginning of April, had to go in for surgery yesterday. He had developed two more tumors - one on his back and one on his paw right in between two toes. He has had surgery twice before and I swore after the last time I'd never put him through it again. However, he is really healthy otherwise and his bloodwork indicated that the cancer has not gotten into his system meaning that if they get all of the tumor I may be able to have the mean old bastard around for several more years. So, in he went. Bad news: in order to get all of the tumor on his paw, they had to amputate a toe. Good news: Dr. Braun thinks they got it all. The one on his back was easy to remove. He stayed overnight at the hospital and I picked him up this morning. He's in rough shape. He is covered in dander from the stress and shaved of his luxiorious black fur in several places where the needed to take blood and put in IVs. I'm working from home today so I can monitor him. He hadn't eaten since Monday so I gave him half a can of the wet food, which he never oridinarily gets because he's on a diet. Fatty! Thankfully, he chowed it down in no time flat, a good indicator that he'll be okay. He also managed to get some dry food and a little water down despite the high-sided elizabethan collar that is keeping him from gnawing at the stitches in his front paw. He is sleeping now on his favorite old green blankie. Another good sign. We'll have to keep him sequesterd in the office from the other kitties for several days as he cannot go down the stairs and needs to use special post-surgical litter. He is getting both a pain medication and an anti-inflammitory. Poor sucker will have to wear the e-collar until he gets his stitches out in 10 days. I feel so bad for him. He is a mean and nasty cat to most visitors to our house as many of you well know. But, to me, he is a loving, snuggling good boy and I love him very much! Poor Kitty! 
Friday, April 4, 2008
Arizona Trip
I was in Arizona for 9 days, much of it for work, but Nathan joined me and we got to have a little vacation time. We went to the Grand Canyon for the frist time, which really is very lovely. Despite the spring break crowds of children the National Park Service does a pretty good job of herding everyone along. We hiked along the rim trail and enjoyed the view. We had the traveling gnome in our pocket, but sadly forgot to take his picture so I'll have to Photoshop him in later.
We had the pleasure of spending a couple of relaxing days with Ann and Merald at thier place in Green Valley. The guys headed to Kitt Peak to look at more telescopes while Ann and I visited the Desert Museum. I loved the aviary, especially these two pretty birdies.
In Flagstaff we visited the Lowell Observatory and were a bit startled to find that Percy Lowell is in his own private little mock-observatory/mosoleum right in the middle of the grounds. We went back after dark to look at Saturn through the big Clark telescope and had to wait in the darkness right next to his creepy crypt. He was one strange man.
And, speaking of the Lowell Observatory, be sure to ask Nathan about his doorknob of shame.
Now to the other end of the state, we had the opportunity to attend a couple of Cactus League spring training games. We joined my collegue in public radio, Scott and his wife Marilyn at the Giants v. Brewers game in Scottsdale and then went to the Bitch Sox v. Royals game with Nathan's parents in Tucson. The traveling gnome also attended both games. 
At some point, I will have to do a retrospective of all the places the gnome has been. He's travelled quite extensively these last three years.
At some point, I will have to do a retrospective of all the places the gnome has been. He's travelled quite extensively these last three years.
We had the pleasure of spending a couple of relaxing days with Ann and Merald at thier place in Green Valley. The guys headed to Kitt Peak to look at more telescopes while Ann and I visited the Desert Museum. I loved the aviary, especially these two pretty birdies.
Monday, March 31, 2008
The Brown Season
It is snowing today. Heavily. Wet, dark and slushy. Good thing the Twins home opener is in a dome tonight. Two more years before I have to wear a parka to a baseball game. Here is a re-posting of a missive I wrote a few years ago about the lovely month of March.
They say that in Minnesota, we’ve got it all -- all four seasons, that is -- the warm spring, the hot-humid “lake days” of summer, the beautiful, colorful fall and the cold, snowy, lovely winter. But, I’d like to contend that we’ve got another season, a dark, dismal and utterly frustrating season. I like to call it the Brown Season. The brown season is the time of utter discontent. It is a time of general malaise and hatefulness. A recent California transplant asked me “why didn’t anyone tell me that ‘Minnesota nice’ is a bunch of bullshit?” I told her it’s not total bullshit. She just caught us at a bad time. The Brown Season spares no one. The grass is dead, the ground is frozen solid, the snow is all gone, the trees are still bare and spring is no where in sight. In recent years the Brown Season has come near the end of February or beginning of March. Even though the days have grown longer, the cold continues. The Brown Season is winter depression at the end of its rope. Having been cooped up for months, women begin to refuse to cook dinner, or go out for dinner or shower or do anything at all, really, except sit on the couch encased in blankets and cats watching shamefully bad television like sitcoms and “reality” competitions. When asked “Honey, what’s wrong?” men are greeted with such irrational responses as “Iron Chef is not a show, it’s a way of life!” They slowly back out of the room and return to their own odd Brown Season cocoons – wood shops, studios, garages, computer rooms – whatever. They’d like to leave the house but somehow can’t find the motivation to actually do so. The Brown Season transforms even normally happy winter people into disheveled shadows of themselves. Too warm for winter sports like skiing and too cold for spring sports like biking, people resign themselves to the confines of the gym. But, stuck on a treadmill like a caged animal with the man next to them dripping, nay, spraying sweat all over the place, the malaise and contempt for all other living things only grows and starts to fester.
Co-workers call in sick, show up late, go to great lengths to avoid each other all day and leave early. During the Brown Season, the office can be totally full yet eerily quiet – everyone simmering along in their own corners waiting for it to end. In the Brown Season of the Northern Plains, even your cats will begin to hate you. Restless and desperate for an open window they’ll knock over the humidifier and chew holes in your good wool socks, blaming you for the infernal delay of spring. No birds will visit your yard save the crow feasting on the bunny you ran over in the drive way. This god-awful suspension of time between seasons tortures all beings. The Brown Season will not break for weeks in which time you will grip white-knuckled to the edge of reason, dwelling on insignificant events and conversations, inventing feelings of mistrust and doubt about everyone around you.
But then, one day, it will rain.
It will sprinkle and drizzle and pour down all day.
And the Brown Season will end.
The rain will wash it away along with the dirt and the salt and the dead things. You and everyone else will let go a collective sigh of relief.
Minnesota has five seasons to be sure.
The Brown Season
They say that in Minnesota, we’ve got it all -- all four seasons, that is -- the warm spring, the hot-humid “lake days” of summer, the beautiful, colorful fall and the cold, snowy, lovely winter. But, I’d like to contend that we’ve got another season, a dark, dismal and utterly frustrating season. I like to call it the Brown Season. The brown season is the time of utter discontent. It is a time of general malaise and hatefulness. A recent California transplant asked me “why didn’t anyone tell me that ‘Minnesota nice’ is a bunch of bullshit?” I told her it’s not total bullshit. She just caught us at a bad time. The Brown Season spares no one. The grass is dead, the ground is frozen solid, the snow is all gone, the trees are still bare and spring is no where in sight. In recent years the Brown Season has come near the end of February or beginning of March. Even though the days have grown longer, the cold continues. The Brown Season is winter depression at the end of its rope. Having been cooped up for months, women begin to refuse to cook dinner, or go out for dinner or shower or do anything at all, really, except sit on the couch encased in blankets and cats watching shamefully bad television like sitcoms and “reality” competitions. When asked “Honey, what’s wrong?” men are greeted with such irrational responses as “Iron Chef is not a show, it’s a way of life!” They slowly back out of the room and return to their own odd Brown Season cocoons – wood shops, studios, garages, computer rooms – whatever. They’d like to leave the house but somehow can’t find the motivation to actually do so. The Brown Season transforms even normally happy winter people into disheveled shadows of themselves. Too warm for winter sports like skiing and too cold for spring sports like biking, people resign themselves to the confines of the gym. But, stuck on a treadmill like a caged animal with the man next to them dripping, nay, spraying sweat all over the place, the malaise and contempt for all other living things only grows and starts to fester.
Co-workers call in sick, show up late, go to great lengths to avoid each other all day and leave early. During the Brown Season, the office can be totally full yet eerily quiet – everyone simmering along in their own corners waiting for it to end. In the Brown Season of the Northern Plains, even your cats will begin to hate you. Restless and desperate for an open window they’ll knock over the humidifier and chew holes in your good wool socks, blaming you for the infernal delay of spring. No birds will visit your yard save the crow feasting on the bunny you ran over in the drive way. This god-awful suspension of time between seasons tortures all beings. The Brown Season will not break for weeks in which time you will grip white-knuckled to the edge of reason, dwelling on insignificant events and conversations, inventing feelings of mistrust and doubt about everyone around you.
But then, one day, it will rain.
It will sprinkle and drizzle and pour down all day.
And the Brown Season will end.
The rain will wash it away along with the dirt and the salt and the dead things. You and everyone else will let go a collective sigh of relief.
Minnesota has five seasons to be sure.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Earth Hour
It's Saturday night and I find myself sitting in a completely dark house. I've turned off all the lights and lit a candle in honor of Earth Hour. However, my laptop is still on (obviously), the refridgerator is running, as is the beer fridge in the bar downstairs and my neighbor's house shines like an airport landing strip due to the Christmas lights they still have on. I mean its not like Christmas was nearly four months ago or anything...
Not to mention that my husband is playing a gig right now and so any energy I'm not using at the house is being sucked down by his amp (The Fender Too Heavy) alone.
My workplace sent out a big press release yesterday touting thier involvement; lights shut off throughout the building except studios because the djs apparently can't work in the dark (wusses) and emergency lighting which is pretty much the only lights that would be on over the weekend anyway.
I'm all about saving the earth. I take my canvas bags to the grocery store. I try to eat locally. We carpool places when we can, etc, etc. But what is this whole Earth Hour thing really proving? If you want to really make a difference why not do it during business hours? The energy conservation would at least register at the power plant then. Maybe. And why just one hour? Why not all day? All week?
Whatever.
The reason I'm really writing this post is because I am procrastinating writing a paper for my ethics class. I am not digging this class. I have to conjure my best inner actress to feign any sort of interest in it whatsoever. The class discussions are innane. I cannot bring myself to read the textbooks. I hope to god my next class is better or I may never make it through this degree.
All this candlelight is making me sleepy...
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Shamless Promotion of my Husband's Band
The classic Grammy® Award winning 1970 album performed in its entirety with a multi-piece band. Featuring The Boxer, Cecilia and the immortal title track!
March 12-16, 2008
Pioneer Place on Fifth
St. Cloud, MN
7:30 PM
Tickets are $19 in advance, $22 at the door. All seats are general admission.
Contact the Pioneer Place Box Office for more information or call (320) 203-0331.
March 12-16, 2008
Pioneer Place on Fifth
St. Cloud, MN
7:30 PM
Tickets are $19 in advance, $22 at the door. All seats are general admission.
Contact the Pioneer Place Box Office for more information or call (320) 203-0331.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)