An near-daily experience that, for me, borders on obsession: the nightly family movie. I was raised in this general vein, equipped with no television (as in channels) per se but a VCR (waayyy back in the day we used to rent one! It came in a molded plastic case and weighed five hundred pounds) and the appeal of sitting with family and occasionally talking through a bad film. As an eight year old some of my earliest memories in our "new" home (that is, really old and being repaired and remodeled my entire life) involved watching adult films like The Shining and Alien (I still remember the rust velvet burnout couch I'd hide behind), and occasionally being banished to the bedroom where we could listen in fascinated horror to even more adult (read: "smutty") features like To Live and Die in L.A. and Sex, Lies, and Videotape.

Tonight's Hoga-pick is our typical fare: an episode of "Mystery Science Theatre 3000", in this case a re-watch of the riff on the horridly silly Riding With Death. This episode is excellent for its uber-seventies touches (fade-away handshakes, trucker hats over feathered hair, use of the CB radio), manly "Ace" hero (who I see is still acting in television, bless his heart), and - this was the most gleeful aspect for me - the fact it is clearly some kind of failed or back-burner two-episode television show spliced (poorly) into a feature length film (one could wretchedly follow this MST3K episode through YouTube, which I did for Tarantino's Death Proof, to no ill effect, because it was an self-indulged and uninspired piece of film although Kurt Russell tickled the pants off me)! They couldn't write stuff like this! Well, they can... but probably shouldn't.

Time to snuggle up under fresh blankets (I had to wash just about all of them in our house after last night's Barf-O-Rama) with my loved ones.

Labels: family life, film, ritual

You know where you get all excited about a subject that you didn't really think much about before? Well, that's me. I just finished the series and supplementary materials for HBO's "Addiction" - and I have to say I have new respect for the subject. If you or anyone you know use drugs or alcohol, this is a must-see. If you plan to have children (or already do) this is a must-see. If you've ever felt bad or "iffy" about any of your drinking or drugging or whatever - this is a must-see. And P.S. - whether you are aware of this yet or not - addiction affects us all, even if you yourself are clean.

Some of the things I learned:

1. Addiction is a disease. No really. I was very skeptical of this concept before; I'm not now. Think it's a "moral failing" or just trashy behavior? You are incorrect. Or I'm sorry, do you think you know more than leading experts who have PhDs, years of experience in the field, and who have thoroughly examined and studied parts of the brain and body with instruments you didn't know existed? I should say, many leading professionals who all agree: yes, it's a disease. It's a fricken disease. Sorry to inconvenience those of you who would prefer to avoid empathy for addicts.

The proposed mechanism of the disease as relayed by the experts in this film is more than I care to go into - however, it was fascinating and explained a lot I'd previously not understood.

2. Like any disease, the patient is ultimately responsible to manage it. This condition rarely if ever clears up on it's own, especially if you are still using after the age of 25 or so. Odds are difficult and can seem insurmountable; this, coupled with the heavy stigma, accounts for a lot of denial around recognizing the problem(s) - ask me how I know this!

3. Addiction is still being studied and whatever you grew up thinking about it, you are likely operating on incorrect information and bias. Progress is being made in the field understanding the mechanism of addiction, progress is being made in finding effective treatments and medications, progress is being made in realizing how addiction interacts with other mental, physical, and psychological factors (like depression, ADHD, anxiety issues, genetics, etc), and progress is being made slowly in getting insurance companies to cover treatments.

4. Despite the anger and lack of empathy towards addicts, many addicts live out their abuse without really affecting others in obvious, catastrophic ways. So if you have a problem and are refusing to deal with it, hey, good news - you'll LIKELY be allowed to live out your life that way. I mean after all, if you're like most addicts you may not drink and drive (and get caught!) or rob a convenience store and thereby not attract a big, potentially humiliating spotlight on your problem. So, good luck with that.

5. I am truly, truly impressed with the heart, talent, and brains of the professionals who are working in this field for the betterment of us all.

If nothing else this is simply a fascinating (and yes, at times, very distressing) program. I got my copy from the local library. It's also available through Netflix.

Labels: film, illness

I got a bit mixed up today. First, while at my mom's (letting Sophie do some chores while I stole a few quarters) I unexpectedly came upon the receptacle of my father's remains. It was a simple, solid, handsome and surprisingly heavy object - and something I think he would have liked. When I think of cremated remains I remember the small series of hilarious scenes from The Big Lebowski; one of our family's favorite films and vignettes my father himself laughed at.

There were photographs floating about the house, too, ones I hadn't seen in years, if ever. Unfair. Sad. I miss him. The "missing" has not changed one ounce; if anything it is more painful in it's perpetual truth: "Hi, still here! Hey, you still don't get to see him anymore, ever. Finis." Today I was realizing as I drove along Riverside that the arguments I used to have with him, well, those were gone too. No one was going to challenge me about the stuff he challenged me about. My occasional exasperations with him now seemed petty and I find it an irony that I would wish for them again. Hey, I'm still glad I lived them out, thought of him as a pain in the ass at times, and often - and this is my own legacy in my family - sought to "agree to disagree."*

Tonight I forgot if my father's death preceded my anniversary this year and had to double-check. I have been thinking about seven years of marriage and almost as many of family and feeling very proud of myself and my husband. My kids are great. They are healthy, smart, social, relaxed, enjoy a tremendous amount of freedom, and are a constant source of joy. My husband is a hero and my friend. He has my respect but, unfortunately, weathers many of my bad habits. My life has been transformed through difficulties and good fortune both. I am happy with what I have learned and energized to do the work I do every day. I have proven myself in areas I had no idea I had strengths. I have failed in areas that have instructed me, painfully, of my limitations. I feel strong enough that it might be OK to fail again, to make mistakes, which is something I wasn't strong enough for say, three years ago.

* My friends know I actually got this doctrine from the film Anchorman.

Labels: film, milestones, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Starting at 3:30, you'll see the running joke we've had at the Hogabooms these last few days. Nels even referenced this the other night when we made tamales together. One of my favorite things about having children is that they can make me laugh like no one else can.

Labels: film, hilarity

I had a friend who once told me that because of her dad's habits in childhood, she'd always get a positive, warm and fuzzy feeling from smelling beer on a man's breath. And sure enough, she ended up partnered with a beer-drinker and in fact drank a lot herself. For entirely coincidental reasons I had years ago decided I didn't want my children to smell alcohol on my breath night after night as I kiss them to sleep. Alcohol riddles my childhood; I don't want to be a slave to or obsessed with the eradication of it in my life, but until I sort all that out I really don't want my children to either.

But lest you think this was a long, meandering post about my triumph over alcoholic tendencies, you're wrong. Because this is about what my children likely associate with Love-Mommy, and what Nels just commented on this morning when he told me my breath smelled good: Coffee. I like coffee. I drink coffee. CoffeeCoffeeCoffee. I'm sick, slavish to it. I could probably not go a roadtrip without it unless it was after 6 PM or so (when I'm ready to be done drinking it for the night). You know how smokers need that smoke break? I'm almost like that with coffee. I think about coffee. I treat myself to coffee. OK, I'm not a total fiend: I won't drink "bad" coffee - I won't bother with something from 7-11 or most diners. Living in Washington state though, it's easy to find good (or at least decent) cup of the stuff.

This morning Nels snuggles me a bit before I stick him in bed next to his sister; their fresh pancakes await in a warm oven, and in a moment I'm off to bath, breakfast, and a bit of yoga before the day truly begins.

I watched The Dark Knight last night. It was a great film and I plan to see it again. I put a film review up on a site I write for (hee hee, not linking to it, it's a secret) and in looking up some details of the film on on imdb I see a post: "Who else found the Joker sexy?" Yeah, OK, it needs to be said: the Joker was sexy (and scary. Those things can go together, you know). And this is why - he was extremely self-validated. Probably the biggest turn-on, ever. Well, for me at least.

Labels: childhood, coffee, film, FOO

I'm a member of ten Yahoo groups (three I really need to leave), but this one sends a precious little bit of cargo my way every now and then:



My family has enjoyed the original - The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra - watching it a couple times a year for a few years now.





In other news, I have been given the honor of distributing an excellent publication, The Practical Pedal. It is one of my goals to spread the love of practical cycling (that is, cycling for everyone) in my little nook of Grays Harbor.

Labels: bike, film, GH, hilarity, HQX

If you were going to go out, say, for a long night out where you go to dinner, and a movie, and get to listen to music in the car and have an uninterrupted conversation or two with a friend, I suppose there are worse things you could come home to than your son's huge, giant, enormously swollen black eye obtained from roughhousing with his father - this injury inflicted on the exact eye that had just barely recovered from a rather nasty stye. I mean really, it could be a lot worse.

In other news today I picked up seed potatoes (Russian Banana fingerlings!) and two thai pepper plants while Nels lost a pair of shoes - all at the iconic and fabulous Satsop Nursery, which looks like rundown scary buildings and then you go inside and it's a lovely jungle of beautifully-maintained plants.

Tonight with friend Amy on our date I ordered Irish Coffee and Bangers & Mash at the Galway Bay pub in Ocean Shores. And I really did not regret that decision in the slightest. Yes, that's right, sausages actually covered in gravy, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Labels: film, food, friends, Nels, Ralph

I've been working my way through Hitchcock films and have decided I want to live in a Hitchcockian universe. Especially delicious was my recent viewing of Dial M For Murder. Ray Milland!* I loved him so very much as a villain, maybe more than I've liked any villain. (- note, all trailers are a bit spoiler-ish and I wouldn't watch them if you haven't already seen the films):



Dial M was recommended by a moviephile I met after I told him I'd recently viewed - and re-viewed, and loved - North by Northwest (below trailer is a re-vamp on movie trailer styling, me likey):



Up next for me (I've already seen it, but want to again):



I just want to live in a world where, say, I'm recovering from gallavanting around on clandestine capers and I have beautiful slacks and shirts and patent leather shoes delivered to me in boxes and I whip them on and slip out the window to catch a cab and rescue my love and not only that, but later on I've had the foresight such that I can pull out of my impeccable pockets not only a matchbook and handkerchief with my monogram but also a tiny, useful pencil for dispatching secret messages in a pinch. And yeah, I'm Cary Grant. But also somehow, I get to make out with Cary Grant too. Look, it all works in my mind, see?

* And, um, OMG. I like Ray Milland, and I like Rosey Grier, and until now I had no idea they put their considerable combined prowess together for:



Words simply cannot express.

Labels: film, hilarity, random

the number of children for the number of hours I cared for them without adult help. Depending on who I had and the time of day this may or may not have included mile-long walks with a backpacked baby cooing in my ear and four preschoolers in tow (and yes, a coffee in hand), then the bike with my own children after a circus-like ringleading of five kids in one diner (splitting steamed milks before we spent fifteen minutes just getting coats on for departure). During the day I employed several very smart Mama tricks (including holding the hands of the clumsiest or spaciest children while walking on HQX's treacherous sidewalks so if they took a gainer I'd kept them from busting a kneecap) and a few I-thought-it-was-clever ideas that backfired (encouraging the children to each pick a wildflower and then: "Alison took my flower!" "Nels made a bad choice!" "Where's MY flower?!" for about five thousand blocks). Another impressive stat - minutes of televised entertainment I employed today: twelve.

Taking care of children when things are going smoothly is extremely exhilarating for me; I never would have guessed this before. It's like running a well-oiled kitten factory except the kittens are smart enough to talk and be interesting with what they say (OK, the baby's kitten talk is the equivalent of, "Give me fish!" "Change my litter box now!" "Something's WRONG and I am going to squall until you figure it out!!!" Speaking of baby T., I only hurt him once (by sad and freak accident, not on purpose or due to neglect; I told his mom to bring a helmet next time but instead we're settling for a Pack N Play or what you old folks know as a "playpen"). If you see a really abused-looking little blue-eyed baby about town just know I feel worse about it than he does.

Apparently 2008 is the Year of Consumerist Lust for me? It goes deeper than wanting to buy something because I have actually been up at night worrying my quilt with my teeth wondering what the heck I'm going to do about my kids growing out of their bike trailer (a Burley with 100 lb. capacity and my children folded in as it is). Last night cruising around the inter-Tron I find BikePortland which leads me (back) to Clever Cycles for a lingering look at my cycling wet dream - and then, suddenly, I see the word "longtail" and read, with increasing interest, a (potential) exact solution to my family needs + my biking life. When I catch the picture of the fellow with two my-size-children and grocery bags to boot I almost throw up in excitement. And this matrix regarding transportation (yes, I'm aware this is basically an advertisement - and to give fair warning, xtracycle's entire site is rather hype-y) is almost paradigm-shifting in and of itself. "90% of car trips do not carry passengers"; sounds ludicrous and wasteful but, look around and you'll see it's true.

In other news, last night my daughter and I watched most of Disney's 1954 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea and I was struck by three things: 1. it's actually a pretty good movie, and we haven't even got to the squid yet; 2. Actor James Mason as Captain Nemo (the first I'd ever noticed the acclaimed actor)* has the exact booming voice that I so loved in "Darkplace"'s Sanchez / Todd Rivers / Matt Berry (huge crush on all three!); and 3. I'll be stealing the lovely Technicolor look for my third issue of Sure Nail & Fire.

* He also co-authored a book about cats! How sweet.

Labels: babies, babysitting, bike, consumerism, film, paying gig

I tasted my first fresh Krispy Kreme today (what can I say, I'm the OG Country Mouse). It was a struggle, but I got it down eventually (actually, the remainder I picked up are calling to me now). More surprising than the donut hype around the legendary junk food was the coffee - hot, fresh and tasty - and the fact the retro 50s squeaky-kleen donut factory ambience actually worked on me. I felt pleased and comforted and totally forgot I was sitting in the middle of a square mile of strip-mall concrete in Puyallup.

My fabric trip with my mom (and Nels) was bookended by watching my parents fight about their severely damaged roof, a post-storm saga that does not seem to be winding down to a close (yesterday they had another contractor quit on them). The fighting was kind of surprising because growing up my parents "rarely" fought and somehow the legacy was they "didn't" fight. Today there was yelling and cussing and later a cell-phone apology (delivered by my mother who, distracted and sad she'd yelled at my dad, pulled over on our way out of Aberdeen in order to call) and then when we got back, a wind-up, more yelling, tears, and stomping. "It's not my fault," my father reminds my mother as he angrily saddles up to drive to the roofer's offices. She doesn't quite apologize again, still angry about the stream of contractors she's alienated, anxious to stop the deterioration of her home (the tarping fix fell apart and water damage has started to hurt the insides of the house), and mad that my father isn't taking care of it in the way she feels he should.

My son and I witness these words. I feel badly for my parents. I am sad they are struggling and fighting over these things while my dad is so sick. I am sad that my parents, who used to enjoy household projects together in their mutual interest and good health, now have a total pain-in-the-ass problem that's costing money, taking time, and making my mom crazy which results in her picking on my dad. My dad is so thin he has those crazy old man legs they can cross at the upper thigh. Yet despite this, despite a near-skeletal frame (he's lost an inch to his height, did I tell you that?) and his tests and poisons he still remains my father, the same. I am not all that sorry for him in the sense I think he can still handle life's complexities. But I am sorry that my mom has this household burden at the same time she's facing the poor health of her mate. Oddly, or perhaps you understand, it's exactly experiences like today that make me glad I moved here to be witness, to help if I can, and to participate in their lives through good or ill.

The fabric store itself was great. Mom and I stuck to our small lists (I did not select an underlining for my brother's coat yet; the addition of my four year old to the shopping experience caused us to cut things a bit short) and found things in short order. I felt joy at the fabrics I saw, more types that I could have pictured, and I did not find myself longing for fabrics I can't have. This is a good thing. I saw dual-colored zippers and plush fake fur and lovely wools and found four color combinations of the rare-ish bonded sherpa / minkee fleece I'd sought for my baby slipper project. I also was cheered to discover their minimum yardage cut is 1". It just seemed so sweet and accommodating on their part.

It's funny to visit "the city" and suddenly realize I could find socks for Sophie, or face wash, or exactly the restaurant food I crave, or the perfect color of sheets, or a tiny teapot from an Asian grocer or whatever. I get so used to being in a small town where your spontaneous creativity is hampered by what you can lay hands on (which does make the occasional inspired find all the more exciting). In cases like today, a list is the way to go. Otherwise I just feel an envious sense of overwhelm.

And now, I have a bootleg copy of Sweeney Todd to finish. I think I'm going to get on that.

Labels: film, FOO, food geekery, Grazdma, Nels, OG country mouse, sewing, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

When I get inspired it's a glorious thing. I'm liable to tear a whole room apart, clean, and reassemble. Or run off to a craft store and purchase a handful of 55 cent vellum sheets for homemade cards; rummage through the hardware store spending way too much time on something silly and mundane; change needles on my machine, surf Etsy or Flickr and think of what I want to sew or draw or write on. I got extra screw-off time this morning as Ralph took the kids swimming and then to freinds' for lunch.

My father came over at two PM - barely able to get through a work session after his Thursday chemo - to help Ralph build Sophie's loft bed. Before they start my husband asks, "So any changes to the plans?" and my dad replies, "No... I mean not unless you've changed something." To which Ralph says, "Look, I just want to know we can work in [awkward] silence the whole time." They vanish into the next room with drill and two by fours and saws and (I hope) a level.

After my father leaves in the early evening - very sick, in fact - the family reconvenes. Sophie so loves the promise of the new bed that she perches up there - on the unpainted plywood plank - with a few books to read, bright with happiness. Nels scuttles off post-dinner and Ralph and I finish out our conversation about our current activities. I wander into the living room while sipping coffee and rice milk and my eye wanders into the dark bathroom where Nels sits, perched on the toilet, shirt lifted to show his newly-fed frog belly as he takes care of toilet business. "It's me," he grins at me when I turn his way. The little hobgoblin.

Tonight: endless zine work, proofreading. Homemade Valentine's Day cards. Loud music and the sounds of kids splashing in the bath. Everyone stays up late and we watch MST3K together. Family life really works for me, sometimes.

Labels: film, homesteading, Nels, Ralph, Sophie, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard, zine

Today dawned hopeful, cold and clear - and plopped down on stuffy, whored-out and pissy. I am having a terribly discouraging time with aspects of Nels' preschool environment. I am having a lot of difficultly lately interacting with my son and expecting respect while getting along (when did he turn into a messy-headed wolf cub?). I am having an annoying time with the local printery. But mostly, I'm having the worst time overcoming my residual head cold and my poor attitude.

So, it's time for a little gratitude. Here are some great things that have come out of the last few days:

• Helping my children learn more chores (they are surprisingly adroit!)
• Explaining money-saving to them both (Nels' goal: a squeaky duck; Sophie's, winter boots)
• Explaining "flashing" to them both (thank you, John Waters cameo!)
• Sophie's term for a productive cough: "hork ball"
• Nels' kisses and cuddles (when he's not directly defying me at every turn)
• New sewing patterns in the mail - Victorian garments (ooh, practical!)
• New laser printer (zine approaches self-sufficiency)
• Ralph's support (very well-rendered this week)
• Friends either helping or offering to help
  
• Ladies' Night at deli tonight
• Brown sugar ham sandwich. 'Nuff said.

I feel a lot better typing that out.

In other news: Sophie is getting a new loft bed in her room now shared with Nels (P.S. I like sewing or the possibility of sewing more than a potential for my own children's coddled existence!). I was recently re-reminded of why we are glad to live our lives more simply (and no, I'm not referring to our phone and DSL services' disconnection for non-payment, which has now been remedied). We're considering going to one car although I will have to draft up my last will and testament now that I'm biking in Grays Harbor. Harris and Blackie have to go to the vet under false premises to have things cut off them (nuts, cancerous growth resp.). My brother never writes nor calls from Portland, the ass. And we are actually very sad here at Casa Del Hogaboom over Heath Ledger's recent demise (rare pop-culture reference, here).

Labels: film, i'm a hater, illness, Nels, Ralph, Sophie, writing, zine

Tonight I walked the kids to my mom's to have dinner. She was in a muddle of what her current state often is: stress / drinking to relax or relieve stress / over-giving / enjoying herself. The part that was enjoying herself was the part that invited us for dinner, made a lovely stew, and had rented some family movies. The part that was over-giving was the part that tried to make the stew "perfect" for us then (and this was the part that was stressed and used drink to manage it so inhibitions were dropped but not the underlying stress) used an angry tone on my children for preferring their cornbread and eating it first. My dad took some special medicine and seemed to be feeling better than he had over the last few days (something tipped this week and he has now become someone "dying", no longer someone coping with illness. I'd like to feel differently on that one if I could) but this meant he retreated for our viewing of Harry Potter and I didn't get to see him much. It was a nice dinner and I really did enormously appreciate the night out and the homecooked meal. But I can't get away from the the strain and bad feelings that my life's dinnerplate seems to hold when I look down at what I'm eating.

I'm getting that really paranoid, really perfectionist sense of angst. If anything goes wrong I am a wreck (internal, so as not to inconvenience anyone). Sometimes I get a vision of who I might be when age and senility set in. And it feels small, like tiny wheels turning in my head, mucked up and in semi-darkness and doubt, unsure of myself unless someone tells me they love me or not just that they love me, but they promise not to be mean to me. Today I missed two appointments I had. One I was able to recover OK; the other I just completely missed. This is rare for me. And when I screw up like that on a commitment I make to others, or something I told myself I'd do, or whatever, I really just hate myself and it eats away at me for an indeterminate amount of time.

I don't think but two or three people close to me realize what a perfectionist I am. I laugh at the term "perfectionist" a bit because no one who knows me would think my life looked perfect. Yet that drive, that insatiable unsettledness, has a strong a grip on every aspect of my waking hours. I hold myself to ridiculous standards and then feel bad, like pit-of-the-stomach bad, when I inevitably screw up. I have to have a clean house or if I don't, a plan to get it clean. I can't relax until housework is taken care of; then I'd better relax correctly. I hate myself if I have something to drink, or if my husband and I aren't getting along for the evening, or if somehow during the day I was amiss in my parenting. I have to take care of my kids properly which means clothing and grooming and brushing and flossing and if they miss a night of this I have to demand my husband help but if he doesn't do it I feel like a failure that we don't provide this to them. I have to meet my commitments on the three volunteer leadership positions I'm in. If I don't meet them I feel I can't get over it or make amends to those I might have (usually only minorly) inconvenienced. No, for me if I mess up, it means people hate me and they have a right to hate me. It takes me a lot of internal thought and sometimes discussion with a friend (Ralph, my mom, or Cyn mostly) to "talk me down" from the ledge of I-Suck.

For a half year I wouldn't allow myself to buy the family clothes but had to scrump, sew or thrift them. This was a fun and interesting project, sure - but it also became a burden at some point. I hold myself to the standard of preparing nutritious meals without taking culinary shortcuts. I feel bad if I buy anything "extravagant" or even buy anything without having it on a list first - or else I eschew cooking altogether and go out to eat (which, for some reason, feels like a tremendous ease on my daily cooking burdens). I choose to, for God's sake, plan, write, edit, layout, and design for a zine which I then have to publish on our shoestring budget. I have to balance my marriage such that I support my husband and manage my own needs without asking for his emotional help when I'm fragile - which I am all the time these days, whether it's apparent to others or not.

Some reading here may think these confessions mean I'm a miserable person all the time. That is precisely the problem; I'm not miserable, I love doing so many of these things. Every effort of mine is born of love and energy. I thrive on creativity, on learning now to do things well, on pushing myself just a little bit because it seems like I can. I do sometimes congratulate myself on the fact that I can "coast" as a housemom on some days and do well at providing for my loved ones. I love every single thing I write, or sew, or every meal I cook or the way my counter looks when I wipe it down. It is precisely the dual love-hate of the work vs. the drive to do the work right, every time, that makes for tricky terrain.

Perfectionism, as far as I can tell, has no easy cure. It isn't a matter of, "Why don't you do less?"* That question is like asking, "Why don't you stop having the Kelly-brain?" or, "Have you thought about leaving your tits at home before you go out in the day?" It's a non-sequitur. It doesn't follow. My struggle with perfectionism could probably only be helped by - no offense to any reader who thought I was more hip in some way - prayer and discourse with God. My struggle with perfectionism was manageable in PT. It has become at least trebly difficult since moving here. I have my ideas of why this would be; for now it's enough to recognize it's happening.

One thing, the walk with the kids over to my parents' was nice. I'd prepared us for the cold - coats, hats, gloves and good shoes - but the rain started falling intensely and there was nothing to save us from the wet of eight blocks. How to explain a Pacific Northwest winter rain? It is not violent at all but rather like a cold spell that covers us, the air filling with rain that is safe, nourishing, life-giving. You expect rain so you don't begrudge it except a few weak moments, here and there, in the five solidly soaking months we get per year. You get home and strip off your clothes and put some in the dryer and towel your hair (we don't generally use umbrellas here) and fix coffee and look outside at our beautiful weather. Tonight I watch my children on the walk. Sophie walks self-protectively. She puts her hat on firmly and zips her coat and steps carefully but purposefully. Nels just barges out into the elements, sure that he will be fine. I start to know he's cold and wet when his hand creeps into mine and he falls silent. The children act as if they were born for this weather.

* If any well-meaning friend writes or says, "You should relax your housekeeping standards," or "Why don't you give up such-and-such?" I will deliver a cock-punch via Airmail.

Labels: film, FOO, food, homesteading, Mama's crazy, nerves, on foot, walking

Now seems as good a time as any to reveal that for ten months now I have been really, really timid regarding writing about my new life here - and by my "new life" I specifically mean my friends and peers. I find that I just don't want to write about school (which takes up a lot of my time and thought) and upset my kids' teacher(s), or offend a schoolmate's parents, or write about my friends and upset the three ladies who have taken me under their wing since we moved (I know they don't think of it that way as everyone seems to think of me as an Alpha Bitch who needs no help nor coddling). Yes, surely, I am being paranoid: none of these people read my blog so let it fly, eh? But in fact I have learned over the last four years that I really don't know who's reading the blog, sometimes not until I get an email either offended (once) or, more likely, having followed me for a couple years and heretofore remaining silent.

Today is the day that I throw off caution and decide to just be me and quit writing about the safer subjects of my father's illness, or cuddling the kids, or whatever, and write about who I see during the day and what I do. Yeah, HQX is a small town; but so was PT. Yeah, I don't have enough friends to spare but I'm willing to work my ass off to keep them. Yeah, I'm not really "established" here but c'mon - when am I going to feel like I am, anyway?

Oh and in case you thought the last couple paragraphs were preludes to some great dirt: they weren't. I'm just officially acknowledging yes, I've been letting you down, dear reader. And as of today I'm going to grow a pair and write on.

Last night I was joined by eight local ladyfriends for a gift exchange and holiday party. I had a great time and I was honored to host. Because it was a group of women, we had plenty of food and a comical amount of beer stacked in my kitchen (I think a few guests left with more booze than they brought). Because it was me, the food was overly coordinated and excellent (I ate one hundred thousand servings of Jasmine's asparagus appetizer) and included an Aztec sherry cake - both delicious and hilarious. Because it was a group that doesn't see one another all that often, we only got about twenty minutes into the 80s movie before we stopped due to a lack of interest (not me! But I'm a dork like that). With the exception of two gals, I'd known all of them for 20 or so years. Isn't that just incredible? I felt so fortunate to have my girlhood friends, and my own mom - dressed like a rockstar BTW - all under my roof to share our lives together. And no, Ralph, we did not strip down to panties and have a pillow fight, although I hope you're envisioning that with my mom and all.

After a night staying over at my parents' (I joined my family there after my last guest left) my family returned home and centered our schedule around wrapping presents for our 4 PM delivery to our adopted Christmas gift family (pictures and details pending post-holiday). Dinner tonight was at Shannon's with her lovely family of five and after a lovely homecooked meal we stayed until 10 PM. It's like last night kicked off the final couple days until Christmas. Tomorrow morning: no school for the kids. Sleep-in for three of us as Ralph heads in to one day of work before the Big Night.

I am not as ready as Bonesaw, but I am pretty ready for Christmas. How 'bout you?

Labels: film, food, friends, holidays, HQX, party animal

Last night I spent five thousand television hours introducing myself to season one of "The Wire", which is now in my opinion the best TV I've ever seen. In the middle of episode five or whatever I was suddenly and surprisingly favored with a guest appearance by Steve Earle, whom I'd never seen in person but recognized immediately by his voice. Probably no one would understand why at 12:30 AM I sat up on the couch, grinning ear to ear at the large, tattooed, partially balding, mumbling former addict who held me in total enthrall.

Today included a last-minute join to shopping with my parents' and a dinner guest invited by Ralph. Also notable: Ralph did every single chore of the day and made dinner to boot. If this is what my husband's day usually feels like it was pretty great. Coupled with his trip to Seattle with the kids, this weekend was nice and relaxing for me. If only I had, oh I don't know, about four more days just like it.

Crossed off my to-do list: besides the TV watching I sewed Nels' Christmas pants, finished Sophie's socks, and started a pair for the Boy.

Labels: film, music

I think the kind of day like today, where one stays at home and asses out and asks Husband to stay home with the kids, eating poorly all day because one is sick and isn't cooking well, and gets nothing done - someone who say, prides themselves on working hard and usually experiences some self-esteem to say at the end of the day, "I did such-and-such and nailed it" - for someone like that, a sick day with junk food and no ambition, the kind of day that only happens about once year for that person -

Anyway like I've said, today is precisely the wrong type of day to idly sit down at the computer and end up on the MySpace clickaround... you know, looking at other people's pictures, reading comments, starting to believe everyone else does more traveling and has better times and killer inside jokes. They've been drunk with fun friends more often and have nicer clothes and their kids are more fun and less work than mine.

Some voice of reason would tell me there is no way to know someone's existential reality by their uploaded persona-bytes. An even smarter voice of reason tells me I loathe MySpace, I really do (except my friend Jessica's blog), and never have benefitted from using it, much. And that I should get back to watching a movie and knitting socks for my daughter, instead of feeling flaccid and sick in front of the computer screen.

On the other hand, there's a way to lift my spirits almost unfailingly: spending time "doing nothing" with my family. In this case, a ride to the video store instead of staying home. As we drive through the rain-soaked evening, snug in our car, we offer the kids a choice - two movies, simplified as "one with aliens, the other with weird creatures". Sophie votes "Creatures!", Ralph and I concur on aliens, and Nels' vote stands in sway. Finally he says, "Aliens," decisively, prompting a total crying breakdown of our daughter who throws her head back and howls, "Noooo....!"

The car is briefly quiet except for her crying. After a minute Nels says quietly, "What about creatures?" Reconsidering. For his sister's feelings. And I wish I had a recording of what his voice sounds like, saying that. His voice is attached to my heartstrings.

Labels: film, illness, Nels, Sophie, verbatim

Grays Harbor Wind Storm - The Hogaboom Report from ralph hogaboom on Vimeo.

Seriously, I will love Shannon for the rest of my life with how much she thrilled Nels during this. As she was pulling Allison (her own daughter, the first child you see "stranded") Nels got the biggest, and I mean biggest grin and started crying out, "Shannon, Shannon, help me! Help!" and was like the girl elected as Homecoming Queen when she went back for him.

Labels: film, friends, Nels, Ralph, weather

Today besides the normal drill of fixing breakfast and lunch and getting the kids read for school I cooked a mini-Thanksgiving "feast" of roast turkey, mashed potatoes w/butter, and carrot sticks for Sophie's kindergarten class - fresh out of the shower at 12:40 throwing potatoes in boiling water for a lunch date at 1 PM (yes, I made it and on time too), deep-cleaned the bathroom, entertained my father during a surprise coffee visit (our conversation actually took many turns for the personal depths, much to my surprise), took the kids to the Sweet Shoppe and picked up some catered bread pudding while there (the only item on the T-day menu I'm not making), took the kids to the Y and worked out, and cut out two dresses and two skirts to sew for Sophie. At my parents' tonight I realized I couldn't sew at home; my children / the kitten - someone - had got ahold of my bobbin helmet, a part I truly do need in order to sew. On hearing this my husband offered to haul my Singer 201 down the narrow stairs, put it in the van and drive it to our house to set up; the machine itself weighs 25 lbs. and is in a giant cabinet that isn't easy to carry even over level ground. I opted instead to come home and tear the house apart for the missing piece to my 15-91. *

Here's another reason I like being married to Ralph; tonight at 9 PM when I said, "Oh, you should go rent Roadhouse since the video stores won't be open tomorrow," and he said "Fuckin' A'!", grabbed our son, and left to go do it. So. There are so many, many people who would not have had that response.

Through a misplaced Tweet I found Devil's Night Radio and I'm loving it. Tonight I heard Nick Cave's "Stagger Lee" which I haven't listened to in nine years on account of how much it offended Ralph when I played it in my car.

Oh, and I found out that after working out and not drinking alchool for a little over a week I have dropped six pounds. People, just so you know, this is officially the first time in my life I've ever done anything approximating "dieting". I'm glad to have lost weight but I'm even more amazed at how good I feel.

So yeah. Things are going great around these parts.

* ETA - that was fast. I published my post, walked into the living room, moved one couch and immediately found the little metal part. Good times.

Labels: film, food, holidays, music, Ralph, school, sewing, swayze, the bod

Last night our foursome worked at the 7th Street Theatre for the movie (Young Frankenstein). Sophie and I handed out programs (which I design for the films) and Ralph and Skels - I mean Nels - worked concessions.


Let me out my family as huge dorks. Because these aren't the "real" Halloween costumes, these are the ones for the movie nights. I pondered and pondered a way to frizz out Suse's hair. It would have taken lots of product and forever; plus we have two nights of working and I didn't want to go through whatever horrific process that would be twice. So I settled for a haircolor and white spray-in streaks. The dress is sewn from two tablecloths and the ribbon is sewn on to her neck (the ribbon sewn to itself, not my girl). I also tore more of the tablecloth into bandage handwraps and painted her nails a lovely blackish green. She was so into it. P.S. more than one boy / guy checked her out. It's kind of weird.

Nels liked his costume too. Um. A lot. He and I shopped for the costume earlier in the day - black LS shirt, sweats (I cut and hemmed the bottom of them b/c I hate the gathered sweatpant look), furnished with medical tape "bones" - plus a skull mask (not shown) he found all by himself for $1. He was extremely invested in the process. As we travelled to checkout he howled, "Where are the bones!?" having no understanding Ralph was going to fashion them from tape. That night he made a big fuss until we allowed him to sleep in the costume and he clutched his skele-mask in his sleep - all night.


Our friend S. took quite a few of these screenshots; they look great.

Labels: film, geekery, halloween, Nels, Ralph, sewing, Sophie

This year for my eldest's kindergarten I started work (unpaid) as an assistant to my daughter's classroom every Monday morning while Nels is in school. Let me tell you, getting to know one's child and other children within the school system is a great opportunity and I've been delighted to discover how much I enjoy it. Don't get me wrong, I like my friends' children but it has to be admitted these children (and my own) could often be viewed as obstacles to my socializing time with their mommies and daddies (anyone who's been an at-home mommy or daddy of young children knows how much "quality time" with your children is instantly available or forced upon you; hanging out during the day with other parents of young children affords at least some adult-level interaction and pasttimes). At school however there are goals for everyone, there are rules in place and a neutral set of enforcers and pace-setters rather than the children's parents. I find myself really enjoying being an educator rather than a parent or babysitter.

This week the children are "studying" a story about peanut butter sandwiches. I think the exercise focuses on reading comprehension (I have noted that classroom reading exercises are well below what my guess is Sophie's second grade reading level - AR test pending; however, for the median classmate the academic exercises feel spot-on and all the children are attentive and seem to love them). While helping yesterday Mrs. P. asked me if I could come the next day and bring bread, so we could make peanut butter sandwiches (part two of the scientific experiment?).

So this morning with Nels in bike I brought homemade bread, Mrs. P bought the PB and J and we made sandwiches. I took a picture of the little kids freaking out joyously when Mrs. P. announced our project. During sandwich-making time (which coincided with other "stations" of art project and academic work on the letter "P") Nels participated at a very good kgarten level, working so hard on a drawing / sticker exercise we were forced to take the sandwich with us on the bike trip to the bus station. Next week Mrs. P. tells me they are doing pizza and if she's into it I will likely bring the dough and sauce, she can do toppings, and we can cook them in the kitchen. As you can imagine I am well-loved in that class. And I like each and every kid, and really feel like I'm getting to know them. Even The Little Sweet Psychotic (a beautiful, precious girl who scares me with her non-confrontational yet extremely confrontational behaviors) gave me two hugs before I left.

After class time Nels and I biked to the bus station to take the bus to Aberdeen's LYS. After a very nauseating trip (I am very prone to carsick on our busses, sadly) I had Ralph meet me at the downtown shop and take Nels on a photo walk while I learned how to pick up the heel flap and inset to make the sock gusset. I was really irritated to discover the lack of "exact science" in picking up the stitches. However from here on out it looks like super easy sailing and then being walked through kitchener stitch by my fabulous local mentors. Yay socks!

Tonight: library date with kids, board meeting for the preschool, dinner at my 'rent's while watching 300 with the associated rifftrax. A little slice of heaven for me, well except for that Board meeting.

Labels: bike, bus, film, food geekery, knitting, Nels, school, Sophie

When you spend your time with a series of mentally non-challenging and thankless (as in, you get directly acknowledged for around ten percent of your) tasks - a huge, bottomless series that swallows you up - it feels one thousand times worse when you screw up. Because it's not like you fail in something that was really difficult or time-consuming or even Big Picture Important. You screw up on some tiny thing that most people might think, "What's your problem? Pull it together!" or maybe, "Who cares?" about.

In this case I'm speaking of Picture Day, which is today at Sophie's school. So for either Ralph or I this involves filling out a form and writing a check and dressing the child and making sure they're clean, presentable, and / or cute. Well, I completely forgot. So this morning Sophie went without money, without a form, and dressed "like a boy" (her words; sometimes she chooses this costume) which included a hand-me-down camouflaged longsleeve t-shirt. When I got back from dropping her off - actually ahead of the timeline, thanks - I checked my mail and discovered my error (thanks, GCal, for being on the ball!). This meant going back to the school with abovementioned details sorted out. The one neat thing about this annoying, small-potatoes quasi-waste of my time was seeing my daughter light up when I arrived. Not just happy to see me as she put her hand trustingly in mine, but I saw that she viewed my surprise visit not as evidence I screwed up (as an older child might) but purely as evidence that I take good care of her. Awwww.

Today I - yet again - watched a friend's child for a few hours. This was a shift from 11:30 to 2:30 and I took the child C. along with Nels for a long walk to a local cafe and back. C. is loved especially by Nels and my husband. She is a very sweet, social, direct child. She has a few quirks that make me laugh, one of which is that most of the time her speech is like the Weekend Update guest suffering from voice immodulation; the other is that when she's upset about something she descends into a sort of silent hangdog standing / crumpling / threatening-to-cry / series of events that is quite distinct (my children scream or do this crazy phoney hyperventilating thing which is filling me with rage even as I talk about it) and I only notice it after a few minutes when I realize she hasn't spoken for a while. Nels loves, simply loves it when I have extra children to care for. Besides some kitten-torture (today Harris was banished outside our entire duration of in-home with C.; one of the reasons we went on the walk was to allow our Regal Prince his indoor naps) Nels and his (lady-)friends get along wonderfully.

Tonight's family events: Abbi's fingerling potatoes, our first Rifftrax (LOTR:FOTR), (hopefully) my brother over for dinner again.

Quote of the day: Sinead O'Connor, referencing Britney Spears:

"I think to attack someone as a mother is very dangerous. I would say that's what puts a young girl on a precipice which is very, very dangerous, in my opinion. Some people may end up really regretting the way they're treating her."

Labels: birlo, film, Mama's crazy, school

I forgot to mention, Ralph won the toga contest last night. There were around thirty entrants! The toga itself was made absolutely last minute: I (genius-like) tore a queen-size sheet in half and stitched the short ends together to create the length needed. Each contestant was interviewed onstage and then "runway'd" down the stage to show off.


Beside him you see the female counterpart who tied him for first. She's doing the "looking good" version of the toga; Ralph had a different take since he not only cracked wise (the contestants interviewed prior to Ralph claimed spending a mere five or ten minutes on the toga... when asked Ralph cocked his head in mock seriousness and said, "Seven... seven or eight hours?") but he also pointed to his bare nipple during the clap-off to garner more applause.

Yeah, so. I didn't really marry an introvert or anything.

Labels: film, hilarity, Ralph, random

No men. No kids. Some beefcake movie and good food. PG-13 / R-rated conversation. You up for it?

Labels: film, friends, party animal

Ralph and I are working on a cooking video. Here are some excerpts from film production:

Me: "It should be obvious from the amount of soy sauce and sugar I'm using that these are not healthy. Um... I think? They're vegan."

Ralph: "The problem is not filming your boobs."

Nels (on hearing me say "chicken" on video): "Chicken?! I don't like chicken. They bite me!"

(That last has never happened. Ever.)

Labels: film, food, Nels, Ralph

I watched 300 last night. It was surprisingly non-compelling, albeit - of course - beautifully, beautifully done in many places. I was kind of benefitting less from the "beautifully done" aspect because the plot was like something a fifteen year old boy might write down on a napkin in a burger joint talking to his buddy:"OK, then they go here, but like, the queen? Back home, she has to try to convince the counsel to help, um, you know, support the king." and etc. I think the film probably could have spent a little more of its (what looks like considerable) budget making a storyline that had a tiny bit more interest.

I always notice the rating warnings prior to the film's opening. Sometimes it will say something like, "PG for mild peril" and sometimes something very oddly specific: "PG-13 for a written instance of adult language and a brief scene involving teen use of a moderately addictive substance". If I can remember, I will then look for the offending scene(s). 300 told me the film was "Rated R for graphic battle sequences throughout, some sexuality and nudity." OK, violence, sure - the film is about the battle of Thermopylae after all. And what's this? "Some sexuality and nudity"? What does that mean? I'll tell you what it doesn't mean. It doesn't mean guys. It doesn't mean they'll show a man's crotch, swinging in the wind or even getting out of the bath. Probably not even a man's backside and certainly, never, ever, a man's sexually excited member. So what does "some sexuality and nudity" mean?

Tits. It means tits. We'll see lots of 'em, or as many as a movie about an all-male battle can possibly find opportunity to do so. Tits in gossamer-thin togas, tits on running peasant girls, tits flopping around on gyrating concubine-whores (because you know those evil tyrant types bring their bitches along to battles), tits in dream sequences of men camped for battle.

I like breasts. They're awesome. Here's my problem: why are they treated the way they are? Why are they even seen as nudity these days - something "forbidden" or set aside for adult viewing, yet exploited in every possible way one could think of and in any venue we can bring them? Why are we so disrespectful of the female form yet slaver at any opportunity to bring it into view and pretend it is somehow illicit, wrong, sinful, intensely desirable yet somehow filthy? Standing in the grocery store line my children and I can daily view breasts oiled, bound, deformed, airbrushed, and set on the Versace platters of nubile startlets like a prime piece of butchery - they should put a little frond of parsley and lemon wedge as a broach. Oh look - we got so-and-so respectable TV character to wear a flimsy, wet undershirt and - tee hee! - splashed her with water, later Photoshopping the results to reveal just the right amount of areola! Yay for us! And then yes: now the public can call her a whore for giving up what we begged, cajoled her for, what she'd have to give up to meet her career aspirations.

I'm afraid my children are being raised in a world that employs very sick and sad values about the female body: an out-of-proportion reverence and the coin-flip dark desires to revenge ourselves upon it. Fortunately for me what could terrify or sicken me merely makes me feel merely sad and aware; I just wonder if in my lifetime we will evolve out of what is not merely a Judeo-Christian remnant of simultaneous worship and denigration, but seems a worldwide one that I try very hard no to lay the blame at the feet of men.

The movie delivered precisely the quantity and quality of nudity I expected. I got to see the bare outline of Gerard Butler's moonlit backside but not even in a way that would be termed "nudity". And speaking of, I was also surpsied to see not only did the Spartans fight in an efficient battle bikini bottom (with cape, helmet, and big-ass sheild) they apparently all treated themselved to a bikini wax before heading out on the campaign. Those Greeks and their pre-battle rituals.

Labels: film

Our mini-vacation has come and gone. Ralph and I had a great time; our friends Cyn, Paige, and Chris came (along with two guest dogs) and we just ate, swam (yes, Ralph got a water fight - with only one opponent though), cooked (me only), and did dishes (sadly, a necessary evil of that last thing).

Sophie ran and jumped off the dock, swimming back to the end of the pier. She did this four thousand times, but each one I had to watch her swim back to the dock because her swimming still looks spastic and unreliable. I tried to look casual, not as if my heart was in my throat. Nels did not like the water so much; he mostly stayed inside, sometimes stripping nude and eating chips. Both kids got stung - Sophie by a wasp, Nels by a bee. Sophie helped me make Ralph's birthday cake and suggested pink frosting.

The drive home was easy and our newly-stung boy fell asleep before we reached the end of the driveway (I watched him carefully; he had the tiniest bit of swelling on his finger and it went down within 12 hours). We capped the weekend with only a brief stop home before heading to see Ratatouille. Then home to mountain of towels and vacation laundry.

Labels: birthday, film, friends, Nels, Ralph, Sophie

Today while relying on public transportation I was let down. As in, an entire bus went missing and the kids and I stood waiting for about forty minutes. Forty minutes isn't that long but forty minutes is a long time when you're expecting a bus any minute. Forty minutes lost meant I dressed in workout clothes for naught; when we got to the Y there wasn't enough time for me to get my exercise in before Sophie had her lessons. By the way, she's swimming quite well and today told me she wants to be a swimming teacher "when [she] grow[s] up".

After lessons it was a walk back to the bus stop; unpleasant and muggy. Then to my parents' where I am feeling oddly uncomfortable, never knowing if I'm showing up too much for my sewing work (isn't it nice with FOO you get to guess how the feel about you?).

On the happier side, my family has discovered "Spongebob Squarepants" (rented on DVD) - finally. We held out for a long time before checking into it, as most kid cartoons really irritate me. But it turns out the hype is earned. It's a funny show, reminiscent in many ways of old school "Ren & Stimpy" but non-violent and not nearly as gross. Impressive!

Labels: film, FOO

Today my day started out like this:


This morning I'd looked forward to a half-day trip with my parents and my children to Olympia (hereon out called ORLY) [ that's good! ]. Instead I get an eleventh-hour bailout from my mom [ that's bad! ]. I mean, I don't want to get too personal or TMI but she basically had some sort of shitstorm going on that meant she couldn't be more than ten feet away from a commode. So suddenly I find myself with my mean ole dad and my son, and no Mom nor the pleasure of her company nor the gravy-train Visa card of hers for lunch, and no help wrangling The Boy, on my way to a more-than-half day errand which I have to run because my dad has fainting spells so it's not safe for him to drive himself.

I sure hope she had fun on that crapper this morning. Oh, and to be fair; she retained Sophie and took her to school and afterwards too.

Tonight I got a date I'd looked forward to; I went out with a girlfriend for dinner and a movie - dinner at Ocean Shores' Galaway Bay (a caesar salad and Fish Tail Ale for me), the movie Hot Fuzz. I laughed so damned hard during the entire protracted ending, which achieved levels of satire combined with heart in a way I had previously never seen. I would have re-watched the movie instantly afterwards and I can say I haven't really felt that urge before. I can't wait for Ralph to see it.

And speaking of Ralph - he sent me this article today (in part of his effort to write a Father's Day editorial, an idea he stole from a friend of mine). I have always loved Carolyn Hax and this is just more evidence. I almost got teared-up reading what she wrote. And yeah - "That's good!"

Labels: film, friends, gratitude, random, sahm

I really enjoyed taking tickets tonight for the 7th Street Theatre's* showing of Monty Python's Holy Grail; in doing so I briefly recalled Julia Sweeney's fascinating narrative on ticket-scamming her job to the tune of hundreds a night. I know if / when I work again as ticket agent this won't be happening for several reasons: one, I am not a thief; two, the theatre doesn't seem to make much more than a few of those hundreds gross per weekend; and three, it was fucking hard to do and I even messed up a bit! Yes, I had one of those embarrassing moments where someone gives me money and I'm in the middle of giving their change back and they suddenly push some more back at me and claim a confusing number of extra tickets they wanted. I know there is that whole "start over" possibility but there were ones and fives in the ticket booth in a pile and a press of customers waiting and finally I accepted the customer's word - not that he would be deliberately dishonest (in general, Little League coach-looking dudes in Grays Harbor aren't into grift) but I certainly didn't have my math brain there to help back him up.

Whoops. I did the best I could and documented my mess-up. My mistakes will result in the cash being higher than the book amount so at least I don't look like a goddamned criminal.

Ralph and I biked home - it was so fun to have a date, albeit a short one! - and upon arrival my mom, flushed with wine, told me a success story of spanking Nels after he threw something at the cat. It was a "success" because it bothered him and he cried and cried and felt remorse. Oh, if anyone wants to ask me, please don't spank my kid(s). They get enough terror at home.

* Wow! Who made that sharp-looking website?

Labels: bike, film, FOO,