Oh how a week flies by when you have nothing to write about. To be fair to myself, it hasn’t really been a week; I resurrected my blog last Friday and I write this on Wednesday so the auto-post feature can kick in sometime around 12:01 Thursday morning. So let me begin again . . .
Oh how five days fly by when you have nothing to write about.
While I say nothing, it is not as if my life has been a complete blank, it’s simply that I’m not sure I want to bore the world with my semi-tame, semi-drama-filled life. I could blather on about my current job search or about the general depressiveness I’ve acquired having watched a Chicago White Sox take the first All Star game loss for the American League in over a decade. I could wow the world with the ooh-so-interesting (“Well, I’d hope so, because I’m laying it on pretty thick.” Five bonus points to the person who can name the movie, actor and what he (and I) had been spreading so deliciously thick. If I remember correctly . . . no, I don’t . . . I’ll have to read through my old blogs to see who the current points leader is.) . . . ooh-so-interesting tale of . . . . of . . . shucks, my tangent derailed me. ‘Twold hav ben wurth it if tha last few sen-tan-ces had dun made any cense. (to be re-read aloud with a slow country twang.)
Ahem . . . I mean . . .
When this blog was last in style, my little girl had just been pulled out of the oven, needed 18 more days of baking in the NICU, and had possibly already followed us home. Then news of her ceased; it was, to the outsider, as if she had simply dropped off the face of the Earth. Well, I’m here to tell you, she hasn’t. Gravity has kept her safe and she has been living rather quietly, no, loudly, well, let me put this as delicately as I can . . . my little girl is not her big brother!!
We’ve all heard it, “Oh, my second child wasn’t anything like my first. They had such different personalities right from the start.” I was not sure I believed it, but apparently it is quite often true.
Before I dig myself into too big a hole, not that I intend to stop digging but rather to kind of slope the sides, making my escape a little less perilous, I would like to point out that I have two very amazing and super-good kids. They both do well in public, they enjoy meeting new people and their general personalities are relaxed and happy. But as I had warned myself while raising an infant Andrew, he was such an insanely easy going child that a second child couldn’t help but be seen as a troublemaker!
Now calling Annaliese a troublemaker may be taking it a little too far, but she is definitely different. While Andrew’s biggest (and perhaps only real) challenge was cleaning up all the food that thought the esophagus was open to two way traffic, Annaliese has been . . . the little guy sitting besides me (no, not Andrew, this guy’s invisible) just told me to stop rambling and start giving examples.
Since the day she came home, Annaliese has yet to hold still. If she is awake, she is moving! With ‘The Boy,’ you could wrap your arm around him like a seatbelt and he would settle in for hours on end. Not Anna. Ooh no. She wants to move, to have her own freedom. But contrasting this independent spirit, she all too often requires attention be lavished upon her. She can be sitting in her saucer, queen of the world, when Daddy stands up to walk out of the room. Instantly, she reverts from Queen back to spoiled princess, demanding proper attention be again paid tribute to her. Often, it is quite enough to stand besides her, smiling. Other times the only payment she will accept is to be picked up and held. Of course, the now held child promptly demands the freedom of movement she so deserves.
Despite the minor downside of actually having to work while raising this second child (honestly, infant Andrew really was that easy!), I still find myself fondly attached to ‘The Girl.’ What she denies me in time spent asleep on my chest, she more than makes up for by joyfully climbing and bouncing on me as I attempt to hold her on my lap. She smiles and laughs, she army crawls around the house attempting to sate her infinite curiosity. And I, thanks to the briefly aforementioned job search, have a front row seat as my big-little girl grows up. Not a bad gig if you can get it!
By the by, paragraph three doesn’t really make any sense to me either. And I know the movie I was quoting . . . at least the “Blog Alarm” on my phone worked!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
“The End is Near: A New Beginning” by Mike Hofner
It’s been way too long since I last sat down at my computer and attempted to create some conglomeration of words that best expressed what I was thinking . . . . who am I kidding, I’m usually not thinking . . . well, perhaps I go too far. Me thinks I always think.
There is always some oddity that is rambling about my tiny brain; a replay and/or revision of the past, some anticipation of that which is yet to come or some impossibility that will never be. Every once in a while over my 8 month (we shall call it a) sabbatical, my thoughts have turned to my long abandoned blog, but the desire to write has always been met with an equally strong desire to be apathetic.
But not today!
Today, I set a recurring alarm in the calendar of my phone. Every Thursday at noon, a blog is due. And as of this moment, I expect to meet my self inflicted deadline each and every week until the calendar on my phone ends . . . December 31, 2030!!!
Alas, our doom is at hand; the world will end on December 31, 2030 because that’s when my calendar ends . . . unless of course it’s already ended some time next year when the Mayan calendar ends . . . I suspect both may be wrong.
Here I sit half a page later and I have yet to broach the subject that my mulling mind meditated mediating manic motion on my mbehalf . . . The Boy!!!
For (here I will insert the number of days, if I can find the spreadsheet I made that calculates a person’s age in days – until then, we’ll just say most of three years – I found it) 1,019 days, I have awaited with undue anticipation that single event which most parents abhor. I have endured hours of torment answering every repetition of the question, “What’s that?” “A restaurant, it’s called Denny’s.” “What’s that?” “It’s called Ace Hardware, they sell tools.” “Tools!? What’s that?”
While I endured for long months, my torture has been lessened of late. He would often pause between queries to exclaim, “Daddy! Mommy, Andrew and Anna went there! We went to movie place! . . . What’s that?”
But it was not until yesterday that my o’er long desire was finally brought to fruition. Andrew came home from daycare and I gave him some direction to do something or such and such. Then out of the blue, it finally came.
“Why?”
With the pride that I’d been saving up for these long years, I pushed down the first response that came to my head (more on that later) and answered his question in unbridled detail.
I’m sure that every parent and most of the rest of you can make a guess at my initial reaction, “Because I said so!” But I have long been determined to not go that route. I feel that it is an easy out for one who doesn’t have the creativity or patience to outlast a three-year olds inquisitions. But not I, I have patience and creativity in spades.
So for the last 17 hours, I have answered the question “Why?” about forty times, each time with an answer that I think is befitting a child’s query. While I am not above requesting that the youthful investigation be put off until a later time (“Andrew, Daddy’s busy and can’t answer you right now.”) I am determined to avoid the parent’s ultimate cop out for as long as I can, or at least until my calendar says the world will end.
There is always some oddity that is rambling about my tiny brain; a replay and/or revision of the past, some anticipation of that which is yet to come or some impossibility that will never be. Every once in a while over my 8 month (we shall call it a) sabbatical, my thoughts have turned to my long abandoned blog, but the desire to write has always been met with an equally strong desire to be apathetic.
But not today!
Today, I set a recurring alarm in the calendar of my phone. Every Thursday at noon, a blog is due. And as of this moment, I expect to meet my self inflicted deadline each and every week until the calendar on my phone ends . . . December 31, 2030!!!
Alas, our doom is at hand; the world will end on December 31, 2030 because that’s when my calendar ends . . . unless of course it’s already ended some time next year when the Mayan calendar ends . . . I suspect both may be wrong.
Here I sit half a page later and I have yet to broach the subject that my mulling mind meditated mediating manic motion on my mbehalf . . . The Boy!!!
For (here I will insert the number of days, if I can find the spreadsheet I made that calculates a person’s age in days – until then, we’ll just say most of three years – I found it) 1,019 days, I have awaited with undue anticipation that single event which most parents abhor. I have endured hours of torment answering every repetition of the question, “What’s that?” “A restaurant, it’s called Denny’s.” “What’s that?” “It’s called Ace Hardware, they sell tools.” “Tools!? What’s that?”
While I endured for long months, my torture has been lessened of late. He would often pause between queries to exclaim, “Daddy! Mommy, Andrew and Anna went there! We went to movie place! . . . What’s that?”
But it was not until yesterday that my o’er long desire was finally brought to fruition. Andrew came home from daycare and I gave him some direction to do something or such and such. Then out of the blue, it finally came.
“Why?”
With the pride that I’d been saving up for these long years, I pushed down the first response that came to my head (more on that later) and answered his question in unbridled detail.
I’m sure that every parent and most of the rest of you can make a guess at my initial reaction, “Because I said so!” But I have long been determined to not go that route. I feel that it is an easy out for one who doesn’t have the creativity or patience to outlast a three-year olds inquisitions. But not I, I have patience and creativity in spades.
So for the last 17 hours, I have answered the question “Why?” about forty times, each time with an answer that I think is befitting a child’s query. While I am not above requesting that the youthful investigation be put off until a later time (“Andrew, Daddy’s busy and can’t answer you right now.”) I am determined to avoid the parent’s ultimate cop out for as long as I can, or at least until my calendar says the world will end.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Twenty-two Days Later
Apparently it has been 22 days since I last blogged. If I’ve been in a coma, nobody bothered to tell me about it.
Actually, trying to write something good and entertaining every day had begun to drag on me. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy writing, I seem to enjoy it very much, but rather that the habit of forcing myself into a daily hour-long solitude for the writing process kind of backed up my system and my brain came to a stand still.
And then I received a call from my mother. More accurately, I missed a call from her and when I called her back, she presented me with a question. “Why aren’t you blogging any more?” I could hear the angst in her voice, the quiver of pain that laced every word. It was as though I, her own son, had abandoned her in lieu of other worldly pleasures. What was a good son to do?
While that answer may vary from son to son, I am quite obviously now sitting in my study racking my brain for some verse worthy of my mother’s attention and love.
You would think that with a 22 day hiatus, I would be ‘fair teeming’ with ideas, yet over that span of days, I have had very few coherent thoughts and even less worthy of public consumption. I have previously stated that I have little desire for my blog to become a daily collection of my childrens’ achievements, wonders and blunders; I would much rather pepper in some completely random thoughts and ideas that occasionally bombard my fragile psyche. That being said, I have a few achievements, wonders and blunders to share with the world.
In the last week and a half, our little boy, who is currently talking in bed rather than sleeping, has developed an independent side. While he has always shown the fine quality of being able to act upon his own whims, instead of those of his parents, he has now developed a stubbornness for self sufficiency. This first manifested itself in the car. One day while buckling him into his seat, he inflexibly demanded, “I do it myself!” While Daddy has no problem lending him the more than occasional liberty, there are some times when haste is a virtue, one almost exclusively absent in a two year old. His reaction to my ‘No, sorry buddy, Daddy’s going to do it this time,’ has ranged from silent cooperation to full-blown tantrums. Fortunately for me, I really don’t care if he always gets his way and in fact occasionally go out of my way to make sure he doesn’t! I figure that he has to learn sometimes that what he wants will not always to be served to him on some sort of silver platter.
Please disregard the previous two sentences . . .
Please correct the three following sentences for grammar and spelling . . .
Me other child, the gyrl, be growing steadily. She be more then twice her weight original was. Her vary kute!
Please correct the author’s general mental state . . .
See, that’s exactly what I was writing about. While I did not check at which time I began this blog, my wandering words hint that I must be once again pushing the hour mark. I believe what would be best for me and my (ahem) loyal readers is some sort of agreement where I need not force myself to spew forth synaptic garbage on a daily basis, but rather allow myself to simply breathe for days at a time, that most enjoyable habit being occasionally broken by thoughts passing through my fingertips. I guess, then, that your end of the bargain would be to occasionally check back here (or on Facebook) to see if anything remotely interesting has been posted. (Does anybody know how the ‘Follow this Blog’ feature works? Does it notify your email when I post? Randy? Anybody??)
Some time ago, I passed the bottom of page one and began page two. This is usually the sign that my words have carried themselves too far for the average American attention span and that I should either wrap everything up, or at least end with some form of punctuation.
Today I will end with a bonus question:
Five points to anybody who can name the movie from which my paragraph five quote, ‘fair teeming’ is from.
Fifteen points to anyone who can name the book from which the quote was originally taken and thirty five points to the rare soul who can name the character for whom the line was originally intended (as the movie gave it to another character).
Actually, trying to write something good and entertaining every day had begun to drag on me. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy writing, I seem to enjoy it very much, but rather that the habit of forcing myself into a daily hour-long solitude for the writing process kind of backed up my system and my brain came to a stand still.
And then I received a call from my mother. More accurately, I missed a call from her and when I called her back, she presented me with a question. “Why aren’t you blogging any more?” I could hear the angst in her voice, the quiver of pain that laced every word. It was as though I, her own son, had abandoned her in lieu of other worldly pleasures. What was a good son to do?
While that answer may vary from son to son, I am quite obviously now sitting in my study racking my brain for some verse worthy of my mother’s attention and love.
You would think that with a 22 day hiatus, I would be ‘fair teeming’ with ideas, yet over that span of days, I have had very few coherent thoughts and even less worthy of public consumption. I have previously stated that I have little desire for my blog to become a daily collection of my childrens’ achievements, wonders and blunders; I would much rather pepper in some completely random thoughts and ideas that occasionally bombard my fragile psyche. That being said, I have a few achievements, wonders and blunders to share with the world.
In the last week and a half, our little boy, who is currently talking in bed rather than sleeping, has developed an independent side. While he has always shown the fine quality of being able to act upon his own whims, instead of those of his parents, he has now developed a stubbornness for self sufficiency. This first manifested itself in the car. One day while buckling him into his seat, he inflexibly demanded, “I do it myself!” While Daddy has no problem lending him the more than occasional liberty, there are some times when haste is a virtue, one almost exclusively absent in a two year old. His reaction to my ‘No, sorry buddy, Daddy’s going to do it this time,’ has ranged from silent cooperation to full-blown tantrums. Fortunately for me, I really don’t care if he always gets his way and in fact occasionally go out of my way to make sure he doesn’t! I figure that he has to learn sometimes that what he wants will not always to be served to him on some sort of silver platter.
Please disregard the previous two sentences . . .
Please correct the three following sentences for grammar and spelling . . .
Me other child, the gyrl, be growing steadily. She be more then twice her weight original was. Her vary kute!
Please correct the author’s general mental state . . .
See, that’s exactly what I was writing about. While I did not check at which time I began this blog, my wandering words hint that I must be once again pushing the hour mark. I believe what would be best for me and my (ahem) loyal readers is some sort of agreement where I need not force myself to spew forth synaptic garbage on a daily basis, but rather allow myself to simply breathe for days at a time, that most enjoyable habit being occasionally broken by thoughts passing through my fingertips. I guess, then, that your end of the bargain would be to occasionally check back here (or on Facebook) to see if anything remotely interesting has been posted. (Does anybody know how the ‘Follow this Blog’ feature works? Does it notify your email when I post? Randy? Anybody??)
Some time ago, I passed the bottom of page one and began page two. This is usually the sign that my words have carried themselves too far for the average American attention span and that I should either wrap everything up, or at least end with some form of punctuation.
Today I will end with a bonus question:
Five points to anybody who can name the movie from which my paragraph five quote, ‘fair teeming’ is from.
Fifteen points to anyone who can name the book from which the quote was originally taken and thirty five points to the rare soul who can name the character for whom the line was originally intended (as the movie gave it to another character).
Proof Positive: I Have Too Much Free Time
Mike's Hand-Made Chainmail Shirt
aproximately 10,000+ rings
weighs about 12 pounds
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Cars
After numerous attempts to find the Pixar movie at the local rental shop, I finally came across an unrented copy of Cars. Mollie and I had long suspected that Andrew might really enjoy this movie and finding it was the final piece in the evening I was planning.
I picked Andrew up from daycare and we headed off to our first stop, Aldi. On the way there, I told him what we were looking for, tomato sauce and biscuits. The biscuits were for a future meal and the tomato sauce was for tonight; Andrew and I were going to make pizza.
After a quick stop at County Market, as our pop corn kernel supply had run its course, we were home and began the baking process. Andrew so loves to help dump things into the bowl that it is often difficult to keep his hands off until the scoop is ready. He helped mix the batter, prepare the sauce, knead the dough, flatten the crust, spread the sauce and load up the toppings. He helped put a few Canadian bacon slices on the pizza, then added some pepperoni by placing each small circle directly on top of a slice of Canadian bacon. Daddy filled in the gaps, completely covering the pizza with pepperoni. By the end, my main difficulty was keeping him from eating the toppings right off the pizza.
The pizza went in the oven and Andrew played with his animal matching magnets on the fridge. Twenty-some minutes later, we were all sitting on the couch enjoying the pizza and watching Cars.
Andrew did enjoy the movie, though well past half way through, his attention began to wane. I tried putting him to bed once, at which he cried, but he eventually stopped and politely asked to sit on the couch again. How could I resist? As the movie drew to a close, our hero racing towards the Piston Cup, there was a spectacular wreck behind him, sending ‘The King’ flipping over and over through the infield. Andrew, with a whimper in his two-year old voice cried out, “Blue car fall down. Daddy, blue car fall down.” I could hear the pain and worry in his voice and quickly reassured him that the blue car was alright, but he wasn’t convinced. Our hero stopped short of the finish line, stricken by the very event that had my son so worried. Lightning turned around and drove back to the ‘blue car,’ pushing him across the finish line. “See, the red car is helping the blue car,” I told Andrew. Seemingly convinced, Andrew watched the rest of the movie in relative peace.
Morning came, as expected, and Andrew’s voice echoed through the baby monitor beside our bed. He was asking for his blanket. I went downstairs, hoping that his covers would buy me a few more minutes of sleep, but it was to no avail. He refused his covers, only allowing Elmo to be wrapped in blankets. With him still in his bed, I laid down on the guest bed. Andrew, now fully awake, began to talk. “Daddy, blue car okay!”
I’m not quite sure my story has a moral, but I once again find myself amazed by my son. At his young age, he is able to empathize with another ‘being,’ be it only an animated car. Yet it brings to mind images of a much younger Andrew crying out in angst when something he perceived as bad happened to his mother or me. At the least, I am sure that images from the movie stuck with him throughout the night and he found solace in my reassurance that the blue car was okay.
Andrew found his ticket to the bed-free world by asking to “Watch Cars.” We got up and turned the TV on, while Mollie and Anna came down stairs. I resigned to my study to share these thoughts while the other three members of my family relaxed in the living room. I have long ceased to be surprised when Andrew remembers some event from the day before, a week ago or even months past, but am yet amazed by the feat. A few paragraphs in to my blog, I was interrupted by my wife. She was relaying the wishes of my eldest, “Daddy, Andrew wants pizza.”
I picked Andrew up from daycare and we headed off to our first stop, Aldi. On the way there, I told him what we were looking for, tomato sauce and biscuits. The biscuits were for a future meal and the tomato sauce was for tonight; Andrew and I were going to make pizza.
After a quick stop at County Market, as our pop corn kernel supply had run its course, we were home and began the baking process. Andrew so loves to help dump things into the bowl that it is often difficult to keep his hands off until the scoop is ready. He helped mix the batter, prepare the sauce, knead the dough, flatten the crust, spread the sauce and load up the toppings. He helped put a few Canadian bacon slices on the pizza, then added some pepperoni by placing each small circle directly on top of a slice of Canadian bacon. Daddy filled in the gaps, completely covering the pizza with pepperoni. By the end, my main difficulty was keeping him from eating the toppings right off the pizza.
The pizza went in the oven and Andrew played with his animal matching magnets on the fridge. Twenty-some minutes later, we were all sitting on the couch enjoying the pizza and watching Cars.
Andrew did enjoy the movie, though well past half way through, his attention began to wane. I tried putting him to bed once, at which he cried, but he eventually stopped and politely asked to sit on the couch again. How could I resist? As the movie drew to a close, our hero racing towards the Piston Cup, there was a spectacular wreck behind him, sending ‘The King’ flipping over and over through the infield. Andrew, with a whimper in his two-year old voice cried out, “Blue car fall down. Daddy, blue car fall down.” I could hear the pain and worry in his voice and quickly reassured him that the blue car was alright, but he wasn’t convinced. Our hero stopped short of the finish line, stricken by the very event that had my son so worried. Lightning turned around and drove back to the ‘blue car,’ pushing him across the finish line. “See, the red car is helping the blue car,” I told Andrew. Seemingly convinced, Andrew watched the rest of the movie in relative peace.
Morning came, as expected, and Andrew’s voice echoed through the baby monitor beside our bed. He was asking for his blanket. I went downstairs, hoping that his covers would buy me a few more minutes of sleep, but it was to no avail. He refused his covers, only allowing Elmo to be wrapped in blankets. With him still in his bed, I laid down on the guest bed. Andrew, now fully awake, began to talk. “Daddy, blue car okay!”
I’m not quite sure my story has a moral, but I once again find myself amazed by my son. At his young age, he is able to empathize with another ‘being,’ be it only an animated car. Yet it brings to mind images of a much younger Andrew crying out in angst when something he perceived as bad happened to his mother or me. At the least, I am sure that images from the movie stuck with him throughout the night and he found solace in my reassurance that the blue car was okay.
Andrew found his ticket to the bed-free world by asking to “Watch Cars.” We got up and turned the TV on, while Mollie and Anna came down stairs. I resigned to my study to share these thoughts while the other three members of my family relaxed in the living room. I have long ceased to be surprised when Andrew remembers some event from the day before, a week ago or even months past, but am yet amazed by the feat. A few paragraphs in to my blog, I was interrupted by my wife. She was relaying the wishes of my eldest, “Daddy, Andrew wants pizza.”
Monday, October 26, 2009
Hodge-Podge
After a week of writing reprieve, I expected to find myself brimming with ideas to share with the world. While I am not left disappointed, I am lacking any one major topic to pick out of my brain and peck onto my keyboard. Instead, I have a few topics which have had their shoe laces untied for quite some time.
First and foremost, I finished my chain mail! A few locals have seen it, as I have been bringing it to impromptu show-and-tells everywhere I go. I took it to school to show it off and ended up wearing it for most of the morning, as I had discussions with each class about the history of armor and how to make it. I briefly donned it in St. Louis after a church service, which brings me to my second mini-topic.
Mollie and I spent the weekend visiting friends in St. Louis. She met up with two friends from Cedar Rapids (yes, I know it is weird to go to St. L to see people from CR . . .) while Andrew and I visited some friends from the Zoo. Taking him to the zoo is always fun, but this time was a little stressful. Perhaps it is because I was trying to take a few pictures, perhaps it is because I didn’t put him on his monkey-backpack-leash. Perhaps it is because we walked around for half an hour trying to find the giraffes. We followed the signs in circles, never passing an empty habitat, but the directions to the giraffes kept running out. I even looked at a map and found nothing but ostriches where the giraffes should have been. I would have just forgotten about them, but Andrew had specifically asked to see them! How could I let him down? Finally, I remembered that the Giraffes lived with the Ostriches and that they had likely been moved inside to warmer climes.
Perhaps the best part of that day was the time spent right after parking the car. We found a spot near the fountain in Forest Park and took some time to climb the hill and take some pictures. Which brings me to my third mini-topic . . .
I have had two or three people ask for pictures of ‘The Girl.’ I had intended to spend my morning sorting through what I’ve taken and posting them to Photobucket, but it seems I haven’t downloaded any new pictures off my camera, which is inconveniently in Mollie’s car. So I can give you nothing but the promise of a future posting of pictures, perhaps Wednesday when I am home once more. (There are so many pictures I need to share, pictures of Annaliese, of my chain mail, of Andrew’s weekend adventures and perhaps even a lone picture of my final mini-topic.,)
Me thinks it is time for breakfast . . . which brings me to my final thought of the day. (As it is only 9:21, I am likely to have another thought throughout the day, but none are likely to be of any interest to the outside world.)
I received a medium sized box via the USPS the other day. They had received it from the Canadian post office, who received it post marked Toronto, ON. I had previously received a package from Toronto, an autographed photo from Frank Thomas, but this was much larger and much less flat. Picking up the box, it sent forth a rattling noise with every turn. Does anyone remember what I was expecting, what candy I had overpaid to receive? (see the second half of this post.) It was my Tart n Tinys, perhaps the World’s last existing stash of my favorite candy! I have since eaten one box. The candies are showing visual markings of their age, years of sitting unfettered seems to have bled their colors together in small spots, but their taste is still pristine.
There you have it, a hodge-podge of loose ends, all tied up in a neat little package. Okay, it may be neither neat nor little, but at least it is tied up. So I leave you all and set off in search of my next topic. What will I write about tomorrow? Sweet muse please visit soon.
First and foremost, I finished my chain mail! A few locals have seen it, as I have been bringing it to impromptu show-and-tells everywhere I go. I took it to school to show it off and ended up wearing it for most of the morning, as I had discussions with each class about the history of armor and how to make it. I briefly donned it in St. Louis after a church service, which brings me to my second mini-topic.
Mollie and I spent the weekend visiting friends in St. Louis. She met up with two friends from Cedar Rapids (yes, I know it is weird to go to St. L to see people from CR . . .) while Andrew and I visited some friends from the Zoo. Taking him to the zoo is always fun, but this time was a little stressful. Perhaps it is because I was trying to take a few pictures, perhaps it is because I didn’t put him on his monkey-backpack-leash. Perhaps it is because we walked around for half an hour trying to find the giraffes. We followed the signs in circles, never passing an empty habitat, but the directions to the giraffes kept running out. I even looked at a map and found nothing but ostriches where the giraffes should have been. I would have just forgotten about them, but Andrew had specifically asked to see them! How could I let him down? Finally, I remembered that the Giraffes lived with the Ostriches and that they had likely been moved inside to warmer climes.
Perhaps the best part of that day was the time spent right after parking the car. We found a spot near the fountain in Forest Park and took some time to climb the hill and take some pictures. Which brings me to my third mini-topic . . .
I have had two or three people ask for pictures of ‘The Girl.’ I had intended to spend my morning sorting through what I’ve taken and posting them to Photobucket, but it seems I haven’t downloaded any new pictures off my camera, which is inconveniently in Mollie’s car. So I can give you nothing but the promise of a future posting of pictures, perhaps Wednesday when I am home once more. (There are so many pictures I need to share, pictures of Annaliese, of my chain mail, of Andrew’s weekend adventures and perhaps even a lone picture of my final mini-topic.,)
Me thinks it is time for breakfast . . . which brings me to my final thought of the day. (As it is only 9:21, I am likely to have another thought throughout the day, but none are likely to be of any interest to the outside world.)
I received a medium sized box via the USPS the other day. They had received it from the Canadian post office, who received it post marked Toronto, ON. I had previously received a package from Toronto, an autographed photo from Frank Thomas, but this was much larger and much less flat. Picking up the box, it sent forth a rattling noise with every turn. Does anyone remember what I was expecting, what candy I had overpaid to receive? (see the second half of this post.) It was my Tart n Tinys, perhaps the World’s last existing stash of my favorite candy! I have since eaten one box. The candies are showing visual markings of their age, years of sitting unfettered seems to have bled their colors together in small spots, but their taste is still pristine.
There you have it, a hodge-podge of loose ends, all tied up in a neat little package. Okay, it may be neither neat nor little, but at least it is tied up. So I leave you all and set off in search of my next topic. What will I write about tomorrow? Sweet muse please visit soon.
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