Still Futzing with the Template

Can you tell? Probably not, unless you're refreshing frequently. Or were hovering over ByJane about 6:30 this morning. But that would be 9:30 East coast time, so maybe you were. Or maybe I'm delusional.

Yes, I got out of bed in what is to me the wee small hours to futz with my template. I cannot help myself. It makes me feel like I'm achieving things. It gives me a purpose in life, a something to do NOW, IMMEDIATELY. Because I know that the reason my stats are so puny is that my blog is more than relatively unattractive. It has nothing to do with what or when I post, I'm sure of that, because my words--they're always pearls, right? So I'm convinced that there is a blog design that will suddenly--hail all and eureka!--cause the heavens to part and the multitudes to reign (or is that rain?) down on ByJane. Complete with winning comments.

Yeah.

Right.

Oh yes, you wanted to see my hair. Okay:Here I am shorn.

And off I go, to futz again.

Night Sky Facing West, Elk Grove

I suppose all West-facing skies are gorgeous. I can't imagine that it's just the ones I see from my backyard. One after another, they are glorious and I've taken shot after shot of them. I don't get tired of looking at the pictures and I don't get tired of looking at the reality. If there is nothing else that says to me this world is bigger than my life, then these West-facing skies do the job. This one is another shot just from outside my backdoor. With my crummy camera. Would it be any more glorious if I was working with something good?

The next two are also West-facing, but I took them down the street a bit at the railroad tracks. Can you see the train going by?

Come All You People Now, Smile on Your Brother...

A Story in Several Parts, not to be sung:

1. Not so long ago in a town far away...no, make that: a long long time ago in a town not very near, I was a young bride. Not so much a blushing bride because this was post Sexual Revolution, or at least the start of it, so when I married to my college sweetheart, I was neither technically nor actually a virgin. However, I was a Nice Jewish Girl who aspired to matching Garland sweaters, A-line skirts and circle pins. I married an actor, an English actor,and post wedding, we hied to England so he could go to drama school.

2. The actor, a fine and handsome young man as you can see, was admitted to that bastion of British Acting, The Central School of Speech & Drama (known also as the Central School of Screech & Trauma). I, as befitted a young wife of that time, worked as a secretary. All of you post-feminists should know that back then EVEN WITH A DEGREE IN PHILOSOPHY, secretarial positions were the zenith of one's expectations, unless one was a teacher, which I refused to be (a story for another time). So, by day my hunky husband lounged about the halls of Central, mixing with all manner of other hunky people. And I toiled on Great Titchfield Street, typing the inanities of Mr. Platt, Vice President of Foreign Operations for Associated Dry Goods.

3. Was I a happy camper? Noooooooooo. But it is beyond the scope of this simple blog post to elaborate and enumerate all of the reasons why. Suffice to say, I was dependent on my mate for ALL of my social needs. Fortunately for me, people seemed to like him (he was quite hunky).

4. One of the people in his year at Central was Dave Clark, of the Dave Clark Five. You know, that Dave Clark Five. Not the Beatles, certainly, but the DC5 was hot shit to some. Dave was seeing the wrong side of his career as a teen heart throb, so he enrolled at Central (one presumes he did not have to audition) to try and get up to speed on an acting career. And Dave, Dave really liked my hunky husband. Consequently, I, that is we, spent an amazing amount of time with Dave and his posse. Ah, the stories I could tell....

5. This particular album photo was actually the cover for a single the DC5 put out sometime in the '70s. "Love One Another" was the song, and Dave thought it would be a cool idea if all you people was actually his friends from Central. We traipsed off to a recording studio somewhere and for an entire evening sang over and over and over again

"C'mon you people now,
Smile on your brother,
Everybody get together,
Try to love one another
Right now...."

over and over and over again. Dave and Mike Smith and the others of the DC5 did the verses. We were the chorus, and while we were singing our blessed little hearts out, someone was taking photos. Did I know that we were going to be featured on the cover? No, I did not. I had come straight from work and that outfit I'm wearing? It's a sweet doubleknit suit, pleated white skirt and navy jacket. My hair? It's up in a secretarial top knot; you could probably find a pencil in there if you looked hard enough.
6. When I look at this photo, I think what a fish out of water I was. All those drama students and me, the secretary. But you can tell that I sang away for all I was worth, and as I recall, a fine time was had by all. I think we even made an appearance on Top of the Pops, so the DC5 could promote the record. For that, I was dressed more appropriately, but I don't have a photo (and I don't remember what I wore), so you'll have to take my word for it.

Remembering The '70s...

I was actually more of a Beatles fan, but you see that girl in the front with the white skirt? That's me.

Is this a story I have to tell?

Vote YES on Prop 2

I was going to write a well-reasoned, journalistically sound, philosophically adept (and adroit), not to mention incredibly convincing post about why everyone in California should do as I'm doing: Voting Yes On Proposition 2.

However, to do so would require that I carefully consider the opposition's point of view. This I cannot do. I know what they're saying; it just pisses me off so much that I tend to start flailing about and screeching obscenities.

Okay, let me see if I can calm down a tad. But first, an illustration:
Proposition 2 is the "standards for confining farm animals" initiative. It's basic tenet is that cows raised for veal, egg-laying hens and pregnant pigs be kept in cages that allow them to lie down, stand up, fully extend their limbs and turn around freely. That means that right now, these animals are being kept in cages that restrict their movements.

Like that pig above, the one with a bunch of piglets feeding at her. Here, have another look:See those bars. Their purpose is to stop the sow from standing up. Because she might step on one of her wiggly little piglets. And that would be very bad for the economy, because that piglet is MONEY IN THE BANK FOR THE PIG FARMER. Not to mention cheaper bacon and pork chops in the stomachs of American consumers. When I queried the UC Davis vet techs at the State Fair where I took these photos, they seemed quite proud of this contraption. Before someone came up with this pig prison cell, you have no idea how many wiggly piglets were lost to mommy-stomping.

I am voting YES on Prop 2 because I am absolutely certain that our humanity, and therefore our success as a nation, is tied to the way we treat animals. The connection between violence to animals and violence to humans is well-established. We're understanding that where our family pets are involved, but farm animals? Nope. Why bother about some dumb animals. Dumb doesn't mean stupid here; that phrase is using the archaic word for inability to speak. Those pigs can't cry or complain. Animals can't communicate in our language so we feel quite comfortable in doing with them as we wish. Until recently we did the same to human infants. Since they were pre-verbal and thus assumed to be without memory, we performed surgery on them without anesthetic. Now we know better. The inability to communicate in spoken language does not equal the inability to think, to feel, to need, to want.

Okay, now I'm going to be calm and speak to the opposition's arguments: I can't. They have everything to do with food production and food prices and California's egg industry. Frankly, my dear, I give a shit about any of that. I'm far more concerned with the production of our morality, of working to recreate an America that is not the font of corrupt capitalism (hello, Wall Street..hi there, sub-prime mortgages).

There is no question that this election is a watershed one for us as a nation. We have the chance to return to being a people of hope and promise, to be the country the Founders imagined when they saw this land as the City on the Hill. Vote to give us back our humanity.
Do it for this pregnant pig.

Happy Halloween 2008

We have waited for this day. Our costumes are ready.

The Devil Dog waits for the leetle children to come trick or treating.

Instead, this is the day that the rains came down...

and we are left with this

...to deal with on our own. Not the Devil Dog, because chocolate is poison to dogs....but the Witch. She will have to deal with the detritus of Halloween 2008. Now.

Feeble Friday

Not what you were thinking, right? Especially you over there with the potty mouth, Miss MerlotMom.

Today is Feeble because--well, because I say so. And I'm the boss of me, and therefore of this site, and therefore of you, should you be one of the three people still reading it.

I'm TARED. TARED as in, my dog kept waking me up this morning. Not to go out. No, Madam Molly the Cast Iron Bladder Dog never has to go out first thing in the morning or last thing at night. What she does insist on is a belly scratch or rub or both preferably, two-handed if you please. And if you're not doing it just right or in the perfect place? She kicks. Like a baby having a mini-temper tantrum. Not hard. Not painful. Just enough to WAKE ME UP. Again. And again. And again.

Currently she is snoozing, curled up with her body on the carpet (yes, the stained carpet of several posts ago) and her head on the tile floor. Soft body; cool head. Dogs are perfect examples to humans of how to go about getting what you need in life. Just go get it. And if you can't, curl up and snooze.

I am so tempted to go take a photo of Molly to illustrate this post, but I'M TARED. So lookee at this one instead.

Carpet Cleaners and me, ByJane

As anyone who has ever lived with me can tell you, I'm not much for the cleaning of floors. When one roommate complained about it (I believe there were some aspersions made about my femininity), I told him that I simply had trained myself to not look below my ankles. This is true.

It is also true that when I had to select floor coverings for my brand-new, now worth(much)less house, I selected some surface that resembles the stone of ancient Jerusalem. Not that I've ever been there to actually see it, but I was at the Getty Museum in LA shortly before I made my flooring choice and I believe their sliced-deep-from-the-earth-stoneware is what influenced me. I had that tile or whatever it is put into almost every room in the house. It is an excellent floorcovering, able to go whole months without seeing the swipe of a Swiffer.

But then there are the bedrooms and office. They alone are carpeted, because the builder convinced me that no one could possibly want faux stone floors in their bedrooms. I did, but I caved, and thus these rooms are covered now in a mewling, puking beige carpet. It did not take long for said carpet to become stained with mewl and puke, among other things. I offer for your appraisal the following evidence:

This is the result of Molly throwing up in my office. I cleaned it with some carpet cleaner when it happened, but Molly's puke is mighty.

This is the result of an unfortunate accident with Bare Minerals Blush in "Lovely". It too has been the beneficiary of a carpet cleaner.

And this, I'm not sure what this is. I think maybe I stepped on a grape...several times, over several days.

I was resigned to my stains until recently when I was given the opportunity by MomCentral.com to Try A New Product. The FedEx man brought a box in which there was a quantity of blue excelsior, making me feel like I was getting a present,and underneath that, I unearthed this

Spot Shot is, according to the promo material that came with it, a New! NON-TOXIC Instant Stain & Odor Eliminator. Yeah, right. They sent it with a little carpet cleaning kit; that's it in the foreground. Swab on some of their bottled chocolate sauce, spray on Spot Shot, blot and voila! Chocolate stain a mere memory. Yeah, right again. Of course it worked; they set the stage and provided the props. But on my stains? My been-there-god-knows-how-long stains? My already-been-given-the-carpet-stain-remover-treatment stains? I don't think so.

But this stuff is made by WD-40 and they've already desqueaked all my doors, so I felt I must give it a try. Here are the results:

The Molly Puke

The Bare Minerals Blush

The squished grape.

This stuff works. In fact, it's obvious I need to clean the whole carpet with it, not just the individual stains. But that, alas, would be too much work for one who has trained herself to not look below her ankles. Still, I can give it a heartfelt recommendation. For those of you are green and zealous about your carpets--and I know you're out there; some of you have even been my best friends--Spot Shot is non-toxic, certified biodegradable and safe for use around child and pets. I give it the ByJane No-Housekeeping Seal of Approval.

As I Walked Out In The Streets of Laredo...

I am not the most productive person in the best of times. I seem to need stretches of time in which to get things done. And then of course sometimes I never do--get them done, I mean. But today was a complete washout, even for me. On my agenda: Pay bills. This is my most hated task. I don't know why. I used to think it had to do with never having enough money and that once I was solvent, I would pay them with aplomb. That has not been the case. So I must every month (or so) gird my loins, as it were, and write checks. Today was that day. Except--

This morning Molly and I went for our usual morning traipse around the neighborhood and half way through, that is one baggie down, Molly was accosted by another curly white dog. I didn't see where the dog came from; I only saw it standing at attention in the middle of the street, woofing away at Molly. She, of course, went into her who are you pose (the precursor to the I am in love pose), standing stock still and almost pointing as if she were a bird dog flushing out prey. I am not calm. There is a dog standing the middle of the street, at almost the same spot where one was killed last month. Somehow, and truthfully I can't remember, I got the little white dog onto the sidewalk with us.

I hate finding lost dogs. I feel absolutely and completely responsible for them, but I have no confidence in my ability to deal with them. Sometimes they scare me, and sometimes that seems warranted. But this one, this one I picked up and tucked it under my arm and walked right home with it. Frankly, it seemed quite happy to have me do that, and when I put it down at the front door, it just trotted after Molly into the house.

And then the fun began. They sniffed and woofed and ran circles around each other. They ate lunch--nicely--and then lay down at my feet and went to sleep. Meanwhile, I called Animal Control, answered a lost dog ad in the paper, posted a found dog ad on line and emailed a friend who works for the SPCA. My gut said not to let the dog go into The System, and my friend concurred.

It was obvious that I would keep the dog if I couldn't find the owner. Already I was thinking of names: Mamie? too close to Molly. Gwen? possibly. But first I would try to find where the dog lived. It was well groomed, so obviously came from A Good Home. It had a nice collar, but no tags. I decided to put it on a leash and walk it 'round the neighborhood and see if anything struck a chord with it. Twenty minutes later and that dog had sniffed at every pile of poop, even spot of pee for three blocks around. I was giving it its head, so where it wanted to go, I just followed. There wasn't anything different about one house that it stopped at, except that after sniffing away, it plopped itself down and stretched out to rest. I thought that was interesting enough to ring the doorbell--

Sugar is now back with her family. I glad and sorry. It was such a kick to have the two dogs here. I've often wondered if I should get another dog for Molly. I thought Sugar might have been the one.

Heirloom tomato sandwich with bread baked ByJane

Heirloom tomato sandwich with bread baked ByJane
Originally uploaded by ByJane

I was going to sell my old bread maker, but first I had to see if it worked. And it does. And I ate the whole loaf in less than twenty four hours. So I won't be selling it. But I won't be making bread with it very often either. Obviously, I am not to be trusted around homemade carbs.

BlogHer'08: MidLifeBloggers' A Room of Your Own

To be honest, I tried not to think about what the Room of Your Own (ROYO) might turn out to be. I'm too much a child of the '60 and '70s, when we knew (and this was pre-Oprah) that what you visualize, you will actualize to even chance a negative vibe. However, in that corner of my mind where I didn't want to go was a glimpse of me and maybe one or two other loyal friends, sitting in a meeting room, trying not to notice that we were the only ones there. Consequently, I did very little prep for the event, which is why, if you were there, it was less than well-organized. I had the swag I had brought with me

but I just tossed it on the tables anywhichway so that no one, god forbid, should think that I cared. And I had the MidLifeBloggers Giveaway prize in all its orange glory, but I never stopped to figure out what the contest actually was or how I'd give it away. I really did think that I'd end up handing it to Merlot Mom or Average Jane as the three of us shuffled our lonely way out of the empty room.

My refusal to visualize must have worked because, in fact, the Room Of Your Own was pretty nigh full. Too many, I think, to do the "go around the room and introduce yourself" which is always a good way to get a group going. The ROYO only went from 1:30 - 2:10 and we might still be there (!). So I talked (yes, can you actually imagine that), and gave a brief history of the genesis of MidLifeBloggers, explained the overwhelming orange (which is easier to do if one can wave one's hands a lot), and that this site lives and breathes by its members. My question to everyone there (and to those who weren't) was: What do you want MidLifeBloggers to be for you.

Here are some of the points that were made, in no particular order:

• We are about inclusion. If you identify as being midlife, whatever that means to you, then you're one of us!
• Some of us love tech stuff; some don't, but wish they felt more at ease with it.
• Most of the posts are and will be written by MidLifeBloggers. I will be writing more about this, the how to's, later in the week.

Of course there was more said...but if I didn't prepare to say it, do you think I prepared to remember it? I took no notes and I was amped on adrenalin so you're lucky I even remembered to take these:

I can see in the photos that some people were taking notes, so maybe they'll comment and fill in the gaps gaping holes in my recitation.

And who won the MidLifeBloggers Giveaway? I don't know. I thrust it in the arms of someone as she left the room. Maybe the Mystery Midlifer will identify herself soon and tell us what she got....

Cross-posted from MidLifeBloggers.com

Iron Chef Sacto-style

Chef Yossi Ben Dayan, Head Teaching Chef at Hadassah College's Culinary School in Jerusalem, made a whirlwind tour of the West Coast. I was there! I prepped for him. Molly was there. She supervised him (look to the right side of the cooking table). Tomorrow I will report on this exciting event with RECIPES!!!!!

I Need A Wife--or a Keeper...

I wasn't going to blog tonight. What follows is my desk area. Not bad, eh? Not great, but do-able. Scroll down a bit.....

This is the view of my desk from the door to my office. Disordered, yes. In the midst of a massive rearrange and cleanup, which SEEMS TO BE GOING ON FOREVER! Moreover (I love that word), moreover, scroll down a little further.


This is what I see when I'm sitting at my desk. Utter chaos. Not at all the thing for the sort of rumination that produces read-worthy blog posts. Thus and therefore, I was
not going to blog tonight because I can't think in all this chaos. And the chaos won't be resolved until I resolve it. No brownie is going to come in while I sleep and clean this mess up. Neither will a mother arrive to tidy it all. There's no one but me to do the job and this, I do believe, is what it really means to be a grownup!

Nobody Goes Where My Rosemary Grows....

Addendum and so on...

Point, the First: I sashayed through a local AT&T store to see what they're offering and promising. The guy there (what does one call them these days: clerk? salesman? cell service facilitator?) on hearing where I lived informed me in no uncertain terms that the only cell phone service who actually had service to my area is--AT&T. Actually I believed him, which only made me more pissed off with SPRINT for having strung me along for all this time. Stupid stupid stupid--they got some money from me, and in return garnered a huge amount of ill will. I Shall Not Forget....
Point Two: Twitter is terrific for live blogging a conversation. I watched the Oscars tonight with Neilochka, KarlErickson, Schmutzie, and Suebob--and we were all in different cities, if not states, if not countries.
Number Three: This is the Habu Wool/Stainless Steel yarn. The colors are sort of off: the blue is inkier and the beige is not so gray. It's very, very, VERY fine. Habu sells it as a kit to make a cardigan of sorts, but I don't have enough for that, I don't think. So maybe I'll make a scarf. Or maybe I'll just admire it for a while.

Sundown plus Four

This was taken on February 7, 2008 at 5:51 p.m.

This was taken four minutes later at 5:55 p.m. One difference in lighting is, I think, that the outside spot came on when I went out to take the second shot. That's why there's so much light on the fence. Not so nice and dramatic, but what I'm really interested in is the sky.

Roses For Sale...Love To Buy

The scene at my local supermarket was unbelievable tonight. The aisles were jampacked at 6:15 with men lined up to buy identical bouquets of long-stemmed red roses. Complete with tissue, baby's breath, and a fern or two. At the supermarket. Just down from the meat and across the aisle from the lettuce.

This is romance? This is love? This is necessary?

Hi, honey, I'm home...I love you...here's your roses....what's for dinner?

I don't get this holiday at all. Never did, not even in my most absurdly in love moments. The only time I really remember enjoying Valentine's Day was in grade school when I got to make the classroom box that all our Valentines would go in. I was the diva of crepe paper then and created the most fantastic orgies of hearts and ruffles and shiny stuff and more ruffles, all very tasteful, mind you, but still over-the-top. But the actual exchanging of cards? That seemed a chore to me. All those little cards to sign my name to. All those weeny envelopes to lick. It was obvious to me even back then that the holiday really had no meaning. It wasn't even a proper popularity contest, because we had to send a Valentine to everyone in the class.

The whole idea of Valentine's Day seems such an artificial construct to me. And the expectations that are loaded into it--well, they're just plain scary. I'd hate to be a guy on February 14th--talk about performance pressure...

But I'm not a guy, and I do love you--so here are some roses I picked. I grew them myself, and they smell real purty. Happy Valentine's Day.

And so, Good Night....

It's another one of those late night postings, so you know you're going to get dribbles and drabbles of not much. How is it that I always have so much to say during the day, but at night, eh! it all seems a little too much trouble. ZZzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzZ z z z z zzzzzzzzzzzz zZZZZZ

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Portrait of a Damp Dog

The weather in Elk Grove has been awful. I know it's winter, people, but this is California: it's not supposed to be this cold and this wet. Poor, poor Molly, the poodle who hates the rain. The Bichon who has a poodle coat that kinks in wet weather. The Bichon Froodle who believes rain is a personal affront to her integrity. How miserable can one doggie look? Multiply that by a power of five to get a whiff of how she smells. Wet dog, now that's a treat in one's bed....

News Flash: A Knitting Project that I'm LLOOVVVIINNNG

Finally--At Last--Thank God it's happened. I haven't been this excited since...since...well, use your imagination. I started a knitting project tonight and I not only don't hate it, I LOVE IT!!! This is so rare that I can't tell you the last time it happened--probably way before the last time that happened.

You've seen the yarn when I wrote about my lust for sock yarn and my loathing for knitting socks But here, I'll show it to you again:

I've been searching for something knittable that wasn't (a) socks, and (b) knit on 1s or 2s. And I found it. In the Special Issue of Knitscene (I just loves me Interweave Knits and company--they publish the most fantastic craft magazines). It's the Phiaro Scarf by Katie Himmelberg



and it is so incredible perfect for me because it looks like lace but it's not knit as lace. It's a tube done in mindless stockingette on circulars and then at the end somehow you drop stitches and it looks like the picture. Yes, it will...except mine will be '70s tie dye, rather than '08 chic mauve.

I'm doing it on size 5 Addis lace needles with those lovely pointy points, and the yarn, which is Superwash Alpaca Sock Yarn is a dream to knit with. I cannot tell you how excited I am. I am joyful, joyful, joyful--and I just had to share the good news!