Sep. 18th, 2009 03:20 pm
katekat: (Default)
to everyone who took my silly poll yesterday!  I managed to get laundry done, and get started on the first set of homework, and (as those of you who want to read it know) managed to get some notes for my lit reading done as well). 

And the house is clean!  Which is really quite good because Neil's parents are flying their way down here as we speak.  It's their annaversary, so they're coming to visit for a little vacation and to see our new digs.  Which, if I don't say myself, are looking pretty nice at the moment.  Two days of cleaning will do that to a house.

and let the random nattering commence )

I completely forgot to mention that my Mom's visit was a blast )
katekat: (Default)
I'm in a warm house, with football on the TV (this is not by my choice, but the BF is a fan, and it means I find other things to do than watch TV), my mom is on one side with a book about eastern religion, and my D is on the other with a book about graffiti artists.

The best kept secret of the house is that my mom, master of many talents, has cornered the market on breakfast for the WIN.  The first morning she was here she did a simple scramble with spinach, tomatoes and cheese, the second morning we did waffles and butcher's thick-cut bacon (the only way to go, as far as I'm concerned), and there were three perfectly (and I mean PERFECTLY) done fried eggs.  Buttery, seasoned to perfection (so much so that Neil didn't even object to the pepper the way he usually does). 

But this morning?

We got fresh potato pancakes, perfectly formed, crisped to a fantastic golden color on the outside and cheesy and warm on the inside, parmesian scrambled eggs done to a soft fluffy perfection, and the rest of the bacon.  

If only breakfast was this way every day.

Now, for your entertainment, linksies:

The Bush-Shoe Game (not for conservatives w/out a sense of humor)

I Made This. You Play This. We are enemies.  The best po-mo game I've ever played.  Don't expect to win.  Don't expect to understand.  Just ... play.

Uncontrollable Semantics.  From the same digital/web artist (Jason Nelson) it's just ... beautiful.  I spent almost half an hour going from word to work and playing with the patterns and un-patterns.  Rootshape is my FAVORITE word.

play!  enjoy!

I'm Back!

Dec. 20th, 2007 01:27 am
katekat: (faith - puppylv [ntm])
Oh dear gods!  That was, without a doubt, a crazy-bouncy-friezied I-drank-all-together-way-too-much-coffee trip!  (And by trip, I mean the lead up to finals and then the finals themselves and then the *actual trip* to Sacramento and then the 12-hour grading day and everything else)

But I'm back!  And now I have a mile long to-do-list of things I'd left undone (because, of course, school takes priority over dirty dishes... and clean laundry, most of the time).  Including buying presents.  Once again it's like 8 days till christmas and I haven't done a single piece of shopping.

There's also an outbreak of headcold in our house, so I'm zycamming my way out of being sick (hopefully) and trying to clean at the same time.  I have such a sexy life.

how i almost didn't have to take the japanese final )

why you should never write a paper in sacramento )

of christmas choirs, family gatherings, and ham )

the last twelve hour day )

Now, after all that, I'm FREEEEEEE!  I was up until 5 last night, reading, for fun, because I could.  And I woke up at 1 today, refreshed, relieved, and ready to do dishes.  Frightening what rest will do to me.

I'm going to actually try to go to bed here in a minute, because for some reason I woke up this morning thinking it was Tuesday and that my mom was pulling into town the day after tomorrow. Finally, at about 6 pm, everyone realized my insanity and let me know it's Wednesday, and so I'm picking her up at the airport tomorrow. And nothing but the kitchen counters are clean. Thank god she doesn't really mind mess.
katekat: (Me)
I have only thanks for you to leave with: thank you for being in this world, thank you for having a hand in the creation of a marvelous woman like Maija, thank you for living and loving as you did. It's been a long time since you were free, but I'm glad to have been able to know you and see you, to have been able to see the wonderful stamp you made on the lives of the people who loved you. It has been a pleasure and a privilege. I hope your next journey is as marvelous as you.
katekat: (emotion - Lovely (Buffy))
Actually, it's Orene. That's my mother's middle name too. And her mother's. Even though I don't think it's a particularly delicate name - it always seemed to convey a sense of sturdy practicality. It's a name you yell at the end of a hot and dusty day when you've been out working in the field. Midwestern to the core.

Or, at least, that's what I've always thought.

So today, on this holy day that we go around celebrating mommies, I kinda feel a little lucky, because I get two. I've got one moderately insane mommie, who happens to also have instilled in me most of the things I hold dear: morals, sense of self, love of books, ability to be good to people and to try and see the best in them. So I treasure her for that, even if she and I can't always figure out just who's mom and who's daughter in the relationship. This week was a good week, so she's not quitting her new job quite yet, not leaving for the Peace Corps next week, not quite yet. Instead she talked about getting more rainbows to hang up in her house, and what type of teas she's drinking. She is my herbalist, my mystical mommie, the one who shows me how the crystals worked and who demands I retain my sense of wonder through all this crazy cynicism out there. She gave me elves and art, gardens and sewing, crafts and crafty things, and is my one and only and forever mommie.

And then I've got my other mommie. I used to call her my stepmonster, because I'd heard it in a movie somewhere, and wanted to combine my utter terror of her as a child with this fondness I've developed for her over the years. She's great, because she's a bit of a hard ass, she brought her daughters up kicking and screaming and starting her own business, she taught me table manners by squishing my lips together so I woudln't eat with my mouth open, and now? Now we talk about religion and politics and movies and books (she's the one that got me reading Narnia and murder mysteries) and we share this overwhelming love for my father, even if he doesn't tell either of us that he loves us as often as he should. And we don't hold it against him. She sees true and clear and smart about everything, and she loves with a deep joy that I've only noticed in the past couple of years - something that we can both actually touch on, because she's been through enough therapy and has taught me how to say these things (and because my first mommie isn't shy about saying what's on your mind either). She is my sister-mom, and it makes me happy to have her in my life.

So, two mommies, two cards, two phone calls, and two women. I am blessed. I know it. So I wish all you people who have mommies a belated happy mothers day - and all you people who are mommies a belated happy mothers day, and everyone else, happy Sunday.

And instead of working, on this day of days, I puttered my behind off. So, click to see what random crap I did. (yes, there are some icons) )


May. 1st, 2005 09:42 pm
katekat: (emotion - Bruised (Giles))
don't want to work, don't want to learn, don't want to. It's the broken record of mantras, isn't it? I'm done before the semester's done. Lost my will to learn one more thing. Can't find it, don't want to find it. Would like to just take a night or two off and be done. Instead I find myself back in front of my computer, procrastinating, clicking 'refresh' on the flist and email, waiting for a decent distraction before I get back to work again.

Of course, distraction came in another form. My hysterical mother frantically, sobbingly, telling me that she can't do the job she just started a week ago, and she's sorry again that she's calling me to tell me so. I want to give her some of the strength she seems to have given me. )

No, I'm not my mother. No, I can't be her mother. No, nothing is perfect in the world. Isn't going to be, wasn't supposed to be, can't be.

The only constant is change.

Just wish... I just wish some things would truly change.
katekat: (emotion-bruised)
It's not as if she slurs. You'd think those slips of tongue would be the obvious signs. Those tell tales would be the ones that tip her hand. But she doesn't slur, and so that's not what tells me. It's some other sense, some daughter-bond that isn't ever supposed to be activated. Some painful awareness that tells me she's just a little too mercurial.

There was a reason I stopped calling at night. I'd just forgotten it. A reason I moved further away, let bonds of love hang loosely.

It twists my gut with anger, that bastard form of fear. Because I know the multitude of reasons. I've proffered the excuses, the forgive and forget reasons why. But ultimately no excuse is excuse enough to make my heart slow down, to keep my voice steady, to make it all alright.

She conflates me with herself, and I shudder at the vehemence in my voice, when I try to remind her that I am not her other self, not her second half, not her ... not her. I know I'm breaking something when I do that. When I draw her up short with my own certainty. It's guilt and shame and fear combined that makes me do it, and a desperate longing to be different, to be other, to be my own.

She calls me a writer and 'I'm a critic' is what I return. How can the fundamental me be so obvious and so obscured to her? The great American novel will never be mine. I'll never seek to wrest the great American soul into some definable shape, with words and wilted longings. It's not her domain either, but she thinks it is. How can she forget that what I love is the subtle weaving, the theory and practice, the walk on a tightrope between scorn and wonder? That's me.

And I set the phone down, the call made, the pit of my stomach churning, and wonder, who is she?
katekat: (Buffy-summertime)
Family means you don't really ever feel like they're gone. And when they're here, you don't really feel like you've ever left 'em. Maija and Ryan christened our new place with a true, no-holds-barred, open-the-closet-doors-and-peek-in, fill-the-fridge and blow-the diet visit. The only bad part is that they don't live here all the time. Although there's no way we'd survive with four people and one toilet. Especially ours.

We touristed and trooped, drank our drinks at five new bars and checked out the crazy-large Whole Foods twice. Trust me, it's really that big. We bought a new BBQ so we could Easter Sunday in true atheist style (ie: consume more meat than should be humanly possible and still end up with leftovers). I highly recommend trying buffalo if you get the chance.

We discovered that home-made mojito tastes better with a little less mint, but requires a good rum. We found out that the Easter bunny looks great being battered to the death in pinata form. We bubbled and giggled and shouted and farted our way around Austin, waiting for the right moment to spring the chorus of "deep in the heart of Texas" on the unsuspecting populous. We strang and re-strang backyard christmas lights, only to find that they were burned out. After a good laugh at that, we discovered that nothing is open in Texas on Easter Sunday, not even Target, so we cobbled together others that finally worked, and finished it all before we needed to light the grill. We discovered (once again) that Triumph, the Insult Comic, is pee-in your pants funny, and rediscovered Frighteners (a movie with a great mix of horror and startle, comedy and macabre, all wrapped up in a fabulous Michael J. Fox package).

They bought us housewarming gifts, the cutest monkeys, and made our two outside chairs into four. But beyond that, they made it feel like home - because they're our family and we wouldn't be us without some part of them in our hearts. They're out there now, probably flying home, and the glorious chaos of fitting four people into a two bedroom duplex will recede, leaving behind leftovers and funky smells, strange bath soaps and empty chairs. I can't wait for their particular individual and much beloved brands of goofy-ness and trouble to fly our way again.
katekat: (blood the last vampire)
I just got an email that I've received at least 10 times in the past 10 years. It's one of those cloying tender and gentle missives, reminding me to stay in touch with my girlfriends, my sisters, my family, because they will stick with me through thick and thin, they will support me and love me and remind me of the good times when times are bad. And, I'll admit, there are times when the sickeningly sweet idea goes down quite well (I do, after all, love me some sugar).

But this time, this time I just want to scream instead. Why? This is the only type of email I receive from my sister. This is the only type of communication I have with her. This is the only way she shows me she cares in my day to day life. No phone calls, no letters, no emails with text she wrote herself. Instead there's this bizarrely personal impersonal email telling me to value her and my other girlie friends because they'll be the ones who are true. And you know what I say to that?

Screw Impersonal. Screw forwards. Screw her little safe feeling that she's connecting with me. I tried at one point to write her actual emails, to say hi and check in, to call on the phone and just *be* present in her life. I didn't get shit back, except for more forwarded emails. If I wanted forwards I'd sign up for them.

Give me something, anything, resembling a real conversation, a real talk, a real connection. I'm closer to friends who live in AUSTRALIA than I am to my own sister. Make that plural, sisters. And sometimes, sometimes it just disgusts me.

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