I swear I did not set up this photo. I was trying to get the black Race for the Cure® sign into the shot, but I aimed too low. Little did I know I’d captured the unofficial race mascot peeking over my shoulder.
Full race report coming soon. Right now I really need a shower.
[tags]Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure®[/tags]
I woke up Wednesday morning to find my internet connection had flown the coop. Didn’t even leave a note, just took off. I spent about an hour fiddling with hardware and software, but all it got me was the quintessential why-I-hate-computers result: “There was an error connecting to the network.”
An error. What error? Could be a short in the power cord, could be gremlins. It could just not feel like connecting today. We’ll never tell.
This mystery outage was particularly irksome because for the first time in what feels like a dog’s age, I’m inspired to write about something other than my laundry room. And I have some cool pictures to post. I don’t have time for cryptic messages about “errors.”
Thursday morning I tried another tactic: sheer force of will. Coffee in hand, I sat hunched in front of the computer and glared at it. Meditated upon it. Psychically commanded it to do my bidding. It sat smirking silently, filing its nails.
Last night as I lay in bed, the events of the rather stressful day replayed themselves in my mind, crowding out sleep. Somehow amid all that useless yammering, a still, small voice managed to get a word in edgewise. “Unplug it.”
Needless to say, this morning I humbly obeyed and everything was hunky dory in about 35 seconds. I’m taking my still small voice out to lunch in gratitude.
Photo: Bird finds a seat, 06/14/07
Tardy Rib Eye Excuse #529: I’m sick. I get that way more often in allergy season, what with an overworked immune system and congestion that traps every virus within a one-mile radius.
It’s particularly annoying to be sick right now because the Race for the Cure is this Saturday. But I’m going to run it even if I have to bribe my way out of the ER to get there. (And by the way, if you haven’t yet donated, you still can. 
)
Mystery photo: it’s amazing what you can find in your house if you’re not careful. I honestly don’t know what this stuff is or what it’s for, but I know it’s imported from Kevinsylvania.
OK – so Martha Stewart I ain’t. This is how the other half lives. Sure, I’d love a 300-square-foot laundry room with a Victorian-era antique tub sitting prettily among my state-of-the-art washer and dryer (not that I’d have to use them myself, of course), as well as a separate two-story garden house where my herbs drip-dry peacefully in the golden sun filtering through the windows….
But I don’t want to do time for them, so I’ll settle for a utility/laundry room so small, the door misses the washer by an eighth of an inch when it opens. When the hot water in the sink is turned on and the door is closed – instant sauna. Hey, yet another function for this highly versatile room! I’m installing wood benches tomorrow!
Photo: Uppity utility/laundry/sauna room, 06/12/07 7:00 pm
Photo: “Lucifer,” acrylic on canvas, by Diana Wells, 06/10/07 9:35 pm,
You say that like it’s a bad thing.
Photo: Neighbor’s witch weather vane, 06/08/07 7:30 p.m.
No picture again yesterday – Excuse #3: Bob Barker’s final taping of “The Price Is Right” had me all lost in time.
When I was a kid, I visited my Grandmother pretty regularly on weekends and summers.
We’d go to the knitting supply store she owned in her little teeny tiny town. While Grandma minded the shop, I would crochet one long chain that would stretch from the counter out the door, and she would tell me it was beautiful.
In later years, we’d go to the library where she volunteered. I would spend the time copying Peanuts cartoon characters, and Grandma would pretend to believe me when I told her they weren’t traced.
Grandma would make me fudge that was so good, I would eat, be sick, and not care.
At night, we’d eat our home-cooked dinner on TV trays and watch “The Price Is Right.”
I haven’t watched that show for years but the sight of Bob’s smiling face and his microphone with the old-fashioned cord brought back all that unconditional love.
This photo of my Grandmother was not taken yesterday, but it’s my blog and I’ll cheat if I want to. It was taken in Denmark at a cousin’s wedding in 2004. I am really hoping that I inherited whatever genes she has that make her look so good at 80-something.
Grandma lives in Nebraska now, and I am too old to be shipped off to relatives by my parents every summer. She has email, but it’s just not the same. Grandma, I miss you.
[tags]The Price Is Right, Bob Barker[/tags]
My office is in a building across the street from one of Seattle’s landmarks, the King Street Station. When this structure was built in 1904 to 1906, it was the Tallest Building In Seattle. It lost that title in 1914 to the Smith Tower, which you can see just behind it on the right.
Coincidentally, in this photo you can also see the current Tallest building, the Columbia Center Tower, which is the the black monolith on the far right. At 967 feet and 76 floors, it claimed the title of Tallest in 1985. (Personally, I think it’s also the Creepiest in Seattle; it sways like a tree during wind storms.)
For an almost exact copy of this image, check out the King Street Station’s page in Wikipedia. I guess the photographer and I park in the same garage.
[tags]Seattle, historic landmarks[/tags]
Pasta puttanesca is one of my all-time favorite dishes which pleases Kevin because he knows the recipe by heart. This perfect combo of tomatoes, olives, capers, garlic, and anchovies does have rather, uh, unsavory origins. As this foodie explains:
The first interpretation is that the intense aroma, (harking back to the “stinking” Latin definition), would lure men from the street into the local house of ill repute. Thus, the Napolese harlots were characterized as the sirens of the culinary world. Three additional accounts all hinge on the fact that Puttanesca sauce is easy and quick to make. The first is that the prostitutes made it for themselves to keep the interruption of their business to a minimum. The second is that they made it for the men awaiting their turn at the brothel. And the final version is that it was a favorite of married women who wished to limit their time in the kitchen so that they may visit their paramour.
Or if you are Rachael Ray, you can be demure and succinct at the same time: “It comes from the Italian for ‘fast and easy.’”
Or if you are Uppity, you can say, “Pass the stinking pasta sauce, you white male oppressor!”
[tags]Italian food, puttanesca[/tags]