not-so-false idols

I dream of blogging like this. So brilliant. I *love* her.

late as usual

Didn’t everybody else do this days ago?

My pirate name is:
Mad Mary Bonney

Every pirate is a little bit crazy. You, though, are more than just a little bit. You can be a little bit unpredictable, but a pirate’s life is far from full of certainties, so that fits in pretty well. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from
part of the network

many days you have lingered around my cabin door

Today is good.

I got to work with CHO-girl at school. Yay! Just like old times.

My folks from Teh Internets were everywhere. In my email. On my blog. Everywhere. Yay. My folks IRL were everywhere, too. At my school. In my house. On my street. Fab.

Sophie was her usual charming self and delightedly told me to read a sad but beautiful passage from a novel she’d just finished.

And there was wine with the kids from New Orleans.

And there was dinner with the girls from New York.

And there were crazy Chinese herbs, listed here, for your edification:

  • hoelen/ fu ling
  • licorice/ gan cao
  • astragalus (processed)/ zhi huang qi
  • atractylodes (white, cooked)/ chao bai zhu
  • tahn-kuei/dang gui
  • cortex moutan/mu dan pi
  • codonopsis/ dang shen
  • white peony root/ sheng bai shao
  • rehmannia (cooked)/ shu di huang

And then there was sleeping and great joy.

Oh, hard times come again no more.

cd 3

Oh yeah!

I almost forgot!
Today is the International Day of Peace. Yay! Peace!

Since we are sooo ahead of the game at my school, we celebrated it… yesterday! Ok, really, it’s because that’s how it was on the school calendar, and who am I to argue with the school calendar? No Body, that’s who.

Anyway. It is the very early and tender beginning part of the year for toddlers, and so our version of the Day o’ Peace is somewhat modified. The primary classes light a candle at the given hour, pass it from child to child (it’s all very safe, quit calling Social Services), and have various discussions about peace. I think. I’ve never seen it because, as I said, it is a very tender and early point in the school year for my toddlers and, well, if I leave the room they cry. Anyway, our school had a lovely picture in the paper of children carefully passing the candle around a few years back (like 12) and we still milk the crap out of that picture. It’s in every piece of promotional propaganda we’ve got.

Since I can’t link to the over-used old newspaper photo, I’ll give you a couple pictures from the toddler version from last year. (I don’t have pictures from this year, because I was so busy Being Peaceful, I forgot my camera.)

First, I make a big to-do about how fire is hot, and the matches are “my work.” Only after we go over this a million times, do I light the candle and get to the goods, which is me saying, “Today is Peace Day. When you look at our peace candle, you can say, ‘Peace’.” And all (ok, a few) of them say “Peace.” And some of them look at me like I am crazy. I get that a lot this time of year.

Then I show them the Peace Crane, and say, “You can hold the Peace Crane and then pass it to your friend. You can look at your friend’s eyes and say ‘peace’.” Insert some version “the candle is *my* work/ the candle is *hot*” in there wherever you see fit, ‘cuz you know I was.

See, they actually do it.
And no burns.
Don’t forget to add your blog to One Million Blogs for Peace, if you haven’t already.

Happy International Peace Day!


Sophie announced to me and her mother, quite randomly, that she wanted “a MySp@ce.” Read all the pre-teen attitude and psuedo-angst into those quotes you want. Poor kid, she got a no from both of us, immediately and with no qualifications. She wheedled and cajoled to the best of her ability (which works well with some of the adults in her life, but not with me, nor with her mother – we are a strong and united front), and gained no ground from either of us, but did get a crash course on how weird and dicey the internet can be. Plus, more noes (is that right for the plural of no?). The agony. Oh, wait….

****** there is some man walking through my neighborhood, singing to himself, something about, “give peace a chance, and see what happens, bum, bum, bum…..” not the John Lennon version, but something entirely of his own making – fabulous*****

Anyway. I really think it is clear she’s not old enough to navigate an adult social/hook-up network by herself because she’s still naive enough to think that she should ask her mother and me. I guess this is good, the keeping open of the lines of communication, but really, I think if she were savvy enough to pull off registering on her own, she’d be savvy enough to tell the difference between people who want to be her friend and people who want to be her “friend,” or at least savvy enough not to tell these “friends” too much about herself.

But back to the plot, or lack thereof. So I told her I’d see if I could find any teen social networks for her and we let it all go at that. And I did, but she didn’t mention it again. Until today, when she asked me what year she would have been born in if she was 13 now. As background, when we set up her now-defunct h0tmail account, we faked her birth date, so she’d be old enough to join. So I opened my mouth to prompt her to do the math herself, and then thought to ask what she wanted to fake her birthday for. Nothing, she said. Uh-huh. So I told her she was on her own to figure it out and went back to the comics page (I am a *very* attentive caregiver). I reminded her a little later that I had, as promised, found some teen versions of MySp@ce, and showed her the link to one that I cannot remember the name of the save my life. Whatever it was, she jumped on it. Jumped in an I-don’t-really-care-about-this-tweener way. (Lord) Which means that she set herself up an account and fussed around with it for the better part of an hour. She even showed me her avatar.

Score! Puesdo-angsty pre-teen – 1! Me – 1! We’re all winners chez Starrhill!


I’m still using my Quilt of Summer™ – a very light down comforter in a too small European-style duvet cover. It’s the exact size of the area of my bed and is great for summer because it does not cover me fully. When you have no AC, it is crucial not to be fully covered. Especially crucial not to have one’s feet covered – this is somehow related to the old “wear a hat to keep your whole self warm” thing. Anyway, my feet are footloose and fancy free with the Quilt of Summer™ and that is a fine thing in a Virginia summer.

So I woke up to temp this morning (or rather the whiney cat woke me up), and it was low, low, low – 97.3ºF low. Not below the coverline, because there isn’t one this cycle, since I hand-set the ovulation day on old FF, but also not high enough to my mind at 5 am. I wrote this off to having slept with the Quilt of Summer™ – leaving my feet exposed – even though it is no long summer sleeping weather and let it go at that. (Really it is time to put old QS™ down for it’s long winter’s nap. But I am loath to let go of summer.) But then, just now, I looked at my chart over-lay, and damn, those falling curves of past failed cycles look awfully similar to the curve made by this morning’s drop.

Better luck next time, right? Right. This was really and truly the last of the “good” cycles, the well timed cycles. A pregnancy that starts next month will put me back at work next school year with a 6 week old baby. Fuck. That is not enough time. Not enough.

So unless I get a nice bounce back in temps tomorrow, I think I am out this round. Fuck.

CD 28, 12 dpo.