Quote of the day...er...week...umm...hey, look, a quote!!

Tibi gratias agimus quod nihil fumas.

It says "...freedom of...", not "...freedom from...".

"It's amazing to me how many people think that voting to have the government give poor people money is compassion. Helping poor and suffering people is compassion. Voting for our government to use guns to give money to help poor and suffering people is immoral self-righteous bullying laziness. People need to be fed, medicated, educated, clothed, and sheltered, and if we're compassionate we'll help them, but you get no moral credit for forcing other people to do what you think is right. There is great joy in helping people, but no joy in doing it at gunpoint." - Penn Jillette







Monday, September 26, 2011

Petit

I haven't been writing much of anything lately. That's not going to change this week - I'm running worker registration for the Petit Le Mans all week, which means early mornings, late nights, a lot of cheerful grumpiness, and not much blogging.

If you're into racing, they broadcast bits of the Petit on ABC, ESPN, and ESPN2, as well (I think) as online. You won't see me, but if you look for the people in white on the corners, the ones with flags, radios, and who respond to incidents (there are no accidents at a race, only incidents), I'm related to some of 'em and know all of them by name, having worked that job for nearly 20 years before finally giving it up due to health and performance concerns (mine - they'd still have me out there if I'd consent to work turns again). Those are the folks I'm registering, making sure they get the passes they need to get where they have to go. I'll also be helping make sure they're fed and have drinks and maybe snacks during the week.

Sprout and the Evil Genius will be coming over in the afternoons to help me hold down the fort. It's Sprout's first venture into the racing world, and I hope she digs it as much as the Little Dude does.

Y'all have a good week, and let me know if you watch any of the racing.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

I Don't Blame Her

Lately, Sprout has taken to crying in the night. Sometimes an hour or so after I've put her down, and every hour or so after for a while. Sometimes she sleeps for a few hours and then starts the cycle. Sometimes she'll wake once and then sleep the rest of the night.

Waking is too strong a word, really. She doesn't actually wake up. Not all the way. Her eyes are usually closed, and she'll settle right down as soon as her Papa or I pick her up and rock her a little.

Now and then, she'll be sitting up when we go on to her, but still seemingly mostly asleep.

As soon as I pick her up, she snuggles in to my shoulder, sighs, and settles into deeper sleep. A minute or two of rocking and she'll go down again.

I have wondered why she's going through this half-waking. It could be she's cold, or hot, or the light and noise of a household that continues functioning long after she's a-bed bother her, or perhaps she's dreaming and learning how to process it all.

Sometimes I wonder if it's just that, even in her sleep, she needs to be reminded that she's loved, protected, and cherished. Maybe she just needs to be held a minute. Maybe she just wants that warm comfort.

Don't we all.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Yay, Big Brudder!

Hi there. Sprout, here. Big Brudder had a earache an' waked Mama up a bunch last night, so she's tired. I blog post!

I got two big brudders. I gots Big Big Brudder, who I never met yet and neither has Mama, he lives in Texas and is all growed up; an' I gots Little Big Brudder who I just call "Big Brudder" 'cause he is, an' he live with us here.

I love my big brudder.

He makes funny faces at me, an' pushes me inna grocery cart and makes me laugh. Inna car onna long trip, he tried to help me be a good girl an' not cry an' fuss, which is hard 'cause I don' like bein' innat travelin' chair for a long time 'cause I can't wriggle, an' I love to wriggle.

At home, Big Brudder will climb inna cage with me an' play. I like to watch him, and chase him around, 'specially when he is zooming cars, even though he don't never let me catch them. I like when he talks funny to me, too, an' sometimes we watch Phineas and Ferb togedder, an' that's good, too.

Sometimes Mama lets Big Brudder feed me. He likes to gimme a bottle, but he's not as good at it. Mama says it's 'cause he hasn't had practice.

Yesterday we went to the grocery store, an' Big Brudder pushed the cart and let me crunkle his face with my toes, even though sometimes he said my toenails were sharp and a couple times I kicked him by accident. When we was waitin' to check out, he danced and made silly faces and noises so I wouldn't cry, which was nice because I was tired of bein' inna travelin' seat and it was nap time but who can nap inna grocery store with all the lights an' noise an' big people sayin' I's cute an' stuff.

Last night, I didn' go to sleep very well, so Big Brudder hadda be quiet, which is hard for him 'cause usually Mama doesn't quiet the house for me to sleep. But Last night I was grumpy, an' woked up an' cried.

An' then Big Brudder woked Mama up a couple times, too, 'cause his ear hurted, an' Mama hadda get a warm cloth an' hold it o his ear an' I heard her say maybe we would have to go to the ER, which I don't what that is, or the doctor if we could wait until morning, an' she gived Big Brudder somethin' to make the ouchie go away an' he finally went to sleep, an' then it was time for me to wake up, so Mama's going to have a tired day but I hope Big Brudder is okay an' will come play with me some more, 'cause I love my Big Brudder, an' when he plays with me, I say "Yay, Big Brudder!" an' throw my arms up inna air an' smile.

Mama's comin' outta the kitchen, now - she made me a nice warm bottle 'cause it's a little cool in here an' I'm hungry an' maybe I'll be nice an' eat it all up an' then sleep on Mama 'til Big Brudder wakes up and comes out to play.

Bye!

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Vocabulary

kleptocracy
PRONUNCIATION: (klep-TOK-ruh-see)
MEANING: noun: A government by the corrupt in which rulers use their official positions for personal gain

So...yeah...

Monday, September 12, 2011

Soft He Creeps

Autumn began making his stealthy way across Summer's boundaries a few weeks ago. Barely there, he changed the light a little, casting shadows differently, gilding the edges of the evening.

Lately, he has gone deeper into the bones of the world, splaying chilly fingers out across the wide earth. Windows open, we let him into the house; here he scrubs clean the air even as he makes us shiver a little before the sun rises and sends him scurrying back to the cob-webby shadows in the corner to await shorter days, longer nights, and his time - the time between summer's passion and winter's cold shoulder.

Edging leaves with color in the night, he spends his days contemplating how he will paint the world during his brief span. His flamboyance is well known in Northern climes - people flock to see his spectacle, cluttering the highways with their cars and their litter, marring the very beauty they seek to witness.

Weary from his swift journey Southward, here in our part of the world he is more somber; his palette of vibrance spent, he switches to strokes of ochre, rust, and sienna spattered with occasional garnet and gold.

Of all the seasons, Autumn is the one I like best. I have endured the sweat-drenched heat of Summer, survived another season of stifling, breath-stealing days and dense, humid nights. I have endured the house holding in all the scents of people and animals, of cooking and waste, windows shut tight to hold in the paltry trickle of air conditioning and keep out the hard, stabbing rays of the bullying sun. Now, for a few days, a few weeks, for an all too brief span, I can throw open the windows, the doors, and let outdoors and indoors mingle freely. I can walk about the neighborhood and breathe a sigh of relief.

While some find this a season of darkness and depression, I find it freshening. I am alive in Autumn as in no other season. When he traces his fingers across the land and she shivers, I know just how she feels...

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Solace

I'm holding my sleeping daughter, playing a hidden-object game with my son. I'm feeling rather beige just now.

I didn't write a 9/11 post because why? Who cares what I was doing that day? I wasn't in a plane or one of the towers, anyway.

Plenty of beautiful, stirring posts have been written, if you want one. I don't have one in me.

My children are a comfort, which is one hell of a burden on them. I hope they'll forgive me.

How're y'all doing?

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Friday, September 9, 2011

Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam...

...Spamity Spam, wonderful Spaaaaaam...

Ahem.

We were out of town for Labor Day. Lots of fun, terrific drumming, wet pack-out, long drive, just now getting to the blog.

While I was away my Spambox (kind of like a boombox, but more Spammy) partied on without me. I returned home to discover that:

-My credit score is being updated - from abysmal to dismal.
-I can grow six inched bigger with an herbal supplement, which would make me 6', 4" and mean I would not need the chair to get the crock pot down, so I'm giving it some thought. Whadaya mean, they don't mean that kind of growth?
-I can make my penis harder for longer. Hmm...I have a penis? Won't Someone be surprised?!?
-A hitherto unknown relative of indeterminate gender in a country from which none of my ancestors hailed has died horribly and left me his/her fortune. All I have to do to collect is send my name, address, social, and bank account numbers to a Mr. Alphabet-Soup-for-a-Name and I'm rich! I'll get right on that...
-If I vote for a certain politician, all the world's ills will be cured, whereas if I vote for the other fellow, Fenris will swallow the sun and it's sackcloth and ashes all around...but no pressure or anything.
-The Popcorn Factory wants to be my BFF. Why else would they e-mail me so often??

Well...looks like I've got quit a a busy day ahead of me, huh?

What's your spambox doing?