Kittylove Makes the World Go Round

One of the greatest love affairs I've ever witnessed is between my husband and his cat.

Tigernan, or Nombly, or Nomble-boms, was brought into our lives by my old roommate Delyriam. She agreed to *temporarily take care of him* (he was homeless) but we both knew that was a laugh.

I remember first meeting him--I opened the door to Delyriam's bedroom and there was this stripey guy curled up in her laundry basket. Well of course I loved him, cause I love all cats. His name was Tiger--how original--so Delyriam and I renamed him Tigernan, after the Irish pirate. But that was often shortened to Noms, and then Nombly, and now he'll answer to either. Nombly suit him somehow... cause he's all sweet and kind and cuddly.

I was dating Fernando at the time, and when he and Nombly met it was love at first time. As two children with Sketchy Pasts (Fernando was from a foster home, Nombly from the streets) they were soul mates. They're both worriers, and they turn to each other when they need shelter from a threat-filled world.

Whenever Fernando comes home Nombly just wants to be held by him; and when Fernando has a Nombly in his arms, you can see on his face that maybe the world is not such a bad place after all.

[I took this photo 5 minutes ago when I turned my head and saw this major cuddling session going on. The other pics are from the archives.]

The Story of Me: In Bookmarks

When my brother cleaned out the back of a closet before moving, he found a box that must have been my stuff stored in the Parental Basement, which accidentally made its way into his hands.

I threw out everything in it except this:

The date on the back says 1983, when I was 10 years old. Clearly Chewbacca should be added to two lists:

(1) My heroes. I always remember Yoda, but who was my hero long before Yoda? The tall furry one. Chewbacca, or--as I heard in a French translation once--Chico-ba. (Must be his pimp name.) Of course, I now know that Chewie and Yoda are old war buddies.

(2) My vegan influences. My animal-loving tendencies must have even trumped my feminist tendencies because it took me a long time to get over Leia calling Chewie a "walking carpet."

Sadly, I don't have one of these (though I do have a zebra backpack named Chappie.)

and the nets go on

I once said to my bro that the problem with the internets, as a pastime, is that it's open-ended. If you pick up a book to read, you're given an *out* every chapter, and if questions occur to you as you read (Where was Dickens born anyway? What does this word mean exactly? I need to see a map of this area.) you won't usually follow up on them, because you want to get on with the story, and it's too much bother.

Maybe if you have a gazillion cable channels, TV can be similar to the nets--or with the increasing abilities to choose when to view something. But otherwise, TV has built in limits. You don't control the programming.

But the nets just goes onnnn and onnnn and onnnn.

I've been researching for my book, but I'm loathe to turn on my laptop to check out a fact, or read up on someone. Because I know I'll check my email, and my dad will forward me an article that pisses me off, and not only do I need to respond but I have to back myself up with info, so the googling begins, but googling always leads to more googling because side stories catch my eye, etc.

I don't consider it a waste of time--I learn lots--but it's maybe a Misdirection of time. I need one of those child protectors that stops you from going to certain sites.

Out! damn spot

I have a spot on the palm of my hand that is itchy. It's been itchy for, I think, years, but only intermittently. So I don't really think about it, and haven't looked for patterns as to what causes it.

There's no physical sign of it either, my palm looks normal. (Well now it's red because I'm scratching it with my nice long nails.)

Weird. There are more things in heaven and earth than dreamt of in dermatology, I tell ya.

My apple walnut pudding is smiling at me! The cheek!

My Lovely Day (in pictures)

Actually got out the house today. The lovely Ms. Midnightstreet and Vidal took Fernando and I out to 1001 Pots (quite generous when you consider the price of gas.) It's a huge ceramics exhibit out in the Laurentians, that's taken place for the last 20 summers. I went with them once before and enjoyed seeing all the lovely creations. (I love pottery, but when shopping in Artisan Land you have to raise your threshold on what you consider a Reasonable Price.)


Here are two shots from the web site. Hard to give an idea of the scope--there's just plate after vase after salt shaker after mug.


Here Vidal models my blue vase.
And Midnightstreet poses before the Créations Li. Wai-Yant Li is a very talented ceramics artist we used to work with in Bookland, who is now eeking out an ACTUAL LIVING at making her delightful pots and things. We love the chubby happiness of her little people.
It was not hard to locate Fernando--not because of the red umbrella acting as sunshade (my genius idea), but because he was, of course, watching a pottery demo.

I was in the market to replace the Lovely Plastic Weight Watchers mug (I've never even been to WW--what the!) that holds my utensils, but as my kitchen is very plain and ugly (gray cupboards!) I wanted something colourful. So I bought one non-WY piece...

I guess I'll replace the Baseball Hall of Fame knife mug next year. (Though at least it's not plastic.)

Last time I went to Pots I bought the little tea set in the upper right corner (also pictured below, from WY's web site.) And last summer I bought the only thing I could afford, a wee tea bag stand which I use all the time (bottom.)

This is what my bowl looks like--I will smile while I eat my Weetabix.
And here is the creative artiste herself, caught in a difficult training-wheel-three-way-turn.
While I love the smiley faces, Fernando preferred her little city scapes, and chose the mug and... gravy bowl? Pouring bowl? Whatever.
Well, I quite like the little people too.

The pouring bowl has many features which I assume Fernando liked. 1. The interior design.

2. The cool indent on the side that makes for a handle.

3. The little ridgies. Very interesting.

Afterwards Fernando and I stoppped off at Dorval for a spot of supper, and now he's off Having Adventures downtown. When I got off the bus My Loverly Library beckoned so, ceramics stuffed under arm, thither went I. Here's a pic. I'm always sitting on the floor, looking through my choices.
Going to the library is like going on a cost-free spending spree. And now they allow 8 CDs, so I was able to fulfill my recent pop-mood without overpurchasing.

And now... to read my Shakespeare book and work out the plot for this damned novel.

My Life in the Pictures

I am sitting here enjoying my new couch and watching The Thin Man Goes Home. Ahhhh. So I've finally uploaded some pics from my camera.

Here are the cats enjoying the balcony. It's usually too hot during the day to open the door, but this summer it's been cool most nights. Sometimes I peek out and Haley is sitting on one end table, Nombly on the other. Haley stays out there as long as she can. I don't know what she looks at... just sits on the swinging bench, communing with the night.

(She's been unbearable this week since Kardinall Offishall and Akon put out a new song about her: "That girl is so dangerous! That girl is so dangerous! That girl is a Caaaaliiiicoooo!" She says they changed the words a bit, but it was inspired by her.)



The last few weekends I spent each minute rehauling the apt. Here are my pantry shelves on their *new* wooden shelves. Ahh the perfect laboratory. And my fancy new apron.
Didn't do much organizing on my last weekend, except the spices.
I bought these plastic holders at the dollar store, and the labels at Papillon. I'm sure glass is better for keeping spices fresh, and better for the enviro, but dude... I ain't made of money.

I tacked up a list of what I have, and what I have overstock of. I am sooo clever. By now I have about everything I need.

This weekend I've been cleaning out the living room, to get sofa-ready. It arrived Monday, and today I put it together. The children were as helpful as ever.
Here is my Lillberg couch. It's the cheapest Ikea has, but that's not why I got it. It's high enough, with wood legs, for Nombly to piss on. I wrapped each cushion in garbage bags before putting on the slip covers, so he can't sully anything unwashable. Then I sprayed it all over with Feliway.
I've been sitting on it all day, and it doesn't seem to give me headaches. Yay! Fernando says his coworkers laughed at him for the couch. "A couch isn't supposed to come in boxes--it's supposed to take 5 men to stuff it in through the door." Well, I agree, but... this couch only needs to last as long as Puir Aulde Nombly.

The History of Me: Chapter 3

I vaguely remember that when I was a child I wanted to be A Star. I don't think it was anything specific (actor, singer, danser), just someone glamorous. I used to dance around the living room (and apparently in hotel restaurants as well), and I sang to myself, and the only games I liked to play involved the imagination. I either played dress-ups, or Barbies (which is basically second-hand dress-ups), or I drew fashions, or made my own paper dolls, etc. The story-writing started around grade 2 or 3 (the epic Cora time traveling series).

I took the occasional dance class, drama class, pottery class, but to be good at such things you basically need to be consistently enrolled in them by your folks. I clearly wasn't passionate enough about any of them to beg for lessons. But writing is something that can develop on its own, and being a child who can amuse herself on her own, that's the direction things went. Plus, it's really yet another extension of dress-ups and Barbies, only now the actors are on the page.

The Inner Singer never went away, of course, since she also requires little to keep her amused. These days she's satisfied by singing along to the ipod while cooking, though she misses the heady days of car ownership.

The Acting Child did a couple years of drama in high school, enough to know it's not her natural medium, but she had the satisfaction of getting the highest grade in her class in her graduating year. These days she comes out once or twice a year when Billiam makes staff videos for work meetings.

The Writing Child, of course, has been on a rampage since Cora, though she resents the time stolen from her for Acquiring Degrees (the Left Brain strikes back.)

But Dancing Child... tsk tsk tsk. The last time she really came out was in the parental basement in the early 1990s. Since leaving home, there have been a few concerts here and there, but mostly she only expresses herself in spurts--dancing a cat down the hallway, bouncing under the influence of Kanye West when waiting or the light to change, shimmying from the fridge to the pantry while cooking.

Watching So You Think You Can Dance this year, for the first time, is causing her to protest a bit. There's been a little more kicking-up-of-the-heels and seeking out La La La Human Steps on youtube.

I like to say that my 30s is about trying out things I'd previously dismissed, but maybe that was only the first half. Maybe the second half will be about bringing back my I.C. Maybe I'd better pick up a book on drawing fashion. ...How I'm supposed to find time to indulge the Old Me, and the Trying New Things Me, while maintaining Everyday Me, I've no idea.

Here is Darci the Fashion Model doll, who I believe represents my inner child. I gave my own Darci away ages ago, and Stepmommy had to get me one through eBay.


*
Here's the first exposure I ever had to La La La Human Steps.

Tea Break

Just had a little tea and cheese sandwich break. Celestial Seasoning's Almond Sunset, with soy milk... mmmmm.

Still trying to organize the apartment. I am slowwwwwly hitting the book shelves in the living room.

And after 20 Hours of Work...

Alright, for posterity... some pics from the work I did yesterday.

The two most significant things I let go of yesterday:

(1) My B.A. Here's the stack of notes, papers, exams. I only kept the bit on top with the pink elastic, since that was a course given by our top star in the department (Prof Brecher, an Arab-Israeli expert who doesn't give this course anymore.) For most classes, you can re-find anything you need in the assigned readings; but I can't be sure about that where Brecher's course is concerned, which he taught for decades.

(2) The Royal Adderly bone china flowers that used to belong to my mother's mother, who died before I was born. I loved these when I was a girl. It was one of my most cherished possessions. But the pore old thing is chipped and broken, and really hard to dust. It was time.

Here's my poopy old room, with the books all piled on top of each other. My bed was pushed up against them, so I couldn't even get at some of the books. And I actually had a small dining room table next to the bed, initially as a study table, but eventually it just got piled high with readings, art I didn't have room for (but didn't want Nombly to pee on), the cat bed, and other accumulated crapola.

These shelves were all Stepmommy's when she was, like, 20. The plastic ones were breaking, taped together, buckling under the weight of my course notes. The joints on the metal ones were so loose the units would leeeaaan to one side or another.

Mid-job. The fiction books laid out in alpha order on my table.
The reaction of Nombly, who is bottom-most in the hierarchy, was to come and spray my filing cabinet. Right as I stood there alphabetizing. Sigh. Oh well, a filing cabinet is washable. The paper towels, bags, cleaners, and Feliway were all close to hand. No sense getting mad--it's not his fault I brought Haley into the mix and made him insecure (when he was already a neurotic Woody Allen type to begin with.) Cats stake out territory in your home, and when you move everything around it induces anxiety, so I guess his thought was: "Meh meh meh! Where is my territory? Where will Sherry let me sit? Where can I sleep in safety? What happened to all my Spots??"

When cleaning your room, it's important to dump a lot of stuff on your bed. This way you have to finish the job before going to bed.

Sherry's first reaction to the final room: "Where the frak is my cat bed? On the floor? What up with that! Nombly will piss on it!" I moved it to the top of the washing machine.

Haley's reaction? She strolled into the room while I was taking pics, sat smack down in the middle of the bed, and looked up at the camera. "I'm ready for my close-up Miss Mabel." Nothing phases this chick.

Here is the Fiction section, by genre and alpha. I stacked vertically because otherwise there isn't enough room on my shelves.

Sadie Scrymgeour Baynton (repaint by Stepmommy) was given the London Collection to guard.

Non-Fiction (the other half is here in the living room.) The first shelf by the wall is school books and course packs. The next two are mostly history books, and other books I use for story research. The London collection stretches across the top, ending with My Favourite Authors (guarded by The Musical Moose.) And then the general fiction section starts.

The reason for the huge bedside table--I spend a lot of time sitting in bed. It's a bedside table, vanity table, and writing desk all in one. (Eye masks, Calcium, codeine, pens, paper, MaeWitch's perfumes, the books I'm reading, my story notebook...)

I still have to do the desk...

and the laundry closet.

And I have to decide what to do with this shelf.

So far I've got my Darci doll (who represents my Inner Child... I wanted to be *A Star*), the London souvenirs Gilby bought me...

My London Traveling Companion: Yoda (with his suitcase), and the friend he brought back with him...

And gifts/souvenirs from others: Shoes from MidnightStreet's trip to Holland, mini Christmas Carol from my dad, soapstone carving from Vidal, mask from Italy via Gilby...

...homemade Tom Servo (Mystery Science Theatre 3000) made by my brother, and the scorpion Pablo and Delyriam brought back from an Egypt exhibit in Vancouver.

I think I'll also keep my Core Values books here, guarded of course by the minotaur (whose maze features prominently in Joseph Campbell's writings.)

And that's the end of my shooooow.