We have a new pet, Shelly.

If you entered our kitchen right this minute, you would see a large Tupperware box standing on the counter,just in between the fish tank and the measuring beaker ( where I am storing the baby guppies until they grow out of snack- size) filled with water and a mussel. The Boy and The Babyrescued Shelly today as she floated on a chunk of ice in a nearby drainage ditch .

I have told them that Shelly is as dead as a door nail, but they insist they have seen one of her eyes, that she has simply wolfed down the fish food that they sprinkled over her Tupperware box. Why, Shelly has shown every sign of life except for dancing an impromptu soft shoe, there in her box.

I wonder how long we are going to have a dead mussel as a pet ?

Instead of doing anything even remotely useful today ( no, making beds, doing laundry, doing the shopping, making dinner, going back and forth to the school all day long do not fall under the category useful. They are listed under standard, like breathing and going to the toilet are.) I moped about and felt sorry for myself.

Oh ! Woe is me !

See, I do that very well now don’t I ?

I am also trying to get a copy of the Winchester, Reel 367 from here.

Having a copy of this microfilm has now entered that tiny list of things that I would give my left nut to have.

Last week, ather was in Germany all week. No, that’s not true. On Monday he was in country, but he works late on Mondays, and as of Friday afternoon, he was home. Exhausted, but home. In between, he was in Germany. He left in the darkness of the morning and returned, well, one never knew exactly when he would turn up.

I kept soup on the stove for him.

This Saturday, I came down to the kitchen and he was on the phone with India. And that is when I learned that this schedule will continue for two more weeks.

He is such a help with the children, he is sorely missed.

And two more weeks without him. Not really. Oh, on paper, I suppose that he is here every night, but for some reason it just doesn’t feel that way.

And The Girl is grounded this week.

And today just lasted forever.

Sometimes I wonder why women are so unforgiving of other women.

Really. The cruelest things that I see on line are from women, castigating other women, for things that they have often done themselves.

I wonder why women are so cruel towards one another.

I really do.

I mean, we all know that life is not simple.

And so why do we tear each other apart ?

I am going to put a bid in on ebay soon. The lot includes the issue of Military Images magazine which has a photo of Sam Kerlin’s aunt.

Yes, I know, you are just holding your breath on this one.

How much would I pay to see what Maggie Carbis’ sister looked like ?

Hopefully, enough.

Instead of going over the same old Google searches that I have been doing for the last two years on weekends, I decided to do something a bit more useful with my weekend play time. This is what I came up with ( from here).

So this weekend I did two batches, but I can’t seem to submit the finished work, I keep getting a 500 response which tells me nothing.

But I enjoy doing it. Makes me feel so stinkin’ useful.

I would feel even more useful if I could submit the work that I have done, though.

Tonight we went out to dinner. We were invited by one of The Father’s brother’s -plus.- to go out and stuff our faces. And so we did.

They chose the scene of the crime, a lush white building in The Big City, a place which- for some reason – never struck my fancy. And so we had never been there before.

It has a number of stars, but being my father’s daughter, stars mean less than little to me.

The food was very good, but, well, we chose a four course special ( ! surprise!) because we could not read the set menu. And the, uh, main course was a pigeon. I can’t say this in English, but to me, eating a pigeon is like dining on a poor zwerver. Have you – who live in cold climes- ever looked at a random pigeon’s feet ? They often are missing toes, one imagines from frost bite or the toil that is their life. A pigeon is a bad luck bird and when a saucer filled with pigeon wings was placed before me, well, I have simply spent too many mornings at the bus station at the big city watching these beasts go by.

Eh, eh. It was artsy food, good but not my cup of coffee. If the sauce is tasty, I don’ t want a mere three, perfect drops upon the plate. I want the option to be a glutton.

Oddly enough, The Father and I both agree that we are *full*, that the food was very good, but we did not like the joint.

We like our place in Belgium, where tray after tray is brought before one and with a polite smile turned away.

In the end, both The Father and I relish the option to be gluttons.

Today, I put myself in The Girl’s shoes, you know, like one is supposed to do every now and then.

And decided that if I were she, I would be counting the days until I could blow this joint.

The little where the buses go and when book that I have is sadly out of date, but today when I went to the bookstore, well big old f*ckin’ Hellas, applesauce ! we don’t carry the where the buses go and when book any more.

As we prepared for our trip to far- far away, I tucked my copy from 1997 in my pocket and at the last minute, ripped a map of the town we were going to out of the phone book. At the last second, I grabbed an umbrella.

Be prepared.

Once on the second bus, it became uncomfortably apparent that my little where the buses go and when book was more than out of date. And the bus driver was very sour and unhelpful. As the bus ambled through tiny villages of the langstraat genre, I pulled out the map of the town that we were headed for. The Boy threw street names at me.

And at a certain point, I said here, let’s get off here. A young girl came to our seats and asked us if we knew where we were going. No, I replied, and we stepped off of the bus into an icy rain and found ourselves on the edge of major road, bordered by new housing developments on both sides.

I gave The Boy and The Baby the umbrella and we headed for the round about ahead of us. No news there. I pulled the map out of my pocket and – as my glasses were covered with rain- The Boy read out street names to me. Clutching the wilting map in my hand, The Boy and I found our way to the community arts center : it turned out to be about a ten minute walk away from where we had left the bus.

While I often confuse my left with my right hand, I can read a map very well.

It was a lovely place and the open house for the music school charmed The Boy. He spoke with the keyboard teacher for many minutes, she took him to a keyboard and talked him through a few snazzy sounds.

There is also a dance school there and despite my best efforts, The Babywants to start ballet.

The Father has agreed to arrange it so that The Boy and The Girl will have their classes on the same day.

I will do the rest.

Once again, I rather feel like the default in the story, you know, like when there was a shitty diaper and I was where the buck stopped.

But I don’t mind. While the mere thought of ballet makes my toes curl under in horror, I think that these extra bits of learning are a fine thing for the children.

Yes, I do suppose that hobbies are a very good thing to have.

And that they shouldn’t miss out on them simply because I don’t drive, that cars scare the crap out of me.

It is cold here. The Father laughed at me yesterday when I said that it was darn cold. Ha, he said, I thought that you were from New England ! Well, ha right back, if I were in New England, L.L.Bean would be swathing my fat fanny in down and keeping me quite toasty indeed.

It is very cold here. Yesterday, the children and I wrapped my camellias in towels, beach towels. They look like a line of toddlers just out of a swimming pool. I had covered their roots with extra mulch and plastic, I don’t know why I decided to wrap them in towels as well. Can’t hurt, I suppose.

The Boy has to bike to the library this morning . In the cold and he dislikes biking and he dislikes cold weather. Then he has to bike back to school and give his oral presentation. This is not a good setting for his oral presentation.

This afternoon, The Boy, The Baby and I are going to a town about 5 miles away. By bus. If we make all of the right connections, it should take an hour. If we miss any, we will be three Popsicles. I tried to get a ride for us ( actually for The Boy), but everyone had other plans. This place is having an open house, showing off various music lessons that they offer and The Boy wants to take keyboard lessons.

We who about to freeze, salute you.

Wish us good bus connections.