frontpage hit counter

Archive for the ‘Wasting Time’ Category

A Rabbit Foot

Posted by Mummy Dearest on May-17-2010

I received a mail from Sgt. Rock, and he mentioned rabbit´s feet as being good luck charms.

I went all Proustian, dunking my little madolines .. it is a cookie, shoot me, it is French…in a cup of tea.

I never had a rabbit´s foot as a good luck charm. I have no idea why. I always found them rather gruesome and yet I was rather envious at the same time.

But if one really thinks about it, well, that foot did not bring much luck to that rabbit, did it .

Libby Holman

Posted by Mummy Dearest on May-14-2010

I just read a book about Libby Holman. How I wish that I had sound on my computer. My sound took off when Vista arrived. I would love to hear this. Although, truth be told, I probably wouldn’t like it. But one never knows.

She had a very interesting life. That is one of my diplomatic comments. She was at times either great friends or dreadful enemies with Tallulah Bankhead.

Apropos of nothing at all, I assure you, Tallulah Bankhead was from the same one horse town that my Father lives in. I have seen her family home . It is in nowhere Alabama. It is a lovely home. My Father considered buying it, but decided that he was too old to handle an old home.

She and her sisters ( how funny, down there, the first girl is always known as *Sister*, the first boy, *Son*) were extremely witty, of which the Holman books give one example after another.

This is rude :

“I’ve tried several varieties of sex. The conventional position makes me claustrophobic and the others give me a stiff neck or lockjaw.”

In Search Of…

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-4-2009

You know, when you spend 1000 years rebuilding a house, Triage does exist.

Got to have a bathroom upstairs, and those stairs, why, call them a ladder instead.

The kitchen, the Fridge did not work and on and on and on and on.

Last on the list is lighting. Why, we do have some lovely ( beauty is in the mind of the beholder) Art Deco hanging lamps, old school lamps in our kitchen, a Polish Church Chandelier in *The Front Room*.

But most of our lights look like this : a long cord and at the end a light bulb. I can make this ever more grim, the long cord and at the end a light bulb in my little room of my own doesn’t work. Not the bulb, but…. the connection… or something like that, gets pretty dark here, I must say.

When I am tired, depressed, you name it, want to relax, I do a search for a hanging lamp that I once saw in* The Big City*. Now, remember, I adore kitsch. It has little pink porcelain roses dangling all over it.

I know, there is no accounting for taste.

But like an ancient gem, I search on and on, for that hanging lamp, with the little pink porcelain roses dangling all over it.

Nope, no accounting for taste.

Absence Makes The heart…

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-16-2009

The Lone Eagle has returned. Yesterday, in fact.. I think.. for it might have been Monday, for I seem to have lost a day. Maybe.

I was mighty glad to see The Father once more. Mighty glad. Returning early in the morning, by evening, he was simply sick as a dog. This seems to becoming a pattern of behavior. Or perhaps the result of working too hard, sleeping too little, and being far, far away.

Poor nurse that I am, I threw Advil at him every few hours, to no avail. I missed him dreadfully, but once he returned, so sickly that I only slept 2 hours the night that he returned , I knew that when he said that he did not want The Company , read The Family, to know that he was ill, once more, after returning from India, that again, quality time was rather a distant mirage quivering within our imaginations.

The first evening was indeed quite tender, until his body simply revolted from the demands that he had made upon it. Up all night, showing sympathy, that stinking’ mobile of The Boy’s still bleated out at 6.30 am, tossing me out of bed. Rap. OK.

I crawled through the day, and finally woke the poor soul at about 1pm- I needed to sleep so desperately.

Made a fine diner that he could not even face, and so tucked him into the front room, in front of the TV, tossing Advil in his direction.

Chores done, The Patient taking his usual one hour bath, I helped The Boy with his homework. While looking for items and printing them out, we heard a bellow from the languid waters of our double tub : “someone go and kick that dog in the face”. The Pyr was barking. Homework had run a bit late, and it was time to feed the dogs, hence the woofing.

The Boy looked at me and said, he has only been home a few hours and he is already yelling at us. My soul rather crimped at that moment, for The Boy was right. The fonder had indeed not lasted very long.

Before I went to bed, I told him about The Baby, and that Mr.X is proving to be a far better teacher for her than he was with The Girl and The Boy. Why, he took a very long time indeed when The Baby paused to tell him about our house being egged. ( And I know indeed who did it). He in fact was terribly kind.

Our house was egged, asked The Patient. Yes, I said. I saw the first egg right away, and cleaned it up, but it wasn’t until the next day that I saw the second egg. Did you clean it up, he asked. No, I said, for it is like super glue right now, and I haven’t a clue as to how one can clean it up. A great rolling of eyes followed, perhaps even a massive sigh. Whatever followed, it made me feel very bad.

I did not toss Advil after The Patient. I did not give the sweet kiss of sweet dreams. I simply went upstairs and read for a while. And of course, did a bit of wondering.

This morning The Patient is feeling more chipper. He plugs in his laptop and checks his email. He chats with the folks related to The Company.

Yes. Well. I do suppose that I shall take a nap today, once The Baby comes home and has been lunched and how-was-your-day-ed you, once The Boy comes home and has taken off to the Dentist. I have made a list for the shopping that needs to be done, and so I am expendable, for the time being.

Louisville

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jan-12-2008

For whomever stops by here every once and a while from Louisville: look, roots !

Afternoon

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Apr-11-2006

When I pick him up in the afternoon, I can see that the euphoria of the morning is gone, that his afternoon was, well, not good.

Niggle, niggle, probe, probe, they have started a new project. Actually, it is not new at all, his class ( perhaps the whole school) has done it every year for…a while : teasing. Mike learned a few years ago to lie through his teeth about teasing. He told me, way back when, that he wasn’t going to tell people how he felt when he was being teased, picked upon : it just made it worse.

So, this afternoon, the teacher asks- brightly- who is being teased, picked upon ? I suppose that she touched a few noses, one being Mike’s. No, no, no, he said.

And then a girl in his class said that she thought that Mike was being teased, picked on.

Are you , Mike ?

Oh, a wee bit, he said.

From what he has said to me, I know that he felt like being forced to say that was a kiss of death, some betrayal of some obscure version of Omerta

And then they talked about what a friend was, what being a friend meant.

And Mike seems to think that he cannot include people that he knows from places outside of his school.

For he does have friends, children he sees 2, 3 times a week.

They just don’t go to his school, and so this project, these projects are not very pleasant for him.

As Sal would say, well, Duh.

Who wants to admit in public that they are lonely, have no friends, who – in public- wants to expose their underbelly ?

No one with a half a grain of sense, that is who.

No one with a sense of pride.

Diversions

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jan-31-2006

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.

Useful Things

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jan-29-2006

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.

Thanks !

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jan-17-2006

He is there now !

And number two is a cousin of mine, but she doesn’t know anymore than I do. Well, she didn’t the last time I heard from her.

The Road To Hell

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jan-11-2006

I had planned and promised to do many things today. Instead, I did other things.

Catherine stopped by, rather unexpectedly.




( Catherine)

She and I



(me)

closed the brand new drapes/ curtains in the front room, put on Anna Magnani house coats and sipped cooking sherry while Callum




( Callum)

and The Boy




(The Boy)

played GTA San Andreas and fine tuned the ancient art of the potty mouth.

Mea culpa. It rained all day and was cold.

I did transcribe the last and most difficult of the land deeds, gnashing my teeth all the while and wondering why the clarks did not have better quills and the lawyers use a more simple language. You know, as I transcribe them, in the back of my mind I’m hearing a Ben Franklin clone ringing a bell and calling out, hear ye, to whomsoever it it may concern, all and singular.

Tomorrow is another day.