Me and Martha

My mom lent me her copy of Martha Stewart Living. I noticed a few differences between my baseline household maintenance and Martha's. Some examples:

Martha:

She celebrates the change of seasons by switching out lampshades and area rugs to create a warmer, more intimate feeling for the winter.

Me:

Once a year I consider cleaning the dead bugs out of the halogen lamp in the living room. I've never actually done it.

Martha:
She layers her picking baskets with dishtowels to prevent the tomatoes from bruising.
Me:
I use the front of my shirt as a bowl and hope: (1) my bra doesn't show and (2) the stains will come out, since I don't have time to separate the whites from the colors.

Martha:
She rotates her cookies in the oven so they brown evenly.
Me:
We like burned cookies at my house. We're used to them.

Where I'm From

by Emma Jane Rickman

Hour 5

I am from the ripples

in the water from where I

dipped my paddle

From the smell of chicken

there to greet me

when I come home

That's where I am from

From "I love you," "Do you

homework!" and "Dinner's ready"

I'm from my butterfly alphabet,

Mr. Egg, and my Russian doll

That's where I am from

I'm from the "Cannonball"

when I jump in the water

From my bed, my playground out back,

and kicking the ball against the garage

making little dings.

That's where I am from

I'm from millions of cousins

and aunts, and uncles, and

people I love

Shopping with my aunts

and grandmas

That's where I am from

I am from my teachers who care and

my parents who cuddle

from shouts from the

neighbors and water fights

with soggy clothes

That's where I am from

I'm from stripey

headbands, polka dot shirts,

and plaid shorts

From planting with mom

in the garden

That's where I'm from

From Tiger's games

and Frisbee in the park

Hugs and kisses on

Graduation Day

That's where I'm from

I'm from stinky dogs

cat allergies and fish for dinner

From a brother who's a

soccer freak

That's where I'm from

From mushy baby food

and tater tots

shopping for school

supplies, and drawing

on the walls

That's where I'm from

from crying and

the creaking stairs

and scootering around

the block

That's where I'm from

from the first day of school

and my baby brother

Family dinner since I can

remember, and annoying

cousins

That's where I'm from

Canker sores and learning to tie

shoelaces and being

proud. Sad because

of going to a new

school finding friends

That's where I'm from

Nadin

Nadin, we miss you!

Did you make it home okay?

Sam(mon)

Sam caught a salmon with his bare hands in Alaska. Proof that not all kids suffer from nature deficit disorder.

Sam with his sidekick, Joe (right). Someday they'll open a gas station together.


Salmon trying to bite Sam (left). He tells me it had teeth.

Unfinished Projects 2

My blog.

Sorting Photos

The disadvantage of a digital camera: 723 pictures of Alaska to sort. No time for more now; I've got to get to work on it.

More (much more) to follow.

Keyless Entry

So Rich and I are lying around in the living room reading. It's been a long day. In the distance, I hear a horn honking over and over. Not a regular repetition, but erratic, kind of a "honk-honk-honk" pause "honk" pause "honk honk." I think maybe somebody got married, but that seems unlikely at 10 pm.

Then I start thinking about how, the day before, I got locked out of the car in the credit union parking lot. I was late picking up Emma Jane from synchro already. I called Rich, and he did a drive-by key drop-off while speeding toward Mack Pool.

And I started thinking how I hadn't returned his key and the keyless entry. Wondering what had happened to them. Thinking about how the drier was running.

"That sounds awfully close," Rich says.

So while he's in the driveway turning the car off and on, trying to get the horn and blinking lights to stop before the neighbors call the police, I'm in the basement rooting around in the drier. Sure enough, when I find the keyless entry and press "unlock," the horn stops beeping.

A half-hour later, I'm back on the couch with my book. Rich is in bed. The keyless entry is cooling off on the counter. And the horn starts honking again. Fortunately, I keep a screwdriver in the silverware drawer.

The sad mangled bits of Rich's keyless entry are still hanging out in the silverware drawer. Maybe someday I'll get it repaired.