Taking a Blog Break

I'm taking some time off work and also taking some time away from most things electronic. I'll still be using my camera, though.

Y'all take care. I'll be back soon.

Variations on Delicacy

Thanks to Maggie the kitten, I have learned a new euphemism:  "sanitary clip."

I have never had a long-haired cat before, and the kitten is definitely of that variety. In fact, her tail and haunches are so relentlessly, enthusiastically fluffy, I have taken to calling her "Little Miss Sparklepants."  I'm not sure why, but it seemed to fit.

Unfortunately, the other night she had a litterbox issue that changed her name to "Little Miss Stinkypants" (and perhaps you can use your imagination to fill in another word that begins with S and combines easily with "-pants").

I attempted to handle this matter myself, but I needed at least two more hands to get the job done via washrag and scissors. It didn't help that Maggie thought the whole ordeal was a delightful game and reacted by clawing and biting my hands in a playful manner.

She's cleaned up now, but she also goes to the groomer tomorrow for a (ahem) sanitary clip.

Meanwhile, I keep thinking of existential Henri, Le Chat Noir. If you don't already know of him, you probably should remedy that.

A certain delicate maintenance, indeed.

The Problem with Coffee

The problem with coffee is you have to make it when you haven't had your coffee yet.

I'm trying to finish up a whole bunch of things before taking some time off, and that means I haven't been getting too much sleep. And that means I'm extra groggy in the morning, before coffee.

So far this week I've caught myself:

- Putting the coffee directly into the coffee mug, instead of into the coffee maker.

- Starting to run the water through the filter without putting any coffee in the filter.

- Trying to put the creamer into the cabinet instead of back into the refrigerator.

Maybe I should be glad I've been awake enough to catch myself doing these things! It would be worse to discover them after the fact.

Readers Among Us

Scene:  A festive dinner honoring graduates of the Master of Liberal Studies program, attended by graduates, their families and faculty, administrators, and alumni of the program.

Main Speaker:  And we all have to realize, as we get older, that we aren't going to have time to read all the books we want to read.

Tiny but clearly audible voice from the back of the room:  Nooooooooooo . . . .

Waiting for the Other Shoe

Usually it's a point of pride for me that I don't mind knowing the ending of a book (or at least the basic plot line) while I am reading it.

Sometimes friends will try to be coy with me, with the adult variation of the classic elementary school book report cop-out: "If you want to know more about this book,  you'll just have to read it."  I always reply honestly and vehemently that knowing the ending doesn't "spoil" a book for me. I'm an English major, for goodness' sake! I like reading the critical work beforehand!

But I have to confess: I am (still) reading Angle of Repose and as I get closer and closer to the ending, I keep remembering the words of an English professor friend, who said it was one of the most tragic and devastating endings he's ever read. That's high praise, sort of - but I just can't get it out of my mind. 

As the book turns darker and darker, I am wondering what the ending could possibly be. The endings I can imagine all seem rather conventional - love triangles and layered stories of past and present woes and disappointments often lead to murder, suicide, and destruction in various other forms. I can't imagine any other outcome besides something bittersweet, at best. And I've been warned that the actual ending is much worse.

I suppose I could relieve the suspense by reading ahead, or by reading some reviews and finding out what happens, but that seems like cheating somehow.  I just don't want to do it, and rob myself of the full impact of this slam bang finish that's just 100 or so pages away.

I'm trapped, then. So I'm just reading as fast as I can.