You Or Your Memory

I was lucky to have a pretty amazing college radio station when I was a student. After a few mis-directed years spent listening to the Grateful Dead when all I really wanted was an excuse not to shave my legs, I found myself with plenty of time and a pair of very hungry ears.

Punk music didn't work for me, and the Brit Pop thing that was going on behind my back didn't make its way into my CD collection until after graduation when I moved back to the Bay Area. The college station at the University of Oregon in Eugene brought some pretty amazing classic stuff that I had previously overlooked--David Bowie, Talking Heads, Frank Sinatra--but they also introduced me to a future favorite, Cub.

Cub was an all girl trio who called themselves "cuddle core" and they were AWESOME. They were Canadian. Their massive cord variations matched that of the Ramones and they were adorable. Sadly, after three albums, they went their separate ways. I was lucky enough to see them open for They Might Be Giants one Fall in Portland, and they managed to grace nearly every mix tape I made for Max when we first started dating. Thank you, KWVA!

10 Years Later

I've been tracing the roots of some of my favorite music--where I first heard it, who introduced me to it, how it has figured into the soundtrack of my life so far. There is lots of good stuff in the archives, and a ton of it has come from my older brother. I remember sitting in his room when I was in junior high, shortly after I discovered the Beatles (a thousand times thank you, Aunt Mimi!). I had only experienced the pre-Rubber Soul Beatles at that point--good boys for the most part, still the hand-holding type, not the why-don't-we-do-it-in-the-road, LSD gobbling geniuses they evolved into a year or two later in their careers. So when he pulled out his vinyl copy of the white album and carefully turned it backwords with his index finger, revealing the hidden secrets of Paul McCartney's supposed untimely death, he BLEW. MY. MIND. and unknowingly changed the direction of my musical compass. Forever.

Every few years, he tosses me another one. A mix CD, back when people still made those, back before he had kids and there was time to share music so thoughfully and with such painstaking precision. Back then. Or just the mention of a band he'd seen recently, I immediately find something they've got on Spotify and listen to the whole album (a treat in this shuffle, playlist friendly era.).

Thanks, Paul, for Mates of State. For Sufjan Stevens. For Dealership. And for They Might Be Giants 26 years ago.

Thank You

Well, that's better. Having your friend Looming Fog around makes your overbearing heat much more sufferable. That being said, it's very cold and windy this morning, so I suppose this conversation is over. You win this round, Unpredictable Late Spring Weather.

Hot In Herre

OK, Second Almost Summer. WOAH. Let's take a step back, put the breaks on. When I welcomed you with open arms, I did NOT mean for you to turn my house into a sauna. And I'm pretty sure your friend Gentle Breeze would have been thrilled to join you in your lovely visit into my life. So lets keep that in mind next time, shall we? Awesome , thanks.

Bicycle Race

I've never been into bikes or biking or anything even remotely associated with bicycles. The bike carrier that Max attached to the Forester on Sunday may change that.

A Summer Song

Well hello there, Second Almost Summer. Where have you been the past few weeks? Your friends Occasional Rain and Holy Shit It's Windy have been by to visit, we even got to spend a couple of days Could It BE Any Foggier? last week. But it's you, Second Almost Summer, that we've been waiting for, you and the flip flops and shorts you bring with you. It's nice to see that you and your BBQ-ing, tank topping, windows down ways are back. Stay a while. Put your Teva tanned feet up. Have a sno cone.

Mamma Mia

This mother is having a very happy day indeed. All of the STUFF that we have purged from our home over the last three weekends is being picked up by the stuff removal guys this afternoon, and we will be free from clutter. For a while, anyways. The kiddo was great about choosing to chuck lots of toys he has outgrown or just doesn't play with. I think there are going to be some very lucky thrift store shoppers in the coming weeks.

For the first time since we moved here in 2008, the living room is 100% free from kid toys. All Legos, playmobiles, hot wheels, art supplies, etc. have all been relocated to Samson's room, and its wonderful. It's so nice to just sit here and do, well, anything really, without navigating my way through Lego villages and army guys.

And since it's Mother's Day, and I'm not the only mom around, there's something I want to say to my mom: I love you. You have always ALWAYS listened to me and supported me. You have, without a doubt, been my rock during the ridiculously difficult last 5 years, and you have helped me learn to be strong and soft at the same time, and I can never thank you enough. HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

I Feel Fine

Well, all it took was a class play to get me back in the right frame of mind. One adorable first grader later, and I can handle just about anything. The kiddo has been practicing his lines diligently and it really paid off in this morning's performance. Samson played a character based on his school's beloved, bespectacled, guitar playing kindergarten teacher. And it was full of song and dance of course, and followed by a lovely brunch. Best morning ever.

Hmmmmmmm, who does he look like with those glasses on???

To Lay Me Down

Sleep. I just need more sleep. Then I'll be able to blog regularly again, to resist the temptation of sugar, to stop snapping at the people who love me.

To stop yelling at the dog because she can't decide if she wants to go in or out.

To stop cursing at commuters who use the exit only lane as a means to skip the stop-and-go traffic that we all have to sit through (except them, apparently).

To stop feeling so annoyed by everything. By everyone. Everywhere.

Then I'll be able to get over this hump and remind myself how deeply and fully I love my life and the world around me.

And myself.

No Pants Policy

This sofa has some secrets. At least, it did before we stated prepping it for recovery on Friday. This pair of black stockings stuffed back behind the attached seat cushions completely trumps the confetti and cocktail toothpicks we found in another sofa last month. Ah, if furniture could talk...I'm betting it would have some pretty dirty stories to tell.