Theming it Up

One thing I am trying to decide on is how to theme and format my blog's content. A lot of the fabulous blogs I am currently reading have "day of the week" recurrent themes, and that very much appeals to my love of order. Of course, given my excessive self-absorption, I will probably post more than once a day, but it would be nice to have a theme that I HAVE to stick with. Accountability, and all that. So, here's what I am thinking at present...please provide input.

Making on Monday (in which I focus on things that I am making, have made, or wish to make)(Nice and broad and noncommital, huh?)

Together on Tuesday (in which every Tuesday I try to have a "perfectly together" day, or else ruminate on ways in which I can get my life more together

Working on Wednesday (in which I ruminate on my workplace, profession, or else professional aspirations)(after all, that's the other part to my duality of career girl/homemaker)

Thinking on Thursday-(In which I wax pseudo-philosophical, nostaligic, or brainstormy)

Five on Friday-(In which I feature the Top 5 of something on some random subject)

? on Saturday-(Help me out here. I'm going for alliteration, but am not sure what to go for in terms of Saturday's subject content. What would you like to read more about?)

Sybarite on Sunday-(In which I take a moment and extrapolate on something lovely and indulgey)

So. What do you think? What's your input?

Farewell, My Lovely

I first saw her almost eleven years ago, in the late summer of 1999. She was pretty much just an itty bitty kitten then, and I didn't spend too much time pondering what kind of personality she would develop. She was just a cute ball of fluff at that point.

My eldest sister, Thing One, acquired this precious little purrball through an acquaintance of her roommate's. She named the purrball Inky-dinky-doo, or Enkidu, or something...but both names were soon banished for the more reasonable handle of Inkers.

If ever a pet and her owner developed the same personality, it was my sister and Inkers. Both were dainty, mischevious, persnickety little misses. Both liked to be left alone, but were deeply affectionate to the people who they knew and loved.

In 2002, Thing One had to live with our mother, the Original Crazy Cat Lady™ and her numerous feline companions. Inkers didn't thrive well in this environment (I don't think Thing One did, either). I had just acquired my very own apartment (complete with live-in-boyfriend John the Saint), so took in Inkers as well as one other kitty, a little orange guy named Trotsky. Thing One brought them to us one Saturday in September of 2002. Both Inkers and Trotsky had yowled all the way from Daytona to Tampa, and quickly slunk out of the carriers and contorted their little feline bodies into very flat, oozy positions (think Choo-Choo Bear) and scooched under the futon.

Inkers came out soon enough, eager for exploration, and Trotsky followed soon after. (Trotsky quickly managed to venture too close to a lit candle and so scorched his whiskers, causing them to curl in a delightfully French dandy fashion). Inkers approached the couch where Thing One and I sat, settled back on her haunches, looked up at us, and meowed frantically.

"She does that a lot," Thing One said informed me. "She's trying to tell us that someone needs saving." To Inkers, she merely said, "Where's Timmy, Inkers? Is he stuck down a well? Take us to Timmy!"

John the Saint was unimpressed with Inkers' neurotic, prissy, sometimes fickle ways, but I simply loved her for them. Every night, she would gently paw her way across the bed and settle on me. If I slept on my back, she would sleep on my chest or stomach or, only very occasionally, between my legs. (Shush, you.) If I slept on my side, she would sleep on the dip of my body, between my ribcage and my hipbone. If I slept on my stomach, she would sleep on my butt or the small of my back. She was constant.

My life in Tampa came to an end a little more than a year later. By the end of 2003, I was graduating and moving back to the grandparents' home in Daytona, where I would bide my time for 8 months before moving to Indiana. John and I had broken up, amiably and sadly, and were now in the process of breaking up our home. It was time for Inkers to be returned to her real mother, Thing One. And so we packed her into the carrier, and she yowled her way from Tampa to Daytona. All of the changes made me yowl a little, too.

A few months later, Inkers yowled her way from Daytona all the way up to New Jersey. There she and Thing One settled for what everyone wanted to be happily ever after. Thing One worked hard in New Jersey to support Inkers in the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. For years Inkers kept Thing One company, cooing and meowing and purring and occasionally shedding on the pile of clean, warm, folded laundry Thing One set out for her each Laundry Day.

This year, Inkers turned 11. To me--to all the people in our family, who are used to cats living a long, long time--that was young. But Inkers' body had other ideas, and Thing One had to let Inkers leave this plane of existence last week. I found out during the honeymoon and proceeded to cry my way through a good portion of the evening. Little Inkers was my cat for a little over a year, and so Thing One and I have been sharing our grief. Thing One feels the loss more greatly, naturally, but nonetheless, we both get choked up still when our persnickety little Miss Inkers comes up in conversation.

She's still around, though. Thing One still feels her, gently pussy-footing her way over her blanketed body at night.

I hope Inkers swings by to pay me a visit, too. Until then, all I can say is, we miss her. And we were so lucky to have her.

Please, go and hug your cat or dog or emu or hamster or whatever you have. And if you don't have a pet...please go out and get one. They make life so much more beautiful, even in death.

There's Crazy. There's Neurotic. And Then There's Just Plain Dumb.

And I may, in fact, be all three.

Here's the thing: I am a clutterbug. I am an accumulator. I am an acquirer. I am not a minimalist. I own dozens of books I've never read. I own candles and incense that I don't burn. (In my defense, I usually just forget about them). When I latch on to a new hobby, I purchase all the requisite supplies (or at least all the supplies that I think are requisite), try my hand, and then in a week or two or three get diverted to some other hobby. Or, alternatively, I want to dabble in cooking but think I need all sorts of utensils and so I get them, and then, for some strange reason, the food never gets cooked.

What it boils down to, I suspect, that while my desires and intentions are good, I am afraid of trying, afraid of failing, and I am afraid of sucking at it. And so I acquire the items because in theory that's part of the whole project, and let's face it, I do NOT fail at acquisition. It's like I acquire and acquire and acquire to actually delay the process of creating and crafting.

And the result is that I have a half-finished project and a ton of crap.

This sickness--because sometimes I think that it is--has another facet. I try to organize as a way to magically make all of these projects and ideas come to fruition. "I could get all my bills and correspondence together if I have this nifty new filing cabinet which has labels slightly different from the three other filing cabinets I own." "If I got this family organizer, Himself and I could always keep track of our work and social schedules and impending chores and errands, because, let's face it, the two planners and two calendars that I already have don't quite cut it." "If I can just get organized, everything will fall into place." (My middle sister does the same thing. I'd say it's a family trait, but our eldest sister somehow managed to dodge this particular strain of neuroses).

And the really pathetic thing to all of this (as if it weren't lame enough already) is that I KNOW THINGS WON'T CHANGE with that handy-dandy, ultra-sleek new organizing ____________. I know this. It's common sense--when getting things together, the secret is not getting new/more/better organizational objects, but rather throwing shit out. Downsizing, minimizing, reducing, reusing, call it whatever you want. The current trend in organization is is about buying less, having less, using less. Simplify, simplify, simplify.

But where's the fun in that?

This is not a novel concept. I know all of this, but still I do it. I reminded myself of it the other day when I purchased a drawer organizer, two storage bins, and a scrapbook paper file. I will remind myself of that later today when I go back to Target and get another scrapbook paper file and a little table for my altar and maybe another one or two of those storage bins. I will remind myself of it as I continue on to Office Depot to get the stadium file organizer I realized I just had to have. I know all of this, but still I do it. But I sure as heck don't feel great about it.

In fact--spur of the moment--I am committing to you, dear readers (okay, reader) that I am nixing the spiffy new file. At least for now. I'm going to go into that danged Crap Room and find something that I already have to organize the paperwork I shouldn't have anyway.

But I'm still going to Target.

They say that God is in the details...

Today's Question: What is the "netiquette" for how often one might post in their blog per day?

Today's Wish (Intangible): Lots and lots of and lots of rain.

Today's Wish (Tangible): Blue, purple, and green Chinese star lanterns for my studio

Today's Random Thought: "Studio" sounds so...professional and "take me seriously, plz, I'm an artist", and it's SO misleading for me to call it the studio. And yet I persist.

Today's Featured Blog Post: Over at Single Infertile Female, the author (who is trying to come to catch a very narrow window of opportunity for impregnation) now also has to come to terms with the disapprobation of other single mothers. This is one tough chick, and you can check her out here. Please add her to your positive thoughts.

Today's Joys: Finding TONS more blogs, talking on the phone with my sister

Today's Surprise: Discovering the succulent I just purchased decided, unexpectedly, to bloom:


Today's Awsome Find: Cute fuschia-colored calculator for $1 at Wal-Mart

Today's Fail: ...Shopping at Wal-Mart

Today's Epic Fail: Stepping on one of the kitties' jingle balls, right in front of Austen. He was traumatized.
Today's Triumph: Making a TON of headway into the current (and futile) organizational project

Today's Knowledge Gained: "Wreck this Journal"--what a fun and interesting concept! I am sorely tempted...

Today's Creative Idea/Endeavor: Doing the "Wreck this Journal"

Today's Image:

"Evening Fields", by Flikr User Wipeoutdave, can be found here.

I think, other than the vivid primary colors, the thing that I love most about this picture
are the potentially-stormy clouds that are hovering in the distance, promising the possibility
of a delicious, rainy deluge in the British countryside. Hmmm, seen in this light, I got
my intangible wish!

Top 5 Friday

5 Things I Will Do Before the Honeymoon Vacation Ends:

1. Try to turn the Craft Studio (Himself calls it the "Crap Room") into an organized, visually appealing space

2. Call Deshka, Kristin, Sister, Eric, Mum, the grandparents, and LoPrete; write my Soldier

3. Order wedding prints

4. Make some yummy dessert with my Kitchenaid Mixer (thanks, step-mother-in-law)(dude, I have in-laws?!?!)

5. Plan a dinner menu for the week ahead.

And...the feel good-picture of the day, which totally captures my mood:

"& i'm on my way to believing..." by Kelseyela, found here.

There's No Place Like Home (Part 1)

I never was much of a summer girl.

In theory, summer is lovely, of course...cookouts and lazy days and all the rest. Growing up in Florida, however, where summer was 8 months of the year, kind of killed (okay, brutally slaughtered) any love I ever could have harbored for this wretched season. The most I liked about it was the violent thunderstorms which would cloud up the blazing sky, and the cacophony of talkative crickets, tree frogs, and cicadas which emerged after the storms passed.

My too-brief stint in Indiana revived my love of this season...it was much easier for me to love summer when it only lasted four months, maximum, and was followed by a beautiful and distinct autumn. And then, too, summers in Indiana had...summery things, like fireflies and lazy hazy evenings and, of course, those lovely summer storms.

But now, here in the desert, summer is worse than ever. Usually well over 100 degrees, with no relief from the advent of thunderstorms. Indeed, it wouldn't be the desert otherwise! I don't do well with the heat...at all...and will, from June until the end of September (at least) closet myself in a darkened house with the air set at a reasonable 79 degrees. Since the condo becomes my haven during these brutal months, I think it only sensible to make it as lovely, welcoming, orderly, and comfortable as possible, and in the days before I must return to work, I'm concentrating on making this happen. Himself pitched in, too, and here's the first set of pictures of our hard work:

Austen surveys the domain.

Okay, so Himself was the one that did all this work. Outside, at noon. In triple digits.
But I helped pick out the plants and flowers!

I also picked out and settled the little IU garden gnome peeking out from the corner, by the rock.

He's not too thrilled to be in the desert, either!


I also picked out this succulent...representative of my (relative) adaptation to the desert.
For now.

Entrance to the condo; pictures to come!

Domesticity rocks

Lucky me, I have another 4.5 days before I return to the Library and work! But Himself is not so much with the luck, and has to return to the real world tomorrow. Still, we're making the last day of the joint honeymoon-time off, and are spending the day engrossed in domestic activities. He's outside in the courtyard, in the wicked desert heat, planting a metric f-ton of purdy flowers we picked up at Lowe's, and I am in the climate-controlled condo, doing laundry, unpacking our wedding goodies, cleaning, and--only occasionally--taking a break to succumb to my internets addiction.

I daresay I have the better end of the deal.

Wait, actually, no. Miss Magdalene's got the better end of the deal.

Lucky little wench.