Trebuchet

I could not resist this font--it is named trebuchet. Isn't that some kind of Medieval weapon? With a French sounding name, I would think there would be curls or at least serif. Funny, it doesn't look snotty.
I am trying to catch up on school work: correcting papers, entering grades, prepping lessons at least one day ahead. I am almost there. Other areas of life are not quite so neatly delineated. 'Tis the problem. I need assignments and deadlines for housework and relationships and such.

Dysinspiration

I am at school feeling pretty uninspired. Class did not go as well as I had hoped. I think I had too little planned, and then some woman dominated the conversation--me. It is always better if I can get them to discuss and discover. Maybe some pumpkin spice cookies would help.

Pumpkin, Anyone?

I feel perfectly safe confessing my indiscretions in this space. My husband would probably never venture into this part of the Internet anyway. He was not home this evening, so I was left to my own devices (is that the expression?), literally. A rather large pumpkin graced our front porch for Halloween. I did not go to the trouble of carving it but instead drew a black cat and wrote a greeting, both with magic marker. It is two weeks past Trick-or-Treat, and the nightly temperature is reaching down into the 20's, so I concluded it was time to bring in the pumpkin and cook it. We have done this before, either boiling or baking until soft enough to peel and mash for use in pies, cookies, and bread. I think my husband must have cut and gutted the pumpkin in previous encounters because I do not remember fighting through that tough flesh before. Naturally, I took what my husband would refer to as a woman's approach. I tried the largest of the carving knives in his set--probably over $100 per knife--and could not get enough leverage to even halve the vegetable (or is it a fruit?). Then I tried the more expensive cleaver. No luck. So I inserted the cleaver or the carving knife by turn and used the other, butt end of the handle, to ever so gently tap the sharp object into the seed cavity. Had poor Terry walked in during the process, he would have surely lost consciousness. I was successful, of course, but I doubt I will share the story with the owner of the knives.

Feliz Navidad

There is a radio station coming out of East St. Louis, 101.2 FM I think, that is changing formats the first of the year. In the meantime, they have chosen to play all Christmas and have been for about a month. I used to be irritated by commercial pushes of Christmas into November and even October, but with age has come a desire to live outside of reality occasionally. So I am hooked on Christmas songs and Halloween is barely over. Who knows--next year I may get out the Christmas albums, as in vinyl records, in July.
Yesterday I had dropped my husband at an appointment and was listening to my guilty pleasure when some little gremlins almost spoiled my mood. First there was a rendition of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" not by Karen Carpenter (That rendition gives me a chill when I think that she probably wanted to eat the sheet music even without condiments) but by Gloria Estefan, or maybe it was Mariah Carey. It was awful and breathy and left a sour taste in my mouth. I am obviously learning disabled when it comes to pop divas, but the song that followed the above atrocity could have been redeeming if sung by the right artist. It was "Feliz Navidad" by--are you sitting down?--Celine Dion. Isn't she French Canadian or something? I felt I was in some previously undiscovered space warp. Would I ever find Christmas again? Finally there was an instrumental of "The Carol of the Bells" and I was able to breathe again.

Election Night

I voted and my choice at the top of the ticket has been declared first runner-up. Never have I felt so dangerously disconnected from what has become the majority. Well, I will have four years to examine my current state of mind. Maybe it is more environmental than core belief. I wonder if Sarah Palin's family think it was worth the trouble.

Voting

I am voting for McCain. He is not my hero, but as I mature, I find that politics and heroics rarely mix. He is just closer to my way of thinking on several fronts. I fully understand that there will be people who vote for Senator McCain whom I would never consider inviting into my home. They may be mixed up in various special interest groups that I would rather not support. Recognizing strange bedfellows, however, does not make me hesitate to cast my precious vote for the Republican. I also admit that he was not my choice for the Republican ticket. Now I have but two choices, McCain and Senator Obama. Other possibilities will not actually win the electoral votes, so it is down to these two men and their policies. I am probably more conservative than McCain on some fiscal issues, and I am more liberal on some social issues. He still better represents my way of thinking, as far as I can tell in this imperfect world of media and campaigning, than Obama ever would. I have to add that at least a small percentage of my decision is based on gut. There you have it. Please do not assume this is a knee jerk reaction or that my thinking is necessarily flawed by racism or succumbing to rumor. I have not abandoned thought or hope. I have merely decided.