Scarlett Pages

I Miss My Pets

I really miss my fur babies. We talk about them all the time and how it will be so good to have them around again. 

I worry about whether they will remember us and be happy to see us.

I worry about how we're going to set boundaries for the cats and keep them out of the bedroom at night (a task at which we failed epically before).

I worry about how we're going to manage walking the dogs and training them to be on a leash and to poop where they should and to behave properly when around other people and animals.  

None of these thoughts seem to trouble the mind of my other half. He figures after a couple days traveling across Europe, they'll just be happy to be out of their crates and stationary. He's just looking forward to having all the cats on the bed and having Mina trail after him again while he rides his big stallion.

Of course, we do both agree on one thing: the cats are going to be S-P-O-I-L-E-D. 

A recent report from the woman who is caring for them included the information that she cooks specially for them and they feel better with mixed food and vegetables. (Oh sweet Jebus, they're never going to eat dry food again!) They have even gained weight. (What?!? These weren't exactly thin cats!) She brushes their fur every day and we should have been doing that more often. (OK, she does have a point there, but I did try to brush Tiger's fur a couple times and he was not having it.)

So as if they weren't already a bunch of prima donnas that got away with murder, they are really going to be precious little princes now! But they'll be ours!

As for the dogs, they'll have so many new things to smell, I imagine I'll be the only one traumatised. 

My Husband: Fashion Plate

I may have failed to mentioned that as of next Monday, my man will be workin' on the railroad. All the live long day. Yep, he's returning to his former career as an engineer. The non-train-driving kind. He'll be helping to plan and execute some multi-billion pound projects to improve the rail services in the country. 

Unfortunately, and rather woman-like for one so hirsute, he has nothing to wear. 

Or had. We rectified that situation today with a trip to Reading to shop 'til we dropped. We got on the 10:29 train and returned on the 2:39. Three hours, including a leisurely lunch. Now that's power shopping folks!

The man does not enjoy shopping, so for me, the object is to accomplish the optimum amount of selection, assessment (i.e. trying-on), and purchasing in the minimum amount of time. I scan the racks, pre-selecting a range of suggested items from which he can choose. I utilize his time in the dressing room to select shirts and ties. I exchange sizes and when a size and style is chosen, I target additional colors available in that same style . I carefully monitor his mood, providing encouraging words, and suggesting new routes to accomplish our tasks in minimal time. Heavy doses of praise are doled out.

We were very successful, outfitting him with a sports coat, three new pairs of slacks, two shirts, a new tie, a pair of more casual brown shoes, socks, and two belts. This in addition to the suit we earlier got him for his interviews (and our wedding), along with five shirts and four ties. He'd like to believe he's done. But this is just the beginning of the work wardrobe. FINALLY, an excuse to buy those lovely men's shirts and ties over which I salivate. 

Upon arriving home I went about cutting off all the tags, hanging things, putting them in drawers. The man looked up from his New Statesman magazine to say: "I'd help you, but you seem to know what you're doing." 

"Well, I know if I don't do this, these things will still be in the bags on Sunday night." * 

The man (wisely) smiled in agreement. 

* I did not add: "by which time they will be wrinkled, you'll be stomping around cursing while you try to organize yourself, and I'll end up ironing and laying out your clothes like you're a ten-year-old." 

My Kingdom for a Desk!

The other day it occurred to me that our current one bedroom "house," which is actually more of an apartment as it is the annex off the back of our landlords' house, is the largest place I've lived in during my adult years. And then I remembered the Romworld house (funny how I had momentarily blocked that out, huh?), which was much, much larger—even just our personal apartment. 

Of course that didn't mean there was enough space. The man is a freakin' pack rat and he just leaves shit everywhere, wherever he happens to drop it (and then stomps around cursing about not being able to find things). So despite my best efforts, there were just piles and piles of crap everywhere in the house. I finally accepted that I would have to have "zones" that I kept organized and clean like I wanted and let the rest of it go. An entire half of our attic bedroom was devoted to his crap-tastic crap-stravaganza and when we were packing up, I had desperate hopes that he would forget about the cupboard under the stairs, which was filled with dusty, old crap that he terms "folkloric items." No such luck. The stuff from the barn was even worse. 

But the one thing I loved about the Romworld house was that I finally was able to have an office. You may remember it from other posts:

Ahhhh, isn't it beautiful? Look! A desk with space to keep everything organized! A proper chair! Bulletin boards and photos hung with care! Not one but TWO windows! 

I loved my office. 

Our digs are much smaller now. And like a woman, I've made the sacrifices when it comes to space. He has a desk top computer, so he got the dining table in the living room as his desk. My precious keepsakes and tchotchkies remain boxed in storage, but he had to have all TWENTY-SEVEN boxes of his books in the house. Guess who gave him all the built in shelf space and cabinets? 

Here's my current workspace:

In case you're wondering, that is one of those little "dressing / make-up" tables with a cushioned little bench. It's all of two feet wide. It had a three-part mirror on top that I store next to the dresser (which doubles as shelf space, as do the windowsills). 

Said mirror comes out when I actually have to do my hair. There is a dearth of electrical outlets in the house (note power cord stretching off to the right—it barely reaches the outlet) and being as this is England (aka the Nanny State), there certainly isn't one in the bathroom—which has the smallest mirror I've ever seen in a bathroom. EVER. So when I have to actually use a hair dryer, I have to unplug either the lamp or my computer from the socket next to the bed and place the mirror on the bed so I can see what I'm doing. Sort of. Because even bolstering it with pillows I seem to only be able to see about 75% of my head at one time. I'm really looking forward to having to do that every morning when I get a job.

My other workspace is, frankly, the bed. I basically have very little to do, so I spend hours on the internet reading the New York Times, Jezebel, and blogs. I hate, hate, HATE job-hunting, so there's only so much of it I can force myself to do each day. But I'm great at finding excuses not to do it. This week's excuse? The man starts his new job next Monday, so then I'll have to get up to drive him to the train and we'll be on a schedule and I'll be much, much more productive. Good one, huh? 

You might wonder why I don't venture to oh... say... the living room? Well, the only seating in the living room is two leather chairs. No sofa to get comfy on. And no TV. Which was really my idea, thinking it would be good for me to do without TV for a while. Unfortunately, all this has meant is that I've spent a small fortune downloading movies and TV shows from iTunes. That's the other way I'm spending my time. Yep, iTunes has easily made a couple hundred bucks off of me since our arrival in England. 

Despite these small inconveniences, I really do like our place. It is nicely decorated and has been well looked after. The owners have a couple acres of beautifully landscaped grounds and gardens, some of which we're allowed to use. It's pretty and peaceful and they are very nice folks. The little idiosyncrasies of the place I chalk up to the fact that it's a slightly older building and the owners don't live in it, because they're the kind of things that you would definitely fix if you did. But they really aren't that big of a deal and we have everything we need for now. Soon enough we'll have to move on to a place where we can have our pets. And hopefully a proper desk for me! 

Waste of Money

I have long been a fan of Nick Bantock's Griffin and Sabine books, which are about a correspondence between the title characters that seems to defy physics. Bantock is a talented artist and the books are beautiful, artful renditions of his whimsical collages. And because it is a correspondence, the majority of the story is told through hand-written letters that you can physically pull out of envelopes affixed to the pages. They are gorgeous, delightful books and much credit goes to Chronicle Books for their high production standards. Chronicle is one of my favorite publishers for just this reason.

Based on my previous purchases of Bantock's books, Amazon recommended Journal: The Short Life and Mysterious Death of Amy Zoe Mason. Intrigued, I ordered it immediately. The "book," and I use that term loosely, is presented as an altered book (i.e. an old book that has been re-used as a journal) found in a table purchased by sisters Joyce and Kristine Atkinson (aka the "authors"). It's supposed to be an intriguing journal and mystery, where suspense builds around the questionable death of the journal's owner, Amy Zoe Mason. The "authors" are touted on the back cover as "artists with a mind for murder."

Hardly. Journal is certainly no Griffin and Sabine, the Atkinson sisters are no Nick Bantock, and Simon & Schuster should leave the intricate, visually interesting books to Chronicle. Not only does the rendering of the books "collages" in two-dimensions destroy what little interest they may have held (and frankly, I found them dull and ugly), the so-called "clues" that the reader will supposedly be compelled to scour the pages for are obvious and heavy-handed. There is no mystery here, just a book that is disappointing on all levels. 

I've seen a lot of junk get published, but this is possibly the worst. Clearly the publisher was caught up in the excitement of being able to use its marketing machine to the fullest—and take advantage of all that new-fangled technology (website, MySpace page, etc.)—and visions of having its own Griffin and Sabine. 

The state of publishing today truly saddens me. 

To Blog or Not to Blog?

That is the question I've been grappling with over the past couple weeks. My small audience of regular readers no doubt noticed that I recently password protected my blog with no warning. The short explanation is that we received some harassing messages from Romworld and the man and I thought it best to limit our online presence for the time being.

For me, it was also an occasion to think about why I keep the blog and what purpose it serves. When I started it in 2006, I thought it would be fun and had vague fantasies that it might lead to a book deal à la Julie and Julia. Truly, these were only fantasies—I knew enough about blogs to know that without concentrating on a particular subject, there was little chance of attracting an online readership. A blog that is just about your life may occasionally attract some attention, but is mostly going to be read by your friends and family. (OK, if you're a high-class call girl writing in gory detail about your sexual adventures, you will probably find an audience. But I'm not.) My husband started his blog about life working with horses and in no time attracted a regular readership consisting of people who weren't related to him(!). 

Then there is the fact that I lack sufficient discipline to post on a regular basis. I tend to post in bursts, several stories in a few days, and then a week, 10 days, two weeks will pass with nothing. Not the way to build readership either.

Another problem is that, well, I'm not much of a joiner. While I do comment on some other blogs, generally friends or a couple of writers who keep irreverent and funny blogs, I don't do so regularly. I'm not a "presence" in the blogosphere. Again, part of the problem is the lack of a subject. 

Ultimately, my blog has evolved into a place where I can do a bit of writing and share my thoughts, frustrations, photos, and funny stories with my friends and family. It is what it is and that's OK. I still like being able to publish something up on the web that is all mine and I like the idea that my musings are collected in one place. 

So I have decided to keep this blog password protected permanently, making it accessible to a select audience rather than the whole world wide web. 

Thanks to all of you who keep coming back to keep tabs on me as I weave crazily around the world and through this life. You are my anchors and I love you. 

Bless Nancy's Heart

I don't usually delve into politics in this forum, but I love this statement from Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi. Granted, Congress isn't doing so well either with its dismal approval ratings. But at least none of them are war criminals who behave like dumb frat boys on the international stage. 

My favorite Bush lines from the recent G8 summit:

"Yo! Harper!... President of Nigeria" -- introducing Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper

"Amigo! Amigo!" -- trying to get the attention of Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi

"Goodbye from the world's biggest polluter!" -- his parting comment upon leaving the summit