Monday, February 23, 2009

San Antonio

The Alamo, featuring random tourist guy. It's really small inside, almost claustro-phobic. I don't have any photos from inside, they're not allowed.
I had a good trip. The conference had some helpful sessions, San Antonio was kind enough to supply lovely, balmy weather for most of the time we were there. I did enjoy the Riverwalk, although I got tired real quick of the 5.00 beers and overpriced watery margharitas (exept at Casa Rio, which I heartily recommend. And have the flan). I was happy to make it back to Casa de Craphole last night.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009


to San Antonio, for what will likely be the last national conference for a while, what with budget cuts & such. I'm thankful for this opportunity & it is timely, as they're supposed to be able to give us updates on stimulus funds coming our way.

On the other hand, I feel way behind at work, but not so much that I'd forego this trip. I'll be taking ye olde laptop with me, along with some work. I find I can get a lot done early in the morning before the meetings crank up.

And in the evening? Looking forward to the charms of the Riverwalk.

Looks like the new path of my life is about to take another turn. Stay tuned for updates.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Opiate for the Masses, Indeed

The CBS Morning Show opened this morning with the resident generic news chick breathlessly 'reporting' there was Breaking News.

Which consisted of telling us that some rapper had been arrested for assault Saturday night, and that it's alleged the victim was his girlfriend, another performer, and both had pulled out of the Grammys* Sunday night with almost no notice.

This? This is CBS' definition of 'Breaking News'? Sheesh.

*Said Grammys broadcast the previous evening on...CBS.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Beautiful Day

It's gorgeous here, warm and sunny. The windows are open, bringing in a fresh breeze. Yesterday I cooked the best burger ever, started it on the stovetop in my cast iron skillet, then popped the skillet in the oven to let it finish off. Had a nice, crispy sear on the outside & juicy on the inside.

Today there's a slab of ribs I'm fixing to put on the grill and I have some Yukon Gold potaotos that I'm going to blanch then home fry in some bacon drippings. Mmmm, bacon.

Progress has been made on the stuff front, work remains, but the only way to approach it is like eating the elephant. One bite at a time.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

Things Left Unfinished in a Life

The war on stuff in this house has been on in bits and spurts over the past three years. I've recently gotten a lot more serious about it, because 1) I just need to and 2) it's looking more and more as if Le Boyfriend will be joining me here at Casa de Craphole.

This morning's task was to go through the kitchen cabinets and my hutch, pack up the extraneous and make the Salvation Army several boxes of my trash is your treasure richer.

I did pretty good, ruthlessly packing up about fifty or sixty coffee cups I've 'collected' over the years, along with random candy and ice cream dishes, incomplete sets of glasses and one or two things that made me go 'wha?' as well as 'where in the hell did that come from?'

Then I got to the cabinets over by the stove, and pulled out two boxes that really didn't look familiar to me. The first one had random bar glasses, pewter mugs and the like that had been my late husbands. The second one also had things of his, a set of cut glass shot glasses, a few more of those pewter mugs (?) and this set of four sherry glasses, etched with his and his ex-wife's initials.

Those broke me. I had to stop, go sit on the sofa and let the tears come. I remembered him showing them to me as he was putting them in that cabinet when we moved in here in 2000, asking me if they were something we'd use, remember him apologetically noting that I maybe wouldn't want to use something that had the exe's initials on it. I know I told him that kind of stuff didn't matter to me, that if it would give him pleasure to continue to use them, we would.

So fast forward eight years, and there they were, still tucked away in the box on the bottom shelf of the bottom cabinet. He'd been divorced over ten years when we met, was clocking at least seventeen years beyond that relationship when we moved in here. We lived here another six years together, and the glasses never made an appearance.

It's one thing for me to process my stuff, and what became our stuff over the course of our relationship. Processing our stuff is difficult, but it's manageable. And it's necessary for me to take the next step into my next life.

But it's cosmically unfair that there were things he didn't get to finish.

Friday, February 6, 2009

Keep Moving

Nothin' to see here.

Maybe later this weekend. Or not so much.