January 20th, 2006

getting by

Stuff here I like.

Things that were bad yesterday are bad today. You can ask on e-mail if you like. I'm going to talk about other stuff here, though, because the hard problems I'm dealing with right now are not hard problems because I haven't talked and thought about them enough. They're just inherently hard. Sometimes distraction is a good and reasonable thing. (Let's hear it for escapism! Forty-third verse, same as the first!)

One of you said, "I'd like to hear about what you adore most (or about some of the things you adore best) in your house (outside of the people)." Good idea: inside of the people, it's too dark to appreciate some of the things I adore most. Specifically, one of the things I love most about our house is that it has most of our books in it. I love having a library with books on all the walls that will take books and comfy blue furniture to sit on when we're reading (or talking). I want to finish replacing the current shelves with cherry stained shelves, I want to buy a new lamp, and I want to get it painted blue instead of yellow, but the way it is now will do very nicely.

I like -- can we switch verbs here? because I'm too Minnesotan to keep on with "adore" without squirming -- I like a lot of our house these days. I like the paintings my aunt gave us, one in the library and the other in markgritter's and my bedroom. I don't much like the living room -- it has awkward door/window/fireplace placement for our usage -- but I like the red couch that's coming a week from today. I like the prints we've hung and are going to hang soon: Budapest and Minnehaha Falls and snowy trees and tapirs and stuff. I like stuff on the living room mantle: the Mexican pottery immingpool gave us when they were here when Ellie was a baby, the three stylized hugging people, the little lizard bowl we picked up at a craft fair with porphyrin's crew.

I like the pitcher seagrit made me and the bowl with dragonflies on it that makes pameladean crow every time I serve her things from it.

I like -- no, actually "adore" is the right word here -- the little green tile that hangs next to the front hall closet, that porphyrin and Mike brought the very first time they met us, because it was just the right thing, just our kind of thing, and it went so nicely in that spot, and there they were, just our kind of people, too. I don't much believe in love at first sight, but I loved that little tile and the little hands that gave it to me pretty much right away. And the big hands, too.

I like the color of wood in our bedroom furniture and the way I can tell which kitchen chair someone just sat on by how it creaks.

I like our two pianos with their different stories and their identical lamps and the iron dragonfly and the little blue hippo and the bead calendar on them.

People are on against materialism, but we haven't just randomly grabbed material things and thrown them at our home. The things we have here are our things for a reason. And we like a lot of the same stuff, so it's not like I have very many things I'm sneering at going, "Well, that's his, not mine."

What do you like at your house? What do you like at my house?
getting by

Veritas, but scattered

When I was in college, I had a very clear lesson in how reactions to alcohol vary: one of my dear friends had just taken her GRE and broken up with her boyfriend and found out she had a sick elderly family member. She had half a wine cooler at a party and was gone, really thoroughly and hilariously drunk. It wasn't the wine cooler, except that it was; stress alone or half a wine cooler alone would not have been enough, but together, hoo.

I am not that kind of gone. But I was not drive-safe after half a glass of mediocre, boring white wine with dinner, and even I am not that much of a cheap date from alcohol minus stress. I have the urge to e-mail people to say vastly inappropriate things. Instead I seem to be saying appropriate things but with slightly odd timing. I mean all of them. I just am not generally in the habit of sending one-line queries and comments far and wide without provocation.

One of you asked after codebreaking. I am amused to find, upon reading Codebreakers: Arne Beurling and the Swedish Crypto Program During World War II, that Swedish cryptographers were very, very quietly passing their information to the Norwegian resistance and the Finns. Whose side were they on? The side of the free north, apparently. I can get behind that. And that is my amusing codebreaking history tidbit of the day.

We now return to our entirely unscheduled e-mails.