Perforation Problems

I love this picture of my grandpa holding Ryne for the first time. If I were feeling more eloquent, I would say something about how much I love my grandpa. I have this picture in my head of him nudging open my bedroom door to see if I was awake. I think it might be my earliest memory. I can see my rainbow-printed border, and the crinkling at the edge of his eyes as he smiled at me and winked, and I remember feeling so happy that I got to spend the day with him. He's always winking. He used to sing "You are my sunshine" to me while I slept on his belly. Once when we were visiting my great-grandparents when I was maybe 8 years old, he and I went on a walk, and he picked up some teenager's hastily discarded toilet paper and showed me how to TP a tree. He took me fishing and let me use Grandma's purple worm (I can always catch a fish with Grandma's purple worm), and when my dog died my first year of college, he called me and said, "I'm sorry, Haley....

Family. Birthday boy.  I'm not feeling very verbose. 

Our cheese of the month finally came: some tasty brie, the cheddar-like Red Leicester, and a French cheese called St. Marcelin. We're so classy.  Here's Michael being classy. You'd better pursue that cheese.

Happy National Something on a Stick Day!

I've started running in the mornings three times a week. There's a lot wrong with that sentence, but to my surprise, I'm actually kind of enjoying it. Who knew? I'm pretty sure it's just because I get to flashback to the 90's and watch Boy Meets World while I'm doing it. My knees have been hurting a bit so I went to a local store to get my "gait" (I'm not a horse, just FYI) analyzed. Apparently my right ankle bends in a bit when I run. So now, BEHOLD: My new shoes. Why do they make running shoes so bright? 

Came across this article by Ben Yagoda, author of How to Not Write Bad . In it, he gives you 7 words "guaranteed to make you a better writer": Read. Read it aloud. Show, don't tell.  A bit of a gyp, but true.

I got a package from Amazon today. It included 1) A strawberry de-husker 2) A strawberry slicer 3) An egg ring I don't feel I need to explain the first two. Look at this: And people on Amazon said these two items were superfluous! What!  I couldn't help it. I love strawberries, and really, isn't it just such a hassle to cut the tops off and slice them with a normal knife? It's certainly NOT like getting to stab the strawberry with spikes and twist its head off, then squeezing it through some kind of medieval death contraption to slice it into tiny little slivers.  This all started because when I was making breakfast last weekend, Michael asked for a sunny-side up egg. I don't know how to make sunny-side up eggs (scrambled is the sole selection in my repertoire), so we had to look it up. I managed it -- don't worry -- but it seemed like there should be something you could buy to keep the egg in a nice round shape so it doesn't get all thi...

Today I used my free yard stick from the state fair to measure the snow in our backyard.  9.5 inches of snow.  It's pretty. When I was little, this much snow would have thrilled me. Can you imagine the snow forts? It feels like growing up there was never enough snow to make a snow fort.  But right now I just want spring already. I'm getting stir crazy. 

I gave Clyde a bath today. He hated it, as usual, and as soon as I let him out of the bathroom he ran straight to the backdoor to whine. I assume he wanted to go roll around in the dirt and ruin what I had just accomplished -- he's such a spiteful dog. But since it was 20 degrees out and starting to snow, of course I couldn't let the wet dog out. We tried to console him by turning on the fireplace and putting his blanket in front of it, and when that failed, I tried to distract him by throwing towels on him. He would not be deterred. In fact, he did not give a flying monkey's butt.

When I got home from work tonight, I noticed that despite the 30-degree temperatures of the last couple weeks and the impending snowstorm, there were actually plants poking their little heads out of the dirt by the garage. I immediately felt flush with the hope of the coming spring, but then I got over it and went inside because Michael had dinner ready. Food's important. I wasn't happy with the pictures I took -- our white fence looked blown out and overexposed. Lucky for you, I just got Pixelmator and felt inclined to pixlemate the bejeezus out of them.  I think this is my favorite. I don't know what these plants are, but they're crazy looking, and I like that.  Yeah my cropping sucks. I thought you might want to focus on the dirt.  Black and white and still overexposed! You're welcome. 

No, I didn't spend my whole evening making this. I don't know what you're talking about. Me: "Tell me something I should create in my new image editing program." Michael: "Make Ryne play baseball." Me: (thinking) Michael: "You don't like that?" Me: "It's boring." Michael: "Make the plastic dinosaur fight a real dinosaur." Me: "And Clyde." Michael: "Okay." Me: "And Ryne playing baseball. You don't think big enough."

I was going to write something about Lena Dunham's Girls , because I've been watching it nonstop and really like it. The writing is excellent, the characters are strange but likeable, and it says something without being overbearing or obvious. I had something deep to say about it, but in between having the thought in my head and getting to a computer it disappeared. Oh well. Enjoy this incredibly fascinating photo of me watching Girls on my laptop.        Doesn't this make you wonder what my 365 photos are going to be like after 6 months if this is what they are at 3?  P.S. I do have something to say about the Girls soundtrack: it is equally awesome. I particularly like "Same Mistakes" by Echo-Friendly -- hearing it in the credits of one of the eps made me buy the whole thing. I think it pretty much sums up the theme of the show: I make the same mistakes -- feels like I never learn. Always give way too much for little in return I haven...

New approach to writing: turn off the internet and use WriteRoom  ( Dark Room is the PC equivalent) so that my entire screen is black and distraction free. I think it's gotta be done. On my way home from work today I saw these deer munching on the landscaping at the entrance to a subdivision. I'm so used to seeing deer now that it's not really a surprise anymore --they seem to like certain stretches of my road. The last couple months there have been four that travel together -- a few weeks ago we startled them in the dark, and they ran across our headlights in a long line of bobbing tails, too fast for me to get my camera out. Not so, today. Today there were only three, and they just stood there and looked at me, even as I stopped my car in the middle of the road a few feet away. These deer are seriously suburbanized -- humans don't bother them, they know how to cross roads without getting hit, and they have no problem going through people's yards. It makes me ...

Poor, poor, sad Clyde. Life is so difficult. It's so hard keeping everyone away from the snake.  Also, please ignore my bra on the floor. 

This is a baby foot. I'm sorry. My pictures are boring lately and I haven't been writing. I'm trying to watch what I eat again and all I can think about is BROWNIES. You don't really want a post that says BROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROW NIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBR OWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIE SBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROWNIESBROW NIESBROWNIES.  Brownies. 

This dino looks like he's praying. Praying for something to CHOMP.

I caught the tail end of a Tell Me More interview with Katherine Petterson ( Jacob Have I Loved , Bridge to Terabithia ) on the way home tonight. She sounded like someone I would like to be friends with. Here's the interview . Some favorite parts (paraphrased by my incomplete memory): She says if you say you'll wait to write until you have time, you'll never write. You'll never have time. She started writing when she had four kids. If you can write for 10-15 minutes a day, eventually you'll have a book. This reminds me of Kate Chopin, who wrote as she raised her kids and never had time to do much editing or revising. When she finishes a book, sometimes she thinks, "I'll never have a book-worthy idea again." But then something -- a phrase, even -- gets her thinking, and though it won't be the whole novel, it's a place to start.

Oh hai there. It's a baby again. I'm sorry, I can't help it. I'm surrounded by them now. This is my friend Moriya's baby, Rose. She's adorable. I like to annoy babies with my camera lenses just as much as I do Clyde. 

I don't feel this needs an explanation. But it's getting hard to find my underwear.

Michael found a new trail by our house, so today we took Clyde on a long walk. We found this along the side of the gravel path: Michael suggested I write this reindeer's story. I find myself less curious about how the reindeer got here than I am about the hat. Of course someone would put a beaten up reindeer along this trail, which also serves as an access road for utility companies. Why not? It's strangely fitting near the industrial brown towers set back in alcoves along the path.  But the hat. First of all, that seems a waste of a perfectly good hat. Second of all, it didn't look worse for wear, so it couldn't have been outside very long. Why is someone putting a hat on a reindeer in March? In December, sure. Maybe the Christmas Spirit moved you so much you felt a need to create a festive display out in the woods. But in March, when spring is starting to tease its way into the air and everyone is counting down the days to warmer weather?  Regardless, ...

"Welcome to earth, young man. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, Joe, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of: Goddamn it, Joe, you’ve got to be kind!" Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without a Country My brother sent me these 22 Rules of Storytelling from the Pixar writers. My favorites: 5. Simplify. Focus. Combine characters. Hop over detours. You’ll feel like you’re losing valuable stuff but it sets you free. 9. When you’re stuck, make a list of what WOULDN’T happen next. Lots of times the material to get you unstuck will show up. 11. Putting it on paper lets you start fixing it. If it stays in your head, a perfect idea, you’ll never share it with anyone. 17. No work is ever wasted. If it’s not working, let go and move on – it’ll come back around to be useful later.

My brother after a long day, telling us all about my new nephew :)

It was after dinner and I hadn't taken my picture yet -- and if I wait until after dinner, the chances of the picture being of Clyde go up 75%. So Michael suggested I take a macro picture of this fire glass stuff the previous owner left in our fireplace. I guess the idea is cool -- when you turn the fireplace on, the flames come out of a bed of shiny blue glass. It's not really my style, though, so it's probably going to go away eventually. Close up you can see the black specks from the ash, which just makes it seem dirty (I suppose it is), so this is probably not my favorite picture. But I like to think of it as some kind of weird magical goblin glass that trolls stole and hid in a cave under a bridge with their jewel-encrusted goblets. No?

Snow is pretty. When you're not grumpy and frustrated, and when you won't have to wake up and shovel at 6:30am, then slide your way around hilly roads. I'm a bundle of positivity tonight. Edit: I didn't have to shovel. Michael did it for me. I was kind of being a beotch.

Nothing inspired me to take a picture today, so while I was waiting on Michael to stop working I walked around the house to see if anything grabbed me. I stopped by Clyde, sprawled on our bed - he lifted his head and wagged his tail but provoked nothing inspiring. I stopped by the chalkboard wall in the kitchen, picking up a jumbo yellow chalk pen and contemplating an obscure-but-poetic message to Michael - nah. Finally I decided to take some pictures of the books in the library. This is the most interesting, by which I mean to say it's not very interesting at all. But I like Poe.

This post might sound a little crazy, but I'm going with my mood. I'm not high, I promise. It's a good thing no one really reads this. Hi, Mo. I have a couple different writing moods. Sometimes I get absorbed -- not like a trance. I don't mean to sound like some supernatural muse comes over me -- I think it's detrimental to think of writing like that. It's more like I am putting puzzle pieces together, locking the cardboard curves together with satisfying clicks, and I can't stop until the puzzle is finished. At those times the words pull on me like bed tries to pull you back in when you have to get up too early, and it's warm under the covers and too chilly outside. There's a weight to it. Aside: Look at me and my figurative language. Sorry. I'm mixing metaphors a little, which is a no-no. This is where according to Natalie Goldberg I'm supposed to tell my inner critic to shut up and just keep writing. Shut up, Bartholomew. I just made u...

These are the men in my life. On top of a fake rock structure at a playground. <3

I spent some time writing tonight and got pretty much nowhere at all. I had all my supplies: computer in case I wanted to type, notebook and pen in case I wanted to write, ice tea in case I was thirsty, Clyde on my feet in case I was lonely...and nothing. All of the sudden the entire thing seemed completely overwhelming and impossible. Who am I to think I could even begin to do this? Do you know how much goes into a book from start to finish and how completely unprepared I am? I stared at my paper and felt the terrifying void of zero. inspiration. Whenever this happens, I usually start writing random words and thoughts down (even if it's just "I don't know what to write. Write, write, write. Nope, nothing to write.") in the hopes that something will lead me down an interesting path, but everywhere I went tonight I just came up against a brick wall that said "HALEY. YOU'RE STUPID." So after some written rambling focused on how much I don't kn...

My husband thinks a lot. About code, about servers, about universe-creation in The Wheel of Time . I love that he's smart and likes to use his brain. But I have no idea what he's thinking about in this picture after our dinner at The Melting Pot. Perhaps that his belly is pleasantly full of cheese and creme brûlée white chocolate. Perhaps that life is fleeting and burners in table tops are a great idea. Perhaps that The Melting Pot has new bowls. <3 Seriously, though, I don't know what I'd do without a husband who loves cheese as much as I do. It's not his fault I take pictures of him when he's not paying attention.