Archive | August, 2007

Hog heaven/toddler hell

The other day we visited the “Little Studio” at Museum of Children’s Art in Oakland. This after the “Little Farm” earlier in the week. If Baba were strictly looking to meet her own needs, we’d have been to the “Little Bookstore” or the “Little Café.” Followed perhaps by a visit to the “Little Brewpub” and the “Little Art House Movie Theater.”

Not that I should complain. I quite enjoyed myself. In fact, I think it’s best to only go out on outings that one would be 3/4 willing to do even without kids. After all, if Baba’s not happy, nobody’s happy. The only valid complaint I could register on this excursion was that holding kiddle #2 kept me from pushing the little munchkins out of the way and getting busy myself.*

The highlight of the visit (other than watching the lil’ monkey totally absorbed in everything she did): soon after I arrived with both kiddles in tow, a woman there, with her own toddler + infant combo, pronounced that my kids looked exactly like me. “You can just tell,” she said.

Since she said this from across the room, atop the heads of various studio denizens, small and smaller, I elected not to call back her that they do look like me, in just the same way that my dog did.

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Makin’ bacon

Whenever I take the kiddles to our regional park’s “Little Farm,” I feel thorougly vindicated by my vegetarianism. I can look pigs proudly in the eye. If only they’d lift their umpteen pound heads to look back. Of course some of them have good reason not to lift their umpteen pound heads. Some of them have just spawned enough piglets to populate a soccer team.

Behold, especially if you don’t have a BLT in your hands, a wee photo essay celebrating the miracle of new life (and the phenomenal good fortune that none of us reading this have had to squeeze out eleven iterations of it in one go).

Fig. 1. “‘PEACH’ Our new large white sow will have piglets soon. –Stanley, The Farmer”

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Dustbunnies, publicity and privacy

Initially I intended to efficiently attend to some administrative blog housekeeping, and note two tweaks to the features and content delivery here at LD. This, after a pause to issue the caveat that, if only I knew more about WordPress wrangling, and if only I had the discretionary time to gain said know-how, I’d have long since instituted a herd of spiffy improvements. Would that I could be noting them, in their plentitude. But I can’t.

(Hell’s bells, I can’t even figure out how not to have the links along the right margin be anything other than alphabetical! Per the WordPress default! So I wiggle around and craftily concoct category titles that begin with the letters of the alphabet that would order them in some kind of sensible sequence!)

But enough of that tale of woe! Let’s us return to the pressing matter of housekeeping.

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Weekend bonus shot, 08.04.07


Blueberry thief, Berkeley, CA.

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Poetry Friday

umbrelley

Ode to Sadness

by Pablo Neruda

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Love to the land o’ lakes


Mpls from the south, from dietpoison’s Flickr photostream.

My deepest compassion to you folks in my home away from home.

[Later notes: Noah Kunin of the blog Blanked Out wrote up the I-35 bridge collapse after witnessing it and doing everything he could to help folks. Via Shakespeare's Sister. And here's the DailyKos story on it.]

[Plus another: here's a morning after piece on DailyKos regarding the bridge's evidently known deficiency.]

[And another: a piece from StarTribune (the Twin Cities' major commercial paper) columnist Nick Coleman, "Public anger will follow our sorrow." May require registration to view.]

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It was just yesterday

Last night at dinner, we parked the lil’ peanut in one of those table-side baby seats — the kind that people bring to clip into the sides of the tables at restaurants. In our humble digs, it’s a space-saving concession to a big high-chair. And though I was concerned at first that he’d be too young to hold himself upright in it, lo, he did. He was riveted. And the thrill on the part of his older sister was unexpected. “He’s eating with us!” she exclaimed, even though he’s been doing that since jump. It’s just that he’s been doing so on the lap of one or another of us. His own chair somehow bestowed upon him mealtime bona fides, and as we held hands around the table to sing our pre-meal song, it felt like we’d arrived at a whole new familial plateau.

The times, they just keep on a-changing.

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