Beating up Malory

In the Medieval Lit class, we've finally gotten to Malory, who, after figuring out how to cobble several contradictory bits of Arthurian stories together, would allow us to create most of the middle ages as we culturally know them. I try to be polite about the literature I'm teaching, but Malory goes up my nose.

And he's so easy to make fun of. I myself, in the long ago, posted a Malory parody of our department's reaction to the Starbucks coming in to the Student Union building.

Today I'm pleased to bring you a bit written by one of my students, and stolen by me off another student's Facebook page (I asked, of course).

It started when one of the students asked, about the sword in the stone, "isn't this phallic imagery?" To which I replied, "isn't everything phallic imagery?"

And then later in the grad office they had a long discussion of Malory, using the work "penisy" many times.

And then one of the other students came up with this bit of Maloriana:

"Than kynge Arthure loked on the swerde and lyked hit passynge well, especially its gret gyrth and lyngth. Than seyde Merlion,'Whethir lyke ye better the swerde othir the scawberde?'"I lyke bettir the swerde,' seyde Arthure."Ye ar the more unwyse, for the scarberde ys worth ten of the swerde; for whyles ye have the scawberde uppon you ye shall lose no fluyde. Therefore kepe well the scawberde allweyes with you, and note ye welle thys reysyrvaur at the tippe. Yt ys moste crusiall.'
'Nay, Merlion. I wit ryght welle thys scarberde be to smalle for myne longe swerde.'
'Alas, Arthure, ye shall beget your own downfall with thys vainglory and unwieldy swerde. Put hit away, ye be creyping me out. For Merlion may be maister of many dyverse thynges, but hys cocke doth not crowe in thyn direction.'
[Malory. pg 36. Oxford. 1971]

I'm glad that my students are learning so well.

Where the Hell is my Car.

Actually, despite the title of the post, I know where my car is -- it's in the parking lot here at work, not on the street outside my house, where I looked for it this morning and it wasn't there cause I forgot to get dropped off back at the garage last night, and just went home.

So I got a ride to work today.

That's sort of emblematic of life these days -- I'm happy, I'm cheerful, I'm getting my work done, but I don't necessarily know where my car is.

Luckily the break comes after Friday -- we'll be in Albuquerque, where I'll be blogging my efforts to find food that doesn't stop my breathing -- and then there's only a week and a half of classes.

So things are going to get easier soon.

After that, we'll be figuring out how to save the new tree skirt from the dogs. Made of felt, with stuffed ornaments and sequins all over it, it's obviously a Dog Toy. Especially if you're the sort of dog that thinks that pillows and bedroom slippers are Dog Toys. We're going to need to tie the tree down -- essentially a Giant Stick, it also is a Dog Toy -- and barricade it off. Save the Christmas tree! Save the tree skirt! Save the presents!

It's going to be lots of fun.

Real Estate Downfall

My brother Carl posted a link to a YouTube offering:

Here's the housing bubble bursting, if it happens while you're in Hitler's Berlin bunker.

Thanks, bro! Very funny indeed. He's going to miss the granite countertops.

OMG! An Extra Hour!

I just went to my 10:00 meeting, but my 10:00 meeting is at 11:00, which actually it always is, so I have an extra hour. Excellent.

Time for a Blog Post.

Let's make it out of, not just ephemera, but REALLY fleeting ephemera (that'd be ephemera ephemerae):

1) I don't know which piece of me that thinks this morning's Bayeux Tapestry Joke is SOOOOO hilarious; best not to know, I expect, but here it is:

2) A whole lot of the page at Change.gov which is dedicated to civil rights concerns LGBT issues. The president-elect takes this seriously.

Excellent. Me, too.

I suppose that's not really ephemera, not on the lines of the Bayeux Tapestry Jokes. Nothing's really as ephemeral as the Bayeux Tapestry Jokes.

3) Along those lines, today marks the 5th anniversary of the Massachusetts decision that made same-sex marriage legal in that state. I was in Massachusetts recently, and I noticed that it was still there, and doing fine.

4) Also, on this day in 1883, the railroads created the first time zones. Cause it was the first time we were going fast enough, far enough, to need them. Notice that we're doing fine after that, too, even if sometimes I do call my Mom by mistake when she's sleeping cause I forget that Albuquerque isn't on Pittsburgh time.

5) Also, daylight savings, while I'm thinking about it. That hasn't caused us horrible problems, either, even though back when New Mexico was going on Daylight Savings, a woman wrote in to the Albuquerque Journal to complain, cause her roses could NOT take another hour of sunlight.

And yet, they're still growing roses in Albuquerque, even though now there's an extra hour of sun every day. Life goes on.

By The Way

I've turned on comment moderation, oh my friends. So go ahead and leave comments -- I'll post all non-hateful comments.

Monday! It's Snowing!

There were some little flurries over the weekend, but what's outside my window is actually snow, the sort that sticks on the ground and gladdens the hearts of cardigan corgis.

For your early weekday reading, here's some PARODY news from the Onion (I emphasize the parody part on account of it's happened that people occasionally think the Onion's for real, which of course it is, but only in a slightly alternate universe):

WASHINGTON—In a landmark decision Monday, the U.S. Supreme Court narrowly ruled to uphold the Bill of Rights, the very tenets upon which American society is based. "After carefully considering the relevance of the 10 inviolable rights that comprise the ideological foundation on which our nation is built, the court finds that these basic freedoms remain important for the time being, and should not be overturned," read the majority opinion authored by Justice Anthony Kennedy, who cast the tie-breaking vote. "Until such time as it can be definitively proven that citizens no longer require the protections provided by the Bill of Rights, it shall remain the principal legal guidance for the United States of America." The Supreme Court's latest decision comes on the heels of last month's 6-3 ruling to abolish the pursuit of happiness from the three inalienable rights guaranteed by the Declaration of Independence.

Heh heh heh.

Cold, Rainy Day

The cold front moved in yesterday evening strong and blustery. The last of the leaves are pretty much down now. There's been some snow -- not the sort that stays; the sort that flurries around in the air a bit. A tiny bit. Enough to let you know that winter will indeed be arriving soon.

Yesterday the Join the Impact: Pittsburgh demonstration was well attended (especially for a rainy day). I got to Schenley park, and discovered hundreds of people standing under a large tent. We milled around and greeted friends and made favorable comments on signs (my favorite sign so far is "Can I Vote on Your Marriage Now?"). It was like a giant cocktail party without beverages or snacks.

Finally the Rainbow Chorus sang; then there were moving words from a woman married in California; then one of the organizers started calling out the names of groups, to see who was there (LARGE shout out for Pitt. LARGE shout out for Carnegie Mellon. We waited for "Duquesne" and then shouted VERY loudly, cause really, doncha know, we weren't actually taking up that much space); then we were told that we were allowed to walk on the grass (which nobody was walking on because of the signs that said not to), and that we could all go mill around and then walk around Oakland so as to get the point across. Which we then did. And I went home.

Pittsburgh. It's so cute. I'm not good at estimating numbers, but I figure that there were several hundred people there -- not at all like the numbers I expect from my days in San Francisco, but I'm working on blooming where I'm planted. And it was a gathering of great good will and politeness.

Whilst marching, and chanting (I hate chanting. I've always hated chanting. Now that I am all old and curmudgeonly, I simply walk along channelling energy and grinning. But I don't chant anymore. Cause I hate it. I don't mind signs, though; next time I'll bring one), we were careful to cross the streets WITH the lights, and not block anybody on the sidewalk.

Cause in Pittsburgh, we're polite whilst protesting. It's so darling.

Join the Impact: Pittsburgh

At 1:30 Eastern Time, I'll be over at 4100 Forbes Avenue (known to many of you as Schenley Plaza), for my local version of Join the Impact, happening at the same time (so, if you're in Hawaii, that'd be 8:30 AM) all over the States.

Cause that's enough. That's just enough. Civil rights are civil rights. We all get to have our own religion, or none at all if we like that better, but we don't any of us get to inflict it on the rest. And Prop 8 started this all off, but this isn't a California issue. This is an American issue.

So my main concern at the moment is: do I want to take an umbrella, or just rely on the hood of my parka? It is WAY raining, and there's a cold front coming in.

Hmm. Looking out the window, I think -- parka AND umbrella. I am SO not missing this.

Hello on Friday.

Here's the deal:

If you sign up with NaBloPoMo, you have to blog every damn day of the month, even if actually you have not much to say, other than that you've discovered an hilarious site called You Suck at Craigslist (is there a You Suck at eBay site?) where you can view "French Prudential" furniture and the like, and also that if you need to start buying your Christmas presents, you could do MUCH worse than to go on over to the Chaucer Blog (It Ys Rad!) and purchase t-shirts that say "I study medieval literature cause that's where the money is," and mugs that advertise themselves as being the True Holy Grail.

Other than that, it's Friday, we're reading Jonathan Swift and Mervyn Peake, and then later we'll go see The Glass Menagerie. Your usual sort of day.

Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!

My favorite news feed, Nothing to Do with Arbroath, warns us today that teaching your dog to bring you the mail may be dangerous to its health. Cymbeline, a Scottish terrier in Colchester, had his jaws glued stuck by the high gloss finish on a fast food menu. Now, admittedly, those of us living in the States are probably not getting Roosters menus in the mail -- at least not from the take-away in Colchester High Street -- but who knows which restaurants might be using that same formula instant glue for their high gloss menus! Let us all be careful.

In related dog news closer to home -- well, if you live in my house -- Rhys, having gone to three Bad Dog Classes, is now EXCELLENT on his walks,* when I bring along the cheese and pepperoni, cause he thinks he's at school. Ha, ha.
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*Well, except when he sees 1) the crossing guard who gives him biscuits every morning; 2) his beloved friend Remy, the Papillion, 3) Big Dogs he wants to herd and boss, or 4) the entrance to Bad Dog School, which is a clue to him that he's getting treats once he gets in the door.

Mr. Gradgrind Runs the Cemeteries for Bath and Wells

Thanks to Arbroath, we have the news that the diocese of Bath and Wells has ruled that one cannot put garden gnomes in its cemeteries:

A spokesman for the Diocese of Bath and Wells said: "There is no such thing as a real gnome so why should we have such unnatural creatures in churchyards?"

Plastic flowers are also out, though indeed there is such a thing as a real flower. Also, no teddy bears. Inappropriate. Tacky.

Clearly, that there are no real gnomes -- according to the spokesman; I don't agree, really -- is not the problem. The problem is the issue of taste. Garden gnomes are not dignified, I gather, and hence inappropriate amongst the grieving. The dead, I think, are not the concern here, really; presumably they've got other things to think about.

What I'm most cheerful about, in this controversy, is the way that the spokesman for Bath and Wells has fallen into the role of Mr. Gradgrind. Not a good place to be.

(And if you can't remember your Hard Times,* here's a bit of Mr. Gradgrind's philosophy:

"You are to be in all things regulated and governed," said the gentleman, "by fact. We hope to have, before long, a board of fact, composed of commissioners of fact, who will force the people to be a people of fact, and of nothing but fact. You must discard the word Fancy altogether. You have nothing to do with it. You are not to have, in any object of use or ornament, what would be a contradiction in fact. You don't walk upon flowers in fact; you cannot be allowed to walk upon flowers in carpets. You don't find that foreign birds and butterflies come and perch upon your crockery; you cannot be permitted to paint foreign birds and butterflies upon your crockery. You never meet with quadrupeds going up and down walls; you must not have quadrupeds represented upon walls. You must use," said the gentleman, "for all these purposes, combinations and modifications (in primary colours) of mathematical figures which are susceptible of proof and demonstration. This is the new discovery. This is fact. This is taste."
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*If you came by this post earlier, you will have seen that I called Hard Times Bleak House, which it isn't. They've both been on my mind lately; that's my only excuse!

Armistice Day

It's Veterans' Day in America, which used to be called Armistice Day; today we mark 90 years since the ending of World War I. My grandfather was a sniper for the marines, and fought at Belleau Wood.

Lots of sightings of "In Flanders Fields" on the blogosphere today; I'll offer "The Ladies go Dancing at Whitsun," my favorite WWI song/poem (though I'm also very fond of "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda"):

Dancing At Whitsun


(Trad / Austin John Marshall)


It's fifty long springtimes since she was a bride

But still you may see her at each Whitsuntide

In a dress of white linen and ribbons of green

As green as her memories of loving


The feet that were nimble tread carefully now

As gentle a measure as age do allow

Through groves of white blossom by fields of young corn

Where once she was pledged to her true love


The fields they stand empty, the hedges grow free

No young men to tend them or pastures go see

They have gone where the forests of oak trees before

Have gone to be wasted in battle


Down from the green farmlands and from their loved ones

Marched husbands and brothers and fathers and sons

There's a fine roll of honour where the maypole once stood

And the ladies go dancing at Whitsun


There's a straight row of houses in these latter days

Are covering the downs where the sheep used to graze

There's a field of red poppies, a wreath from the Queen

But the ladies remember at Whitsun
And the ladies go dancing at Whitsun


As sung by Tim Hart & Maddy Prior

Prop8

My old friend (one of the oldest; we were actually in junior high together, though we didn't really know each other till high school) David, who's generally all laid back, sent me what he posted on MySpace (which I forget to look at, though I'm very good about my Facebook page). On election day, he was the first to his poll on Valencia Street in San Francisco. And for us, that day went very well indeed, except for the passing of Proposition 8 in California, which took away the rights of same-sex couples to marry. He gave me permission to post this:
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Let's admit that the "No on 8" campaign was not waged with any particular intelligence. I don't want to point fingers at this point because it's not useful. Suffice to say that the "Yes on 8" campaign ran a very slimy and completely misleading campaign promulgating outright lies.
Ultimately I think the community needs to get away from fighting hate with hate. Calling everyone who voted for Proposition 8 a "bigot" gets us nowhere. The majority of the people who voted "yes" were responding to the lies and fear tactics of that campaign. We needed to educate these people and we failed. If parents think we're going to try to indoctrinate their children and cause them to become homosexuals, they are obviously going to vote against us. If women fear that their husbands will be stolen from them, they are going to vote against us.

We need to react to their hatred and fear with understanding and education. If we had educated people about some of the supporters of this proposition we would have probably been more successful. For example, if more people had known that the millionaires who donated huge sums to the campaign are on a mission to undermine the constitution and replace it entirely, many voters might have had second thoughts before they voted "yes."

We need to portray the supporters of that proposition as being part of a dangerous fringe of society that threatens the rights and freedoms of EVERYONE. Our modus cannot be one of resorting to the same sorts of tactics that they employ. If people had known that Howard F. Ahmanson Jr., supports stoning gay people, it would have shown them what a disturbed man he truly is, and perhaps gotten them on our side. If it had only been the bigoted right-wing fringe voting for the proposition it would certainly not have won. Yes, they were well organized, and yes they appealed to ignorance and fear. But calling the people who are part of that fringe names is not productive. Our next campaign must be one of educating all those who were too ignorant to have known better. We need to start now and not wait until the next election.

And by all means let's use African Americans, Asians, and Latinos to tell our story. If we show a broad spectrum of folks from different ethnic minorities who are supporting us, we stand a much better chance of winning. This next push needs be an inclusive fight not just for gay rights, but for human rights.
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I'm of the same mind. It's appalling that a majority of voters -- however slight -- can be persuaded that it's a good idea to take away the rights of some of their fellow citizens,* but the world has been shifting, the nation has been shifting, things change, and I believe that even the recent losses of gay rights in the last election are part of what will turn out to be some of the last swings of the pendulum away from rights, and we will be moving back towards them. When Clinton took office, the majority of Americans didn't think that gays should serve in the military. Now, 75% of Americans think that of course gays should be able to serve in the military -- and that figure includes conservatives and evangelicals.

So definitely, there are things to do. Definitely, as David writes, we're needing to educate. Across the nation, on Saturday, November 15, there will be co-ordinated demonstrations against Proposition 8 -- it was a California proposition, but it's a national issue. Here in Pennsylvania, we're WAY further away from allowing same-sex marriages than California. But it's our issue, too.

Here's where you can find information on demonstration times and places in your area of America.

And all you buddies of ours out there in other countries -- such as Canada, Norway, South Africa, Spain, Belgium, and the Netherlands (which allow same-sex marriage); and Sweden, the United Kingdom, Germany, Andorra, Switzerland, France, Uruguay, Hungary, the Czech Republic, Denmark, Iceland, Finland, Ecuador, New Zealand, Luxembourg, Slovenia (which allow civil unions) -- hang in there. Pray for us. We'll get there.
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*The passing of Proposition 8 in California wasn't the most egregious violation of gay rights on election day. That'd be the passing of a bill in Arkansas limiting adoption and fostering rights to married couples. This also will probably not stand up to lawsuits. But what an incredible, willful, short-sighted vote.

A meme! A meme! And it's not obnoxious!

Thanks to my brilliant friend Cindy over at My Brilliant Mistakes, we have a subject today. Cindy wrote a blog post on ten things she loves that start with the letter J, and said that if you asked her in the comments, she would give you a letter and then you could blog about it. And tell people that if they ask in the comments, you'll give them a letter to blog about.

The bestest part of this meme is that, instead of me picking y'all, you pick yourselves! yay! True freedom.

My letter, according to Cindy, is S.

My ten S things:

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1) Saturdays. Saturdays rock. Sometimes they involve working on the outside of the house, sometimes they involve shopping expeditions to the bookstore or the co-op, sometimes they involve Bad Dog Class, but whatever it is, it's different than it was on the five days previous, and for that, it is excellent.

2) Snow Storms. I missed them in San Francisco, and I'm glad to have them back, and really, they're WAY more dramatic here than they were in Albuquerque (though if one were in Taos Pittsburgh snow would pale), and Rhys loves them, especially when they are higher than his legs -- which isn't that hard to accomplish -- and he has to bounce.

3) Stage. Really, there's nothing like the theatre, no how, no way.

4) San Francisco. Do I miss it? Yes, I do. But mostly I'm just grateful that a large portion of my young adult life was spent there. I got a LOT of education in San Francisco, in many different areas, and had I been anyplace else at that piece of my life, I would be fundamentally different, and I'm happy with how things turned out. So blessings on that city/area.

5) Shepherds (dog variety). I love herding dogs. I love their intelligence, and their passion, and the things they think up to do, and the way they insist on working with humans towards the greater good. Granted, my Cardigan Corgi is a sort of anomaly -- the only herding dog known for what's euphemistically called "creative disobedience" -- but that's why I ended up with one.

6) Sex. Hello.

7) Summer. I used to hate the summer, but it turns out that had more to do with my then obesity than summer itself. The heat is fine by me now. And all that time! I love it! And I get to go to work anyway, but not teach, just read books and write stuff! Cool!

8) Swans. They are gorgeous, which I like, and also they are gawdawful, which I also like. I mean, you do NOT want to mess with one. Once in the Lake District I had to protect the baby from an enraged swan -- enraged cause we happened to walk by and it saw us, not cause we were doing anything. I love them. Terrible animals.

9) Siblings. I have two -- brothers -- and I love them dearly. They know where I'm coming from. They've got my back. Do not mess with them, or I will say Bad Things about you.

10) Spanish Inquisition. Didn't expect that, did ya? But nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.

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Now, if you like, it's your turn; leave me a comment, and I'll give you a letter. (And even if NOBODY wants a letter, I've still gotten through my daily NaBloMoPo obligation! Cindy! You rule!)

Turning Around

I think I finally caught up on sleep, after the historic week. Historic weeks, if they fall during the school semester, involve staying up late refreshing the computer screen and watching the news, and then later in the week staying up late to grade the papers that didn't get graded during the heat of the historic week.

All this culminated, on Friday night, with me getting lost on the way to a restaurant that's really easy to find, if you're not me on not enough sleep.

I never used to get lost, back in the long long ago, but a few years ago I started getting lost All. The. Time.

I knew it was an embodied metaphor for something or other, but I could not see what it was.

Now, looking back, I know that I had, in my life, taken a Wrong Turn, and I kept telling myself that, and I kept not listening.

Till I did. Now I don't get lost anymore. I have back my old confidence that all is well, and all is well, and all manner of things are well, and if I take the wrong turn somewhere I just turn around.

So I'm glad to report that I did, indeed, get to the restaurant Friday night, after some tears.

Should I worry that I've taken another wrong turn in my life and this was a symbol of it? I don't think so (I'm on CONSTANT monitoring these days, anyway) -- not a big one.

I needed to be sleeping, probably.

So I slept a LOT yesterday. When I wasn't busy over at Change.org, working on helping my country stay on the right path, now that we turned around.

Oui, on peut...

Found this lovely zydeco song for Obama -- check it out.

Rhys Needs Your Vote. I guess.

I've been informed by the rest of the household that we're having an election for Pack Leader. I'm running against Rhys, the Cardigan Corgi. (Shown here in a photo from his youth.)





I'm not sure what Rhys's platform is (mine is that I pay the mortgage, buy the dog food, and have opposable thumbs), but he's got a lot of campaign strategy together already.



One front involves accusing me of giving in to the child and buying him a used PlayStation II for his birthday last August. "Do you want an enabler as pack leader?" Rhys's ad will say. Then it will show Rhys running away with one of his toys in his mouth, with the voice-over saying, "Vote for Rhys. He's no enabler. He'll never give up his toys."

I did buy the child a used PlayStation II for his birthday. I admit that. But it was made after careful consideration of time constraints and budget constraints, and I stand by that decision.

Rhys can run against me all he wants. I'm taking him to Bad Dog Class today, and we'll see where that gets him.

Also. If he doesn't stop jumping off the bed, and start remembering to use those pricey foam stairs I got him, he's going to do severe damage to himself. Do you want a pack leader who's got permanent joint damage at the age of one and a half? I think not, and I'd like to point out that at 54, I'm in excellent health (well, except for that allergy and not breathing stuff), and do not have to use the foam stairs to get in and out of the bed.

I'm just saying. If you want a bossy, adorable, bossy, barking, bossy, loving, bossy damn Cardigan Corgi to run the house, you go ahead and vote for Rhys as Pack Leader. But remember. A vote for Rhys is a vote for Mayhem.

Friday Collection

First, WHAT is this? There's a metal detector forum, over at Treasurenet.com, where metal detector enthusiasts can post photos of things they've found and can't identify, and one of those unidentifiable things is seen in the photo here. If you know what it is, head on over to the forum (there are more pictures there, too), and give them a shout out.



Second, my brother Carl didn't believe the video of a plane landing with one wing to be a true, un-messed-with, actual video of a plane landing with one wing, and Snopes doesn't either. This will be a sad piece of news for the ex-fighter pilot who sent me the clip. He loves that video.

Third, a friend has pointed me to a new ancient religion, Tarvuism, "the world's fastest growing religion," which holds octopuses as sacred (cause the deity was saved by one), and fosters the belief that we should all be nice. I'm just passing this along. That the whole octopus-deity conjunction sorta reminds me of Cthulu is my problem completely, and should in no way be connected to Tarvuism.

Fourth, the president-elect has a website -- change.gov -- where we can go to find out what's happening, see what we can get involved in, give our opinions, comment on the agenda.

Blind Dog, Clever Humans; Good Way to Start the Day

Arbroath provides us today with a video of a blind dog (shepherd cross) fetching sticks thrown into a lake. Sometimes he gets there forthwith; sometimes he is guided a bit by his owners' voices. We're told this was his favorite activity before he went blind; he was pretty depressed for a while, but then they all figured out how he could continue stick fetching, the activity which gave his life meaning -- his human friends throw rocks at the sticks, so that he can hear where they are.

Back to Your Regular Programming

Did indeed get some sleep last night, though I waited till the last of the speeches were over. Now I get ready for my classes. And maybe some of my students will show up. Or not.

As part of my participation in NaBloPoMo, wherein I promise to blog something every day, even if I have nothing to say, I give you the news (from Arbroath; who else collects this stuff) that on Monday, a Hampshire man drank 24 cans of lager, put a traffic cone on his head, and tied up traffic on the M3, because he was upset about the plight of children in Africa.

I'm sure you were interested in that.

Well, There You Are.

Pennsylvania was called a while ago; Ohio just got called. It's essentially over.

Probably Not.

Here, from Survey USA, are the results of a poll they took in 2006, to see, if Obama went up against McCain in a presidential race THEN, what the electoral vote disbursement would have looked like (Obama 28, McCain 510).

What the Gamblers Say

Tired of watching the news?

Here are the betting odds on the election.

I've been refreshing it occasionally, in between reading student journals. Very interesting.

Addendum Two

Went to vote at 9:20; was done by 9:40. The lines of early morning were gone, though there were more people there at that time than usual. We figure that the lines after most people get off work are going to be pretty long. But it wasn't bad, voting in Edgewood. Turnout is usually pretty high here, so it won't be a REALLY unusual day.

Then I went and got my free Starbucks coffee.

Addendum, One

We were too excited to stay home, so we went on down to vote at 7:30, and for the first time EVER there was a line. So we went home, so that the people who need to get to work earlier than we do could vote. We're going to walk the dogs and then go stand in line for a while.

Good Morning. It's Really Early.

I woke up at about 5:30 and couldn't get back to sleep. Probably a result of the combination of the time change and the presidential election. In theory, I've got time this morning to get to the polls after 9:00 (there's usually a rush in between 7 and 9), and get to a scheduled meeting with a student at 12:00.

In theory.

But no one can predict how long the lines will be. So I'll have my cell phone, in case I have to call the office and cancel. (Since Pennsylvania doesn't have early voting, we're all showing up on the one day. And "they" figure 75% turnout in Allegheny county.)

And then this evening, I've got it all set up in my room so that I can have the tv on, be at the computer, AND get some of the Christmas sewing done. I may be up all night. No telling. I've warned students; we'll be having class tomorrow, but it's possible that I'll be running on fumes.

It's good weather. Nice to not have to stand in the rain.

Never Panic. Here's Why. (Now re-edited for factual content!)

Sometimes my students ask me things like "is it time to panic yet?" -- usually when they're trying to figure out if they can pass the class of mine they're in. And what I say is that there has never been, and will never be, any situation ever that any human ever is in ever, in which panic is the best solution. Even if you're piloting a plane and the wing falls off, I say, panic is STILL not your best option.*

Here's proof. No, alas, probably not so much. Snopes.com believes the video to be digitally doctored. Too bad. The fighter pilot who sent it to me LOVES this video. Still, I stand by my original statement, which is, don't panic ever. You might as well not go down having horrible hysterics.

(Watch the whole thing. It's going to be ok, believe me.)
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*The ex says that when he was learning to fly fighter jets, he was told that the first thing he should do, if a wing fell off, was to reach up and wind the clock. Just. Don't. Panic.

Bossy Corgi and the Bad Dog Class

I'm pleased to report that Rhys, after two sessions at the Adult Basic Dog Class, has remembered "sit" and "stay" and has now begun to heel. Indeed, walks are much better; more than half the time he's NOT pulling.

Thanks to all the 3,000 years of Welsh farmers, who might have bred a bossy bundle of muscles, but had the good sense to add in brains and an enormous desire to eat all things in sight. An obsession with food is a benefit to training.

In other news, I'm bemused, but chuffed, that somebody surfed in here after googling "naughty site."

Yep. Naughty sites, naughty dogs, that's what we're all about around here.

New Rhino Ritual

If you read Boing Boing you've already seen this, but if not, here's a link to an excellent video of an escaped rhino drill, from Tokyo.

Now, I live near no rhinos -- I'd have to drive over to the northside, to the zoo, to see one. So my daily life is not connected to rhinos. But I am quite taken by the solemn, ritualistic feel of the video. And I think that it would be pretty easy to invent a ritual using the meaningful movements shown in the video -- the falling down in front of the rhino, the herding of the rhino with plastic netting, the futile poking of the rhino with sticks, the final conquest of the rhino with tranquilizer darts and nets. Especially easy would be the fact that you don't use a real rhino, just some guys in a plastic shell costume. So I want to invent this ritual. I think definitely we could get this together by next Halloween.

Boing Boing got this from Nothing to do with Arbroath, a Scottish (I'm guessing here) blog which is full of interesting things, such as information about mushrooms breaking apart driveways, and jilted lovers crushing cars with giant machinery, and to which I now subscribe by rss feed, because it is clearly a Superior Blog of High Importance.

Here, for instance, is a video of a cat playing with a box. I love this blog.

Made My Day (Heading Down to the Wire)

Les Misbarak.

(Thanks to Crooks and Liars.)

NaBloPoMo!

The lovely Cynthia has talked me into joining up with her, and many like minded bloggers, to celebrate NaBloPoMo -- National Blog Posting Month -- by, obviously, Posting Every Day For a Month. That month being November.

So I'm getting ready for the marathon. If you join up, you pretty much get to make your own rules, Cynthia says. So you can faithfully write every day, even if it's just a little bit, OR you can write ahead on the days (such as American Thanksgiving) when you don't have a computer.

Here's my plan: I'm taking the laptop to New Mexico for Thanksgiving. So I can predict now that I will be posting ALL about the difficulties I'm having finding gluten free, dairy free enchiladas.

Medieval Debate Procedures

I like to blog in a timely fashion, as proof that I am Keeping Up With Stuff.
So, since the third and last presidential candidate debate is coming up soon, I'll share with you the medieval view of the proceedings, as given to us by Bayeux Rhythms:

Family Photos in the Email

I had treats in the email this morning -- my double-second-cousin Melinda sent photos that she'd gotten from her mother. Taken around 1955 (probably on Long Island), they include this picture of my great-grandmother, Berthe Eskelund Lindtveit. Things I know about her: 1) Her famous fiskeboller actually came out of a can; 2) MANY of us have "her" krumkage iron, cause she would buy them, use them, and then give them away to daughters and grand-daughters; 3) she remembered the primroses on the fjords in the spring; 4) she told my mother that she left Norway because she had "the wanderlust."

Maybe that was true, at least in part. Whenever I go to Norway, I wonder again how anybody could ever leave it. It's got to be the most gorgeous place on the planet. Also, the food is tasty (see fiskeboller and krumkake, above; also lefse, strawberry cream cake, lingonberry jam, and salmon. Lots of salmon). Also, the humans are cheerful and sane.

But time and economics doth happen to us all. Only Ireland lost a higher proportion of her people to America, over the middle of the 19th century and into the first part of the 20th. When the hard times come, you do what you have to. You remember the primroses. You get your brother the sea captain to bring more fiskeboller.

Thanks, Melinda! Nice to start the week with treats. And some excellent perspective.

Palin Debate Flow Chart

Boing Boing has been kind enough to post the "Sarah Palin Debate Chart," courtesy of ph33r and loathing. Thanks!

My Latest Advice on Papers

My latest advice on papers, which I am able to give you because of the one I am reading Right Now, is:

Do not, especially if you are the sort of student who has not shown up ONCE in class so far (we're now at midterms), begin your paper with a statement about how the best literature in the world has been produced by British writers, especially some from the twentieth century, though class in the last few weeks has opened your eyes to the wonders of medieval literature, because

a) It can't possibly have done that, since you weren't here, and

b) even had I not had the training I've had, I would be able to Quickly! Like a Shot! recognize this sentence (and indeed, the next four pages, as it turns out) as Blithering Meant to Take Up Space Until You Reach the Page Count.

Head. Desk.

I'm going to go eat my dinner; tomorrow I'm sure I'll be able to approach this paper calmly, pointing out simply that there is no thesis (at least not one that I've discovered yet), and that if you've only got 5 pages, you need to actually focus on an aspect of one work, in order to discuss it fully. Rather than, you know, discussing All of Medieval Literature.

And by that time I'll be able to be polite about it.

Good Morning! It's Monday. Let's Do Links.

Here we are, bright, early, starting a new week. I've got papers to grade, and readings to read, but nevertheless I take time to share important news with you, oh my friends and relations.

First, courtesy of Thorn and Beth, we have Shay Black, singing that great Irish song about Barak O'Bama, the great Irishman. There are other versions of this song out there on the Net, but I'm partial to this; I used to live around the corner and down the street from the Starry Plough, where this version's been recorded, and I'm glad to see that a pub I loved so well is still strong. And that James Connolly can still be read on the wall. I see that it's now a full service restaurant, too. Hmm. It's gone upscale from the days I was hanging out there with Andrew Shulman's Deakin band. (So have I, now that I think of it. But I was young then.)

Second, the excellent Cake Wrecks is making fun of Dog Cakes. Rightly so. It's important to read Cake Wrecks everyday. Every. Day. Cause you never know what you might need to copy.

Third, I'm pleased to report that if you die in Denmark, you can get buried in a cemetery devoted to Odin and Thor. Inside the outline of a Viking ship! This cheers me no end.

Fourth, you've probably already seen this, but CollegeHumor has produced a parody Disney trailer of a Sarah Palin movie.

We now return to our regular Monday workday.

In Which Rhys Gets Sent to Juvey (If You Live in Edgewood and You're Missing a Fluffy Bunny Slipper, Let Me Know)

Rhys, the Cardigan Corgi, is now in his Teen Dog Days. In Rhys's case, this means that he, besides writing poetry full of teenage angst (containing lines like "the light is a symbol of my darkness") spends a lot of his time NOT following any of the commands that he previously knew very well, such as "sit," "stay," "come," "down," and "quiet" -- especially "quiet"; he's just not down with "quiet" -- and making up other things to do entirely, such as figuring out how to get out of the backyard and run up and down the street and through the backyards of the neighbors. (Next stop, I gather, is the phase wherein he stays out all night smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. If he asks you to buy some for him, just say no.)

For an animal with such short legs, he's remarkably hard to catch.

Anyway, apparently somebody on the street likes to keep her fluffy bunny slippers in her backyard. I know this because when we finally caught him the other day, he had one. So if you're missing one, let me know. It's around here someplace.

In the meantime, you'll be happy to know that I've discovered the Doggy Juvenile Detention, which starts next week. Here's the description:

Teen Intervention – Has your puppy reached those teen months where they act like they've never heard the word "sit" or "down" or "come"? Or did you adopt a slightly older puppy in an effort to avoid the 'puppy stage' and been thrown for a loop by that 'teen' attitude? Have they gone from following your every movement, to just walking away or teaching you to chase them? This course is geared towards teaching and re-teaching young dogs. We start out teaching your dog to 'Heel" (walk beside you – and at your pace), Sit/Stays, Down/Stays, and good Recall (come when called). Each week we build on what we've learned and add something new.

Yes. I'd like to re-teach my dog, please. Not to mention me myself.

And can you do something about that gawdawful poetry, too?

How to Research Your Old House, If It's the One Formerly Known as Nutwood

When we bought Nutwood, we were told that it was built in 1877; it had been moved to its current location from someplace else. That's it.

So I went first to the local library, to look at "the archives." The archives for Edgewood Borough turn out to be a manila folder full of some clippings, and some copies of "A History of Edgewood Borough," published in 1934. In all the file, there was no mention of the house at our address, or any mention of some house getting moved there. I did learn that the piece of street the house is on wasn't put in until about 1897, and before that it was a stream, making the story about the house getting moved here more plausible -- clearly, it was built before the street existed. I found some plat maps on line, and I was able to see that indeed there was no house here at the turn of the 19th to the 20th century, though it shows up later.

I went down to the Allegheny County Courthouse to research the deeds. This got me back to 1911, when the plan for the land plots (of which this is #11) was filed by George Johnston (whose name shows up in early Edgewood history). It also gave me the names of the owners of the house for several decades -- back to 1911, though the deeds didn't go back further.

I went online to do genealogical research, and found, by looking at census forms and draft cards, that the house, which had been sold to Maud Bean in 1918, had been occupied by the Beans by at least 1917. But before that no-one shows up at this address. (The Beans would eventually lose the house, in foreclosure, in 1933.)

I also found, by googling the name of the owners from the 60's through the 70's, the man who had, in 1984, restored and flipped the house. Emailed him. He and his sister, who grew up here, are going to come by some weekend soon, to tell us about the house as they knew it. She told me that the old people who lived behind them told her that the house had been originally moved from the hill above -- so it would, originally, have been on the street behind us, before this street was moved in. He told me that a history of the house had been written, by one of the founders of the Pittsburgh History and Landmarks Foundation.

I went by the Pittsburgh History and Landmarks library to see what I could find. They do not have, in the founder's collected papers, the history of the house. Darn.

But through looking at the plat maps, and working with the Edgewood histories, and doing genealogical research, I believe -- so far -- that the house was built in 1876, by Alexander Cadman -- it was next door to his dad's house (that'd be Sampson Cadman, immigrant from England), and you can see on the plat maps that at the time this house was built, Alexander owned this property, as part of the property that's now behind it. If you're following this.

Anyway. Alexander, who along with his dad was one of the founders of Edgewood, built it, when he married his first wife. She died, and he remarried, and this house got moved here. From the time it was here, it's been at least two apartments, sometimes three.

And now it's one house again.

I've got three more places I can look; Edgewood was part of Wilkinsburg when the house was built, so I'm going over to the Wilkinsburg library to look at THEIR archives -- maybe I'll have more luck. And the main Carnegie library has a Pittsburgh history collection which also I need to look at.

If all that fails, I might contact the owner of the house for whom the history was written. (Or not; he might not be into hearing from total strangers who bought a house he once owned.)

Someday, perhaps, I'll be able to prove who the builder was, and then the house can be "The Alexander Cadman House," or whatever. Till then, I now think of it as "The House Formerly Known as Nutwood."

Oh, Naughty Site Meter. Naughty, Indeed.

So all of you using Site Meter know this, but for the rest of you:

Site Meter, which for many years has provided many of us with a service allowing us to see how many hits our website has, from whence they come, and which of our links are clicked on, had a Cunning Plan to update itself, and make its services Even Better.

So this involved Site Meter being down over the weekend, which it mostly was, after which we would all be allowed to move on over to the new platform.

Which some of us did.

And then it turned out the new service sucked, AND that our old statistics -- which they had PROMISED would be moved on over with us -- didn't show up. Or, at least, for me they didn't show up.

So they took the new platform on down and said sorry:

Dear Valued SiteMeter Customers,

As you’re no doubt aware by now, we’ve chosen to roll back our website to the previous “classic” version.

Based on some performance issues we were experiencing along with feedback from the community it appears we have pushed our new site live prematurely.

Our intention is and has always been to offer you, our customer’s better tools and more accurate data. Obviously we fell short of this. The first thing we need to do, moving forward, is to roll out new product releases in parallel to our current platform. This will give everyone a chance to try out, evaluate, and comment on our new concepts.

Last night I could get on to the old site, with my old statistics. So that was fine.

This morning, not only can I not get to my old statistics, I can't even get to the blog, except by switching browsers, cause Site Meter has disappeared from my other browser, taking its version of the blog with it.

So now I wait, whilst the technogeeks slug it out.

Site Meter asked us if we wanted to be part of the Beta testing, now that things didn't work.

Right. Bite me.

What I want to know is, am I still paying for the new service? Or even the old?

By the Way: Tidings of Past Events

The Geoffrey Chaucer blog is not dead, though Jeff doesn't post anymore much, on account of it got taken over by Thomas Favent (who was blogging about going to "Blazinge Fellow" recently).

Today, though, Henry "S-Chain" Bolingbroke has written the blog -- he's that guy who isn't king, and couldn't be, could he, cause it would be treason for him to think about usurping power.....

Though of course, if he won, eventually, after several tries, then he would be Henry IV, wouldn't he? And that would make everything ok.

Dealing with Mice, According to Brannens

I've got all this stuff I need to blog about The House Formerly Known as Nutwood, which I now refer to as The Alexander W. Cadman House -- and will keep that up unless I get more history out of the library and become conviced he didn't build it* BUT

Carl Brannen, over at Mass, has just posted about his problems with mice, over at his ethanol plant, and how he deals with them. And I don't think you should miss "Quantum Field Mouse Cube Theory."**

*******************************************************
*One of the posts coming soon will be ALL about "Researching Your Old House, If It's The One Formerly Known as Nutwood."

**I have to admit that I don't always read Carl's posts, even though I love him very much and like to hear what he has to say, because mostly the posts are written in a language I do not understand, which looks like this:

"Let be a complete set of N annihilating primitive idempotents. That is, , and when j is not k, and for all k. Also suppose that each is Hermitian.

Let be a set of N real numbers. Then:

is unitary.

I’m guessing that the reader will find the proof immediately. If not, ask in the comments and I’ll give the short proof."

And I do not know what in the hell that means.

I do understand the mice, however.

Update on Nutwood

We've about come to the end of what we can do for Nutwood this year; we wanted to get the house painted, but the more important jobs took up a big ol' bunch of money. As of now, though, the gas leaks have been fixed; the exposed hot wires have been fixed, and the electrical outlets made non-lethal (next year, we plan to replace all the knob-and-tube wiring, which still takes up half the house); and the concrete steps up to the house in the front have been repaired.

And the contractor's been so busy! Here, for instance, you see an overhang which was thoroughly rotted out, on account of the unmaintained gutter. It was in such bad shape that it had plants growing out of it. And look! All fixed.
















Here you see a corner of the house which does NOT have, any longer, a giant vine, growing up the house, engulfing the live electrical wires, pulling off the gutter, and climbing on up the roof, toward my room, where it planned to eat me. It was scary.

Now, however, this is a boring corner. I give thanks.
















Let's go to the basement now. When we first saw the house, there was a lake here. Now things are pretty dry. Why? Ah, remember the first picture of the formerly rotten eave and gutter? This is the basement corner underneath.

















An even bigger lake was in this corner, and this is drying up, too. This is the corner underneath the completely plugged up gutter and storm drain, from which the contractor pulled 35 pounds of compacted debris. This pretty much explained why they weren't working.
















All of the basement window frames were rotten. I like to keep things as close to their original conception as possible, but in this case, we went with the contractor's suggestion of glass blocks. They're safer than the panes, they let in more light, and the installed vents give the basement more air circulation (see drying lakes above).
















And my favorite piece of the basement so far: when we first saw the house, this alcove (originally the steps from the basement to the outside) was blocked up with a rotten piece of plywood, covering up a load of junk, including a boiler. When the contractor pulled the junk out, the lake of water got larger -- the junk was acting as a dam. We're waiting to see whether the alcove dries out now that the surface water is being directed away from the house, or whether there's water seeping in from underground.
















This is the same corner, from outside. The white patch visible right above the stone foundation, by the new fence (also installed by the contractor, since we have dogs), is the replacement wood for the rotten STRUCTURAL BEAM! Structural beam! What were people thinking. And why was it rotten? Oh, you know. The plugged up gutter and storm drain. Moral of this story: People. Get the gutters cleaned out. Really. They're not decorative.















We also had to pay for things that the borough required, such as porch railings. From Construction Junction we got old spindles (saving hundreds of dollars), and the contractor built them into a wonderful railing, with a cedar top and some copper newel post finials I got on eBay -- I chose simple spherical ones, since the lines of the house are so simple.

















And here we are, present day Nutwood. We did so want to paint it this fall, so as to cheer up the neighborhood, but as I say, we think not. There was all that rotten siding to fix. We're planning to paint the mint green a sage green, the pink a straw, and the purple brown -- natural colors, more fitting the simplicity of the house.

















Coming soon: pictures of the inside. The circus themed dining room is still as it was. But at least it won't be falling into the basement any time soon.

Oh, and by the way, if you're in Pittsburgh and you need a general contractor, here's the guy we LOVE.

In Which We Discuss the Gawain Tour

I'm in Leeds at the moment. It's wet. It's very wet. Actually, I tell a lie, it's sorta wet interspersed with damp. Let's be fair.

But it's England nonetheless, and the dining room still has stewed tea, which makes me happy, and they give me soy milk for it and make gluten free toast, cause they are Excellent Stewards over in the dining room, and I give my paper today and already had my business dinner and made Big Decisions*, and things are going pretty well.

I didn't have the time or the money to stop in London and see friends (for which I apologize, but it's been that sort of year), so I'm just flying in and out of Leeds and only staying for the conference, BUT I did go, on the first day, on The Tour of Gawain Country.

The tour was based on the work of Ralph Elliot, who's written on the landscape he believes was in the Pearl poet's head for the setting of "Gawain and the Green Knight."** And I teach the poem often, and indeed am teaching it in both the fall and the spring semesters this year, so that's all legitimate and stuff.

But really, I wanted a chance to walk around in beautiful country and get some exercise and be amused by being a medievalist. Cause what the hell, if you're not amused by being a medievalist, you're in the wrong line of work.

And it was a tour, and a mighty tour.

I came back exhausted and wet and muddy, from tramping over roots and wet mossy rocks in the high forest, and clambering up and down wet mossy rocks into a crevice in an old crag. And! At one point we had to walk over slippery rocks and a fallen tree branch, to pass safely over a giant mud hole!

This was all excellent. It was just like being Indiana Jones's dad! Ah, the life of the Adventurous Medievalist.

The bus load of medievalists acquitted ourselves well. Nobody fell down, nobody got lost in the mudhole, nobody required assistance.

And the packed lunches were very nice.

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*Actually this consisted of the Big Boss saying, we want to put this piece of your work in this other volume, ok? and me saying, sure, why not.

**OMG! I was looking for useable links to the Gawain poem, and I found a Gawain and the Green Knight Paper Doll Set! I kid you not! Too bad they only show one side of the shield, so you can't see the face of Mary.

Boxed In

We're now living in Nutwood -- the dogs adore it; the cats are getting used to it.

We're living with contractors! They leave their stuff here overnight. That's how we know.

The electricians and the plumber worked on their jobs before we moved in. But Kevin, the contractor, will be here for Weeks. Weeks and Weeks.

He's putting in a fence, so that the dogs can be let out into the backyard without leashes. And he got the rest of the vine off the power lines and the gutter pipe, and cleared out the gutter on that corner of the house. During the daily deluge yesterday I heard the rain running through the downspout. Yes. Good.

And he discovered this morning, after digging up the non-functioning storm drain, that it's clogged with long composted leaves. The gutter and downspout above it are also clogged. And this explains all the water in the basement. I laughed and laughed. It's so simple, really.

And inside the house, we're living still out of boxes; the kitchen has been made usable, but since most of our stuff doesn't fit (it's a kitchen invented by people who lived off take-out, I think), it's still in boxes and we're deciding what to use this year before we can get the kitchen redone. The child's bedroom is done, so he's happy. Our bedroom is pretty much done, though there's bath salts all over it cause there's no place as yet to put them, in the bathroom, which was invented by people who needed neither bathroom storage (there's not even a medicine cabinet) nor towel racks.

This last one really gave me pause. How can you not need towel racks? (And don't explain to me, in the comment section, that hooks on the walls and doors would work. Yes, they would. I f they were there. They're not.)

Every day that goes by, we discover yet another unfathomable decision made by the previous owner. Want a heating vent where the structural beam is? Cut it in pieces! Need to get some of the water out of the basement so you can sell the house? Put in a French drain, instead of cleaning the gutters! Tired of painting the guest bathroom? Cover the untreated walls in poufs of lace!

This goes on and on.

But the computer's connected (hi! did you miss me?) and the kitchen's functional, and the tv's are working, and so are the cd players, and all the boxes of books are unpacked in the library.

All the books. In the library.

Life is good. And the house is wonderful.

We're in the Nuthouse

Finally, we closed on Nutwood. We have the keys. It's ours. (Yes, I know, it's the bank's, but we've got the use of it, and we get to make the decisions about what to do to it.)

I'll post pictures later; for now, here's what we've done:

1) cut down the vines that grew over the handrail to the front stairs, making it unuseable.

2) sanded and painted the iron handrails to the same front stairs.

3) installed solar lights next to the front stairs. Yay! They're now useable.

4) scraped off flaking painting inside the glass on the outside front doors.

5) cleaned the kitchen -- this includes the refrigerator.*

6) torn down the bizarre green fabric balloon gathered over the downstairs powder room ceiling.

7) put in light bulbs that actually give out light, in the said bathroom, the den, the kitchen, and the porch.

8) taken down the glass fixture on the porch light

9) BEST OF ALL! cut at the root the Leviathan Vine growing up the corner of the house, that's pulling down electrical wires and the gutter, and cut a lot of it off the nearby trellis.

Thank you. Thank you. Tomorrow, the electricians and the locksmiths.

***************************************************
*I'd ask you to explain to me how dead flies got inside a working refrigerator, but I don't want to know.

Keep Breathing (It's the Most Important Part)

Last fall I had a little surprise, in the form of getting asthma. Odd that I hadn't expected it at all; I've had allergies all my life -- to various pollens and plants and cats, when I was young. Then, when I was studying for my doctoral orals -- I gather it was a Stressful Time -- I went to the Dordogne in the middle of summer and the beautiful French countryside put me into a 24/7 allergy fit from which I never really recovered. Went back home and continued to sneeze all year.

Then when I moved to Pittsburgh, and was staying my first summer in an attic apartment without air conditioning, some friends lent me a window unit that had been in their basement, and as soon as I put it in the window and turned it on, my face swelled up. Mold. Can't take that, either.

Oh, and there were foods I couldn't eat -- mostly tropical fruits -- avocados, mangoes, papayas, blah blah blah.

But I took drugs - it's Zyrtec these days, for which I am very grateful, and I kept my cats, and things were fine.

And then last fall I realized I was wheezing. And my chest got tight sometimes. And the doctor told me it was asthma. I got an inhaler, and I worked on my breathing meditation.

But a few weeks ago I was at a medieval conference, and I was using the inhaler all day long. And I came home and I had birthday cupcakes, and I was using the inhaler all day long. And I hit the wall, and I finally did something I'd been thinking about for 20 years: I tried the Elimination Diet.

And. I can't eat wheat, and I can't eat milk, and I can't eat safflower oil. And the first day of the Elimination Diet, I cut the use of the inhaler to a fifth of what it had been. And now I go days without using it.

And I want to tell you, the fact that I can't eat any of the foods which were my favorites (the cheese! the cake! the ice cream!) is fine by me, cause boy, do I like breathing.

I'm breathing better than I have in a long time. I may well have been breathing this well as a child, but if so, I don't remember it. I love it.

I have been for decades an excellent baker. And now I'm going to learn how to bake differently. I know it can be done, because Pittsburgh is lucky enough to have Gluuteny, at which one can buy milk-free and wheat-free treats* which are VERY good. So if they can do it, I can do it.

And soy milk in the Yorkshire Gold tea is just fine.

I've been remembering a song we used to sing a lot in the early days in Reclaiming -- keep breathing, it's the most important part; you kick, and then you glide; you kick, and then you glide; keep breathing, it's the most important part. It's all in the rhythm, it's all in the rhythm, it's all in the rhythm of your heart.**

I'm still working on the breathing meditations, too.
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*They're gluten-free, really, but I only care about the wheat; it's not the gluten itself I'm having trouble with, I gather, since oatmeal and barley don't cause me to have trouble breathing.

**Somebody tell me in the comments, please, who wrote it; I can't find a copy as I write this.

My Little Personal Concern for the Transit of Saturn Saturn-square-time

To my great and utter glee, somebody has surfed on in using the Google translation function in German, hitting my post "Saturn Square Saturn," which is THE MAJOR PAGE OF THIS BLOG, I kid you not, according to my stats, which is pitiful, cause really I don't know a damn thing about astrology, and I was just blithering.

But too late! Ha ha! You surfed in, and this is what you found, oh my excellent European reader, if you take the German you were given and run it back through the Google translation function, which is one of my Favorite Idiotic Things in the Entire World:

One of the things happening in recent years (see previous articles on Dark moon and full moon drama drama and oh, probably mid-week for no reason, drama, I can not remember the details at the moment) my little personal concern for the transit by Saturn Saturn-square-time (originally Saturn in Scorpio). I am because of my second Saturn return in a few years, and my first Saturn return involved Getting Sober. I am glad I am grateful for each day it is very helpful, what ever happened to me, but I would not characterize it as a treat. No, it was hard. And in general, I experience Saturn energy as pretty damn close. So my thinking is perhaps in these days, instead of being terribly surprised by my inner reality in a few years, I can siphon out that some of the energy now work through as much stuff as I possibly can. This makes sense, is not it? I was not quite bonkers when I thought this. Nah. Hence the dark lunar year of work, so the gloss bombs and the new worship Freyja, so daily and constant spiritual practices, the cleaning and my clothes always clear.

Thank you. This means a lot to me. I was not quite bonkers when I thought this. Nah.

(What the HELL, though, is a "gloss bomb"? I gather this explains why, every time I taught the witches in Germany, we could NOT find any glitter.....)

Moving to the Nuthouse

So, further busyness has been going on -- we're moving into a lovely 1877 house, called "Nutwood," in about three weeks. Negotiations were...well...well, they were harrying. Though the house has been lived in, it's not in such a condition that the borough will just hand out an occupancy permit. No. Not until the exposed hot wires are taken care of. Oh, and the gas leaks. Oh, and the thorns enclosing the rail on the steps in the front. Oh, and the storm drain.

The rotten wood siding and sills we're just taking care of for the hell of it. We're fancy-free, devil-may-care, that way. Here. Have some more money. It's worth it.

And really, it is (despite our occasional viewings of "The Money Pit" and "Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House," to keep our spirits up). It's SOOOOO BIIIIIIG. It's got four bedrooms, three living room/dens, two and a half bathrooms, a dining room, a kitchen, a breakfast nook, and, in case we get bored, an attic which could be remodeled and made into an Excellent Ritual Room.

Some things -- the safety issues and the house not falling down issues and the San Franciscan Victorian Paint Jobby Which Looks Really Odd on a Pittsburgh Farmhouse -- need to get done immediately.

Other things, such as the Colorful Decoration of the Dining Room, can wait:




So that we can have people over to discuss things over dinner. By candlelight. With our eyes closed.

But it has detail!














It has gorgeous lighting!














It has a cathedral window and a skylight in the breakfast nook!











We LOVE it!


Now I'm going to join up with the House Restoration Bloggers, so that I can have Knowledgeable Company. We need to go pick out replacement doorknobs and a transom.