Like Lollie, I just got my hair highlighted. Lots of red this time, with some gold that you can't see very well in this picture. Though I am normally covered in cat hair, wrinkled, and five years out of fashion, I am attempting to pull myself together for my brother's wedding. I think can have it all workin' for one day in 2007. Maybe two, but that's a long shot.
These are my wedding shoes. The dress is white with a black paisley pattern -- sleeveless, cocktail length, empire waist, with little beads and sequins scattered across it. It fits like a dream. Do I risk a spray tan? Also,
My front stoop is apparently quite inviting to birds. These interlopers are about at eye-level in an only-half-functioning string of "light balls" -- prime placement for the photographing. They have no compunction about where their excretions land. So rude. And completely impassive in the face of my landlordial ranting.
When I first moved in, some mourning dove had claimed the ledge above my front door as her annual nesting spot, and it took a series of inhospitable gestures on my part to drive her away. I used to be so fond of mourning dove cries until I was being woken up by them.
I come by my bird conflict naturally. Mom (who loved many birds and bird watching) had an ongoing battle trying to keep sparrows (or was it swallows?) out of the garage. At one point, she bought these two plastic owls that had those plastic topaz eyes and hung them in the garage to serve as scarecrows. Or scaresparrows, in this case. I don't know if they helped, but she'd hung them up by tying a string around their necks and then tying the other end to a rafter. It sort of looked like she'd hung the owls in effigy.
This has been sort of a "Is anybody out there?" kind of week. Sometimes my job is mildly soul-sucking. I mean, I fill a LOT of magazine pages every month. Some are better than others, of course, but sometimes it all starts to look like dummy copy -- random words the art directors use to fill the space where the text goes.
And I don't have any hard and fast evidence that anyone besides the people we interview even reads the articles. I don't do the flashy features, with stories on prominent people. I do the sections, where you can find 10 things you didn't know about retirement and estate planning and a 30-page list of meeting facilities. Plus my name isn't even on most of it; I don't write usually, I just edit. Sometimes every other word, but that doesn't come with byline credit.
I guess there are advantages to being invisible, but it seems like if I bust my ass getting 10 articles into an issue that it'd be nice to know someone had actually consumed that content. Or more to point, it'd be nice to have my part in it recognized. But I don't know how that happens unless someone is observing me rather closely. I guess I kind of suck at laboring in obscurity.
I'm exposing you to my geek-tastic younger self so I can share this picture of my mom. I can't believe she's been gone for almost 15 years. This was taken at my high school graduation party. I was so anxious to be at college, but I remember how happy she was to see me every time I came home. I remember how she hugged me when I finally got out of bed, saying how great it was to have me there. Miss you, Mom.
Sorry to be MIA. Pamela and I did this bike ride last Saturday--the Cannon River Trail between Cannon Falls and Red Wing along the Cannon River. Super pretty and delightful trail--easy ride of two hours or so, barely any hills. Then we had a picnic lunch next to the river (Mississippi this time) in Hastings. Lovely. Then I got back to the TC and lost all my energy for four days. Like making lunch was an insurmountable task. What's up with that?
I think it's the September assignments . . . trying to come up with outlines for about 7 stories, one after another. What am I, a machine!? *shakes fist at sky* I think that's why I didn't participate in cK's interview. I can handle answering questions, but the idea of posing questions to someone else is too much like writing assignments. ("Potential questions for sources: Do you believe you can turn anything into condos, even a freeway overpass?") But I loved your questions to Lollie, cK.
I also blame Eden Prairie, which is the opposite of an eden and sullies the good name of prairies everywhere. I had to go there for a meeting on Tuesday and nearly lost my mind trying to find the place. I finally got there and probably couldn't find it again if I tried. WHICH I NEVER WILL. Eden Prairie, you are dead to me. Also, when you screw around with the street layout, maybe you should let Mapquest know. Jerks.