Peony Moss: March 2005 Archives

"Indeed, I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just, that His justice cannot sleep forever."

--Thomas Jefferson

I see the interview game going around. How does one play?

Blogs and the internet are cool because you get to meet people who are interested in all kinds of things you might never have known about.

One of the worthier things I've done over the last couple of weeks was to track down Interrogations at Noon, by Dana Gioia, from the library. I want my own copy now.

Would I have learned about Dana Gioia and his work if I hadn't been poking around St Blogs? Maybe. But now I'll always have the pleasure of thanking Dylan for introducing me to Gioia (and to many other authors.)

sorry for the long silence. There's this black dog that's been hanging around the house; I'm not feeding him but he just won't go away.

I also just haven't been inspired to write, in part because what meagre creative energy I had had has been going into a little side project of mind-boggling frivolity.

Let's see, what's been going on here?

Ruby's been settling in well. She's made a lot of new friends so she's been having a busy social life. Her parents (my aunt and uncle) are coming in for a visit on Saturday, so I'll be entertaining them for a week or so.

Ruby's birthday was last Saturday, so I made her a cake -- a white layer cake with lemon curd filling. It wasn't the most perfectly decorated cake I've done (the lettering came out pretty well) but I'm very pleased with the cake itself -- icing light and yummy, without being sickly sweet; cake tender; lemon curd yum. I love lemon curd, and it's taking up most of my self- command to keep myself from just sitting down to the leftovers with a spoon.

Hambet has turned four. Sometimes he is the cutest, smartest child in the Western Hemisphere and other times he is... not. He is trying to hard to learn how to read. Last month, when we were addressing cards for Valentine's Day, he scrawled out his first written words as I spelled out the letters for him: DEAR, DADDY, HAMBET. When we go for a drive, he begs me to play my Beatles CD and then insists that I play "Yellow Submarine" continuously.

We've been doing more work around the Prussian Green Money Pit, including yanking a nasty, ugly, misinstalled old woodstove out of our fireplace. Now we can have "real" fires. It's so cozy and pretty.

It's snowing out.

That's all I can think of.