Fake Writers
I already posted this once and then deleted because it was taking too long to figure out exactly what I wanted to say and it didn't come out sounding right. Instead of an opinion I'll just give you the URLs and you can track down the stories and think about them quietly to yourself.

Recently several writers have been revealed as big fat liars. First, there was J.T. Leroy whose fake past included a stint as a truck-stop hooker and a drug-fueled time in San Francisco. I read one J.T. Leroy thing and thought he was a fawning nitwit. Turns out he was invented by a couple who claimed to have saved him from this life and was played by the man's half sister.

Then there was James Frey whose tall tales were exposed by Smoking Gun and he got a good public flogging on Oprah for his trouble.

Then there's the author whose fake name is Nasdijj who pretended to be a Navajo Indian when he wrote his heart-wrenching and totally made up memoir. The LA Weekly provides evidence that the writer is actually a former actor and gay porn writer.

Sherman Alexie read the memoir in galleys and quickly identified it as a fake. In spite of his objections, the book was published. When the author's alleged true identity was revealed, Alexie wrote a piece for Time:

In 1999 a Native American writer, born fragile and poor on a destitute Indian reservation, published an essay, "The Blood Runs like a River Through My Dreams," in Esquire. It earned a National Magazine Award nomination and was later expanded into a memoir of the same title that became a finalist for a PEN/Martha Albrand Award. That rez-to-riches tale of courage and redemption sounds like a Horatio Alger story, doesn't it? … Of course, I'm biased, because, well, it's my story. Kind of.

Read the full story here.

On that topic, The National Review also does a story about people who claim to be Indian but are not claming it's "almost epidemic" which seems a little hysterical to me, but it's worth a read.

Between 1960 and 2000, the number of Americans claiming Indian ancestry on their census forms jumped by a factor of six. Neither birthrates nor counting methodologies can account for this explosive growth. Instead, the phenomenon arises in large part from the increasingly idealistic place Indians occupy in the popular imagination. Much of it is based on harmless sentiment mixed into a hash of unverifiable family legends and wishful thinking among folks who hang dreamcatchers from their rearview mirrors.

The entire story is here.

A Girl's First Drill
Remember back in November when I said I asked my Dad for a drill for xmas? (For some reason that's not linking to the exact post so you have to scroll down to Nov 4 if you want to see it.) Well, I got one. It's really cool. You have one battery that you charge and an extra so you can drill with one and have another on standby. You know, when you have a really busy day of drilling ahead of you. And it has a keyless chunk and 2 speed gear and there are bits and kibbles and all sorts of neat parts.

I need to think of some drilling projects. Maybe there's an abandoned house somewhere and I can drill holes in the walls all day. Have you seen that commercial where that girl goes to Home Despot and the employee is this dad-like for real helpful person who helps her get her whole apartment spiffed up in an afternoon? That's more than I've done in the last, um, eight years since we bought the house. Oh well, I've seen 5 seasons of Angel and 7 seasons of Buffy. Not like I wasn't doing anything. And now that I have a drill that's all going to change.

We've got a smoke alarm to reinstall. Let's see how many holes I have to make before I can get it right.

Later, pumpkin pie baking. After this, only 12 more cups of pumpkin left.

I call this one: Picnic Area Closed

I finished a fantastic book yesterday: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell. If you haven't read it yet, you're lucky because you have something to look forward to. I've been close to the end for ages but I have such a hard time reading right before bed these days. On the weekdays I'm fried and I'll read a chapter or two and then I can't remember anything the next day and I'm too lazy to read it again.

During this book I got some characters confused. But it's over 800 pages and I was happy to be there for most of it. I woke up at 3am yesterday but I was thrilled because I was wide awake and had no interruptions and could finish the book.

It's about magicians in England in the early 1800's and it has so many incredible details, and footnotes and side stories and background stuff that it became hard for me to believe the author had made it all up. (She does blend in some actual historical figures, I understand that she didn't make those up). I chose a few things to check online and everything lead back to the author. What an imagination.

It's not raining at this second and it would be a good time to get back out there and hack at the roses, except my hands and arms are sore from yesterday. Perhaps a more powerful pair of nippers is needed.

Happy 250th Birthday Mozart. I was going to write some sort of informative blurb here but I forgot about it earlier and at the moment have no interest. My loss I'm sure. I like his movie, Amadeus and his Kugeln. (Jesus Christ, I wanted to link Kugeln just in case you didn't know what I'm talking about {delicious candy treat} but I got about 100 links that want you to buy some shite. Commerce and information do not belong on the same highway.)

I found out why the rose bushes that divide our front lawn from our neighbors have been ignored for the past 2 years: they thought they were ours.

As soon as she said it I realized I should have figured that out. I guess I should back up. There are about 8 rose bushes in a narrow dirt plot that divides our front yard from the house next door. When we bought the house I asked about it and the realtors said it was theirs and sure enough, our neighbor Lorraine took care of the roses.

Then she sold the house and it became a rental and new neighbors moved in and being the anti-social person that I am, I only learned the man's name when he dropped off our netflix that had been mis-delivered and I learned the woman's name today, while they are in the process of moving out. Go team.

The roses have been 100% neglected since Lorraine left and I decided I couldn't bear to watch this another year so I'd just buck up and take care of them myself. But as I was hacking away at them, it occurred to me that perhaps I should have at least asked first and paranoid visions of lawsuits passed through my mind, like maybe these roses were abandoned as part of an important NASA science project and there would be untold damages by my clippers.

As I was in the middle of it, the woman drove up so I went right over for the first time in 2 years and introduced myself and expressed my hope that they wouldn't mind that I'd adopted their roses as a personal project.

"Oh," she said, "When we moved in we were told they were yours."

When Ya Gonna Ring It?
There are certain bands that I like the idea of but never listen to. The White Stripes (or White Strips, as I keep typing) is one of those bands.

Actually I'm not sure I even knew what they sounded like but I'm not 22 anymore and my entire self worth doesn't rely on being hip to the latest bands so I never know what the next big thing is until I've been beaten over the head with it and it's already last year's next big thing. Apparently at the moment it's Arctic Monkeys.

But back to the White Stripes - they were on The Daily Show and they played this song called: My Doorbell.

For some reason when he was singing it, I thought he was saying, "I'm thinking about my love bell, when ya gonna ring it, when ya gonna ring it." And I thought that was sort of clever and went around singing that to myself for a few days.

Then I heard the song on the radio and realized he was singing "I'm thinking about my doorbell ... "

I suppose euphemistically or metaphorically [do either of those words apply? can you use them interchangeably?] my version and Jack's are going for the same idea. But with further thought, my version is fairly 80's hairband Warrant "Cherry Pie" cheesy.

But then think about his version. He could be thinking about his latest fashion statement: those black and red Lederhosen he found on eBay and when is UPS going to deliver them?

Is there something going on that I need to know about? It took me 18 minutes to drive home from work tonight. I drove the actual speed limit at 6pm on a weeknight. I tapped my brakes once at the bridge. For a second I thought I was doing something wrong.

Say Nothing
I have an index card that I scribble on when I want to remember to write something here. I have no idea where it is right now and really, nothing to write about. But that won't stop me.

Over the weekend I had zero obligations. Sometimes I think having too much time is like having not enough time. I had so many ideas for things I wanted to do that I couldn't get started on anything.

I worked on my Photoshop with my new book that Erin gave me for xmas. The thing about a book is that you work through pages for several hours and then all you've done is learned about a couple of tools and shortcuts. You haven't made anything. So I skipped ahead to Ch. 18 so I could work on a tutorial but now I didn't have the benefit of learning about the other 300 tools and shorts cuts from chapters 2-17. After trying to quick mask my Delphinium for about 45 minutes, I'd had enough of that.

I figured out how to backup up my iTunes. I think. I still don't understand sound file formats and data v. audio and what's best and what converts to what, etc. I transferred a whole lot of something onto a disk.

I bought the Jose Gonzalez. I used to buy 3-4 albums a week way back in the day. Now I hardly listen to what I have and apparently I'm some aberration of nature because I don't like to spend money on things I don't use. Now I buy about 1 album a year. I didn't even remember how the iTunes store worked. Shouldn't there be a big "check out" button?

The other computer project I did was I finally wiped Yoda (my green iMac) and reinstalled the original software to prepare it for donation. There's something appealing about it as an objet d'art but it's so heavy and takes up so much space that it's going to be nice to get it out of the house.

Wow, this is the most boring post ever. All we're missing is a list of what I ate yesterday, then we could slip into a coma.

I GOT THE SONG
It's Deathcab for Cutie, Soul Meets Body and I figured it out using the search engine and lyrics. I just kept trying.

I thought it might be something we have in the house and turns out: WE DO.

Other newly discovered favorite: Jose Gonzalez.

Sew Lookie Here
Have I written about sewing yet? I can't remember.

I've been talking about taking a sewing class forever and when I quit writing that was one of the things I wanted to do. I wasn't sure what to do about a sewing machine. I knew Mom had one. But I also considered buying one. I checked PatternReview.com to get an idea of what sort of features I should think about and that sort of thing. I found a whole thread on beginners and sewing machines and they said, whatever you do, don't buy your first sewing machine. You need to find out whether you like sewing and what you want to make before you run off and buy one.

Priscilla had already given hers away but 1 email later I had my hands on Doni's (according to the owner's manual purchased 2-7-80) via Kathy. This was back in the Fall and I was taking Photoshop then so I decided to take a class in Winter. It starts Feb. 1.



The owner's manual said if you hadn't used the machine in a few months, you might want to oil it - only with sewing machine oil. Since I didn't even sewing machine oil existed, and since who knows how long since the machine's been used - I thought it would be worth it to get it serviced. I first went to Sears but as I wandered around I realized it's a godless place and I didn't want to spend half the afternoon waiting in line and then have to go back across town and wait again to pick it up.

Instead I took it to the local House of Vacuums and Sewing Machines (yes, a real place). Gary told me my machine was "a tank" and couldn't say enough good things about Kenmore. When I mentioned I was a newbie and starting a class, he told me when I pick it up he will give me a 15 minute demo so I'm not the biggest loser in the class. (My words). He's now by best friend and if you need to spend any money on vacuums or sewing machines: go to Hazel Dell to the place next to the bowling alley on Hwy 99.


In preparation, I cleaned out my sewing box, which was a gift probably 30+ years ago. It's very cute and it's been filled with all sorts of little treasures that I never use but could never throw away: a little change purse in the shape of a boot that my babysitter Mrs. McMasters gave me. It has "Pammy" taped to the bottom; a fan that my Grandma brought back from Japan, a harmonica, a yo-yo, money from Egypt, Belgium and France and my girl scout sash.


I noticed I earned the sewing badge. Wonder what I made. Probably the little blue pin cushion in the sewing kit.

Naming that Tune
I was going to put a picture up here this morning so you'd have something to look at and not be bothered by all these words. But instead I was seized with trying to find the title and artist of this song I heard on the radio last night when I was driving home from work.

I have a little tape recorder in the car, but it was buried in the bottom of my bag covered with magazines, yoga clothes and empty plastic lunch containers. I keep it in case I have a brilliant thought so I can preserve it for later or I can make lists of reminders of things I need to do. It might be a better idea to keep the recorder in a more handy place, but that's not the point here.

When I hear a song I like on the radio, I have two strategies for tracking it down. The first is to remember some lyrics and plug those with the word, lyrics, into a search engine. Then I spend the rest of the drive home with the radio off repeating over and over, "dust in the wind ... all we are is dust in the wind ..." and I enter the house and shout, "Don't talk to me, I have to remember this song" and I sprint to the computer and boot it up, standing there, tapping my foot, "dust in the wind ... all we are is dust in the wind ...".

This has been about 50% successful. But (a) lyric sites are generally ugly, ad laden and sploggy, and (b) if you only remember a snippet, in my case, something about atmosphere you get about 10,000 results plus in my case, atmosphere is also the name of a band but not the band I'm looking for.

My other strategy is to go to the iTunes store and pull up the 100 most popular songs in my suspected genre, in this case I thought it would be alternative, and I scroll through and listen to samples of songs that could be it. The drawbacks to this are (a) it takes forever (b) the song might not be in the top 100 and (c) who knows for sure what the genre is?

Yesterday I read about a new method to search a song called: Songtapper. But this morning I didn't remember that it was called Songtapper so I had to go back and check my regularly read blogs to see if I could find the post and that didn't work. So then I tried a search engine and again, trying to narrow your results using words like song search keyboard tap. I eventually found the site.

The way it works is you tap the rhythm of the song on your keyboard and it returns a list of songs. The post I saw said it worked. So, having struck out with the lyrics and getting tired of clicking on samples at the iTunes store, I tried Songtapper. I tapped my song and then waited.

This whole chain of events took place this morning and I left for work approximately 65 minutes after I got out of bed, I packed a lot into a short morning. You can understand why there was no time for a picture. Finally it returns my songlist and WTF? I got "Bad to the Bone," a Green Day song and a John Philip Sousa thing.

How does that even happen? Am I being punk'd? Am I a bad tapper? What do these songs even have in common? None of these is even remotely like my song. The site advised that if it didn't return my song I could enter in the name so it would learn it for next time. If, only.

Maybe one of my three readers can help me. If you were tapping it out on your keyboard it goes: tuh-tuh tuh-Tuh-tuh-tuh tuh-tuh tuh-tuh tuh-Tuh-tuh-tuh and it's something about the atmosphere, maybe you're floating through my atmosphere and it sounds maybe like The Shins. Maybe it is The Shins. Next time I have my iTune store open I'll check.

Who Discovered What?

There's a story now in The Economist that starts off:

THE brave seamen whose great voyages of exploration opened up the world are iconic figures in European history. Columbus found the New World in 1492; Dias discovered the Cape of Good Hope in 1488; and Magellan set off to circumnavigate the world in 1519. < ... >

It seems more likely that the world and all its continents were discovered by a Chinese admiral named Zheng He, whose fleets roamed the oceans between 1405 and 1435.

The authenticity of the map is being questioned and I'm not following the story that closely, I'm posting here because why does the world continue with this idea that America was "discovered." Sure, someone can have credit for being first for sailing around the world or crossing the ocean or sharing his germs with unsuspecting indigenous populations.

But there were already people here. How can you discover a place that already has people?

Spice Girl
This is an informal poll to find what is your most used spice? Not like salt or pepper (are those considered spices or condiments?) because those can go with almost anything. Also sugar. But other spices.

Right now my most used spice is cinnamon. I had a bucket of great designer super cinnamon from Penzey's and I only have about 1 teaspoon left. I made 2 batchs of persimmon cookies over the weekend and that just about cleaned me out. I bought some Penzey's baking spice which is cinnamon and other stuff like cardamom, nutmeg and cloves. But I don't like it. When you expect cinnamon taste and get baking spice, it's a little disappointing.

My other most used spice is chili powder. I have (had) a range of types and they're all gone except for a few scoops of a chicken taco blend and a tablespoon of regular chili powder. And tons of cayenne if that counts.

I used to use tons of basil and oregano but not so much lately and I bought several bales worth from Penzey's. It's stashed in bags in the spice cupboard, probably losing flavor as we speak.

Like Twins
The Parent Trap, both versions 1961 and 1998 were on TV this weekend. This post is totally going to date me but what girl, who was alive back then (1961), didn't *LOVE* The Parent Trap?

Now that I think of it, I wasn't alive in 1961. But I know I read the book to tatters and I'm sure it must have been on repeats because I remember loving this story. The wonderful Dad, Uncle Bill (wow, check out that bio. What a tragic life.) from Family Affair and dreamy Mom, Maureen O'Hara. And trying to figure out "how did they do that?" with only one actress.

When I was first writing this post in my head, I had Parent Trap actress Hayley Mills mixed up with an actress from one of my favorite TV shows back in the day, Juliet Mills. Juliet was Phoebe Figalilly in Nanny and the Professor. Did you know that Kim Richards (Prudence) is Paris Hilton's aunt?

Juliet has been married to dreamy Maxwell Caulfield (Miles Colby from Dynasty and the Colbys) for over 20 years.

Where was I going with this? It wasn't intended to be a ye olden tymes TV trivia quiz.

Oh yeah, The Parent Trap. Somehow I managed to tune into both movies at the point where the twins are stuck in the same cabin together in the rain and I stuck with both versions long enough to see both girls pull of round 1 of the switch which is the best part.

The 1998 version made some updates like changing the girls' names from Sharon/Susan to Hallie/Annie and the California ranch is now a Napa Valley vineyard and Boston is now London but some of the scenes (in the few parts I watched) were almost identical.

My favorite line in the 1998 version is when the two completely identical girls with identical birthdays and 1 with only a Mom and 1 with only a Dad finally figure it out and they look at each other and one says, "We're like, twins."

Plumbing Woes
My bathroom sink was all backed up again and in the process of trying to fix it, I broke the pipe under the sink. In my defense, I think the original installation was Mickey Mouse to begin with. It wasn't even like a real pipe but more like a plastic slinky thing and it was all brittle and probably needed to be replaced anyway.

I decided that it can't be that hard and I would do the homework to fix it myself. Who wants to spend all that money on a simple home repair? I found an online tutorial. First, I read the one about how to clear a drain and it said not to beat up on the pipe too much or you'll break it and cause yourself a bigger problem.

Well, that would have been a helpful reminder an hour ago.

During the "working with plastic pipe" tutorial I learned there are three kinds of pipes PVC, CPVC and flexible PB and they come in difference sizes like 3/4" 3/8" and 1/2" and that I should cut them with either a tubing cutter, hacksaw and miter or power miter or some other thing I didn't write down the name of and apparently you need to make a good cut to make it work right (I was planning on using an old kitchen knife so I wouldn't have to buy any tools).

Then I need an emery sheet and primer and cement and make sure I get the right kind for my application. I'm sure they aren't sold under the kind, "for fixing broken pipe under bathroom sink." I figured by the time I drive to the plumbing supply store, figure out what the hell to buy, probably be humiliated by some know-it-all plumbing store staffer who insists on knowing exactly how I broke the pipe because to be honest, I was pretty much beating up on it, get back home, try to actually fix it, tear my hair out, start drinking at 3pm rendering the rest of the day and evening a total wash: it might just be worth it to pay someone to come in here and do it for us. So that's the plan.

Bird-Day Afternoon
Be sure to click on the photo to see a large version.

Bob and I went for a walk today during a fortunate non-rainy patch. Bob had the idea of going down to Frenchman's Bar. From the path you could hear the geese making a huge racket and we could see groups of them all over the sky, making their formations.

As we were on our way back to the car the racket went up a few notches and we looked over and this ginormous cloud of birds raised up into the sky. It's impossible to convey with words and this little picture. If it was a horror movie, this was the part where the blood-lusting [insert terrifying human destroying monster here] gears up for its major assault on mankind. OR, it was an amazing display of nature. The birds had no goal (that I could tell). It was one part chaos but there was some order in there, too.

They'd fly in one direction and then double back and the followers would turn around, too. Amazing to watch. On the ground: cows. They looked dirty and sad, or if you got a close up: stupid.

Eye Baggage
There is nothing that cures undereye bags. It's like short legs or brown eyes. It's part of your architecture.

Yeah, sure. Too much partying contributes. I've read all the beauty tips and proper hydration is important, plenty of rest, physical activity, proper diet, no tobacco, caffeine, alcohol or refined foods. (If you read magazines or newspapers, that list accompanies the solution for solving virtually any problem except debt.)

But for sure, products don't work. Like diet books/pills/suits (yes, I bought a weightloss suit once -- it looks like a sweatsuit made out of hefty bags and for reference, this was 20 years ago) and writing books/classes/teachers filled with surefire publishing tips, I have been duped dozens of times by products promising to firm, tone, tighten, brighten and reduce puffiness under my eyes.

They do nothing. I've also used cold spoons, cold compresses, cold slices of cucumber, cold teabags and ice rubbed directly on the puffy area. Cold is apparently critical. You're better off just getting on with your day. The puffiness will reduce on it's own. Or not.

But if you've tried something that works, let me know.

There's a List but this is only One Item
I have a what's developed into a fairly long list of things to write about yet I always seem to think I'll get to it later. Some of it is no longer topical, but who's going to stop me?

When I was a girl, the Rose Bowl was on New Years Day, the same day as the Rose Parade. I thought the two events were linked. Some background info: there are no football fans in my house. I don't look at the sports page or sports websites so unless it's soccer or dare I admit it, figure skating, I have no idea what's going on in the sports world.

I heard people around the office talking about the Rose Bowl game taking place not on the 1st and not during the day but on a random Wednesday night. WHY? Was it still in Pasadena?

Do they still have zillions of bowl games? They must, it's got to be making money for someone. That used to be a big joke: The Orange Bowl, The Apple Bowl, The Toilet Bowl. Since I don't watch the sport, I don't know why I care, just . . . things like that shouldn't be changed . . . without a press release or new bulletin.

Also I heard on the radio that there is no more Monday Night Football. How can that be? I remember the years that Monday night TV was ruined because Dad had to watch football. Hey kids: when I was a girl we didn't have a TV in every room so if Dad wanted to watch football, hard cheese, we watched football.

But then, in those days I knew what was going on with football (sort of) and watched the Superbowl and as I recall, kinda enjoyed it. Now I only like sports where the guys look cute. Football? No. Baseball? Rarely. Basketball? Rarely. Soccer: YES! There are no ugly guys that play soccer with the possible exception of some eastern European countries who've got some gaggers (although rarely nothing that a good shave and some dental work couldn't improve) on their squads. And while we're on the subject, World Cup is only months away. Mark your calendars!

The Guy With The Big Pants
Yesterday we had a superfun day of bluegrass at the Rivercity Bluegrass Festival at the convention center downtown. I think I've explained this before but bluegrass is not something that I listen to at home. But spending a day seeing a bunch of bands live is always a good time.

A few highlights:

We caught Misty River finishing their set and they played one of the best songs I've ever heard: Home Grown Tomatoes. I think it's an original but I'm not sure and I'm too lazy to figure it out for you. The chorus is: There's two things money can't buy, true love and home grown tomatoes. There's a verse that says something like: when I'm gone don't put me in a box, put me in the ground so I can push up home grown tomatoes.

This song could be the Orleans local anthem.

As I mentioned I enjoy hearing bluegrass live but I don't have a deep appreciation for all the nuances and flavors. To me it sounds like two songs: the slow and mournful one or fast and plucky one. Generally someone has been done wrong or else there's a train a comin' or perhaps something Mama or Papa told them. During one set a woman told how she inadvertently stolen a melody from a fellow songwriter and I turned to Bob and said: How can they tell? All the songs sound the same.

At another point we were at the smaller stage and Bob leaned over and said the song was a Johnny Cash cover. Then he said, "Watch out, the Grateful Dead used to cover this song. You'll see the Deadheads all nodding along." I said, "Like the guy in the big pants?"

It took Bob a second to spot him and then he cracked up because there was this blissed out guy with tons of curly hair, nodding his head and wearing these enormous patchwork pants that looked like they were made from xmas tree skirts and fluffy felt and a single leg could be a cosy for the Eifel Tower. We spent the rest of the night looking for "the guy with the big pants."

The headliner was the Yonder Mountain String Band, a band I've never really warmed up to. I thought they sounded a lot more accessible last night and not sure if I was more open minded or they took a different approach for this type of event. They'll be back for three nights in August and Bob can tell me how it goes.

Here's the pear pie I made last weekend visiting Vermont. Pears aren't like apples. They like to roam.

Can I whine about my cold for a couple seconds? Remember when this started last week and I said I had a bit of a headache and a scratchy throat? It's gone downhill since then. Every day I feel a teeny bit worse than the day before. I'm sleeping worse each night. I'm coughing more and my head grows heavier with snot. Is this even allowed? Shouldn't I be feeling better? Where are the cough drops?

Big River in Orleans
BG sent a picture of the high river so I thought I'd post it here with some comparison photos. You can click on the photos for a larger version.

I took this May 04 from the house looking downriver.


This is from 12.26.05 looking across the river at the house, right before we left after Xmas.


This is the photo that BG sent. You're looking downriver toward the house. Wild, eh?

Mr. Pumpkin's Wild Ride

Here is Mr. Pumpkin. He had a rough start in the garden since the squirrels or racoons or something can't resist the urge to eat them as soon as they are formed. But this guy managed to grow. We enjoyed a couple months of display on the counter and now's time for the kill. "Come on, come on, everyone." [obscure literary reference. who gets it?]

First step is to chop in half and scoop out the seeds. I have this mallet thing that I got for assembling my anthrocart. The perfect tool for this job.

Mr. Pumpkin almost didn't fit in the oven. I had to do some shelf repositioning. I was a little worried about it hanging over the edge. These puppies put out juice when they're roasting.

Once he's roasted (about 1 hour at 400 degrees) it's a simple job to scoop out the fleshy innards. Ideally let cool a bit first. Mr. Pumpkin filled the entire bowl (at left). I let the pumpkin drain in the colander and try to squeeze out extra moisture. Then I puree in the food processor. That step is probably not necessary but I like my pumpkin smooth.

When done I had 5 3-cup containers of pumpkin plus I used 2 generous cups for my pumpkin cheesecakes. I have a whole tray of seeds for planting and sharing. (Let me know if you'd like some.) And I shipped a gallon of pumpkin juice to Hogwarts for the kiddies.

email oof
I had this spam filter thing set up and it worked great but at some point in the last couple weeks I had a paranoid moment because I hadn't gotten any email at all and suspected my filter was haywire. [It made sense at the time.] So I turned it off. Suddenly my spam went up about 1000%. When I went to reset the filter how I used to have it, it was gone [obviously the gaping hole in user's technical skills]. So I set up this other kind of filter and email went to zero again, including test messages I sent myself (from another account). I've gone back and turned this off.

Meanwhile, if you're still reading and you sent me a message yesterday or the day before, I probably didn't get it and you probably didn't get a bounce notice. Could you send it again?

This is a post for all the people who have heard of Orleans but have never been there or wonder what it's like.

This links to a site with road trips for motorcycles. This link is Highway 96 and surrounding roadways. It has lots of great photos and maps of the area. Enjoy.

I started out looking for links to weather and road conditions because they're getting a lot of rain down there. I tried to call and got no answer and no machine which means no power. Bummer.

Happy New Year
We watched a fantastic movie last night: Nowhere in Africa. It won the foreign film Oscar in 03 and is a beautiful film. It's about a Jewish family that moves to Kenya right before WWII. We both loved it.

I used to have this thing that I called nervous stomach. It was from a combination of eating and drinking too much and I would wake up in the middle of the night and feel sick and be unable to sleep. I would sip a little alka seltzer or ginger tea and read or watch TV and after a couple hours I could fall asleep and I'd be fine in the morning. This used to happen a lot but I can't remember the last time it happened.

Until last night.

And I don't think I drank or ate too much so I don't know what the magical formula is but I woke up at about 11:57pm (of course) and my stomach was lurching all over the place. I made some ginger tea and listened to the fire crackers and then read my book for 2 hours before I fell asleep. I have just enough of a cough to wake me up every two hours so when I finally woke up I was a bit bleary eyed and had a slight twinge of a headache. Somehow I couldn't let the rest of the world go through it without me.