girl at large

Christmas is in the details.

I was up at 6am. Not to prepare treats and holiday surprises, but because the goddamn phone rang...
Mom. Getting an earlier flight. Arriving at 1:30 instead of 4:30. Throwing out of whack my carefully drafted do-nothing-until-absolutely-necessary Cleaning The House for Company Plan. Crap.

Keeping in mind the Theory of Good Enough (more on that later), I quickly edited the list of things required for Visitors. Out the window--defrosting the broken freezer compartment of my undersized refrigerator. You see, it's broken. It's been broken for months. I have a mini glacier in my mini fridge. Every few weeks, when the door won't close properly, I hack at it with a butter knife, breaking free chunks of the white stuff to fall, avalanche style, to the floor. Ruby loves these moments--a little violence leading to something new and interesting to eat off the floor. Dogs love that stuff. Eat it right up.

Five hours later, surveying my freshly tidy five hundred square feet with a little bid of pride, the mini fridge was now a major worry. She would find it. She would open it. She would see. And she would squeal, "Kathleeeeen! WHAT is THIS?"

I shook my head to clear it of neurotic thoughts, reminding myself that this is a woman who ashes her cigarettes in decorative pottery. She would be reasonable, see that the fancy bed pillows were just the right shade of aqua, the picture frames dead-on straight, the lightbulbs all optimum wattage, the bathroom bleached top to bottom. She's a reasonable woman, she would understand that one small oversight in a busy life is allowable. It is BROKEN after all.

------

She is not a reasonable woman. She is still captive to the Mother gene. The offending fridge was found in the first 2 minutes. "Kathleeeeeen!" Mom spend day two (while I was working), in my apartment, all day, defrosting.

She ashed in my pots.

Christmas is for the Dogs

Throughout the family holiday, Miss Ruby never lacked for her favorite thing; a warm lap.

Merry Christmas!

Tom, the Tattooed Elf

Tom and Devon, the Threes of Us, I better get baking!, Traditional Christmas Jammies styled for the Italian life, and Tom Injures Self with Own Gift.

Rockin' Christmas

Mom rocks out....thanks to her new iPod Shuffle from Tom and Devon...already thoughtfully loaded with a hundred of her favorite tunes...no techknow required!

Put a bow on that, I'll take it!

Mom's going home to her own gift....Marco (scroll down), her new boaty hired-hand.

Flurries

It's snowing!

Holy crap, it's snowing! I left my snow equipment behind long ago...thought I'd left the snow there too.

Is there such a thing as a Home Town?

I was asked an interesting, and bothersome, question today: "What is your hometown?". Huh. I'm not sure how to answer that.

Born in San Francisco, but only there for one year.
Then lived in Columbia, Missouri but gone by the age of 3 or 4.
Raised, as it were, in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. But we spent many weekends in 'the city': Chicago, Illinois. (I'm clinging hard to the fact that Mom and Dad did technically own a co-op there).
Then, Chicago proper in my late teens and early twenties. (And don't forget a year in boarding school in Lake Forest, IL, but then I'd also have to count that boarding school year in Beaver Dam, Wi too.)
And as an adult, it's back to Wisconsin, Madison this time (but it's an island unto itself, does that count?).
Then off to Savannah, Georgia for nearly five years.
Two years in Antibes, France and now I find myself in Portland, Oregon.

Did I miss anywhere?

I considered this hometown question very carefully because the reply is going to be IN PRINT. The pressure.

I settled on Chicago, because that's were I feel most at home. I gave my sister a hard time once for listing Chicago (instead of Fond du Lac) on her college graduation program, but now I think I understand---do you really want the world to think of you as hailing from a place where the local paper has a Big Buck Club photo feature??

Berfday

It was my birthday yesterday, and it went well. After recovering from the previous night out (work holiday party at Hubers, Spanish Coffees=very bad things), I managed to get myself together for a great dinner out with friends at Paley's Place, someplace I hadn't been before. It was the perfect pick, fabulous food and fun friends, and we were the third birthday group there last night---seems it's a popular place for elegant celebrations. My tummy is still recovering from all the rich food, but I'll take that over a Spanish Coffee hangover any day!

wake up call

Well intentioned, but far too early....the phone rings at 7:30am today:
-"Hyeowullo?"
-"Hi Kate! It's Dad! Happy Birthday!" (with far too much enthusiasm for this early)
-"Whoueitkd?" (clearly not clear-headed, asleep and deeply troubled by Spanish Coffee intake night before)
-"Oh, is it early?"
-"Yes"
-"Did you go out last night?"
-"Yes"
-"Are you off work today?"
-"Yes"
-"Oh, guess you could sleep in then!" (with laughter)
-"That was the idea"
-"Happy Birthday!"
-"Hurempht. Thanks" click.

Holiday Hooters

Oh, the party dress. The Christmas, Birthday, New Year's dress. Every year I get one, some years it's a creative Target/Goodwill combo, other years I can splurge. But it is always the ultimate hunt, the magnificent challenge:

How will I fit The Girls in the party dress?

I found the dress in one day this year; one outing, one store. And it was marked down--twice! Vintage-looking, perfectly flared and just enough sparkly. Thank goodness for the Zipper Helper, with it, the girls and I were good to go!

all those teeth

I've neglected to properly label this photo---I forget sometimes that I have 'readers' outside the immediate family. So, for Dawn ("Did you find a vintage photo or something?") and Mike (Who ARE those people? They look FABULOUS!")---
Aunt Grace (recently passed, see previous entry), Grandma Mickey (she of the eleven children), Aunt Marie (still partying past midnight at 90) and Uncle Bill.