Showing posts with label gnomes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gnomes. Show all posts

Monday, May 10, 2010

A Mother of a Day

As some of you already know, I have this love/hate relationship with Mothers Day.

On one hand I'm thinking: "Hell yeah...I spent 596 hours popping you out; you damn well better bring me weak coffee, burnt toast and a wilted flower in bed this morning."

On the other hand I'm thinking this is a sort of life style choice and no one else gets an entire day to honor their lifestyle choice (except, you know...fathers). You know who deserves a day? People who clean public toilets in bus stations. Now those are people who deserve a free dinner.

I am of the firm belief that no one's job is more important than anyone else's and income in certainly no reflections of a task's function to society; otherwise those annoying Kardashian people would be living in a van down by the river. (Why are those Kardashian people creeping out of the sewer of inane cable television into places like the Washington Correspondents Dinner? Shouldn't someone set out traps or something to prevent such infestation?)

That being said, I never feel entitled to too much hoopla when it comes to Mothers Day because I'm a little reluctant to celebrate merely doing my job. Mothers Day is like saying: "Hooray! The human relegated to your care isn't dead! Good job!"

So, I'm always happy with whatever is planned in my honor on Mothers Day, lest someone find out I'm not quite as saintly as Hallmark would have you believe. So I have a few confessions to make:

  • My kids always had a consistent bedtime, not because I was a good mother, but because I was tired.
  • I listened to audio books and knitted during Little League games.
  • If we were in the pediatrician's office, there had to be a limb dangling or someone's brains seeping out of their ear; I couldn't see paying a doctor to tell me "it's a virus that's going around."
  • All while my kids were growing up I told them that Disney World was a huge, poorly-run amusement park where people stand in line all day long for a thrill lasting a cumulative half-hour; I told them Disney spends all it's money on marketing, which is why everyone thinks it's this great place to go. (In short -- I told them the truth.) Consequently, they not only have no desire to go to Disney World -- they have an active dislike of anything related to it. That's right -- I stole Mickey Mouse from my children.
  • I ate some of their Teddy Grahams. Okay, I ate a lot of their Teddy Grahams. Okay, so a few times I ate so many of their Teddy Grahams that they were forced to have toast for a snack (hey -- I put cinnamon and sugar on it...).

So there you have it. And through it all, I still received this yesterday from Heir 1 (it's good to have a kid who works for Panera):



And this from Dirtman (this is one of six):



And was treated to dinner and a movie by Heir 2 (accompanied by Caisee, who was treating her mom, Carol, too!) and a trip to The State Arboretum at Blandy Farm by Dirtman.


Lunch

All this in spite of everything.

So I'm not even angry that I woke up this morning to a sink full of dirty dishes. Well, not too angry...

Friday, March 12, 2010

Gnorm hates spring break

While Heir 2 was home from school, he was pretty involved with getting caught up on homework. So I left him to his own devices.

However, something about Heir 2's presence stirs up Ungnome and gnome-like activity in general.

Target Practice

Hung by the Gneck

Ungnome gets his

Gnomes on a toot

Unfortunately, Heir 2 didn't get quite as much done as he should have.

The gnomes, however, were exhausted.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

A Large Swath of Insanity

I'm still not apologizing for my love of snow.

Yeah, we got almost 2-1/2 feet, I've had to rely on the kindness of strangers (Well, the kindness of neighbors, anyway. Hardly strangers.) to help plow my driveway and I'm ultimately going to suffer financially for working at a farm that is unreachable during such weather.

I will admit to a bit of a negative attitude last Thursday when the power went out and I hadn't made coffee yet. I can lose my house, declare bankruptcy, endure joblessness, be threatened with homelessness and shed ne'er a tear; but take away my first cup of coffee in the morning and I dissolve into a sniveling, sniffling basket case requiring every dog in this house to circle the wagons. If they'd had opposable thumbs, they would have made my coffee, a danish and supplied me with my own personal rawhide to gnaw on. But all they could do was sit in their signature semi-circle, facing outward, and look noble and protective (except for Zsa Zsa, whose antidote to everything is to lick my knee).


Eventually, though*, Heir 1 woke up (it may have been the wailing) and immediately shoveled a path to our gas grill outside, turned on the gas, lit it and, thumping his chest, declared he had made fire. Finally, thanks to a mortar and pestle (Note to self: place a few pots-worth of ground coffee in freezer, for just such an occasion), I got my coffee and Heir 1 (who, by the way, was in the throes of the flu) had tea. Thanks to a propane fireplace, we had heat. I had plenty of Britta water and, thanks to the abundance of precipitation, we had enough water to flush toilets (not as easy as you would think -- a spaghetti pot of snow yielded barely a pint of water. This was an on-going project. There are those among you who understand why this would be a priority).

Once I got the coffee in me, I began to enjoy myself. I made homemade chicken soup for dinner (with some -- though not as much as this time -- garlic) and snuggled in with my knitting and several books. Power would come back on and promptly go out again, just when you were in the middle of something, so I learned not to take it for granted.

After awhile, I developed a routine and it was almost with disappointment I realized that the power hadn't gone out in quite awhile and it seemed the "storm" was over.



I've yet to get back to work, but I can't help loving how pretty everything is. Dark Garden will probably have something to say about this -- he does not winterize well. In fact, I rather annoy him with my preference for cold weather (you should see the view from his front window). He is counting down the days until he can move as far south as possible; I lament that I will never be snowbound in some wilderness.

Well, I guess this winter is as close as I'll ever get.



*Dirtman spent this entire time at work, sleeping wherever and helping to keep the store open -- hoping against all hope that his diligence will lead someone in the organization to promote him to a Real Job with Real Benefits and a Real Salary. I won't turn this into a commentary on the sloppy work ethic of younger generations and those whose minds are numbed by the philosophy of union dogma, but I am often flabbergasted by the laziness of aforementioned workers who manage to hold on to their positions. Just saying.

Saturday, June 06, 2009

Swan songs and Pomp and Circumstance non-stop

Many people are deceived by the simplicity of the triangle as an instrument. It's too easy to write off the importance of and talent required to sit through an entire piece of music waiting for two triangle hits, looking totally engaged, and deliver a performance whose simplicity masks the skill and practice required to accomplish.

The Master's Hands


There are good triangle players and there are poor triangle players. Heir 2 is known in these parts as the Yo Yo Ma of the Triangle. And certainly his performance at last night's graduation ceremony -- his final high school band performance -- brought tears to the eyes of many in the audience.


Oh. And Caisee did something too.

(Actually Caisee got up there and belted out the Star Spangled Banner all by herself in a nail-biting performance that had us swearing she'd never be able to hit That Note -- but she did. What will Strasburg High School do without their house singer? Oh, and Caisee will put her talent to use in the future by becoming a doctor of forensics. Yes, I've tried to find the connection. Singing autopsies? I just print the facts.)

And now for some typical Linguini shots we've all come to expect:

Joe 'n' Gnate


Joe 'n' Dirtman


Just. Don't. Ask.

Centerpiece designed by Dark Garden*

*Some of you may recognize the this from way back when. Little by little all my old House That Shall No Longer Be Named projects are turning up from the bags where they were so hastily tossed. This is a particular favorite of DG's.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Up to speed

Ahhhh! Back on my usual computer. The laptop is okay for just working in Word, but doing anything else is a nuisance -- and will be until I get myself a mouse.

Things have been truly buzzing around here; so much good news, I'm wondering if perhaps the universe is tilting in a strange direction or maybe I've fallen through some black hole to a parallel universe -- one that isn't out to get us.

Or maybe my Year of Grief has come to an end, even though I didn't know I was experiencing a Year of Grief because I was...well...experiencing a Year of Grief. What is the psycho babble phrase? I found my New Normal?

First of all, NO MORE CISTERN!!!! Our landlord/neighbor hooked us up to his well. What this means is no more turning on the kitchen sink, hearing a telltale thunk that means "rinse what you got and quick;" or waking up at night when someone uses the bathroom and hearing an ominous hiss that means no one else will be able to use the toilet until water is delivered. Turns out the cistern still had a leak, which I wish we knew, like, eight expensive loads of water ago...

Second: Dirtman has quit tobacco! The Heirs are particularly happy about this since they envisioned a future of having to be the caregiver to a father with half a face. I'm just relieved he got rid of the health risk. Oh, and now I don't have to run away when he tries to kiss me.

Some minor positive notes: The thyroid meds have finally kicked in completely and, while I wouldn't say the pounds are "melting" away, I feel like I'm back on track and am fitting in clothes I haven't seen since two summers ago. My energy has returned and my joints aren't screaming every time I put forth a little exertion. My hair has stopped falling out and my nails grow again.

So we've been busy. Landlord/neighbor plowed a section in the back of the yard (beyond the fence) for a communal vegetable garden. As soon as it dries up a little he's going to have it tilled. So we started a compost pile because...yea...we've got a lot to compost.

Mothers' Day was spent at Dark Garden's house, where I was -- against my will -- entered into a dip contest. Had I known this was a contest, I would not have brought hummus, which was, technically, in violation of the "dip theme" of the gathering. The dip was supposed to go with tortilla chips, but since I was trying not to eat tortilla chips, I brought hummus and carrot and celery sticks.

Do I need to tell you I lost miserably -- even to Dirtman's dip, which was...well, if you have a strong stomach and aren't eating anything, you can read about Dirtman's dip. First of all, men don't like hummus. They say they do to appease women attempting to get them to eating healthily, but they don't. Second, I can't think of anything more disgusting than hummus on a tortilla chip. And, finally, this batch didn't turn out as well as usual because for the first time in my life I made something with not enough garlic and, I think, my tahini might have been too old. (Dark Garden will make a comment about that last phrase.)

Additionally, Dark Garden will say I'm taking this way too seriously, which is what the person who sets up such competition always says when he purposely sabotaged the entry of the competition he feared. It ended up being a draw between his and John Boy's salsas, but only statistically. Each dip had its own merit and it's hard to compare, say, a cheese-based dip with a salsa because sometimes you want cheese and sometimes you want salsa.

And sometimes you don't want either because you want fresh vegetables and hummus.

I think that catches us up.

Oh, except for this, which we found next to Abbey's favorite gnome:

Monday, January 19, 2009

It occurs to me that...


...perhaps Ungnome has way too much time on his hands.

...Or maybe it wasn't a good idea to exempt him from his final exams this week, giving him even more time on his hands -- Ungnome, I mean.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Gnorm's tormentor revealed


Ungnome -- Gnorm's evil twin.

And here I've been blaming Heir 2 all this time.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Never too old to maul a pumpkin

All I needed, I told Heir 2, was a jack 'o' lantern to put next to the door where I want the trick or treaters to go tomorrow. He was too old for this sort of thing, I admitted to him, but if he didn't do it, I was going to have to do it and I still hadn't cooked dinner or vacuumed or given his brother a haircut yet.

I was happy when he agreed pleasantly enough and I made a point of baking a batch of chocolate chip cookies by way of gratitude.

According to our neighbor/landlord, we do get a few trick-or-treaters and this is a first for us. We were always in an area too rural. When the Heirs were little, we had to drive to an official "neighborhood" to trick-or-treat, causing resentment among a few of the residents -- okay, one crabby old lady -- who felt she should only have to supply candy to the kids in her neighborhood. Were she flooded with kids I would have agreed, but the subdivision was so small, even with the added rural kids, she probably didn't even finish a bag of candy. She complained about the neighborhood kids too: they didn't ask politely enough or were too loud or their costume didn't show enough initiative. Pretty soon all the parents learned to avoid her house. All she had to do was keep her outside lights out and no one would have bothered her to begin with.

Anyway, apparently we will be visited upon this year and, since we technically have two front doors, I'm setting up Gnigel with a tiny pumpkin in his lap and the jack 'o' lantern next to the one most accessible.

But...

He was having way too much fun... um...

carving...

...I'm pretty sure there's a scene like this in the movie "Hannibal."




Just call Heir 2 Mr. Sluggo.

Rumor has it, also according to our neighbor/landlord, that one of the guys who has a farm around our little village dresses up as the Headless Horseman and rides his horse through Mt. Olive. I hope to get a photo now that I've figured out how to work the aperture on my camera. I'm not very good at it yet, though, so he'll probably be a mile down the road before I get the setting right. I don't want to spoil the effect for everyone by having the poor guy pose for me.

See? I thought Halloween was going to be just another day now that the Heirs are grown and now it's becoming A Thing. I just may go out tomorrow and buy some good apple cider at Rinkers and our traditional Halloween treat (at least when I was a kid): Hostess donuts* -- the box with four powdered, four plain and four cinnamon donuts. It's just not Halloween without the Hostess donuts.

*I don't know if Hostess is available around here. Dirtman insists they sold that portion of the business to Little Debbie. It's immaterial. They must be variety donuts.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

The Cathetered Gnome

First there was this.

Then there is Dirtman's version -- or, rather, our water delivery guy's version.

Wednesday, August 06, 2008

Excavation

My mother-in-law bought this for us because it reminded her of Dirtman and John Boy building the fence out back.


But...what is that they're burying?


Sigh

Monday, July 28, 2008

Friday, June 20, 2008

Our Gnew Happy, Jolly Gnome!


Meet our gnew gnome, a birthday gift from Heir 2. He looks like such a jolly fellow...

Um...




What, exactly, is he doing with his hand?

Oh, never mind! He's a happy, jolly...gnome...











...what is that smile about...





...jolly...happy...and that look in his eyes...


OH! Now I get it!

He's stroking his snail!*














* Heir 2 bought this over the counter at Big Lots and the special pose was the exact reason why. The Heir have plans for this gnome.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

We are not savages

We Linguinis are very civilized people, in spite of that fact that we have, temporarily at least, hit the skids.

And when I say "skids," I don't mean to devalue where we have found ourselves. Considering we had two days to find somewhere to live that would accept us and our dogs, this is really not so bad. In fact, I would go so far as to say we were downright lucky.



As we clear out more and more boxes (ahem...I swear we only got boxes at the liquor store. I haven't reached the point of needing to buy by the case -- yet), I'm starting to enjoy living here. Dirtman did me the favor of wandering about the yard to take pictures of what we have to work with.

This house used to be owned by our landlord/neighbor's great aunt and it shows lots of signs that it was loved. There's no getting around the fact, though, that it's small for four adults and I choose to treat it as a lesson in cooperation. And I will keep repeating that over and over and over and over until -- well -- I'm ordering vodka by the case.




But then, of course, we are the neighborhood renters so no welcome wagon for us, I'm afraid. Therefore, I choose to consider it their loss because we're fun people, dammit. We really are. We eat that fish and are fun. Only occasionally do I go off on the inbred mutant population that crawls out of the nicotine washed atmosphere of their decaying double-wides to park their skin-tight-tank-top-over-cellulite-clad bodies in front of my face.



But, alas, poor Gnorm. Seems he's been followed here by whatever evil spirt plagued him in The House That Shall No Longer Be Named.