Cath, etc.

I Am

...listening to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir accompanied by the Canadian Brass. The tree is lit, the decorations merry, the music deep and warm, and I have joy in my heart.

...alone the house is quiet as Mark works late and Beccah works later.

...happy in this peaceful environ, the harmonies and resolutions and cadences and crescendos pouring over under around by through me and Silent Night resonates in a place that is so deep inside me it brings me to tears.

...remembering winters when I was a little girl, when I felt safe and loved by my later-volatile dad, my mom made me grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup before I'd walk to kindergarten by myself in my cold must-wear-a-dress-by-law, that new show, Sesame Street, on in the background for my younger brothers.

...thinking about Christmases past my dad stopping the car suddenly to give a homeless guy the only money he had in his wallet after having stopped at the pawn shop to sell some instrument or another so we'd have money for gifts.

...remembering my dad's band students surprising us on snowy Christmas Eves to play Christmas carols on their horns outside on our lawn as the temperature dropped. We would shiver increasingly more as we hearkened to their gift which was as good as Santa coming maybe better because I was keenly aware of what a special gift it was, and the feelings that those students must have had for my dad to give up part of their Christmas Eve to bring us their exuberant brand of joy. He would take my hand or put his arm around me or pick me up to both keep me warm and to remind me that he loved me Cath his little cabbage head more than just about anything else in the whole entire world.

...remembering my dad's Christmas band concerts that fell on my December birthday, in particular, the one in which I was wearing my favorite green velvet dress. He called me up to the podium and gave me the baton and before I knew it the band was playing Happy Birthday Dear Catherine while I conducted. I honestly don't know of a time when I have ever felt so intrinsically special.

...thinking about Beccah and the day she was born twenty-one years ago on Thursday and the fathers who are now absent from our lives. Her father, my father, her father's father.

....wishing that Mark, the best father, had been in that room with all of us as I pushed life into her tiny little body, and yearning for the neverchildren he and I decided, rightly, not to ever have.

...thinking about the Christmas night that Bo, my ex-husband's dad, lay dying in a hospital bed across the valley. I sat on the porch, alone, watching the snow fall so heavy, so electrically aware that he was breathing his last breath, but accepting his offering of brilliant sky of snowfall by which to remember him before he took his leave.

...reminding myself that Christmas is as much about ghosts as it is about spreading joy. For it is in that very joy that our ghosts are born.

A Close Call

Our fourteen-year-old pup, Scout, survived a close call over Thanksgiving weekend.

He frightened us on Thanksgiving Day by

• vomiting a few times
• not responding to loves or pets whatsoever
• lying like a big ol' lump on the floor in spite of all the guests and commotion around him
• drinking very little and eating even less
• and the ultimate in scary--not snarfing up the few pieces of turkey that we always put in his bowl each year after the Big Meal

Normally these disappear in 2.4 seconds, tops, and it served as the ultimate clue that something was extremely very wrong with our furry friend.

I'm not gonna lie. It seemed like it could be the end.

Or could it have been something that he ate? After Scout's treatable decline last Christmas, we determined that we will not go to extraordinary lengths to save him if death is imminent. For example, if he gets cancer, we will only do what we can to make him comfortable until the end. We won't treat it. He's lived a good, long life. When it's time, it's time. 

But in the face of Scout being the exact opposite of himself on Thanksgiving, we were troubled with the question du jour: Is death imminent? We searched our hearts and determined that we couldn't live with ourselves if we didn't at least find out what was going on with him. So on Friday we took him to the vet.

It was a very long wait as they did their tests. We were very afraid of the outcome. I distracted myself by playing with my new iPhone. Mark focused on Scout.

$650 worth of X-rays, bloodwork, and urinalysis later, it was determined that he needed to stay overnight for rehydration. We'd see how he had responded by morning, then go from there--which was a $350 ultrasound by a specialist. Great. Yet another decision that would prove to test our resolve and all that that could mean. We hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Scout was whisked away to the nether regions of the hospital and we went home without him.

He's in good hands, I told myself. They will take good care of him. We won't have to wake up in the middle of the night to see if he is still breathing.

But still, the only times that Scout is not in our home is when he's gone for the four or so hours every six weeks or so to be groomed. Overnight is supremely strange. I found myself surprised when he wasn't lying by my feet in the TV room. Or instinctively, I'd think I should let him out, then I would have to remember that he wasn't home to be let out.

Knowing how miserable he was in that cage, assuming he'd have to don the Cone of Shame so he wouldn't pull out his lines.  Knowing that he thinks we've abandoned him.

When we got the call the next day saying that he had responded well to the treatment, that he was much more chipper and bright-eyed, I said a silent prayer while at the same time saying to myself so the little sh** ate something that he shouldn't have. It's happened before. Perhaps it will happen again. After all, this is pretty much this dog's MO. And every time it happens it costs us at least $600--and a ton of worry and heartache.

Ahh, dogs.

He's on a bunch of different meds to help clear up whatever has been going on in his tummy, a special bland diet in which I now get to cook for him (rice and eggs, mostly), and we've got to go out with him each time now to be sure he doesn't get into something else he shouldn't.

But I'm arming myself with information as a result. What is it going to look like if Scout is lucky enough to die from old age? His age-related "issues" (incontinence and arthritis) are currently sort of under control, so unless he gets cancer or something else just as awful, which should have symptoms of their own, what will "the end" look like? Here's what systemic organ failure in dogs looks like according to eHow.com under "Common Signs of Organ Failure":

In a dog, each major organ, the heart, kidneys, and the liver, will have its own signs and symptoms of failure. These specific signs of organ failure in a dog, will occur as they are prevalent to a particular organ. However, there are common signs, which will pertain to all dogs experiencing failure of any major organ. These common signs will include vomiting, diarrhea, weakness and loss of appetite.

Which were the exact symptoms he'd had on Thanksgiving.

So, not only did I discover that I wasn't being dramatic this past weekend when it seemed like this could be the end for our beloved Scout, I also learned that when the end is near, we will take him to our compassionate friends at the Lone Peak Veterinary Hospital, and they will help us through the process.

In the meantime, I'm just so glad that my ol' pal is here to live another day.  And while we have survived this close call, I'm sure that another is not far behind. Each one prepares us for the next. As Edward Gibbon says, "I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know no way of judging of the future but by the past."

My lamp is on, and it's lighting the way for my buddy, Scout.

In Preparation for Our Guests

I've been cleaning like a mad woman.

Which is pretty much my least favorite thing in the whole world to do. And I don't think that I'm alone in this.

As much as I love and care for my home, I'd much rather go hiking than stay inside and wash windows.

In fact, I'd much rather write a blog post than clean my upholstery.

Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure that I'd rather read a good book than steam-clean my carpets.

 When it comes right down to it, I'd prefer to hang with my family than clean out a closet.

Any day of the week.

I am not an organizer by nature. When I cleaned out the shelves of my kitchen island recently, I discovered it was housing papers from when Beccah was in junior high.

Ay yiy yiy.

Which compels me to make this humble confession. One of the things I liked about working full-time is that it tended to give me an excuse not to have an immaculate home.

I really should dust the bedroom this weekend, but I'm just exhausted from my work week.

I realize that the oven hasn't been cleaned for a millenia, but maybe I'll have more energy next Saturday.

Now don't get me wrong. I stay on top of the weekly maintenance. Vacuuming; dusting the main living areas; cleaning the bathrooms; Swiffering the hard wood; washing, drying, folding, and putting away the laundry--all these necessities get taken care of weekly.

It's the deep-down stuff that tends to get neglected. And now that I'm part-time, I can't pull the exhausted-from-my-work-week card. Ah, the drawbacks.

Which is exactly why holidays like Thanksgiving are so motivating. I tend to host the festivities every year. There's not a whole lot I enjoy more than putting on a good party.

Which leads me to reveal yet another humble confession. Sometimes I think I like to host parties because it gives me a reason to clean my house. Let's face it. I am an extrovert. As said extrovert, I am more motivated by other people than I motivate myself.

Especially when it comes to cleaning.

So, this year, because I'm part-time and therefore have the energy, I've pulled out all the stops in preparation of the Big Meal.

I've cleaned the carpets in three rooms, a staircase, 2 rugs, and a large hallway.

And put everything back.

I've even cleaned the upholstery on 2 couches.

I've mopped my floors, washed some windows, and dusted 111 staircase stiles.

I ordered the blinds for the dining room I've been promising myself every Thanksgiving for the past 3 years--in plenty of time for installation. Anyone who knows me well knows this is a veritable coup. In fact, they're already up. Thanks, Mark!

And in spite of my disdain for cleaning, it is quite lovely to have seen the dirt that came out of my carpets and know that it is no longer lurking in some invisible net of filth and putrescence, seemingly threatening our health and well-being, causing our carpets to wear before their time. I will spare you the visual.

And as I promise myself that I'll never let it get this bad again, I know that I will always be in a tug-of-war between wanting to live my life to its fullest and knowing that the bottom line is that I enjoy living my life to its fullest much more when my house is deep-down clean.

But for now, I am content to know that our little yellow house with the wrap-around porch will sparkle this holiday season--even if I'm the only one who can tell.

For really, being an extrovert who wants to put my best foot forward for others, I've been wrapping it up with love and warmth, in preparation for our guests.

20 Pounds Down

I reached this goal a couple of days before Halloween, but self-doubter that I am, I didn't dare tell you until I could be sure that it would stick.

I started reducing back in mid-August with the help of an appetite suppressant. Since it's the kind of medication that stops working as effectively over time, most doctors recommend that you stop taking it after 3 months. I decided to stop taking it after 3 months or 20 pounds, whichever came first.

I'm happy to report that the 20 pounds came first.

I stopped taking the meds at the 20-pound mark, suffered no withdrawals whatsoever, and have been maintaining this weight--give or take a couple of pounds--ever since.

I'm four pounds away from having a healthy BMI, a measurement I haven't seen in more time than I'd care to admit.

My goal: to maintain during the holidays, which, as you well know, ain't no easy task. With Thanksgiving just around the corner, my plan is to continue exercising 5-6 days a week (because that keeps stress down, too), watch my portion sizes, limit my alcohol intake, and stay away from fatty stuff that I'm fine to live without.

I'll let you know how it goes. I'd hate to see all that hard work disappear in a flurry of frenzied festive feasting, and come the beginning of the year, it will be time for me to start working on dropping another 10, at which point I will weigh the same as I weighed when I got married 14 years ago.

So here's to getting control of your weight in an effort to be healthy and to feel good--and to thumbing our noses at the holidays and their tasty temptations!

Good luck to all of us!

I Was in Her Sunrise

Photo by Lady Gooner via Flickr

I've stopped and started this post numerous times, not entirely sure what it is, exactly,  that I have to say today.

There's much to process, but to pick the morsels that you might actually be interested in, ahh, therein lies the challenge.

Between the Moxie Fab World and Cath, etc., sometimes I just don't know how much more there really is to say. I mean, to be quite honest, as much as I enjoy it, I get really tired of hearing myself write sometimes.

But the other day I got an email from one of my readers, Jo, who said:

I was driving to Mass yesterday morning.  I live in Michigan and it was quite a foggy morning.  About a mile or two down the road, through a heavily treed area, you could just see a very light colored sun coming up.  It almost looked like the moon, but it definitely was the sun, coming through and breaking up the fog.  I immediately thought to myself...if I was Cath I would be doing some serious "creative writing" or poetry about this sunrise.  You didn't even know that I was thinking about you and your talent...but I was!

These words touch me deeply. That she would think of me in that little bit of time when the sun broke through the trees sends me to that place inside myself where grace and tenderness live. That she would take the time to share this with me is a gesture that transcends all the ordinariness there is in the world. And even though she thought of me and how I might write this scene, she has captured it perfectly. I am there, seeing the sun break through the fog, sharing this early Sunday morning moment with Jo, a woman I have never met.

...and yet, I was in her sunrise.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. There is power in the blog. Power in the connections that we make as strangers who then become friends. Power in the knowledge that over the miles and through the air, we are a part of one another's lives despite the fact that we have  never met and may, indeed, never meet.

This seems to be the theme to my week. As I celebrate the blogiversary of the Moxie Fab World, I have been reminded of the connections that I am making in that blogosphere, too. My heart is warm and full.

Thank you for listening. For coming back day after day as I struggle to make sense of it all. For allowing me into your world through your comments and emails. For indulging my seemingly growing need for cadence and rhythm in the words that I write.

Thank you for reading these words that attempt to express how lovely it is to know that I was in her sunrise.

And For That, I Am Truly Grateful

By morning, it had already been a lovely day.

I woke to a cheerful daybreak, the moon floating high above the roof of the garage, smiling at us as the coffee was poured.

At Mark's departure, his daily dismissal at precisely 7:12, I fired up my laptop, checked my personal email, today's Moxie Fab World blog post, my work email, and Facebook, engaging myself in the calm, sweet solace of routine.

I proceeded to fix some glitches in the blog post, noodled around a little on Etsy, decided not to update my Facebook status because I didn't have anything particularly interesting to say, and answered a few work emails mostly involving change approvals for projects that will be appearing in an upcoming special issue.

It made for the beginnings of a perfectly regular day.

I made some oatmeal with a tablespoon of ground flax seed, sugar, and skim  milk and waited patiently for some material to arrive in my work inbox, without which I could not begin.

At which point Beccah came downstairs, coiffed and spiffed, ready to take on the world--25 minutes early.

It was then that my morning began to shine.

For Beccah is a new girl now that she's single again. She broke up with her boyfriend of 2 1/2 years over three weeks ago, the official discussion in which both mutually and respectfully agreed that the relationship could never work has taken place, and she is moving on.

And by new girl, I mean empowered, in charge, focused, and happy.

As I drove her to the Trax train that will take her to the bus that will get her to class (breaking up with a boyfriend who also has a car changes everybody's lives), I suddenly felt so grateful.

• Grateful to have the opportunity to help her out in her time of need.
• Grateful that she has taken control of her life, knowing how difficult it was for her to let go of someone she loved so deeply.
• Grateful that she has come back to us with such enthusiasm after having spent so much time with someone who didn't love us as much as she.
• Grateful to have shared the epiphanal Saturday in which she cried with joy as she enumerated all the deep discoveries she had made about herself in yoga class that morning.

Grateful that my Beccah is back.

Upon my return, I acknowledged my gratitude with a walk around the neighborhood--the crisp, electric air glowing in the morning light. Each step felt lighter than the last as I passed familiar houses and timeless landmarks. Strangers waved, dogs barked, and resting fields wished me well.

Perhaps they could sense my appreciation. Perhaps they could see the bouyant spirit that was born in me from the ride I gave my daughter that morning to the train. Perhaps they could feel the happiness that surely must have been beaming from my every extremity as I passed. 

For I am grateful. There's nothing like watching your child make strong, solid decisions for herself, knowing that she is embracing what she needs to be truly happy.

As a parent, it just doesn't get a whole lot better than this.

And for that, I am truly grateful.

The Jury is In

...on the old CSA.

Today is the first Monday since June 9 that we didn't stop by the garden that Jill built for our weekly box of vegetables.

OK. That's not entirely true. There was the Monday we went to New Hampshire and couldn't make the pick-up. And then there was the Monday that I had the Go-to Gals and the Paper Crafts team over for dinner (the night before our editorial board meeting) and Mark was out-of-town. Simply couldn't be helped.

But other than these two times, we've faithfully picked up our box o' veggies. Sometimes we even got a big ol' sack o' fruit.

And while I got a kick out of having carrots with tops:

...and I became engaged in an intense love affair with arugula; unearthed the mystery of mustard greens, turnip greens, and Swiss chard; learned how to cook and enjoy beets; and tasted the best potatoes I am likely to ever have; our thumbs are turned way down for CSAs.

The biggest issue for us? Quantity. We just couldn't get through the vast variety of vegetables they sent our way. And don't get me wrong. We love our veggies. We eat a lot of them. More than most families, I would guess. But not enough to eat nothing but veggies three meals a day. Because that's what it might have taken to get through them all before they went south.

On top of all that, our daughter, Nicole, brought over produce from her own garden to use. A friend at work did the same. It was a bounty with which it was difficult to reckon.

We got a real appreciation for eating in season, though. The root vegetables, in particular, seem to me better suited for late fall and winter. And yet, we were receiving them in mid-summer. I had a hard time bending my mind to the idea of eating a potato or a turnip in July. This may sound strange to you, but I don't eat many potatoes to begin with, and if I do, it's for Thanksgiving and maybe a Sunday dinner in January with a pot roast.

I could do without the turnips altogether.

In many ways, rather than reinforcing the idea of eating local and in season, the CSA emphasized how much my diet revolves around the fruits and vegetables I can purchase in my grocery store and how unwilling I am to change that. I enjoyed the fresh lettuce we received for about 6 weeks this past summer, but I wasn't and am not willing to take lettuce off the menu for the rest of the year. We were never offered bell peppers from the CSA, so in season or not, I bought them from the grocery store because they are a main staple in our diet.

Don't get me wrong, I do have limits on how far away the fruits or vegetables can travel to reach my plate, ever mindful of all the resources it takes to ship the things that nourish my body. I usually try to stick to no farther than California or the Pacific Northwest, occasionally Mexico. But I won't buy an orange that comes from Australia. I haven't bought a banana in a few months, and I haven't bought a fresh pineapple in over a year.

Another drawback? We didn't attend our local Farmer's Market because we were having difficulty keeping up with all the produce we received at the CSA. We missed the fun of seeing the vendors, taking in the crowds, and buying the delicious fruits, veggies, and homemade breads that we knew we would actually eat.

Which brings up another key point. I'm glad I tried new things like broccoli rabe, turnips, kohlrabi, and beets, but they aren't things that I would like to eat on a regular basis, let alone 6 weeks in a row. I guess I'd rather have a little more choice and flexibility. I'm used to it and I know it's available to me. These are very powerful forces in my world.

To be honest, I'm a little disappointed that it didn't work out better for us than it did. I love the idea of eating locally and in season. I wish that I could have adapted better than I did. But in spite of our best efforts, some of the produce went bad before we could get to it, and I felt forced to plan meals that I normally wouldn't have planned, and that jammed me up in ways that didn't make me happy.

I suppose I could have given more of the food away. But if I don't want to eat beets in the middle of the summer, I assumed that no one else would want to eat them then either. (With the exception of you, Jason. But then to get them to you there would be all that fossil fuel involved and that didn't seem sustainable, either.)

So, next year, we're thinking about putting in our own little garden and filling it with the vegetables that we love best. We'll supplement that with trips to our local Farmer's Market and will continue to by organic, local produce as much as we can from our grocery store.

We're still committed to buying local and in-season when we can. But we're realizing that we're modern folks who appreciate a good salad year-round. So, like I said, the jury is in. We're not suited for a CSA, and that's a good thing to know. We'll try another approach next year and evaluate the impact it has on our lives, trying to find the fit that's right for us.

And that's what becoming green is all about. It's a journey, one step leading to the next. Slowly but surely, we're getting there.

What's Your Style? Making a House a Home

We have lived in our house for over 14 years. Neither my husband nor I have ever lived anywhere for such a long time.

 

While its original owners were thoughtful designers who added touches that gave their new home old-house charm, over the years we have learned to add special features that have made it distinctly our own.

We began with a style. Mark and I are especially fond of the Arts & Crafts movement. This style is all about making your home simple and functional, and bringing the outdoors in as much as possible. We wanted our home to be colorful, inviting, and warm. And so, gradually the white walls succumbed to yellows, reds, and greens, and we covered everything we could with wood. The journey began in the dining room:

I am one of the luckiest girls in the world because not only do I have the most wonderful husband a gal could ever hope for, but he is also a gifted wood-worker. He added wood to the ceiling, a wainscot to the walls, and he framed every window, of which our home has many (another major selling point.) We special-ordered a frieze from a company who makes reproduction wallpapers in the Arts & Crafts style and loved it so much, we decided to carry it into the family room:

Mark continued incorporating the Arts & Crafts style in that room by chipping away the old brown fireplace that overpowered the room and hand-cut the tiles for our new one, adding built-in bookcases on either side.

We filled our home with colorful Arts & Crafts light fixtures:

...and have added furniture pieces that are made in the Arts & Crafts style including this clock that I gave Mark for our 10th wedding anniversary:

...an A-frame sideboard and mirror in the foyer:

...and a Morris chair:

We've carried over the Arts & Crafts period with the artwork that we've put on our walls as well. Each has a special meaning to us because we've bought the pieces on different trips that we've taken together. Here are two paintings that are reminiscent of Japanese block prints (popular in the Arts & Crafts movement) that we found on an anniversary trip to Orcas Island, Washington:

We've brought the outdoors in with this piece we found on a trip to Boulder, Colorado:

And we continued with the presence of wood with this carving we found on San Juan Island, Washington:

And while we've had a lot of fun carrying the Arts & Crafts style throughout our home, that doesn't mean that we haven't deviated and included other things that we love just as much.

A little bit of country on a door in our downstairs hallway:

A hodge-podge of favorite things from our fireplace:

Framed oils that were painted by my grandfather:

The handmade Seasons quilt hanging in the staircase:

...and some cute above the kitchen sink:

What we've discovered along the way--and our home is still constantly evolving--is that it's important to choose a style that is inspiring to you, put some sweat into creating it for yourself if you can, save your money for special pieces that will last, and pepper it with meaningful items that make it uniquely you.

For home is where our stories unfold. It's my hope that those stories, and the people who tell them, will feel warm, comfortable, and loved.

You're welcome to stop by anytime.

In the meantime, I'd love to hear what your style is, and how you've made your house a home.

Oh! And I've also got a winner! Congratulations go to Jacky Scales! You're the winning comment on my Happy World Card Making Day post! I'll be contacting you via email to get your address so I can send you your Cards by Cath cards, Jacky! Woot!

In the Lavender

In its moss-like stalks, memory lives.

A fragrant offering, I inhale and am lifted

Through time and space, and the cares of the day

To a field on an island

Where you proposed to me, again.

As though there had not been

Ten years of marriage in the interim.

There were diamonds and tears.

A kiss or two, a soft touch, the holding of hands.

It was, my love, a moment of a lifetime.

And yet, there was the lavender.

Swaying in the breeze, its ripe tendrils beckoned,

Inviting us to its sensual feast

As the cool air of the sea

And the warm pulse of the sun

Hastened our welcome.

 It stole my breath

And within me, urged a quickening.

The sudden knowledge that,

In this palette of scents,

This ocean of velvet color,

This open expanse tended by deft, agile hands

Our love would continue to deepen.

It's in a field.

It's on an island.

It's in the lavender.

 

All photos courtesy of Beccah Thomas

Ugh.

My computer has another virus. Oh wait, you didn't know about the first virus, or maybe you did because I got it by clicking on something stupid on Facebook that sent all my FB friends porn. That's a whole other story which has another story attached to it as well. And the fact that you don't know about said story(ies) means that I've been a bad blogger.

Which is part of my *ugh*.

So I've been stuck upstairs in my incredibly neglected office amongst the sad and cluttered relics of my card business on my dinosaur of a computer realizing that it has none of the stuff I'm used to working with/on since I got my laptop almost two years ago and being frustrated because I can't adjust my chair right so I don't get shoulder cramps from using the mouse and I have to wait for-absolute-ever just to wait for it to accomplish the simplest of tasks not to mention the mass amounts of time it needs just to become functional after I boot it up every morning. I haven't had time to clean off the virus because

I've been c-r-a-z-y busy at work, working overtime full-time not part-time at all which makes me wonder if this whole voluntary simplicity thing is for me whatsoever. And while I have had a lot more than usual to do at work--OK, to be fair, a WHOLE LOT more than usual to do at work--I seem to gravitate towards that whole perfectionist, push everything to its limits, and let everything else slip aside kinda mode.

I swear that's where I feel most comfortable. And I hate it when that realization rears its ugly head every so often. Because ultimately it's completely unmanageable and leads me to burn-out.

Ugh.

I had two book club meetings in one week, both of which I put the reading of the book off until the last minute so I was reading non-stop for about 5 days the second week in September. Largely due to the *ugh* that pertains to work.

My father-in-law had surgery and then an emergency rush to the hospital a few days later and I've been worried and concerned about him and my mother-in-law all while having to stay focused with my nose to the grindstone. He's doing better now, thank goodness, but it sure has been hard being so far away, especially when they are having such a difficult time.

I haven't been working out regularly, just about one or two times a week which makes me feel like a slug.

As a result, in spite of losing 14 pounds, it's now only a 12-pound deficit and I'm at a plateau that my body hasn't wanted to bust through in, oh, say, a decade or so.

And every time I write in this blog I feel like I'm just so negative, but I guess anything would feel negative compared to the "bippy" girl I become when I write in the Moxie Fab World.

So I'm just stopping by to say *ugh.* It's been a long month, I couldn't even really tell you where it's gone, because I woke up one day and realized it was fall and I wasn't much aware that summer had come and gone. But then, when I really think about it, September has belonged to my beloved Paper Crafts, where I've been enjoying myself immensely, like when I found this poem in my morning cereal, and developed another Big Idea somewhere as I was walking between Fort and Relation Streets which will reveal itself in the Moxie Fab World beginning tomorrow, and a lovely editorial board meeting with our new Go-to Gals just a couple of days ago.

None of which are *ugh*s whatsoever.

But I didn't include a picture in this blog post. 'Cause my camera batteries all need charging and everything else is on my laptop. Which, as I mentioned, has a virus.

Ugh.