I'm not exactly a regular church-goer, but I do hit the major holidays and think about things bigger than myself and in connection to the broader universe on occasion. I often say I worship at the "church of summer in Maine." Either way, I am giving things up for Lent. Mostly because I think it is probably a good practice to deprive myself of something every so often and think about my place in the world each time I miss what I've given up. I might get laughed off the stage if most of my friends heard me say "it is probably a good practice to deprive myself every so often." Laugh away, kids.
I'm giving up the following:
1. Eating candy from the jar on our legal secretary's desk. This is something I do on just about a daily basis. Go visit my Dad in the main office, walk by S's desk, snag one or two or three hershey's kisses. Repeat. Putting a stop to this habit cold turkey will aid in my 30 by 30 quest and each time I reach for that jar out of habit and stop myself, I'll give a little thanks for all that I've got.
2. Complaining about having four cats. I have two kittens. Two adorable, "free" kittens for whom yesterday I just shelled out $247.00 to make them both gender neutral. There goes that plane ticket to Texas I needed for a wedding in May! (more on weddings in a future post. I have been to 9 in 18 months. I have 4 more that I know of between now and September!) In any case, TT also has two cats. When he moved in, I said originally said no to the extra cats. They stayed with his mom for awhile. But she got tired of them, having 3 of her own, and I am not going to be responsible for making TT lose his pets for good. So, like the Brady Bunch of cat families, we got two more. Now there are four felines running around the farm house often making me question whether or not I am officially a creepy cat lady which in turn makes me somewhat furious because if I am aware of the fact that having 4 cats makes me a creepy cat lady, and I am often not fond of having 4 cats, than I am not a creepy cat lady! Le sigh. They are really all quite lovely. They are affectionate. They don't destroy the furniture. Individually, I'm a big fan. It is when they make their presence known all at once that I start to make noises. Annoyed noises to TT. Which really isn't entirely fair because I did accept them all. So now after this long vent in writing, I am going to make the Lenten season effort of shutting my trap on the subject. Maybe if I stop lambasting their existence, I'll accept the little buggers and embrace the whole cat lady thing.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
An evening post full of ramble tamble thoughts
1. Crazy Biz-ness Plan.
The thing about being a small town, general practice lawyer is that I get to see it all. In a few short months I have spoken in Superior Court, briefed the Law Court, re-poed a truck on a cold winter night from the deserted house of a deceased man whose estate I represent, and, most recently, driven to an out of the way roadside pizza joint in an off the grid town to exchange papers with a potential client and notarize his signature. This is good stuff. The sometimes high minded, slightly bizarre, hardly a cubicle, always on your toes kind of stuff. What I realized this morning is that it might be slightly bizarre and a little off kilter not because of the line of work that I chose, but because of the man for whom I work. That man is none other than my father.
My father called up this morning at 8:30 and said, "Do you and TT have time for me to stop by and talk about a business plan?" (TT is my absolutely lovely, patient, and wonderful boyfriend. I'll call him TT because that is how my dad referred to him this morning - his role in this about to be revealed business scheme scheme is to provide the Time and the Talent - oh boy). Dad-o stops by merely 15 minutes later (did I mention that I live a mile away from ye olde padres?) and requests eggs. I am still clad in my incredibly sexy morning barn cleaning sweat suit ensemble- tres chic - and we are out of eggs. "Why don't you have any eggs? You don't keep 'em? You don't eat 'em?" "No, Dad, actually, we eat them often which is why we just ran out." "Oh, well in that case, TT, you get in the car and we'll go get some eggs at my house while Farm Girl gets dressed for work." And with that, before protest or raised eyebrows, they were gone. By the time they returned with two cups full of eggs which TT began to scramble-as-only- a -daughter's-boyfriend-who-lives-with-her-before-marriage can scramble when her father requests scrambled eggs, Dad explained the plan. "Even though we don't really have any money right now (recession and all), we can get enough that I think we should go buy a couple of houses at auction. Then TT can fix them up, sell them, and we'll share the profits. There are a bunch of auctions on Friday and Saturday, I want to move now." Oh boy, in addition to lawyering and farmering, we're about to start flipping that house to boot!
A full work day interrupted by some web-touring of $1,000.00 houses with questionable paint jobs and potentially nonfunctional heating systems later, this plan is likely coming to pass. Even though the one house is on X street and when we asked our secretary at work where X street was she immediately laughed "Troll Hole! Right down by the crackhouse on the corner." Of course - now that she said that a certain windowless tavern popped into mind. That's the one.
Long story short, today is Wednesday. On Friday and Saturday TT and I will very likely be bidding on a very cheap house or three. And that just sort of goes with this wild life I lead. More than likely, it is simply because I'm receptive to odd and fascinating situations that I seem to attract them. That and my family promotes them. Maybe that's why it seems so natural for me to be living this otherwise strange life.
2. My benevolent grandfathers.
The trustees. More on them later, but I met with them today and they re-approved my plans after I resold them. It's amazing what having a "website" will do to convince people you know what you're doing. Ah the marketing game. In any case, they approved the continued funding of the partially finished riding arena without which the horse part of my own crazy biz-ness is sunk. Speaking of sunk, that's what the tractor was last fall. Sunk deep in the mud attempting to create a drainage system for the land on which the ring is to go. Somehow I fear spring won't be better. Mud season sounds more ominous than usual. But there has to be a way to create this ring. I'm going on faith in my benevolent grandpas, the engineer they hired, my tractor driving, gravel laying neighbor, and my stubborn insistence that the boggy part of the land is the only ring worthy space on the farm of large and flat enough proportions. No matter mother nature is against me.
3. "Give-up" pants.
This is a no brainer. In this quest for 30 by 30, I will start by refusing to eat any evening meals in give up pants! A friend jokingly referred to elastic waist pants as just that and sang their praises at the end of a long day - "Just throw on your give up pants and relax." But ooooh how deceptive they can be, and oohhhh what a bad idea. From now on, a simple start to the weight loss kick. Dinner in jeans. (another good chapter title!) Or a work suit or a nice dress so I can feel the potential damage done. No wonder urban ladies are so often more slim. They don't go to chili parties with 17 crock pots and people donning slippers (more on that later - it was lovely, but very much a give up pants kinda party).
THIS is a long bunch of nothing. Unedited. Organic like my to-be-planted-vegetables. And likely just as in need of weeding! The dog-puppy (kind of like man-boy) is chomping his chew flip in an unnaturally loud fashion and it is making me twitch. I must go distract him with other, less unpleasant sounding, things.
Goodnight,
Farm Girl
The thing about being a small town, general practice lawyer is that I get to see it all. In a few short months I have spoken in Superior Court, briefed the Law Court, re-poed a truck on a cold winter night from the deserted house of a deceased man whose estate I represent, and, most recently, driven to an out of the way roadside pizza joint in an off the grid town to exchange papers with a potential client and notarize his signature. This is good stuff. The sometimes high minded, slightly bizarre, hardly a cubicle, always on your toes kind of stuff. What I realized this morning is that it might be slightly bizarre and a little off kilter not because of the line of work that I chose, but because of the man for whom I work. That man is none other than my father.
My father called up this morning at 8:30 and said, "Do you and TT have time for me to stop by and talk about a business plan?" (TT is my absolutely lovely, patient, and wonderful boyfriend. I'll call him TT because that is how my dad referred to him this morning - his role in this about to be revealed business scheme scheme is to provide the Time and the Talent - oh boy). Dad-o stops by merely 15 minutes later (did I mention that I live a mile away from ye olde padres?) and requests eggs. I am still clad in my incredibly sexy morning barn cleaning sweat suit ensemble- tres chic - and we are out of eggs. "Why don't you have any eggs? You don't keep 'em? You don't eat 'em?" "No, Dad, actually, we eat them often which is why we just ran out." "Oh, well in that case, TT, you get in the car and we'll go get some eggs at my house while Farm Girl gets dressed for work." And with that, before protest or raised eyebrows, they were gone. By the time they returned with two cups full of eggs which TT began to scramble-as-only- a -daughter's-boyfriend-who-lives-with-her-before-marriage can scramble when her father requests scrambled eggs, Dad explained the plan. "Even though we don't really have any money right now (recession and all), we can get enough that I think we should go buy a couple of houses at auction. Then TT can fix them up, sell them, and we'll share the profits. There are a bunch of auctions on Friday and Saturday, I want to move now." Oh boy, in addition to lawyering and farmering, we're about to start flipping that house to boot!
A full work day interrupted by some web-touring of $1,000.00 houses with questionable paint jobs and potentially nonfunctional heating systems later, this plan is likely coming to pass. Even though the one house is on X street and when we asked our secretary at work where X street was she immediately laughed "Troll Hole! Right down by the crackhouse on the corner." Of course - now that she said that a certain windowless tavern popped into mind. That's the one.
Long story short, today is Wednesday. On Friday and Saturday TT and I will very likely be bidding on a very cheap house or three. And that just sort of goes with this wild life I lead. More than likely, it is simply because I'm receptive to odd and fascinating situations that I seem to attract them. That and my family promotes them. Maybe that's why it seems so natural for me to be living this otherwise strange life.
2. My benevolent grandfathers.
The trustees. More on them later, but I met with them today and they re-approved my plans after I resold them. It's amazing what having a "website" will do to convince people you know what you're doing. Ah the marketing game. In any case, they approved the continued funding of the partially finished riding arena without which the horse part of my own crazy biz-ness is sunk. Speaking of sunk, that's what the tractor was last fall. Sunk deep in the mud attempting to create a drainage system for the land on which the ring is to go. Somehow I fear spring won't be better. Mud season sounds more ominous than usual. But there has to be a way to create this ring. I'm going on faith in my benevolent grandpas, the engineer they hired, my tractor driving, gravel laying neighbor, and my stubborn insistence that the boggy part of the land is the only ring worthy space on the farm of large and flat enough proportions. No matter mother nature is against me.
3. "Give-up" pants.
This is a no brainer. In this quest for 30 by 30, I will start by refusing to eat any evening meals in give up pants! A friend jokingly referred to elastic waist pants as just that and sang their praises at the end of a long day - "Just throw on your give up pants and relax." But ooooh how deceptive they can be, and oohhhh what a bad idea. From now on, a simple start to the weight loss kick. Dinner in jeans. (another good chapter title!) Or a work suit or a nice dress so I can feel the potential damage done. No wonder urban ladies are so often more slim. They don't go to chili parties with 17 crock pots and people donning slippers (more on that later - it was lovely, but very much a give up pants kinda party).
THIS is a long bunch of nothing. Unedited. Organic like my to-be-planted-vegetables. And likely just as in need of weeding! The dog-puppy (kind of like man-boy) is chomping his chew flip in an unnaturally loud fashion and it is making me twitch. I must go distract him with other, less unpleasant sounding, things.
Goodnight,
Farm Girl
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Intro - always my favorite part. Can this be a whole blog of introducing a blog?
Here I am. Live on the web. I'm not publicizing this, so I'm not sure that it will be read. I take comfort in that although eventually I'm hoping it will all be edited and read. This semi-accountability of public-posting-as-I-go is to hold me semi-accountable for writing it down. "It" being life, thoughts, comedy, and the moments that I hope will someday fill a book.
So far, I've been pretty good at coming up with titles. Just titles. The one for this blog is a favorite: "Have Farm, Will Travel." I'm also a huge fan of "Single Girl, Friend of Groom." That one isn't accurate any longer, however, which is good because it can be a chapter title. I mean, I might have time to write enough to fill a pile of chapter titles, but not a whole desk full of possible books. Another chapter possibility that I've carried with me hails straight from Vanity Fair and the clever and devious Becky Sharp who knows exactly "How to Live on Nothing a Year." And how to live well indeed! I've got that one fairly covered. But the most recent idea, that was taken in blogger world, but that seem to tie it all together for the creation at least is this: "30 by 30." I'll explain.
Two weeks ago, February 11th, marked 15 months until my 30th birthday, May 11th, 2010. I do not have a 30 complex, but my historic aversion to arithmetic and slight obsession with planning does lead me to like even numbers and easy math leading up to a concrete goal. Add that to my current puffiness, my recent lack of writing as a practice, and VOILA! 30 by 30 is born. 2 pounds a month in 15 months gets me down 30 pounds by my 30th. 2 chapters a month for 15 months, gets 30 chapters (which will likely then be edited down to 15 again) by the same time. I find this concept delectable. Delicious. How do you say deliiiiight?
So today it begins. FAT TUESDAY. Fat for a lot of reasons. The scale at the lady doctor this morning clocked in at a startling _ _ _! (some privacy even in the blogging world). So maybe it needs to be 35 by 30. Anyway, shouldn't be surprised as just before heading out, I failed to squeeze two sausage thighs into two of my very lovely work suits that I unfortunately had tailored when I went through a major break up and lost a quick twenty. Note to self and the world at large, never get things tailored at an unnaturally thin point in life - no matter how thrilled you are to have whittled yourself to such a size. Wait until it stabilizes.
Fat also because it is the birthday of the ex for whom the massive amount of weight was lost who now happens to be happily living with his exceedingly tall BOYFRIEND and both of them ascribe to the NYC swanky gay man's gym and gin regimen making an ex-GIRLFRIEND gone puffy feel like she might have been a beard after all. Even though I wasn't. Not even a little bit. Hmph.
But otherwise things are grand. I love jumping off points and beginnings, even self-created ones. And this introductory post is just that.
If anybody reads this, I'll introduce the farm and some characters at it in my next post. For now, I'm only just about to start my legal work at approximately 12:53 p.m. Oops. Maybe that is why I haven't blogged before....
Happy Fat Tuesday! Eat, drink, and be merry. Listen to Michael Franti and sing at the top of your lungs. "This track combats genocide! La la la!"
Farm Girl
So far, I've been pretty good at coming up with titles. Just titles. The one for this blog is a favorite: "Have Farm, Will Travel." I'm also a huge fan of "Single Girl, Friend of Groom." That one isn't accurate any longer, however, which is good because it can be a chapter title. I mean, I might have time to write enough to fill a pile of chapter titles, but not a whole desk full of possible books. Another chapter possibility that I've carried with me hails straight from Vanity Fair and the clever and devious Becky Sharp who knows exactly "How to Live on Nothing a Year." And how to live well indeed! I've got that one fairly covered. But the most recent idea, that was taken in blogger world, but that seem to tie it all together for the creation at least is this: "30 by 30." I'll explain.
Two weeks ago, February 11th, marked 15 months until my 30th birthday, May 11th, 2010. I do not have a 30 complex, but my historic aversion to arithmetic and slight obsession with planning does lead me to like even numbers and easy math leading up to a concrete goal. Add that to my current puffiness, my recent lack of writing as a practice, and VOILA! 30 by 30 is born. 2 pounds a month in 15 months gets me down 30 pounds by my 30th. 2 chapters a month for 15 months, gets 30 chapters (which will likely then be edited down to 15 again) by the same time. I find this concept delectable. Delicious. How do you say deliiiiight?
So today it begins. FAT TUESDAY. Fat for a lot of reasons. The scale at the lady doctor this morning clocked in at a startling _ _ _! (some privacy even in the blogging world). So maybe it needs to be 35 by 30. Anyway, shouldn't be surprised as just before heading out, I failed to squeeze two sausage thighs into two of my very lovely work suits that I unfortunately had tailored when I went through a major break up and lost a quick twenty. Note to self and the world at large, never get things tailored at an unnaturally thin point in life - no matter how thrilled you are to have whittled yourself to such a size. Wait until it stabilizes.
Fat also because it is the birthday of the ex for whom the massive amount of weight was lost who now happens to be happily living with his exceedingly tall BOYFRIEND and both of them ascribe to the NYC swanky gay man's gym and gin regimen making an ex-GIRLFRIEND gone puffy feel like she might have been a beard after all. Even though I wasn't. Not even a little bit. Hmph.
But otherwise things are grand. I love jumping off points and beginnings, even self-created ones. And this introductory post is just that.
If anybody reads this, I'll introduce the farm and some characters at it in my next post. For now, I'm only just about to start my legal work at approximately 12:53 p.m. Oops. Maybe that is why I haven't blogged before....
Happy Fat Tuesday! Eat, drink, and be merry. Listen to Michael Franti and sing at the top of your lungs. "This track combats genocide! La la la!"
Farm Girl
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