News not from my navel.

I've come to terms with the drama I've been dealing with lately. More or less, anyway. It has to do with work, so I won't/can't/ought not to write about it here.

Meanwhile, the world is like one disgusting giant sauna. Except for without that lovely, relaxing, heavy, pulse slowing, heavenly pore-clensing sauna-ness of a sauna. And there is no cold shower during or after. The worst part about humidity is that gross smells hang about in the air for longer. Case in point: my cat's butt. Cecily is tiny and dainty and wee and so much more like a dolly than a real cat that I don't usually don't even think of her as having a butt. I mean, yes, she does that cat thing where she walks back and forth in front of my face while I am lying down reading, but there is no gross factor. usually. In general, I don't see butt, I don't smell butt, there is no butt-ness to her rear parts. But tonight in the humidity, I became distressedly aware of the reality: my cat, she is real. and she has a butt. a cat-butt. with all the stinky butt-ness that is therewith implied. Go away, stupid yucky humid sauna weather. I want my dainty buttless princess flower kitty back.

Of course, it might not be just the humidity that is making Cecily's butt so very butt-like. The worst part of this whole packing thing is the fact that she seems to think that packing peanuts are tasty tasty kitty toys for munching. I think maybe they give her gas.

Trying to avoid the navel gazing

Best part about the packing process?

Watching Crispin hide and take naps in the various boxes and laundry baskets scattered throughout the house.

In other news, I'm feeling really low energy, isolated and sad these days. My inspiration and enthusiasm for Fiber Arts seems to have dropped off the face of the earth as the temperature crept towards 80. I need to turn my attention to the soul-harrowing process of applying for jobs, and deciding what I'm going to do with my life come September when the rest of the world as I know it goes Back To School.

Also, I taught myself how to use a manual roto-tiller. As in: the kind where the only power comes from my body, no fossil fuels involved. It was crazy hard work, but I was proud of the beautiful loose soil I created out of clay-y lumps.

I'm showing my summer-program students Casablanca. As we watch, I'm impressed with the wit, the subtlety of the script, the beauty of the images, but I'm hit over the head and in the gut again and again by the chauvinism. As if it were a 20 pound brick. I really kind of want to show them Campion's The Piano as an antidote, but don't think I can get away with showing a rated-r film to high-schoolers.

Praise Song for Arugula; a few thoughts on the subject.

A
Ru
Gu
La

Arugulaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
It sounds like a magic spell straight out of Harry Potter.
It tastes a bit like greens, a bit like pepper, and a bit like walnuts.
It grows! So quickly! And so abundantly!
Even in the summer heat. Put the seeds in the ground, and they grow!
Baby sprouts, so rewardingly indentifiable,
Covered with the lace-like veil of row cover, bugs cannot eat you, and you grow!
I will eat you with pasta, or perhaps in a salad with
a juicy pear.

(I am much more sophisticated than bugs.)

I grew you! Or rather, you grew yourself. But I am proud of me for making you possible.
Yum!

P.S. You are also the President's favorite vegetable. He is a very smart man with obviously excellent taste. If he were coming to my house to dinner, I'd totally serve you. And then we'd be eating, and I'd be all like: hey Barack, you like the arugula? and he'd be all like: this is the most delicious arugula i've have ever put in my mouth, except for maybe the arugula my grandmother grew in her garden, but maybe that is just because of the Grandmother Magic. and then I'd be all like: oh thanks. well I grew this arugula. ORGANICALLY. in a COMMUNITY GARDEN. And when bugs were threatening its life, I posted a question on the COMMUNITY Q&A BOARD, and another friendly gardener/community member gave me REALLY ACTUALLY USEFUL FREE ADVICE. So you should give America some more government funding for urban agriculture, especially for low-income people. Like, why does the WI state capitol building have like an acre of grass and fancy flowers and things but a homeless shelter next door where they only can serve processed food? but I would say this modestly and with dignity, and not angrily. and then the president, he'd take another bite of arugula, and after he was finished chewing and swallowing (because of course, Barack Obama does NOT talk with his mouth full) he'd politely wipe his mouth with his cloth napkin that I made myself, look me in the eye, and then he'd be all like: you, madam, are a True American. I wish we had more citizens like you. And then he would make a law that for public money spent on landscaping public spaces had to be evenly split between ornamental things (because flowers and beautiful surroundings ARE important) and edible food, and the food would be given away to food pantries and shelters and people who use food stamps and who live in low-income housing. The food would be delicious and nutritious. And then I would keep that napkin forever, and never let anyone else use it. However, I would totally wash it first before I preserved it, because otherwise it would be a creepy and gross kind of stalker thing to do, and I am not a creepy and gross stalker kind of person. And on my death bed, my relatives would all fight over The Barack Obama Napkin. Except for that I would instruct in my will that they should either auction or raffle it off and give the proceeds to a community garden. All thanks to you, my tasty little arugula; all thanks to you.

July Pie in the Sky

It's July, and it is far too hot and muggy to even think about baking a pie in my kitchen. I've discovered, however, that by putting my pizza stone on the grill, I can make an outside oven and make baked goods without turning my apartment into a sauna. Bread, pizza and cobbler have all worked out well so far.

I have a job. It eats up a lot of my time and basically all of my energy, but mostly I like it. Which is to say, I like my students, but find the program I'm working for to be seriously lacking in organizational goals, integrity, and basic, um... organization.

That is all for now. I'm still alive. I still haven't actually packed any boxes. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.