This weekend we went to visit Pat's parents at their camp in Cape Vincent. Greta had a blast staying up late roasting marshmallows, riding on her Grandpa Dick's boat, and visiting a real deal castle. Okay, so she thought the castle was sort of boring (thanks to her being completely brainwashed by the horrible, evil Disney Princess empire), but it had its moments.
Here we are on the ferry going over to Boldt Island. Greta asked what princess would be at the castle. I told her there aren't a lot of princesses in this area so she would be the only princess at the castle. Greta was...skeptical.
Pat took this picture about a second after a very loud horn sounded on the boat. I like how the picture turned out.
At this point she was in awe.
The wow factor went downhill pretty quickly, though.
Boldt Castle is super cool, aside from all of the annoying people around. Most of the castle has been renovated and is very lovely. Of course I liked the dilapidated areas of the castle.
Princess Sassafras refused to pose for pictures at this point. I like how creepy this looks.
Speaking of creepy, we stopped for a dinner of champions at McDonald's on the way to camp. I was VERY excited when I found out the Happy Meal toys for girls right now are Madame Alexander dolls. This is one of the odd things about me: I love Madame Alexander dolls! My grandma gave me three of the regular full-size MA dolls when I was little, and I just love them. I find it very strange that McDonalds has mini Madame Alexander dolls, but whatever; mini Madame Alexander dolls that smell faintly of burger are pretty awesome in my book. The dolls they have are from famous fairy tales, and there were some cool ones, like Hansel, Gretel, Cinderella, Prince Charming, Alice in Wonderland, and the Mad Hatter. And then there is the one I got: "Wendy Dressed as the Big Bad Wolf." Wha?? I have never heard of this I don't think? I love it, though. Look how creepy!
By far my least-favorite part about being an editor is when a writer or another reviewer decides to fight me throughout the process. It is really unpleasant. It usually stems from one of the following:
The writer/reviewer is insecure and can't admit he/she is wrong.
The writer/reviewer has enough knowledge of grammar and style that he/she is dangerous.
The editor is wrongmistaken.
There are many other scenarios, I'm sure, but those are the three main issues I face. Also, I don't know what it is, but people seem to get great satisfaction from pointing out when editors make an error and really rub it in their faces.
In my reviews, I always try to be thoughtful, thorough, and kind. Although Pat probably won't back me on this, I will fully admit that I make mistakes and that I don't know everything. (I'm still learning!) But 99% of the time I have a rationale for the changes I make during a review and can almost always support each change with documentation. For the most part, I think I am really good at what I do.
I seem to go through phases where things are hunky-dory. I think I've got this whole editor-writer relationship down pat and that I've truly earned the respect of my associates. And then everything will go to shit, and I'm slogging through the day dodging bullets and hoping for the best. All I can do is try to stay thoughtful, thorough, and kind and give myself a pat on the back after a day's work. (That's the other downside of being an editor: When I do a good job, all is well so my work goes unnoticed. When I make a mistake, that's when people notice. Oh, hai! I was in an interview once where the hiring manager said something like, "If you do this job, you're going to have to be okay with yourself at the end of the day. Editors don't get praise." It's so true.) Also, I read blogs like this one. It's like therapy. This latest post definitely struck a chord with me, as they often do, and I thought I would share.
My father is not the only one in the family who wins awards. Last night I went to a work event, and I was not surprised that the baseball game got rained out, and I was not surprised that the catering at Frontier Field was mediocre at best, but I was quite surprised that there was an awards ceremony and that I won the award for "Goodest Editor."
Sadly, I will not win any awards based on the quality of this photo, but it was the best I could do at the moment.
I was really quite honored. Although the awards all had a humorous twist, it is nice to know I work—as a work-from-home contract employee, mind you—with a boss who knows us all well enough that he could come up with something funny and personal to say about all of us. I don't think many self-employed people get that (or a free night at a ball game) from the companies they contract for, so I am thankful. I am going to cherish the award always and will be throwing it in people's faces (the title, not the award itself, silly) for years to come.
How dare you question me? I won the Goodest Editor award in 2010!
The last couple weeks I've felt a little like I'm in an emotional rabbit hole. Nothing seems to be going right. It happens. I have a really hard time updating this site when I get into a mood like this because I can't think of anything to say that isn't either overly personal or might be potentially hurtful to someone else. So that's why there has been the big lag between updates. I'm just super grumpy and I've been biting my tongue.
A handful of years ago, I was working at a company where morale was particularly low and people were leaving left and right. They didn't have money to give raises, and there wasn't a whole lot they could do to improve things. One morning, when we arrived at work, we each found an empty can at our desks along with a letter from one of the likeable bigwigs at the company. On the can, there was a label that said "You Can." The letter explained the concept of "You Can," which, in a nutshell, is just that you can make things how you want them. We can't necessarily expect outside factors to all be easy and great, so when the going gets tough, you get a can full of nothin' on your desk so you can panhandling after work to be able to afford diapers...or something like that. Anyway, everyone thought it was ridiculous, and the likeable bigwig and yours truly both jumped ship not long after the "You Can" surfaced. The fact of the matter, though, is that sometimes you gotta just suck it up and stop feeling sorry for yourself.
In the spirit of the You Can, here are some things that I've done or seen in the last few weeks that haven't completely sucked:
Our old college friend Sarah came into town for a night with her boyfriend Dennis. Sarah is one of the nicest people I know, and it was great to see her. (It was the first time we'd seen her since our wedding.) She showered us with gifts, which was completely unnecessary but really nice. My favorite is a Pez dispenser she got for Pat from the Norman Rockwell Museum. How cool is this?
Days after, a different old college friend named Sara came into town for a night. I met up with her at LUX and got to meet her husband, Brian, who is one of those people you immediately like and feel comfortable with, like you feel like you could tell him about the time the gang of senior girl bullies picked on you in the ninth grade and how you still fear wearing hats because of it, and how he would actually care and be able to say something to make you think maybe you could wear a hat again someday. (I resisted spilling my guts to him, though.) They're good people, and I only wish I had gotten to see them more. Plus, there was free popcorn at LUX that night. Yeah, that was a good night.
This week, another old college friend named Amanda came into town for a night. I met up with her and our friend Sue and we went to Flight, which is a pretty cool wine bar. We laughed A LOT. Those people you can go without seeing for 12 years and then laugh with as hard as you used to laugh when you lived next door to them are GOOD people.
And as if that weren't enough...
I heard about this. I love that peer pressure even works on people who are old and filthy rich. Whatever works.
I also heard about this. Who knew mannequin arms could be so hilarious?
I also heard about this. I love that even NPR thought it was newsworthy.
Finally, I am very proud to report that my dad won a prestigious award in his field. My dad is one of those people who consistently works hard and is smart and humble and is good for the sake of being good. If I needed to write an essay for a college application about the person I admire most, I would write about my dad (with Ira Glass as a back-up subject). He is great, and I'm really glad when other people notice. Hopefully he won't be too embarrassed by my posting this video about it.
When we got together with my family for Mother's Day, the topic of bros icing bros came up. We all had a good laugh over the concept. Then when we went to Ohio, the topic came up again a few more times. Even so, when we walked into my parents' house this past weekend and my sweet, little mom immediately held a room-temperature raspberry-flavored Smirnoff Ice in front of Pat, it was shocking. Pat didn't skip a beat, though. He nodded, popped open the top, went down on one knee, and pounded it before I could say, "Wait, let me take one more picture where you're not backlit!"
Unlike a lot of icings I've seen online, there was no ballyhooing. Pat is a really good sport. If you know Pat, then you know this is true. Pat is as cool as, well, Coolio. Nay, he's cooler.
Frankly, I think he enjoyed it.
Don't mind the fact that there is a 4 year old in this shot. (Don't worry, we told her it was "daddy's medicine," so it's okay.)
And since this blog has taken a rather unclassy turn, I'll go ahead and post a recent picture I took of moldy fruit. You heard me. We keep a container on the counter for stuff that we collect that needs to go to the compost bin. It's sort of like purgatory for produce. Anyway, I put some past-their-prime raspberries in there, and the next day I opened it up and found a bunch of bearded raspberries. I thought they were very pretty. Here is Sir Admiral of Berryton.
I have seen a few references to it, and maybe you've already seen it too, but there is an interesting article called Drowning Doesn't Look Like Drowning that I wanted to share here.
As the title implies, the article is about how to recognize drowning and how, when someone is drowning, it doesn't look like we're used to seeing it in the movies. People don't thrash around and call for help. This was particularly interesting to me because I had a scary brush with drowning when I was a kid. To preface, my grandparents had a pool and we used to go swimming there whenever we could. When I was maybe five years old, my grandma took me in the pool and was holding me. The pool had a shallow end and a deep end, and all around the deeper portion of the pool, there was a three-foot deep ledge that had a slippery, steep decline. We sort of walked around the ledge while she held me and kept saying things like, "Look, you're swimming!" What my five-year-old brain didn't realize was that I wasn't swimming.
I don't remember the exact details of whether when I came close to drowning was later that day or a different day or what, but I remember that I had my swimsuit on, and I feel like only my grandma and Uncle Howard were there. I recall my grandma went inside and my uncle was dozing in a lawn chair. I wanted to show off for my uncle that I had learned to swim, so I remember saying something like, "Uncle Howie, watch me swim!" And then I stepped down the ladder, into the pool, started moving my arms, and then before I knew it, my head was underwater and I felt as if I couldn't move. I don't know how long I was under there—I doubt it was long at all—but I remember my eyes were open and my head was pointed up toward the sky. I also remember feeling pretty pissed that I didn't actually know how to swim, and very scared. I then remember seeing a blurry figure look over the edge of the pool, and then my uncle grabbed me and pulled me out. It's one of those moments of my life that I will forget about for a while and then remember and play it over and over. My uncle will recount seeing my "big, blue eyes" looking at him from under the water and laugh, but it freaks me out! I always wondered why I didn't thrash around or try to call for help, but after reading this article, I understand that, physiologically, I did exactly what people do when they drown.
I thought this article was very interesting and an excellent reminder, particularly for the time of year and the kind of weather we've been having. If I were to add one more thing, regarding children, I would just stress that when you "swim" with them and they don't yet know now to swim, do not ever imply that they are actually swimming. Put some fear in those children! (Kidding, mostly.)
After recounting this, I think I know why I don't like swimming that much. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that swimming requires wearing a bathing suit in front of people...
In case you're so inclined, here's how we spent our holiday weekend.
Friday: After work/school, we went to our friend Steve's going-away party. There was amazing food and drink and great company. Greta is super smitten with Steve, which is super cute and very entertaining to watch.
Saturday: We went to our friend Maddie's birthday party. The kids were all so good and polite. I love polite kids. Right after that, we went to a Third of July party at one of my book club friend's houses. We lived the American dream of eating rare burgers and apple pie.
Here are the cute girls at Maddie's party.
Sunday: We packed up a big picnic basket of goodness and headed out to see some fireworks. When we went grocery shopping for snacks, Greta asked what caviar is and Pat told her "fish eggs," and then she said she wanted to try some. We never want to squelch new food trying, so we bought some. I didn't really look closely and ended up buying salmon caviar. I assumed it would be good because I like salmon sushi. When we tried it, though, we all hated it - even Pat, who likes just about anything. They looked like Finding Nemo eggs and they were huge and when you bit into them, they squished gross fish-egg juice into your mouth. Like Nemo eggs, they had a dark orange spot in them, and I felt like I was eating a baby. It was gross. I have had caviar that wasn't disgusting, but this was not one of those kinds. It probably ruined me for salmon and caviar for forever. Oh, and fireworks are awesome! I always forget how much I love them. I especially love the grand finale when the noise drowns out the idiots saying "oooh" and "aaah," and I can't help but watch them with a big, dumb grin on my face. Love 'em.
Here are Pat, Greta, and the baby Nemos.
Monday: I worked all day and Pat and Greta hung out, trying to stay cool. After work, Pat talked me into going to Seabreeze. I was so anti, but I agreed to go along and sign up for a season's pass and I LOVED it. So I didn't love the crowd, but it was just too fun. Greta loves rides, and the look on her face the entire time was priceless. Greta even went on her first rollercoaster, and it wasn't even one of those tiny rattletrap rollercoasters they have for little-little kids (okay, it was sort of a tiny rattletrap...). After Greta went on it twice with Pat, I got the gumption to go it too. Pat took video. I'm apparently the tallest person on the ride and one of the few people who doesn't have her arms up in the air. Ha. I'm a wimp.
So, this past weekend we went to Ohio. Because, what's high in the middle and round on both ends? O-high-o! AKA, the place where it takes 9 1/2 hours to get there and then takes 45 minutes to get anywhere else (to my grandma’s, to my aunt and uncle’s, to my great aunt’s, to buy kids’ toothpaste). But seriously, I love Ohio. Because it translates to "summer vacation." And while it sort of sucked when we were kids and we had to sleep in my grandparents' house that was in southern Ohio and had no air conditioning, it now translates to sleeping in air-conditioned hotels and drinking my dad's wine every night and eating like a glutton with my parents. Oh, and my Ohio kinfolk is awesome.
We visited with my grandma, first and foremost, but we also saw my Great Aunt Jean (who is awesome) and my Aunt Kish and Uncle Mike (who are awesome) and we drove A LOT and hung out with my parents a lot and DRANK A LOT OF GOOD WINE.
Greta did a lot of this.
And my mom entertained Greta endlessly.
And to my grandma's delight, Pat used his "magic eye" at my grandma's apartment.
This is the one family portrait you'll get for the year.
Greta was getting slightly punchy the sencond day we visited my grandma. My favorite quote from Usual Suspects is when Benicio Del Toro said, "Flip you. Flip ya for real." That reminds me of this.
And this.
Also, on the way to Ohio, we watched Fanstatic Mr. Fox. It was awesome. First of all, I didn't realize it's not a "kids' movie." Not in the Funky Beat Band kind of way and not in any other kind of way. It's sort of a kids' movie in the way that Lock, Stock and Two Barrels is a kids' movie, but it's great and Wes Anderson directed it (I <3 him) and Greta and I loved it. And it's great. Put it in your Netflix queue now. And if you're too intellectual for Fantastic Mr. Fox, get Frost/Nixon. That was good too.
I also did other things the last couple/few weeks, and I wanted to document the scene. This is just showing a hair clip my hair dresser made that is awesome. Greta wants to wear it everyday.
Andhere's a recent picutre of Greta and Oliver the Great with a purple tongue. Random, but I like it.
Oh! Also, I got Pat and Wii for Father's Day. I'm awesome!
As I mentioned back in January, Taryn used some pages that had fallen out of her original copy of Nine Stories to create an awesome table for me. I loved the idea of book craftiness, and so when I saw NPW's wreath made out of book pages (here's a more formal tutorial on Living with Lindsay for staunch rule followers, like me), I knew I had to make one for Taryn.
I had bought the supplies back in March and then they sat idle in a closet. A few weeks ago, I decided to hunker down with all of my supplies, a glass of wine, and the movie The Blind Side. As I pulled out the styrofoam ring I had bought, I thought, "Oh crap, that is big!" I ended up buying a 14" wreath, and when I consulted the Living with Lindsay site, I saw that she said to use a 10" wreath. What a difference 4 inches makes. I guessed I would need more wine and that I would be up a while. I ended up getting about halfway through when the end credits of The Blind Side were rolling and I ran out of book pages. Whoopsie. I ended up needing to buy another book the next day and finished everything up. Thankfully, unlike in NPW's case, no Franny digits were harmed in the making of the wreath.
The finished product is quite large and quite lovely! The picture really does not do the size justice. It's really big, people.
I'm really happy with the end product, and, more importantly, I finally got to give it to Taryn this past weekend, and she really seemed to love it. And everyone who saw it in passing seemed to love it as well. It's a great, inexpensive gift to make for a bibliophile...or for whatever is Latin for a person who hates books but loves wreaths.
Working from home, I typically hear the ice cream truck driving by in the afternoon, after school is out but before Pat and Greta are home. I somehow manage to restrain myself from hopping out of my computer chair and grabbing my wallet to get something icy cold and delicious. For one, I've been ridiculously busy with work and taking a break for ice cream is not foremost in my mind. For another, we always have some sort of iced confection in our freezer this time of year. Finally, I'm a 33-year-old woman; I can show some self-control in the face of ice cream.
Last night, after dinner, we heard the familiar bell of the Scoops truck*. Moments after the bell was first audible, many thoughts went through my mind: Ice cream! Greta would like ice cream. If we got Greta ice cream tonight, would she beg us for ice cream the next hundred times we heard the ice cream truck? Greta basically just ate corn and nothing else for dinner. Can I really condone dessert? Hmm, that ice cream costs money. We have ice cream in the freezer. I'm tired and this chair is mighty comfortable...
But lucky for everyone, Pat got a very excited look in his eye and he popped up, grabbed Greta under her arms, and yelled, "Ice cream truck!"
They quickly put their shoes on and ran outside just in time to get some ice cream. Greta chose Scooby Doo; Pat chose SpongeBob; and Pat knows me well, so he got me one of those sugar cones with vanilla ice cream, chocolate shell, and chopped nuts on top.
After a pretty crappy day - nay, week - this was awesome:
I love my family, my totally valid reason for overpriced ice cream on a Friday night.
Is it me, or does Pat's SpongeBob SquarePants look more like SpongeBob FangFace?
* PnF fun fact: In the summer of 1999, we were living in a cruddy apartment on Rutgers Street. Our friend Vienneau was living in town for the summer, working for Scoops, and he struck a deal to room in our attic apartment, in this mini half-room that was really just a dormer. He would pay for the utilities and bring each of the four roommates (Pat; this kid named Jason, who fell of the face of the earth; Jason's girlfriend at the time, Colleen; and me) our favorite ice cream every night he worked during the summer. He always brought me home my favorite: a sugar cone with vanilla ice cream, chocolate shell, and chopped nuts. :)
