You know, it would help if the Oregon Live site, you know. Worked. If it was easier to navigate, if the keywords for searches actually took you to the articles you were seeking. If the links didn’t go dead after two weeks. Anyway.

Now comes Anna Griffin, with an article titled “The Inner State of Interstate.” Do tell, Ms. Griffin — how would you describe my neighborhood after spending two hours here?

“Undeniably ugly,” she says (that’s her lead.)

“From the driver’s seat, Interstate Avenue looks like just another long stretch of urban landscape — busy, cluttered and, at times, undeniably ugly.”

That’s sweet, honey. Glad you could stop by.

Next? She compares it to a petri dish. Awesome! The phrase she was looking for was “melting pot.” (Editor: “But we need something more… more… original than melting pot…” Reporter, eager to please: “Petri dish?” Editor: “Good!”)

“On foot, however, Interstate is much more — a vast social petri dish where Caucasians, African Americans, first-generation immigrants from Fiji and third-generation Polish Americans do business side by side; where senior citizens, young families and newly arrived hipsters mingle over coffee and antique furniture.”

No Mexicans, though. (Yes, there are Hispanic-owned businesses in my neighborhood — she even interviews the owners of Jesusito grocery, where “neighborhood folks” shop, according to Griffin. See? We all get along.)

“With all this uncertainty, it’s no wonder the people of North Interstate Avenue are feeling a lot of things these days — and happy is not among them.”

Kent Brockman: “‘Twas the night before Christmas, and in this house a creature *was* stirring. But the only thing he was stirring was: up trouble.” — The Simpsons, “Homer the Vigilante”

The street history? It’s called Interstate Avenue because the street leads to the Interstate Bridge, connecting Oregon to Washington. Although this has been corrected in the online version of the article, there was nothing in the print edition about the street’s original name, North Patton Avenue (after landowner Matthew Patton). (Old-timers still call it Pacific Highway, or 99W.)

Hockey God is blogging over at MetBlogs now, in case you were wondering what he has going on. Stop by and tell him hey.

How will this affect his hockey game, is my question.

“Preservation of one’s own culture does not require contempt or disrespect for other cultures.”

— Cesar Chavez, Mexican-American labor activist and leader of the United Farm Workers

Reviewed today:

Well, well, well. What should appear recently in the Wacky Mailbox but “How The Grinch Stole Christmas!” by our dear Dr. Seuss (Random House, 52 pages, $14). (Yes, I know it’s too early for Christmas for some of you. Please bookmark this page and come back in a month.) The story of the Grinch is fifty this year — how can that be? That makes Cindy-Lou Who fifty-two. Yikes. And her anntennas are still so darn cute.

We received the “Party Edition,” which means, “brand-new clean and no Christmas cooky crumbs.” My favorite page? This one:

“And the one speck of food
That he left in the house
Was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.”

Wacky Girl’s favorite page? The last one, of course:

“…HE HIMSELF…!
The Grinch carved the roast beast!”

We also received a commemorative Christmas ornament, which is just about perfect, and as if that weren’t enough, a copy of “How The Grinch Stole Christmas! The 50th-Anniversary Retrospective” (by Dr. Seuss and Charles D. Cohen, 85 pages, $24.99). My son is partial to this brand-new edition, but he cannot have it, it is all Mama’s. It contains everything a Grinch addict like myself could possibly want, including info on his international appeal (he’s der Grinch in Germany, il Grinch in Italy and o Grinch in Brazil, did you know?), details about the route Dr. Seuss (aka Theodor Geisel) took in creating the Grinch (he wanted to combine Santa, his reindeer, the Stork, the Sandman and the Boogeyman — why mess around with so many characters when one would do?), and background on how Chuck Jones storyboarded the book. The old drawings are spectacular.

These are both great additions to my, I mean, our Christmas book collection — I think you’ll enjoy both copies as well.

I heard about “The Book of Story Beginnings,” by Kristin Kladstrup (Candlewick Press, 360 pages) when my daughter read it for the first time, when it was released last year. Her review went something like this:

“There’s this kid, Oscar, and he uses a magic potion and a book, The Book of Story Beginnings, to make an ocean appear. In Iowa. In Iowa!! Mom, there’s no ocean in Iowa!”

I told her I’d love to read it, too, but then someone else had it on hold, I forgot to reserve it again and you know. It’s a year later. But we’re finally re-reading it — it’s as fantastic and magical as she told me.

Now, Wacky Girl:

“It’s interesting, because Oscar turns into a cat, and then turns back into a boy and wooooooooooooo… woo-woo! Ha ha ha. Erase that woooooooooooo ha ha ha part, okay?”

(me: “No.”)

“And my favorite part is when they ride on the boat to…”

Yes, the ocean comes back, along with Oscar. Now, I must stop her because this book — I am not going to spoil this book for you. The plot? Amazing. The writer? It’s her first book and she gives us this? More, more, more. The writing about writing? I love writing about writing. I love a book within a book, a play within a play, a poem within a poem. The characters? Well-developed. The heroine’s parents? Always in a fight. (One of the biggest conflicts in the book is how the heroine, Lucy, grapples with how much she should do independently and when (and how???) she should ask her parents or other family for help.

Fabulous read, your kids (boys or girls) will love it. Best for ages five or six and up. (To adulthood.)

“The Daring Book for Girls,” by Andrea J. Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz, with illustrations by Alexis Seabrook, was just released. It’s a partner to “The Dangerous Book for Boys,” (Collins Books, 279 pages). Wacky Girl got her mitts on it and I hadn’t seen it since — until today. I spotted it on an end table where she had carelessly left it in my grabbing distance. I will now review, with help from my dear daughter, before it disappears again.

What do we like about it?

You can learn how to read palms (my daughter wants to know how), or play fourteen kinds of tag (“That looks cool!” sez one Wacky Girl). You can figure out how to put your hair up with a pencil, perform first aid, learn about Zenobia, Queen of the East, do yoga, build a tree swing, or learn to spy. And there is much, much more, but I will not be able to tell you because there goes the book again, out the door.

I cannot remember where I found this, but I didn’t write it. It does come in handy, from time to time.

WM

Worry Reduction Techniques

1. When I find myself worrying, I will divert my attention from the future (or past) to the present.

2. The worst is very unlikely to occur, even if it does, I will handle it.

3. I will try to take one thing and one day at a time.

4. Relaxation will reduce both worrying and anxiety.

5. I will do planning but reduce my worrying.

6. Worry is irrelevant.

7. I am not in charge of anyone else’s thoughts, feelings and behaviors.

8. People and situations do not upset me, I do.

9. I will recognize and let go of those things that I cannot change.

10. I will stop worrying now.

I posted this comment on Planet Nomad’s blog (interesting discussion going about favoritism) and wanted to leave it here, too.

Oh. My. Gosh! Hockey God just made coffee, and the kids have the day off school so I’m in my pajamas still, not rushing out the door. Glory halleluJAH!

happy friday, everyone!

The best parenting advice given to me and my husband was in the middle of an ultrasound, when the tech told us, in a speedy fashion, that her son was three, and “Here’s everything I know about parenting so far. After the baby gets here, your dog will be just a dog; it’s not the terrible two’s it’s the terrible three’s; and give specific choices: the blue cup or the green one? The yellow shirt or the blue? OK, that’s it, thanks you guys!” I was laughing so hard.

So… what’s the best (or worst) parenting advice you’ve ever gotten?

Chuck’s new calendar is ready!!!!!!

Already shopping for the holidays? Perhaps you need a plush toy shaped like guts.

A heart, kidney, liver or lung? They have them all.

Thursday 13ers and dear, dear Usual Suspects,

Our house is going on the market soon SOON as in… maybe this month? (In my dreams.) Or possibly we’ll wait a few months.

Chores take time. And so does yardwork.

Thirteen EXCELLENT Things About Selling Our Home:

13) One word: Newcarpet. The whole house looks sunny and light now.

12) Our storage space is filling up as the house gets emptied out. Goodwill, friends, trash, storage, or Artfully Arranged: A place for everything and everything in its place. (My desk is the exception to this rule.)

11) No more picking up 800 Dr. Seuss, Little Bear and Magic Treehouse books — they’re packed.

10) Ditto 1/2 of our clothes.

9) The front yard is edged. Well. Half-edged. Our lawn is rarely edged.

8) It’s still covered with weeds, which I’m justifying for this reason: If the new owners want a nice lawn, they can pay for it themselves. If they’re going to cover it with flagstones, ground cover and zero-scaping EXCUSE ME xeriscaping, why should I bother? (Good one, eh? I love my logic when it saves me from weeding.)

7) The beds are weeded, though, and we’ve done about 1/2 the pruning.

6) I have never been so in love with my husband in my life. And honestly, I have been madly, head-over-heels with the guy since he was my neighbor down the street. He has done every single one of the projects we (and by we I mean “he”) needed to tackle. Exposed wires covered, new sprinkler system box installed, touch-up paint done, new back door.. to quote Dooce — After all that, I don’t even need a gin and tonic to get in the mood.

5) Did I mention the weather has been gorgeous in Portland, Ore.? (Trying not to jinx myself.) When it’s sunny, I am much more inclined to work in the yard, keep up with the house, go for walks with the kids… and then I get excited about moving all over again. Why? Because we’ll have a new neighborhood to walk in! Yay.

4) I think we’re going to buy Ikea bedroom furniture. Should I really splurge and spend a couple hundred bucks? Yes. I was quite enamored of my mother-in-law’s new room when we visited her in Denver last summer. Her set-up looks kinda like this. I love my futon and all but I am a grown woman now! Sick of sleeping on floor.

3) The kids are enjoying their rooms more now that they’re decluttered. They have room to play. On the floor. Did you know that bedroom floors could be used for this, and not just toy/debris/clothes storage? It’s a revelation.

2) I can find things in my kitchen now — lids to Tupperware, the corkscrew, cooky cutters — now that we’ve cleared some of it out. And the counters? It’s easier to cook, once the counters are cleared off. Again — a revelation.

1) I won’t miss the Nasty Neighbor one bit. She yelled at our carpet guys! Why? They were cutting carpet. In the street. In front of my house, which is next door to her house. She was rude to them and they were so nice about it. I apologized to them, and to their boss, too. “Yeah, people get a little strange sometimes,” one said.

Yeah, no kidding. I’ll miss most of our neighbors — especially the Nekkid Ones — but her? I try to be a decent person and rise above it. For instance, I didn’t throw a corndog at her when she yelled at the carpet guy. I haven’t called the city on her lately. I haven’t flashed her or anything. But she still insists on throwing the toxic vibe around all the time. I will step aside and let it zing right past me, as much as I can.

You know, I won’t miss her even one little bit.

Happy Thursday, everyone.

WM

Wanna see pix of our newest family member? He’s over there in Flickr, purring. Where did we get him? From our yard. He was out there in the rain, skinny, hungry, covered in fleas.

Meowing all the time and wanting some pets on the head.

Not neutered. Of course he wasn’t neutered, so there are all kinds of cats, younger than he is and looking just like him, oddly enough, throughout the neighborhood.

He was catting around.

The kids: “Mom, that little black and white cat is back!”

Hockey God: “What a surprise.”

After I dropped the kids off at school in the morning, he would be stretched out on the parking strip, hunting birds and mice. He’d meow hello at me. I fell for him. Put him in a cat carrier, took him in for shots, neutering, de-worming, de-fleaing. Then he was supposedly to go off to the Humane Society, where I would track him on the computer until he found a home, or go rescue him if he didn’t.

You can probably guess how that one went. No room at the inn, me on the phone, my husband saying, “Take him home, already,” excited kids, happy me, one blissed-out kitty cat, stretched out on a blanket on the best chair in the house, sleeping. And eating. And sleeping some more. He’s doing OK with the other cats, although being Young Stud he is a little too rowdy sometimes.

Then I get a call.

Female voice (sniffling and snorking): “I’m calling? About your little black and white cat?” (sobbing.)
me (worried he’s been hit): “Is he OK???”
Female on the other end of phone: “Yeah, he’s not hit or anything, he’s on the sidewalk here? I’m petting him. It’s just… Where did you get him?”
me: “From our yard. Wait.. he’s yours?”

Yeah, he was hers. “Was,” I just said. Because after she talked with my daughter, explained the deal, and I got back on the line, she decided we needed to keep the (un-neutered, flea-bitten) kitty-witty.

Female voice: “She’s real attached to him now, huh? I got him off Craig’s List for ten bucks. He’s sweet, isn’t he?”
Me: “Yeah, he’s adorable.”

He’s a little over a year old. Much back and forth, that went like this… are you sure? I don’t want to steal your cat, here. Not that I’ve ever done that before. Uh, maybe I did, but just that once. No, really — it’s okay, we got two other cats. Us, too! Yeah, it’s a small kitty-cat world, isn’t it? Are you sure it’s OK? Yeah, I got him for my mom, but she will be so glad to hear your daughter loves him so much. She really does love him. Thank you. No, thank you. Really — thanks.

So welcome home, for keeps, Wacky Cat 3. We love you.