“Experts have / their expert fun / ex cathedra / telling one / just how nothing / can be done.” — Piet Hein, poet and scientist (1905-1996)

me to the kids in the car on the way home: “I want to make you as miserable every day about doing your homework as you make me miserable every frickin’ day about not doing your homework, see?”

the kids (silently to each other): Don’t make eye contact with that woman, we’ll be fine.

i rock at motherhood.

ouch.

Noted anti-war activist S. Brian Willson spells out why the school board should stop selling the US military access to elementary school students.

my favorite donut recipe… ever.

DONUT PUFFS

2 eggs, beaten
1/2 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup milk
2 cups sifted flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 T butter

Crisco or oil for deep frying

1/2 cup sugar
1/4 tsp nutmeg or cinnamon or…

powdered sugar

Mix ingredients, dip batter by spoonful into oil, fry ’em. Let cool on paper towels.

Roll in sugar/nutmeg, sugar/cinnamon or powdered sugar.

“Mmm… donuts…” — Homer Simpson

The Beechers are so nice.

(because you knew i had to say it.)

steve took me out for a bite to eat. and vodka, cuz we’re moving and it was the middle of the afternoon and I was having an “episode.”

steve, looking around the bar (because where else would you go, in North Portland, in the middle of the afternoon on Valentine’s Day?): “I won’t miss the ironic North Portland hipsters.”

me: “yes you will.”

then i eyed four sets of lesbians making out at the bar. four sets. that’s sixteen breasts, for those of you who are counting. i gave a little sigh.

“I’ll miss that.”

i was thinking, i’ve lived in North/Northeast Portland my entire life, right? Then steve asks, Didn’t you live in New York? (my son, suddenly impressed): “You lived in New York?” me: “yeah, for awhile.)

and i lived in Southeast (off Hawthorne, and in Ladd’s Addition, in an old church; also in a heinous apartment complex in Southwest for awhile; and in chi-chi Multnomah Village — Southwest PDX — and in chi-chi Westmoreland — Southeast PDX).

I’ve lived other places.

i’ll be fine.

house on market asap; will keep y’all posted. It stinks like cleaning products in here, gives me headache and sneezes. am glad i’m not frantic mad housekeeper; it can’t be good for your brain cells.

xo

your little hunny,

wm

Steve’s blogs are having their birthdays this month, too. (Go tell him to write about peace on his blog, would you? Tell him to give peace a chance.) (Again.)

Would you like some February “greatest hits” from over the years? Sure, why not?

Feb. 2005

Feb. 2006

Feb. 2007

Feb. 2008

Feb. 2009

Bon appetit!

— wm

There is very little that bugs me about my husband, Hockey God. (Yes, he claims he’s on sabbatical.) (“There’s no crying in baseball!” — Tom Hanks in “A League of Their Own”) (Yeah, whatever, Mr. I’m-So-Busy, Mr. Sabbatical.)

Anyway. He rocks. He’s a great cook, father, lover, husband and gardener. He pretty much always gives me my way, even when I don’t cry. (“There is crying in marriage.” — Wacky Mommy) He watches “It’s a Wonderful Life,” “White Christmas,” “North by Northwest,” “Vertigo” and “Rear Window” with me, over and over and over. (Is there anything sexier than Grace Kelly telling Jimmy Stewart, “Preview of coming attractions…”? No, there is not.)

He’s buying me a new house because I’ve been ready to go for a long time now.

But one thing about him drives me nuts. OK, two. 1) He can’t stand when I talk during movies, but hello, sometimes I need to ask him what’s happening with the plot, especially if it’s one of those suspense/intrigue type of movies and 2) He thinks he knows the words to Dwight Yoakam’s “Guitars, Cadillacs” and he just doesn’t. Also he thinks he can sing like Dwight (“He sings like Fozzy Bear, it’s not that hard!”) and he just can’t.

Other than that, he’s perfect.

Happy Valentine’s Day, lover. Here’s to many more.

gosh, you can really use up a lot of geedee boxes when you’ve been squirreling away possessions like a family of squirrels hoarding nuts for ten years.

gosh.

finding all kinds of crazy stuff: lost earrings, stuffed animals, favorite sweaters, shirts and panties (bedazzled!), the “6” date for the magnetic calendar. But the best thing has been 10 years’ worth of pix of the kids and journals.

from the preschool days: my daughter made up a dance and called it “the African Fresh Melon Dance.” It was wild, you should have seen it — all gyrating limbs and a lot of hopping.

She also wrote her first book: “The Dinosaurs of You.”

She’s still writing, and dancing. So are we.

“I don’t dance anymore!” — Wacky Girl

xo

wm

a lot is going on. bad things, tragic things, wonderful things, sexy things, not-so-sexy things. lots of equilibrium and disequilibrium and WHAT IS THE POINT OF BLOGGING if i can’t GIVE IT MY ALL?

i am giving it my all, believe me, just can’t write about it.

everything is fine with Wacky Family, the three funny, furry cats, the fish, frogs and snails, we’re fine. but in the bigger picture? for some of us things are not so fine. I worry. but at the same time, there is happiness. Peace might happen someday (“there’s a chance/peace will come/in your life/please buy one” — Melanie, “Peace Will Come/According to Plan”) (my favorite song when i was 7, which is the exact age my boy is right now.) Here she is with those little peaceniks, June and Johnny. And here she is, live.

I would like to request that all the long-haired hippie girls with their guitars come back and help us work on peace some more.

Peace is not trite. I want peace.

this song is so pretty, i have to give you all the lyrics:

“There’s a chance peace will come in your life please buy one

There’s a chance peace will come
In your life please buy one”

Reading this week: