I've had a great weekend. First off, it was my birthday! Last year's birthday was so close to Mom's death and I was out of town for work and it just sucked. I was worried that last year broke all my future birthdays, but I am happy to report my birthday mojo is back.

(Have I mentioned I LOVE BIRTHDAYS? Everyone gets to be really special for a whole day -- or a week if you're doing it right -- and everyone deserves that.)

Lala started things off Saturday night by having the house full of things I love: sweet apricots, orange tulips, buffalo mozzarella, fresh bread and more cheese (chevre), and prosecco. And she vacuumed. That's love, people.

The next day I had artichokes from the garden and a caprese for my birthday because I could and IT WAS SO GOOD.

Then to the Big Scavenger Hunt! Sisters Bethany and Christy went ALL out making it for me. It was so damn cool. A run down of how it went:

They put up a webpage that they sent with the Evite which had  a picture of a mural and a google map with no identifiers. I didn't know the mural, but I know Lake Merritt, so I was right on time for the magnificent picnic.

After we all stuffed ourselves silly and directed the people who were lost to our blankets, they handed out a knitting puzzle, one in which we finally figured out that the YOs stood for letters, which directed to us a cafe down the street.

I loved this one: It was a flier on a window that was advertising lessons for Sexy Knitting (I was sad none of the little slips of paper at the bottom hadn't been torn off). There was a url of a youtube video on it. How freaking clever is that? RachelO's iPhone to the rescue: The video led us to the library across the street which was closed, but in a pile of donated books I found a copy of How to Knit a Love Song (they'd made the cover and wrapped it around a Harry Potter book).

Inside the book was a picture of this mural:

If you click to make it big, you see that in chalk is written Smith 3339. Didn't take us long to figure out that it meant Smitty's, a bar down the way, at 3339 Grand St. Yay! Break time!

But no rest for the wicked. Bethany had knitted me the most awesome scarf of the alphabet, the letters in different colors (will show photo when she's woven in the ends, still not quite done). The scarf was the decoder for the next clue which the bartender gave us (after giving us a nice G&T). Using the colors of the letters, we worked out the clue which led us down the street 45 paces and up three steps to find this:

Ooh! Gelato at Michael Mischer down the street. There we found some needles:

After a bunch of puzzling, Bethany finally had to give us this one: the Kingsman Lucky Lounge, down the street.

Celia, Maia, Nate, and Sara working out the next clue (which was a bracelet of row counters acting as a decoder ring -- that one was AWESOME but too convoluted to explain. We cracked it, though!).

Me'n'Bethany

The clue there led us down the block to Walden Pond Books, where in the knitting section we found:

No, Thoreau didn't write a knitting book (it was funny that several people checked the section without noticing this). Inside was a photo of another mural:

Me with the photo. That led us to the Grand Lake Theatre, where one guy nicely agreed to hold the clues, and the other douchebag later ripped them up and threw them out. Thanks, Grand Lake Theatre douche! You are now immortalized on The Blog! (But thanks, first guy who was nice.)

But that didn't matter! Bethany fished out the pieces of Sarah Palin and Ralph Nader charted for intarsia (HAHAHAHA) and figured out as a group that it was a clue for the Seranader lounge down the street. The clue there led us to another cafe, where I found a scarf with a sign that said Frog Me.

You really want me to frog it? Okay?

If you click for big, you can see me frogging away. See the blue yarn? And the boys in blue? Dude, I totally hemmed them in as if the yarn was police tape. They didn't say a word. Smart.

Down the road, the yarn ended:

At sushi!

How freaking GREAT is that? I had the best time. Thanks, sisters, and thank you to my guests who made my day fantastic (and to Maia for the photos!).

And yesterday I fixed our leaky faucets and started learning the fiddle. Today I'm off to take the dogs out and then to continue with the last day of my birthday weekend. But it's only a 3-day work week starting tomorrow, and then I'm on vacation, so this summer thing is working out way better than I thought it would. YAY!

I've been reading, and I keep forgetting to tell you about it, so here you go! A dump of book thoughts!

Charlaine Harris, the Sookie books
First of all, I think Charlaine Harris is a doll. Don't you? I adore the fact that she sold the first Sookie book for $5,000 after publishing 20 or so other books before it. I love that she was able to hire her best friend as her personal assistant. There's a wonderful picture of her here. And her books are just fun. I'm not a big vampire gal -- the Twilight books never grabbed me at all. But I love the HBO series True Blood that is based on her books. Granted, I skimmed the first one, Dead Until Dark, because it was similar to the TV show, and I wanted to get to what happens next. But I loved book two, Living Dead in Dallas. The writing is snappy and funny and fast-paced.

Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care
About a child born with bones as fragile as glass, this book got stuck in my head and hasn't left it yet (which doesn't happen often; books slide in and out of my memory so quickly). At its core, I think it's really about what a mother is and what a mother can bring herself to do. I loved it. Rich and deep.

Deidre Knight, Butterfly Tattoo
I don't know how to begin telling you about this. I should just leave it at this: if you like romance of any flavor, you should read this book. I can't explain the premise behind it and make it sound at all like something you want to read. But I'll try. Okay, Hollywood star scarred by stalker falls in love with man who is mourning his dead (male) partner and trying to raise their pre-teen daughter alone. I KNOW! That's what I said! But it was wonderful, tear-jerking (and my tears, believe it or not, are NOT easily jerked by prose), and I think you should read it. Digital only (I know. Still worth it, even if you don't have an e-Reader. I swear).

Jan Hanff Korelitz, Admission
Has anyone else read this? I don't know what to think. I have never been so ambivalent about a book I liked so well. Does that make sense? No? Okay. Let me try it another way. Korelitz's language is gorgeous, pitch perfect. The story, about a Princeton admissions officer and a familial secret, was fascinating. But every time I put the book down, I wasn't exceedingly moved to pick it back up, even though when I did, I very much enjoyed reading it. I've never felt this way about a book, and I'm not sure what caused it. The narrative was mostly internal reflection, and it's certainly possible that I'm a vapid enough reader that I lose focus when there's not more dialog. But even with that said, I would still recommend it.  And I'd love to hear what you thought about it.

Kristan Higgins, Fools Rush In
Pure fun! Wacky hijinks! The best kind! I eat her books up with a spoon. This one had a premise I wasn't sure I could get behind, but I did, and I adored the characters, especially the leading man who, in my mind, looked like a cross between Aidan Quinn and Sam Shepard. And with that last sentence I realize I am perhaps older than I thought I was. My idea of sexy is still rooted in early 90's movies. Huh. That's kind of surprising. That and Johnny Depp. And the guy that plays Eric in True Blood (creepy yum).

Marisa de los Santos, Belong To Me
Did you read Love Walked In? This is its sequel. I'm not done with this one, but I can tell you right now, it's even better. It's one of those books that I can't stand to be not reading, but I'm trying not to read it too fast, because I don't want it to be gone. (Also, it's her second book and I'm busy being WILDLY jealous that this is her sophomore attempt. My sophomore attempt is in the hands of my wonderful agent (who suggested this book, actually), and although it's apples to oranges, I can't help but wonder what the author's process was like.

(Amazon links provided for convenience, but please support your local bookseller.)

And Lala appears to be as verbose as I am today. Go read her Rah-rah-Summer entry (and get a look at that good-looking new nephew of ours!).

You like? It's new! It's a little pattern I whipped up (that took two tries -- the moss stitch would NOT behave).

Detail of the easy-peasey crocheted edge.

And dudes, it's probably closest to this color on my monitor. It's BRIGHT. But I love it.

It's Lorna's Laces Shepherd Sport, in Firefly, and it is SO SOFT. So, so, so soft. I'm thinking of adding little pearl buttons, but I'm not sure yet. I kind of love it like this.

Pattern? Well. Ahem. Darlings, it's not going to be out for quite a while. It'll be the pattern for book #2. But you can wait a bit, right?

I love it. My new summer in San Francisco sweater.

Oh, MAN.

I woke up with all sorts of clever, interesting things to tell you, and since I emailed Revision Three of Book Two to my Fabulous Agent yesterday, I have free writing time in the morning before work (HELLO FOUR AM WHY AM I UP AGAIN?) for a few days, and you were gonna reap the benefit of that. Now, however, I'm sleepy and  I can't remember anything but a dream I had.

(Yes, the commonly accepted rule is that other people's dreams are boring. However, this is my blog, and I will do my best not to bore you, how's that? No promises, though.)

I was in a large train station. I found a stack of money (a lot of fifties and some ones- - WOOT) along with a bunch of checks. The checks were all made out for specific amounts, but the TO line of each was blank. 

For about as long as I would have been in real life, I was tempted to keep the money; that is to say, I was tempted for about forty-five seconds. And then I was just PISSED that in my dream I was going to be honest. (It was one of those annoying dreams where you know it's a dream but can't control it.)

It's one thing to know that in real life you would be honest. Sure. Whatever. Hopefully we all know that. But in a dream? You want to be wild! A rebel! A crook! I wanted to put the money in my pocket and head to Morocco, not trudge up to the ticket window to turn it all in. Sigh.

That, my friends, is too rigid. BO-ring. I shall work harder at being a daring criminal in my dreams.

(The next dream was about traveling with my sister Christy in Borneo, except I'd made the small mistake of bringing all three dogs and four cats. And they got out on a wild plain above the ocean. And I realized while trying to wrangle Harriet into a cat carrier that I'd forgotten to buy any souvenirs. That was not a good dream.)

PS - Almost forgot, Sile of KnitOneOne wanted me to mention for you locals a good spinning class coming up: HERE.

This is exactly what it's like when I take a bath. Top hats and all.
Melody Gardot, Baby I'm a Fool

Also, her story is fascinating.

I made the BEST salad last night for dinner, and I'm putting it down here so I don't forget how I made it.

Asparagus, chopped on the bias into inch-long pieces
Green beans

Boil the above the three minutes, then drain.

Then add:
Can of rinsed kidney beans
Two chopped avocados
Diced shallot
Chopped tomato
Diced kalamata olives
Good handful or two of pine nuts (toasted would have been nice, but the kitchen was too hot)

Glug on your favorite dressing (Green Goddess) and YUM. Served three people, and I have leftovers for today.

I realized this week that I'm a moron. We live five minutes away from an entrance to the Lake Chabot Regional Park. It's gorgeous, immense, and it's legal off leash space for dogs. We do walk up there sometimes, but I always seem to forget about it.

And there's this one point that I've passed many times on one of the trails where a sign points to Lake Chabot. I thought that the lake itself was miles and miles away, that it would be a four hour hike or something. I always planned to pack a picnic someday and hike it.

Then this week I mapped it out on gmap pedometer (you know about that site, right?).

It's a MILE AND A HALF AWAY. The lake is almost right there, and I'd never hiked to it. Lame-o.

So today I set about repairing that. After a good morning's worth of writing, I headed off with Clara for our adventure. It was warm but there was a good breeze. There were flowers.

You know everything (I know you do), so what are these?

Aren't they wonderful? There were so many of them, clouds of them. They look like a cross between an orchid and a lupine, but they had no scent.

Clara runs ahead:

And then, you know what?

WE GOT LOST. Not very lost. It wasn't like I didn't know how to get back -- I remembered every turn I took (and I had my cell phone). But I couldn't find the damn lake. I saw it in front of us once, but I couldn't get us to it. Blast it all. After about forty-five minutes of looking for it, I had to turn us around because I'd only planned on hiking about an hour, with water for Clara at the trailhead at the beginning and end, so I hadn't carried any water. (I won't make that mistake again. I didn't like worrying about her. She was fine, but I was stressed.) With the sun and her dark fur, I didn't feel like messing around with overheating her, so we headed back. It was a bit frustrating.

But it makes it better for next time. We're SO gonna find it.

I am a bouncing ball of blogging! Come visit me over at Romancing the Yarn today (my other group blog).

The whole story is funny, actually. Megan, a dispatcher in San Leandro and old pal, heard the plate her coworker was running and thought, Oh, that has to be Rachael. (YARNAGO) So she emailed me and called me and told me to get over to San Leandro because the car looked drivable.

I met the officer there. The suspect had parked it in a random stall (the person who normally parked there called to complain her spot was occupied). They'd forced the lock and tumblers, so the car had been left with the radio on, so the battery was dead, but that just took a jump. I managed to re-tumble the tumblers (I know that's not right but that's what it felt like) so instead of just being able to fit the tip of my key in, it all went all the way in, and the ignition now appears fine.

Funniest part? Oh, there are so many.

1. There is more gas in it than I left.
2. They only changed one radio preset. They didn't appreciate NPR, I guess.
3. They only stole my parking change.
4. They left behind:
     a. A really nice Humvee brand pair of binoculars.
     b. Thirty Watchtower magazines
     c. A Blackberry car charger (WHICH I
         HAVE BEEN NEEDING! Dude!)
     d. Nice iPod headphones (although until I
        douse with rubbing alcohol, I am too
        skeeved out to use)

And everything that I normally leave in the car is still there, those little things that don't matter much but you miss when they're gone: My only pair of sunglasses, the throwing thing that tosses Clara's tennis balls, my Thomas guide (archaic now that we have google maps on our phones but I still love mine), my pens, my lip balm.

I am so relieved. It was only worth about $2,000, and I knew we weren't going to be able to find anything reliable for that price.

Yeehaw!

(Also: 30 Watchtowers? WTF?)

My tummy hurts! Again! But it hurts less than it did earlier this week, and so far I haven't had any cars stolen today, so everything's looking up.(Nope, car not back yet. Dang it. Snazzy Mazda rental, though. Do I have to give it back?)

Nothing to see here, folks. Deep in a revision land right now. I like what I'm doing, and I feel like I have a handle on the beast, but I'm dealing with Conflict, which always winds me up into a tizzy so you should go see me over at PensFatales where I am much more interesting than I am here.

I  have hair dye on my head, and I'm seven minutes from being done. I will type fast and hard to say hello to you.

Those of you who follow me in either Twitter or Facebook know that I had a craptastic couple of days.

It all started with a fierce belly-ache that, as the hours went on, turned to something sicker. I was completely miserable, and didn't go to work. I stayed in bed, in pain, trying not to think about the fact that it was the first deathiversary of my little mama. At about ten o'clock in the morning, Lala came in the bedroom to ask where I'd parked, because she couldn't find my car.

Yep. The car was stolen. And it had been there when our neighbor went to work, so rather than thinking to myself OH GOD if only I hadn't been sick I would still have my car, I choose to think that by staying in bed I possibly missed running into the auto burglars deep in the throes of stealing my sexy, sexy station-wagon. (Who steals a station wagon? Dude! They also messed with neighbor Sam's classic truck, but he had the battery disconnected. The thieves were obviously not from my neighborhood. Nobody fucks with Sam.)

Good news: I have comprehensive insurance which also covered a rental car. In my weakened still-in-pain state I went to Hertz because the branch I needed to go to wasn't open the next day. Bad news: It took two hours. With a bad belly. Oh, sadness.

Worse news: Finally driving the Hyundai, I discovered that it was infested with ants.

And the next day after another hour line to exchange it, I left my house key on the ring when I turned it in, so after finally getting home with a nice little Mazda, I had to turn around and go back to the airport and start the workers searching the lot for the gold Hyundai (which we finally found, in the to-rent lot, ready to be rented out again, STILL FULL OF ANTS). But I got my key back.

After all that, there was only one direction to go, and Lala and I headed in that direction:

Loards, Alameda, fudge-ana sundae.

That, and an amazing RWA meeting where some friends and I steered my course for the next edit of Book Two, fixed everything, and today I feel just fine. With soon-to-be red hair.  Yee-haw! (Got the blog done in time! Will check later for spelling errors!)

Well, now. That wasn't bad, not bad at all. I actually liked being home at Dad's, which I didn't expect. I thought it might be too painful. Or confusing. Or both.

But it wasn't. I'm here to tell you that a year later, you can really start to remember the good stuff. You can paw through the cabinets while making bread and pull out the beat-up bread pan without your heart breaking into ten tiny pieces and clattering onto the floor. You can eat at her favorite restaurant and not cry (very much) in public. You can marvel that your dad still writes his grocery list in the same notebook she used: a continuity both unexpected and lovely.

And last night I was lucky enough to hang out with some of my writing pals from the old days. At Cal Poly, Al Landwehr was the best creative writing teacher there was. A posse of six of us glommed on to each other and called ourselves Al's Gals, stopping just short of posing with him as Charlie's Angels. We wrote, we cheered each other on, we critiqued. Five out of the six of us finalled in the college's end-of-year writing competition, and five out of the six of us are still writing (Wendy Conti: where are you?). We were TIGHT.

Twelve years later, three of us met up last night at Al's house, and it was like no time had passed at all. With the three of us and Al and his lovely wife Lynne, there were five story-tellers at the table, all of us equipped with huge laughs and a sense of comedic timing. There were cocktails in the garden, next to the fountain. At the dinner table, there was fresh bread and the first tomatoes of the year, along with pasta alfredo and ceviche and rhubarb pie. The talk ranged from publishing to motherhood to hospitals and back to editing. It was the nicest evening in recent memory, and I've had some damn good nights lately.

Now I'm home, and I'm getting reacquainted with the fish and the cats and the dogs and the wife. Lala and I have a date planned tonight: Neko Case at the Warfield. There will be a burrito found along the way, I'm sure. All is well.

A migraine just about took me out yesterday, but I have recovered fully, and I'm looking forward to my weekend. Just a few more hours and I'll be free! I'm planning on heading down to my dad's house this weekend, spending a few days with him.

It's hard for me to get down there to see him. I'm not strong about it. Compared to my sisters who get down there pretty often, I suck at this Holding it Together Thing. I've been to the Central Coast exactly once, for less than twenty-four hours at Christmas and only because my family would have killed me had I flaked yet again.

A year ago at this time was rough. Exactly one year ago, I wrote this post. Lala was flying down the Central Coast on the AIDS ride, and Mom was still alive. She was home on hospice, and we all knew the worst and hoped for a miracle anyway.

It's her birthday tomorrow, and later this week it will be a year since she died.

Sometimes I think I'm having a rough time with it, but then, the next minute, I'm okay. It's not a great feeling, but it's not the worst feeling, either. GOD, I'm articulate, ain't I? Gud thing I writ bookz.

So anyway, for her birthday, I'm going home to see if I can steal any martini glasses from my old room. If I break one more glass, well.... Let's just say I use plastic most of the time now. It turns out I'm as good with glass as I am with confronting pain in the form of memories.

But I'm trying. Really, I am.

Hey, I have a couple of things to share, before I hit the road:

Kira has the cutest new pattern. I'm not a fan of shrugs, since I have the shoulders of a linebacker who swims, but I might even make this (what a great use for some handspun!):

Also, I am driven mad with jealousy by something Erika sent to me. Yes, I work in a dispatch center. Yes, our center sent fire-fighters to the Jesusita fire in Santa Barbara. WHY DON'T WE HAVE THIS? We just have a dumb fish. (But I love that fish. His name is Al.) 

I have a new writing group!

PensFatales.

(The cap gun that Sophie's holding is Lala's.)

I'm so damn excited about this group blog. I'll be writing there every two weeks (so you should throw it in your RSS reader), and the eight women writing with me are AWESOME.

These are the women to follow. I mean it. (That's why I'm hanging out with them.) They're pretty and smart and sexy and great writers and they have very good taste. (Unlike Pandora, which just started playing Zydeco. Now, Zydeco has its place, but its place is not in my room right now. Ack.)

And someday, I'm convinced, people will say, "Really? They write on the same blog? All of those famous New York Times bestsellers? Wow!"(No, really. I think that will happen.)

I didn't have a writing group for so long that I was parched, wanting that camaraderie. I guess it had been since grad school crit groups, ten years (gasp) ago. And the women over at the blog aren't critique partners, they're partners in crime. On Sunday, Sophie Littlefield had an informal get-together at her house, with the intention of working. And you know what? We actually worked. People were draped all over her house, in various states of set-up. From Martha on the couch with her headphones on, laptop keyboard afire, to me at the kitchen table with my whole set-up -- computer, keyboard, mouse, writing stand, binder, pen, post-its. Once an hour, we cracked up and talked and refilled our coffee cups, and the rest of the time we worked. I finished my second draft of book two there, and I was SO happy about it.

Come say hi and make us feel welcome. (Scroll down -- there should be two posts by me, but you should read all of the others, too.) We're still a little shy, so let's show them who the Knitters Are.  HERE WE ARE.

(Hello, graveyard. Nothin' better for photos, no?)

PS - Not related to anything else, but I just found out that How to Knit a Love Song WILL be available in Canada, around the same time as it is in the US, in March. Hooray!

Oh, we are so excited! It is a HUGE fair that is full of robots and flying objects and computers and knitting and all good things.

It's the kind of fair I'm going to get dressed up for. Have to do a little bit of work this morning while Lala sleeps a bit longer, and then WE'RE GOING. It's to celebrate Lala's birthday weekend! Here we go!

Also in good news: the goats are back! The city of Oakland hires them from a company in the valley to come out every summer and eat all the weedy fire hazards off the hills. Baby goats! Leaping off logs and jumping and gamboling. They're very close by and soon I'll be able to see them from my office. I drove past them the other day and pulled over because THEY ARE SO COOL.

This is just shot from my car. I could practically reach out and touch them.

And then their protector encouraged me NOT to touch them.

COFFEE IS DONE! MUST HAVE COFFEE NOW!
Fun day commences. Thank god. It was a REALLY long week. (Yesterday I was so tired that for about thirty seconds I thought properal was a word (and that I'd forgotten how to spell it). Sigh.)

I'm so mad, my friends.

You may have heard that the California Supreme Court upheld Prop 8. It sounds nice, doesn't it? But Prop 8 was AGAINST gay marriage: it was the proposition taking away the right to marry that the Supreme Court gave gays and lesbians last June. From June to November, we had the right to marry in California.

Then the popular vote of the people took away rights of a group of people in California.

This court decision was about whether or not what California did, in allowing that vote, was legal.

The court ruled that it was.

So:

Gays and lesbians may not marry in my state. It means that a woman does not have the same rights as a man -- the right to marry a woman (and vice versa).

However, the 18,000 couples who DID get married in those few months it was legal, get to STAY married. I get to stay married.

You know what? I would bet that most of us would give up our legal marriages RIGHT NOW in order to get rights for all. (Besides, then I could just get out that well-used dress and wear it again.)

So there are now two distinct classes within the gay and lesbian community now. There are the 36,000 of us who are married legally, and the approximate million who aren't and who now CAN'T be married legally.

Somehow, this is worse in my mind than if Prop 8 had been upheld AND they took away our marriages. That, at least, would make sense. This makes no sense.

And it breaks my heart. Lala's sick today with a sore throat, but I woke her up crying with the news. We're not going to march this morning because the headache that threatened me when I woke up socked me upside the head with the tears.But tonight, we'll be at the rally: 5pm, City Hall, SF. Find your own rally here.

And somehow, doing the dishes and washing clothes and cleaning the floors is what's making me feel validated right now. Bringing Lala coffee and ibuprofen in bed. Making sure the dogs go out. We're married.

We're married. This is a marriage. Legally, I'm married.

And it's so bittersweet.

Really, there is very little more pleasant than having your ass handed to you in yoga class (neatly packaged in recycled paper, of course), and then napping in the afternoon. Something about yoga acts as a sleeping pill. I have a good few hours after class, during which I am completely, utterly productive, and then I go WHOOMP and fall down. A nap at the nadir of that cycle is a lovely, lovely thing.

Now I'm up again, and have twenty more pages to edit today before I can feel I'm done for the day. But I have a cup of coffee at my right hand and to my left.... wait, I'll show you.

I'm in the phase where I can't do this work anywhere else. My set-up is highly specific. The page I'm working on is in the holder on the pull-out desk tray, next to the wireless keyboard I prefer. The laptop is sitting on my old wooden writing desk that Mom used for years after I moved out of the house (I found it at a garage sale eons ago). It's at the perfect eye level. To the far left is the binder in which I place the finished pages. To my right is the Crotch Lake mug (thanks to Alison La Brainy) that I love so much. The kitchen timer to the right of that makes me work.

I'm going to wind it now. Work and then dinner. Lala's grilling steaks!

Radishes! We has them!

And they are BIG suckers. I've never known suicidal radishes -- they've been hurling themselves out of the ground at a rate that I can barely keep up with. (Sad: I think I plucked a beet on accident yesterday, thinking it was a radish. Do their leaves look similar? No, wait, they don't, now that I think of what beet greens look like. Huh. In any case, I shoved it back in the ground, hoping for the best. I WANT A BEET.) (Also: see that funny purple one? It tastes like a radish all right, but looks funny.)

And Lala is mad busy in the garden, mulching. She is a mulching fool.

See? Free mulch, under the freeway in Oakland. We have a system, rake it into the tubs and then dump it into contractor bags. Works great and she has almost all of the backyard done! Foxtails, begone.

And just for fun, an Extremely Rare Sighting of Adah off the top of the fridge. She loves the Love Blanket, too (although that was the first time I'd allowed her on it -- she matches so well, how could I deny her?).

Editing: Continues apace. I'm an editing fool. GOOD GOD I LOVE EDITING. (Really.)