a half dozen

1) Limiting our alcohol intake has contributed neither to the great reducing nor to our mood in general. We're done with that shit.

2) P90Xing will give you calves the size of footballs. You won't be able to wear boots or skinny jeans, but you will be able to lift the car with the strength of your calves should the need arise.

3) Being a spectator at a middle and high school poetry recitation is a mixed bag. If you can get past the pain, you can find some funny.

4) My mother witnessed our very loud upstairs neighbors. After staring at the ceiling for a while, she cocked an eyebrow and quipped, "You know, your father and I wouldn't take that sort of thing lying down. We're far too competitive."

5) Saturday night's dinner was a tasty affair - local smoked trout and dry-aged pork.

Before:




After:


6) My cactus celebrates all the major holidays. What can I say? This fool succulent has stamina.

kitty makes three. at least until she sees us as passives and eats us.

Since we are as yet unfit for children but looking for a bit more responsibility than my cacti require, we've decided to adopt a cat. Here's the description of the cat that the gentleman from the adopt-a-bengal agency initially recommended:

Mali - 5-6 yr old, BST, female, altered. Growls at all other animals, will chase and fight with those that she sees as passives. Talks a lot. Hides for up to 4 months when introduced to a new home. We would recommend you keep her isolated for at least a week.

This man should not be in sales. I told him that Mali might be more cat than we can handle, and he seemed genuinely confused.

At least my cactus continues to flourish, brazenly and out-of-season:

Check my green thumb.

When I was small, I spent most of my days with my Aunt Susie. She wasn't actually my aunt (her father's third cousin's niece married my grandmother's father's wife's ex-husband's best friend, or something like that), but she made miniature layer cakes just for me and peeled my grapes, which, by the by, is still the standard by which I judge someone's affection. (n.o.c. best get to stepping.) Anyway, my favorite room in her house was her front parlor, which I cleverly dubbed the "soft room," since it was carpeted and had fancy, plush furniture that no one ever sat on. The doors were kept closed, and the room stayed a few degrees cooler than the rest of the house, so that's where Aunt Susie kept her Christmas cacti. They were enormous - prehistoric, mythic in stature - draping long-legged and tentacle-y over shelves and tchotchkes. I was always amazed by the annual profusion of gaudy, highly suggestive blooms produced by plants that were usually pretty homely.

Two years ago, I acquired Christmas cacti of my own. They were in bloom when I got them, so I can take no credit for that, and I fully expected them to commit suicide after the holidays. Amazingly, they survived the year, and even more amazingly, they bloomed this Christmas. (Sorry about the poor picture quality; these pics were taken pre-blog.)



Now here we are in February, and I'll be damned if the red one isn't having another go.


This flower is practically indecent.


Maybe little dear is being cheeky and blooming on Valentine's Day. Or maybe it's for President's Day. This cactus clearly transcends my arbitrary notions of what a Christmas cactus should do.