debetesse: (Default)
I have just iced Christmas cookies. Cookies which I, myself (in conjunction with 2 other generations of women in my family) made, with icing I, myself, made (even if I was somewhat thwarted by the mixer for a bit). They are (mostly) very pretty (there are some eye issues on one angel and a snowman).

While I am happy about being a constructive force in the Universe of late, it has been in far more (traditionally) feminine ways than I have, historically, gravitated toward. I feel like I should get hold of some power tools and build something, restore balance to the Force. But, as my entire apartment is carpeted, I may need to just play some Zelda for the time being.

*This post is in no way intended to impose value judgments or set definitions on "masculine" or "feminine"...whatever. Hell, the Santas are iced more or less just like my grandfather did them. Food, in particular, has never been women's work in my family, and I roll my eyes at students when they talk about "the boys" and "the girls" about things other than bathrooms, and this is my Black friend Alan. I've just been thinking thoughts about stereotypes and my own projects, especially with being back in the Midwest and all the "family-oreinted-ness" in my vicinity and wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff.

(It got away from me, yeah.)
debetesse: (Default)
Thing the first: Anne rocks! I have the scarf and consumables with me, so that I may revel in their nifty-ness

Second: I am in Indiana. 4 hours late, which was Chicago's fault. The weather in my part of Colorado has been lovely for the past few days, including this morning. Here, it is warm and raining.

Third: My brother is in the hospital. His leg is infected. This is as random as it sounds (no, there was not a wound that got infected). He will be fine, so feel free to laugh. I know I did. He may be out tomorrow and will almost certainly be out by Christmas Eve (and, therefore, did not ruin Christmas. At least, not yet. That award is still up in the air).

Third B: At one point, in the car, he was talking to Dad when he did not realize he was saying things out loud (due to fever). Had he been awake when I was told this, there would have been a great many JD and internal monologue jokes.

Third C: Because he is under 18, he's in the Ped's ward. Whoever decorated has clearly never met a child.

Third D: Pictured of flowers in a hospital strike me as rather funereal, and a Bad Move. This is not just true of the particular picture in Skippy's room, which is several levels of disquieting (in some of the same ways as the art in the ballroom in NOLA.)

Fourth: I do not teach again for 2 weeks. Whoo! Otherwise, I might have killed a parent.

Fifth: If we are not seeing the relatives until after Christmas, we do not need to worry so much about having their gifts purchased before Christmas. IJS.


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November 2012

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