Random Thursday: Canon Blasts, Einstein’s Office, and the Light at the End of a Very Busy Tunnel

No, I didn’t misspell cannon. You’ll see.

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crazy parenting fails - Children Have a Busy Life

Barring one softball game tonight—though it may be rained or flooded out, the way the weather is falling out of the sky this morning—one day camp registration picnic tomorrow, and a church picnic and a graduation party Sunday (for which I still have to pick up an Office Max card), my To Do List From Hell is done, y’all.

I can see June from here!  And it looks relatively peaceful.*

So now, I guess I get to make a list of stuff I want to do, right?

Um, right?

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Liquid Flowers

epic win photos - Liquid Flowers WIN

Jack Long captures calculated splashes with high-speed film.

He has more on Flickr.  Check out the bubbles!

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Firing up Pachelbel’s Canon

Told you I got it right.

If only the Piano Guys could do they same thing for Pomp and Circumstance . . .

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The Workspace of Genius

See?  I do have something in common with Einstein besides several righteous cowlicks:

funny science news experiments memes - Einstein's Office


Just swap the math on the board for a shopping list and plot points and put a cat in the middle of it all and this is our dining room table my writing space.

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Ask Tomorrow—He Knows

A co-worker and I recently spent a borderline-unreasonable amount of time trying to reconstruct an old Abbott and Costello skit while we were sticking RFID tags in DVD cases.

We didn’t  get it quite right, as neither of us could remember the shortstop’s name.

But later, when another co-worker said, “I don’t know,” in the middle of the workroom, she was interrupted by a chorus of “Third Base!” from all corners—and an eyeroll from the nearest supervisor.

So, so worth it.

Poetry Wednesday: A Congratulatory Warning

This morning, I attended my older daughter’s promotion ceremony and became the official proud mother of a fourth grader.

This calls for a poem,* wouldn’t you say?

I know just the one.

Robert Graves didn’t write many poems for children—he was known for his love poetry, among other things that belong in a completely separate post—but those that he did write have more substance than you might expect from poetry aimed small fry, and far fewer morals.**

I like this one. It can mean anything you want, or nothing, or everything—and the warning could mean “Here Be Dragons” in the best possible way or. . . not.

Mr. Graves just wants you to think for a minute or two before deciding whether or not to pull the string.  Though I personally doubt it ever stopped him:


Congratulations, my beautiful, brilliant Janie.

Worlds await you every day.
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*And possibly a stiff drink or two. If you think she was happy about no homework for two months, you should have seen the handspring I would have done if only gravity and physics haven’t been taking such keen interest in my physical exertions since I was in fourth grade.

**Which you may or may not have expected, depending on your knowledge of Mr. Graves.  Mine is minimal, so I’m thinking he’ll have his own post soon.

The High(lander) Points of Courtship

I’ve already told the story of my wedding veil flambé, and our Canadian Honeymoon Chicken, so this year, I’m going to reminisce about what brought my husband and I together.

We both agree it was a miracle it ever happened.*

A miracle, fencing, and movies.

I joined the college fencing club because I’d broken up with my boyfriend of two years and wanted a) a reason to spend as much time as possible away from the dorm; b)  a way to work out some aggression; and c) a legitimate reason to carry a weapon.

My not-yet-husband was the student coach and I became captain of the women’s team—which would be more impressive if I hadn’t been the only woman on the team that first year.**  But that’s how we met and over the next few months, we became friends.

A three-day weekend was coming up, and he asked me if I was staying, and I said I was.  He asked me if I had plans, and I shrugged and said “Reading a good book.”

He said, “That’s right, you can’t drink yet.”  But he didn’t offer an alternative, and I wasn’t about to in case he was just making conversation, so we went our separate ways.

And then I thought about it . . . and called him. This was the first time I had ever called someone of the male persuasion with the intent of wrangling myself a date.  I reminded him of who I was and told him that I’d finished my book.

“Congratulations,” he said, not helping at all.***

So I gathered together my bravery and said, “So now I need something to do.  Any suggestions?”  If he said, another book, I’d give up.

There was a long pause.^  “Have you seen Highlander?

“No.”

“Want to?  My folks have a VCR.”

So he picked me up at the dorm and we went to the rental place.  Highlander was out, but they did have Terminator and Living Daylights.

We stayed up all night in his parents’ living room—they were away for the weekend—watching movies and talking and then he took me back to the dorm early in the morning.  Our first kiss happened around then, though neither of us remember for sure—we were still playing it casual, I think.

Obviously, it didn’t stay that way for long.

You wouldn’t think Terminator was a good first date movie—or James Bond, either, for that matter—but it worked for us.  Really, really well.  A rom-com probably would have set up expectations we were too nervous^^ to handle.

And we eventually did see Highlander, which became our movie in that spiritual, quote it at every opportunity, name our wedding-present-cat Macleod kind of  way.   Movies are still a big part of our relationship—for last year’s anniversary, we saw Bridesmaids.  This year, we’re seeing The Avengers.  

Still avoiding the rom-coms after all these years.  Which only goes to show that it’s a good thing we found each other.

Happy Anniversary, Honey.  Want to go for twenty?

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*And he’s an atheist now.  When atheists speak of miracles, they mean it.

**But I did beat an ROTC Marine my senior year—he had the reach but was too much of a gentleman to hit my more  obvious target areas, though I believe I may have cured him of that once we reached three out of five.

***Sometimes when he tells this story, he claims that he was desperately trying to think of something clever and suave to say.  Other times he says he was wondering why on earth this crazy chick had called him up to tell him about her reading speed.

^During which, again depending on his retelling, the purpose of my call dawned on him and/or he realized he didn’t have enough money to take me to the only movie theater in town and/or he didn’t want it to look too much like a date in case the purpose of my call was actually simple boredom.  Like we both say, a miracle.

^^Or clueless, depending on who’s telling the story.

How Now Purple Cow Poetry Winner!


The Pink Cowgirl Hat of Win Has Spoken!*

And once again, I’m grateful that these contests are drawings and not judgings, because I can’t afford a nine-way tie** on a librarian’s salary, no matter how much I love and appreciate all of your entries.

 The winner of the   Purple Cow Poem Contest is VICKI WILCOX!

If you haven’t been reading the entries, go look—don’t forget to visit John’s blog to see his, because he’s amazing.  You’ll have to trust me that the ones e-mailed to me were just as fun.

 Thanks to all of you for participating!

 Vicki, e-mail me your choice of regular sized mug from CafePress and I’ll get it right out to you.

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*Or we never would have found it at the bottom of Sunny’s closet.  Sheesh.

 **Not including Mom, because relatives count for a  lot, but not, alas, in these contests.  But your birthday is coming up, so you might get a mug anyway . . .