The One Sure Sign of Spring

The one sure sign of Spring

It’s not the mud. It’s not the rain. It’s not the colored eggs or the gefilte fish.

It’s this:*


“See those trees?” I said, driving down our street, which is lined with trees that have recently, and literally, burst into bloom. “Those trees are trying to kill me.”

“Maybe they know that every plant you touch dies,” Jane said. “Maybe they’re just trying to save the other plants.”

“A preemptive strike? Makes sense to me.”

“What’s a pre . . . pre-empty strike?” Sunny asked.

“Preemptive. Hitting first, before someone can hit you.”

“Like Janie does me.”

“I  do not!”

“Owwww! Mommy, she just—“

“No being pre-emptive in the car!”

“What else can you kill by touching it, Mommy?”

“Just plants. I’m very good at fish and small mammals.”

“Sunny’s a small mammal.”


“And I’ve kept her alive for seven years.”



You, on the other hand, might not make it to twelve . . .”

“Oops. Sorry, Sunny.”

“That’s okay. Just don’t pre-empty me anymore.”

“Pre-EMPTY? That’s not even a word—“


“—I mean, what’s that even mean?”



“Nope. Try some pre-empty listening, next time.”


*To get the full effect, imagine a muffled WHUMP, as if thousands of sinus cavities suddenly imploded and then collapsed in silent, throbbing pain.


Random Thursday: Who’s on First? Not the Romans!

Random Thursday (ˈrandəm ˈTHərzdā): the day on which Sarah plunks down all the odd bits and pieces she’s been sent by friends or has otherwise stumbled upon in an effort to avoid writing a real post, the assembly of which usually ends up taking twice as much time as sitting down and creating actual content.

You have been warned.


An Accurate Description of Spring

At least from my sinuses’ POV.

From my temper’s POV, judging from yesterday’s desperate quest to reach Sunny’s school before they called Child Services to report an abandoned child, this works, too:


Except, you know, more in the middle of the road.

Why Didn’t You Say So?

No he didn’t, ’cause left field is too far away for him to hear.

No, Who’s over there on . . . Never mind . . .

In honor of another Sign of Spring, here’s a hilarious twist on the old classic:

(Via Watson, who rocks the Jimmy Fallon vids)


[Insert Tatting Pun Here]

Knit Fast!

I was honestly contemplating this one, until my friend Cha Cha commented that those are actually crochet needles.


Then again, “Crochet Fast” doesn’t have the same je knit sais quoi.

(also via Watson—who totally deserves a badass knitting tat)


. . .I Meant Lately

Call me clueless (rhetorical statement, Mike and Downith), but I didn’t figure out what was going on until I saw the conductor.

Turns out, if you didn’t already know, that this  is  the performance of Not the Messiah (He’s a Very Naughty Boy), a show based on The Life of Brian and performed at the Albert Hall for the Ruby Jubilee of Monty Python a few years ago.

You can see the entire show on YouTube here, if you have a spare hour.   Or even if you don’t, because Monty Python is like catnip for some of us, aren’t they?

(swiped from Cornelia Read’s FaceBook page)


They didn’t win, it’s a shame . . .

 . . .  but watching the fourth game of our local minor league (single-A) game was still a good way to spend Sunday afternoon, when the temperatures rose to 80°F and the humidity just a tad higher. 

We had very good seats:

Full confession:  I did bring my latest scene to edit, in case the spirit moved me and the game did not.  I did end up watching, but mostly because two of my favorite umpires were there:

The one on the left is my secret sports crush.  It’s too bad he wasn’t watching the same game I was, but I’ll forgive him, this once. 

Umpire pants, incidentally, look remarkably good on certain people.  Trust me—I’ve made a study of it. 

Sunny’s favorite part.  it was so humid, they only had to do this once, before the game started.  The wind picked up, and the mist felt really good:

The stadium, by the way, is right next to one of the more picturesque bridges around here.  Those buildings on the left horizon are across the Mississippi River: 

Janie took over the camera for a while, which means half the images look like this:

But she also snapped this next one, which I think is the best of the bunch:
The pop-up did have a remarkable hang-time.  The runner made it to second before the catcher lived up to his job description.

Our side hit nothing but home runs—just not enough of them.  But I did get my scene edited while the other team was at bat.  And it didn’t rain until we reached the car.

And excellent day, all told.

How was your Sunday?


More signs of spring:

These are the potholes at the exit of the city employee parking lot.  Well, I say “potholes, though potpits might be more fitting—even when dry, it’s difficult to see the bottoms:


When full of yuck from yesterday’s snowrain, they could be portals to a petroleum-based Narnia or the final resting places for hapless Volkswagens, for all I know.


The remarkable Alison Janssen of Dead Guy posted 8 simple ways to get your editor to love you.  I liked it so much, I left one of my infamous incoherent comments, complete with embarrassed fix.

Editing before sending–it’s important.


I came home from work yesterday and was tackle-hugged around the legs by Sunny, who was thrilled to see me—her grandmother doesn’t know how to work the tv remote and she was desperate to watch Jake and the Neverland Pirates.*

I lifted her up (she is such a peanut) and demanded a kiss as a bribe.  She immediately pasted a smacker right on me.  I staggered back—not just from my nose rebounding off her hard little forehead, but because it was like being hit with a lipful of thick lemon icing.

Peculiar sensation.

Apparently, Miss Peanut can now reach the shelf of the linen cupboard where we keep her lemon lip balm and had been reapplying every five minutes since she’d come home from school.  It’s her “lipstick.”

I  managed to sneak the tube away and stored it on a higher shelf.  I also warned everyone that Sunny has developed telescope arms and the strength to drag her stepstool anywhere she wants.

And hid my makeup bag.


From the Quote Collection:

“My grandma always said that God made libraries so that people didn’t have any excuse to be stupid.”
–Joan Bauer, Rules of the Road. (1997, p. 142)


This tickled me—and it’s not bad, either:

Phineas and Ferb is a show that does not drive parental figures utterly insane, although perhaps I believe that only because it’s too late for me.

Tough to gather a control group for that one, though.


And finally,

You have until MIDNIGHT TONIGHT to score a well-loved, but still readable copy of Bertrice Small’s Blaze Wyndham.  Leave a comment expressing interest in ownership of said book on the Awesomesauciest! post (not here, please, or I’ll lose track) and I’ll pick someone out of a hat tomorrow.

I’ll announce the winner Saturday.


*Random Thursday in German, I think.  I’m told that the hyphen is key, otherwise it’s Coincidence Thursday.

** A show designed to appeal to children and drive parental figures and/or fans of Peter Pan (the original and the Disney versions, which is quite a feat) utterly insane.

Déardaoin fánach

As I have no Gaelic at all, my friend Siobhan provided the title for this post. It’s supposed to translate roughly into Random Thursday.

If you happen to know that the translation is so rough that it doesn’t have anything to do with Thursdays, random or otherwise, but is instead some sort of innuendo, insult, or affirmation of vile perversion, please let me know so that I can send the link to her mother—and don’t think I won’t, Van.

And if you know of a better translation, I’d appreciate it!


The first sign of Spring: I kicked three patrons off our public computers this afternoon for viewing inappropriate* images and/or videos.

Anyone know where I can find some brain bleach?


My two favorite Irish movies are The Commitments, which is authentically Irish and stars Irish actors, who play kick-ass music:

and The Quiet Man, which is authentically Hollywood Irish down to the last stereotype and stars John Wayne, who kicks Maureen O’Hara’s . . . um, well, here:**

Make of that what you will.


Me:  Learn anything at school today?

Janie (without looking up from her book):  Houseflies buzz in the key of F

Me:   . . . Okay.


And on  a far less random/Irish note:  The students at Janie’s school are asking for poems, prayers, and thoughts in support of Japan. These are being written onto oragami paper to be folded into cranes. Traditionally, one thousand paper cranes will grant one wish–the students hope to gather enough cranes to ensure that Japan will find the strength, courage, and perseverance to rebuild their communities. The cranes will be sent to Japan to be distributed to victims of the disaster.

If anyone would like to participate, please e-mail me what you would like to say, and I’ll give them to the student coordinator. My e-mail address is at the top of the sidebar.

*I’m not going to debate what’s pornographic or obscene or falls under artistic license. Nekkid sex is nekkid sex—and that one goat wasn’t even wearing a bell.

**But earns a point for Maureen O’Hara and another for maintaining the proprieties at all times. This doesn’t quite make up for the typical Wayne/O’Hara Taming of the Shrew dynamic, but at least he doesn’t spank her with an ash shovel in this one.