24 April 2004

I no longer send greeting cards to people for whom my ideal message would be, "I'm genetically closer to you than to a chimpanzee (but only just)." I gave up on those folks a few years ago, and no close relative has said anything about it, so I figure I'm in the clear. (There were people with whom I felt closer than that who never received greeting cards, but the rules are complex here.) I'm still frustrated with the cards they do offer, though, because they're so often so very inappropriate. "An aunt is kind of like a sister and kind of like a friend." Ummm...see, I don't have any sisters, but I know what they're not like: they are not like the aunties. At all. Also, I tell my dad and my grandpa that I love them all the time. So the cards that say, "I know I don't say it much, but..." are wholly, maddeningly inappropriate.

Also, if it rhymes, I put it back.

Also, I have a horrible time being a smartass at these cards. "An aunt's gentle, sweet voice is such a rare thing." Such a rare thing, in fact, that I don't know if I've ever heard it. My aunts are more likely to have sharp, funny voices, or deep, chuckly voices. I know I said this last year, but I really think there should be an "Auntie, You Kick Ass" line of greeting cards. "You don't care if you laugh too loud/you don't put up with shit/and if you'd be my Valentine/I wouldn't mind a bit."

I'd totally buy it.

Timprov has volunteered to do some typing for me, on the bits of Reprogramming edits that can be interpreted by someone who lives outside my skull. Rephrasings, insertions, deletions, the whole bit. I appreciate this muchly. It frees me up to handle the stuff that isn't just typing, which is frustrating but necessary. I have a list. The list has many crossed-off items (some of which have been transferred to "CommandLinenotes.doc"), but many still remain. And a lot of it is the sort of thing where I have to go through and find the appropriate spot for a one-sentence reference to something -- not too much, not overwhelming, just making sure the right seeds are sown and tended. Pick, pick, pick. Necessary. Worthwhile. Picky fiddly frustrating. Sigh.

We had a change in plans today: we had expected to have Stella and Roo come down and see puppies with us -- the PetCo near us was having an adoption day -- and then we'd play the piano, go to the park, generally hang out and relax with the two of them. Then Mike would come down when he was ready for dinner and a study break, and I would serve rosemary buns with sun-dried tomato pesto, broccoli diablo, mixed mushroom risotto with assorted cheese, fresh strawberries, and ice cream. It was a good plan. It's still a good plan. It's a good plan for tomorrow now, though, all except the puppies. So instead we looked at puppies and ran some errands, and I'll be baking and cooking and doing laundry and doing book edits and generally having a much more productive day than I'd planned.

It'll be good to have a day of rest tomorrow, I think.

The puppies were all too big to be my puppy. Some of them were extremely nice. But much too big. There was a sleepy little beagle and a big fuzzy mutt who hugged: she would stand up on her hind legs and wrap her front paws around your arm or body and just lean in. I could do with puppy hugs, but she was not entirely grown and was only a head shorter than me standing up. And that would not do.

I finished reading Sethra Lavode yesterday while the servicebeings were here, and now I've started Mark Kurlansky's 1968: the Year That Rocked the World. It's not rocking my world yet, but it's still a pretty good book so far. All over the place, the way Kurlansky books tend to be.

I'm going away now. It's late in the day for a journal entry anyway, and I have potato salad to make.