dress v pets, round three

Just because it needs to be said: this dress is clearly what librarians wear when they go to sea.

more milestones for toast

Pocket, I’m proud. I’m told you’re the most bizarrely commemorated chicken in the greater Bay Area.

ode to a menace

This plant is by far the most malevolent plant-thing I’d ever seen. Its name is solanum pyracanthum, a blood-thirsty descendant of the nightshade family for which we have Madagasgar to thank.

we’d been waiting for these…

Unlike most things which arrive this month and next, chicken eggs are the kind of thing you can become soddenly sentimental about and then immediately put on toast.

the motherly art of ceaseless January advocation

Faced with such keen attention to detail and unflagging skills in motivational parenting, how can the younger of the two slink home afterwards and not want to pay some kind of tribute to the season to come?

If this weren’t so inhumanely expensive…

Besides those among us who would wear it as a secret tribute to their online alter-egos, what’s the market for this kind of beta-carotene promoting dangly?

Good news first, my turnip

I know to you, my legume, “vintage refrigerator” means “that which is 60 years old, 600 pounds and does not keep food cold”, but let’s not be hasty! They are porcelain-coated and shiny. They have door handles that would make a cadillac feel flimsy. Their heft and squatness ensures they are not carried off by burglars very often at all.

I can’t put my finger on it…

They are Large and Square. They have Many Dials and Levers. They were not built to be pretty, oh no: they were built for pioneers not afraid of the newly forged partnership of clock AND alarm AND radio. They want you to know they are not to be trifled with.

January canvas

Bill and I, we are out of coffee and we are out of tea. We are not getting to the bottom of the laundry pile anymore, and the animals are restless, grumpy, mud-relocating machines. We think the roof might be leaking, but we can’t tell where it’s coming from. Last week, someone drove into my tiny heirloom apple tree and snapped it right in half.

Flatware and facial hair: a highly serious discussion

The story, as I hear it told, is that the extra bit of porcelain there is a moustache protecting device—the faithful barrier between one’s cookie duster and one’s tasty warm beverage. Tell me please, is there any truth to this or is this the stuff of legends?