ma to your friends nora and tom

and if you let your spiders take over the bathroom, the terrorist have won, Emily. Of course, I have been known to leave the house after killing bathroom spiders in case their friends come looking for me

Moving ~ma to -t!

Nora, that's very sad. I hope it works out best for both of them, one way or another.

Emily, ack! Are they clearly visible? If so, paper towels and the quick swoop attack are your friends.

Coffee and Pumpkin Pie:

Today's "Writer's Almanac" introduced me to an unsung hero:

It's the birthday of the publisher and editor of The Little Review magazine, Margaret Anderson, born in Indianapolis (1886), who never fit in when she was growing up in the small town of Columbus, Indiana. She said, "I saw no reason why I should continue to live in Columbus, Indiana, and not breathe." So she moved to Chicago and founded a magazine called The Little Review, which she described as "A Magazine of the Arts, Making No Compromise with the Public Taste." She had a hard time getting financing, and eventually had to move in with her parents to save money, but she kept it going.

In 1918, the poet Ezra Pound was trying to get James Joyce's new novel, Ulysses, published in the U.S., but most publishers thought it was too obscene. Anderson accepted it as soon as she read the manuscript. She wrote to Pound, "We'll print it if it's the last effort of our lives." She serialized the novel over the course of three years, and later said, "The care we [took] to preserve Joyce's text intact. ... The addressing, wrapping, stamping, mailing; the excitement of anticipating the world's response to the literary masterpiece of our generation ... and then a notice from the Post Office: BURNED."

Three issues of the magazine were ultimately confiscated and burned. Anderson was charged with obscenity for publishing the book, and at the trial, the judge wouldn't let the offending material be read in her presence, because she was a woman, even though she had published it. She was convicted and had to pay a fine, and issues of The Little Review began to come out less and less frequently. The last issue came out in 1929.

Margaret Anderson said, "I believe in the unsubmissive, the unfaltering, the unassailable, the irresistible, the unbelievable — in other words, in an art of life."

Ick, Emily. I vote, kill 'em!

I'm in Chicago, and our flight seems to be on time. This has been far too easy of a travel day. I expect my luggage not to arrive.

Also, it is really interesting to watch traveling parents. I've seen amazing parenting today and some REALLY BAD parenting, including one parent just telling their three-year-old, "Life is a waiting game. The sooner you learn it, the better." Um. Ok.

Immobilize them first with a beauty product. I like a nice extra-strength hair spray myself.

including one parent just telling their three-year-old, "Life is a waiting game. The sooner you learn it, the better."

Um, yeah. Because three-year-olds are really capable of learning to wait patiently.

::waves at vw::

That's a really cool story about Anderson, Kristin. Fight censorship yay!

The Craigslist girl replied. We'll see what happens there.

That little girl with the blinvisible sandwich is AWESOME. I agree in a possible depression diagnosis for mommy, though, which would be sadness. The little being-beaten boy is just terribly sad.

Um, yeah. Because three-year-olds are really capable of learning to wait patiently.

I know! Craziness!

waves back

Oof, I have a stomach ache. I think it's Thanksgiving and Day After Thanksgiving hangover.

I have been simmering the turkey carcass since I got up this morning with some veggies and herbs. Smells good! Though, not really helping the stomach ache. Ah, well.

Oh Nora (or any other cooking Bitches), I bet you can answer a cooking question for me. We ditched the actual carcass, but there's still enough left over to make a turkey stew. I'm going to put the loose pieces into the slow cooker with carrots, celery etc, but I'm not sure what to do with the drumsticks. Do I have to rip them apart myself, or is there some other way to handle it, like simmering the meat off or some such?