I'm getting comfy with wine at hand. Actually skipping working tonight and just doing some catch up on the TIVO queue. Fringe is first on the list since I fell asleep shortly after it started last night.

DH and Bobby are at a big basketball game tonight. DH's team is now 21-0. Very happy for them. Bobby has some health stuff going on. Doctor yesterday was saying words like Neurological consult. His blood tests came back today and the only thing way out of whack points to allergies and he has just had a big growth spurt so I am hoping for something easy or temporary. Will talk to doc at length over the weekend since he is a friend.

Also on my mind and nerves, tonight my first born has just taken off with a group of friends for the first time in his car. Eeeep!

I'm about the calmest non-worrying person I know, but I have this unease that is an unaccustomed feeling. But kitty is at my feet and Brandy is snoring next to me on the couch so I anticipate feeling more at ease soon. takes another sip of wine

Dear husband,

There is a reason I have my own toolbox. Given that you have a wretched habit of never returning any of the tools from your toolbox back to said toolbox and then have no idea where the tools are, ergo, leaving me with no idea where the tools are. Half the time, you're not even sure where you left the actual toolbox.

Seeing as I don't really dig doing a search and rescue mission every time I need to use a tool I years ago, bought my own toolbox and outfitted it with tools that I regularly use.

Mind you, I understand that you often go rummaging in my toolbox because you know a certain tool is going to be there (seeing as I always return my tools to my toolbox and put the toolbox back in the same place). But you understand that if you do go into my toolbox, I expect to find my tools in my toolbox in the same goddamned place I always leave them.

So, husband...

WHERE THE FUCK IS MY FUCKING HAMMER AND WHY ISN'T IT IN MY GODDAMNED TOOLBOX??

Your (slightly homicidal but loving) wife

Hec, I'm really hoping I can manage to get to the 2011 Edwardian Ball. Really, REALLY hoping.

Barb, may I suggest a small lock? You probably have a pre TSA luggage lock hanging around that will do.

I'm considering it, Vortex.

I did find the hammer-- in HIS toolbox. Which was downstairs in his office. While his hammer was upstairs on the dining room table from where he'd been hanging pictures earlier today.

I know exactly how this happened. He went rummaging in my toolbox for a hammer, forgetting that he hates my hammer (it's fairly lightweight, which works well for me, while his is this big, horkin' thing that I don't care to use). He probably tried using my hammer anyway, decided for the umpteenth time that he hated it, went in search of his hammer, actually found it in his toolbox and chucked my hammer in there when he took his out and then totally forgot about it.

How do I know he totally forgot about it?

"Honey, do you know where my hammer is?"

"Isn't it in your toolbox?"

"No."

"Then how should I know where your hammer is?"

"Because it's not in my toolbox."

"Are you suggesting I took your hammer and didn't put it back?"

::crickets chirping::

"I really don't think I took your hammer."

"Where's your toolbox?"

"Back there." ::points in vague direction, I go look and imagine that, find my hammer which I hold up as evidence::

"You sure you didn't leave it there?"

::more crickets chirping::

"Yeah, okay, I probably left it there after I grabbed my hammer. But is it really that big a deal?"

"I'm holding a hammer here."

"Yeah... sorry."

"I'm holding a hammr here."

Sufficient warning, I'd say.

Poor foster catling, yay Harvey!

smonster, the *#@&!! books are still in one of a bajeeeeelion boxes so I can't find the exact precise ones. New Directions Press was one translation, a Robert Bly translation was another. The specific poems I needed copies of were You Darkness, The Unicorn, Lovesong, and an excerpt from Letters to a Young Poet. I managed to track them down.

Something about a translation different from "mine"--maybe not the first one I heard, but the one that resonated--is just wrong. If and when I unearth the books, I'll send you the publishers and titles.

...and then there's the Neruda.

My father used to take the silverware and kitchen knives for everything from refinishing and gardening.

I live alone. I own two hammers and sometimes can't find either.

Thanks to everyone who checked out my Felt Farm. Better pictures will be taken sometime soon, and the Dragon is really more meaningful when she's been photo styled and accessorized with a box of treasure and a lot of beads. I figured, dragons have hoards, so she got props and became Princess Tourmaline, Jewelry Dragon. (Also I will have a closeup of her dangerously sharp claws).

Hooray for Harvey spending the night at home where he belongs. Poor Grace, the old sick cat we adopted, routinely got bladder infections that got better with antibiotic treatment. I decided that I didn't care why they kept recurring, since they were manageable enough for her to be comfy. And she got to die in her sleep, in her bed, after a day of sitting in my lap in the sunny spot. So that girl, she had a good run and a good end, bless her cranky heart.

As for the plural of penii, I like Mr. Garrison's approach and refer to a penis pack as "a mighty redwood forest of penises..." ah haw haw. (I am twelves)

Hec, I'm really hoping I can manage to get to the 2011 Edwardian Ball. Really, REALLY hoping.

You must start to set aside a penny jar or something.

And I'll do the same for JZ.

Barb we seem to be married to the same man, at least in this regard. Makes me think I need to buy me a toolbox.

Cooking is still relaxing even when exhausted.

I agree, at least it can be. Today is a case in point. I was beat, but got home and made kielbasea for the kids and a yummy couscous and lentil salad for Cody and me. Oh, and proper cocktails.