I must admit that writing in my blog has dropped off the past year, primarily due to the emergence of Facebook. It seems strange to write to my blog, as if the stadium is empty and the guests have all gone; it is so much easier to send out a quick snippet in Facebook or even Twitter. However, the limitations of those media have been more and more apparent of late, as my “friend” lists grows exponentially and I am unable to keep track of who reads or comments on my postings. I recently had to set my Twitter account to private, so that strange and unknown persons could not read about my daily activities and surmise my whereabouts. So the world goes; as things become more popular, so they become more dangerous.

Thus I return to the silent applause that is my blog. Here I don’t remark on how good my coffee was this morning (it was excellent — a 16-ounce Americano from Avenue Coffee, with cream and a dusting of cocoa and cinnamon) or whether or not I slept well last night (hard to do with two children who came in at 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. and took up most of the bed) but I do get the chance to write, scratching that writing “itch” that has pursued me most of my life. I’m also beginning to appreciate the ability to comment at length on what’s happening in my life, and if there are some that read this that shouldn’t, well, at least comments are moderated — by me.

And so I throw myself out into the strange and turbulent seas that make up the Internet and announce: I have passed the foreign service oral assessment and received a conditional offer of employment should I pass the security and medical clearance process. This means I have been poked and prodded both emotionally and physically far more than any human should be, really (read: two pap smears and 10 years of scrutiny into my job/life experiences, including all my failings as a parent). For this reason as well as the fact that I am still shocked to have passed (2 of 12 people in the group passed, one of whom was me) I have been reluctant to announce the results, but since the State Department has been investigating my entire background and probably knows the entire contents of my sock drawer, I thought, what the heck? I’ll announce it to the world. Finally.

So here I am, at the edge of this precipice, trying to juggle security and medical paperwork, my visiting parents, mold in my guesthouse, a leak in my roof, the transmission and master cylinder going out in my horrible car, the purchase of a used vehicle to replace mine, and the usual feeding/bathing/caring for children. Oh, and work, too. And the class I’m taking at the university. See? And at 396 characters, I could not have fit even that paragraph on Twitter.

I can juggle. I can do this. I can practice being diplomatic. Best of all, you can read about it here, without ever hearing about my farm/pet/mafia/vampire; that’s the beauty of a blog, silent applause and all.

One of the financial blogs I read directed me to this article about older, divorced women, and I found it breathtaking. Having witnessed many of my elders (my aunt, best friend’s mother, among others) go through this exact scenario, I realized that it explains, to the letter, what I think is missing from so much “discussion” of working mothers vs. SAHMs. The financial aspects of staying home for long periods with children can be very devastating for women, but women must also endure a lot of criticism for putting a child in daycare, so there’s really no winning this battle. A lot of discussion goes on about the “ideology” of both courses, but the truth is that it is a narrow path for anyone to navigate.

From “Paradise Lost”, NYTimes
…In subsequent years I lectured on the rewards of homemaking and housewifery. While others tried to make the case that women like me were parasites and little more than legalized prostitutes, I spoke to rapt audiences about the importance of being there for your children as they grew up, of the satisfactions of “making a home,” preparing family meals and supporting your hard-working husband.

So I was predictably stunned and devastated when, on our 40th wedding anniversary, my husband presented me with a divorce. I knew our first anniversary would be paper, but never expected the 40th would be papers, 16 of them meticulously detailing my faults and flaws, the reason our marriage, according to him, was over.

I appreciate Terry Hekker’s forthright honesty and her confession that her first book, applauding the choice to be a full-time homemaker, was, at least in her case, overly optimistic. It brings up another element to the discussion about motherhood, and whether or not feminism has truly helped mothers (it does appear to help single women). Food for thought…

Man wears steampunk hat creation @ ComiCon

World, meet my new obsession: steampunk. Do I own anything steampunk? No. Do I wish I owned anything steampunk? YES. Like these amazing thigh-high tights. Or perhaps this super cool cake (see below).

Seriously, though; I love this cake.  It’s from Mike’s Creations, which has some of the most amazing wedding cakes I’ve ever seen (even though I loved my own — thanks Christina!  You’re a master artist!):

Incredible steampunk cake

My wedding cake - Alice in Wonderland style

And last but not least, I love steampunk fashion — not the candy-stripe pink kind that looks like Victorian wallpaper, but the dark suits, tophats, striped stockings and corsets with tulle hiding under brocade dresses.

From Abney Park on LiveJournal

One of the reasons I wanted to buy a sewing machine was to start making some of my own designs, particularly steampunk designs which are typically hand-made or made from upcycled vintage clothing. I don’t imagine myself walking down the street in a tophat (although I adore hats, and wish good hats were easier to find), but I can be queen of dress-up… or something.

I’m not terribly into fashion, but I do gripe that we just keep recycling the same old fashions over and over.  After all, the 1950′s wasn’t “retro,” it was itself; same for the 1960′s and 1970′s, but I see flower children in the park these days listening to iPods.  Steampunk, it’s true, is a copy of Victorian style, but with quite a bit of twist.  I think punk is one of the funnest styles we had the last century, and to combine that effect with Victorian corsets, tophats, goggles and lace-up boots…we’ll, it’s like visual ska, putting together disparate elements for an amazing whole.

From Dooce:

The Grandmommy: Not much different than The Godfather, except maybe a little less bloodshed and a ton more emotional manipulation.

The Yoda Phone Charm

Want to get me a gift I’ll love? This is your answer. I don’t know how I’ve been living without this for so long. It is closely followed by the Bacteria Assassin Ninja Toothbrush Sanitizer:

You never even saw it coming...

Or how about this bark-free device that keeps dogs from barking? (I’m looking at YOU, Daphne the dog!) You can buy this for me too.

Emits a high-pitched sound whenever a dog barks, annoying the dog back.

Marti and I both have colds; I’ve been nursing one for months, and was almost better before our Christmas trip. Marti got a cold (mine?) while traveling back from North Carolina (5 hours on a plane from Detroit to Phoenix = torment of Hades). Since we left at 7 a.m. and I was totally neurotic about getting to the airport (we traveled by air just a few weeks after 9/11/2001 and spent 2 hours inching through security, nearly missing our flight) we got up at 4:15 a.m. That’s 2:15 a.m. Tucson time, folks. We got home at 8 p.m. Tucson time. It was a very, very long day.

Needless to say, our diet of fudge and Dr. Pepper over the holidays didn’t help, and we are both very sick. Marti has mostly been a trooper, but I still have to post this video. The first time I saw it, I nearly died of laughter, and Marti was chagrined enough that he actually made me tea and soup the next time I was sick. May you have as much luck with your beloved; and now may I present:  The “Man-cold.”

Marti posted this article about Modern Love on his Twitter; it is a very nice read and worth reposting here.

Anyone who has been married for a long time starts to feel like a soldier surrounded by heavy casualties. In graduate school, a couple who married when we did failed to make it through a year. In my first job, we were one of four couples who got together almost every weekend; a few years later my wife and I were the only ones still together. Deep into our married life, five couples we knew, each together at least two decades, came apart in a single year, shells of separation bursting all around us.
. . .
And making all those changes in your address book affects your own marriage. When a close friend left his wife for someone much younger, my wife intensified her exercise regimen. Watching other couples break up also reminds me that divorce causes friends to choose between the two parties, and I would not like my chances.

Here’s an excerpt from a recipe site I was at, looking for pancake recipes (emphasis mine).

Here’s the original recipe:

1. In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, salt and sugar. Make a well in the center and pour in the milk, egg and melted butter; mix until smooth.
2. Heat a lightly oiled griddle or frying pan over medium high heat. Pour or scoop the batter onto the griddle, using approximately 1/4 cup for each pancake. Brown on both sides and serve hot.

Now here is a comment left by someone apparently furious with all the “alterations” people were suggesting:

It kills me how people go in and mutilate a perfectly good recipe. Then you have bad reviews and more mutilations. I read these reviews and decided I’d make the recipe just as it calls and I recommend not changing a thing (except maybe adding 1/2 tsp of vanilla to your egg mixture). I DO recommend sifting the flour, twice. That makes for a fluffier pancake. Let your egg and milk set at room tempurature and use unsalted butter. Beat your egg, add the melted butter and beat lightly until blended, then lightly beat in your milk (careful not to overbeat your egg). Add to your dry mixture. Your result is a fluffy, delicious, good old fashion [sic] pancake. This is one is a keeper!

This made Marti and I laugh and laugh…”When you point your finger, three fingers point back at you.”