Slow as Molasses in the winter....

The thing is, molasses moves slowly, but it still moves. I was cleaning my counter and found a small drop of molasses behind the coffee maker. hmm. Interesting. I followed it up to the bottom of the cabinet. Opened the door - moved EVERYTHING from the first shelf - just a few thin lines of molasses dripping down the back. So I cleaned off the second shelf. More lines of molasses, thicker here, but not the source. I tackled the third shelf - bingo. An entire bottle of molasses had emptied out, slipping under baking supplies: chocolate, colored sugars, Fruit Fresh. I had to take the wooden part of the shelf out, run it under hot water. My house still smells like molasses and the contents of that cupboard are on the counter. I ran out of energy.

Well, that, and I've been held hostage by Lois McMaster Bujold this weekend. I read Paladin of Souls and The Hallowed Hunt this weekend. In both cases I was completely lost in the book. Mmm - it is so delicious when that happens! I practically ignored my children & husband, some meals, and the dirty dishes, but did I have fun! Next up The Sharing Knife: Beguilement by Bujold. I think the one thing that I love about her work is her characters' ability to swear. Not with words that would be considered rude in our society, but they work so well within the worlds she's created. I am envious of her ability to create believable worlds. Of course, I often wonder if I would be well suited to live in a world like that - no technology, basic basic needs met only. Could I kill a chicken? Could I make bread for my table & clothes for my children's backs? Ride a horse? Could I survive?

That's a question I ask myself often. What could I do if I needed to? With so many choices of things that I can do every day, and not much that I absolutely need to do, will I lose somehow that part of me that makes life & death decisions? If there was a war, or something that devastated the world, could I survive? Could I help my children? What skills do I really have? and could they translate into some other kind of life?

Ach! Too much philosophy for tonight. more later...

I fell in love with my hands tonight. My 3 year old gave me a manicure yesterday - hot pink with glitter. Most of my nails are covered. It feels heavy and catches my eyes at inopportune times.

I'm fascinated with how much my hands look like my mother's hands. Kind of dry, each follicle is obvious, each crease and bend mapped out. I wonder what a palmist would say, following my life line, my heart line, my head line. I remember in elementary school we'd try to predict how many kids we'd have, or whether we'd die young and tragically, or marry well, just by reading palms.

I press my fingers together. Namaste. I press my thumbs against my eyes, near my nose, my first fingers touch my forehead. My fingers bend and voila - a cathedral of flesh. My water glass shines blue through my pinkies: a stained glass in blue at the altar.

I stare at my palms again, wonder at the geometry of the lines: right angles, obtuse angles, bisecting parallelograms. Math has a certain poetry, as long as you aren't stressing about it.

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I'm listening to Loreena McKennitt An Ancient Muse It is beautiful. Haunting.

I just finished King Dork by Frank Portman (see his blog at http://www.doktorfrank.com/) This is an excellent book - Mr. Portman has caught the essence of being a misfit teen. I enjoyed it tremendously. (We're discussing it at the YARG - Young Adult Reading Group on Readerville - www.readerville.com )