<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536</id><updated>2011-07-31T01:00:02.389-07:00</updated><category term='sounding board'/><category term='neutrality'/><category term='cats'/><category term='procrastination'/><category term='summer vacation'/><category term='knit in progress'/><title type='text'>Cognitive Jello</title><subtitle type='html'>In which I intertwine things of yarn, and yarns of things</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>25</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-4056965598197162493</id><published>2009-08-10T21:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T22:05:45.826-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pavlov's got nuthin' on me.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/SoD7-JUT8NI/AAAAAAAAAJE/lD__Mp6li_Q/s1600-h/IMG_3833.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368567800897204434" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/SoD7-JUT8NI/AAAAAAAAAJE/lD__Mp6li_Q/s200/IMG_3833.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I've learned over the last 7 1/2 months that babies are capable of an extraordinary array of noises. My son coos at the cats and his stuffed animals, blows raspberries until his bib is saturated with drool, whines and whinges whenever his need/want is not immediately gratified, complains in his car seat, ooooh's at random happenings, moans in his sleep, genuinely cries when he knocks his head against something (which, given how distressingly uncoordinated his parents are, happens often), and grunts determinedly when...well...you know. And these are just the noises produced by his mouth. Ahem. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I think the most rewarding noise for us, and I'm assuming most new parents, is my son's laugh. Its amazingly wonderful to hear. And there's not just one kind! There's a different sound when he giggles at himself in the mirror, shrieks when playing "chase" down the hall, burbles when Daddy makes funny noises while trying to feed him yet another spoon of mushy baby food, and most recently belly-laughed upon discovering that he can snort though his nose. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/SoD7NyieneI/AAAAAAAAAI8/T_oW-IsFjPM/s1600-h/IMG_3932.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368566970148888034" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/SoD7NyieneI/AAAAAAAAAI8/T_oW-IsFjPM/s200/IMG_3932.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Its also amazing the lengths to which we go in order to produce a laugh. Ten years ago when I met my husband, I would never have imagined him dancing and singing a silly tune while poking my giggling son's tummy. But now, my husband who claims he can't sing and who utterly refuses to dance will perform both actions as long as they provoke a baby-laugh. I find myself making the silliest of sounds (mostly variants of doo doo doo or Scooby dooby doo or ooh ooh ooh in a deeply-pitched tone - for some reason my son finds this particularly amusing) in parking lots, in shopping malls, in coffee shops and almost all public locations where the two of us wind up together. And lets not forget the one-man-band I become in the middle of the afternoon when its just the two of us; the baby and me, that is. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Baby-laughs are a powerful positive reinforcer. Perhaps I should record them and when I return to work, play them for any student who manages to complete their homework, show up to class on time, or does some other behavior I'd like to see continue. I could attach a speaker to the roof of the car and play the sound clips for drivers who wave when I let them in, who actually stop at the intersection when the light is yellow allowing me to complete my turn, and who wait patiently for me to finish buckling the baby into his car seat while waiting (vulture-like) for my parking spot. Perhaps I could even use the clip to persuade my husband to clean the bathroom sink after he brushes his teeth! Buh-bye little blue globs &lt;em&gt;(sorry, hon)!&lt;/em&gt; Oh, the possibilities!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-4056965598197162493?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/4056965598197162493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=4056965598197162493' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/4056965598197162493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/4056965598197162493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2009_08_01_archive.html#4056965598197162493' title='Pavlov&apos;s got nuthin&apos; on me.'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/SoD7-JUT8NI/AAAAAAAAAJE/lD__Mp6li_Q/s72-c/IMG_3833.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-9207944555754405823</id><published>2009-08-09T21:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-09T21:40:21.817-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cardboard Hell</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sitting at the computer at night is fast becoming a healthy way to collect my thoughts. Switch off the TV, put down the laundry, and just take a moment to breathe and reflect upon the day. Its also how I've started to avoid looking around the apartment and escape the rapidly escalating list of things to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We're in the midst of packing up for what will hopefully be our last move for the next 15 years at least. We've found a decent sized home that works for us, is across from a park, is close to transit and my workplace, and doesn't require a complete gut of kitchen and bath (which is more than I can say for most homes we looked at in our price range). I should be excited! Yay, more space than our bursting-at-the-seams apartment! Instead, I look at the chaos that is my living room and cringe. Half-finished boxes, piles of packing paper, partially empty cupboards, and permanent markers are strewn about all indicating areas where we'd been fitting our worldly goods into a 3-D jigsaw puzzle, much like playing Jenga in reverse. My shower is stacked with boxes of goods that are now out of their rightful locations, tucked behind cabinet doors. And everything seems half-done. That, I think, is what is truly bothering me the most. The half-finished state I see everywhere I turn. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know we can't complete any room right now. Realistically we still have 3 more weekends of packing prior to the move and we can't decommission any room right now. I suppose we could complete the kitchen, eat out for the next 4 weeks and pretend we're on holiday but our local eateries are limited at best. One bathroom is mostly done, but the other remains rather essential. And everything else, well...we just can't finish for now because most of everything we have out is stuff we use on a regular basis. So our home is a mess. It looks like a packing fairy buzzed in, engaged in a packing bender, became inebriated and vomited up a mass of partially packed stuff in every room of my home. I wish that darn fairy would come back and finish up the rest of the job. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Sn-jk5aSoEI/AAAAAAAAAIs/X4wMguTb8og/s1600-h/IMG_3952.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368189135130632258" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Sn-jk5aSoEI/AAAAAAAAAIs/X4wMguTb8og/s200/IMG_3952.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Oh, and have you ever tried packing with a baby in tow? I swear, I almost put my son in a box today and sealed it up. If you ever want to feel like you're making progress on a mental to do list, packing up a home while taking care of a teething baby is not something I would recommend. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;4 more weeks. Sigh...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368189488192045858" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Sn-j5cqsQyI/AAAAAAAAAI0/7xccF-2zkgA/s200/IMG_3959.JPG" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-9207944555754405823?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/9207944555754405823/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=9207944555754405823' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/9207944555754405823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/9207944555754405823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2009_08_01_archive.html#9207944555754405823' title='Cardboard Hell'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Sn-jk5aSoEI/AAAAAAAAAIs/X4wMguTb8og/s72-c/IMG_3952.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-4152785149514739263</id><published>2009-08-05T21:30:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T22:00:32.426-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why do they call it "sleeping like a baby?"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/SnpjGM9w52I/AAAAAAAAAIE/bmOTIZdHtMs/s1600-h/IMG_3768.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366710864176015202" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/SnpjGM9w52I/AAAAAAAAAIE/bmOTIZdHtMs/s200/IMG_3768.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I'm sitting at the computer, the baby's asleep (finally) and my husband is out picking up a few essentials. I'm sitting here, scowl on my face, shoulders bunched, and I'm mad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why is it that the people we love become such targets for our anger and yet we'll rationalize the poor behavior of complete strangers without a second thought? My husband can make me so irrationally irritated over the smallest things. I will blame him for events completely out of his control, knowing while I do so that I'm being unreasonable. And yet, I still get mad. The baby was almost asleep for the night, nursing contentedly and then the cat meows for my husband's attention. A quick "shush" apparently being insufficient for her liking, she then chirrups out an entire chorus of noises which I can only assume translate into a "Look at me, Dad, look at me!!!" somewhat like an undermedicated 5 year old at the playground. The baby, of course, is completely distracted and stops nursing, eyes wide open, body twisting and searching for this new, non-sleep related noise. And what does his irked (albeit somewhat sleep deprived) mommy do? Why, she blames the daddy, of course!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I'm sitting here, after getting the baby to bed forty minutes later than normal, knowing that I have no reason to be angry and should I attempt to look at my mood in a rational manner will cease having any justification to be in such a state (though I suppose that one could argue by writing this post, I am making an attempt to look at my anger in a semi-detached way). And yet, I'm still mad. Anything my husband does is irritating, anything he says makes no sense, and his very movements seem engineered to drive me nuts. I don't want to hear anything he has to say, and I have no desire to spend my words on him. In fact, I want to throttle him for deciding to rearrange the kitchen cupboards to make baby food storage more convenient, now, after the baby's finally asleep (have I mentioned that we have an open-plan apartment?).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And yet I know, really, he hasn't done anything wrong. And I know, really, that he's put up with a lot of cr*p from me. And I know, really, that I put up with a lot more cr*p from total strangers without batting an eyelash. And I know, really, that he is my partner, my love, my very best friend, my co-conspirator, my companion. And I know, really, that I won't be mad for much longer. And I know that what I really need to do is go to bed and sleep.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-4152785149514739263?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/4152785149514739263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=4152785149514739263' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/4152785149514739263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/4152785149514739263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2009_08_01_archive.html#4152785149514739263' title='Why do they call it &quot;sleeping like a baby?&quot;'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/SnpjGM9w52I/AAAAAAAAAIE/bmOTIZdHtMs/s72-c/IMG_3768.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-1009322968881015056</id><published>2009-08-04T21:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T21:29:13.238-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How many stomachs do cows have, anyhow?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/SnkKanhZD2I/AAAAAAAAAH8/tYWJHxkkqgQ/s1600-h/IMG_3815.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366331883390570338" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/SnkKanhZD2I/AAAAAAAAAH8/tYWJHxkkqgQ/s200/IMG_3815.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Its been almost a year and a half since I've last written. And what a year and a half its been. In short, I got pregnant, gave birth, and have spent 7 months learning to be some one's mommy. While ruminating over what to write, now that I've started to reclaim some of my life, I felt compelled to write a long post, or something summarizing critical key events.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can ruminate and reflect and dwell on events all I want in my own time. This is my blog, written really for no one but me. I write now for the sheer sake of adding to something that was started with good intention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'll pick up like I've had no time in between this post and the last, and just write what is foremost in my mind at any given time. The important thing is that I write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was uneventful and yet so typically pocked with moments of joy and ick.&lt;br /&gt;-hearing my son imitate Godzilla as we walked down Granville street and watching how the simple act of hammering on the cafe table with his chubby paws made his face alight with glee&lt;br /&gt;-cleaning up vomit for the 3rd time induced by my son's unfortunate habit of stuffing his thumb, fingers, and entire fist up to elbow into his mouth.&lt;br /&gt;-finding a nursing bra that both fits and doesn't look like an army-issue relic from the 50's.&lt;br /&gt;-cutting open my banana bread to find raw dough still in the middle&lt;br /&gt;-realizing that the cheap cat toys provide far more entertainment to a 7 month old than the expensive baby toys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have so many meaningful things I could be writing about here. How I have doubts that I'm a good enough mom, how my relationship with my husband has both transformed and solidified, how I both dread and anticipate a return to work, or even my anxiety over our house purchase.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eh. One more night of rumination won't hurt. I'll write about something else tomorrow. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-1009322968881015056?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/1009322968881015056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=1009322968881015056' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/1009322968881015056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/1009322968881015056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2009_08_01_archive.html#1009322968881015056' title='How many stomachs do cows have, anyhow?'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/SnkKanhZD2I/AAAAAAAAAH8/tYWJHxkkqgQ/s72-c/IMG_3815.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-3975485775378781430</id><published>2008-02-02T11:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-02T13:42:30.719-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Window to My World</title><content type='html'>With hours of marking and paper writing laying before me, I thought I'd capture a typical morning in which I progress from mellow sleepy goodness to a state in which I question why I teach at all. In which the only thing keeping my going is the knowledge that without a paycheque, I could not affort indulgence in luxury yarns as I so deeply indulged yesterday at Urban Yarns' inventory clearance sale. Here's a photoblog of my morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TJrMmkNTI/AAAAAAAAAEA/Cw98lVHmSdU/s1600-h/1breaky.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162472816827970866" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TJrMmkNTI/AAAAAAAAAEA/Cw98lVHmSdU/s200/1breaky.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TLBMmkNWI/AAAAAAAAAEY/GQxrj5NQKx8/s1600-h/3+-+companion.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162474294296720738" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TLBMmkNWI/AAAAAAAAAEY/GQxrj5NQKx8/s200/3+-+companion.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;After going to bed at a senior-citizen-esque hour on Friday evening, I awake early, shower, and turn on the kettle. After an hour on my own with tea and cats, I'm ready for a break from the marking (and Facebook procrastinating) and my lovely Hubby has made me a ginormous coffee and some warm breakfast nosh (the black lumps are dried cherries). The cats keep me company (note the two white paws peeking out under the coffee table) or at least, deign to sprawl beside me after dissapointed sniffing (and distainful nose-turning) at my oatmeal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps, I think, now would be a good time to abandon the markin&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TLvsmkNXI/AAAAAAAAAEg/lW5u25fB0Pw/s1600-h/4cuddles.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162475093160637810" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TLvsmkNXI/AAAAAAAAAEg/lW5u25fB0Pw/s200/4cuddles.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;g and go for a walk. What &lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TKkMmkNVI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/R6WBKmnGYLw/s1600-h/2+-+weather.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162473796080514386" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TKkMmkNVI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/R6WBKmnGYLw/s200/2+-+weather.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;does the weather-guy have to say about that? Unfortunately, he has no good news. Its cold, its wet, and I'd have to put on socks. Erm...no. So back to the hell dimension known as my desk I trudge. I think the cat is mocking me as I leave. Cruel beast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TMbsmkNYI/AAAAAAAAAEo/uwtPfXic3rw/s1600-h/5helldimension.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162475849074881922" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TMbsmkNYI/AAAAAAAAAEo/uwtPfXic3rw/s200/5helldimension.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TMbsmkNZI/AAAAAAAAAEw/rE4-wmXROLM/s1600-h/6herculeanstables.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162475849074881938" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TMbsmkNZI/AAAAAAAAAEw/rE4-wmXROLM/s200/6herculeanstables.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This is my Stygian task - to shovel the er...ink droppings my students have left armed only with a red pen and a limited supply of patience. Here's a sample of my internal dialogue. &lt;em&gt;What the hell? Were you in the class while I was teaching? I'm sure I saw you there physicially - let me check my attendance records. Yup, you were there. So what the hell? If you're going to make up answers in an attempt to cover your ignorance, then at least write something plausible. Vague, generic, overly-general anwers to not earn you marks - they just piss me off because they waste my time and prevent me from getting through this heap of cr..ud on my desk faster&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;em&gt; Screw this, I need coffee. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TQ08mkNaI/AAAAAAAAAE4/Z1fm-hs9WtQ/s1600-h/7reinforcements.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162480680913089954" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TQ08mkNaI/AAAAAAAAAE4/Z1fm-hs9WtQ/s200/7reinforcements.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, back for reinforcement I go - a stiff, bracing mug of Joe. Only now do I note how appropos my choice of mug for the morning is. I decide that Grumpy is not such a bad archtype to emulate - efficient, intimidating, perhaps one of the few Disney characters capable of genuine self-expression. No one can be as twitterpated as those freaking woodland birds and squirrels! I realize that I'm analyzing the emotional honesty of animated fauna and shake off the fug of procrastination that settles so easily when faced with a pile of cr..ud. Sigh... back again I go. I make progress, slowly, ever so slowly, but the antipathy is mounting. What the hell, I keep thinking! Finally, I take refuge in the arms of Facebook once again, concluding once again that as soon as the winning lottery ticket drifts into my possession, I'm done with teaching. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162480783992305074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TQ68mkNbI/AAAAAAAAAFA/AedILNW2ygA/s320/9epiphany.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-3975485775378781430?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/3975485775378781430/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=3975485775378781430' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/3975485775378781430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/3975485775378781430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2008_02_01_archive.html#3975485775378781430' title='Window to My World'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/R6TJrMmkNTI/AAAAAAAAAEA/Cw98lVHmSdU/s72-c/1breaky.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-7599406360234618499</id><published>2008-01-27T08:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-27T09:23:30.147-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Taking Inventory</title><content type='html'>It seems that I only post up when I have an excessive number of items of my to do list.  I mean, here it is, Sunday morning, with several hours of marking in front of me, multiple lessons to prep, and interim reports due tomorrow and here I am, writing a new blog entry.  Oh, and lets not forget the fact that I have class tomorrow and have not touched my readings yet.  And my housework...lets not go there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So where have I been for the last month plus?  Well, quite honestly, I've been hermiting, and doing very little.   Lets take inventory:&lt;br /&gt;1) Knitting: finished 2 sweaters (for me, yay!), and various other small projects&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) Reading: finished 15-20 books in the last 2 months, including Phillip Pullman's entire Dark Materials Trilogy (incl. the Golden Compass which is for my book club) over Friday and Saturday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) Housework: managed to catch up on laundry and ironing for a lovely 2 weeks.  Other wise,...still not going there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) Work: had a wonderful 2 weeks off mid-December, and managed to start the year refreshed, but since then have been bogged down by various and sundry. Spend the last day and a half interviewing candidates for a program next year and was pleasantly surprised by my substitute teacher - she did a great job and got everything done as I'd asked.  I'm looking forward to my first "business-trip"  in February.  As a teacher, I don't get to travel for work very often but a group of us are going to Calgary for a day to check out an arts based school and try to learn new ways to incorporate arts into our teaching methods, for the Athena Arts program.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) Family - managed to squeeze in 4 family dinners in as many days and then again spent time with family at New Years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7) Going out - have been to the VSO twice, seen a few movies, went out to the Christmas panto at the Metro Theatre (a 5 minute walk from the house) and another play called "The Last Night at Ballyhoo".  Went to &lt;a href="mailto:TLN@B"&gt;TLN@B&lt;/a&gt; on Friday all by my lonesome, inspired by Sarah Jessica Parker.  I saw a bit of a SITCity episode in which she described a perfect New York night for a single in which she saw a show on her own.  I have such a hard time getting the Hubby out to theatre, and he was out with the "work boys" on Friday night getting liquored up, so I decided that rather than watching the schmaltzy Friday-night TV lineup to support our local theatre cooperative.  I have mixed feelings about that adventure - I don't do as much by myself as I should, and am therefore proud that I went, but the play itself was lacking panache. Perhaps a 2008 resolution should be to continue to go out on my own as time allows.  Anyhow, The Hubby and I also managed to make it out to the Vancouver Aquarium, (though perhaps I should put this into the "work" category as I went in preparation for a field trip) and to a Vancouver wanna-be Yaletownie restaurant-come-lounge called UnWine'd for "DineOut Vancouver".  In one word, it was "meh."   If friends wanted to go, I woudn't say no but I have no need to go back. I wasn't overly impressed with the wine list, nor the food.  I ordered the sesame-seed encrusted, seared ahi tuna which I've had in other restaurants on several other occaisions.  When its seared, it should be rare in the centre, but the outer 1/2 cm should be cooked.  There were spots on my tuna which hadn't even hit the pan.  Now, if I'd ordered tuna sashimi I'd be thrilled, because I do like me a good tuna sashimi, but I wan't in the mood.  And I don't often send things back but I had to that night. My desert was overgarnished to compensate for the lack of flavor - a lime cheesecake should at least have a hint of citrus, and most certainly should not be less flavorful then the splashes of mango and raspberry coulis drizzled all over the plate. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, perhaps it hasn't been that uneventful.  But I still have "miles to go before I sleep" and therefore must needs nip this in the bud.  One more thing to cross off the list - first blog entry of 2008.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-7599406360234618499?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/7599406360234618499/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=7599406360234618499' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/7599406360234618499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/7599406360234618499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2008_01_01_archive.html#7599406360234618499' title='Taking Inventory'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-5978306520185433338</id><published>2007-11-04T00:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-04T00:08:08.337-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Visions of Sugar Plums</title><content type='html'>OK, for all those who've been harassing, er...requesting persistently, us for our Christmas wish lists, here's mine. (Ahem, Laurie.  And Shirley.  And mom!)  And I won't read the comments for this post, so you can discuss who's taking care of what.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Petra’s Christmas Wish-list/Gift Ideas – 2007&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) CD’s by Feist&lt;br /&gt;2) Pink Grapefruit scented or Satsuma scented shower gel from the Body Shop&lt;br /&gt;3) Gift Certificates – Urban Yarns (on 4421 W10th Avenue, &lt;a href="http://www.urbanyarns.ca/"&gt;www.urbanyarns.ca&lt;/a&gt;)  or Three Bags Full (Main St, Vancouver, &lt;a href="http://www.threebagsfull.ca/"&gt;http://www.threebagsfull.ca&lt;/a&gt; )&lt;br /&gt;4) Gift Certificates – Mexx, Gap, Bay, Old Navy&lt;br /&gt;5) Gift Certificates – BC liquor stores (for wine) or Starbucks (for coffee)&lt;br /&gt;6)Sock yarn&lt;br /&gt;7)Books&lt;br /&gt;    a.Gift certificates for Chapters OR&lt;br /&gt;    b. The Street of a Thousand Blossoms by Caroline Reid&lt;br /&gt;    c. Lord John and the Hand of Devils by Diana Gabaldon&lt;br /&gt;    d. Red, White, and Drunk All Over by Natalie MacLean&lt;br /&gt;    e. A Left-Handed History of the World by Ed Wright&lt;br /&gt;    f. The Memory Keeper’s Daughter by Kim Edwards&lt;br /&gt;    g. Knitting New Scarves by Lynne Barr&lt;br /&gt;    h. Charmed Knits: Projects for Fans of Harry Potter by Alison Hansel&lt;br /&gt;    i. Mason-Dixon Knitting by Kay Gardniner&lt;br /&gt;    j. Knitting Circle by Ann Hood&lt;br /&gt;    k. Knitting: A Novel by Anne Bartlett&lt;br /&gt;    l. Any novel my Mary Kruger (mystery author)&lt;br /&gt;    m. Any book by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee&lt;br /&gt;    n. Novels (chick lit) by Meg Cabot:&lt;br /&gt;        i. Size 12 is Not Fat&lt;br /&gt;        ii. Size 14 is Not Fat Either&lt;br /&gt;        iii. Queen of Babble&lt;br /&gt;        iv. Big Boned&lt;br /&gt;8) Magazine: subscription to Interweave Knits (a knitting magazine)&lt;br /&gt;9) 15.4” Rain Design iLap Ergonomic Laptop Stand&lt;br /&gt;10) Calendar&lt;br /&gt;    a. Anything with vintage movie posters, esp. Katherine Hepburn or Audrey Hepburn&lt;br /&gt;    b. Victorian Botanicals&lt;br /&gt;    c. Cartoon related&lt;br /&gt;    d. Classic kid-related (ex, Dr. Suess, Paddington Bear, etc)&lt;br /&gt;11) Perfume :&lt;br /&gt;    -“Vera Wang” by Vera Wang&lt;br /&gt;    -“Burberry,” “Burberry Touch,” or “Burberry Weekend” by Burberry&lt;br /&gt;12) A hair straightener with wide ceramic paddles.&lt;br /&gt;13) A memory-foam pillow&lt;br /&gt;14) A SMALL cross-cut paper shredder&lt;br /&gt;15) A cordless phone&lt;br /&gt;16) A 2G USB jump drive&lt;br /&gt;17) Stickers&lt;br /&gt;18) A paper cutter (like those used for scrapbooking)&lt;br /&gt;19) A  Dyson Vacuum or even better, a Roomba  and a Scooba&lt;br /&gt;20) A sewing machine&lt;br /&gt;21) An Aerobed (Raised Premier)&lt;br /&gt;22) A KitchenAid stand mixer (5 qut) in black or silver&lt;br /&gt;23) A motorcycle&lt;br /&gt;24) Tranquilizer darts for the cats&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-5978306520185433338?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/5978306520185433338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=5978306520185433338' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/5978306520185433338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/5978306520185433338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_11_01_archive.html#5978306520185433338' title='Visions of Sugar Plums'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-2747537109314308486</id><published>2007-11-03T23:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-04T00:00:01.409-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ramblings</title><content type='html'>Its been a busy week, but a good one. If this jumbled reminiscence confuses you, that's okay, because I'm fully under the impression that no one reads this blog except for me, anyhow. My own mom has no interest in checking out my inane ramblings, so why should anyone else? Lets start with today. I completed all my marking for the week - a rather nasty slog - leaving me an entire day to get some more lessons re-worked, and get caught up on my course work. Oh, and celebrate Hubby's birthday too! I then managed to get a few rows done on a Calorimetry which may or may not go for some one's Christmas gift before we headed out to the first of our 6 concert series at the VSO. It was a pops concert, with the theme of "Fabulous 40's." OMG, what a fantastic show! In spite of our late arrival and seats in the middle of what felt like an ocean of retirement home, I had a truly great time! The show started with In the Mood, then two Duke Ellington songs (I'm Beginning to See the Light and Don't Get Around Much Anymore) featuring a jazz soloist, Robin McKelle. Amazing pipes, and don't you know I just had to get the CD at intermission. This was followed by a piece by Aaron Copland of "Fanfare for the common man" fame, (Hoe Down from Rodeo) followed by a trilogy from Oklahoma featuring a baritone with amazing richness (though his pitch was a little off a few times). The first half finished with a suite from Casablanca (Max Steiner's work) and finally Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After intermission (in which I also managed to sneak in a few more rows of Calorimetry amidst amused looks from the woman on my left, we heard One O'Clock Jump (Cole Porter), Times Square (from On The Town by Bernstein), Some Enchanted Evening (more Rodgers &amp; Hammerstein), Begin the Beguine (Cole Porter), St. Louis Blues March (Handy), Night &amp; Day (Porter), String of Pearls (ONE OF MY ALL TIME FAVOURITES, Jerry Gray), and finally Come Rain or Come Shine (Arlen). I am still humming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday was marked by my Bi 11 kids first exam (holy crap, did they do poorly on the written component), and then a knit night / campy TV watching binge with my cousin. I haven't had time with her in months, so it was a fantastic evening. Oh, and all you can eat Indian Buffet for $10 is a nice way to start off a weekend!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2133/1842537233_354ecd4267.jpg?v=0"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2133/1842537233_354ecd4267.jpg?v=0" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday FO #1 - it seems to have spiraled on me.  Huh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2381/1842528553_b9efc3324d.jpg?v=0"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2381/1842528553_b9efc3324d.jpg?v=0" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday FO #2 - pretty cables!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thursday was remarkable only in that I managed to finish my readings for the week. Gah - what a slog. Oh, and we had our second fire of the year, so out on the field we went, fire trucks coming for the SECOND DAY IN A ROW. And so it begins. I mentioned to a student teacher that we hadn't had a fire drill since I've been at my school (for 4 years now) and she looked concerned until I said, "No, its not that we're ignoring safety. We just have the actual smoke detectors or fire pulls activate for real often enough so that we don't need to do drills."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Halloween was the least remarkable I've had in the last well...since I can remember. We had a meeting at 5:30 with a Direct Buy representative and shopped for light fixtures until 7, then went home, ate dinner, and did our normal thing (which entails me knitting and/or marking and Aaron in the office on his computer). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before that, it gets a wee bit fuzzy. Its been a busy week for me, full, but satisfying somehow. Hubby came home from Mexico, I finished various Christmas gifts and, and have kept up most of my obligations.  And its only 7 weeks until Christmas break! Whoo hoo!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-2747537109314308486?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/2747537109314308486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=2747537109314308486' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/2747537109314308486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/2747537109314308486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_11_01_archive.html#2747537109314308486' title='Ramblings'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-1403570691195325904</id><published>2007-10-27T16:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-27T19:36:33.992-07:00</updated><title type='text'>and miles to go before I sleep</title><content type='html'>As Robert Frost's poem implies, we all face choices from time to time, choices that influence the course of our future. Sometimes is a choice between the known and the unknown; the predictable and the promising. Sometimes our journey is break-neck rapid, sometimes plodding and methodical, but as long as we keep travelling, the view at least, should change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made a choice to go back to school over a year ago, taking road less travelled by. I'd heard rumor of exciting adventure along the way, riches to be gained and new friends to meet, and thus I began, merrily taking in the sights. I cantered through the meadow of "basic counselling skills," catching golden coins that seemed to fall from the sky, soon to be followed by a long but rewarding gallop through hills of "the role of the teacher in guidance" where I had adventures, gained acquaintances, and profited considerably. I raced through the shadowy valley of "theories of counselling" and escaped without harm, and emerged in the sunny glade of "career counselling" to bask in my rewards, honestly earned. Now, however, I find myself in an endless plain of monotony known as "guidance: planning and decision making" and I find my pace slowing down. In fact, the longer I'm stuck in this landscape, the longer I fear it may take as my pace decreases. It feels interminable. Step. by unchanging. step. I am learning nothing new, and&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BORED.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never been such a poor student - I love learning! Perhaps that it. I'm not learning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the midst of unmitigated monotony, I want off this pathway. But I'm now beyond the half-way point, and in fact I passed that signpost just before I entered this dreary dusty hell. So here I sit, astride a horse which for all I know could be wandering in circles. And the worst part is, I don't care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want it to be over. I want out. I want to be able to use my Saturdays for things other than navigating though the same flat unchanging vista. I'd rather be here:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126163409580873874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RyPKdiCsWJI/AAAAAAAAADs/jEvm4Giv0xg/s200/UnivSWarWorlds.JPG" border="0" /&gt; or here.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126163817602767010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RyPK1SCsWKI/AAAAAAAAAD0/0oh6sdSv4LM/s200/UnivSDinodamage.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;or anywhere for that matter than where I am right now. Sigh... Well, at least I'm making good progress on my knitted birthday/Christmas gifts. And that, I can do atop a horse.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-1403570691195325904?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/1403570691195325904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=1403570691195325904' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/1403570691195325904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/1403570691195325904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_10_01_archive.html#1403570691195325904' title='and miles to go before I sleep'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RyPKdiCsWJI/AAAAAAAAADs/jEvm4Giv0xg/s72-c/UnivSWarWorlds.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-2796518510362013865</id><published>2007-10-25T17:59:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-25T18:14:28.597-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mushy</title><content type='html'>Today was a singularly unproductive day.  After arriving at work to find out that the demo I'd set up last night didn't work, I suppose I should have taken that as a sign.  Today is my first day solo for a week, what with Hubby off in Mexico with his Dad and Dad's work cronies pulling giant Mexican fish out of their ecosystem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here I am, and this morning, things went well.  I was responsible, even - so unlike me when I'm all by my lonesome.  I made a lunch the night before, paid attention to the cats, left the house tidy this morning, even managed to make and consume coffee before I had to go!  The headache I just passed off as the caffiene withdrawl I sometimes face in the morning. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not so much.  By the middle of 2nd period today, I was done.  There was no way I was going to face the rest of the day with a burgeoning migraine.  If 3 tylenol with codeine don't knock out the headache and instead induce heart palpitations from the extra caffeine, its time to sleep it off.  So there I was, facing an hour before my substitute teacher arrived, an hour attempting to balanace noisy high school kids and a rapidly building migraine, including smell hypersensitivity, visual disturbances, and complete inability to focus and concentrate. Sigh....  Well, I suppose today was a good day to call in sick, if there is such a thing.  The last 3 classes of the day involved more supervision than direct teaching - group work and finishing up activities.  My Gr. 10's had their quiz, thanks to a colleague who gave up some of his prep time to supervise them until my sub came (thanks, Randy!) and then I just gave them a study block, so I suppose it wasn't a total waste. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, I made it out of there and was home by 11:45 and immediately hit the sofa.  Unable to sleep due to excessive caffeine (stupid T2's), I engaged in mindless knitting I could do without actually visually focusing on it until I melted into a sort of mind-benumbed blob in my living room.  I don't remember much after that, except that 6 hours later, I'm now awake and the  migraine is gone except for a few residual symptoms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not what I'd hoped to accomplish with today, but I suppose I had no choice.  Well, off to tackle a paper due for my class in a few days.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-2796518510362013865?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/2796518510362013865/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=2796518510362013865' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/2796518510362013865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/2796518510362013865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_10_01_archive.html#2796518510362013865' title='Mushy'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-1823191412485585016</id><published>2007-10-16T00:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-16T00:25:13.459-07:00</updated><title type='text'>voice in the wind</title><content type='html'>Not being a parent myself, I find myself in the tenuous position of being critical of a small, select group of parents.  That being said, parents who expect the school to be the sole agent to support their child academically drive me NUTS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As an educator, when I phone home to relay my serious concerns about a particular child's progress, I mean it!  I don't just call home over simple stuff that could be solved by telling a child to "do their best" and "please remember to do all your homework."  If I say that your child is at risk of failing and its ONLY the 2nd month in the school year, you should heed the red flag!  Please don't pass the buck.  Please don't assume that the school is the only place that needs to work harder to support your child. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How about sitting down with your child (yeah, sitting down together, how 'bout that) and finding out what they're doing in school?  How about showing your child how much you care about their success by extending an invitation to sit together and work?  How about demanding that your child show your their binder, you organize it together, and you find out what's missing?  How about you ask for a list of what needs to be done and you work together at home to ensure its done?  How about setting up a very simple system where you as a parent get involved in what your child has for homework?  Check their agenda! Attach a reward to getting their agenda filled out and initialed by each teacher!  Attach a reward to having completed all homework for a week, two weeks, a month! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How about increasing the academic support at home?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would love to support your child as much as I am capable of, and guess what, I do!  I take the time in class to notice when your child is struggling, and to sit together and work even at the expense of other children.  I offer to give up my lunch breaks, my after school hours, my early morning time, my broken moments in which I really just need to find a bathroom, just to sit and work with your child and try to get them help.  I offer empathy when they're frustrated, breaks when they're overwhelmed, time when they're confused, and overall my utmost support.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most parents get it.  They do.  And I cheer for them, and thank them for doing their part. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I find it so frustrating when I take the time to research a particular child's strengths and weaknesses, and express concerns to parents, and they pass the buck back.  Your child needs you, even if they don't want to be treated like a child any more.  Your child needs you. Support also needs to come from home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-1823191412485585016?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/1823191412485585016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=1823191412485585016' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/1823191412485585016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/1823191412485585016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_10_01_archive.html#1823191412485585016' title='voice in the wind'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-551421025859735765</id><published>2007-10-13T16:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-13T16:14:31.483-07:00</updated><title type='text'>To wit, to knit</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;On Friday, I lugged home my overfull briefcase, stuffed with laptop and enough marking to set off the "passenger seatbelt" light in the front seat of my car. In other words, my briefcase was on par with a toddler for weight. I had a busy night too - I lugged things to my cousin's apartment after work rather than going home, where we had our monthly book club meeting. We had dinner and catchup time first, drooled over a new KnitPicks catalogue, and she showed me how her spinning wheel works. Dangerous hobby, that one. Dangerous as in, easy to spend a lot of money and get sucked in to addictive instant gratification. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;However, I left her house armed with great plans to arise early on Saturday and plug away at the Everest of paper in my bag, and the enormous quantity of reading I've let slide for my UBC course. Thus I drifted off to sleep on Friday ever so guilt-free, knowing, just knowing that Saturday would be productive. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RxFRGrFoYKI/AAAAAAAAADk/Hz2uXXkeOH8/s1600-h/IMG_1408.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120963426384371874" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RxFRGrFoYKI/AAAAAAAAADk/Hz2uXXkeOH8/s200/IMG_1408.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So here I am. Saturday. Here's the score:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Knitting - 1 &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Card-crafting - 1&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Work - 0. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Coursework - 0.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Finished a toque for my step-cousin, finished a hand-crafted card with my Mom for her colleague, finished NONE of the marking or prep which is now watching me like a creepy painting in a B-list horror movie. One of these days, I'm going to grow up and be responsible, I swear! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;On a side note, I haven't sat with Mom and done Arts &amp;amp; Crafts since I was 8 years old, so perhaps today wasn't such a waste after all. Perhaps I'm just shifting my priorities subconsciously - family time should come before marking worksheets anyhow!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-551421025859735765?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/551421025859735765/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=551421025859735765' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/551421025859735765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/551421025859735765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_10_01_archive.html#551421025859735765' title='To wit, to knit'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RxFRGrFoYKI/AAAAAAAAADk/Hz2uXXkeOH8/s72-c/IMG_1408.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-4641536126937469034</id><published>2007-10-10T22:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-10T22:29:14.496-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Let them eat cake - or at least clean it off the floor!</title><content type='html'>I stopped a cake fight this afternoon.  Or rather, pre-empted an attempt at one.  How can you tell the school year is in full swing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was a great day to explore a new knitting venture - I joined a knitting circle today at a great local yarn store.  I wasn't sure what to expect, but I enjoyed the opportunity to sit in a room surrounded by adult conversation.  The odd knitting-related term floated past my consciousness as I attempted to follow several simultaneous conversations - "yarn-porn", "squeaky swift," "kitchner toes," and "unusual gusset" to name a few.  This too, was good stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shall return.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-4641536126937469034?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/4641536126937469034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=4641536126937469034' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/4641536126937469034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/4641536126937469034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_10_01_archive.html#4641536126937469034' title='Let them eat cake - or at least clean it off the floor!'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-2648061698237310880</id><published>2007-08-05T00:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-05T01:14:02.466-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Let them eat cake</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrWFvng-MbI/AAAAAAAAADE/bH1AO33Xq3A/s1600-h/IMG_0716.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, a few pictures is all you need to sum up a day. In my case, the last few days have been full of friends, books, and knitting. Sigh...life's pretty good when you're on summer vacation as a teacher. I'll write something more detailed tomorrow.&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrWFvng-MbI/AAAAAAAAADE/bH1AO33Xq3A/s1600-h/IMG_0716.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095125606547206578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrWFvng-MbI/AAAAAAAAADE/bH1AO33Xq3A/s200/IMG_0716.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrWFvXg-MaI/AAAAAAAAAC8/pei1GMRwsOY/s1600-h/IMG_0710.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095125602252239266" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrWFvXg-MaI/AAAAAAAAAC8/pei1GMRwsOY/s200/IMG_0710.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Funny thing heard on the way home from the fireworks finale tonight: Police car approaching with lights and siren, struggling to get through rush hour like &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;traffic&lt;/span&gt; "Your sirens mean nothing in the anarchy of tonight!" =) I love 14 year old kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and its seems I'll have to wait till next year to figure out why our camera doesn't take great fireworks photos even on the correct setting. Sigh...&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrWFwXg-MeI/AAAAAAAAADc/VK_BH_2dA9I/s1600-h/IMG_0742.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095125619432108514" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrWFwXg-MeI/AAAAAAAAADc/VK_BH_2dA9I/s200/IMG_0742.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrWFwHg-MdI/AAAAAAAAADU/vjxQpI2b3KM/s1600-h/IMG_0732.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095125615137141202" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrWFwHg-MdI/AAAAAAAAADU/vjxQpI2b3KM/s200/IMG_0732.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrWFv3g-McI/AAAAAAAAADM/gcLGmuJwa6Q/s1600-h/IMG_0727.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095125610842173890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrWFv3g-McI/AAAAAAAAADM/gcLGmuJwa6Q/s200/IMG_0727.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-2648061698237310880?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/2648061698237310880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=2648061698237310880' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/2648061698237310880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/2648061698237310880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_08_01_archive.html#2648061698237310880' title='Let them eat cake'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrWFvng-MbI/AAAAAAAAADE/bH1AO33Xq3A/s72-c/IMG_0716.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-6919287967607096860</id><published>2007-08-02T22:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-02T22:37:32.876-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just call me Maria</title><content type='html'>Its funny how a feminine dress makes you feel pretty. Its not even a great dress, nor was it an expensive dress, but well....I feel pretty. Its been a great day overall - I had a tasty (and healthy) lunch with my mom, got to visit the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;LYS&lt;/span&gt; and showed excellent self-restraint (pats self on back). I rambled over to Chapters and spent a delightful 90 minutes selecting fluffy summer reads that I'll be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;embarrassed&lt;/span&gt; to add to my list (though how can you resists at title like "Coffee and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Kung&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Fu&lt;/span&gt;" I ask you?!?) and on the bus ride there had a moment of fear topped by grand chuckle. I was knitting the bus and a large biker-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;ish&lt;/span&gt; man (and I do mean large and bearing skulls on his Harley-Davidson clothing and in jewellery) was watching intently. This was not a problem, as many people watch me knit on the bus, but I was a little concerned when he got up to move closer and get a better view. I was a wee bit &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;creeped&lt;/span&gt; out and wondered whether I should get off the bus a little earlier than anticipated. As it turned out however, he's a knitter too! He was watching because he was impressed with the pattern on the cardigan because he'd never done something as complicated, and wanted to know what yarn I was using. Serves me right for making assumptions about people based on their appearance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got home, I finished the ball band cloth - first dishcloth ever! Its funny, I've started with complicated cabled textured sweaters, am working on lace, and have never done a dishcloth till now. No wonder why people say I do things "bass &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;ackwards&lt;/span&gt;." &lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrK-eXg-MZI/AAAAAAAAAC0/CC1d98_SVes/s1600-h/IMG_0708.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094343557427114386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrK-eXg-MZI/AAAAAAAAAC0/CC1d98_SVes/s320/IMG_0708.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Ballband&lt;/span&gt; washcloth from "Mason-Dixon" using &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Bernat&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Handicrafter&lt;/span&gt; cotton in "Summer Splash"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-6919287967607096860?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/6919287967607096860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=6919287967607096860' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/6919287967607096860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/6919287967607096860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_08_01_archive.html#6919287967607096860' title='Just call me Maria'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrK-eXg-MZI/AAAAAAAAAC0/CC1d98_SVes/s72-c/IMG_0708.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-1086519692751876745</id><published>2007-08-02T00:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-02T01:01:59.227-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wax on, wax off</title><content type='html'>My day in photos: &lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGHt3g-MRI/AAAAAAAAAB0/qvEPuhBtpno/s1600-h/IMG_0676.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094001875598848274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGHt3g-MRI/AAAAAAAAAB0/qvEPuhBtpno/s200/IMG_0676.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My day began with the hopes of sitting back and relaxing while observing the Hutchison Family Ritual of "Waxing the Car." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIwHg-MUI/AAAAAAAAACM/oaXAcCCs_dA/s1600-h/IMG_0688.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIxng-MXI/AAAAAAAAACk/uWlbuWS_wwg/s1600-h/IMG_0697.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGHuXg-MTI/AAAAAAAAACE/pvD7GVYJO8k/s1600-h/IMG_0685.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094001884188782898" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGHuXg-MTI/AAAAAAAAACE/pvD7GVYJO8k/s200/IMG_0685.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Its a very important rite for any Hutchison vehicle, occurring at least 3 times a year. I mean, my father in law even waxes his LAWN MOWER! Its 18 years old and looks brand new. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIwHg-MUI/AAAAAAAAACM/oaXAcCCs_dA/s1600-h/IMG_0688.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIwng-MVI/AAAAAAAAACU/F9-fxb2an0E/s1600-h/IMG_0690.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGHuHg-MSI/AAAAAAAAAB8/7nwg5q0GMP4/s1600-h/IMG_0679.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wasn't overly&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGHuHg-MSI/AAAAAAAAAB8/7nwg5q0GMP4/s1600-h/IMG_0679.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094001879893815586" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGHuHg-MSI/AAAAAAAAAB8/7nwg5q0GMP4/s200/IMG_0679.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; interested in waxing the car myself, that is, until I was informed that girls aren't allowed. Screw that (thought me)! I should have known it was a ploy to get me on my hands and knees, scrubbing brake dust and road tar off the wheels. Sigh... Anyhow, here was my view from about 9:00 am till 2:00 pm. Note that the car is so shiny it reflects like a mirror now. And this is before the gloss-coat sealer went on. Boys....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIwHg-MUI/AAAAAAAAACM/oaXAcCCs_dA/s1600-h/IMG_0688.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIwng-MVI/AAAAAAAAACU/F9-fxb2an0E/s1600-h/IMG_0690.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Following our adventure in setting up a tent in the front lawn, stopping&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIwHg-MUI/AAAAAAAAACM/oaXAcCCs_dA/s1600-h/IMG_0688.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094003013765181762" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIwHg-MUI/AAAAAAAAACM/oaXAcCCs_dA/s200/IMG_0688.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; by the big-box-craft-store that shall remain nameless to pick up some cheap dishcloth cotton, we arrived home by 5:00 ish, just in time to relax for an hour before heading out to the fireworks with by friend Olivia and her kids. I was glad her 2 and 5 year old sons came along - Aaron needs more exposure to younger kids if we're going to start our own family in the next year or two. Here's how the evening went (more or less).  After a 1/2 hour walk from the car, we found a great spot, set up our blankets and personal affects, and the boys (including the 33 year old one) were ready for snacks. &lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIwng-MVI/AAAAAAAAACU/F9-fxb2an0E/s1600-h/IMG_0690.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094003022355116370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIwng-MVI/AAAAAAAAACU/F9-fxb2an0E/s200/IMG_0690.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;An hour later,&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIxHg-MWI/AAAAAAAAACc/BaIb1i4RAoc/s1600-h/IMG_0692.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094003030945050978" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIxHg-MWI/AAAAAAAAACc/BaIb1i4RAoc/s200/IMG_0692.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; after walks with ducks and more snacks, a trip to the popcorn stand, and an inch or so started on a knitting project, the coats came on and the stars came out. Olivia's oldest son decided to make like Shrek and outdo Aaron's funny faces.  To quote Forrest Gump, at times the two boys were "&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIxng-MXI/AAAAAAAAACk/uWlbuWS_wwg/s1600-h/IMG_0697.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094003039534985586" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIxng-MXI/AAAAAAAAACk/uWlbuWS_wwg/s200/IMG_0697.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;just like peas and carrots." The two of them spent a bit of time looking for stars, and I g&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIx3g-MYI/AAAAAAAAACs/rJ7tp309wBs/s1600-h/IMG_0703.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094003043829952898" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGIx3g-MYI/AAAAAAAAACs/rJ7tp309wBs/s200/IMG_0703.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;ot to play with the fireworks mode on the camera. Now if only I could figure out how not to wiggle. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-1086519692751876745?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/1086519692751876745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=1086519692751876745' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/1086519692751876745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/1086519692751876745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_08_01_archive.html#1086519692751876745' title='Wax on, wax off'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrGHt3g-MRI/AAAAAAAAAB0/qvEPuhBtpno/s72-c/IMG_0676.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-8834910141690669162</id><published>2007-07-31T22:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-31T22:55:50.716-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You wouldn't believe me if I told you</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Very little to wax eloquent upon today (not that I wax eloquently ever. Actually, I don't think one can wax oneself in an eloquent fashion. Its just not that kind of activity). I tried out a dress I'd bought a few weeks ago for an embarrassingly low price and though its shorter than I normally wear (short enough to cause consternation upon bending over) its quite flattering and hides the tummy. All was well and good until Ms. Molly decided to run after Aaron as he left for work, down the hallway. Now, normally this isn't an issue and I let her explore for a bit until she chickens out and runs back to the door. However, the neighbors had their front door open this morning and Ms. Molly decided that exploring their apartment was much more interesting than the hallway. My problem was the dress - how does one pick up a squirming cat if bending forwards exposes the rear, and crouching down er...makes parts drafty that normally aren't so drafty? I chose to expose my rear and prayed that the neighbors behind me wouldn't open their door at an inopportune moment. Damn cats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, I ventured into the mall today with a list of things that required purchase and as always, wound up with more than I really needed. But 2 pairs of jeans at $30 each could not be denied. A fall skirt for $12 (down from $45) and a few late summer tops (both less than 1/2-price) were worth the trip. The main purpose was to replace some unmentionables and get my duff out of the house for a short time, but I found out how much a transformer and adapter will cost for our trip. I'm not sure that I want to spend $50 for a transformer and adapter sufficient to charge our camera battery, because the thing won't get much use in the foreseeable future beyond this trip, but I also know that we'll need to charge the camera battery at least 2-3 times while we're there. I know our friends will likely have something we can use while in London, but I'm not quite what to do about Paris yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrAen3g-MQI/AAAAAAAAABs/BwZJ_NejZJk/s1600-h/IMG_0674.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093604848822006018" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrAen3g-MQI/AAAAAAAAABs/BwZJ_NejZJk/s320/IMG_0674.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;At the moment, I'm typing this in my in-laws computer room. My father in law, lovely man, is a bit nutty about detailing family cars and has a very particular approach to washing and waxing. I've heard about this ritual throughout my relationship with Aaron (almost 8 years now!) but have never actually witnessed the phenomenon in person, so when the opportunity arose to observe, I was compelled. Our car, like an acolyte awaiting its initiation ceremony, is resting in the in-laws garage in preparation for its session tomorrow. Apparently, the car must be thoroughly bathed the night before and let dry inside overnight so that when waxing begins the following morn, there's no offensive moisture to impede the process. I've never seen anyone wash a car with such rapt attention before. My father in law spent more time attending to the wheels than I think I spend washing the entire car. I almost never see anyone dry cars by hand.  I've never ever witnessed anyone employing special brushes to clean grill work. I've never EVER seen anyone dry &lt;em&gt;around&lt;/em&gt; the wheel bolts before using a particular cloth, selected from the pile for its unique absorptive properties. I can't decide if I'm amused or alarmed as I watch my husband learn like a disciple from a prophet. I'll post some photos of the waxing ritual tomorrow. I have been banished from helping and will be spending the day in a lounge chair outside, alternately knitting and reading, watching the two of them work. No complaints here!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-8834910141690669162?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/8834910141690669162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=8834910141690669162' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/8834910141690669162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/8834910141690669162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_07_01_archive.html#8834910141690669162' title='You wouldn&apos;t believe me if I told you'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RrAen3g-MQI/AAAAAAAAABs/BwZJ_NejZJk/s72-c/IMG_0674.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-7808214594810407515</id><published>2007-07-30T16:49:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-30T18:22:04.578-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='summer vacation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='knit in progress'/><title type='text'>Colourway du sloth</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rq6Cyng-MOI/AAAAAAAAABc/ACJIAZ6WDdQ/s1600-h/IMG_0640.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093152034714956002" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rq6Cyng-MOI/AAAAAAAAABc/ACJIAZ6WDdQ/s320/IMG_0640.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; So its been a week since I've stopped long enough to write and reflect and you might figure hmmm...she must have been very busy. I suppose it depends on how you define busy. I've been wallowing in slothitude. After 3 weeks of insanity, I needed a week of doing nothing but hermit- hood and utter relaxation. Oh, that and I was sick. It seems that my immune system, along with the rest of my body decided to relax as well, resulting in a (sadly, temporary) loss of several pounds in a 24 hour period. So what have I been up to? Lets see:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Wednesday&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; - well it was Aaron's holiday/flex day so we got to a &lt;a href="http://blog.pennlive.com/poprocks/medium_pottercover3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://blog.pennlive.com/poprocks/medium_pottercover3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;lazy start and were out of the house by noon-ish with the intent of getting hair cuts and shopping down main street. We weren't able to get an appointment with Aaron's stylist (how come my husband has a preferred hairdresser and I don't?) until 3:00 so we had a burger at the new location of Vera's on Main. Well, I had a burger, Aaron had the cheese steak. Well, until we saw the size of my gi-freaking-normous burger anyhow. The thing had to be more than 2.5 pounds! We shared meals and both of us were incredibly stuffed. We wandered until 3:00, had hairs cut, and finally went shopping down Main. I purchased a very pretty casual dress - a retro purple and brown print, with a deep V neck and wrap-style with a belt detail that for once is positioned in a spot that doesn't make me look ridiculous. I also picked up a cute black tank top with an asymmetrical grey print floral detail. I was so tempted to enter Birkland Bros, a LYS but alas, the boy had to hie home for a mountain bike ride. What to do with the rest of my evening? Silly question - finish Harry Potter #7 of course! (&lt;em&gt;Still processing, don't wish to discuss at the moment&lt;/em&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Thursday&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; - A day of slothitude. I woke up intending upon cleaning bathrooms, tidying desk and preparing for work on my Bio 11 curriculum next week - or if I'm lucky, this week! But no, interesting (at the time) movies on the Turner Classic Movie channel and my sleeve was calling. Suffice to say that I finished knitting sleeve #2 and started the back and only put it down once the hands were cramping too much to maintain even tension. I wonder if there's a 12-step for knitters.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rq6CzHg-MPI/AAAAAAAAABk/V_wefDU6H1Y/s1600-h/IMG_0655.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093152043304890610" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rq6CzHg-MPI/AAAAAAAAABk/V_wefDU6H1Y/s320/IMG_0655.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Friday&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; - I began Friday feeling rather ill, and with a pounding headache. By 10:00 I'd made several trips to the bathroom and each one was increasingly dramatic. I hate the flu. Ugh. The only redeeming part of the day, as crappy as it was, was that Aaron was sick too and came home from work by 12:00 so sleep beside me and race me to the bathroom occasionally. I have to say, that cats are excellent company when you're ill. Molly on the left, dumb as she is, its lovely to cuddle with when you feel like crap. Both of us were feeling better by about 8:00 but he bounced back much better than I did. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Saturday&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; - With Aaron at Whistler all day (apparently well enough to ride but also watch a &lt;a href="http://www.crankworx.com/"&gt;big race/festival &lt;/a&gt;up there this weekend) I spent most of the day with recuperating on the sofa. I more or less slept in between reading 2.5 L.M. Montgomery novels and 2 chick lit novels I had sitting in reserve on my bedside table. For some reason, I felt compelled to read the Emily series again. Its not challenging reading, and other than being overly saccharine at times, its somewhat inspiring. I suppose reading LM Montgomery for me while sick is like curling up with a childhood teddy bear for others. Its comforting and familiar, though you may not have done it for years. I wasn't well enough to consider any of the events happening around town (Fireworks at English Bay, Luminares Lantern Festival at Trout Lake, Taste of the City Tasting Festival at PNE fairgrounds) and so spent some time knitting. I needed a break from the sweater so started a new quick knit scarf out of a lovely thick yarn in my stash. I decided to work a simple chevron pattern but after a few inches, decided to set it aside and curl up with yet another book, then early to bed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rq6Cx3g-MMI/AAAAAAAAABM/DqEAYmC_23g/s1600-h/IMG_0667.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093152021830054082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rq6Cx3g-MMI/AAAAAAAAABM/DqEAYmC_23g/s320/IMG_0667.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Sunday&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; -Another day spend with Aaron, and it started with cinnamon french toast. Oh, how I love living with that man! We drove up to North Van to go by a bike thinggummy (derailer something or other) and then over to UBC to return a few books that I'd borrowed. Though the city librarians are on strike like the rest of the public sector, the university's libraries are open so I still have a shot at some fresh fiction. We came home and Aaron gardened (mostly involving deftly depopulating the bug community and inventing new invectives for leaf miners) while I make several feet progress on the scarf. We dined on an amazing dinner of garlic mashed potatoes in the skins, tomato cucumber and chickpea salad, steamed broccoli (my request) and sirloin steak with mushrooms in a red wine reduction, topped with blue cheese crumble. No wonder why I weigh no less post-flu! Afterwards, we went out for dessert with a few of Aaron's friends who are in from out of town, one from across the country and one from across the world. It was a busy day, but a good day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;That leaves us with today, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Monday&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; . I finally checked my email for the first time in about a week, eeep! 17 outstanding messages. Better get on that. I finished the finished the chunky chevron scarf and am pleased with how it turned out. Tis nice to feel like I've finished something. I also blocked the first sleeve - an accomplishment for me since I've never blocked lace before (see pictures below) . I also managed to iron 16 shirts and now have no ironing left in the pile. Yay me! Whoo h&lt;span style="font-size:0;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;oo! It hasn't been like that in over 2 months! I also managed to tidy up a bit, and wrote this. So there it is. Hmm. Looking upon this list it seems I've been busier than I thought, but busy doing very little. I need to reconnect with girlfriends and reconnect soon. This coming weekend I may be up in Kelowna with friends, close to the &lt;a href="http://www.graymonk.com/"&gt;Grey Monk Winery&lt;/a&gt; and then the following week with family on the island, &lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rq6CyHg-MNI/AAAAAAAAABU/4FMD1MGQURQ/s1600-h/IMG_0661.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093152026125021394" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rq6CyHg-MNI/AAAAAAAAABU/4FMD1MGQURQ/s320/IMG_0661.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;but I needs me some girlfriend time. &lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rq6B8Xg-MLI/AAAAAAAAABE/pPhOmCMt8Kc/s1600-h/IMG_0660.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093151102707052722" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rq6B8Xg-MLI/AAAAAAAAABE/pPhOmCMt8Kc/s320/IMG_0660.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-7808214594810407515?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/7808214594810407515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=7808214594810407515' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/7808214594810407515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/7808214594810407515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_07_01_archive.html#7808214594810407515' title='Colourway du sloth'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rq6Cyng-MOI/AAAAAAAAABc/ACJIAZ6WDdQ/s72-c/IMG_0640.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-5883535236008664635</id><published>2007-07-24T14:55:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-24T15:41:28.366-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Momentary Madness before the Dawn</title><content type='html'>Yesterday marked a celebration of sorts. I began the morning with a paper nearly complete - really only final edits and a conclusion to go. By 1 in the afternoon-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ish&lt;/span&gt;, I was on my way to drop it off along with the blasted reference books which did little else than give my arms a workout. So much for my strategy of finding basic information in one place. I dropped it off, not into my professors hands (which would have been much more reassuring) but into a folder in a filing cabinet in an obscure mail room in the same building as my class. I didn't even pull out the folder myself, because a classmate was in the room when I got there and had just put her paper inside. Now, normally I'd check everything over, being "anal type-A" from time to time. I'd normally check the folder, check my name, check the presence of the paper in the envelope, check the folder again, check the drawer, check the names of others' papers in the folder, and basically spend a whole lot longer than necessary. I much prefer giving it to a prof, because if the prof loses the damn thing, I'm not accountable. I think, though, by the time I dropped the damn thing off this time I was feeling like an inpatient 5 year old in the department store with mom "Are we DONE yet?" "Can we GO NOW?" So, in the folder (I think) it went, into the correct (I think) drawer, and now I'm done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To celebrate, I first managed something non-school on my to-do list: renew the drivers &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;licence&lt;/span&gt;. Now, I had assumed based on relatively recent experiences in the passport line, that I'd be there a while. However, the only person in front of me was the young, skinny, over-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;fragranced&lt;/span&gt; eastern European woman who just entered the door before I did. I almost had to stop, actually. Her perfume was tangibly heavy, like a wall of molasses syrup. She was holding up the line, trying to tell the woman at the front responsible for assigning line numbers about the reason &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;why&lt;/span&gt; she couldn't wait, and assaulting me with fragrance so heavy, I could taste in on the back of my tongue. I felt an insane impulse to wipe my tongue off on the nearest tissue. Bleach. She was dressed, well, much more attractively than I was, and for a moment, felt completely dumpy. I mean, here I was in flip flops, comfy jeans, loose tweedy favourite sweater (specifically selected such that it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;camouflages&lt;/span&gt; all cat hair), no makeup and wet hair in a braid. There she was in calf-high silvery strap up heel sandals, size zero black knee-length a-line skirt with 3/4 inch tulle trim (no cat-hair to be seen by the way - ANYWHERE), tight fitting dressy black t-shirt and perfectly coiffed ringlets dyed a modern shade of red. For a moment (or two) I felt fat, dowdy, unattractive, and well, lets face it, worthless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yup, the self-esteem demon raised its ugly head. Yeah, go figure. I mean, I'm almost 30, a role model for teenage girls (in theory anyhow), well-educated, financially stable, not completely unattractive, in a very happy marriage and yet I still play the "compare game." And the problem is, I set myself up for a game that I almost always lose. I don't get it. Why do I do that to myself. But then I thunk and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;re-thunk&lt;/span&gt; my position. First of all, my body is what it is - almost identical to my paternal grandmother's body type. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Furthermore&lt;/span&gt;, I like food. No, scratch that. I LOVE food when its prepared well, and my husband is no mean chef. Even more, I don't like exercise. I know, runners high, love the burn, blah blah blah. I just find the gym to BORING! And yeah, I know you can read while you bike or whatever, but not the way I like to read. To dive in, to immerse, to enter a new place. I'm half focused on not falling off the damn bike and half focused on not smacking the silly women beside me who'd having an utterly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;inane&lt;/span&gt;, high decibel, cellphone conversation with her girlfriend about how Judge Judy needs a makeover. So my body is a result of the choices &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;I've&lt;/span&gt; made and make, and quite frankly, I enjoyed making those choices. Secondly, why the hell am I basing my value on how I look?!? How I look isn't who I am - a part of it, sure, because how we construct our image is a form of communication to other. The part of us we'd like them to see. (And don't start yapping about how you don't care what others think about your appearance because if you care enough to argue with me, you care enough to think about it and answer me. And if you don't care, then why did you take a shower today anyhow if you weren't particularly dirty, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;hmmm&lt;/span&gt;?) Anyhow, I'm not just who I look like, and besides, I AM some of those qualities I communicate to others &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;through&lt;/span&gt; my appearance. Practical, comfortable, approachable, friendly, safe...you know...the person the tourist always approaches to take the picture. I may not be shaped like a supermodel, or even a Sears catalogue model for that matter. But I am who I am. And I LIKE who I am. Well, for the most part.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RqZ9Bng-MKI/AAAAAAAAAA8/JU7_qSrMfes/s1600-h/photo4_ratatouille.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090893895529541794" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RqZ9Bng-MKI/AAAAAAAAAA8/JU7_qSrMfes/s200/photo4_ratatouille.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So there it was. Screw that. I have summer vacation to plunge into and I'm not about to start it feeling like crap. Besides, my mom thinks I'm pretty and my husband thinks I'm beautiful, and that's enough for me. To celebrate my school freedom, we saw Ratatouille and ate popcorn (with butter) and soda (non-diet) for dinner. Dragged in a few parts, but about on par with Cars for overall enjoyment. Besides I'm SO excited about visiting London and Paris in a month and the animated scenes of Paris in this movie were inspiring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, knitting calls. Almost done the sleeves. Then I can clean the bathrooms (and trust me, they need doing after 3 weeks of total school immersion) and start Harry Potter. I'm a little reluctant to start because I know I won't stop once I do, and then it will be done. Finished.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-5883535236008664635?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/5883535236008664635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=5883535236008664635' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/5883535236008664635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/5883535236008664635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_07_01_archive.html#5883535236008664635' title='Momentary Madness before the Dawn'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RqZ9Bng-MKI/AAAAAAAAAA8/JU7_qSrMfes/s72-c/photo4_ratatouille.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-7667536544330299189</id><published>2007-07-22T23:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-23T12:01:54.202-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='procrastination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='knit in progress'/><title type='text'>Grrr</title><content type='html'>Can't seem to get this freaking progress bar to work. I know nothing about HTML but I should be able to follow directions from someone else. Nice, numerical directions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a more positive note, paper's almost done. Just the conclusion to write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, a few more hours slog tomorrow, then up to UBC, then off to the motor vehicle branch to renew my license.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;EDIT&lt;/span&gt;: ooh...found working html code. Nevermind. Though the paper's still not done. Ahem.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-7667536544330299189?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/7667536544330299189/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=7667536544330299189' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/7667536544330299189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/7667536544330299189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_07_01_archive.html#7667536544330299189' title='Grrr'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-946437661122094728</id><published>2007-07-22T16:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-22T17:02:38.212-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kleenex anyone?</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I wonder how many other women my age still cry at cheesy made for TV movies.  Scratch that...sometimes I even cry (particularly when I'm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;PMSy&lt;/span&gt;) after seeing overly sentimental commercials.  Then I second guess myself for condemning my crying.  I dunno - my dad always gave me grief about being weepy like my grandmother, but methinks it may be related to men of his generation being &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;uncomfortable&lt;/span&gt; with expressing emotions.  Then again, crying over a predictable made-for-TV movie?  Crying at the end of 1 hour family dramas?  TV commercials?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;wait a second, what am I doing watching made for TV movies anyhow?  My paper still isn't done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crap...now there's a reason to cry.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-946437661122094728?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/946437661122094728/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=946437661122094728' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/946437661122094728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/946437661122094728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_07_01_archive.html#946437661122094728' title='Kleenex anyone?'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-5234104754514998586</id><published>2007-07-21T16:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-23T12:01:31.959-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='procrastination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='knit in progress'/><title type='text'>Deny deny deny</title><content type='html'>That's it. I now have a 24 hour self-imposed deadline in which I must finish cranking out 8 pages of the "Relevance of Morals in Existential Psychotherapy." Though to finish, I suppose I must begin. You know, I was excited about this topic at the beginning and I have lots of ideas in germination, but there seems to be significant mental blockage in firstly planning a coherent and interesting structure with tidy borders and meaningful blocks of colour and texture and secondly actually planting the ideas into a limited 8 pages of space.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd much rather give an oral presentation right about now. You know, open my mouth, and hope the ideas knit themselves together into some kind of organized argument. Sort of....verbal fertilizer from my compost heap of ideas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far, in my fermenting pile of paper &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;progress&lt;/span&gt;, I have accumulated 4 pages of referenced but unorganized key concepts I'd like to include, 6 books and 15-odd papers, and 3 pages of single spaced draft work. However, I've managed to do this in 2 weeks - an over abundance of time as far as I'm concerned. My well meaning prof extended the deadline for this paper from Friday to Monday, and then dropped oh so casually that he wouldn't likely to be in to pick up said papers until Noon on Tuesday. So really, I have no need to begin until Monday at about 9 am. I'm pretty sure given enough strain and duress that I could produce the 2000-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ish&lt;/span&gt; words in that time frame. However, the longer I delay, the longer I will dwell, and so I've set limits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lets rewind a bit and review my progress:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;Things I am not allowed to do until my paper is finished Draft #1&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Purchase Harry Potter #7&lt;br /&gt;Read Harry Potter #7&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;Actions completed unrelated to paper:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;em&gt;Read 30 pages of book club book&lt;br /&gt;Knitted 2 more inches of &lt;/em&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.interweaveknits.com/Galleries/bonus/spring_2007/dollar.asp"&gt;&lt;em&gt;sleeve&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watched 3 movies on the Turner Classic Movies Channel&lt;br /&gt;Look up weather on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt; to find out whether &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/http//www.campmoombayogathon.com/"&gt;yogathon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; fundraiser is still happening in the rain&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hm....this list seems to be completely &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;unsuccessful&lt;/span&gt; at motivating a enthusiastic beginning. In fact, I seem to be in total denial that I actually have to get anything done. Lets try again:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;Things I am not allowed to do until my paper is finished &lt;strong&gt;Draft #2&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Purchase Harry Potter #7&lt;br /&gt;Read Harry Potter #7&lt;br /&gt;Attend &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;yogathon&lt;/span&gt; fundraiser&lt;br /&gt;Watch television at all&lt;br /&gt;Read fiction&lt;br /&gt;Knit (and this is a meaningful limit)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;Actions completed unrelated to paper:&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RqKZ83g-MJI/AAAAAAAAAA0/fOgyS7-lsOY/s1600-h/IMG_0090.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089799799855526034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RqKZ83g-MJI/AAAAAAAAAA0/fOgyS7-lsOY/s320/IMG_0090.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;em&gt;Pestered cats. (see photo)&lt;br /&gt;Read 92 pages of &lt;/em&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.calamityphysics.com/main.htm"&gt;&lt;em&gt;book club book&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;em&gt; (apparently I wasn't taking myself seriously)&lt;br /&gt;Read knitting reference guides about blocking sleeve&lt;br /&gt;Talked with dad and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;stepmom&lt;/span&gt; on phone&lt;br /&gt;Searched for knitting groups online&lt;br /&gt;Made and drank extra coffee&lt;br /&gt;Bugged Aaron&lt;br /&gt;Started blog posting&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Hmm&lt;/span&gt;...seems to be an inverse relationship between number of limits and paper-completion related activity. Lets try a final draft&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;Things I am not allowed to do until my paper is finished Draft #3&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Purchase Harry Potter #7&lt;br /&gt;Read Harry Potter #7&lt;br /&gt;Attend &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;yogathon&lt;/span&gt; fundraiser&lt;br /&gt;Watch television at all&lt;br /&gt;Read fiction (SERIOUSLY THIS TIME)&lt;br /&gt;Read anything on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt; unrelated to paper&lt;br /&gt;Knit (and this is a meaningful limit) or do &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;anything&lt;/span&gt; knitting related&lt;br /&gt;Notice cats unless they are dying or breaking something&lt;br /&gt;Notice spouse unless he is bringing me presents (come on, I have to have some kind of out)&lt;br /&gt;Leave office unless I have to pee&lt;br /&gt;Drink anything other than tap water unless husband has brought it as a present (see above)&lt;br /&gt;Answer the phone. scratch that - too open. USE the phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really need to get this thing done.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-5234104754514998586?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/5234104754514998586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=5234104754514998586' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/5234104754514998586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/5234104754514998586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_07_01_archive.html#5234104754514998586' title='Deny deny deny'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/RqKZ83g-MJI/AAAAAAAAAA0/fOgyS7-lsOY/s72-c/IMG_0090.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-8537362748409615156</id><published>2007-07-19T10:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-19T17:05:05.174-07:00</updated><title type='text'>To sleep, perchance to read</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-iYMGsNKI/AAAAAAAAAAs/DD1ibOYMCXc/s1600-h/IMG_0639.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088964640401798306" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-iYMGsNKI/AAAAAAAAAAs/DD1ibOYMCXc/s200/IMG_0639.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Gah - I have to leave for school in an hour and a half, I have a midterm/quiz that I haven't studied for and thought I tried to study this morning, I took a nap instead. I should be nourishing the overgrown jungle that is my mind, yet I chose to feed my abandoned ruin of a body (and cracked-earth soul too). There's something emotionally satisfying about napping with a cuddly cat. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;OK, out of the house, away to the local coffee shop I go, attempting for a final time to absorb half a textbook in 90 minutes. Cue flight of the bumble bee. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-8537362748409615156?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/8537362748409615156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=8537362748409615156' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/8537362748409615156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/8537362748409615156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_07_01_archive.html#8537362748409615156' title='To sleep, perchance to read'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-iYMGsNKI/AAAAAAAAAAs/DD1ibOYMCXc/s72-c/IMG_0639.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-3293785298158942025</id><published>2007-07-18T10:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-18T10:34:13.494-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='neutrality'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sounding board'/><title type='text'>Uncommon sense</title><content type='html'>"I'm staying out of this one."  "I'm not getting involved."  "I'm going neutral here."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it possible to ever be truly neutral?  By not taking a position in a dilemma, I would argue that you are not being neutral because you've made a choice to not be involved.  By not engaging in a relevant problem, you express a moral opinion about your value of staying ambivalent.  Humans are by nature moral agents and our actions and choices (and yes, not making a choice still involves a choice - don't get me started on that one) enact those morals, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;regardless&lt;/span&gt; of whether we want to or not. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For example,  lets say a friend asks your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;opinion&lt;/span&gt; on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;whether&lt;/span&gt; or not she should turn in a sum of cash that she encountered while walking in a busy public area.  She's had varying opinions and now asks for yours.  If you reply "Just do what you think is right," or "Do what is in your heart," because you don't want to influence your friend, I say that you are doing her a disservice.  If your friend is in a true moral dilemma and is struggling with a choice which is causing her real discomfort, then as a friend, is it right to offer her nothing? I would argue that instead, you could b&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;egin&lt;/span&gt; by stating "Though no one but you can ultimately decide your actions, and I do not wish to be responsible for your actions, but this is what I think..." then you have a) been honest and genuine about your fear of responsibility for the consequences that might stem from this choice and yet you have b) still offered your friend support by expressing an opinion.  Is it possible that by hearing one side, then your friend will have an opportunity to form her view by freely agreeing or disagreeing with your viewpoint? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Use your common sense" I think is perhaps the worst counter of all.  There is no such thing as common sense - our view of reality is subjective and different, filled with cultural connotations. What may be common to you is not common for everyone.  What is morally right for you may not be right for someone else.  By not offering a viewpoint, but telling somoeone to "do what makes sense" you ironically impose a view that assumes an arrogant stance that your reality should be a common one.  Perhaps we need to start thinking with uncommon sense, rather than common sense.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-3293785298158942025?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/3293785298158942025/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=3293785298158942025' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/3293785298158942025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/3293785298158942025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_07_01_archive.html#3293785298158942025' title='Uncommon sense'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8791869008381472536.post-6166252501210665764</id><published>2007-07-17T10:47:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-19T10:36:12.169-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='procrastination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='knit in progress'/><title type='text'>Procrastination</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s1600-h/self+portrait+-+small.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So here I sit, a copy of Ashman &amp; Winstanley's article entitled "Business ethics and existentialism" before me. And what do I do? Actually read it and use the ideas contained within to work on my paper (due by the way, in less than a week)? No, oh no. Rather, I begin yet another blog in which I will likely write for a while and then delete. Ironic, no, that my focus these days has been on the nature of morality within existentialism?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;According to Sartre, we all have the freedom to chose, yet within that choice comes the responsibility to authentically act and live and be, and take the responsibility for those actions. It is right that I subject any who might stumble across this blog with a confusing skein of mental perturbations? Perhaps, like several other disorders, fellow procrastinators may come across this blog which will act as a trigger and initiate their own procrastinating behaviour tendencies? As we make a choice, according to existential thought, we don't merely make it for ourselves, but we make it for all. Because by nature, we are interconnected beings and we yearn for a sense of relation to others to overcome the angst of the inevitability of death. So perhaps this is just an enactment for that existential longing for connectedness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps this is a bunch of crap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here's been by latest forays into procrastination. Actually, let me digress. I've been engulphed for the last 2.5 weeks in a sea of counselling theories. I, for a variety of reasons, am taking courses over my summer holidays and needed to take a survey course on various theories of counselling and psychotherapy. Its an intense process: 3 hours per day of class, 6 hours per day of reading and homework. My life has been little but read, highlight, bus, listen, write, read, bus, read, write, highlight for the last 3 weeks. I've put myself under considerable pressure to succeed - I may want to use this course as a prerequisite for a masters degree, so I'd like to do well. However, my eczema's resurfaced and last night, I woke up at 3 am convinced that mosquitoes were sucking out every drop of blood I had to spare. Turns out they were hives, because after an hour of sleeplessness, they disappeared. No bites - hives only. Sigh... So in dealing with this inordinate amount of self-imposed work, I've spend some time lately working on procrastination. What have I been doing.... lets see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp0FWcGsNGI/AAAAAAAAAAM/kzR-0gKqo90/s1600-h/IMG_0624.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088229037058045026" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp0FWcGsNGI/AAAAAAAAAAM/kzR-0gKqo90/s320/IMG_0624.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Well, there's of course the knitting:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm currently working on a sleeve for the "one Dollar Cardigan" in IK Spring 2007. Lovely undyed alpaca.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's coffee. I always have time to grind fresh beans, fill the press, and consume copious amounts of caffeine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's facebook - the eternal time suck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's free concerts given by the VSO at Deer Lake Park in Burnaby. Much more fun than deconstructing feminist psychotherapy. See?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp0HQcGsNHI/AAAAAAAAAAU/W3lbe-iuMrM/s1600-h/IMG_0629.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088231133002085490" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp0HQcGsNHI/AAAAAAAAAAU/W3lbe-iuMrM/s200/IMG_0629.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; (I think this is during William's Star Wars Suite)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp0H6cGsNII/AAAAAAAAAAc/I7uMVJUnGJc/s1600-h/IMG_0630.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088231854556591234" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp0H6cGsNII/AAAAAAAAAAc/I7uMVJUnGJc/s320/IMG_0630.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though why people would fight through a crowd of thousands for a patch of grass and a limited view corridor only to TALK through the whole concert on a cell phone, and subject everyone else to their conversation in the process is beyond the scope of my understanding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Procrastination seems to be my vice and my savior. In once sense, it prevents me from accomplishing things I really should do. In another, it keeps me whole and sane. So here I sit, poised in the precipice of tumbling into a muppet-show inspired Animal-like meltdown, blogging.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8791869008381472536-6166252501210665764?l=prempel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/feeds/6166252501210665764/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8791869008381472536&amp;postID=6166252501210665764' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/6166252501210665764'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8791869008381472536/posts/default/6166252501210665764'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://prempel.blogspot.com/2007_07_01_archive.html#6166252501210665764' title='Procrastination'/><author><name>Petra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03860307315719734793</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp-gecGsNJI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Aq4YPGy7Y9g/s320/self+portrait+-+small.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_i3vHOUlerU4/Rp0FWcGsNGI/AAAAAAAAAAM/kzR-0gKqo90/s72-c/IMG_0624.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
