It's fitting, really, that someone using the name “Moonness” posted this. It's not really a survey, more a quiz.

First, go here and find out what phase the moon was in when you were born.

Then, go here and find out how 'your' moon-phase influenced your life.

My results: I was born on 17 August 1970, the day after a full moon, so even though the full moon was visible, I'm technically influenced by the waning moon:

The DISSEMINATING MOON phase is the FRUIT of the plant’s cycle, the fruits of wisdom and experience. If you were born during the disseminating moon phase, your life must have purpose and meaning. You enjoy sharing your beliefs and ideas with others, and are a teacher. This large moon is visible in the sky from when she rises mid evening until when she sets midmorning.

Not sure how accurate this is, but fun to do, anyway.

So, I've had four days off in a row, and did I do anything enormously productive? Did I start my novel, or even finish folding the laundry that has accumulated o the couch in the computer room? No.

In truth between allergies and general not-feeling-well, I spent much of the time sleeping, or reading. And really, I have no regrets, because they were my four days, and while I love Fuzzy more than life, I rarely get four days of alone-time in a month.

I did clean the kitchen, top to bottom – even the top of the fridge, which admittedly, I tend to overlook because I can't see that high. And I did send the RSVP for a friend's wedding in Minneapolis in July. And returned half the stack of NetFlix movies I had on my desk.

And while part of me likes this regular paycheck thing, the bigger part of me really doesn't want to go back to the office tomorrow morning. I want to stay home and play.

Fuzzy called at midnight EDT to tell me that he wasn't feeling well. He always gets sick when he travels, and I always worry. And the bed's too big, even though we kid that he's only allowed about an eigth of it.

And I'm whining horribly so I'll end this now, with apologies.

My summer reading mindset has kicked in, and I've been plowing through books, especially today, when it was too hot to be in the computer room. (Note so self. Do not forget to call a/c installer on Wednesday.)

So, this is what I've read since the last time I remembered to post a reading report. Not the frightful lack of fantasy. Nothing's gripped me lately, I guess.

A Natural History of the Senses, by Diane Ackerman. left a sweet note about this book on one of my entries, and while I've just begun to read this book, I have to say that if ever I write half as vividly as Ms. Ackerman, I'll be extremely happy.

Cranberry Queen, by Kathleen De Marco. It's about relationships breaking up, and healing after. Fiction, of course, but depressing.

Sullivan's Island, by Dorothy Benton Frank. One of my many 'beach novels', and in keeping with a recurring theme in my summer reading over the year, it takes place in the South Carolina Lowcountry. (This is a region I'm much enamoured with, though I have no idea why.) After I started this, I realized I had a copy already, but had never finished it. Now I have.

Sophie's World, by Jostein Gaarder. Surreal in an Alice in Wonderland sort of way. Midway through the book the story does a flip-flop and you find out the character you think is the 'real' protagonist, is really a character in a book someone else is reading. In addition to being a great story, this book is also a sort of “Philosophy 101” in a fictional format.

The Matter of Grace by Jessica Barksdale Inclan. Give this book to your mother. She's old enough to appreciate it on another level. This is depressing in places, too, but it's also a nice presentation of women's friendships. It made me wish, really, that I wasn't so painfully shy until I was warmed up, and that I was better at having women friends.

Last Chance Saloon, by Marian Keyes. I started this a week ago, then got distracted, then re-started it. The only problem I had with it was that I watched The Diary of Bridget Jones while I was half-way through the book, and the characters became mixed up in my head. That this book is also about British thirty-somethings and their relationships didn't help the confusion. Still, I'd recommend it.

The Beach House, by Mary Alice Monroe. (What is it about Southern women and using their middle names? Not that I don't like it, but my middle name only ever got used when I was about to be punished for something.) Another Lowcountry novel, this time very much about mothers and daughters. One of the sub-plots involves turtle conservation.

Dog Handling, by Clare Naylor. Another “young English women in relationships” novel, except that this one takes place in Australia. Fabulously funny.

Nora, Nora, by Anne Rivers Siddons. I thought I'd read all of her books, but then I saw this on the bargain table. I just started it.

Gift of a Letter, by Alexandra Stoddard. I'm re-reading this for the umpteenth time, because I love writing letters – and I mean on paper, not email – and this book always reminds me of why.

The Accidental Tourist, by Anne Tyler. I still haven't sent this to Editor Plus @ OD. But I did enjoy rediscovering this piece. Somewhat eerily, the movie was playing on cable the weekend I finished reading it.

Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood and Little Altars Everywhere, both by Rebecca Wells. I've just re-read both of these as well. If you haven't read them yet, read Altars first, and finish with the other. I really want to see the movie. Maybe this weekend.

I'm now desperate for more to read, and so am begging for more suggestions. Please???

“I'm feeling lost and pathetic,” I told and earlier today. “Fuzzy hasn't even been gone for 24 hours, and I miss him, and want him home.” I was told that experiences similar feelings when the SO is away, and in response to that I said, “Well, maybe I should write about nesting.”

~***~
Nuances of Nesting

1) Contrary to popular opinion, nesting can be done outside. If the day is sunny, and the weather sufficiently warm, a stack of books, a comfy lounge chair, and a glass of iced tea (or margaritas), can become a perfectly delightful nest. After all, nesting is more a mindset than a location.

2) Comfort foods are essential. While your nesting experience may be enhanced if you have 'theme' snacks, anything that is comforting to you is acceptable. Examples include the conventional ice cream (generally eaten directly from the container, especially when you are combining nesting with wallowing), the nostalgic peanut butter and banana sandwich, and the daring – one might even say eccentric – cream cheese and liverwurst on rye bread. Should fast food be more to your taste, nesting connoisseurs recommend such things as pizza, Chinese take-out, and Stouffer's Macaroni & Cheese.

3) The stack of books alluded to in point 1 is also a vital part of nesting. Your reading matter should be light, warm, and full of whimsy. Romances, fantasy, and other such mind candy are good choices. Home decorating magazines are another popular option. Also on the a-list are such novels as Last Chance Saloon and Bridget Jones's Diary.

4) Should reading not be a comforting activity for you, it is suggested that you turn to movies. Again, the range of options is huge, and encompasses everything from the quirky-yet-sexy Better Than Chocolate to the trendy-yet-funny Bridget Jones's Diary, to such films as Message in a Bottle, The Love Letter, Practical Magic, and perennial favorite Ever After.

5) Nesting attire should be soft, comfortable lounge-wear. Serious nesters tend to go bra-less, and are known for curling up on the couch, or amidst a pile of pillows on a bed, wearing a baggy t-shirt, old sweatpants, and athletic socks. The sweatpants are optional, of course, should summer heat make heavy clothing unwise. An alternative to sweats is to stay in pajamas all day, but this choice is not recommended to anyone with a strong work-ethic, who needs to justify themselves by counting 'getting dressed' as requisite productivity.

6) Hair, if long, should be gathered into a pony-tail, preferably with an obnoxiously colored scrunchie. Braids, or a pair of pony-tails (aka “bunches”) are less popular, but equally efficient. In the absense of hair-paraphernalia, leaving it loose and hanging is also acceptable. Short hair, of course, requires no special treatment. Brushing is entirely optional.

7) When possible, it is preferable to invite small furry pets to share your nesting experience. By cuddling with a small dog or cat, or even a ferret, you gain the advantage of unconditional love, without the disadvantage of being required to converse. Pets, therefore, are essential to a successful nesting experience.

Any questions?

…but I'm waiting for Fuzzy. I suspect if I waited an day, or an hour, all answers would change.

I'm exceptionally artistic!

Find your soul type at kelly.moranweb.com.

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Find your emotion!

It's nearly three am, and while I could use the excuse that I'm up this late solely to leave a wee-hours witticism in [em I am]'s OD, the truth is that I'm too tired to sleep.

Am I the only person who gets this way?

When I stumbled into the house at 10:00, after a long day at work (productive, but too long), I could easily have slept the night through, if I'd just gone directly to bed. But I didn't do that. Instead, I checked email, chatted with a couple friends, checked MUSH-mail, thought about RPing (decided I was too brain-dead to be coherent), made a late-late dinner and got wrapped up in watching The Patriot on DVD with Fuzzy, and now am sitting here after reading a chapter of a novel called Last Chance Saloon while in the bathroom. (Hey, at least I multi-task.)

And now I'm sitting here, babbling to an online journal that probably no one will read anyway, and wondering if I am, in fact, a note whore, or if I'm just in a deadly dull period.

(As I wrote that last paragraph, I suddenly flashed on the Doldrums section of The Phantom Tollbooth)

Things I accomplished today:
-Submitted two loans
-Submitted conditions on two other loans
-Ordered docs on three loans
-Called out an approval on the purchase loan for my own client
-Sent 17 appraisals to the borrowers who paid for them, as their loans have closed.
-Watched a movie we rented from Netflix.com over eight weeks ago.
-Learned that Zorro and Cleo are just as fond of lime tostitos as I am.
-Fed-ex'd the bank draft for the rental house in France to the homeowners, in England.
-Received the funding check on my very first loan origination.

Things I need to do tomorrow:
-Submit, submit, submit (Loans. Submit Loans.)
-Laundry. Especially as Fuzzy's leaving at dawn on Saturday, and is out of whites.
-Reserve a car for him in Toronto (I'm not sure why this is my job, but apparently, it is.)
-Cancel the dog sitter, and arrange, instead, for regular service where she walks both dogs during the afternoon 2x/week, since we're working insane hours and can't, always.
-Order the books my mother asked me to order two weeks ago. Not that there's a rush. She won't be here till July.
-Pick up the book I special-ordered at B&N (Thanks to for the recommendation)
-Mail a long overdue Book Group book to Editor Plus
-Set up a new server at the office, because the machine currently acting as server is dying a painful death.
-RP, if I get home early enough
-Send a birthday present to Moonness@OD
-Breathe

But I need to sleep in order to have the energy to do anything, and I should've slept last night, but was up till four because I was wired, even though I was exhausted. I've cut way back on caffeine, and I'm trying to avoid antihistamines, and still I'm not sleeping in hours that were normal for me.

Actually, this morning, both Fuzzy and I slept through the alarm, which is – pardon the pun – alarming, because that thing can be heard blocks away. Usually.

*sigh*

I think I'm back in the sleep zone. I'm going to go find out.

Sweet dreams? I'll let you know.

Not for me anyway.

My workload is such that I'm not going tag along with when he leaves on Saturday after all. But it's not all bad, really. For one, I'll have a weekend to putter in the garden, which I've been meaning to do, and never gotten around to. So I can do things like clean the grill and the hot tub, and stuff.

And then, I'm still taking a summer vacation. A friend of Fuzzy's from college told us over the weekend that he's getting married July 5th in Minneapolis, and really, if I'm going to have vacation time, I'd rather miss work for a friend's wedding than a business trip. Besides, one of my dreams has been to spend a night at the Nicolette Island Inn, so maybe we'll get to do that, this time.

*sigh*

Work's insane. It's a good kind of insane. And I really like the guys I work with, but I sort of miss being able to MUSH in the afternoons, and I can't do much more than lurk right now, and I /hate/ lurking.

Oh, well.
Time to do a Good Faith Estimate for a guy in Southern California.

So, the weekend began on an up-note. I got to leave work at a decent hour, and we went home, and had dinner, and then Fuzzy had to go back to work. Ugh. He so doesn't get paid what he deserves for this job.

Saturday we were lazy, staying in bed until the disgustingly indulgent hour of 4:00 PM. Then we showered and did some shopping. Fry's again, because Fuzzy's Vaio came down in price by $100, and because I'd promised to buy transfer paper for my mother, and DHL it to Baja Sur. Oh, fun. Then B&N for music and movies. Harry Potter, Hitchhiker's Guide, and The Mists of Avalon on DVD, and an Anita Baker cd for my stepfather. Every time I send them stuff I wonder if other people stretch the definition of 'documents' to include 'cd's' on their customs forms.

Sunday was lazy, too, though we did go out. I bough a pair of black and blue plaid pants last week, and after they were washed to remove the sizing, I realized they're as soft as my new purple pima cotton sheets, so today I bought two more pairs (well they were buy one, get one for half, so how could I resist?) in other colors. Then we drove to Blossom Hill so Fuzzy could look at Gateway laptops. I was not impressed by the clarity of the video at all. The Sony's may not have floppy drives, but the video is damned impressive. Somewhat ironically, we ended up answering questions for other shoppers. Frightening that even though neither of us has been a Gateway employee since 1998, we still know their products better than the sales folks. And we didn't even do notebook support!

But I felt queasy all day, and tonight, shortly after Fuzzy had to go into the office at 1 AM, queasy became actually sick. I'll spare any readers the details. I just emailed work and said I wasn't coming in. I'm thinking of not going to Toronto, but then I'm thinking, you know, I work more hours than any of them, I deserve it.

On the up-side, we did have a nice walk with the dogs this evening, and Cleo is doing wonderful recalls, even without food rewards. And we got to have a late lunch/early dinner at Willow Street, where King Raffi from Mix 106.5 was at the next table. The dogs enjoyed the leftover burger with melted gorgonzola that Fuzzy didn't finish, too.

So, it's 5:30, and I just whined to Fuzzy that I need something carbonated to settle my stomach – the only soda we generally have in the house is his noxious orange stuff, which glows in the dark. Well, it doesn't. But it should. (It also tastes like liquid pop rocks, and he drinks it warm. Ugh.)

I have to remember to call the kennel, reserve a car for Toronto, and tell the water folks to skip a cycle and just deliver bottled mineral water. And I need to try to sleep.

*sigh*

It's just acouple minutes before two in the morning, and instead of sleeping, which my eyes are telling me I should be doing, I just finished downloading Trillian, because I'm really tired of having eight thousand different messaging icons and this way I only need one. Simple is good, and this seems to work, at least with ICQ and Yahoo! which are the two I use most frequently. At work, we're all on AIM, but all but one of us has a spiffy Nextel phone, so we use the radio features, like kids playing with walkie-talkies. We could use the intercoms built into the phone system, but that wouldn't be much fun.

* * * * *

This weekend we, well I, gave Cleo-dog a pink plush alien toy because we went out to buy stuff, and blatantly forgot to bring our barking bitch a new toy to keep her quiet. Tonight she decided that merely carrying around the now-disemboweled carcass of the thing wasn't enough, and she needed to play tug with it.

So I grabbed, and she started doing the Doggie Death Shake on her end, cuz, a pink plush alien is meant to be 'killed' over and over and over, after all. And then there was this hideous *rrrrrippppp* and the alien doll was missing a leg and an arm. I'm hoping the parts don't decide to spontaneously breed.

[HazeyDaze] posted an entry about Memorial Day that mentioned a co-worker's search for Olallieberry Pie, and it's made me think about how much that dessert has come to mean summer to me.

The first time I ever had it was in 1990, when Santa Cruz was just beginning to recover from the Loma Prieta quake. My friend Jen and I had joined my mother and her friend Diane for a chicks day at the beach, and we spent a lazy hour at an outdoor table chattering and eating pie, and drinking iced lattes.

Later, as Jen and I walked along in our USF t-shirts, one of the local homeless guys stopped us, not to beg for a handout, but to ask what USF stood for. Giddy from sugar and a summer day, we challenged him to make something up.

“Unique Short Females,” he suggested, and we giggled, more because the situation was amusing, than for any other reason. And because both Jen and I top out at five feet tall. “Up Standing Flirts,” he added, then shook his head, “Naah. It must be Union of Soap-bubble Fillers,” he decided, and because we appreciated the absurdity of that definition, we agreed. We chatted a bit, asked if he'd lost anything in the quake the previous fall, etc. And as we walked away, he called, “Tell Father Lo **** says hey.” He was referring to Father Lo Sciavo, of University of San Francisco, which is, of course, what the letters emblazoned on our t-shirts really meant.

Since then this uniquely northern California treat has become a sort of summer ritual. My favorite way to eat it is slightly warmer than room temperature, like a sun-ripened berry, and garnished with a scoop of coffee ice cream. Not vanilla. There's something about the creamy bitter-sweet-ness of coffee that makes the essence of olallieberry dance on the tongue.

We haven't been over the hill to Santa Cruz in a while, and the last time we were there we had the dogs, so didn't wander, didn't eat pie. Perhaps after the Toronto trip, if Fuzzy can break away from work long enough, we'll make our personal pilgrimage, and sit at the cafe near Bookshop Santa Cruz, and worship purple berries and cold ice cream on a hot summer's day.