And now, a poem entitled "Stopping Up Sinks on a Snowy Evening." I wrote it for the office kitchen area, but when I read it to Rob he stopped me after the first stanza and grumbled, "I was going to get to the dishes." Methinks he felt a tad guilty, what what. :)


Whose dish this is, I think I know
His butt’s not in the kitchen, though;
He will not see it fester here
Nor watch the grey-green fungi grow.

The dishwashing machine so near
Waits to feel some dirty-dish cheer.
Between the sink and microwave,
The loneliest machine of all.

Two side-steps is all it would take
For others’ sanity not to break.
If only into it we peep
And out of it clean dishes take.

The sink is noisome, dark and deep.
And we, too busy for its upkeep,
Yet it must be clean before we sleep,
Yet it must be clean before we sleep.

- by Tracy, who greatly admires Robert Frost and apologizes for trying to come up with a poem that includes dishwashers and microwaves.

One thing I hate is when I find notes I wrote a long time ago and now I can't remember where I got the information from. :(

In preparation for the walk-through by two prospective real estate agents looking to push our property, I cleared off a pile of papers and found buried within it a list of Greek clothing options that I remember jotting down after reviewing a book on Greek clothes and costumes.

Unfortunately, despite making a cute little drawing to remind me exactly what a kyne is (one of those helmets with a crest of feathers bisecting front to back), I neglected to jot down the name of the actual publication this stuff came from. Argh!

Now I can't seem to find any information on tarentine, which according to my notes is "females - thin, sheer white fabric" to know whether this is an article of clothing or a description of a type of cloth.

Well, I'll just go pull on my anaxyrides (loose, baggy pants), theristrion (a light veil or cloak) and some cothuroi (elevator shoes) and wander to the library again someday, hoping to find this same book.

I went to a training session at lunch. Boxed sandwiches with cookies and a bag of chips, plus soft drinks were provided. The room was set up in classroom style, with rows of chairs facing the whiteboard at the front.

After work, there'll be a "wine social" for the paralegal association that I'll be attending. As newsletter editor and secretary-elect, I have to go to these things and glad-hand around the room. Since I'm working all day and going to the social directly from here, I'm wearing one of these outfits that supposedly allows one to transition from day to night with ease: black capri pants, a tan silk shirt and a white blazer. Very functional!

However, the meeting at lunch was pretty awkward as one is trying to balance the handouts, a sandwich, the other half of the lunch and a pen to take notes.

Back at the office the first thing I asked Clare was, "Can you see where I dropped part of my sandwich mayonaise-side down on my pants?" To which she said no. "Whew!" I said, adding, "What a relief! It was right there. pointing to a delicate part of the female pants-covered frontal anatomy And when I bent to look where the bread went, a tomato fell out!" Pause. "Of the sandwich."

Duh. I sincerely hope I'm a lot more sparkly and witty tonight. Also hoping there's no tomatoes.

A tip for those who work in big office buildings:

If you approach a glass door and can see the word "PULL" written on it, but the word is backwards, you may treat it as though it reads "PUSH."

Just a friendly tip from the person who's walking behind you.

The cherubs are playing a form of cooperative HALO, wherein they try to kill each other in order to fill up the floor around them with their dead bodies. They are about ankle-deep in body husks now. It's a very unusual technique, but they're apparently enjoying the chaos. Weird.