Belly watch, 19 weeks
I think it's a lot bigger since last time, but I guess it doesn't look like it in this picture.
Nocturnal Visitor
Last night...
A baby possum came in and holed up behind the recycling bag and the kitchen table. We gained a bit of insight as to why they are always being squished by cars; he wasn't the fastest rodent on the team. We worked together to guide him back out the door with a few pieces of plywood. We were cracking up by the time we got him out.
I'll take a visiting possum over a visiting feral cat any day.
In other house news, we are having a banner berry year on our blueberry and raspberry bushes. We are also hoping for a banner plum year, as we have recently liberated our ambrosial yellow plum tree from the shadow of the Big Diseased Mystery Tree, which we cut down a few weekends ago. I would post a picture, but our back yard is so tragic that I can't stand to publish the photos. Later when we do something stunning with the back yard, I'll post them as "before" pictures. If the Gay Neighbors take the surplus fence parts from back there like they promised to (or if we drop them off in their yard when they're intoxicated), then that will be a start.
Goose is a girl!
If you've been envisioning this when you think of our little Goose:
try something more like this:
.
Turns out Eastern medicine (as in, my acupuncturist) was probably wrong in telling us it was a boy, because Western medicine (as in, the ultrasound) revealed a tiny vagina to us today. We've been thinking of Goose as a boy for a while now, so it's kind of strange to think of him as a her instead. Neither of us still has a preference, even when confronted with both possibilities.
By the way, if you've been envisioning this all along:
then, you should just keep going with that.
Here's what the real critter looks like:

She's got her hands under her chin in this shot. She would barely sit still long enough for her portrait, so it's a little blurry. The technician said she looks like me!
She has all her bits in all the right places, and only one small anomaly which is pretty common and will hopefully not affect her development at all.
Olympic muses
Everyone is getting worked up about the swimmers breaking all the world records in the Olympics with their fancy new suits, and Michael Phelps eating five dozen eggs and an entire pig every day for breakfast and Aaron Piersol winning races in his "California cool" style, but I'm feeling melancholy.
I'm watching the semifinals for the 50 meter men's swimming race, and there is a big, gaping psychological hole where Gary Hall Jr. should be. My muse (and gold-medal winner in the event) from the Sydney and Athens Olympics did not qualify for Beijing, despite strutting onto the pool deck for the trials wearing a sequined cape emblazoned with the words, "The Godfather of Swimming." The event is so boring this year without his showboating. No one to shake his fists like a boxer; no one to make threats that he is going to smash the other swimmers "like guitars," no one that even remotely acts like a pro wrestler.
One of my drawings of Gary from 2006, in the style of Giacometti's self-portraits:

Perhaps I should focus my attentions on my other Olympic boyfriend, Bob Costas, the most intelligent sportscaster ever. But I'm having a hard time watching NBC, because for some reason, those cwazy Canadians at the CBC are playing all the events first, and then NBC plays them 2 hours later with the label "Live." (Why, Bob, why?). And the CBC has interviews with all the wacky Canadian athletes, including a female swimmer who told an extended story about vomiting on her boyfriend's parka.
eeeeeeee!
I harvested no less than eight plums from our plum tree today!
They are so delicious, and they are mine, all mine!

Here they are (after I ate two) displayed on a plate that I got from a performance at the Olympia Farmers Market today, part of Here Today II, a series of temporary installations and performances. This artist used his honorarium to buy a ton of plates, decorated them (with nail polish?) and gave them to the food stands at the market so they could serve their food on them. After enjoying some delicious chickpea curry in 95 degree heat on this fuschia number, I brought it to the artist; he and his friends washed it for me on the stage.
It doesn't seem overly cheesy to include William Carlos Williams' poem This is Just to Say here:
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
However, I prefer my fruit at room temperature, or tree temperature in this case. Mmmmmm.
Belly watch, 22 weeks
I had Joe photograph me in the closest thing I have to a "ho" shirt - my yoga clothes. Just for you, Yvette!


