Day 19

Day 18.5

All the world is a stage.

And all cucumbers are microphones.

We create our realities. It's true. And not in an Oprah-says-way. In a real, quantifiable quantum physics way. Our thoughts are realities. Matter is not constant, but slipping through all possibilities. And all possibilities are equal and simultaneous, effecting both the future and the past.

They figured this all out. And those dudes at Stanford and MIT? Man, the crazy things people do at college: Those MIT people make the same thing appear in two places at once. Not two of the same thing. No, the same one thing in two different places. And there are other guys in Bonn at HERA that would do nutty things, too (but they turned that off). But Heisenberg, Schrödinger, Stern, Gerlach, et. al. figured all that out without the schmancy machines. And Einstein, too, duh.

And Lise Meitner. Poor Lise.

So, sure, through the looking glass of the kitchen window, Anna performs in a stadium full of adoring fans. And I am a renown physicist. No, probably not that much probability out there. Not for that.

Day 18

I'm on a bit of a sewing binge. And the cat's away! While my dearest is away on business, I'm enjoying a little fling with Bernie (Bernina). In the bedroom, in the kitchen, on the living room floor! Oo-la-la!

All this mess for one little skirt. A new kind of skirt. I hope.

Day 17

AnnaBook Pro (prototype). There's everything you need on the keyboard: Alphabet in alphabetical order, on, yes, no, happy face, sad face, voloom (volume), network, loader (downloader), go, ya!, and the revolutionary innovation, the "oops" key.

I could really use an oops key.

Memo to Cupertino: Oops key.
cc: S. Jobs
(bc: B. Gates)

Of growing old gracefully, like me

Scene: the bathroom with the pink (!) bathtub. Mother applies lip gloss, while 6-yr.old daughter looks on.

MADEMOISELLE
"What's that?"

MOI
"Make-up."

MADEMOISELLE
"Why?"

MOI
"Because I'm old and frumpy. With make-up, I'm still old and frumpy, but shinier."

(pregnant pause for comic effect)

MADEMOISELLE
"Mommy, you don't have the style anymore. But you've still got the moves!"

Don't. Have. The. Style. But. Still. Got. The. Moves.

Thanks, babe. Love you. Little dickens.

Day 16

Oh yeah, sure, the John Martin's opened directly to the Heart Ship and covered the peeling varnish on the table. Just like that.

So, what is the secret of Red Velvet Cake? Pomegranate wine pressed by the feet of 95-year-old Tuscan nuns, the orphaned children of Venician pirates, and fermented in cherrywood vats harvested on a remote Adriatic island shrouded in fog and mystery? Is it the dew from the underside of the first primroses harvested by druid priestesses on third eve of the wane? Is it the juice of Finnish åkerbärs, the only medicine to heal an Arctic warrior's broken heart, stolen from a troll's apothecary?

Is it red velvet?

Um, the secret to Red Velvet Cake is, well, red food coloring. Lots of it.
Go figure. That can't be good. But just this one time.

Such a poser photo. Hate it. But I did it.

Roter-Samt-Kuchen. Das Geheimnis? Ist das Geheimnis Granatafpelwein, der nur von den zarten Füssen 95-jahre-alten tuskanischer Nonnen (die vergessenen Kindern venezianischer Seeräuber) der 40 Jahre in Kirschholzfässer gelagert wird? Ist es der von Druidenpriesterinnen beim dritten abnehmenden Mond gesammelten Morgentau der ersten Primeln? Ist es der aus der Apotheke eines Berggeistes gestohlenen Saft des finnischen åkerbärs, das einzige Heilkräuter, das das zerbrochenen Herz eines arktischen Kriegers heilt?

Ist es vielleiht roter Samt?

Ähm, das Geheimnis ist rote Lebensmittelfarbe. Und viel davon. Kann nicht besonders gesund sein. Aber das eine mal.

Day 15

One day, one day, she'll have the confidence to skate inside the skate park. One day. But not today. And not tomorrow. And not the next day.

Eines Tages. Eines Tages wird sie das Selbstvertrauen haben, auch innerhalb des Skateparks zu fahren. Eines Tages. Aber heute nicht. Auch morgen nicht. Und der Tag danach ... auch nicht.