My Dog is Chelsea

I noticed today that a coworker of mine has really excellent all-caps handwriting.

That made me think of my father, who must’ve taken a drafting class at some point in his life. He always wrote in all caps, using only the most pristine and perfectly-angled letters. Maybe he was an architect in a previous life.

Last summer, my mother gave me all of her old spice jars, many of which still have labels that were handwritten, in all caps, by my father. He was very meticulous about spice labeling:

• CINNAMON (GROUND)
• CINNAMON STICKS
• CINNAMON SUGAR
• PEPPERCORNS (SZECHUAN)
• PEPPERCORNS (GREEN)
• PEPPERCORNS (BLACK)
• NUTMEG (WHOLE)
• NUTMEG (GROUND)
• CUMIN (GROUND)
• CUMIN SEED

Etc. He built a special rack to create a double-decker spice drawer for easy access to spices underneath, and as you can see from the small sample above, there were a lot of spices underneath (probably about 50 or 60 jars in all). Our kitchen was practically a warehouse for the British East India Company.

Those spice labels are some of the few remaining examples of his handwriting (and also of his detail-driven organizational skills — which I did not manage to inherit, unfortunately). I already have my own spice rack, so think I’m going to use the jars to save seeds for next year’s garden. I’m sure my father would approve of that — I’ll just need to make sure I store them in an appropriately organized way.

That is all. It just seemed like a good afternoon for a memory.

I have not forgotten. I’ve just had lunch meetings every day this week. Blogging to resume shortly.

No, your eyes are not deceiving you! This indeed my second blog post IN LESS THAN 24 HOURS.

What’s with the flurry of activity, you ask? Is MDIC experiencing a non-busy period of her life? Au contraire, my friends. Between work, ultimate frisbee and putting food on the table and my head on the pillow, I have nary a moment to blog.

Well, you wonder, does she have something incredibly important or timely to tell us? Nay, I tell you. Nothing more relevant than my already meaningless drivel I post on Facebook and Twitter.

So then, why, for the love of all things holy, is MDIC wasting her time updating her blog (she still has a blog?!)?

Because I am. Because it’s summer, and it’s my personal challenge again this summer to squeeze in a post or three a week — whether it’s over my lunch break or before bedtime, or heck, if by some miracle I wake up early enough for a leisurely post in the AM.

And why should you care about what I have to say? Well, you probably won’t, and that’s OK with me. Thing is, I spend every moment of my work life writing for someone else – a client, a target audience, a colleague. All that matters in this line of business is whether or not your message resonates with your audience. Which is great for marketing, but not for my personal creativity. What I want: a place where I can write what I want to write, without regard for my readers’ expectations. Selfish? Perhaps. But sometimes writing for yourself — because you need to, or just want to — is the only way to nourish that part of your writing ability that likes to have a little fun.

So follow along if you like — but I won’t be mad if you don’t. Lord knows there’s already enough useless I-ate-broccoli-for-dinner updates on these great webs of intertubes.

What the what? It’s already mid-June, not that you’d know that by measuring the rainfall in the last four weeks. Summer is slooooowly arriving (sources say this weekend will be sunny!) and frisbee season is in full effect. Highlights of the past coupla months:

• Housewarming BBQ! We finally had a real party up in this joint — played running charades and everything. A friend brought over a bottle of Bulleit, of which I drank half. Needless to say I can’t remember a whole lot of details from the event but my overall impression was “FUN.”
• Three once-Portlander friends were in town for a few weeks — one of whom my mother once famously described as “fit and firm” — which made for Happy Times for Laura. Far too many of my favorite people here have decided to up and move elsewhere in the past few years and I don’t like this diaspora one bit — especially since I just bought a house and I ain’t goin’ nowhere. But it’s always glorious when friends return, if only for a short time.
• Speaking of glorious — a few weeks ago, I saw the most amazing thing at a garage sale at the old residence of my said fit-and-firm friend’s house. I can’t tell you this story just yet (I don’t want to run out of material) but I will — oh I will. With a picture.
• Calla update: This dog has made some serious progress lately. Remember when she ate a door? Well, she doesn’t do that kind of stuff anymore (knock on wood!). She’s just kind of stopped freaking out. It’s almost as if one day she woke up and said, “Mah mamma doesn’t deserve to have doors eaten, moldings chewed, wood floors drooled on or countertops pooped on anymore!” She’s happier, more relaxed and finally capable of being home alone without causing a mini hurricane. Gone are the days of removing the knobs on the stove to prevent her from turning on the burners (though she did set the oven timer the other night).

That’s about it for now. In the midst of making some fish and shrimp tacos for dinner. Just thought it was high time I updated this creaky old thing.

A favorite blogger of mine recently explained why she no longer updates her blog regularly: “I’ve run out of things to say that I can’t say in 140 characters or fewer.”

I feel the same way.

It’s like my brain now functions only in short bursts.

Anything long-form (more than three sentences) seems extraneous.

I mean, why write a whole blog post when I can complain about a horrible salad in a quick, simple tweet?

And that tweet could be heard, potentially, by the offending restaurant that served said horrible salad?

I mean, really, soggy cucumbers are not OK.

And a wedge of iceberg lettuce should be fresh, crisp and cool when served. Not warm, deflated and mushy.

Here’s the thing that’s relieving about Twitter: it’s immediate.

I have an idea. I don’t have to come up with a narrative, a story arc, a time peg or a reason to share it.

It can be an observation, or a fleeting thought, a tiny piece of commentary, a mini-review. No pressure to make it more than it is.

The important thing (to me, if no one else) is that it’s published. Somewhere. Even if I never revisit it again, it’s out there.

The ideas that don’t get out there—the phantom blog posts I write daily in my head—those disappear.

Yes, I wish I had time to write more. 140 words. Someday, 140 pages. For now? I will blog when I can and tweet in between.

Oh, one last thing—mixing mayonnaise, ketchup and sun-dried tomatoes will not make a good salad dressing.

• Are you on Twitter? Follow me at twitter.com/mydogischelsea.