Journal of Post-Ralphaelite Thought

Well, it's been a while. Life here at Sisyphean Corp has always been a grind, but in the past it always had a modicum of amusement value, as well as the opportunity to do slightly interesting things with the support of a string of pretty good supervisors. I worked hard and had fun. That changed about a year ago. January 2, 2014, I had a new boss. It didn't take me long to figure out the good times were over. My second or third one-on-one meeting she said, "I'm not sure I understand exactly what you do, but you seem to have a lot less on your plate than everyone else." It's gone downhill from from there. It occurred to me the best way for her to find out what I did was to quit, but I need the money. So last year was pretty depressing. I'll spare you the boring details but I've been in a bit of a funk, to the point where I've rarely felt like writing. Why depress you, too? I did talk to a couple of recruiters, and even flew to Seattle for an intervie...

When the city told me the sycamore in front of the house needed to be cut down I had mixed feelings. In my mind, sycamores are sort of junk trees -- about one step above hackberrys. They're prone to disease and messy, and will occasionally decide to drop limbs, and not just small ones. The one in question had been planted overly close to the driveway -- which was the issue: a street project meant new curbs and driveways. Not a good thing. Honestly, I'd mused on the possibility of getting rid of it myself. Still, the sight of the big spray-painted X's on the trunk was a little dismaying. Friday morning I got a message from the spouse that a tree service was truck parked in front of the house. Duh duh duuuhhh. By the time I got home... The front yard, formerly shady, was now open and sunny. Very open. Very sunny. It was a little jarring. The tree men reported the tree was about 60 years old. At one point there were lots of sycamores on our block but they had all ...

We had several days with temperatures in the mid-teens this winter and the big stand of cactus in my side yard took a bit of a hit. But it's roaring back now. Check the buds out on these: I ended up potting several of the fallen which will end up on my deck eventually.

I was chatting with a colleague based in New England the other day and the topic turned to Thanksgiving. "What kind of dressing do you make?" I asked. "Oyster?" "No, just traditional," was her reply. I pressed her for details and it turns out traditional for her meant bread dressing. When I was growing up, traditional meant cornbread dressing -- more specifically made from cornbread baked according to my East Texas granny's cornbread recipe. It is *not* the same as the cornbread dressing you'll get from most Thanksgiving venues. Since my wife's family is from Chicago (though she was born in Ohio and grew up in Dallas) her Thankgiving tradition is for whitebread dressing. Hence at my table we have two types of dressing every year. She makes hers, I make mine. One of my wife's best friends makes oyster dressing. Another makes chestnut dressing. This year I noticed (and bought) tamale dressing from the Central Market chef's case....

I often get myself in hot water. But not since yesterday. In the morning I appreciate a good parboiling before I begin my day. Yesterday's shower was, at best, lukewarm. I went upstairs to investigate. Uh oh. So today I'm working from home, waiting for the plumber. That 40 inch HDTV I'd had my eye on just turned into a new water heater.

The spousal unit and I popped the cork on a bottle of champagne last night: layoffs came and went yesterday and once again I dodged the bullet. My boss (bless 'em!) used his considerable mojo to keep our group intact. I think I'll name my first child after him. Wait -- I already did! Who could have known? Update : for the record, this is *not* how my employer handled things.

Youngest son just came down to my room a little while ago and scooped up my entire collection of Doonesbury books. This included "Still A Few Bugs In The System," Gary Trudeau's first collection, published in 1970. "They rock," said he (or something similarly positive), before disappearing into the void. I'm now no longer so worried about the effects of the campus Libertarians at George Mason University on his little heart and soul.

The spousal unit is doing her best to support every nursery and plant seller in Tarrant County. This after years of ignoring the outside. I no longer ask how much this is all costing me. The backyard is her canvas. "Wait until it's finished," says she. I nod and agree. I have claimed the sideyard and the deck outside the bedroom as my playground. We've hit the following: Mike's Gardenland - just off South James, south of I-20. Big place, lots of stuff. I was a little overwhelmed. Mike's has been around forever, and has several locations around the Metroplex. Tim's Landscape - I've seen only ladies working the joint and it's slightly more laid back than Mikes, with a slight hippy vibe. On your right on Vickery, just past Southwest Parkway. Callaway's - your basic chain nursery, slighty upscale. I found a nice selection of marked down pots. Not without its charms. Myeon's - on James, just south of Seminary, across the street from the st...