me tired.

I've been out hoofing it around Seattle with my mom and auntie. It's been fun, but I'm beat.

Avast, lubbers!

Me mom and auntie be comin' ter visit! Shiver me timbers! I be headin' ter port shortly t'pick 'em up.

YARR MATEYS!

Ar, it be Talk Like A Pirate Day! Be ye likin' me comely new avatarrrr?

When you just gotta belt

All right, I will begin by admitting freely that I am not a talented solo singer. To paraphrase Remy from Ratatouille, anyone can sing... that doesn't mean that anyone should. My meager talents, such as they are, are best appreciated in a large choral setting.

With that said, there are some times and places where I feel free to just let go and sing aloud: at home alone, in the shower, in the car, and occasionally with siblings. There are also certain songs that, once they've caught your ear, demand you sing along -- nay, demand you BELT THEM OUT. For me, these include:

• "Walking on Broken Glass" by Annie Lennox
  
• "Love Song" by Sara Bareilles
  
• "The Wizard and I" from the Wicked original cast recording
  
• "Jolly Roving Tar" by Great Big Sea (for that matter, most things by GBS)
  
• "Drops of Jupiter" by Train
• "Take Your Mama" by Scissor Sisters
• "Byker Hill" by The Cottars
• "Je fais de toi mon essentiel" by Emmanuel Moire
• "A Little Respect" by Erasure

and many more... there are numerous belt-worthy songs out there, after all.

Which ones do you fancy? And where do you sing?

A humble request

Munks are a family in our ward (that's Mormonspeak for "local congregation"). They have four children. Not very long ago, their fourteen-year-old son, Devin, met with an accident while hiking with his family. He fell over 100 feet, sustaining multiple severe injuries when he hit bottom. The doctors at Harborview Medical Center have been working through the first of numerous planned surgeries to try to put him back together again.

The fact that Devin is alive at all is miraculous to me, considering what he went through. The doctors are trying to do what they can to help Devin walk again, which would frankly be another miracle.

My request: if you're the praying type, would you please pray for Devin Munk, his family, and the doctors who will be working on him? I know they would appreciate your thoughts and prayers.

Thanks.

Blah.

'VE been feeling a little oogy the last few days. Think it's a low-level cold. I've felt healthy for so long now, this feels like a bodily mutiny. (STOP THAT! Are you an immune system or a social club? I want white blood cells ON THE SCENE, MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE! That's better.)

Not too much to tell recently. Miss V and I took a jewelry class together, with the result that she's made gobs and gobs of earrings and is selling them on Etsy, so if you're inclined to purchase pretties made by the finest sixth-grade jeweler in the West, mosey on over to our shop and take a gander. (I'm selling a few bits and bobs too, but nothing outstanding. There shall be time to craft more papery goodness presently. Also thinking about knitting some items of geeky interest, such as Dr. Who scarves, Harry Potter house mufflers, a Jayne Cobb cunning hat, etc., so let me know if any of those sound potentially intriguing.)

Soup night

A recent post over at Small Town Rambling got me thinking of something I've wanted to do for a while now, but have never gotten around to instituting: namely, soup night. I read about this a while back in a magazine -- either Sunset or Cooking Light, I honestly can't remember which -- and thought it was a great idea. You pick a day, once a month or fortnight depending on how ambitious you are, then invite friends and neighbors to drop by on that day for soup. Then you make one or two generous pots of soup and provide bowls and utensils; others might choose to bring bread or drinks. Basically it's a chance to sit around, gab, enjoy the soup of the day and (around here) get out of the rain -- and dinner's taken care of for the night.

Many of the soup recipes I have taste better if they're made a day ahead of time, either partially or completely, so there wouldn't be much need for last-minute prep work where I run around the kitchen like the proverbial chicken with its head cut off. If I have only one thing to worry about -- OK, at most, two things -- I'm not as likely to engage in wanton comestible destruction as I wander away from the stove burner AGAIN.

So, show of hands, who would want to come to soup night if you were invited and within driving distance?