The catalog sells high-end linens in fabulous thread-counts and spectacular colors. Page 105 is a charming picture of a child's bedroom done in a brilliant sunshiney-yellow. There's a pleasant woman and a sweet child on the floor with some blankets playing a game. A TAROT CARD READING! Thats right. Tarot cards. Because we all know, tarot cards are fun and normal and make the customer want to buy more blankets.

For those that don't know, tarot reading is a form of occult divination brought to renewed popularity by Alistair Crowley, the infamous satanist.

And when I called the company to say "Ummm, did you SEE the picture on page 105?" they pointed out that of course they don't support satanism and it was just something the photographer threw in. The general tone was "Satanism. Whatever. No big deal".

Yes, they were polite and charming and amiably removed me from their mailing list. Yes, I agree that the customer service people are probably not sacrificing small animals and children in the parking lot during their lunch-break. (Probably) But, there's something wrong about a company that doesn't think anyone is really going to have a problem with Satanism. Like its normal!?! Like its ACCEPTABLE!?!

Political correctness ... tolerating diversity ... whatever. I draw the line in the sand here: I don't support companies that support the occult. Feel free to call them and tell them you don't either. 1-800-285-3696.

Not so much the shrieking as in "oh, look, there's a spider". More like changing the wall-paper on my computer to "wild life icons" which involved the cursor becoming a bee with wigglely legs and antenna that make it impossible to use for precision clicking (he didn't know that part). Or like buying really good chocolate and randomly leaving me a small piece. Or leaving a pile of change next to the clock for my piggy-bank (which is wonderful, I do just adore putting silver coins in my piggy-bank) Or taking my van instead of his truck because the truck was loaded, which is no problem unless I get everyone ready to run errands and then walk out the door to an empty drive-way.

Ok, that last one wasn't part of his "plan". But it definitely made me nuts. In a bad "ARGHHHH" kind of way.

I've got to admit though that his crowning moment of glory and inspiration came last weekend. I had several errands to run and he volunteered to stay home with the kids so I could run them quickly and efficiently and privately. One of them was swinging by the library to pick up the new-book-sequal to something I read last week. He mentioned that if I picked up the book first and dropped it off at the house, that he could read it while I was out erranding. Thats right, people! He wanted me to go get the book I really wanted to read and let him read it first. I had already had that exact plan, so it was no big deal. EXCEPT that it put me in position for his "plan".

Perhaps calling it a "plan" is a tad aggressive. More of a "seized opportunity" I suppose. Regardless, the point is that he knew I was running in at the library for my first-stop. Since I would be gone for several hours, he sent his cell-phone with me. Its the cutest thing! Tiny and black, and it's set to ring the theme song from TheGood,TheBad,AndTheUgly. You know, that old ClintEastwood western? Anyway ...

There was snow everywhere. I had to park in slush and scale a snowbank to get to the library. But I was a woman on a mission. I had already called and they were holding the book at the front desk for me. I KNEW that book was just beyond my grasp! No mere snowbank was going to stop ME! I get to the front door. Snowboots. Gloves. You get the picture. I noticed a big hand-lettered sign that said "Turn off your cell-phones".

(Wait for it ...) I did NOT turn off the cell-phone since no one has the number except contractors for the house and they weren't working on a snowy-weekend. Besides. I would only be in the building a total of 90 seconds. Get my book. Get out. I had a plan too.

I marched in, boldly but quietly. Reveling in my civic-disobediance. I walked to the front desk. The clerk turned to me. The phone exploded into "dun DUH dun dun dun duh. duh DUN duh duh duh dun ..." Even as I was jerking like I had been hit with an electric cattle-prod I ripped it from my pocket and slammed it shut!

But not before Every. Single. Person. stared at me! I'm not sure if they were staring because the phone rang loudly, or because I gave a pretty good impersonation of a seizure. Its entirely possible I babbled something along the lines of "i'm so sorry please give me my book and i'll get out quickly its my husbands phone i didn't turn it off because it never rings i'm so sorry aiiiieeee"

The old guy in line next asked "Was that ... JohnWayne?" to which the clerk interrupted "No, that was ClintEastwood" to which the other clerk responed "Good. Glad to see I'm not the only one that could identify it" to which I responded, throughly subdued and defeated "Do you still have my book?"

As soon as I got out of there, I called my husband to discuss his bizarre sense of timing. And the ensuing conversation might have involved a lot of flailing on my part and a lot of giggleling on his part. Who am I kidding? It definitely involved a lot of full-body-laughing on his part. And laughter is good for people under a lot of stress. Right? RIGHT?

Milk. Regular milk and cheese. Apparently she had been "off" dairy for about six months. Then she started eating it again about three months ago. And she thought she'd cut corners on her grocery-bills by buying "regular" instead of "organic". The hormones-that-the-FDA-swears-doesn't-make-it-to-the-final-product accumulated in her body quickly, fooling her system into thinking she was pregnant.

She's fine now. VERY definitely off the "regular" dairy products. And, yeah, I understand she's going to be extra-sensitive after being totally off dairy for several months. But, still, doesn't that make you wonder what its doing to you and your kids!?! Even low levels over long periods of time are bound to have some effect. Its an estrogen-like-hormone to make the cows produce more milk. How is that affecting young boys? What about PMS occurring younger and younger in girls?

Just some random the-world-is-ending-if-you-don't-buy-organic thoughts :)

It also annoys me now when he calls me "Sweetie" because thats what he's taken to calling Cassie. Another pet-name ruined. And I don't even have Petunia anymore! My Dad calls Cassie "his little princess" and he made the mistake of trying to call Katherine that too. Cassie looked up at him, raised her eyebrows (which is an impressive skill for a four year old) and told him firmly "No. I am your little princess. She will have to be something else" So, he immediately went with ... Petunia. Its like Katherine is a black-hole for my pet-names!

My husband doesn't understand why I don't want to share a pet-name with my daughter (and, women, if he doesn't get it then I can't explain it to him) (Sam broke up with a guy once because he called a cute waitress by Sam's pet-name) However, my husband grasps the idea that it makes me ... sad. And cranky. And sad. And really cranky. So, he's set about to fix the problem.

Yesterday morning, the kids were off wrecking havoc somewhere in the house, so I scooped up Katherine and took her back to bed with us. My husband on one side and me on the other to make sure she didn't fall off. She enjoys rolling and wallowing and cooing and bellowing for an attentive audience. Then, he did it. He called her by her own new unique pet-name. Quack-quack! As in, "Come here, Little Quack-quack" or "What a sweet baby Little Quack-quack is!"

I stared at him speechless. And then I found some speech. Some very displeased speech. And you want to know what he said? "But I'm only doing what you want! I've given her a VERY unique pet-name. Thats what you told me to do, so ..."

Let me assure you right now, contrary to his opinion, that I will NOT be amused if it sticks and the kids start calling Katherine "Little Quack-quack".

My father is a sweet man. VERY calm. Even tempered. Full of jokes and stories and smiles. And occassionally devilish pranks, but mostly the other good stuff I just mentioned. Which is why my brother was shocked, absolutely SHOCKED, to walk around the corner of the house he lived in (next door to my parents) to find my father apoplectic on the front-sidewalk. Spitting and flailing and shrieking to beat the band! Like a man possessed!

Which is indeed what my brother first thougtht. But, while demon-possession would explain the moment, its not something one generally expects to see in the front yard in the middle of a sunny afternoon. He went with his second thought, which was that my Dad had snapped like a twig in some sort of mental breakdown. Apparently, to him, that means you approach the crazy person carefully, taking great pains to speak slowly and loudly.

This only infuriated my father more! He jerked up the scrub-cedar-tree my brother had laying beside the door, and tossed it into the yard. Then he kicked it! And kicked it again!

Ahhh! The light dawned! My brother tried to explain to my father that he was sorry he had cut down the little-cedar-tree without asking. He had thought it was practically a weed, but if it were that tremendously important to Dad that he would pay for it and replace it. That he had never in a million years thought Dad would mind if he whacked down a scrub-cedar to use for a wreath!

Silence.

Dad, softly, "What do you mean, you're going to use it for a wreath?"

Brother "Well, technically, Charlie is going to use it for a wreath. But you like him. I didn't think you'd mind. He's taking a wreath-class and needed some greenery and ..."

Dad, interupting "So. THIS isn't the tree I sent you to pick out for your Mother?" (My mother couldn't go that year, but has been known before and since to visit SEVERAL tree lots and spend hours and hours and sometimes days picking the only acceptable tree in the state. There was a reason my Dad didn't go pick out the tree for her, HE had to live with her)

My brother laughed so hard he couldn't stand up! Literally! He collapsed in a shaking giggleling gasping choking mess on the front steps. (Ten years later I still laughed outloud at the thought of my Dad thinking he'd try to pass that tree off to Mother! ) After my brother regained his composure, which took several minutes by all accounts, he led my Dad around to the back patio where the Christmas tree was -- A ten foot blue-spruce in its prime! Nothing short of magnificent! He had it in a stand so it would fluff out after being tied-up for the trip home. He wanted it to be in the best shape when Mother saw it!

I hadn't thought about that in ages, until Earthgirl was posting about letting her tree-troubles (Don't miss the pictures of the tree) . I suspect that she's more ... calm ... than my mother would have been!