Eventually, I figure I'll have all my friends and family living on this property in little dome houses.  Most of our grass will be turned into vegetable gardens and we'll be raising fish in the creek.  We still have a chicken coop.  And I guess we'll round up small amounts of livestock and make our own cheese.

Personally, I'm interested in knowing if someone wants to head up the child care division early, as I will have line edits to do soon.  *G*

So what are you going to be when everyone heads for my place?  A butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker?

The cats, they are a-hunting again.

Both of them wear collars with bells, so they must be supah-stealthy, and I don't fault their prowess.  It's hard to watch, though, when they have a woodmouse cornered, or play with one like a wiffle ball.  Kid you not, I've seen mice go flying on the lower lawn, and that's about the time I stomp out on the porch and yell at the kitties until they scatter.  No need to have the wee one watching a live version of the Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom on our lawn.

She's been the lookout, though, and this morning came the call of "Moooooommy, de kitties took a mouse in the gawage!"  Well spotted, though it was a dead bird.  Shoei was the culprit (telltale feathers in the mouth) and now she's giving me the stink eye.

Yesterday it was Jixxar in the rose garden with a squirrel.  She wasn't trying to eat it, just periodically moving it into different positions of prone horror (paws up, mouth open in a silent scream of horror...)  I double gloved, fearing the damn thing was only playing dead.

It was very surreal, picking it up, to note the absolutely limp weight of it.

And yes, remembering the artist I've seen that does steampunk taxidermy, with clockwork bits and mice in waistcoats, I DID have a fleeting thought of, "Hey, free squirrel!"  But she lives in England and my freezer is full.

We spent the weekend in the garden.  I garden the way I write first drafts... semi-haphazardly, and whatever survives looks better for all the flailing.  Rip-and-tear, with the best of intentions.  We put in six (leetle) rose bushes and two hydrangeas.  I moved plants that may or may not survive, according to their will to live.

The yearly pruning of stuff, the purging of closets and ruthless throwing out of crap continues.  I have a crumbling dressmaker's form about which I am conflicted.

Making bread this morning.  Last time, the two-pound loaf didn't rise enough (although it tasted great, it was super-dense) so this time I used filtered water (not tap) and bread machine yeast (instead of regular) and I also pulsed the 7-grain cereal in the food processor.  This loaf is already taller than its last-week-brother.  Ah, the chemistry of baking.

The media room is now SPARKLING clean.  This process started with an audio receiver.

My father-in-law bought a new one, and shipped us his old one, except the table was too small, so we had to buy a cabinet, which meant we had to redo all the wiring, which meant a lot of dusting and vacuuming and cursing and sneezing.

I took the cushions off the sofa and vacuumed out all the crumbs.  And then I vacuumed the cushions.  And then I put the throw pillows in the wash!

It's very pretty now.  And very clean.

But now I want the rest of the house to be as clean-and-organized.

Booooooo.

On the upside, I sent my latest round of revisions back to My Lovely Editor and I will get back to work on yonder retrofuturistic NeoVictorian silliness.  So Keffy and Sän don't come after me with lead pipes... *G*

Than a sick grown-up.  I'm on the couch, shivering and wrapped in blankets.

Singing the DOOM song.

Well, not really.  Wheezing and demanding cake.  DOOM cake. Which I  am fairly certain contains high quality dark Belgian chocolate and fresh raspberries...

I don't think JK Rowling has to pick pieces of Play-Doh off her laptop as she revises.  Maybe that's presumptuous of me to assume such a thing, but still.

Have I mentioned that I despise the smell of Play-Doh?  One of the catalogues I got during the holidays had Eau de PlayDoh... an actual perfume!  *flails and runs in cirlces* No, thank you.  But anything that keeps yon child occupied for more than five minutes is my Favorite Thing Evar.  Which means the portable DVD player, the naked Barbies and the jungle Legos are also keepers.

I have the television running in the background as I type... incredibly easy to tune out the noise of America's Next Top Model, but I always pause to look at the results of the photo shoots.  So fascinating what a difference bone structure makes, and how the plainest of girls can look stellar by moving their chin down or twisting their hips a certain way.

Never wanted to be a model, and after watching the contestants shiver through swimming pool shoots and hiss-meow-spit at each other behind the scenes, I am consoled by my choice to eat more dessert.  Chocolate cake.  OM NOM NOM.

I've tried two new recipes this last week; one sent by sunilsebastian  after a long discussion about quinoa (pronounced keen-wah, apparently) and another I improvised.

Literally.  Read something on the internetz that irritated me to no end, came downstairs holding my coffee cup and muttering under my breath about jerks who should be stomped on with big Stompy McStomperson boots, tried to get past the baby gate and ended up hitting the third stair from the bottom on the back of my heel.

CRASH! SLOSH! SPLAT!

Coffee ended up everywhere (me, wall, floor) but I didn't break my cup.  I did, however, break the baby gate by landing on it with my arse.  RIP little wooden gate we bought in 1997 for Dog #2.  *rubs butt*  I also have a carpet burn on my right elbow and scared myself silly.  But I like the idea that I fell into the New Year.

I'll do a round-up post eventually.  2007 was a good year.  Minus the very last bit, that is...