Lovelihood

We took the freshly carved block out for a spin today, first in a cheap-o stamp pad that had miraculously not gone dry in the year since I last used it, then in proper block-printing ink in an undeniable red. Even managed not to make a horrific mess. Unfortunately, either the ink went on too thick, or some of the carving ended up too fine, so remediation will be required before Valentines can go out.

I mock dismembered-doll artists. Any artist, really, who photographs or paints or makes attempts at any kind of artistic rendering of Barbies or Kewpies or "mama"-blathering droidlets. It's tired and creepy and really not all that interesting. And here I am, at nine on a Tuesday night, wandering desperately around the house trying to find the day's shot before I peter out entirely and get sucked into the couch and, for hour or two, stare into iPads and televisions. In the corner of the couch, in what is pretty much the darkest corner of our home, is where Bear has left her baby doll, and it's actually the only interesting shot on the camera this evening. Go figure.

This year's provisions for Valentine card exchanges sit waiting for fulfillment in the fancy little foil-lined box that once held a few dozen Parisian macarons.

While other members of the household were taking in sports and chicken (it's not that I have no interest in football, it's just that this particular match-up held no interest for me), I holed myself up in the workroom and started carving up a block. It's something that greatly pleases me, despite the pain it embeds in my shoulders and neck, and also despite the nagging feeling that the linoleum particles I'm introducing to my immediate atmosphere will one day give me cancer, like dislodging asbestos flakes from the ceiling by repeatedly tossing a throw pillow at it to achieve precisely that, which I also used to do.

The little man's looking sassy today, no? (This is the sort of photo that happens when it's late and I'm tired and I haven't picked up the camera all day.)

I called off my weekly long run today, on account of sickness (more fear of getting really sick than actual sickness) and spent my day off stitching the lining onto the curtain panel (yes, still) and cranking out some Valentine goodies. And I was unreasonably happy to find that there were leftovers in the fridge that would serve nicely as lunch. All in all, a mighty fine day.

Happy Lunar New Year. Or Tet or Chinese New Year or whatever you want to call it. Because, you know, it's not just the Chinese that abide, albeit selectively, by this calendar. Normally, I'd be seething with an intense bitterness everytime I heard mention of "Chinese New Year" (kind of like the whole "Happy Holidays" vs. "Merry Christmas" war, which I also normally gear up for). And there were certainly times today (I'm looking at you, Seattle Facebook page) that set my teeth grinding just a little. But I found that I just don't really care so much this year. Maybe because I haven't really done anything to acknowledge the day. But my mom sent a package with treats and, of course, the little red envelopes, so those were passed around and sampled and tucked into the special new year's treat tray (yes, it exists, usually to hold months-old Halloween candy). And instead of a tirade against the whole "Chinese" thing, I'll just leave you with this funny little tidbit. While you go on merrily wishing each other much happiness in this year of the rabbit, we contrarian Vietnamese will instead hold up the cat as the year's mascot. Fine by me, because I've always thought rabbits were freaky looking. They've got crazy-bit heads.