Iron and Wine with Calexico are playing the Variety Playhouse in Atlanta, 16 Dec. Sarah and I want badly to go and to take my little brother, J.D.M. However, we also would rather not pay the $22 cover each for such a large venue. Such bands should be enjoyed in a more intimate surrounding. Perhaps they’ll come play in my living room. Besides, we fly to M-Pol the following Monday. Do we have any friends that are willing to go bootleg the show for us and to allow us to live vicariously through them???

P.S. S., music lover that she is, does not endorse bootlegging of bands that she likes, but N., clueless rebel that he is, believes i.p. laws to be wholly immoral and an undue burden.

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Can anyone recommend a book that deals specifically with the history of the church during the second century? A scholarly book would be best, and I think I would prefer one written with a bit of care toward literary criticism. Another desired feature would be summaries of erroneous legends and the reasons they are now considered erroneous. I specifically do not want books that are only related to proofs of particular doctrines. For my purpose, a broad sweep would be best. My number one candidate at the moment is by F. X. von Funk, “Patres Apostolici.”

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Nathanael is sitting on the sofa with Evelyn in his lap and he just whispered lowly into her ear ‘cellar door…cellar door‘. Her eyes got big, she put her index finger in her mouth, and a couple seconds later made a face and noise somewhere inbetween smiling and hollaring.

I was hoping such a word would put her to sleep.

Well, anyway. I find it kind of funny and I find it kind of sad.

Brianna’s baked tofu sticks in the oven and a lieutenant and her husband over for dinner and cribbage.

Frightening photo of me via four or five years of age (courtesy my father’s blog).

You don’t even want to know the terrible paroxysm that befell me while reading this post on children running amok.

I cleaned the whole house this morning. I was sitting here reading of Sarah Faith’s disaster and Nathanael was in the kitchen boiling the ingredients for his latest batch of beer. Evelyn was in the doorway between us in her Jumpster hopping around. All of a sudden I look at her from across the room, squint because my eyes are getting worse and worse, and walk up to her and shriek. There is spit up flowing out of her mouth (she doesn’t spit up) and there is poop falling clump by miserable clump out of the Jumpter seat and onto my Pilate mat. Nathanael comes over to us makes a face and we both talk about, wow, this is our first actual mess with a baby. We carefully lift her out (it’s everywhere) and I take her back to the bedroom to change her. It’s all over her wool diaper cover, all over her clothes, all over her chest. Everywhere. Meanwhile, Nathanael is cleaning up the Jumpter and mat. I get her quited, leave her playing on her changing mat, and take the armful of dirty dress, bloomers, wipes, diaper, and cover with me to care for. I accidentally drop some of it on the kitchen floor. Nathanael is in there against the counter reading The Art of Brewing. I ask him to take care of rinsing the diaper, he looks at me, as if he’s debating it, and starts to say something just as this GIGANTIC pot of beer begins to boil over the lip and all over the range (he spent an hour yesterday scrubbing the stove top until it was white again; the landlord didn’t give us a clean stove when we moved in over a year ago,and it’s just gotten worse and worse). EVERYWHERE. The whole house is teeming with thick, hoppy smoke. Then, of course, when we start to clean things up a little, Evelyn begins wailing. So the name of this batch of beer is diaper pale brown ale in honor of its being the first cask brewed since Evelyn’s birth. And the day had been so leisurely before. Ah well, all is well now.