Happy Hogmannay

My mother was not the world's best or most enthusiastic housekeeper. I like to think, therefore, that I come by my own housekeeping aversion the honest way: genetically. However, it's a Scottish tradition to get one's house in tip-top shape before the New Year. It's good luck. Or maybe it represents order in the year to come. Or something. Whatever it is, I usually spend the week between Christmas and New Year's Eve getting my house sorted and in good shape. Closets have been emptied and their contents whittled down into various piles for recycling or donating to charities. I have been ruthless in letting go of things I haven't worn in more than a year, knick knacks that have no meaning and only gather dust, videotapes I haven't watched since, well, anyone watched videotapes. It's embarrassing to note how much stuff one owns, even after the paring back.

It's also embarrassing how much cat hair can gather in corners, merge together in clumps under the bed as though trying to form a brand new kitten. But the corners are clean, the shelves dusted, my desk sorted, files filed. (The dining room looks like a garage sale exploded in it or as though we're trying to open our own Goodwill, but that's my compromise to not getting everything done and out of the house before midnight rolls around.)

Now Chris and I are settling in for the evening. There's a fire working its way towards a roar. We've movies to watch, although it was pretty slim pickings by the time we hit the video store. And there's a winter storm on the way, up to eight inches of snow tonight, with another two possible tomorrow. It is, in my estimation, a good way to spend New Year's Eve. For some reason, ever since I was a little girl and we moved to the United States, I've found it a kind of melancholy occasion. No one does New Year's Eve like the Scots, who call it Hogmannay.

In fact, as I write this, the bells are probably just ringing out across Glasgow. Folks are setting out first-footing, an old Scottish tradition in which you try to be the first one to step foot across someone's doorstep in the New Year, bringing with you a gift of coal or wood (to bring warmth for the new year), something to drink and something to eat (promising plenty of sustenance for the year to come.) When I was little, my Grandpa was usually our first-footer and while my memories of it are pretty shaky, owing more perhaps to the retelling than to actual recollection, it brings up some very bittersweet feelings for times past, and a heavy dose of homesickness for a land that I haven't called home since I was nine. I always think of Scotland and get weepy when I hear Auld Lang Syne, but not necessarily in a bad way. I think it's always emotional to let go of the past and embrace new beginnings.

Thus, I wish all of you a safe and wonderful New Year's Eve. But, especially, to my friends and loved ones in Scotland -- know that I am thinking of you, wishing I was on the streets of Glasgow, watching as people throw open the windows on the Victorian sandstone tenements to let the old year out and the new one in. Happy Hogmannay!

Operation Holiday Spirit: Last Gasp

Where have I been? WHERE have I been? I have been performing the dazzling double-whammy of trying to whip my MFA application into shape AND prepare for Christmas. Since the former took priority over the latter, I wound up in a bit of a panicky funk towards the end. But the end is here. Today, the writing samples went in the mail. It's up to the universe now. Or, you know, the reading commitee.

Now, we're in the process of packing up the gifts and supplies and crap necessary for a Christmas in Indianapolis. We're leaving in a couple of hours to my sister's house, where we'll spend the big day and, I hope, some fun time leading up to said event with the li'l ones. (Although they're not so little anymore.)

My point is...I'm signing out for the holidays. Wishing you and yours a very happy holiday season, whatever you celebrate, however you spend it.

Operation Mandatory Holiday Spirit: In Progress

Although it feels like work and life are, at times, working hard against my holiday spirit endeavors, I'm managing to maintain a little. A progress check to behold:

Boxwood wreath from Ann Arbor Farmer's Market, wrapped hastily in years-old ribbon and garland: check. (Total holiday spirit time investment: 12 minutes.)

Four-foot cheapie fake silver tinsel tree from Target, pre-lit for us extra-lazy folk: check. (Total holiday spirit time investment: 30 minutes, not including drive time to pick up the damn thing after the website postponed my order shipping until January 8, which begs the question, why would ANYONE need a Christmas tree delivered January 8?)

Pottery bowl filled with whatever ornaments were in the plastic tote, leftover from whenever we last put up a tree 700 years ago, to pass as holiday centerpiece: check. (Total holiday spirit time investment: 6 minutes.)

Christmas cards addressed and sent -- well, MOST of them addressed and sent -- complete with A-dorable knitting themed holiday stamps: check. (Total holiday spirit time investment: one Law & Order SUV episode.)

A flock of hand made embroidered birdy ornaments, some for our tree, some for gifts: check. (Total holiday spirit time investment: several movies and TV shows.)

Old stockings dug out and new stockings sewn, hung by the chimney if not with care, then with minimal attention: check. (Total holiday spirit time investment: you don't want to know; sewing cuffs on stockings was the bane of my existence.)

Not to mention, I have most of my Christmas shopping done! Which is all good, as we head to DC tomorrow where I will spend the week mostly hibernating and finishing up the writing for my MFA application. That puts us back in town on the 18th -- just enough time to actually enjoy, worry free, some of the aforementioned holiday spirit.

In Puerto Rico, they will call me Santa Julia

Yesterday, I performed a miracle. Perhaps not the kind the Catholic church -- with its fussy rules and stringent standards -- would recognize. I didn't turn water into wine or heal lepers or any such thing. No, this was a far greater accomplishment for someone like me: I made it through Thanksgiving while sticking to my food plan. In case the magnitude of this feat has not fully hit you, allow me to repeat myself: I did not gorge myself yesterday, I did not use it as an excuse to eat everything in sight, to drown myself in refined sugar. No, I actually stuck within my daily calorie count and came out a winner. I'm a winner! I also did something else that could bump up against miracle status -- I went to the Y in the morning. Chris and I figured a brief workout was a good defense before heading out to a friend's house for the afternoon meal. It seemed a novel idea and I pictured us practically owning the Y, the only two people in Ann Arbor good and dedicated enough to pursue fitness on this day of gluttony.

It turns out I was wrong, if you can even wrap your mind around that. We weren't the only people there. In fact, the place was LOUSY with people frantically plying the handle bars on the elliptical machine, puffing away to earn one...more...bite...of...yams. Who ARE all these people who take their fitness so seriously? Crazy fuckers.

At our Y, part of the exercise room has a large window overlooking the pool area, which was absolutely packed with men and small children, likely ejected from their households so that the moms could actually get something done. It was a happy sight.

But back to my triumph...what have I learned? How did I stay so healthy, so focused on Turkey Day? One, getting invited to someone else's house is a great idea, because not only do you avoid cleaning and cooking, but you avoid the scads of leftovers that you will -- no matter what you tell yourself -- consume in the night. Two, asked to contribute an appetizer, I brought a giant plate of raw veggies and dip. Now, I know that raw veggies and dip are not exactly fun. Everyone hates them. BUT if you force yourself to eat a handful of raw broccoli and cauliflower, you're so full of roughauge, you can't fit that many crackers with goat cheese dipped in olive oil down your gullet. (Although you might give it a shot.)

Our hostess prepared an abundance of fabulous food, but the interesting thing was that -- blessedly, though not planned -- the bread and potatoes never made it to the table. We had heaping bowls of roast veggies, a giant dish of sausage and mushroom stuffing, loads of turkey, two kinds of cranberry relish (including a low-sugar variety I made and brought so I wouldn't be tempted) and some amazing onions that were roasted in olive oil until they were sweet and caramely and falling apart. We even forgot the starter salad.

In other words, there was tons of food and most of it was relatively healthy, plus I am -- at 37 -- still trying on for size this novel idea that just because food is in front of you doesn't actually mean you have to eat it all. Or even as much as you can without vomiting. Strange, eh?

Sure, there were three pumpkin pies and one apple pie for six people -- which, in days past would have seemed like terrific odds. But I had one bite of each and was done. I realize as I type this that most of these ramblings will be of little interest to many readers. I also know that there are those too who struggle with food and health issues every day as I do. All I know is that nothing makes a difference to my general health, my energy level, my food cravings the way avoiding refined sugar and white flour does. I know not everyone's like this, but for me, they set off some sort of chemical carnival of blood sugar and madness.

But so far I'm two weeks into my latest attempt to avoid either evil substance and at least I know that if I wind up face down in a plate of my sister's brickle bars, I'll likely make my way back to this way of eating eventually. It's not easy to do, but I may finally be old enough where my health and the way I feel and what my body's telling me trumps my self-destructive impulses to consume with abandon. Well, for today, at least.

Chris on Topic A on KDHX tonight!

Many of you who were tried and true listeners of KDHX's The Wire (hosted by Amanda Doyle and Thomas Crone on the St. Louis community radio station) already know that the show's format and focus changed recently. It re-emerged with the same terrific hosts and a new national focus and a monthly theme. The theme for November is new media and tonight's guest is none other than Sharesleuth.com's Chris Carey, live via the modern marvel of telephony. (Worth noting is that last week's guest was our acquaintance and former Knight-Wallace Fellow Jason Beaubian. Small, tiny world strikes again!)

Lucky St. Louisans can tune into 88.1 FM at 7:30 pm for tonight's show. The rest of us can listen to it live online via streaming audio or download the podcast after the show via the website.

37

It even sounds kind of old, doesn't it? Like, dangerously close to 40. It didn't really hit me until yesterday, when I turned 37, even though I kind of had it in my head that I would somehow have a birthday, yet stay 36. These last few years of the thirties seem especially precious to me. My twenties were, largely, a bit of a dark phase as I wandered around the earth with no sense of who I was, really grasping at straws. I have, thus far, liked my thirties much better. It is my experience that that people I know -- and women, in particular -- really come into their own in this decade. There's a loss of the frivolous insecurities that plagued us through our twenties and a strength and empowerment that replaces it. That said, I'm not sure what the forties hold and, yes, it may be premature to think about it, but I barely feel like a grown up most days so to think I'm facing 40 in a few years just seems, well, silly. After all, I remember well the surprise birthday party my mother threw for my father when he turned 40. It seems such a...parental age.

But perhaps I should stop worrying about things that aren't here yet and put my energy into being a very good 37-year-old. After all, I could get hit by a bus tomorrow and never see 40 and all that worrying would have been for naught.

One last thought, before I leave the subject alone entirely: I think my fear of aging has increased dramatically since my mother died suddenly just two weeks after turning 60. My genetic legacy doesn't seem as bright as it once did, although my paternal grandparents lived into their 80s and my mother's mother is spry at 89. It's hard not to think that my life may be half over already -- and while my childhood seems a far reach away, it doesn't seem quite far enough away. If that makes any sense. Probably not. Okay. I'm done.

On the very, very bright side of things, it was a lovely birthday. It started with a bedside bouquet of stargazer lilies and breakfast in bed from my husband and continued with a showering of goodies, including enough Amazon gift certificates to snatch up all the things on my selfish wish list, my much-coveted Sublime Stitching book, about a thousand gorgeous-smelling goodies for my expanding bath scents wardrobe. I must have the coolest mother-in-law ever, as the birthday card she sent me plays "I Want Candy" when you open it.

In addition to beautiful scents, Chris treated me to a trip to Sephora, which is like taking me to heaven these days, now that my treatment is over and I can try on everything. I come out of there smelling like a whore and looking like a clown who's been punched in the mouth from trying on so much makeup, but I have such girly fun. (I also got to go to the endocrinologist and have blood drawn to see if we can get my thyroid levels in shape, but that doesn't quite sound like birthday fun.)

Then, last night, I did the last session of my current 826 workshop, and Erin and Amy had a lovely little box of Kilwin's chocolates for me. (I don't envy them the willpower required now that the new 826 location is just two doors down from the local chocolatier.) Isn't that so thoughtful of them?

Perhaps most suprising for me was that the gifts from Chris continued this morning, as he declared it a birthday week for me! (I can't even tell you how spoiled I'm getting.) I got some lovely Burt's Bees buttermilke bath soak (meant for babies, but so sweet and comforting smelling), some salt scrubs and, best of all, another Motawi rose tile to add to my collection. (It's the Pasadena rose in retro lime, in case you're as nuts about Arts & Crafts tile work as I am.)

Wait...was I complaining at turning 37? What was I thinking? It seems to rock pretty hard so far.

Found versus Post Secret

In case you're in Ann Arbor and looking for something great to do this weekend, I highly recommend checking out the Found vs. Post Secret event this Friday, Nov. 16 at the Michigan Theater. I don't know much about Post Secret's Frank Warren, but I have browsed the website on many occasion in full voyeuristic mode. And even though some of them postcards can be heavy, I've had the pleasure of attending Found Magazine events in St. Louis at the uber-fab Mad Art Gallery, so I know for sure those Rothbart boys can dish up some levity. It's part of a national tour and our A2 evening even promises up Ann Arbor mayor John Hieftje arm-wrestling local slam poetry guru Jeff Kass in a "death-defying duel." That and a few of Peter Rothbart's found-based ditties should make for a slew of fun. (Can there be a slew of fun?) Plus, Found Magazine is based here in A2, so it's a very special episode of what I'm sure is otherwise a cold and impersonal nationwide tour.

It'll be an interesting, unusual and fun event and, perhaps the best part, it benefits local charities, including my pet favorite, 826 Michigan. Buy tickets here, stir and enjoy!

Flurries!

Awoke this morning to the first of the year's snow flurries. They didn't last long, melting before they hit the ground and disappearing within an hour or so, but the sight always makes me giddy. Even if it means winter's upon us with only the briefest of falls. Maybe after a few more Michigan winters, I'll learn to grouse about the cold like the rest of the locals, but for now I love it. I've always had a penchant for the things cold weather brings -- shuffling through leaves; big, warm sweaters; pots of fragrant tea; a roaring fireplace; cats curling up on your lap to steal your body heat; knitting mittens and hats; cuddling under blankies watching movies or reading books. I feel more peaceful and contented when the weather turns cool than I do at any other time of the year.

So, yay, flurries!

It's the most shameless time of the year

In case you hadn't noticed, it's November, which kicks off the holiday season with a one-two celebration of two historically important births: me and Jesus. Naturally, as we head into the holidays, I've been spending quite a bit of time thinking about the true meaning of the season: gifts. Getting them, that is. Oh, don't act like you're not already wondering what you can con your loved ones into handing over in the weeks to come. Oh. You're not?

Really?

Huh. Well, further proof that you are a better person than me. In my defense, my family will start requesting gift lists from one another in the coming weeks, so thinking about this stuff does become quite a priority. Nothing makes your loved ones madder when you tell them you don't need or want anything for Christmas. (Not a problem I've ever encountered, mind you, but I have a husband who's ridiculously selfless and completely satisfied with his current lot in life and, let me tell you, it PISSES OFF my family, who are dying to shop for him.)

I have to admit I also love reading wish lists on other people's blogs. It seems craftsters are particularly prone to waxing poetic on their blogs about the things they covet -- whether it's a certain piece of fabric or skein of luxury yarn, tools for taking on a brand new craft or a just-published book full of fresh ideas. Maybe it's because we, the craftsy set, are always eager to try something new. Or maybe we're just greedy pigs. Either way, I enjoy such lists because they often introduce me to new products or ideas and get me thinking about what I enjoy and what brings me pleasure. And that is, more often than not: stuff. New stuff.

All of which is my long-winded slightly sheepish introduction to a list of things I've been eyeing and coveting lately. Please peruse, if only to make yourself feel superior because you're too busy collecting spare coins for Darfurian orphans with congenital birth defects to worry about what Santa will bring you.

*Paper may just be paper, but why do I feel so much more like a writer when I’m scribbling in a Moleskine journal ? Perhaps it’s because it’s the same brand of notebook favored by Hemingway and Van Gogh. More likely I’m just a sucker for marketing and perceived cache. Regardless, there’s room in my life for a new Moleskine Large Ruled Journal and, especially, the limited edition 2008 Red Large Daily Planner for planning my large days.

* Speaking of paper, I’m big into the handcrafting thing and lately I’ve been taken by how many beautiful paper crafts there are out there. I love seeing other people’s creative endeavors and dig the idea of supporting individual artists, especially via Etsy. At present, I’m particularly digging these super-affordable and super-adorable paper origami pendants (pictured above), and sets of silk-screened or stamped handmade note cards like this cute-as-pie bunch or these spare and lovely botanical designs .

*Books are also made of paper (segue!) and even though I have a zillion lined up for reading, there are still more I want to add to my shelves. I’ve been immersing myself in short stories lately and I keep coming back to Amy Hempel, whose classic short story “In the Cemetery Where Al Jolson Is Buried” completely changed the way I read and the way I wanted to write. So while I don’t often go for bulky hardcover editions, “The Collected Stories of Amy Hempel” is one tome I’d like to have weighing down the bookshelf in its hard shell incarnation.

*Also…I’ve long admired the work of Madison Smartt Bell although I don’t know nearly enough of it. Thus, I’ve taken note that his name and works have popped up a lot this part year in writing workshops, particularly in reference to his book “Narrative Design: Working with Imagination, Craft and Form.” Wouldn’t even have to be a new copy of this one; I kind of like writing books I know others have thumbed through.

* I’m mad about Maira Kalman , the illustrator, designer and children’s book author whose crazy beautiful Max (poet, dog, dreamer) series first caught my attention about 15 years ago. (You probably know her work even if you don’t know her name – the above New Yorker cover is a favorite.) A couple of years ago, a friend gave me a much-treasured volume of the classic The Elements of Style, made fresh anew by Kalman’s drawings. Thus, I’m happy that her columns from the New York Times’ Times Select have been compiled, accompanied by her illustrations, in a new collection entitled “The Principles of Uncertainty.” If you know someone who likes the quirky and unusual, this would make a terrific gift. (And that's not just an embarrassingly transparent hint -- it's a genuine gift suggestion for others!)

*While we’re on the topic of reading material…I already get entirely too many magazines, especially those featuring cool projects I wish I could take on but don’t have time for. Thus, it’s probably unwise to mention that I’ve fallen prey to a couple new home-design-craft type mags out there, especially since one is from Martha Stewart Publications (gasp!). Nonetheless, I wouldn’t sneeze at a subscription to either Blueprint or Domino .

*Back to books for a moment, yet onto crafts at the same time. Isn't it funny how there are things your heart desires, but you feel a bit embarrassed saying so? (I realize upon writing that last sentence that porn lovers and people who watch Dancing with the Stars are reading this and thinking, "Uh, no.") Such is my yearning for the book “Sublime Stitching”. There! I’ve said it! I want to learn how to embroider! How on earth a woman who knits and sews still feels like embroidery is too “traditional” a craft, I don’t know. But I’m taken with the retro-cool designs in this book and think a little embroidery could go a long way to personalizing and embellishing the knits and sewn goods I churn out.

* Speaking of retro, there’s hardly a fabric at Repro Depot I wouldn’t like to have a few yards of. (The Fabric Fairy has some lovely choices too.) Especially the spare Japanese designs (like the one above) that are just begging to be made into gifts for the babies in my life (or those soon to arrive) -- bibs? crib blankets? onesies? Who knows?

*You’d think I’d already have all the knitting gadgets a girl could have, but clearly I don’t. Although I don’t knit quite as much as I used to, when I do, it’s usually more complicated work, involving cables or lace work, which need to be tracked – often in different sections – over the course of a pattern. That’s where the Row Counter Plus would come in, handily keeping e-track of everything I’m currently tracking with a not-so-reliable system of one manual row counter and scribbled-upon scraps of paper.

*After two years on a medical treatment that prevented me from using any cosmetics or toiletries containing plant oil, I’m back, baby. And the world of fragrance is blissfully wide open to me again. There is no time I’m happier than in my tub and while I steer clear of most things that smell like something you can eat (with the notable exception of Philosophy’s Lemonade line ), I’m partial to botanical scents and lavender. Thus, I’m itching to stock up on Lush bubble bars and bath bombs , all things lavender by L’Occitane en Provence and, hell, anything that bubbles up, scrubs, softens, smoothes, soothes and smells good.

Phew. That was hella fun making that list. Now...how 'bout YOU? What's on your wish list, holiday or otherwise? Comments section is below. Use it, folks.

Squirrel Redux

Things didn't work out so well for the baby squirrel. For hours, he or she was silent, leading me to think -- perhaps a bit wishfully -- that he/she had found the window opening from whence it had arrived and exited. However, when I returned home from dinner last night, I found Allie keeping guard over the present he proudly left me. On my knitting. My white knitting. You know, in case I missed it.

Sigh. Such is the circle of life. Start singing that one Disney song now.

So much for a lazy Sunday

I had planned to spend this morning sleeping late, enjoying the extra hour afforded me by daylight savings time. But that changed when I awoke around 8 to what sounded like the cats trying to rearrange the furniture in the living room. At first, I thought, How nice. We could stand a fresh look. And then the pace of movement intensified, the sound of claws scrabbling across our hardwood floors increased and I thought perhaps it warranted a look. If anything, they were going about the new design too quickly and the results would be harried at best. As it turned out, the cats were not re-doing the living room. Rather, they were desperately trying to capture some creature that, based on their sentry points on either side of the couch, was hidden below. Delightful. This is one of those times when it really does come in handy to have a former Iowa farm boy in your house, and mine is in Montreal.

I assumed it was a mouse, until it emerged at top speed and made a mad dash under the bookcase and I discovered that our guest was actually a baby squirrel. A little sleuthing later -- mostly done as the poor thing dashed from under thing A to under thing B, the cats in hot pursuit -- revealed that it had entered through my office window, pushing in the block of wood covering a gap left by the A/C unit. How diligent! How resourceful!

I spent the next half hour or so in a somewhat comical routine, wherein I would shut the cats in one room and try to scare said baby squirrel out from under whatever it was under, then the cats would somehow get out and show up again, sending BS back under something else. Eventually, I shut the cats in the basement. BS headed under the couch. Now what?

I tried reasoning. I told BS that I had fully removed the piece of wood from the window and if he or she would kindly extricate him or herself and head back to the office, the free world was waiting. Nothing. BS stayed under the couch. I tried jimmying the couch this way a bit, a few inches that way, but nothing sent BS out until I stood on top of the couch and walked across it. Bingo! BS went scurrying out from under the couch and back into my office. Terrific progress! And then it scurried out of my office, into the bathroom (which shares a door to my office and the kitchen.)

I met BS on the other side, trying to head him/her off in the kitchen, at which point, it dashed off and took refuge...somewhere. I think under the fridge. So I sort of pushed against the fridge a few times hoping to inspire an panicked exit. Nothing. I took things out of the fridge, putting them back heavily on the shelves. Still nothing. Then I waited.

It has now been nearly an hour and there has been no movement. I let the cats out of the basement, thinking perhaps BS had actually gone somewhere else and they would be excellent scouts. But nada. The cats have sniffed around a bit then gone about their usual business of mewling for food and licking themselves in unseemly places. Thus, I've done what any sane person would do in my position -- poured a cup of coffee, grabbed my laptop and headed back to bed to wait.

A weekend in Indy

A few shots from a quick weekend in Indianapolis. Olivia had her tonsils out but, gauging by the general sass quotient in this photo, she seems to be recovering quite swimmingly:

Rebecca dressed as The Very Wealthy Ladybug. Surely you remember that book from childhood?

Olivia modeling some jewelry from her late Grandma Anne's jewelry box:

Our little friend Gabrielle, seriously upping the adorable quotient in the house:

And another photo of Rebecca because, well, equality counts:

Comment on comments

Seeing as I get a lot fewer comments on my blog postings lately, I assumed my readership must have dropped. (No, it never occurred to me that I had a lot of readers with nothing to say.) But a quick glance at my stats tells me I'm getting more readers than ever. Reader feedback, however, indicates that some of you have had problems figuring out how to register for comments. So -- and I hesitate to say this, as I suspect the Spam Gods will take this as a cue to bombard me -- I've made it easier to leave comments. Those of you who have run into technical problems should have no problems now.

And I guess I'll find out if any of you got somethin' to say!

Oh, and also...TOOT TOOT!

What's that? Why, that's the sound of my own horn. Seems like yours truly has been named the 826 Michigan volunteer of the month for October 2007. I'm still working on my acceptance speech, but suffice to say I'm flattered by the honor and embarrassed by the praise. Actually, it's about damn time somebody recognized my efforts. I was just about to sever all ties with 826. I mean, what's the POINT in helping people if they're not going to tell you how awesome you are in return?

And I pledge this: when the Volunteer of the Year pageant rolls around, those other little do-gooders are GOING DOWN! DOWN! BWAAHHHH AHHHH!

Kiki's here!

I've a million things I want to write about, but most of all I wanted to give a shout out (as the kids say, or used to, eight million years ago) to the much-anticipated premiere issue of Kiki Magazine. I've written a bit about this mag in the past few months and I've got a couple of articles in the premiere issue. But I finally got my paws on a hard copy upon my return to Glasgow and I have to say the resulting publication is terrific. I have a terrific amount of admiration for Jamie Bryant working-mom-turned-novice-magazine-publisher.

In case I didn't hammer it home hard enough, Kiki's a fashion magazine "for girls with style and substance." It very cool-y takes young girls' interest in fashion and design quite seriously and serves up a ton of great, informative and interesting articles -- alongside some terrific DIY tips and creativity pages.

The premiere issue includes articles about Donna Karan and Isaac Mizrahi; the history of denim; fashion capitol New York City; spending your money smartly; and the 411 on different types of fabric and where they come from. There are great DIY articles on how to make a ribbon rosette, how to create a budget for your wardrobe; and cute hairdos girls can do themselves.

The mag also doubles as a creativity journal with pages that teach you how to draw, start a dream journal and design your own store front. Plus there are quizzes, book reviews, product reviews, etc. There's a TON more in here than I even imagined when I started writing for it.

So yes, I'm a tad biased but SERIOUSLY, if you know a girl aged 8-14 who digs fashion, you simply must put a subscription to Kiki on your Xmas shopping list for them. I'm a tad older than 14 and I think it's awesome.

Greetings from Glasgow

Yesterday may have been the longest day ever. Or was it two days? Because we left on Wednesday, arrived on Thursday morning and now it's Friday but really...where are we? It was a long, long travel time to get here. Chris and I drove to Indianapolis, where my sister lives, on Tuesday afternoon so that my niece Rebecca wouldn't have to fly to us by herself. Thus, we had a rather convoluted routing -- Indy to Boston, layover in Boston for three and a bit hours, Boston to Amsterdam, an hour and a half there, then onto Glasgow. By the time we piled into a taxi at Glasgow airport yesterday around 11 am, we'd been on the road for 17 or 18 hours, 11 of that in the air. And Rebecca was the only one who'd managed to get any sleep on the way and she only managed a quick hour and a half nap.

Despite all that and the fact that we felt we were walking through jello all day, the air still seeming to hum and bump with air travel, we had a good, if uneventful day. We're staying in the great little rental flat on Dowanhill Street, the same one we took last year and it's a great idea, especially with a kid in tow. We were able to chill out and turn on the TV for her yesterday to watch the British version of Deal of No Deal. These sort of things are surprisingly comforting to an 8-year-old.

In the afternoon, our big social engagement -- and really, the overall goal of this trip -- was met when my Uncle Douglas walked over with my Grandma to meet Rebecca. Oh, and us, too, I'm sure. We all then hoofed it a block or so over to Byres Road, where we found a little cafe in one of the beautiful little back lanes and sat for an hour or so having coffee (Rebecca had lemonade) and getting acquainted.

It really went very well, although I did have to play interpreter a bit. I don't know that it was any easier for my Grandma to understand Rebecca's rapid American speech than it was for Rebecca to parse her Glasgow accent. But, at the end of the day, when I asked Rebecca what her favorite part of a VERY long day was, she replied, "Meeting Granny P and Uncle Douglas." So it must have gone well.

After a bite to eat at the University Cafe -- where Rebecca sat at the same narrow "kneesie" tables where her Grandma and Grandpa courted -- we were back at the flat and struggling to stay awake until 8 pm, which we deemed a decent enough hour to crawl into bed. I was certain we'd all snooze for a zillion hours, but it's now five in the morning and I've been up for an hour or so. Good thing today's lazy schedule will allow for a nap!

On the roster today is a trip to the Kelvingrove Art Gallery, a favorite visiting spot when I was a child and now reopened after a massive removation it's Glasgow's #1 tourist destination. There are enough dinosaur bones and cool exhibits to offset all those BORING paintings for a kid. We'll probably pop across the street to the Museum of Transport afterwards, although it's hard to impress internet-raised kids with an old trolley.

More updates -- and some photos -- when we return!

The quickest of notes

...to say we're heading off to Glasgow this morning with Rebecca. We have a long day of travel ahead of us that routes us from Indianapolis to Boston to Amsterdam to Glasgow, arriving at 9 tomorrow morning GMT (4 am our time). In the meantime, if you miss us terribly, check out this month's issue of Wired magazine, which has an article about Chris and Sharesleuth in it. I'm a tad disappointed about some of the stuff in there (or not in there), but maybe if you take a gander you can let me know what you think.

Also, don't know if any of you caught Chris' business partner Mark Cuban on Dancing with the Stars last night. I'd never seen the show before, but I'll say this: the man knows how to have fun. If you Tivo'd it, give it a watch.

More from Glasgow after we arrive!