"Vacation (vay KAY shun) noun: 1. An infinitesimally short period of time one waits all year for only to stress about accommodations, activities, and budget. 2. The most stressful time of a year. 3. A break from work so fraught with peril as to make work preferable. 4. The time when your immune system decides to embrace a 'good-will' policy toward all infections, bacteria, and virii allowing them to run rampant." (New Pessimist Dictionary of Seth)

The pressure has been slowly building over the last couple of months; our one week off in July was growing ever close and we'd need something to do with it (or so conventional wisdom says). It's a simple fact: vacations cost money. Money seems hard to come buy these days, and thus vacations seem hard to take. Sure, you might get time off from work, but can you afford to do anything other than lounge around your house all day playing video games, reading books, and winking suggestively? As much fun as that may sound were I to try that tactic I'd only have a pair of cats to wink at, and that's just no good. Time for plan B.

Last night I made what I believe to be my best cake yet. It's a simple yellow cake, but the batter was so delectable I was willing to fight people off for the privilege to lick the bowl; I haven't been so excited to lick the bowl since I was a kid, but just tasting the batter was enough to make me as excited as a little boy in a candy shop on a free shopping spree. It is perhaps unfair of me to describe something which I cannot share, so I shall keep it to a minimum. Suffice it to say the cake came out tasting just as good as the batter. The end result is a double layer yellow cake with a vanilla filling and a ganache topping. Next time I need to find a better topping to compliment the cake.

I am beginning to wonder if bad things come in threes as this is not the first time I've had a series of bad events. This has been a week from Purgatory, if not from Hell itself, and maybe it's finally over; the damage, however, is done, and its consequences seem like they will follow us for at least a year. There is some morbid part of man which wishes to share in the sorrow and calamity that befalls one's life, thus I shall impart the latest scenes in my saga of woes.

The stage is set on a cheery Monday morning, only slightly past nine o'clock and two silver automobiles pull into a parking lot outside a gleaming white building at the same time. Mondays are never good days, and showing up late to work at the same time as the boss isn't the way I like to start off my week. There is no way to avoid my tardiness as my boss comes over to chat with me. He had some rather distressing news, I was losing my office. Our office building is a mostly vacant 10,000 square foot converted house; I used to work in an isolated section of the building. I like isolation; at some fundamental level all computer geeks are at least partially anti-social; I perhaps tip the scales ever so slightly as I prefer to work without a soul around. I had that for more than a year, and it was bliss. I could turn my music up as loud as I wanted; I could, and often would, whistle with great gusto when a particularly peppy tune would find its way to my ears. I was behind a locked door with only four known keys, and none of my peers had one; I was free from inane interruptions: I had total freedom to work as only I can. This Monday I lost that freedom; my perk was removed from me as that part of the building was finally going to see use, and I had to admit I would most certainly be in the way. I now work in the common room. I have no walls, no cubicle even. I am out in the open, exposed like a naked man on a busy street corner.

Saturday was a long day and had mixed rewards. Our wood pile had grown tragically small and the weather has taken a sudden dive. Papa had a lead on some free wood, all we needed to do was pick it up and haul it away; and this we did. We did not realize there was nearly a cord of wood to pick up; I'm far from complaining about it, but it did force us to adjust our expectations about how long the chore would take us. Since Papa is still recovering from his dislocated shoulder injury he could not lift much, which left me with most of the heavy lifting; to put it bluntly I am sore all over my body.

As I previously mentioned, Holly agreed to take me out to the Thompson Brewery & Public House on Valentine's Day; I did not know how much she was looking forward to the dinner. All throughout the day she would mention how excited she was to be going to the pub. It's an odd twist to have one's wife actually excited to celebrate the only publicly acknowledged romantic holiday in a less-than romantic setting, but I have a very special wife who surprises me with her compatibility on a regular basis.

It's official! Holly just made reservations for 7:15 PM at the Thompson Brewery & Public House. I'm excited; I've been wanting to go there and now I get a chance. From what Holly told me the guy on the phone said the building has maintained its many rooms (it's a 1905 building) so that will be interesting to see what it's like on the inside.

It has been our tradition to celebrate Valentine's Day early, at least the dinner part, which affords us a quieter atmosphere, usually better service, a more relaxed pace, and in general a better time. Since Valentine's Day is on a Tuesday this year we decided to celebrate on Sunday, allowing us to take an earlier dinner than if we waited for me to come home from work. One would assume that deciding on a Sunday would afford us a larger range of times to pick for dinner, and possibly a larger array of locations, since we'd have time to drive to the restaurant. We have made a southern trek to Novak's to enjoy some good Hungarian food a couple of times, and made a northern trek to Gustav's and enjoyed good German fare last year. This year we didn't feel much like spending our afternoon in the car.

It was a Tuesday; it was a sunny and beautiful day, if you go for sunny winter days, and I was getting into my car, having just wolfed down a hasty lunch, and began my trek to a job interview. Last week a buddy of mine dropped me a line about a position at his company that just opened up; I had looked at it and had mixed feelings, for it was advertised as a “contract-to-hire” position. The rest of the job description looked not only acceptable but nearly desirable. I was a good fit for what they wanted, and having a buddy on the inside wouldn't hurt. After much discussion and much thought I decided I would carelessly throw my resume at them and see what happens, figuring that getting an interview would at least give me an opportunity to discover more information about the nature of the “contract-to-hire” status.

We have been in a bit of a tight financial situation lately due to the failure of a couple of rather important appliances; our water heater had a leak, which we were told could not be fixed and thus needed to be replaced, and our furnace was broken and we feared it needed replacing as well. We had some people come out today to replace the water heater and look at the furnace, ready to write a $600+ check. As it turns out the water heater was leaking in a place that could be fixed ($100) and the furnace was serviced ($120) and is now working. Instead of spending $600+ to “fix” one appliance we spent $220 and repaired both!

I just found out that Papa fell off his ladder while working on the tool shed (perhaps it should be known as The Tool Shed of Doom). He's been in the emergency room because he dislocated his shoulder. Mama said they will sedate him to relocate it then he can go home. He's going to need some physical therapy. I'll write more as I learn more, and I'll see if I can get Papa to write something, if he can.

UPDATE: It turns out the ladder fell out from underneath Papa. He's in a brace now to prevent him from re-dislocating his shoulder. He's in some pain (and will be for a while) and it is suspected he has a 3 week recovery before he will regain full range of motion.