Demeter, Typewriter of the Olympians

I recently purchased a beautiful, vintage Green Goddess–the 1960 Olympia SM4 portable typewriter in this very picture. Demeter needs a small amount of restoration and repairs, which I think I can handle. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m a little obsessed, am on *every* typewriter message board and blog, and am performing the surgical procedures a little at a time. The chrome clasps on her adorable travel case have some rust, and I’m tackling that too. Guys, I’m psyched about her new ribbon: black on top and purple on the bottom. Her 1960 ribbon had no words.

Olympia SM4 Portable Typewriter

1960 Olympia SM4 Portable Typewriter

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Pink Kicks; The Neil Gaiman Thesis; Not Enough Coffee in the World…

Kids. They are the greatest: At keeping you exhausted. Trying your patience. Implying your presence is desired and despised in a five-minute span. Hugging as though the soft warmth is a future lifeline. Absorbing all the yeses and letting the noes slide off like temper tantrums. That’s the Great Beauty of spending time with young kids. You remember hope, relearn the confident ask, raise your expectations because no won’t kill you, and you’re confident you can win the yes. The world hasn’t broken them yet, and if you can carry that fragile memory from your nieces in NJ, home to ME, you can cheerful your way through the months until you hug them again.

But srsly, exhaustion. I may be speaking from a delirious, alter-ego state of being. Seeeee? I’m actually writing, not speaking. Not enough coffee, or Ritalin, in the world for this…

I ordered pink kicks by Vionic, with orthotic soles or insoles or something podiatrist-approved. The size was not-good, so I ordered a different size and shall return the first pair. Said podiatrist injected numbing solution into both sides of each ankle to release presumed nerve impingement. Ouch. Pain decreased from walking on hot coals and nails, to walking on dull tacks with gentle-ish vice grips. Take that, toe arthritis. And heel bone spurs. And plantar fasciitis.

Putting a pin in my love for Neil Gaiman’s many Great Works. Will resume on the morrow. I mentioned the exhaustion, right?

Pumped-up, pink kicks:

Pink, Vionic Kicks

Domain, Sweet Domain

I planted my flag in the rich and fertile lands of domain ownership (rentership?) yesterday. Do I own this domain, even though I must pay a yearly fee? As a former IT person I feel like I should know the answer.

Regardless, this hectare is mine, all mine. Wipe the mud off your feet and close the door; we don’t live in a barn.

Mansplaining for bears: Less fun than manscaping. While reading a Berenstain Bears book to my niece, G, today, I was blindsided by misogyny. Mama Bear attempted to explain Thanksgiving to the cubs, but Papa Bear interrupted Mama Bear and mansplained all over her monologue. Page images below.

As a side note, I looked up the spelling of Berenstain a moment ago and was surprised the name ends with “stain.”