Feeling totally helpless

My home, Fargo, is flooding. I currently live 4,000 miles from Fargo in my other home, but I'm so longing to be there, to help. In 1997, my senior year of high school, the Red River flooded to a record 39.5 feet in Fargo. I learned then that every decimal point counts. This year is worse. This year the flood is at 40.82 feet so far and not expected to crest until 42 feet is reached. This year is also better. The city is so much more prepared and better organized. However, every year relies on the unfaling community spirit, which abounds in Fargo, and the ability to overcome a somewhat unpredictable north flowing river.

All I can do is watch the websites (valleyfloodwatch.com is the most frequently updated) and try to refrain from panicking. I'm so proud of everyone in Fargo. They step up and help each other in times like this. My friends Andi and Em have driven 400 miles to be there and help (thank you so much for your detailed update, it means a lot to me). Other friends have done similar, lots of them. All the people who live there that are just amazing. They've spent weeks finishing work, sometimes early, to go sandbag for hours. Many who have recently been evacuated from their homes moved to a safer part of Fargo and continued sandbagging day and night. My parents, especially my Dad, are frustrated by their ill health which doesn't allow them to get involved. I understand how they feel. It's agony just watching. My Mom plans to go to the Fargodome to help sign in volunteers at 4 this morning, my Dad has to stay home and make sure the sump pump pipe doesn't freeze.

This youtube video keeps making me cry... and yet I keep watching it.

Fargo, I'm proud of you. Responding to Red Alerts in the wee hours of the morning to help save communities around you. Forever-Fargoans travelling home to help people you love and people you no longer know. You can hold the river back! I will keep watching and waiting for my chance to help. Although money is all I can give, it will be given with all my heart.

the cupcake debate

I seem to be hearing lots and lots about cupcakes lately. They are all the rage. My friend Andrea seems to be particularly creative in her attempts (I only wish I lived closer to enjoy the spoils). The latest reference to them was an email from a colleague that her niece has started a cupcake making business.

Over coffee with some friends yesterday I discovered I missed a debate at work discussing the differences between fairy cakes and cupcakes. When I told Neil about the debate he defined the difference with very little hesitation. His definition: a fairy cake is a version of cupcake where the top is removed so the center can be filled with whipped cream, the top is then replaced in two halves, which are arranged to look like wings.

A bit of research on Wikipedia tells me that fairy cakes are just another name for cupcakes, whereas what Neil described are actually Butterfly cakes.

In a final attempt at meaningful procrastination, I used my reliable Google define search (I placed "define: fairy cake" into the google search box), and I rather liked the two definitions that popped up:

1. A small cake baked in a small paper cup, in multi-compartment pan; a cupcake en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fairy_cake

2. Fairy cakes are cakes made of fairy juice.The faeries can usually be found in Neverland.Faerie cakes have bean outlawed since Tinkerbell was used in one. People such as GamerGod351 often attempt to steal them. This is most rude.
en.wiktionary.org/wiki/fairy_cake

Although I plan to eat a cupcake when offered, and I admire the creativity behind most I've seen (Cake Wrecks publicises cakes that are not to be admired), in this house we make muffins. We're too lazy to bother with the paper cases or the impressive decoration. Our level of complication is making sure we have a container of creme fraiche before we make cinnamon sugar muffins... which I may just have to do after all this cupcake talk.

my birthday bash

So I turned 30 on the 13th... and I celebrated! There's nothing I can do about being older so I enjoy the excuse to have fun. Neil spoiled me with a trip to London. We went to Yo Sushi! in Victoria train station for lunch then walked to our hotel to check in and relax until going to a show. My big treat was tickets (good tickets) to see Wicked.

It was a very good show. The story was clever and very thorough. The songs were wonderfully written (I was a little put off by the nasal voices of both the main parts). But the most spectacular was the stage design. It was innovative, clever, engaging and inspiring. There was lots of flying and the entire stage space was well used from top to bottom! It couldn't have been better!
The next day we woke up late and enjoyed a lie-in before wandering out to the shops. The hotel had a computer in the room to help us choose our lunch destination... but it was a Mac! Before leaving London we had a late lunch at Mango Tree which was really lovely. I ordered the wrong thing, it tasted really nice and was full of my favorite things (such as razor clams and mushrooms) but there was more chili than I had planned on which meant my mouth was in pain after just a few bites. Luckily, Neil thought it was very tasty, so he finished it while I finished his lobster tempura. The trade was not disappointing.

When we arrived back in Cambridge we wandered home to meet up with our friend Christopher. He'd decorated the kitchen in streamers and balloons. We went to a late dinner together at Asia which was a great surprise. Christopher brought gifts to unwrap at the restaurant (a parsley shredder and fabulous orange teaspoons), but the big gift was back at home. It was an orange tea tray laid out on our bed, impressively wrapped and decorated with Happy Birthday confetti. So much fun!

We finished the celebration with hours of fun playing Rayman's Raving Rabids TV. Who knew dancing, playing music and driving with your bum could be so entertaining?!

The next morning I discovered I'd missed cleaning up all the confetti the night before. Oops!

Tools required week

These were the tools required for Saturday the 21st through Tuesday the 24th of February.
They were required for two projects. The first began that Saturday. Neil and removed the bed and wardrobe from the spare room (they're currently in pieces in the loft, except the mattress which is in the other spare room now). Then we moved my computer and desk into the "study." This room was originally intended to be my study when we bought the house, it was decorated to be the study even... but in one of our fits of "wouldn't it work better this way" we made it a spare room and moved my desk into the room with television. This wasn't good for my concentration during study hours. This is what my desk space looks like now (and no, my desktop will never be tidy no matter how hard I try).

This project is still ongoing, but it's nice to have my own space again.

The second reason for the tools was because Maegan is curious like a cat, but lacks the useful grace of most cats. We had to dismantle a part of the kitchen, as seen below:
While making my morning cup of coffee (second thing that happens after I get out of bed) I heard Maegan meowing. I knew it was Maegan because it actually sounded like a cat (Maegan rarely makes more than a squeak), but it was the muffled sound of a cat behind a cupboard door. After looking in lots of our cupboards it occured to me that Maegs was possibly in her favorite corner above the kitchen cupboards. As I looked in the corner from the top of my step ladder I discovered a gap between the wall and the tallest cupboard we have; a gap that was just wide enough for a cat to fall down. See this picture for the height:
After about 40 minutes we managed to remove enough wood from the wall and saw through enough nails to pry a bit of wood disquising the gap between cupboard and wall forward. After removing a broken rod with cafe curtain attached, Maegan scrambled out of her kitchen prison and ran straight outside. Apart from incredibly being dusty she was fine, but refused to come back into the house and seemingly marvelling at her lack of confinement. The trauma didn't last long and she's even been venturing to that corner recently. As we haven't repaired the kitchen yet, at least the next rescue won't take long.

Can I help?

Apparently there's something about me that says "I know where you want to be." Something about me that isn't even visible.

About a year ago, a friend asked me in an email if, because I work in the information profession, I end up with many people asking me for directions frequently. I said no because it didn't seem to me that I was asked often enough to make it unusual; afterall, I live in Cambridge which is a tourist trap in the summer. Something strange has happened in the last year. It's possible that I'm just more observant of my direction giving, but I think there's something more to it.

Twice in a little over three months I have given directions to someone that has rung my doorbell because he/she/they have somehow made it to Ekin Road but that's not where he/she/they want to be. The first time was when students that I recognized as frequenters of my library (and they recognized me as library staff) had been dropped off by a taxi to the completely wrong road. Tonight, an Italian language school student had wandered off the beaten path in search of the home he is staying in. The first time, I directed them using a map and hoped they made it to their destination; tonight it was just easier to put on my shoes and coat and walk him to the correct road since he had no understanding of where he was. I have also encountered numerous other language students in need of directions to the right road or the nearest bus stop. And it seems that a lot more people have come to my centrally located library to get directions to other places on campus.

I like giving directions. It makes me feel useful and helpful. It does seem frustrating, though, that I can't get delivery people to find my home but strays have no trouble. What is it about me and my home that says "I can help."?