Today, we are friends and we will share the windowsill.

Tomorrow, we will not.

We will get back to you about Saturday.

A couple of weeks ago, I received a JetBlue alert that my flight had changed; however, the email was blank in the area for listing the changes. I logged in and nothing seemed different than my printed itinerary, so I chalked it up to a technical error. Sure enough, an hour or so later, I received an apologetic email about the mistaken change alert. We all go on our merry way.

I mentioned to Dave how easy it is to send out incorrect email blasts -- having sent those mass messages to immense member lists almost daily for the past five years. At my first week at DFA, I was sending messages alone for only the second or third time when I realized, with a sick feeling, that I had sent a message intended for North Dakota to the entire email list.

And there was the time that I accidentally used our Executive Director's real email address in the reply-to field. He had about 50,000 messages to sort through the next day. It happens.

But it doesn't happen often, (my rate is three in five years, which is less than 0.1%.) so I was a little surprised to get a second flight change alert this week from JetBlue. Again, the relevant information was blank and the flight route mentioned was one I've never traveled or booked. And again, I received an apology email shortly afterwards, along with a few other people.

Sure, there's a little bit of schadenfreude, watching someone else hit the wrong button. But there's a little relief as well. I may have once asked some donors to support a guy 2,000 miles away, but at least no one showed up for the wrong flight.

I have found cookie heaven. By following my sister-in-law's mother-in-law's recipe, I finally ended up with buttery, tender cookies with shiny, solid icing on top. They look like something you'd buy shink-wrapped at Easter. Hooray!

Trevor wandered over while he was supposed to be doing homework to see what I was up to. He glazed a couple himself, then manned the sanding sugar. He added a dollop of blue food coloring to some of the pink to make his own indigo cookie. (The spot on his chin is blue food coloring.)

When in doubt, ask someone's Italian mother. Grazie, Maria!

Wednesday night was our town Selectboard meeting; and though these meetings generally take quite a while, I never expected it to last four hours. One of my items was in the middle of the agenda, but the other was dead last and I wanted to be there for it.

I usually have Trevor with me, so I need to duck out around 9:30 to get him to bed, but he asked to stay home -- which helped both of us. He was able to finish his homework and do his evening chores without rushing and I was able to stay until the very end of the meeting. He had a list of rules (no cooking, no phone calls, call the neighbors if he had any questions) and I was two minutes away by car. It all went very well. I came home to completed homework, fed & happy cats and a sleeping boy.

I usually bring some little piece of hand sewing to each meeting. Besides keeping me occupied in what is otherwise a very "in the weeds" meeting (learn everything you've ever wanted to know about grading roadbeds!), the sewing helps me ignore the drone and flicker of the flourescent lighting which otherwise drives me buggy.

I started and finished this little piece last night... a holiday topiary cross stitch that I got last fall. I'm so late with finishing it that I'm now early for Christmas 2008. And I finally mastered the art of making good French knots. I tied the final knot as the Selectboard chair announced, "Meeting adjourned."

I've given up on bread for the moment and focused back on what works well for me -- desserts. I asked my sister-in-law's mother-in-law (figure that one out) to send me her recipe for sugar cookies. Hers are crumbly and soft, not like my crisp version.

After trying her instructions, I think my three previous mistakes were rolling the dough too thin, cooking it for too long, and using butter that was too cold and stiff. These came out much more chewy and tender.

Next... on to the icing.

Michelle, in an attempt to rescue me from another bread-baking disaster, emailed me a link to this fine recipe. It's called No-Knead Bread, from the New York Times. And, indeed, I did not knead it at all.

It was working swimmingly well, right up until the baking part. I had bubbly, soft dough that rose the way it was supposed to and promised to be a fluffy, tall loaf. Thirty minutes into baking, the bread changed it's mind and reverted back to a flat, pouty little foccacia-like crispbread. I can only imagine there's something wrong with my oven calibration or my yeast activity. Or my DNA.

When a bell rings, an angel gets his wings. And when a gentile burns her latkes, somewhere a Bubbe cries, "Oy vey!"

Clearly, I did not do this right... unless latkes are supposed to be an unpalatable war between charred grated turnips and raw grated potatoes.

I turned down the heat, squeezed out more liquid and tried again with smaller handfuls. The second batch came out much better, but they still sponged up olive oil at an alarming rate and never quite seemed to cook in the center. Oy Gevalt.

The other day I inexplicably turned on The Today Show while making the bed and I was horrified by a segment that profiled a working mother who had picked up a second job in order to make ends meet. In itself, the piece wasn't remarkable except that the tone was exuberant, as if second jobs were the hot new accessory for working moms. Second jobs were touted as the solution to high gas and food prices. Second jobs will save the middle class. Hooray for second jobs!

I find it hard to believe that 1) the solution to the problem of soaring prices for basic needs rests on the already heavily-laden shoulders of working mothers, and 2) the way for American families to make ends meet is to work more.

If one woman picking up some after-hours tailoring work is going to end rice shortages, gas price hikes and $5-per-gallon milk, I'll gladly become a part-time caterer during evenings and weekends to end genocide and reduce global warming. Because that's how planetary-scale crises are solved, right? Ladies, how did these immense and complex problems fall upon us and our already-precious non-working time?

Angela, the Today Show's guest expert, added that the most important consideration with working moms' second jobs is to ensure that the work doesn't interfere with your primary job. Really? That's the most important factor? Don't worry if you become estranged from your husband after falling into bed exhausted after the evening shift at your other career. Shrug and keep going if your children haven't seen you in four days and can't remember the last time you smiled. Don't fret if your idea of rest and relaxation is a nap on the subway between jobs. Just make sure that Boss #1 is taken care of!

So many working mothers have only a tiny sliver of time each evening to care for home and family -- most are stretched to their limit already. Already they finish their work day, run to childcare, pick up the kids, feed them, help with homework, tuck everyone in, then fall asleep themselves, just to start the routine all over again the next day. Where does job #2 fit?

Town Hall is an unassuming little building, but a lot takes place there. Downstairs is where Betsy, the Town Clerk and Treasurer, conducts business. And bimonthly Selectboard meetings are held in the meeting room next to the town office.

Upstairs, the ILM Historical Society houses their archives. The Stone Museum isn't quite as climate-friendly for old documents and photographs, so they're filed here. I've had the pleasure of sifting through the museum collection on several occasions. You would be surprised at how much history fits into 17 square miles.