1. My new mug from the unendingly awesome Jen with one n. Chris and I got to spend some quality time with her and her equally awesome husband (Hi! Roth) this past weekend when, after many a (gentle?) prodding, they came to Portland to peruse the city and to meet us, and she came bearing gifts. Very unexpected, unnecessary gifts. But gifts I love and will not give back, even if she asks, not that she would ask, but now I’ve gone and diverged from the point, haven’t I? The point is: I love Jen. And this mug. It’s functional, cutely monogrammed, and it holds copious amounts of whatever I want to put in it. It even photographs nicely. Behold:

(Featuring: Not my cleavage. For once.)

2. Chris’ newfound affinity for making veggie chili dogs. Heaven on a plate? You bet your sauerkraut.

3. Time.com’s First Annual Blog Index (Featuring Indexed!)

4. The way Iggy rends his proverbial garments whenever I even walk an inch toward him with fingernail clippers in my hands. It’s almost as entertaining as the way he then runs to the opposite end of the room and stares at me as if I’ve suddenly become a stranger, and how COULD I?

5. This wee little angel made of recycled plastic, ribbons, and beads:

I found it at one of my long-time favorite stores, one that I fondly visited every trip I made to Portland for years before we moved here, and I can’t stop staring at it. I don’t know quite where to put her yet, but for some reason she reminds me of my little sister, and I’m thinking I might bring her to work with me, so that I can stare at her and smile, instead of silently threatening to throw myself out the nearest window whenever anyone asks me to make another useless Excel spreadsheet.

6. This, the most recent evidence of my (slightly out of control) notebook obsession:

It’s a hand-made, hand-bound block-printed journal made by a charming woman named Jan who sets up a booth at Portland’s Saturday Market and delights in talking about how each book printed and bound is a labor of love, and even offered to let me mail her a check to pay for my journal when at first I thought I didn’t have enough cash on me. Her business card boasts her name in simple block letters, and then “Book Binder” underneath it, and I initially started nervously laughing when she told me I could mail her a check, that “lots of people have done it,” and she’s “never been stiffed,” but then she started writing down her address, and I realized she wasn’t kidding. The fact that my newfound favorite journal was made by quite possibly the nicest book binder I have ever met makes me love it all the more.