Friffle Thoughts

monday meditation: 1/30/2012

2012-01-30T08:00:00.021-05:00

Scripture: Deuteronomy 31:6-8
Thoughts:
Did you know that the most repeated command in the Bible is "Fear not"? Rumor, from my pastor, is that there are 366 mentions of this command - one for each day of the year including leap year. If we have a big God behind us and in front of us, we should make it a regular habit to "Do not be afraid." Except I can state without a doubt that it is definitely not a habit of mine. I'm not even sure what it would look like in practice on any given day.

I've committed to going a bit more in-depth on the story of Moses after reading through the Pentateuch and towards the end of his life we jump in on the scene of God's succession planning. Joshua had already proven he was familiar with trusting God and not being afraid. He was one of two men who came back from a land of giants telling the Israelites, "no problem, go for it" because he knew God was with them. His reward was becoming the next leader of the Israelites after Moses passed on.

It wasn't a small job. Moses' eulogy read: "Since then, no prophet has risen in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face....For no one has ever shown the mighty power or performed the awesome deeds that Moses did in the sight of all Israel." (Deut. 34: 10-12) On top of following that act, Joshua was now going to lead the Israelites into the Promised Land. They were going to have a few battles to fight, and he was in charge of keeping them focused on God's promises and leading them to victory.

In the reading above, God, via Moses, tells Israel & Joshua three times "do not be afraid." No fear. Go for it. When God's with you, He'll fight the battles for you. Do not be afraid.

So, there's my challenge for the next year. I don't know what it will look like, but if it's in there 366 times, it must be pretty important. What are you fearing that you need to put in the "do not fear" pile?

{blush} awards are so much fun {blush}

2012-01-29T09:46:00.001-05:00

Friffle Thoughts has recieved the Versatile Blogger award from Sara at Life in These Times. It's my first award, and I'm so honored and excited. One of the best parts of being more intentional about blogging has been the fun of exploring other sites. Creativity begets creativity and there are some wonderful stories, ideas, how-to guides, and writings in the blogosphere.

Here's how the award works:
1) Thank the award-giver and link them back in your post.
2) Tell your readers seven (7) things about yourself.
3) Give this award to up to fifteen (15) recently discovered bloggers.
4) Contact those bloggers and let them in on the exciting news.

Here is a random assortment of seven things about myself.
1 - After becoming a parent I cry at every movie I watch with any mother/child theme. Currently, we are watching Kung Fu Panda 2, and I'm about ready to bawl.
2 - I'm a closet luddite.
3 - I could eat my weight in bread, pasta, and cheese. Now that I think about it, most of my weight probably is bread, pasta, and cheese.
4 - My husband claims I have ninja reflexes when sock bombs come my way.
5 - Despite initial failings, I have actually sustained seven house plants.
6 - My creative energies are consumed by writing and scrapbooking.
7 - My favorite hate-to-love-it movie is a Keanu Reeves classic. Bet you'll never guess....click here. Seriously, it's so bad that it's hilarious.

Here are a few blogs for you to check out and add to your own blog roll. Enjoy the reading, creating, and writing!

1 - Only From Scratch - this is a great place for DIY projects, impressive recipes, and beautiful additions to any home. I'm not nearly talented enough to successfully manage any of these things, but I always leave feeling inspired.
2 - Avec Deux Mains - don't be intimidated by the title, it's in English! Blogger Deb is an occupational therapist serving in Niger. She's a talented writer and photographer and tells such honest, beautiful, and funny stories about living in a different culture and serving in Africa. Check her out - you won't be disappointed.
3 - Awesomely Awake - this is a new blog and one I just discovered yesterday. For parents who are pulled in every direction by the ever-present reality of technology, work, and parenting, this is a promising source of inspiration for putting family first.
4 - Red Lips and Academics - another wordpress discovery (since I am now hosting a WP blog, I've been doing more searching specifically in their domain and loving it!). This blog is a wonderful combination about the leap from graduate student to college professor (I took this leap several years ago and am loving re-living it through the stories) and perspectives on education in general. Great wit and insight!
5 - Musings of a Housewife - I stumbled upon this gem while looking for strategies and how-to's on improving Friffle Thoughts. Her advice was incredibly helpful and then I kept reading and was inspired to renew my commitment to run a 5K at some point in my life (Turkey Trot was the initial plan...guess I better get on that...). She's got it all - faith, fashion, funny, and food!
6 - Random Ramblings or Pearls of Wisdom? - blogger Heidi has a wide range of talents, an intercultural perspective on life, and a touch of humor in her reflections on life in general. Check it out!
7 - Living with a Wolfhound - ok, this is my sister's blog, and I talk about it a lot on FT so it only seems appropriate to pass on the props. In addition to having the unique experience of owning an Irish Wolfhound, she works in EMS and has hilarious stories and perspectives (let me just say this: if it's not a life and death situation, don't call the ambulance - it doesn't get you to the head of the line faster in the ER)

And, of course, I can't say enough about Life in These Times - thanks for the props. Check out her blog for some super cute baby pics, DIY project ideas, baby stories, and entertainment opinions.

my story: from professional to SAHM

2012-01-25T15:24:00.003-05:00

There has been a lot of finger-pointing, eye-poking, hair-pulling on the playground these days. And I'm not referring to the Republican primary. Ladies, what is going on with the SAHM vs. "working" mom debate? I thought it had started with Anderson Cooper and was prepared to call him out for the worst panel question ever: "are stay-at-home moms lazy?" Apparently, his show was preceded by a survey study that found that moms with jobs outside the home are happier and healthier and the basis for his program was to talk with moms in various forms about the claims - and then one mom made the lazy comment. So we started it? Great.

I still wasn't paying too much attention because I don't really care what someone else thinks about what I do or don't do. But I certainly wasn't always this secure. Then, in the span of a week, I came across two blog posts from a couple of my favorite blogs that brought some dignity to the discussion. Toddler Times via Mommy Shorts and Momastery, thanks for moving this conversation in a constructive direction.

So, how did I make the switch? Very, very carefully. Even before Hubby and I were "trying" I was praying that God would change my heart in such a way that I was without-a-doubt-sure what I was to do. Even if it meant staying at home. I had worked hard for the brief few years of my time in international education, and, as best I could tell, it seemed to be "God's will." Well, actually I had decided that since God had clearly given me an interest in "international" and that I liked working on a college campus, this was the job for me....by God!

It was a good time. I loved the colleauges - many turned friends - that I worked with and had the privilege of working in a supportive environment for the last three years. Still, there was always a voice in the back of my head suggesting that staying at home was going to be in my future, and I was not convinced. See, I've never had a glowing uterus (thanks Scrubs for that line) or an affinity for small children. I ducked and claimed the Bubonic Plague when asked to serve in the nursery at church. I knew if having children and staying at home (i.e. putting my career on hold) were in my future, God was going to need to give me some supernatural peace.

He did. When the time came to decide I knew that was the transition I needed to make. I knew for our family that would be the healthiest and happiest decision. I knew that's where God wanted me. I had peace. Don't get me wrong, I was terrified at the prospect, but I just couldn't see it working any other way, and I was internally calm.

So, that was that. It has worked for us. I'll have a post coming soon about all the unforeseen benefits it has brought to my life. I have friends who have made the decision to continue working outside the home; I love getting together with them when we can coordinate, and I admire their work.

Glennon at Momastery said it best when she wrote: "Because I'm not necessarily trying to raise an executive or a mommy. I'm trying to raise a woman. And there are as many different right ways to be a woman as there are women."

Amen.

monday meditation: 1/23/2012

2012-01-23T08:00:00.001-05:00

Scripture: Matthew 7:7-8
Thoughts:
I started a "spiritual mentorship" this past week to bring some accountability to my spiritual journey above and beyond what I have now and to have someone new and fresh to beat around ideas that are muddled in my mind. On top of that, I indicated that I wanted to go back to memorizing Scripture.

As a young kid, our church program promoted Bible verse memorizing through its children's program, and I packed a lot in my noggin'. Then, somewhere in middle school or high school, I decided that I was terrible at memorization. I must've had a traumatic experience somewhere along the way that I've blocked out, but there ya have it. I refused to memorize piano solos for recitals, and Bible verses slipped off the radar completely.

So, I met with my new spiritual mentor - who is wonderful and very patient since we have to meet with Little E crawling everywhere - and she brought up these verses as part of a strategy (ala Beth Moore) - that when we are starting to memorize Scripture, we should ask and ask while believing and lay claim to the promise that we will receive.

So, we'll start memorizing, and I have one more way to appreciate an already tried and tested verse of truth in my life. What ways can you apply these verses to your life? Is there something you are struggling with? Something you are searching for?

recipe #3: super spaghetti sauce saturday

2012-01-21T08:00:00.000-05:00

I didn't forget! This was by far my greatest accomplishment. There was a lot on the line with the first batch that I produced, but when the final pot had simmered and I was licking it clean I figured it was ok. The family agreed and the spaghetti sauce at the beach was a success! Granny V has graciously allowed the recipe to shared so here it is. Again, sorry but no pictures. I wasn't actually planning on it being good enough to share here so I didn't even think to document it...next time....

Ingredients:
Olive Oil
Garlic
Onion
1 lb. hamburger
1/4 lb. sausage
1 can tomato paste
1 can tomato puree
1/2 C. water
1/8 t. red pepper
1/2 t. oregano
1/2 t. basil
1 T salt
2 T sugar
2 bay leaves

Directions:
Saute onion & garlic
Add hamburger and sausage and brown
Drain
Add spices
Add tomato paste and puree and water
Mix together
Add 2 bay leaves
Let simmer on low for about 1 hr.
Remove bay leaves & serve or freeze for later - tastes great either way!

(I doubled the recipe and can guess that it served about 6-8. It really just depends on your portion sizes.)

Now, go make it. Seriously. It will change your life....okay, it will change your spaghetti though.

recipe #2: sausage balls

2012-01-20T08:00:00.004-05:00

This scrumptious, bad-for-you, breakfast treat was a favorite in our Sunday School class years ago. The woman who brought it always shrugged her shoulders and said, "Well, it's pretty easy, it's just baking mix, sausage and cheese." To a cooking novice such as myself, that was like taking a diagnosis from House. "I have what? Is that even a word?"

Ingredients:
2 Pkgs Light Original Jimmy Dean Pork Sausage
1-1/2 C all-purpose baking mix (I used Bisquick)
16 oz (4 C) shredded sharp cheddar cheese
2 tsp black pepper

Optional (Actually, these were in the original recipe, but I didn't include them):
1/2 C finely chopped onion
1/2 C finely chopped celery

Directions:
Preheat oven to 375 F
Combine all ingredients in large mixing bowl; stir well (I did this by hand which I think was a mistake - my next time around, I'll be using my KitchenAid mixer)
Form 1" balls
Place on ungreased baking sheet; bake 20 mintues or until golden brown
Remove from oven; cool 5 minutes before removing from pan

Note: May be prepared ahead and frozen uncooked. (This is what I did, and they turned out well!)
To Bake from Frozen: Thaw on baking sheet 15 minutes; bake in preheated oven for 25 minutes or until golden brown

Part 2 of 2: woof woof - this is God talking?

2012-01-19T08:00:00.000-05:00

I had been warned that the suit was hot. In fact, when I first mentioned the idea of volunteering periodically to be the church's childrens'-greeter-in-dog-suit, my husbands first response (and wisely so) was "Do you know how bad the inside of those things smell?"

Hubby is no novice to the dainty sensitivities of my more than generous nose. Hey, if you have a big schnoz, then you have more olfactory senses, right? His concern was valid. So, in writing to say that I was interested in being a part of the team, I had to ask a rather trivial question (I mean, come on, if this was where God wanted me, my answer was going to be "Actually, it stinks. I can't." That's worse than Moses and he threw out some good ones!). I couldn't find the emoticon for "embarrassed", but I would've included it when I wrote the question if I could have: What does the costume smell like?

Turns out, as I expected, they do keep them pretty clean so it wasn't a problem. Ask me again in the summer - my answer may have changed.

I arrived at 9:00 to get dressed. It was about 40 degrees outside so I had worn a long-sleeved t-shirt instead of the suggested short-sleeve variety and capri-length workout pants instead of shorts. Before I was even out of the changing room, I was sweating. By the time I made it downstairs (also an adventure), I was welcoming the cool air.

So, back to the earlier reference on my schnoz. Turns out Godfrey (that's his name) has an even larger one. And absolutely no peripheral vision. And feet bigger than mine. And only three slots for fingers and one for a thumb. And a tail. Otherwise known as a recipe for disaster combined with my historically low showing in the "graceful" category.

Someone helped me down the stairs and let me loose. I waddled to a wide-open spot and started waving. I realized it was a bit hesitant at first, but I was fairly certain if I tried moving I was going to wallop a small child or trip and bust open the costume thereby committing the unpardonable act of revealing Godfrey's identity. When neither happened, I started to get into it a little more. Some double-waving and hi-fives. Look out world!

I was feeling good until a couple small children with unbridled enthusiasm ran up for a hug and slammed smack into his nose. Didn't hurt me one bit, but I made a horrified mental note that I needed to figure out a way to give hugs without looking like it was a head-butt. In the high-five department, I left at least two obedient and respectful children hanging out to dry. Their little paws were quietly held up, standing on my right or left, completely in my blind spot until a parent said "Give Godfrey a high-five" (blessings on parents who understand how this works), and I clued in to look around for an ankle-biter with a hand up. Success! High-five administered. I threw in some double thumbs-up for a good one. Looking good. Gotta watch for those high-fives though. I could've very easily smacked a kid in the face with my snout or my uncontrolled paw.

Truly, the volunteers before me had done a smashing job with this dog - kids loved him! I even had to watch out for some adults! It was a great job - 20 minutes of getting hugs, high-fives, and fist-bumps. Awesome.

But, don't be misled. This is not easy. First, second, and third, there's the heat. I will be wearing the t-shirt/shorts uniform next time even if it's snowing. I got swarmed by a gaggle of little girls on one trip through the main children's section and had to book it (without tramping on loose children - harder than it sounds) to the cool air. Then there's the costume. I'm not agile to begin with so adding length to my feet and blinding me with the expectation that I look confident is like trying to get the state of NC to use their turn signals appropriately: not gonna happen. Add to that the occasional mischievous child (Can I pull the tail? Who's in there? Are you my mother?). Add to that trying to communicate without talking or laughing (I may have inadvertently giggled once or twice). Not easy.

Definitely awesome though. And for now, apparently, this is God's idea of my ministry. I guess when you throw out a "I'm willing to help God, but you know I can't cook and don't do kids," He lands you in a dog costume. Very funny. And way cool.

Part 1 of 2: woof, woof - this is God talking?

2012-01-18T08:00:00.005-05:00

I have never wanted to itch my nose so badly.

Well, that's starting in the middle. Let me back up and start at the beginning.

God talks to me when I travel.

See where I'm going with this?

It was a sunny, pristine morning in October, and I was driving a sleeping Little E home from a weekend with the grandparents. My mind was wandering to pass the time and was tossing around ideas for writing topics. Initially, it started on not-interesting topics: mainly, baseball. Which led me to the mascots for baseball teams and wondering about the lives of the people in the costumes who parade around the field, do crazy stunts, dance anonymously for the world and have the unenviable job of trying to make baseball enjoyable. Is it the kind of gig that people have to train for - a career? Do they start out as the Chik-fil-a chicken or the Statue of Liberty for Liberty Mutual waving on the side of the road? (Bless their hearts.) Or is it a couple people throughout the year who audition for the part just for kicks (I'm not saying we need another reality TV show, but the possibilities for an America's Next Great Mascot are just obvious, right?)?

This strain of thinking led me to its only natural conclusion: our church's mascot.
Read more »

recipe #1: puppy chow

2012-01-17T08:00:00.004-05:00

A great snack, a recipe large enough to feed a small army, and a suitable "generic" gift to give over the holidays for the mailman, teachers, surprise gift-givers and the likes: puppy chow. I had been on the receiving end of some puppy chow years and years ago and loved it. Still, it didn't come around too often, and, being the formidable cook that I am, I didn't spend too much time finding out how to make it.

Thank you mom and cooks.com. She went online and did the legwork for me. To post the recipe I thought I'd be clever and put a link directly to it, but it turns out there are nearly a bazillion ways to do puppy chow (and they all look delicious). So, here's the recipe that I used. If you're interested in alternatives or remember a different variation, it seems highly probable that it's listed at the website too.

I didn't take pictures of the process (I know, bad blogger), but it's pretty simple. Look, if I managed to make it passable without pictures, I am confident that anyone else can do the same.

Ingredients:
1 lg. box of Rice Chex or Crispix (I used Crispix)
1 bag of pretzels
1 jar roasted peanuts
1 stick butter
1 c. peanut butter
12 oz. bag chocolate chips
1 box (about 1 lb.) of powdered sugar

Directions:
Melt butter and peanut butter together.
In the largest mixing bowl you have, mix Crispix, pretzels, and peanuts and pour the butter/PB over it.
Now add chocolate chips.
Cool, then add powdered sugar and mix well. (I actually used two very large mixing bowls to do the mixing - pouring ingredients from one to the other after adding powdered sugar).
Store in tight container.

Enjoy!

monday meditation: 1/16/2012

2012-01-16T08:00:00.007-05:00

Scripture: 1 Corinthians 12:12-27

Thoughts:

For starters, here's a 20-minute clip with a challenging perspective that brought up so many topical ideas, not the least of which was how wonderful it is to serve a God who values diversity - who gives unique experiences, skill sets, passions, and lives to each of us.

http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story.html.

How beautiful to find this reflected in the compiled chapters of the Bible and the stories of people touched by the power of Jesus. Our church did a study on the book of John in the Gospels for the very reason that it offers a different account of Jesus than the other three Gospels. On mean's story told from four perspectives. Paul's letters to different churches suggest that each one had its own issues to face and struggles to work through. At the individual level he even suggests in this passage that each person has a role to fill in the Body of Christ and certainly the perspective of the leg is going to be much different than the perspective of the nose.

Sometimes I forget that Christians come from different denominational traditions and are wired to value different aspects of christian living. This doesn't make one group (or person) better than another; rather it helps to shape multiple perspectives on the impact of Christ around the world. Different stories about what it means to be a Christian.

I used to bemoan the fact that my story that launched my spiritual journey seemed rather ordinary in comparison to some of the visiting guests at church - people who came from lives of drugs and desperation or people who decided to follow Christ at great personal loss. I was a white girl in middle-class suburbia who figured out at a young age that she wasn't God and needed Jesus to bridge the gap between not-God and God. But in those differences is the beauty of Christ - the stories fill a picture more colorful and vivid than any one person could make it. The bride of Christ is more beautiful because of the people and perspectives who fill the church.

i'm gonna do it...

2012-01-14T14:36:00.000-05:00

Next week....look out....recipes!

It's true, it seems that to make up for my disastrous showing at Thanksgiving (no, I didn't do a post about it because that's just more of the same), I successfully managed to generate three contributions to our recent family beach trip. Nothing spectacular - well, except the spaghetti sauce - certainly nothing healthy, but delicious? Absolutely.

I know, it shocked me too.

To recap, no Thanksgiving recipe to share (the cranberry relish did look like a Christmas dish and despite the surprisingly high number of cranberries in it, it was actually the green apples that gave everyone the pucker face), and three Christmas successes to share....including...wait for it...the spaghetti sauce. That's right, Granny V. has given permission to share with the world the best spaghetti sauce around.

So next week, after the Monday Meditation, prepare for a first on Friffle Thoughts.

Have a good weekend!

read somewhere else

2012-01-11T08:00:00.001-05:00

No! Stay here! But also, check out my new blog (which will, admittedly, be updated far less frequently) on general reading this and that: http://readingtoday.wordpress.com/. I'll be moving my occasional book notes and responses to various news and magazine articles to this site. Friffle Thoughts will still be here and still host random thoughts, stories, and lists from my life (and feel free to share yours too!). Right now I've got a post up about the 2012 list of banished words from Lake Superior State University. Lists and words in one place - it's a great day!

just beachin'

2012-01-10T08:00:00.002-05:00

I've not completely dropped off the face of the earth. I was "hibernating" at the beach for the first week of the new year celebrating a belated Christmas and a prompt New Year's, and, I gotta say, it was great. Why was it great (other than "it's the beach")? For the following ten reasons, divided into two lists of greatness.

Why Going to the Beach When Your Family is Older is Great
1. Your siblings are older and thereby (hopefully for you) much less annoying and actually pretty interesting.
2. If you have kids, free babysitters; if you have dogs, free dog walkers; if you have neither, free birth control.
3. More people can cook - our fridge and counter was packed 24/7 and we had something fresh and delicious to eat at every meal. Okay, so we had so much pasta you'd think we were Italian - lasagna, spaghetti, macaroni & cheese, and beef stroganoff.

4. More additions to the family means better teams for Gingerbread House Competitions.

5. Enough people to do something with anytime, anywhere.

Why Going to the Beach in the Winter is Great

1. No traffic getting to you rental and no lines at the rental agency for check-in.

2. The whole beach to yourself. Whole beach.

3. Excuse to use the hot tub (if you need one).

4. Don't have to worry about anyone going skinny dipping.

5. Along those lines (and a big one for me) - don't have to worry about getting in a bathing suit!

monday meditation: 1/9/2012

2012-01-09T08:00:00.002-05:00

Scripture: Psalm 23

Thoughts:
An oldie but a goody. This past week we were with family at the beach for a belated Christmas celebration and a rare New Years family night. And Little E was the only one who really felt like welcoming the new year right on through the night. I was exhausted come morning and then had to fight to put her to sleep for a nap despite her droopy eyes and bobbing head. After fighting for half-an-hour I gave up. I was crying as I imagined a week of struggle in the downstairs bedroom with my 9-month-old, sequestered from the fun family festivities above. At this point I was the only one who had not yet been on the beach - even Little E had seen it the day before when we arrived! It was a bit over-the-top dramatic, but when you're going on three unconsecutive hours of sleep everything seems very near the end of times.

I sorta composed myself, carefully manuevered up the stairs with Little E, and plopped her on Hubby's lap. "I've had enough. I'm going for a walk by myself."

Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. As I practically marched down the beach, still crying slightly though protected by sunglasses, the only comfort that came to mind was Psalm 23. "He leads me beside quiet waters." The ocean wasn't exactly calm, but the steady rhythm did help as background noise. I had a pity-party, inhaled deeply, and prepared for the next long week of not-a-vacation - though now mindful that I do believe there is a God who cares and, as the Psalm poetically reveals "He refreshes my soul."

God had plans I did not know (shocking) and was faithful to work out the kinks in Little E's sleeping. We moved from the spacious downstairs king-size bed to the futon in the room right off of the kitchen. Little E seemed more comfortable in this central location and everyone was wonderful about skedaddling downstairs right after dinner so we could put her to sleep. Turns out Grandma has magical powers and was able time and time again to coax Little E to sleep for naps and nighttime. It was wonderful. She continued her "9-month-phase" up and down in the middle of the night routine, but it was manageable since I was able to relax a bit in between.

Psalm 23 kept running through my head. Just as I needed to look out for Little E and do what it would take to keep her healthy (including naps!), someone was looking out for me and guiding me and helping me along and restoring me. Which is good because there really is no road map for this parenting thing and even if there were directions for children to follow I doubt Little E would mind them terribly well.

The Good Shepherd cares about his sheep - the ones who are sleeping and the ones who are not.

Big-F's

2012-01-01T08:00:00.004-05:00

Happy New Year! Ready to start the resolutions?

Growing up, this was one of my favorite traditions. As a family we would gather around our kitchen table and each of us would list several resolutions for the year ahead. But before we set our expectations for the year to come, my mom would unfold the list of resolutions (or we would all bring our copies), and we would go through our list the previous year. It could be quite sorrowful at times, but we were fresh with enthusiasm and vigor for the next year. We knew we could do better.

Out from under the watchful eye of my mother, I still make informal "resolutions" at the beginning of each year. They've taken many shapes and strategies for ensuring success and most have ended in some degree of failure. Still, I wouldn't say my life is a failure. I've had some great adventures, I have a loving husband (and now Little E!) and a loving family, I've been able to travel, I have my five senses and enjoy challenging them regularly. I've accomplished a lot in my three decades of existence: a full athletic/academic scholarship to play volleyball for a NCAA Division I school (ok, it was their first year in D1 and we were awful, but I did my time), received a Fulbright award to study in Germany for two weeks (ended up not going due to pregnancy complications, but the recognition was exciting), crossed sky-diving off my bucket list, and actually whipped up a few home-cooked meals that didn't poison us.

But, I'm not here to talk about the resolutions I'm making for 2012. They'll appear in a post soon. I want to talk about the big-F's in my life. Why? Because, resolution or not, they still forced me to try something new and that adds a layer to life that is well worth the risk. These aren't grand efforts of super-human variety, but they are some of my big-F's and the stories behind them. Revisiting them before launching into another year is a reminder of why I resolve, that I've failed before and survived, and that at least with a failure comes an entertaining blog post.

* Humanitarian FAIL
* Exercise FAIL (4 weeks of boot camp) Week 1, Week 2, Week 3, and Week 4
* Recreation FAIL
* Resolutions FAIL (though this post doesn't say it, let me assure you that these ambitious months did not play out anywhere close to how this post would suggest)
* Cooking FAIL

In the end, they are shared experiences resulting in strengthened relationships, lessons learned, and wonderful stories to tell. Big-F's are part of life. They shouldn't stop us from trying new things.

So, I acknowledge failure, but it does not win. Time to set some goals for 2012!

(For people who are taking this far beyond anything even I imagine, check out The Failure Club.)

mommy makeup

2011-12-30T14:57:00.000-05:00

It occurred to me today, while I was holding a bathroom cabinet door closed with one knee and carefully holding my other leg still while Little E climbed up it, that applying makeup is no longer a ritual of beauty. It's applying war paint for the day. A mask of foundation is still for camouflage - there's just a lot more to cover and conceal. Add some well-placed swipes of blush to appear rested and full of joie de vivre (never show fear...they can sense fear...and fatigue) A few swipes of mascara to create a powerful effect if ever "the eye" must be given to a roaming Little E - small, black darts and spikes around the eye ball is very effective.

And, chapstick because you can't be smoochin' on the little one with rudolph-red (or should that be vixen...hahahaha, good Christmas pun....hahaha....need..more...sleep) lips but you don't want those puckers to be crackin' on her face either.

So while you might be getting gussied up to go out for a New Year's Eve celebration, I'll be re-applying war paint to face another day/night. But I get to smooch on Little E so that's an okay trade by me.

yeah, it's that good

2011-12-28T13:06:00.000-05:00

I have just successfully finished making homemade spaghetti sauce with a recipe going back at least two generations in my husband's family. It's taken me nearly seven years of marriage to be brave enough to try it. Before Little E came along, my mother-in-law stayed with me for a weekend while Hubby was gone and we made the sauce together. This was my first time solo. I was scared, but I only had to call once to double-check simmer time.

Sorry, can't post the recipe here. Are you kidding? I may have just successfully completed the recipe that will make me a legitimate part of the family (popping out Little E could also be considered a successful attempt at this honor). I'm not going to mess that up by revealing their top-secret cooking recipes. This one is the best.

It's so good that I licked the bowl and spoon after I stored the rest. I'm eating a bowl of extra at the moment - no noodles, just sauce. Yeah, it's that good.

Next week will be the real test though. My family at the beach - newbies to the goodness of it all - and Hubby will be there to give his verdict (someone who has consumed copious amounts of this deliciousness in his lifetime). And if everyone hates it? More for me!

monday meditation: 12/26/2011

2011-12-26T08:00:00.000-05:00

Scripture: 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18
Thoughts:
Ever have those days when something just makes you want to scream "ENOUGH"? A fiesty, stubborn toddler, or a colleague admitting unethical behavior, or yet another news story of a perverse and distorted crime, or too much holiday spirit.

Our minister tells a story of a similar moment. A seminary student, after reading this passage, asks his professor. "What is it that He shouts?" The professor pauses a moment to consider and comes back with this one word: Enough. His shout to a world gone horribly awry; a world of suffering, catastrophe, and brutality; a world of greed, unrestrained selfish lust, and pride: "ENOUGH!"

Of course, we don't know exactly what the shout will be, but given the state of affairs these days, this hypothesis seems largely plausible. I mentioned last week that God doesn't always appear when or how we think He should. There were those at the time of Christ's birth who did not believe in His arrival as the Messiah because He did not come as a King and Victor, He arrived as a destitute child and continued a life of poverty throughout His ministry.

His second-coming will be different, and this is the hope we have. This world is not how He intended. He will return to bring it back to peace. As we enter another year, we have this hope. May we have done "enough" to bring some relief to a world tossed about - done "enough" to bring this hope where it might be needed most. Apathy is just as provocative to Him as the atrocity of His world undone.

binders: a life series

2011-12-22T16:38:00.000-05:00

For our wedding I packed a 2" navy blue binder with schedules, samples, selections, and scripts. When I whipped (okay, rather, lugged) that out of my bag people knew I was serious (or nuts). My poor fiancé just rolled his eyes when he saw me coming with it. I just can't resist.

Interview time? No problem. Greatest strength? I have never met a position I couldn't organize...or at least leave with a "how-to" binder. True story: my first boss had to have open-heart surgery and I was left "in charge" of the office. It was during our slowest part of the year so she had little to worry about. Or so she thought. Too much down time puts my mind in a tizzy and something is going to get organized somewhere. When she returned, God bless her, she couldn't find any of her files on the computer because I'd completely re-categorized them and put them in folders. She was patient and only now do I appreciate just how patient she was. I left her with a binder of "how-to's" for the position which, she told me a couple years later, she still had my replacement refer to.

"How do I do this?"
"I don't know. Check Rebecca's binder."

After both those binders were accomplished I moved in with my new husband to a new city without a job. Remember what I said about having too much down time? It wasn't long before Hubby had his clothes arranged by color and sleeve length in our new closets. I am even more thankful for the patient man in my life who puts up with having to re-learn where things are every couple years.

I left my job to venture into the terrifying world of SAHM (no worries, I left them a binder, too). It's been 9-months and yesterday, for no reason I can think of, I decided it was time to go through old files. I believe I was trying to make room for writing ideas and figured a purge might sweep away some real and metaphoric cobwebs. In any case, before I could get to the filing cabinet, I had to clean off the top of it. And what a treat that was. We had receipts from 2007, an old MP3 player (you know, the kind that's as big as a playing card - how ancient!), a phone book from my previous job, a floppy disc (!) of wedding files (again with the organization - I'm not kidding about this), and two....wait for it...binders.

Binders of what you might ask? Apparently in the weeks leading up to Little E's arrival, I had taken it upon myself to organize my professional life previous and what I thought might be my professional life future. I had a black binder of old notes from teaching Contemporary International Conflict and International Peace and Conflict Management for three years - it had syllabi, notes, reading material, etc. It was unlikely I'd be using these pages any time soon, but my last purge (getting rid of graduate school notes and books) taught me a valuable lesson: never say never. Shortly after that purge I was offered to design the aforementioned courses on international conflict to teach at the local university, and I had to start from scratch. Lesson learned. So, I have a binder of those notes and efforts in case, years from now, I find myself teaching this stuff again.

The second binder - a beautiful cornflower blue - contained writing odds and ends. Ideas, scribbles, favorite quotes (hope to have a blog post on those soon), notes from conferences, downloaded reading materials, and all sorts of wonderful goodies. Remnants of my previous self reaching out to my future self and encouraging my present self.

And my binder for being a SAHM? Well, that's empty. Who has time? I'll get around to it when the wisdom of time and the wonder of years passed overcomes the muddled brain and droopy eyes of the present. It'll be a nice addition to my series.

So, what do you do?

2011-12-20T08:00:00.001-05:00

Since transitioning from full-time professional to full-time SAHM, I've received the "so, what do you do?" question multiple times. Coming from friends and family, it's not offensive - mostly curious, I hope - but it is tricky to answer. Mostly because there are days when I reflect briefly on the day gone by and wonder the same thing. So, here's my comparison for the "working" world.

I no longer set an alarm clock. I have a living, breathing, screaming person to wake me up at her whim. And there is no snooze button. She only gets louder. This is OK when she's happy and cooing and exploring; this is miserable when she is awake at 4 AM and crying. Loudly.

I no longer have meetings and scheduled blocks of time. The minute she wakes me up, I need to stay at least a half hour ahead of her to avoid a meltdown. I take one minute for the only "alone" bathroom time I will have until Hubby gets home around 6 PM. While I prepare her breakfast (warming a bottle, wetting a dish cloth, pouring rice cereal, and opening a package of fruit or veggies), I am running through possible eat/nap/play schedules in my head and scanning for any potential distractions/interruptions/problems throughout the day and generating Plan A, Plan B, and Plan C for what needs to get done and when it might work for her.

Now, let me pause here to insert the emotionally draining part of it all because everyone has one with whatever job they do. Think of one person in your office who you love to see, love to talk to, and never tire of being around. Now, think of the one person in your office who has earned the "most annoying," "most irritable," and "most needy" superlatives. These two people are with me. Always. And I'm in charge of teaching language and manners to both versions of her - from 5 AM forward.

We put the day in motion. Her attention span is getting longer, but it still would only compare to a gnat. She moves now, which is great fun (and amazing!) and great danger. She plays - I'm responsible for crisis aversion. One step ahead with plugs, fireplace hearth, drapes, cords, cleaning supplies, dirt, friffles, toy parts, and exhaustion. I'm also Entertainment Coordinator. When she tires of scooting and crawling, we move to the walker, or Jenny Jump, or stand-and-play, or into a different room.

I'm still not dressed, nor is she.

We move to the bathroom so I can brush my teeth and wash my face (my shower is relegated to the evening so I can have peace of mind) while she plays in a "new" location. She is with me when I go to the bathroom so I can keep an eye on her. Occasionally this combination creates awkward moments of attempting to steer her from trouble and not messing the floor. All in a day's work. When I'm moving about the house doing chores, she's with me then too - just in a heart-stopping, ear-grating, melody of whine.

Nap time. Diaper change (complete with a small fight until we bust out our stuffed "llama, llama, diaper drama toy") and anywhere from 15-45 minutes of fighting (can be shorter on days when I just leave her to cry it out - rare, but necessary some days). Monitor is on and now goes with me everywhere. I have no idea if this will be a 45-minute nap, an hour-and-a-half, or longer so everything must be done in manageable chunks and always at a stopping point.

We "schedule" out-of-house time every day whether its for a walk, grocery shopping, lunch with a friend, story time at the library, or a playmate. This entails, dressing self and child. Where I used to spend at least half an hour coordinating an outfit and accessories, I can now pick an outfit from my uniform (jeans and a t-shirt) and be dressed in under 2-minutes (that's about how long it takes for her to go from seated on my side of the bed to out the door. Dressing her takes at least 10 minutes - at least. Now that she's proficient in rolling over (good luck with the diaper), grabbing things (good luck with the shirt), kicking her legs wildly with unrestrained glee (good luck with the pants - and keeping a straight face), and taking off her socks (good luck with...ok, you get the point).

In order to go somewhere I must be sure to carry with me at all times: diapers, wipes, extra outfit, changing pad, hand wipes, boogie wipes, pacifier wipes, pacifiers, a couple toys, her sippy cup, a snack, an extra bottle and clean nipple for her and pens, coupons, phone, keys and wallet for me. Anything I do I must plan for doing with one hand or coordinating so that she's in the car seat (potentially another struggle) this includes: grabbing Starbucks, taking or picking up the dry cleaning, and parking next to a shopping cart dispenser when we visit stores. Consider also, that she is with me for all appointments. So far, Little E has visited my dentist, a dermatologist, my gynecologist, and my general care physician. She will eventually join me at the eye doctor as well. I had my teeth cleaned while she sat on my stomach. Remember those two people you thought of from your office: contact and connectivity is constant.

I am also required to correctly identify and manage questionable smells. This has led to her being changed in the usual suspect places: Target, Moes, gas stations on road trips, etc. This has led me to revert to my 12-year-old self and giggle in Verizon when the unmistakable odor of a giant poopy diaper wafted right up to my nostrils and nearly planted me on my back side. When moth balls roll for cover, it's bad. My most creative change has been while she was actually in the car seat in the stroller and we were in a bathroom stall. She was practically in a V-formation for the entire undoing and not happy about it....oh, of course it was a blow-out, too, so no resting her tushy down to grab more wipes - hold the baby up, wipe, dispose of wipe, get more wipes, keep clothes and baby from touching diaper, wipes, dispose of wipe, get more wipes, remove diaper (put it where?), still holding baby, wipe some more, get more wipes, put a fresh diaper under her so she can relax...let's see, that's one, two, three, at least four hands needed. Oh, it was fun. These are the most common smells but certainly there are others - urine, vomit, old baby formula, old baby food, anything rubbed on her face from crawling on the floor, etc.

And we're not even at noon. Want me to continue? I haven't even started the run-down of household chores.

The question is not insulting, but it is hard to explain. Everything takes 2.5 times longer, requires 2.5 times more stuff (which you have to lug around), and there are at least 2.5 more things to be concerned about.

Still, I have it good. My husband is supportive. We know each others' limits and can support, laugh, and remind each other to enjoy each phase while looking forward to the excitement of the next. I love to see Little E light up when daddy comes home. I'm the lucky one.

And, despite a momentary meltdown Sunday afternoon (which was triggered by a neighbor's dog that might end up at the pound if he/she doesn't learn to ZIP IT), it's a lot of fun. But don't ever make the mistake that I did before I had a kid and assume that its a reasonable amount of independent free time. There is never a vacation and never a sick day. And in these early years you don't get to see too much if it really matters - you have to be the long-term CEO strategist as well as the Steady Eddie doing the details. There's a lot of faith and trust and humility involved. In the end, the greatest rewards are watching a little person go from no clue about what's going on to impacting her world; and watching you and your spouse develop as parents and realize that together you can do a lot more than you realized and you really do have it good.

monday meditation: 12/19/2011

2011-12-19T08:00:00.002-05:00

Scripture: Matthew 2:1-12

Thoughts:
Reflecting on the Christmas story this year initiated yet another study focus for me in 2012: the wise men. I've already committed to pursuing answers and insights on the life of Moses based on my fascinating trot through the Pentatuch this past year, but reading this passage in Matthew also piqued my interest so it seems I will have a nice balance in the Old and New Testament in 2012.

I mention it today because several things about this passage jumped out at me more forcefully with this past read. One, the kings knew enough about the history of the Jewish people to rightfully notice and identify the significance of the star. Two, likewise, they acknowledged the event as being of great importance - enough so that they determined to make the trek to visit the young child. Three, they clearly respected the Christ child enough to avoid returning to Herod when they were warned by an angel. Who were these men? What were the significance of their gifts? How did they know so much about His birth and determine that it was worth their attention? What did they do with the information when they returned home? Where were they from? Where on the birth story timeline do they appear (I know we have them in the decorative nativity scenes, but I believe I've heard it said that they actually arrived 2 years later...something to learn). Some of these questions have been answered already in scholarly books, and I look forward to compiling their answers. Perhaps some questions will require some digging. In any case, I find their interest, pursuit, and identity to be intriguing.

Maybe for Christmas there are those who are seeking Him. I don't know who or what the wise men thought they were going to see when they arrived. But they kept searching. They were looking for something special, and it likely didn't fit their ideas about how a king would arrive, but they knew it was worth going after, and worth preserving, judging by their route home. I know God doesn't always fit with how or what I think about Him, but I know that He is faithful to reveal what I need to know about Him if I search for Him. If I study the signs I am to look for and pursue Him, I know He will be there.

So, as I jump into the stories of Moses and the Magi, I suspect a common theme will be "not all who wander are lost." I'm not yet certain what I am supposed to be getting out of this study - particularly considering I'm making it up as I go - but, I'm excited to learn more about who God is. So, if you're searching - keep going, but remember that He doesn't always show up the way we think He might or should....more on that next Monday.

Merry Christmas!

vincent christmas letter 2011

2011-12-16T08:00:00.013-05:00

Dear Family and Friends,

While there may be wisdom in seeing life through the eyes of a new child, we also contend that there is much to be seen from looking at life from the perspective of new parents of a new child. What a year this has been!

Little E arrived on March 16 at 3:21 AM after a very emergency c-section which sent all 9 lbs., 9 ozs. of her to the NICU for a few days. Dad changed her first diaper, and we were off.
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my life in christmas carols

2011-12-14T00:00:00.003-05:00

The Younger Years - to be sung to the tune of Jingle Bells

Dashing through the slush
In a wood-paneled Caravan
O'er the roads we go
Nothing to the plan.

Horns are blaring loud
Making spirits mad
What fun it is to ride and sing
Harassing mom and dad

OH!

Jingle bells! Matthew smells.
Sarah packed a giant dog.
I just need a place to stretch
But Rachel's a space hog - OH!

The Young Adult Years: to be sung to the tune of Walking in a Winter Wonderland

In the yard, we will build a snowman
And pretend that he is Parson Brown
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monday meditation: 12/12/2011

2011-12-12T08:00:00.001-05:00

Scripture: Hebrews 13

Thoughts:
We've done our fair share of traveling this year, and typically I love a good trip (it's a bit different with a little one, but still fun). Honestly though, I always hit a point where I want to be home. Even when I was studying in France, at the end of the four months in Europe, I wanted to come home for at least a week - and then go back - but I still wanted to be home. I love to travel because I love coming home. I am grateful for a place to come back to and rest, to unpack, to relax, to be comfortable.

I started this post looking particularly at the short verse 14. This earth is not our home.

But the rest of the chapter is just as important for understanding the signifance of the verse. When we travel we explore something new and we learn, we may have fun but we are unfamiliar with our surroundings and may at times feel uncomfortable in various situations. It's all part of the experience. In this chapter, we are given some ideas - values, actions, and beliefs - that should set us apart from our present-day place. It may be uncomfortable when those values, actions, or beliefs run up against modern culture, but that is part of the trip, too. Our journey continues on earth with eyes on home.

10 indications you might have 'burb smarts

2011-12-08T00:00:00.001-05:00

We've all heard of book smarts and street smarts and though Hubby lays claim to both, I've only got a shot at book smarts. That is, until I decided the 'burbs (short for suburbs) had their own mode of operation - 'burb smarts - and I may have a shot with these.

1) If you can rattle off a recommended tree pruner, roof shingler, siding company, chimney sweep, green lawn service or deck without looking at Angie's List, you might have 'burb smarts. Likewise, if you can recount a horror story with at least one of the aforementioned experiences, you might have 'burb smarts.

2) If you know the difference between a porch and a deck, you might have 'burb smarts.

3) If you can spot a door-to-door proselytizing duo three doors down, yell "duck" to anyone in the house, and maintain a plank position on the floor the required 2 minutes after the last door bell/knock, you might have 'burb smarts.

4) If your daily/weekly schedule is based on the timing of trash pick-up, mail delivery, and/or the ice cream truck (don't have to have kids for this one, just sayin'), you might have 'burb smarts.

5) If you define "outdoorsy" as a walk around the block, an afternoon of yard work, or driving to a local park, you might have 'burb smarts.

6) If you define "wildlife" as a rogue hawk, feral cats, or cockroaches, you might have 'burb smarts.

7) If you monitor the city or county water regulations so that you can report your neighbor with the immaculate garden for watering his/her flowers during a drought, you might have 'burb smarts.

8) If you never have trouble finding parking next to your home - even if you use your massive 2-car garage for storage instead of cars - you might have 'burb smarts.

9) If you can identify the bark of each dog in your neighborhood (and know their owners by first name), you might have 'burb smarts.

10) If your home (inside and out) looks like you ransacked a party supply store for Valentines Day, Easter, 4th of July and October-December, you might have 'burb smarts.

Come on, what are some others? You know you want to.

negotiating with myself on washless weekends

2011-12-06T08:00:00.013-05:00

Just to clarify the title: this is not about not bathing on the weekend. Please, shower regularly.

When Little E arrived I heeded the advice to let everything in the house slide and focus on adjusting. I remember the day I finally managed to squeeze one load of laundry into the routine - I was on top of the mound! Gradually, the number of loads I could finish on a good day grew and life resumed a new "normalcy" that did not include letting the house become a complete health hazard. If I remember correctly, five loads is my personal best.

Now, as a SAHM, life is pretty consistent 24/7 - at least demands, expectations, and responsibilities are pretty much the same. So, the alarm clock (read: Little E) goes off somewhere between 5-6 AM and we start the daily pattern - Sunday through Saturday (read: no weekend). I needed something to make Saturday and Sunday a bit more of a "non-work" time.
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monday meditation: 12/5/2011

2011-12-05T08:00:00.007-05:00

Scripture: Proverbs 3:5-6
Thoughts:
(I wrote segments of this piece well before I had my own little one to watch teeter and totter. It seems that much more appropriate now that I've seen this process in action, but it didn't take much imagination to appreciate it even without a child in tow.)

Think of it. Junior is approaching a year old, starting to wobble around and developing a distinct personality. You're positioned comfortably on the overstuffed sofa for five minutes of non-feet time. Junior goes hobbling by you with nary a glance, eyes positioned on turning the corner down the hall, unaware of anything surrounding him, forward momentum propelling him forward more than anything else and sheer willpower keeping him upright. Your thought? "Where do you think you're going?" Eventually the bobble-head or diaper-bum overtake his spirited effort and your non-feet time is over as you go to pick him up and encourage the walking effort.

God is like the parent on the overstuffed sofa. "Where do you think you're going?" As we teeter and totter toward an unfamiliar path, loaded down with self-generated crap or an over-analytical, self-indulgent head, He watches patiently. He's not uncaring or hoping we fail; He's watching out for danger. He knows its part of the growing process. And if, as a young child often does when tumbling, we look up to Him, He promises to make our paths straight.

Notice it doesn't say that He makes it easy or magically makes us walk. He makes our path straight - if we are committed to not leaning on our own understanding

memorable (transformative?) education experiences

2011-11-30T08:00:00.001-05:00

A recent issue of Oxford American was their Education issue, and, as usual, it had some good articles for blog inspiration, general consideration and passing time on car trips. For unknown reasons, maybe just because we travel a lot on weekends, whenever I pick up a new issue of OA Hubby and I are scheduled to hit the road. So, I read the essays and articles and tidbits from the magazine, and it passes a lot of time quite pleasantly.

There were several great pieces in the Education issue, but the one that caught my eye was the "100 Most Transformative Moments in the Classroom" by James Whorton, Jr. So Hubby and I, from the same high school, started recounting some of our favorite classroom moments. Despite attending the same high school, our memories were different, but for the most part they fell more into the space of "memorable" classroom experiences with the "transformative" part up for debate.
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do you use business practices for non-profits?

2011-11-29T13:40:00.001-05:00

There are only a few issues that spark my confrontation mode. One is an ongoing debate about the distinction between sport, contest, and competition (Where do cheerleading or competitive eating fall? Sport? Competition?). Two is the mode of operation for non-profits. Having worked in the non-profit sector and in higher education, I have some experience and perspective that influence my thoughts on the issue. That puts my thoughts all over the place. For a more concise and reasoned approach, read this WSJ article: Should Philanthropies Operate Like Businesses?

And my answer is "yes" in most instances. Mimicing business is most useful when developing big-picture approaches - fundraising, marketing, HR, and strategic planning. The answer is "no" in most of the small-picture, details of getting the big picture accomplished.
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monday meditation: 11/28/2011

2011-11-28T08:00:00.002-05:00

Scripture: In Text

Other Reading: Any magazine cover at your local grocery store check-out line though I wouldn't recommend it.

I realize this isn't terribly reflective, but hopefully while you're out and about doing holiday shopping and being inundated with ads, news, and tidbits of info, you'll consider something good and true.

The reading in grocery store checkout lines is abysmal. Not that this should be shocking; reading anything longer than 140 characters is increasingly rare. The same "Top 10" lists and quick fixes are on just about every cover not boasting the most recent Hollywood "our rleationship was shorter than yours" stories. What if the Bible had a front cover? What would the "lists" and "advice" look like?
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things I'm thankful for - the schmuck list

2011-11-24T08:00:00.001-05:00

In the U.S., it's Thanksgiving today. A time for football for some, food for others, and pre-shopping prepping for others. Ostensibly, if the name is to be any indication, it's meant to be a time of gratitude. A time to pause, catch our breaths after racing around preparing for incoming family and a meal large enough to feed a small country, and give thanks that we have breath, and family, and food. The challenge is to make it meaningful each year without sounding like a broken record (is that phrase still allowed? do people still know what records are?).

You go around the room and no one wants to look like a schmuck so everyone picks one of the following as their "thing I'm thankful for": roof over my head, food on the table, freedom, friends and family, or good health. Well, I hate to say it, but that's not really being thankful - those are lines in a script that we memorize from infancy. I'm not saying those are wrong things to be thankful for - they're great things, that's why everyone is glad to have them - I'm saying that to truly reflect an appreciation for what they represent on a day-to-day level, it may be more helpful to embrace the "schmuck-like" answers. The "Of All The Things I Could Say,
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undercover in plain sight

2011-11-23T08:00:00.005-05:00

Busy day yesterday: four loads of laundry, cleaning toys, cleaning baby, lunch with daddy, packing, blogging, feeding baby, the usual. Still, I had time to play with some toys and take a picture - just for fun :)

No, it's not a family picture....

how to write a thank-you note

2011-11-22T08:00:00.008-05:00

I'm still a fan of notecards and getting mail, but I'll extend this information to include thank-you emails as well. There are many situations for which it is appropriate to expend some extra effort to write a thank you - for this post, I'm referring to a personal thank-you.

Yes, you should write these as often as you receive a kind gift, word, or deed. This is something for the whole year - not just one day in November. Or even just for the end of the holiday season overall.

****
For Beginners - usually small children, but I'll let you self-identify.

Salutation - remember that from Charlotte's Web - a greeting. Dear So-So (feel free to use a nickname, pet name, or, novel idea, their real name).
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monday meditation: 11/21/2011

2011-11-21T08:00:00.004-05:00

Scripture: Philippians 4:10-13

Thoughts:
The key to gratitude? Be content. Then, when something above and beyond happens that you weren't expecting you are genuinely surprised, genuinely thankful, and realize the full blessing of the people and conveniences around you.
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the journey of 1,000 miles....is still 1,000 miles

2011-11-17T15:26:00.001-05:00

From an obscure date in October to whenever I accomplish my goal, I'm going to tally my miles walked or biked (for the purpose of exercise - walking hither and thither around the house doesn't count). My goal: 1,000 miles. Why? Because it's measurable. Nothing more, nothing less.

I have two younger sisters, and they are both more running-inclined. I wish I was, but I despise the activity. Maybe I'll fall into it one day after walking a few hundred miles, but for now, I'd rather walk, thanks. Anyway, one sister was getting frustrated because she was trying to make times and beat times and set personal bests, etc. The other sister said "I run to get the miles." That resonated with me.
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confused blooms

2011-11-17T09:37:00.001-05:00

My plants are confused. First it was the magnolia bush outside our living room window. Ever since we moved into our home, it blooms at the first sign of warm weather - usually a freak accident in February. Then, the real winter moves in and it dies promptly. The beautiful white blooms are quickly mottled with brown.

Now, it appears that the bulbs I planted (first attempt at bulbs) at the end of October (as directed) and scheduled to bloom next spring, are also coming out of the ground. So...fantastic news that I planted them correctly enough to prompt bloomage, but not so great news that the little over-achievers decided to sprout well in advance of five months.

Also, we have a branch on a tree that doesn't drop its leaves. I know, we didn't believe it either. But we've now lived here for almost five years, and it honest-to-goodness retains its leaves well past drop-date. I'll have to take a picture to prove it, but it just adds to the temperamental and nuanced foliage that surrounds our abode.

Guess we'll see what next year brings. I'm thinking of growing some veggies - maybe they'll decide to come out as fruit.

pardon the virtual dust

2011-11-16T23:45:00.001-05:00

So, I'm playing around with blog stuff - gotta figure out how to make this look a little more current I guess. It's a fair bet that they'll be more changes to come (probably bits and pieces - no time for a major overhaul just yet but it's in the works). For right now, I've got to stop, make some bottles, and try to get some sleep before the little one wakes up...again...before midnight already....could be a long night....

The writing will still be updated...the rest of it is getting a facelift :) Thanks for your patience and reading!

While I'm at it, a special thanks to the bloggers at http://blissfullydomestic.com and http://www.musingsofahousewife.com for their very informative and descriptive posts on blogging how-to's!

Book Note: Intelligence by Susan Hasler

2011-11-15T08:00:00.003-05:00

Intelligence was undeniably an impulse buy - at the very least I wanted to see the CIA ensignia with bunny ears. It was a classic case of the author doing the work to sell her book - without even appearing to be selling. Hasler spoke at the Charlotte Writer's Club in October and opened up the floor to questions about her book, her background, her time at the CIA, writing in general or anything else the audience felt compelled to ask. I didn't walk into the meeting interested in buying a book in the "thriller" genre, but I ended up with one. And I wasn't disappointed.

Hasler admitted that she didn't even realize she was writing a thriller until her editor came back to her with the classification. It's easy to understand why it would be a hard book to put fairly in the genre - and she warned us that if we did like the traditional shoot-'em-up, Bond-esque, undercover writings of this category that we would be disappointed. As she frequently points out to those who critique Intelligence for this shortcoming, you're reading thrillers from someone with and MFA - this is a book written by someone from the CIA.

Her experience in the CIA is evident - even if she has to change the acronyms and general descriptors - the plots, the bureaucracy, the believable "intelligence failures", and the even more believable frustrated characters responsible for the aforementioned failures. Told through the eyes of various members of "The Mines", the book winds its way from a post-9/11 scenario into another terror plot that is almost intercepted. Almost doesn't count in counterterrorism though. The people who had been working furiously to stop the attack now work doubly hard to prevent misguided military intervention in an unconnected state. The connection to modern events is not hard to catch and the protagonists' (or rather, author's) feelings about the relationship between the Executive Branch and intelligence-gathering agencies is likewise easy to interpret.

Despite a setting that is mystical to many, the stories and frustrations are strikingly similar to those experienced in any bureaucracy - or, I'd venture to guess, any corporate setting with a strict hierarchy. So, worker bees can relate. In the process, readers laugh at the intersection of professional and personal lives, think twice about the crossroads of politics and protection, and all in all, enjoy a good read.

Actually, I think I'd be more inclined to read "thriller" novels if more of them were like Intelligence.

monday meditation: 11/14/2011

2011-11-14T08:00:00.003-05:00

(Originally published in devotionals at Northside Baptist Church, 2/2007)

Though I originally wrote this in a very different time and place in life, the idea of focusing on the Protector was again in the forefront of my mind as Little E and I took our first plane trip together to Chicago, Illinois this past week. We were blessed with safe travels, good visits with relatives, and two happy-baby-flying experiences.

Scripture:
Proverbs 29:25

Thoughts:
Every night before going to bed, my dad would come in, tell us a self-concocted story, tuck us in for the night and say a prayer. At the end of each prayer he would ask for God to “put a hedge of protection around us.” As he said that line I envisioned an imaginary hedge of shrubs encircling our home. I questioned the ability of shrubs to keep out someone intent on entering our home, but it wasn’t the structure itself that was important, it was the Person to whom the request was made.

My imagination could be particularly vivid – especially in the evening hours. Every noise in the house and every wind that blew outside was a potential criminal intent on harming me and my family. The longer I thought about it the worse each noise became. This verse makes a contrast between fearing what man can do over what the Lord provides. Fearing man leaves little room for trusting in the power of God.

That “hedge of protection” my father requested each night didn’t seem adequate when I was focusing on the ability of man to be sneaky and intrusive. When my attention shifted to focusing on trusting the Lord to keep me safe, then the hedge seemed beyond sufficient.

life in color

2011-11-10T08:00:00.002-05:00

The random things I'm most inclined to take pictures of are usually those with the most vibrant colors. The camera (or, user-error) rarely captures how truly dynamic the colors are, but they make an impact on me so I try to catch a piece to take with me. These are pictures of color from various places and times in my life (well, my life with a digital camera, so actually, from the past 3-4 years). I'm going to refrain from posting flower shots - my international flower garden will be on display at another time.

monday meditation: 11/7/11

2011-11-07T08:00:00.002-05:00

Scripture: Deuteronomy 11:18-21
Thoughts:
Little E was dedicated at our church on Saturday morning. For those who come from an infant baptism tradition, it's the same idea. It's the parents and family committing to raising the child in the church and with Christian values. Both sets of grandparents came down and Little E got dressed up in ruffle-butt tights.

Ultimately, we believe that Little E's faith decisions will be - must be - her own. We have searched and found Christianity to be True and certainly hope that her spiritual journey will end in that conclusion, but it must be hers. We can share what we've experienced and know in our home, by our actions, and through our church and community; she must challenge and question and grow.

Still, it's a special time to reflect on what is important. About family. About how having a child makes you so much more thankful for your parents and you realize why they did what they did for you. About faith. About how a person's spiritual journey takes them all sorts of amazing, frightening, and awesome places (namely, parenthood). About community. Ten other children were being dedicated and we met Little E's birthday buddy while the grandparents scouted out potential boyfriends (Little E was blissfully unaware). We met other children, we chatted with the leaders of our church's children's department, and were grateful for the special attention they bestowed on all of us.

We hope Little E grows up to have a faith that has been challenged, tested, and claimed for her own; remains fearless; has a good sense of humor...is smart, athletic, artistic, awesome and wonderful. The usual. But it starts in the home. It starts with us, her parents. And a lot of prayer.

WTF SAHM: what's in an abbreviation?

2011-11-05T08:00:00.002-04:00

Would abbreviations with any other meanings smell as sweet? Wait, huh? Ok, there's no way to introduce what follows. Hubby and I were trying to kill time on our drive back from the Creeper Trail so we started inventing alternate word associations for SAHM. Later, I took it one step further with WTF (which I'm assuming everyone knows what it actually stands for, and since I'm still holding strong on not actually saying the last word (see post), I'm leaving it at that).

The only way any of this will be remotely funny is if you're exhausted past the point of sleepy and moving into delirious. If you're not there yet, have a baby.

SAHM
Straifing Armies Hate Mannequins

Stately Anthem Honoring Menstruation

Snarky Antelope Hits Mailbox

Surface-Air Hamper Missile

Seven Angry Hormonal Mobsters

WTF
Who Told Fanny?
When Tightropes Fail?

Weekend To Forget

Since I'm not completely comfortable with the SAHM title, I'm also trying out a few other responses for "What do you do?"

A: I'm a member of the oldest profession in the world.
A: I'm professional player (should I say playa?)
A: I'm a long-term strategist and short-term emergency responder.
A: Nothing. I do nothing.

introducing Patience & Energy and how I almost burned down the house

2011-11-04T17:27:00.002-04:00

I'm terrible at selecting names for stuffed animals, toys, and dolls. I submit as evidence my favorite doll growing up: Rizzy. I've never met a Rizzy since, and I'm not sure why her salmon-colored-cloth-stained body with matted oatmeal hair, one eye that never closed and one that blinked without cause, and nubbed arms and feet made her a Rizzy, but there you have it.

For Little E we've adopted a few animals with names. Octavius the Octopus was our English-octopus friend who helped put her down for her afternoon nap in mommy's awful English accent promising to meet her for a spot of afternoon tea when she woke up. We have Pinkerton the Pink Polar Bear with a strong southern gentleman drawl, and we had Bella the Butterfly who just sounded like mommy with a pinched nose. That's it. And that does not nearly reflect the number of stuffed critters who have come to stay with Little E. I have a new respect for Adam naming all the animals in the beginning.

Before my feet hit the floor this morning I was praying for two things: patience and energy. I knew I had a busy day preparing for incoming grandparents and Little E's dedication tomorrow. Even with a mid-night wake-up call from Little E trying to decongest her little nose, I figured I could handle it. I did not plan for several wake-up calls from Little E and no more than two hours of consecutive sleep with a culmulative number between 4-5 hours. Dear God: I need patience and energy.

We did the morning routine, took a nap, and then went to Target for a list of miscellaneous nonsense ranging form new blue jeans for me (a sad event yesterday when the button literally fell off onto the floor - power blow to the vanity), unsalted butter for cookies which play a role later in the afternoon, baby food and formula, Dreft laundry detergent, and bath mats. Usually, this is a good trip for Little E - she enjoys the people and displays and I can power through. She started off strong and slid straight into baby boo-hoo about 5 minutes in. Nevermind, I had my Starbucks tall, no-whip, java chip frappucino and I was not to be swayed.

We made it through the hat-fight and were headed into the carseat fight. I dropped her in and handed her her two stuffed giraffes. One is bright yellow, with a bluish-green eye (from a giraffe fight presumably?), red, black and white teething paraphernelia dangle as legs. The other is pastel in coloring, slightly smiling, and with quiet, unobtrusive baby attractions such as a slight rattle in one leg and a scrunchy nose. Meet Energy and Patience. And so they are named. Energy fights, twirls, exhilrates the eyes, challenges the gums, and has a floppy head of fun. Patience is quiet and friendly - quiet.

Patience (Left) and Energy (Right)

The rest of the afternoon proceeded with a clingy infant sniffling through her peaches and then playing with toys briefly while I started what can only be described as a pomegranate blood bath. I have no pictures - come on, we're trying to keep this suitable for children. Pomegranate is a great fruit. My first impression was that it was like going on a treasure hunt and finding rubies. Keep in mind my first taste was in college. Even then, I found the bright red seeds inside the "peel" a great separation from the standard thin-skin, mushy-inside assortment typically found in the supermarket. I love pomegranates and try to get at least one per fall. Since I'm not a huge fan of pumpkin-flavored-anything, pomegranates substitute as my official fall food of choice. Still, I have no idea how to eat them or use them. The recipe called for 1/2 cup of seeds, and by the end I had that 1/2 cup. The kitchen floor was littered with seeds, red juice had splattered my foot, my apron, all the appliances within a 5-foot range and the floor. It was gruesome.

A slight interruption to put Little E to sleep, and I was back in business to make chocolate and pomegranate cookies. And burn the house down. Smoke was seeping out of the oven - my first thought, "NO! Not the alarm! DO NOT WAKE THE BABY!" Quickly (and quietly) every window and door in the front of the house was opened, oven turned off, and prayers went flying. I stood in the middle of the pomegranate massacre after the crisis was averted and almost cried. It was not my day. Dear God: I need patience and energy. Done. The cookies were going back in - I. Would. Not. Be. Defeated....by the kitchen.........again. You fight fire with fire, right? So, I lit a candle and all was well. They survived and passed the Hubby taste-test.

(Okay, they're not very attractive to look at, but they're delicious!)

We're rounding close to 2.5 hours on her nap (Thank you God.). The cookies are completed. I may attempt applesauce later tonight since that would be nice for the lunch tomorrow, but we'll see. Most everything else on my list was accomplished, including: 4 loads of laundry washed, folded and put away; three sets of sheets changed; dishwasher unloaded, loaded and running; cursory dusting of the house; bathroom mats changed; and, cookies made. Apparently, also a blog post. If I get another dose of energy, I'll sort out toys and clothes to go the g'parents for storage and make applesauce.

Tweeting Twitter Twit

2011-11-02T08:00:00.006-04:00

I've recently embraced the Twitter world, but I'm lousy with it. Apparently, I only think funny in "days." So, I'll have one day when verbal incontinence will prompt me to post 12 times back to back to back (also something I have to do because I'm a prisoner to Little E's nap schedule) and then days of nothing. No poopalooza, no poopageddon (yes, poop is funny, even on Twitter), nothing. So, that's problem number 1. I'm only Twitter-worthy/appropriate inconsistently. And, I don't do serious with online communities - haven't figure it out yet and not sure that I want to.

Problem number 2 is the #trending thing. I've never been trendy. Never. Ever. I have an eighth grade year book picture in a flannel shirt, glasses as round as saucers, and bangs hairprayed high enough to give Denver a challenge for the "mile high" status. Never. Ever. So, on the days when I manage to think of something halfway witty and then find the time to type it, I forget the hash tags that apparently alert anyone else tweeting about that exact same thing that I am, too.

Problem #3 also involves trending. On the rare occasion that I remember to hashtag something, I use punctuation and it gets cut off. So, instead of making a clever reference to Little Ceasar's pizza using their marketing slogan Pizza!Pizza! I end up just looking really excited about Pizza! Which, while I do embrace the nostalgia I associate with Little Ceasars, I would never use exclamation points voluntarily for something as inconsequential as the type of pizza I'm eating.

Problem #4 is more broadly applied to the Twitter community. You would think giving everyone 140 characters or less would encourage people to be succinct, and you would be correct. There are some pretty hilarious Tweeters out there that can trounce modern life and rip through the Kings English daily - sometimes hourly. Others, myself included, need context so we don't sound stupid. If I just put what's funny without context it doesn't make sense. Essentially, I write too much and saying I'm a Twitter Editor is not my idea of a job title to take seriously.

All that to say, I'm really enjoying the Twitter world and am following some pretty interesting, funny, challenging people. I'm passing it on to you if you're a Tweeter.

For funny try: my brother @m_roehrich, @natalie_noa, and @aparnapkin.

To get your daily bread (crumbs) try: @JamesEmeryWhite, @kenwhitten, and @johnortberg.

I think there's a way to do all this on Twitter - possibly #FF (?) - but I haven't figured that out yet.

monday meditation: 10/31/2011

2011-10-31T08:00:00.002-04:00

Scripture: Philippians 4:8
Thoughts:
Through the ages there have been many issues that have spurned debate and encouraged factions in the christian church. For today's post, I submit Halloween and music. There's not a connection necessarily, but Halloween because it is today and music because it's been on my mind lately. There are probably myriad of verses better suited for addressing these topics, but I like the breadth of this one verse. It's focused. And, it's a list so I can do a mental check if I need to whenever discussing Halloween or church music or anything else.

My Hubby and I discussed this beguiling holiday after taking Little E to a pumpkin patch and bought her a costume to wear for the day. Neither of us is particularly fond of the holiday, but we do like the celebration of harvest - hayrides, pumpkin patches, apple cider, roasting marshmallows, sunflowers and anything else along those lines. We're not keen on witches and goblins and scaring ourselves until we pee our pants. I remember attending a haunted house when I was younger. I got ten steps in, turned around and walked out. For me, it wasn't worth a week of no sleep and fodder in the back of my brain for any future night that my imagination wanted to play tricks on me in the dead of the night. So, I skipped it for sleep and haven't regretted it since. We choose to focus on what is good and pure and lovely about the holiday and not the part that celebrates the dark, mysterious and sinister.

Speaking of shrieking....ok, there's really no segue into church music so here we are. This issue continues to divide and distort churches. I thought I was fairly open until we started visiting churches (ironically after the church we were attending went through a leadership crisis rumored to be started by music disagreements). The church we liked and would eventually join had a modern worship service complete with loud and unfamiliar songs. The high-pitched guitars and oh-oh-oh music singing was not my taste. I was okay with drums and guitars but this was a bit much in my humble opinion. It took me a while to see the hypocrisy in that. The truth is that I do like traditional hymns - but not all of them. While attending church with my in-laws we started singing a hymn about being the Lily of the Valley, and I thought "Huh, I don't particularly like this hymn. The words don't mean anything to me and the notes are so far off the bars I'm not sure they'll ever land." This was followed quickly by "Oh, so I don't like ALL hymns. Just like I don't like ALL contemporary music. But I do like some of each - and more and more as we continue attending our jamming church."

Maybe, just maybe, it's not about me. When a song comes up that I don't like or the guitar-wailing-drum-pounding is giving me a headache, I don't sing along but I do consider the words and offer them as a time of worship. Likewise when I'm singing a traditional hymn - or trying to sing given that the notes are frequently way out of my range - I consider the words or I say a prayer for those who are singing. It is a time of worship. Of focusing my energy and attention on I AM. Not what is or is not acceptable music. He hears the joyful noise and is glad. Think about what is true, what is good, and what is praiseworthy.

candy corn strikes again

2011-10-28T15:47:00.000-04:00

I've already mentioned my feelings on candy corn in an earlier post. I've found kindred spirits on this topic since then, and I've also discovered a disturbing number of people afflicted with CCC (candy corn crazies). Every year around Halloween something sparks a Candy Corn debate in our house - yes, we are a house divided.

So, it's time to see where the world stands (or, just the 3 people reading this right now). Obviously, someone's buying this crap, or it wouldn't still be around. Is it really that popular? I would be really sad.

Vote away. If you have strong opinions that need a place to be heard (or deleted, depending on where you stand..just kidding...sort of...), put them in the comments and we'll see what the final tally is. Voting ends at 11:59 on 10/31/2011. And, hopefully, so does candy corn consumption. Not that I'm biased.

reading recommendations: you tell me...

2011-10-26T08:00:00.005-04:00

What are you reading that I should add to my list? And, any of these that I should put at the top or kick off the bottom?

A Book of Common Prayer, by Joan Didion
Wench, by Dolen Perkins-Valdez
Faith, by Jennifer Haigh
Running Away to Home, by Jennifer Wilson
The Cat's Table, by Michael Ondaatje
The Arrogant Years, by Lucette Lagnado
Blueprints for Building Better Girls, by Elissa Schappell
Don Quixote, by Miguel de Cervantes
Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy, by Eric Metaxes
To Kill A Mockingbird, by Harper Lee

creeping in va

2011-10-25T16:42:00.004-04:00

Warning: This blog post is a doozie. If you want the re-cap, it's the first part. If you want to know how not to be an inconvenient tourist on the Creeper Trail, that's the middle. If you want our itinerary and info on making your own trip, that's the end. You've been warned.

Since Hubby and I were otherwise occupied when our 30th birthdays arrived this year, we opted to spend a Saturday biking the Creeper Trail in southwest Virginia. Actually, it's something I got in my mind that would be fun for us to do together and Hubby is a good sport with these ideas - plus, this was actually a reasonable fit for us - not like the kangaroo adventure of a couple years earlier.

The Virginia Creeper Trail, a 34-mile trail, follows the Virginia Creeper rail line - thus named for the slow chugging of early steam engines attempting to get up the steep grades. It's also the name of a vine that grows throughout the area. When the original Creeper ran its last train in 1977, the area became a quiet community in Southwest Virginia. Thanks to the revitalization efforts, the Creeper Trail of today for bikers, walkers and equestrians, brings around 250,000 visitors to the area annually.

Little E went to the grandparents for the day. We set out at 7:30 AM to make the 3-hour drive to Abigdon, VA and our shuttle to the top of the trail at Whitetop, VA. Initially, we thought we would do the full 34 miles (downhill!) while we were there, but it took us the full 2.5 hours to make it to the mid-point in Damascus, VA (making it 2:30 PM) so we decided to call it a day so we could get back home at a reasonable time.

We had high hopes that the colors would be at their peak, but it looked like we missed it by a couple weeks. No matter. It was still a beautful, 17-mile ride (downhill). Waterfalls, rivers, colorful trees, great weather and some good riding shorts made a perfect day. There are outlooks, side trails to picturesque vistas and easy access to the water for kids to splash in and have stick races. We had some entertaining observations but nothing that spoiled the new experience.

*****

It's advertised for any ages, any level of riders and we did see all ages and all levels of riders. It is also a walking and equestrian trail so there's a lot going on at any time. Having said that, I pass along the following thoughts/observations/suggestions for anyone interested in venturing forth (and I highly recommend a venture).

*The upper level is noticeably bumpy in several places (I learned very quickly if I wanted to preserve my hoo-ha, I needed to stand up on the bike over the bumps - a skill I had forgotten from younger days but... it's like riding a bike). Though we did see small children attached to the back of parents' bikes in carriers, it seemed a bit more up-and-down than we would do to take Little E. Of course, we were also riding a lot faster - maybe when you slow down it's not so bad.

*Definitely a great family-friendly adventure. There are small towns along the way for food and relaxing. There are streams, bridges and the great outdoors for all sorts of adventure and mischief - just keep your children close and teach them about trail etiquette.

*Don't stand on a bridge - particularly with large groups. The bridges are narrow and by taking up a lane you risk causing an accident for those who are bicycling in both directions. It's risky for you and for others using the trail. If you want to take a picture, send one person to snap a quick one - not the entire family.

*Don't stop in the middle of the trail. This was obvious to most people but apparently there are a still a few of you out there who, like when you're driving, think its ok to just stop and mind your business in the middle of a driving/riding lane. It's not. It's dangerous, again, for you and for the other's using the trail. Stop to the side and make sure your bicycle is completely off the trail.

*****

If you're interested, here's a general idea of what we did.

We arrived in Abingdon around 10:00 for a 10:30 meet time at our shuttle spot.

Virginia Creeper Trail Bike Shop provided our 11:00 shuttle to Whitetop Station, VA. (We were very pleased with their service - though we would recommend getting your reservation for an earlier time - which, incidentally, means making your reservation well in advance).

And, we started at about Noon....

17 miles later (about 2:30 PM) we were in Damascus, VA.

Damascus, VA

Our pick-up point - hard to miss!

And we opted to be picked up in Damascus and save the rest of the Trail (back into Abingdon) for another time - maybe with Little E!

Had a great time and Hubby is excited to go back with perhaps a more experienced and less sore rider, and I'm looking forward to an adventure with Little E on the flat part of the trail in a couple years.

Highly Recommend!

monday meditation: 10/24/2011

2011-10-24T11:30:00.000-04:00

Scripture: In the text.

Typically I have a hard time being funny about being Christian. And humor is not what I think of when I read through the Pentatuch, but as I braced myself for reading books of inordinate information and details I asked God to teach me in spite of myself. So, he showed me His sense of humor by taking thoughts already jumbled in my mind somewhere and linking them to passages in Leviticus and Numbers.

I'm wary of pastors and sermons that use ellipses in most of their Scripture references - as if they're leaving something out or pulling out of context. I make a point to bring my Bible to church and cross-check. In Leviticus, I found how using ellipses could in fact, make it appear that the Lord endorses McDonald's. That perhaps his favorite meal is a burger and fries. He showed me this using ellipses.

"...all fat is the Lord's..." (Leviticus 3:16b)

"...with all offerings you shall offer salt..." (Leviticus 2:13)

When I entered Numbers I prayed again that God would show me something in the initial chapters of census numbers and to-do assignments. I started to marvel at the exorbitant undertaking of leading hundreds of thousands of people through a desert. What happens if someone gets lost or confused or loses their parents? That's where the family banners come in. Apparently, there were family standards that each family carried to be a visible display of their whereabouts. Ah-ha! It's like being in a tour group in Rome and the guide holds up a stick with a brightly colored scarf attached. Suddenly, it was all clear how that might have looked so many years ago. Flags flapping in the breeze and families following behind. Not really funny, just business, but when it's paired with that memory, God shows a funny side. And, helps me understand and appreciate more. (Numbers 2:1-2)

God is good. I may not be recommending that everyone read Leviticus and Numbers as favorite books of the Bible, but God was faithful in showing me new things when I was open to being shown.

...and probably in Texas

2011-10-19T19:55:00.001-04:00

Only in the South.

finger puppet mayhem

2011-10-18T08:00:00.002-04:00

Yes, it has come to this. I can't help it. When we purchased finger puppets from IKEA I laughed out loud at the random assortment of animals that came in the package. These were not your "typical" animals. Great for expanding minds, but not so good for parents trying to create noises (ok, the parrot was fun).

I submit below Exhibit A: IKEA Finger Puppets

We have some regulars, a bunny, a lion, an elephant and a frog. Then we get a bit weird with a parrot, a shark (currently my "noise" for this is just the Jaws theme song), a turtle, a panda bear, a moose and a mouse. And the combination of animals hitherto only found at zoos is not the only piece of distinction. Let's zoom in on Little Bunny Foo-Foo.

Exhibit B: Demon Bunny Foo-Foo

This may be because albino rabbits have pink eyes, but on this particular specimen, it looks evil. Field mice everywhere are scattering in horror. I feel as though perhaps this is the 21st century version of Little Bunny Foo-Foo: "little bunny foo-foo hopping through the forest, scooping up the field mice, lasering their tiny heads."

Figuring out appropriate animal noises is going to be tricky enough; now I have to make up a new story song to sing about little bunny foo-foo and the good fairy (played by the lion).

monday meditation

2011-10-17T08:00:00.002-04:00

(Originally published in devotionals at Northside Baptist Church, 2/2007)

Scripture:

Proverbs 29:25

Thoughts:

Every night before going to bed, my dad would come in, tell us a self-concocted story, tuck us in for the night and say a prayer. At the end of each prayer he would ask for God to “put a hedge of protection around us.” As he said that line I envisioned an imaginary hedge of shrubs encircling our home. I questioned the ability of shrubs to keep out someone intent on entering our home, but it wasn’t the structure itself that was important, it was the Person to whom the request was made.

My imagination could be particularly vivid – especially in the evening hours. Every noise in the house and every wind that blew outside was a potential criminal intent on harming me and my family. The longer I thought about it the worse each noise became. This verse makes a contrast between fearing what man can do over what the Lord provides. Fearing man leaves little room for trusting in the power of God.

That “hedge of protection” my father requested each night didn’t seem adequate when I was focusing on the ability of man to be sneaky and intrusive. When my attention shifted to focusing on trusting the Lord to keep me safe, then the hedge seemed beyond sufficient.

chik-fil-a and south carolina

2011-10-16T08:00:00.003-04:00

There are two things that Chik-fil-a does consistently well - "my pleasure" and sweet tea. I go for the drink; I survive the perky greeting with "my pleasure" tacked on the end of everything. In all fairness, it is the nicest greeting of any fast-food restaurant joint, and it really wouldn't be the same if I drove up and received a McDonald-esque grunt and mumble. Typically, I accept the pleasantries and go about my business. In two instances does it light me on fire enough to want to try a saucy "my pleasure" in return a few times. One, when I'm in a bad mood. It's not dissimilar to pouring salt on an open wound or nails on a chalkboard. A high-pitched, unrealistic voice cheerily requesting my on-the-go-fried-food order makes me want to hiss and spit. Two, when Little E has fallen asleep in the back seat. Usually she does this right before I get my lunch on these occassions. I'll be pulling into the parking lot and she konks out. I know once that window rolls down that the squeaky, happy sound will snap her head to attention and make her eyes as big as waffle fries. And then they keep asking for upgrades. "NO!! I've been here 100 times. I know what I want and even how to order it so that you have the fewest buttons to push. Stop talking. You're waking up my infant and potentially disrupting any chance I have at a warm lunch. STOP SQUEAKING!"

But, any other time, it's cool, whatever.

All that to say, I found The Economist's report on South Carolina's September mandate to answer the phones with a cheery "It's a great day in South Carolina. How may I help you?" just plain funny. If I called the DMV and got "It's a great day in South Carolina. How may I help you?", I'd probably hang up and re-dial assuming I had the wrong number (which, technically, I would have since I don't live in SC, but you get my point). It wouldn't make me like the DMV any more. In fact, if it caught me in any of the two aforementioned situations I'd likely start hissing and spitting. This doesn't seem strategic considering that most people who call state institutions are usually not just hoping to chit-chat; they have a complaint or a problem or need a service.

And, just as I often dream of replying "my pleasure" to every question at Chik-fil-a on one of those days when the timing is just off, the announcement prompted many other suggestions for their greetings. As the article lists: "It's still better here than Mississippi. How can I help you?" or, "Thank you for calling South Carolina where unemployment is high, morale is low and political leaders are very busy wasting your resournces. How may I direct your call?"

Maybe if SC got their sweet tea right it would balance the mocking, chipper greeting. Works for Chik-fil-a.

numbers: invisible or imaginary

2011-10-11T08:00:00.001-04:00

I'd say I'm average (not mean) with math. I can do the basic addition, subtraction, multiplication and division (sometimes without a calculator!). In a pinch, I could probably recite some basic theories and equations. And I know that when you want to say someone has changed completely in the other direction, you say they've gone a 180, not a 360. There are a lot of things I don't know about math and will unashamedly rely on my engineer-trained-husband for further clarification.

We hit a snag in that arrangement on our way home from a wedding.

Me: "Is it invisible numbers or imaginary numbers. I can never remember and they both seem like the same thing."

Hubby (laughing, because I've asked this before and he still thinks its funny that I call something an invisible number): "It's imaginary numbers. If they were invisible, they wouldn't be there.

Me: "Ok, but if they're imaginary, they're not there either. I always thought it was like having an imaginary friend (not that I would ever consider numbers my friend - screw AP Calculus!) - it's an imaginary friend but its also invisible."

Hubby: "Why would someone use invisible number? Someone's thesis would be, 'well, I did the calculations but I can't see the number.'"

Me: "But you couldn't see an imaginary number either?!"

This is important. Perhaps this very confusion is what has led to our current economic crisis (or whatever word you use to define it). A few people thought it was okay to use imaginary numbers in place of invisible numbers and there was a bit of a widespread fall out. Or perhaps in budget deficit negotiations. Let's face it there has to be a limit to the number of zeros you can put at the end of a number and it's still real. We may need double-check the Algebra/Trig curriculum just to make sure.

monday meditation

2011-10-10T08:00:00.005-04:00

Don't get used to it - I mean, maybe get used to it. I've not posted anything like this before on this blog, but I'm trying a lot of new stuff these days with my writing so just add this to the list. I may periodically drop in some reflections on various passages in the Bible that I've been reading. This is an old one for me, but I'm currently reading Ecclesiastes and while it does pack a punch, it's a bit of a downer for Monday. Maybe later.

Scripture:
Isaiah 40:28-31

Thoughts:
Think of it, Junior is approaching a year old, starting to wobble around and developing a distinct personality. You’re positioned comfortably on the overstuffed sofa for five minutes of non-feet time. Junior goes hobbling by you with nary a glance, eyes positioned on turning the corner down the hall, unaware of anything surrounding him, forward momentum propelling him forward more than anything else and sheer willpower keeping him upright. Your thought? “Where do you think you’re going?” Eventually the bobble-head or diaper-bum overtake his spirited effort and your non-feet time is over as you go to pick him up and encourage the walking effort.

Ever think God is like the parent on the overstuffed couch? “Where do you think you’re going?” As we teeter and totter toward an unfamiliar path, loaded down with self-generated crap or an over-analytical, self-indulgent head, He watches patiently. He’s not uncaring or hoping we fail; He’s watching out for danger; but, He knows its part of the growing process. And as we determinedly careen around a corner and topple over, we look around for Him and cry for help. "but those who trust in the Lord will renew their strength...they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint."

Or, from the perspective of the parent on the couch, isn't it a blessing to claim those verses for the sleepless nights and restless days? Only six months into parenthood, and I've already had occasion several nights to claim hold of the "walk and not faint" passage in sleepily stumbling from nursery to kitchen with crying baby in hand to get a bottle..."don't trip, don't fall, stay upright, keep your eyes open." Parents definitely need some heavenly help in this department.

Welcome to Monday and the beginning of another week - I'm going to claim the "run and not be weary" for this one.

pooh-pooh changes

2011-10-07T08:33:00.000-04:00

When we were making our registry lists there were a handful of items that we scoffed at for their extravagance. Top three: wipe warmers, video monitors and shopping cart covers. We already have 2 of the 3 and the shopping cart covers make more sense now that Little E thinks the cart handles are teething toys. We pooh-poohed the other two merely because "our parents didn't need them when we were babies, and we survived. Puh. Unnecessary extravagance."

Then, we had Little E Houdini. Not only did she quickly learn how to do a 180 in bed at night - and, we suspect, a 360, she scooched and squirmed her way up to the railings (bye-bye bumpers). Then she developed the sleep-destroying habit of screaming periodically in holy terror. She didn't bother waking up from her dozing, but you better believe Mama went tearing/tripping down the hall and into the nursery to check on her. Every. Single. Time. Add to that her comforting habit of pulling the blanket over her face and inhaling deeply and you have a parent's nightmare - a parentmare if you will.

My hubby is wise. "If it means more sleep, let's just buy a video monitor." Bleary-eyed and now to the delusional part of hearing Little E scream even when she wasn't, I acquiesed. I don't like being wrong. But, that video monitor is AWESOME! Now, we watch her twist and turn and scooch and snuggle all night long. When she screams ocasionally, I can roll over, check the monitor and decide whether to get out from under the warm blankets or stay cozy while she settles herself. Awesome.

The wipe warmers were a gift. So, honestly, if we hadn't received them we probably would not have purchased them voluntarily. Our neighbor, mother of three girls, babysat Little E one night and within a week we had wipe warmers. She was astonished that we hadn't invested in them sooner. While I wouldn't say its revolutionized our life, it has made diaper changing a bit more pleasant. No more flinching, grimacing or big-eyed-shocked expressions when we make the hourly (semi-hourly?) trek to the changing table.

I have a feeling that the shopping cart cover will be soon purchased. Given the amount of bodily fluids she expels these days, it's probably just in the best interest of any other children sitting in the seat after her. Or, as I also suspect, probably not bad for her so she isn't sitting in expeled fluids from strangers or gnawing on the handlebar.

Just goes to show, "never say pooh-pooh, until after you have the kid."

its "cou-pon" not "cue-pawn"

2011-10-06T08:54:00.001-04:00

Apparently, I say coupons with a southern drawl. My hubby finds this amusing. I pride myself on having been told by many people that I don't have an accent. One woman guessed Minnesota (?!) but otherwise I've only ever heard that I speak accent-neutral - at least by U.S. standards. So, to find that I had a sneaky-southerner in my vocabulary was not a happy day, but it's becom a running joke and I'm not sure I could pronounce the word any othe way now. Say it with me "cue-pawn."

As my domestically-challenged status slowly started to change, I began to use the word more frequently. I embarked on a mission to see what the big hulabaloo was with the coupon business. Like many others, I had seen a few episodes of TLC's Extreme Couponing, and was curious. I had no interest or ambition to buy another home in order to store massive quantities of detergents and toilet paper nor did I want to have to bust out logarithms or crazy mathmatical equations to go to the grocery store and feel good about my day. I did, however, want to find a medium between paying full price and...well...the extreme.

The more involved I become, the more opinionated I am about coupons. Here are my rants - directed primarily at companies giving (or not giving) coupons.

Any coupon below $0.50 is generally not worth my time to cut (This goes for you Pillsbury, Charmin and Bounty). The amount of the coupon should be proportional to the cost of the product - no, I don't have an algorithm for this, but I'm sure someone could come up with one.
Don't put "Do Not Double" on any coupon under $1.00 - and ESPECIALLY, don't put "Do Not Double" on a coupon for $0.35 (I'm looking at you Hilshire Farms).
If you're going to make the coupon require the purchase of more than one item, then $1.00 off or above is appropriate for 2, $1.50 for 3, etc. (having to buy 4 cans of Pringles to get $1.00 off doesn't do me a whole lot of good when the 4-can total is $8.00)

And, some shout-outs to the grocery stores/pharmacies that I frequent.

Thank you Harris Teeter for Super Doubles, Triple Coupons and doubling up to $0.99 on a regular basis. Awesome - and fun! Also, your e-Vic specials are amazing - with coupons, I've purchased toilet paper for $2.77, and 2 bags of Pampers for $11.00 ($5.99/bag).
Thank you Bi-Lo for your 10 for $10 and B1G1 sales - have made some good finds on soup and Pampers wipes.
Thank you CVS for your Rewards program - I don't always use it because I don't always need what you put on sale, but when I do, I love "free money!"
Thank you Lowes Food for the occasional $10 off a grocery purchase of $50 or more, for doubling coupons every day and for consistently great customer service!

Finally, some thoughts on how to find the middle ground and overall benefits.

If you don't need it, don't buy it. Finding a sale can be addicting, but if you don't need it then it's a waste of money no matter how great of a bargain it is.
As a benefit, we have started trying new products that we would not have without coupons and bargains. Some work, some don't.
We actually have food in our pantry and refrigerator in the event that we have guests and would like to eat a meal at the house (novel idea!).
If you're considering the plunge, remember that the best savings are when a sale pairs with a coupon. Just a coupon is good, but the sale/coupon combination is the kicker.

I'm getting a bit better and having a stockpile in place means I can focus each trip on updates instead of full-on meals. This past week I spent $9.72 at CVS and saved $27+; I spent $53.93 at Harris Teeter and saved $40+. Not going to make it on any TV shows, but my family is pretty well fed and clean.

dropping the f-bomb

2011-10-03T08:44:00.003-04:00

I grew up in a conservative Christian environment and swearing was a strict no-no. The usual run-of-the-mill foul-mouthedness was also condemned but more for the reason of being bad manners. Swearing was inappropriate and wrong. We couldn’t say shut-up or call each other names other than our given names. And with siblings representing the Old and New Testament (Matthew, Sarah and Rachel), we were guaranteed to stay in our Christian language parameters.

I managed to successfully navigate high school without swearing. When I sprained my ankle the first time, a teammate said, “I figured it must be serious because she said ‘oh crap’ when she landed.” That was the extent of it. That was me and my bad self.

In English class my senior year of high school we had a discussion about the use of swear words in a literary piece. Specifically, we had just finished reading Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five, and my English teacher reasoned that “If your leg was blown off in a war, you wouldn’t sit there and say ‘Oh fudge.’ So the author is including swear words to make the scene realistic. It has a place and a purpose in this context." She had a valid point.

And then there was the conversation with my dad about swear words that have “regular” appropriate meanings. Calling a female dog a “bitch” is appropriate; labeling a pile of poo as “shit” is likewise appropriate. That made sense too, but I knew I would stand out a bit if my only exercise of swear-word vocabulary came in a dog park.

Still, I continued in my efforts to avoid swearing. The Christian argument was, and is, compelling for me – I shouldn’t claim one thing and then act another way. I also understood the literary use of swearing as a way of better showing how people live and act in particular situations. And, I still enjoy letting one fly, without it being a bad word, when I see a pile of doo-doo. Actually, I let a few more than that fly, but more on that a bit later.

In my own ponderings of the subject I had added one more argument to the lot, and it is this argument that now most concerns me. Swearing has become so conventional and typical that people are incapable of expressing emotion without including a few salty words – it’s expected, it’s cool. This seems to be a denigration of the English language – apparently there aren’t enough words or phrases to properly make a point without using a “four-letter word.” The greatest offender is the F-bomb.

Ironically, I have since developed a bad habit of swearing. I’m not quite at sailor-level, and my range is intentionally limited, but somewhere between graduate school and my first full-time job, I developed a comfort with these expressions that, five years later, I’m still trying to undo. I stop short at the “F word.” I’ve read it aloud a couple times or when repeating what someone said but even then I feel coarse and cheap using it.

This is my own problem. The greater issue is the prevalence of the word in humor. Apparently, it is near impossible to be funny unless you swear. And to be considered “good” at being funny, you must use the F-word. A lot. Multiple times. Without discrimination. And this makes people laugh hysterically. Not because you’re funny but because you used “F –.” This replays so many times on Comedy Central that I stopped watching. A comedian stands up and starts off with a lame anecdote or a saucy sex story, the audience is tepid at best so he or she just blurts out “F—.” Outrageous laughter follows.

People use it in writing when they want to be funny but don’t have much of substance or originality. Using it a few times in a short amount of space is generally considered effective; many times, writers will play fast and loose with the definition of “short amount of space” and entire essays are decorated with the word.

Clearly I’m in the minority on this one since this is the stuff that people pay for, but it only reinforces in my mind that swearing is a crutch. We can’t take the time to accurately express what we are trying to say or to creatively drive home a point. Instead, we throw in a four-letter word and the minions chortle in prepared response.

30s - you don't scare me.

2011-09-29T22:21:00.002-04:00

Today I gladly entered my thirties. It is going to be the best decade yet. It started off with a wonderful birthday present from my husband (definitely in the Top 3 gifts that he’s ever given). It promises to hold a plethora of mothering adventures that are only 6-months deep from my twenties – definitely the best to come. I’m starting a hobby/career that, for the most part, I’m in control of, I am creatively challenged daily, and I get to do what I love: read and write. My openness and availability to grow spiritually are as high as they were in high school with, thankfully, a bit more maturity and wonder. Best. Decade. Ever.

That’s all I’m going to say about that. I’ve got ten years to prove it.

Still, the twenties were wonderful. So, as I say goodbye to them, I will honor their impact on my life with a few reflections in no particular order.

Got married (6 years!)
Graduated with my master's degree and with one of the most entertaining graduation ceremonies my family has seen to date. Let’s just say the “Speaker” chanted, there was a bowl for cleansing the space and a soundtrack of my family snorting, giggling and whispering – my grandmother being the chief offender.
Quit a PhD program
Discovered the thrill of skydiving
Discovered the horror of white-water rafting
Saw the largest population of kangaroos outside of Australia and visited the Tank Museum (finally!)
Went on a cruise in the Mediterranean (after we canceled it )
Received a Fulbright award (which I ultimately couldn’t accept due to pregnancy complications. Still, I was pretty excited.)
Saw pigs swim (I'm expecting to see them fly in the 30's)
Participated in my first book club which read internationally-themed books and then met at similarly-themed international restaurants to discuss.
Coordinated a conference of 2000 people and 200 volunteers; provided publicity and administrative support for a Festival of 10,000.
Gave birth to a beautiful baby girl – and survived the first six months!

Adios 20's!

Book Note: Ben & Me

2011-09-26T13:11:00.005-04:00

I had mixed feelings about Borders closing recently. On the one hand, it's always sad to see a book store have to admit that there isn't enough interest in purchasing good ol' ink on paper to justify their existence. On the other hand, liquidation sales! My general rule of thumb is that a clearance/liquidation sale is not truly in the clearance/liquidation category until the discount goes beyond 50% off so we browsed early on and purchased a few books. When I saw signs that suggested 60-75% off my heart raced fast, my pupils dialated for intense shopping and my daughter's stroller was qualifying for the Daytona 500.

Now, obviously this is a risk/reward situation. It's a much higher risk that you won't find something that you want when you wait until everything's been picked through; if you do though, it's at an awesome price. That day I purchased three books for about $20. None of them were books I would have taken the time to find before, but when there are significant gaps in the shelves its much easier to browse. All of them were nonfiction, and I was looking forward to reading published others in a genre I hoped to one day be a part of. I'm sure if I ever reach author status I'll have a much different feeling about bookstores closing.

Ben & Me, by Cameron Gunn, was one of the books that caught my eye and eventually went home with me. It's not a new premise for a book: the author embarks on a project and chronicles his success, failures and lessons learned. This type of nonfiction has a range of contributions from King Solomon in the writings of Ecclesiastes to an author who lived biblically for a year to a woman who committed to doing one thing that made her happy each day for a year. This book was less ambitious in its timeframe, but more compelling in its content. Gunn resolved to live out one week of each of Ben Franklin’s virtues for thirteen weeks total. In the process, we receive a glimpse into his life, family, interests, successes and shortcomings.

From a content perspective, I was curious, but if the book had been full-price I likely would not have chosen it from a full selection. Still, my interest was piqued to better know Ben Franklin and his thoughts on Temperance, Silence, Order, Resolution, Frugality, Industry, Sincerity, Justice, Moderation, Cleanliness, Tranquility, Chastity and Humility.

From a style perspective I was surprised by how much Gunn’s writing style mirrored my own – and particularly in respect to the parenthetical aside. Sarcastic or informative, I rely on parentheses in my writing fairly regularly. Gunn took it to a whole new level, and I found myself mildly annoyed through each chapter. Some were well-placed additions that contributed to the humor, but when they were then combined with several unnecessary parentheses, I hit my limit quickly. As a reader-aspiring-writer, it was a good lesson for me to learn – but probably not the one that Gunn had in mind.

So, we have a Canadian lawyer modeling an English-turned-American inventor in a series of thirteen weeks or so. Cue skepticism. Not that it couldn't be done. I was fairly certain that the challenge had been met or the book would not have been written. I scoffed a bit at the idea of a lawyer practicing Sincerity, Justice or Silence - though only from my own preconceived stereotypes, not from any personal insight I have into lawyers. And in just 13 weeks? These are some weighty values to be employing habitually at the end of a few months.

In many cases my skepticism was merited - Gunn admits at the end that moral perfection is a long way away - but it was a worthwhile glimpse into a life (and writing style) that was wholly different and completely familiar. Gunn's efforts are 24/7 so his colleagues, friends and family inadvertently get caught up in the fray. His court cases (and fellow lawyers) become both challenges and inspiration for his virtues, watercooler chit-chat produces temptations we could all learn to avoid, his family supports him while firmly reminding him that they didn't sign up for "no TV" so he could please go not watch TV downstairs and a weekend basketball game with middle-aged buddies inspires more reflection than most athletes would admit to these days. All very common activities and responses. All added into his quest to give the book an approachable and likable quality.

From the beginning I wanted him to succeed. I just wasn't sure what that would look like. In the end, he had made it through a week on each virtue, but even in his final analysis he acknowledged not much had changed. And I felt like I had made it through the book but not much inspired. It was fleetingly funny, honest to a fault (if honesty can be a fault is debated in Sincerity) and occasionally enlightening (there's a Ben Franklin pun in that final point somewhere). Still, my pleasure was not as a reader but more from what it taught me as a writer.

the tale of the puma and the snail

2011-09-19T22:56:00.003-04:00

I made a trip to the DMV today to renew my license. My poor daughter had no choice but to join me. As I was trying to find an oufit that would work in half-warm/half-cool weather (to say nothing of falling somewhere between 9-month and 12-month length), I came across her Puma oufit of baby warm-up pants and jacket - perfect. The matching Puma onesie was dirty so I blindly rooted through her clean clothes and pulled out the purple onesie with the snail. It was a combination that foreshadowed the adventure ahead.

I pride myself in falling in the Puma category. I like to run my errands quickly and efficiently. I'm a lousy window-shopper-browser, and I'm usually thinking five steps ahead of what's happening. People who start an order at Subway after standing in line for 15 minutes with "Um....let's see....what kind of bread do you have?" DRIVE. ME. CRAZY. Me=Puma.

Anyone who has stood in line at the DMV (I'm guessing in any state) can make the mental leap necessary to equate DMV with Snail. Slow, slimy and expressionless. I think in the entire time that I was in there - and including a pre-visit phone call - I received maybe three smiles. And two of those were for Emma. The woman barking orders (yes, at 8 AM - please, make us more miserable) to "Tighten the line" looked like she was going to throw me out because I had a small stroller. I was granted entrance only after she realized I could easily put the stroller length-wise in line and "tighten the line" that way.

Waiting in line, I pulled out my wallet and wrote the check. And waited. Puma's don't wait. Puma's pounce. Except there was no room to pounce - the line was tight. Caged and having the energy sucked out of me by the sticky ooze of DMV-ness, I was getting grouchy.

Then, my turn came. I wheeled Emma forward and the lady asked to see my license. I reached for the wallet and went to grab my license from the plastic window. It was a new wallet and the license was wedged in there. While pawing fiercely with little progress, I mumbled an apology. This was unacceptable Puma behavior. This time, I was the person in line who walked up with the "Uh..." opening. Completely inappropriate. I may walk out with a renewed license, but my Puma-card was going to be revoked.

Here's the thing about Snails though - they're good with patience. They're not in a rush to make as little contact with their world as possible before entering their comfort zone. They drip and ooze all over the place - touching everything. I have no doubt the DMV Snail who was at the front desk was mildly annoyed, but she was gracious, patient and empathetic. I looked back on the interaction and appreciated, for possibly the first time, the value of patience and the beauty of those who use it.

Tomorrow I need to renew my Puma card, but maybe I'll be a bit more empathetic to all creatures, great and small. For, like, a whole minute.

tweeting twit

2011-09-18T15:56:00.000-04:00

I'm tweeting now. Well, correction, I've restarted tweeting. I created an account when I was in San Francisco in 2009. It was the sugar high of social media: a week of constant updates and travel adventures abruptly ending for no reason other than distraction elsewhere.

When I began taking my writing more seriously I figured it was time to re-discover the Twitter phenomenon. Which, in itself is ironic. To be a more serious writer, consider an outlet forcing you to write in 140 characters or less on anything and everything. Huh. More like friffles. So, I've been putting friffles on a blog and blogging on a friffle site.

I guess what I'm saying is, for more (and considerably shorter) friffles, follow me @rrvincent.

Book Note: The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman

2011-08-28T01:18:00.003-04:00

I purchased this book to be a beach read, and it did not disappoint. I am not one to indulge in saucy romance tales at the beach, but I do appreciate having something short and light. The Imperfectionists fit the bill. Set in Rome, Italy, the story line follows the history of an international newspaper through periodic glimpses into the lives of the characters that inhabit the newsroom and business operations.

What made it an ideal beach read was the brevity of the profiles. One review suggested they could each serve as short stories within the scope of the whole, but I am not so convinced they would each be interesting set apart as short stories. Rather, they assumed more of a character sketch of individuals with the history of the newspaper being the common theme. As a reader who typically prefers nonfiction, I found the intertwined biographies to be a pleasant structure. The nuances and insecurities of each character were expertly, if not at some points blatantly, revealed to give depth to each storyline though without the character development expected of a longer piece in a more traditional format. I could start and finish a chapter without feeling compelled to go on and find out “what happened next”, but each chapter launched the story a bit further – effective for spanning decades through days without dying in the details.

Since I am not a common, or honestly even a well-informed, consumer of fiction, I relied on the general description, reviews plastered on the front and back of the cover and a general scan of a few sections before making the purchase. Upon reflection, I could not help but wonder cynically if the generous reviews by The Financial Times, The New York Times, and The Washington Post, had more to do with romantic ideas about the newspaper newsroom than on the book’s literary contribution. Perhaps the reviewers recognized a co-worker in one of the profiles or imagined himself or herself in one of the roles. Perhaps the issues and struggles of managing a newspaper in the digital age or the angst felt at reporting on a situation so much bigger than oneself were familiar subjects and thus more likely to generate appreciative feedback. That thinking doesn’t do much credit to the book itself or the periodicals making the reviews. Overall, the story is well-written; a range of emotions is suitably dredged up by the reader when escaping into the lives of each character – annoyed for one, sad for another and empathetic for someone else; and, the personalities and work issues are not so different from those experienced in other professions. The theme of ambition (or lack thereof) was pervasive, but any other overarching ideas that I should have picked up on if I was reading it for an English class I did not. (This is not the book’s fault necessarily; it is to say that I would need to reread it to provide a more in-depth analysis, but it would not be a book I would do that for – unless required.)

For my brief, rare and uninformed time in a piece of a fiction, it was beach time well-spent. It was a book that pleasantly occupied time on the balcony overlooking the ocean without compelling me in its plot to continue reading and thus miss out on precious family time.

my relationship with t-shirts

2011-08-23T15:55:00.002-04:00

I finally get it: the appeal of t-shirts. After spending a decade wearing t-shirts, spandex and volleyball paraphernalia, I equated them with exercise, sweat and misery. Then, my various professional jobs landed me in positions that offered t-shirts for volunteers and anyone remotely connected to the events. I bulked up my collection again, but I only wore them occasionally or to exercise – which, incidentally, was only occasionally. Now, I’m a mom, and I’m giving t-shirts a whole new level of respect. They are easy to wear, easy to change and easy to wash 13 times a day when your baby poops or vomits all over them. So, it’s time to bulk up my collection once again.

I still have many of the event t-shirts and one t-shirt from a storied but unfortunate visit to the Whitewater Center. A beach vacation is the perfect place to add a couple to the wardrobe, except I dreaded the standard “mom souvenir” t-shirt: pastel with the name of the beach embroidered across the front or tie-dyed with a hideous graphic swallowing my still poochy mom belly. I vowed to find something tasteful – well, at least as tasteful as one can get with t-shirts.

Instead, I went in the other direction: a Piggly Wiggly t-shirt. That's right, I went from looking for subtle and tasteful to tacky and embarrassing. It was my first trip to a Piggly Wiggly, and I was all in – just for the name. I’m certain it was the furthest thing from my husband’s mind when we planned the vacation, but once I realized there was one across from our property I kept repeating the name in funny voices to our daughter. After he went through the phases of coping with a ridiculous spouse – denial, anger, acceptance – he was on board for a visit and maybe a t-shirt.

My husband is a great respecter of t-shirts. In fact, it was one of the first realities that surprised me when we were married. He hangs all his t-shirts up in the closet! I shove mine in a drawer to be worn, crumpled, to the gym and nowhere else. He actually took up half our closet space with his collection. There are days when I think the only reason he really decided to marry me, despite a degree in Arts & Crafts (read: small dollar bills in the paycheck), was that I got paid in t-shirts. The only inconvenience is that we have to coordinate so as not to wear the same t-shirts on the same day.

So, he could appreciate that a trip to the beach would be an opportunity to add to my mom uniforms. He could even appreciate the humor in buying a Piggly Wiggly t-shirt, although he conspicuously refrained from adding one to his personal collection. I may have crossed a line in buying one for our daughter, but come on – Piggly Wiggly on a onesie is so cute and she's still too young to resist.

Book Note: Americans in Paris by David McCullough

2011-08-13T22:51:00.002-04:00

David McCullough, author and historian, is a household name. My dad has read most if not all of his works and my husband has likewise taken an interest in several of his books. We’ve amassed quite a collection, but I’ve not taken the plunge to read one. I knew he was widely acclaimed as an excellent storyteller, but his subjects had not been of interest to me until his most recent work.

The Greater Journey: Americans in Paris examines the lives of Americans who visited or lived in Paris, France between the years of 1830 and 1900. Their reasons for going are as varied as their stories. There are the expected artists and sculptors, but McCullough also highlights the contributions of Americans in Paris to medicine. Then considered a “center” of arts, science and advancement, Paris hosted dozens of American students to medicinal advancements and skills that were then brought back to the United States. There are stories of inventors, abolitionists, authors, feminists and statesmen deftly woven into the history of a vibrant, tumultuous city.

The strong love of learning that these Americans brought with them to Paris is rarely seen today on a whole. Artists devoting hours to copying paintings in the Louvre or sculptors dedicating their entire lives to monumental works and acclaim; doctoral students being allowed to explore the female anatomy on cadavers to better understand women’s medicine and working in conditions that, upon fine description, led me to nearly vomit. Students came as one thing and left their mark in history as another – an art student turned abolitionist, another becoming an inventor.

The letters and journals of these people tell the story of the end of the French monarchy, the Siege of Paris in the Franco-Prussian War, the Paris Commune, Paris Expositions, the building of the Statue of Liberty in a far more personal hand than any history book has ever attempted. There are heroes, such as Ambassador Elihu Washburne, appointed by President Grant, who stayed through some of Paris’s darkest days and worked tirelessly to give support and comfort to Americans, Germans and French alike. There are stories, such as the two Americans escaping Paris by hot air balloon during the Siege, which were previously unknown to me. And there is a sense of a noble, inescapable connection between France and the United States that is quickly forgotten in the muddle and shenanigans of the 21^st century.

I am biased. I too went to Paris hoping to learn and experience the greatness of the city and to see the beauty in it. I will not flatter myself in saying I was half as good of a student as any of those mentioned here, but the pull was the same. I remembered streets and bridges and buildings as history marched through the pages. My journal does not contain insights, observations or friendships that are likely to influence a unique perspective of Americans in Paris during the 21^st century, but it’s my story for me to tell. This compilation of renowned names, their combined record of achievements and the dynamic time in Paris history is a story inherently worth telling but even more compelling when told by a master craftsman of history writing.

I thoroughly enjoyed it.

pins v. underwear

2011-08-13T22:38:00.001-04:00

I read in a special issue of The New Yorker about Madeleine Albright’s pin collection and her way of wearing pins to communicate indirectly during negotiations. The piece, by Lauren Collins, gives several examples. When she was the U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations and had angered Saddam Hussein, a poem appeared in the Iraqi press which called her an “unparalleled serpent.” So, she went into her next day of negotiations wearing a snake pin. It was a hit so Albright started after some more bejeweled negotiation support pieces. Another example Collins gives is a meeting with the Russians about an anti-ballistics treating to which she wore a four-inch interceptor missile. Apparently, there’s a complete book about the collection of pins she amassed and how and when they were worn.

Rather than making me want to go out and buy the book, my mind wandered to my own personal collection. What if I achieved some level of notoriety – possibly for brokering peace in the Middle East, but let’s not be limited – how would my collection fare in a review? Well, that would be my underwear collection, and I can say from the start that there are some distinct differences in how we would use our collections. Well, no, only one distinct difference: I would not be exposing myself to anyone, dictator or otherwise, in an attempt to foster world peace through subtle communication techniques etched on some granny panties. Pins are to be seen; underwear is not.

When I traveled abroad I started to look for underwear from each country I visited. Of course I had a cover collection – patches – but the underwear was the real gem. Surprisingly, not many countries make huge sales of underwear engraved with their country flag or some other symbol of national pride. In fact of the nearly ten countries toured, only two pairs of underwear stood out: the UK and Spain.

In the UK I did manage to find a pair with the Union Jack on it – why doesn’t every country want their national symbol emblazoned across someone’s crotch? The clerk at the souvenir stop laughed and asked “Are these knickers for you?” The pair from Spain actually played music. My friend and I suspected it was the anthem for the Barcelona Football club. We had this verified by a stranger on the street who overheard our guesses and offered to clarify. So, he held my new underwear up to his ear, verified the song and said, in all seriousness, “You cannot wear this underwear until you can sing the song.” Apparently they take their football seriously…and having a pair of underwear that plays the song with gusto if you happen to cross your legs incorrectly is dead serious.

So, my international collection gave me a couple interesting experiences but nothing that would help me if I found myself in a negotiation…unless I pooped my pants.

thoughts on going under and coming out

2011-07-15T13:48:00.003-04:00

I managed to go 29 years without a surgery and in the space of four months I've had two - one major and the other minor. The first, an emergency c-section at 3:00 AM, was unplanned and a bit scary. The second was a routine D&C, planned and only really scary because I had more time to think about it. The first one I received a beautiful baby girl and the second one I produced a 3-cm fibroid. The one thing that was the same? Anesthesia!

To my great amusement, I retained an assortment of last-minute/first-minute thoughts on the period of time right before going under and the period of time when I'm starting to wake up. Its unclear to me why my brain saved these juicy bits of nonsense - perhaps to help me put a good spin on otherwise unpleasant experiences. So, here they are in as much of an order as I can figure out (still slightly dopey from surgery #2 and the aforementioned anesthesia).

Going In - Surgery #1
*"I don't think that mask is just for oxygen. What? Take a deep breath....."
*"Crap. I really didn't want a catheter and bladder bag."

Coming Out - Surgery #1
*As the nurse was attempting to squish my stomach together for unknown reasons and the pain hit full force I let out a very pitiful "Whhhyyyy?"

Coming Out - Surgery #2
*"This is the best nap I've had since Emma was born. I'm going to close my eyes and keep sleeping."
*Then overheard from the attending nurse "Her heartbeat is really low. She must be a serious athlete or runner." I hear giggling in my head.
*Then the direct question: "Your hearbeat is really low. Are you a runner or athlete?" Pause. My mind is processing and actually trying to figure out how to answer (clearly vanity has overcome honesty). My face must have given me away. The nurse continued, "Do you want to tell me that you're an athlete." "I kinda do." "That's fine by me. I don't know you well enough to know if you are or aren't." I smile and try to roll over in a more comfortable position.
*Laying on my side in a comfortable position a breeze ruffles my gown, and I understand that my fanny hangeth out. I hear giggling in my head; I don't care.

And those, my loyal 3 readers, are what we call drugged friffles :)

Advice

2011-07-07T14:47:00.000-04:00

While recently shopping for 9-month clothes for my 3 ½ month daughter, I came across a onesie that advertised, “My mother doesn’t want your advice.” The truth is, I don’t mind listening to other people’s stories or suggestions. The advice is fine; I retain the right to reject it. In that spirit, I offer the two pieces of advice I’ve permanently added to my repertoire (I must be getting old if I’ve started compiling advice from life experiences – yikes!).

For newly married couples there are two phrases you need to learn to use genuinely and often: “I’m sorry” and “Thank you.” “I love you” is important but without these other two, the relationship will not grow.

For new parents remember that despite all the reading you’ve done in advance of your newborn, all the advice you’ve carefully stored and the classes that you’ve taken, your new child did not and is not inclined or required to follow it. Follow your baby’s lead.

RNT AHED

2011-07-02T10:11:00.005-04:00

Vanity plates are for the other drivers on the road to enjoy. My husband and I have passed many two-minute segments of our travels trying to decipher encrypted plates. When the plates are not particularly creative, I take offense. I had two basic rules and yesterday added a third for creating a successful vanity plate.

1. Don’t put the type of car – chances are pretty good that the make, model and yes, the color, are pretty clear without you needing to spend extra money to highlight “BMW Z3” or “Lexus” or “Ford” or “BlueVan.” Don’t insult me.

2. Don’t put your name. I have less of a reason for including this on my list, but it’s annoying. You know who you are. I’m not going to be more inclined to meet you just because you’ve identified the car as yours, and unless you find your car by reading all the license plates in the parking deck, it ultimately serves no purpose. Plates that read “LisasRyd” or “MomsCar” or anything of that sort, are boring and uninformative.

3. And I’m adding, akin to the number 1, don’t pay extra money to put something on your vanity plate that is obvious otherwise on your car. Yesterday I passed a car bespeckeled in bumper stickers. License plate: STCKRS. Really? I hadn’t noticed.

Perhaps these guidelines are selfish. I enjoy those 2-minute conversations with whoever is in the car with me. If you have something easy or obvious, it is a wasted vanity plate (and, I contend, wasted money on your part). I don’t currently have a vanity plate, but I’ve had two. I will admit they’re not the most creative I’ve ever seen, but they at least reflect some thought and I’ve had the privilege of looking in my rearview mirror and watching people try to figure them out. Many years ago I sported VB Atak (which many people mistook for Virginia Beach and actually meant volleyball and Atak as a term for the sport.) The other license plate was a pitiful translation of “Darn good” in French and German – Zut Gut. This one was fun. The French/German pronunciation is closer to Zoot Goot, but anyone trying to figure it out invariably went for the English pronunciation: “What’s a zuht guht?”

Just a little creativity people. It makes road trips so much more entertaining for others. And what really is the point of a vanity plate otherwise?

anyone know where I can get a dinosaur?

2011-05-23T23:18:00.001-04:00

I have a new question to ask God about when I get to heaven: this startle reflex in babies, is it necessary? I'm talking about the reflex that occurs after hours of red-faced screaming has finally subsided into milli-seconds from silent slumber. It is the reflex that takes a temperamental baby from blissful contentment to snow-angel spaz. Of course, said child is now wide awake and resumes screaming. My husband was promising to buy my daughter ponies when I was a week overdue if she would arrive; some days I would find a bona fide dinosaur for her if she would stop screaming. I'm not talking a Fisher-Price, frog-green dinosaur or stealing a heap of bones from the Smithsonian - I'm talking about finding Jurassic Park, bagging a real one and bringing it home for 10 minutes of quiet time!

This is only the fourth thing on this parenthood journey of 2 months that I have been able to laugh about - something that has only recently made me realize why it's such an adjustment. Laughing is my stress release - it's how I handle difficult situations or uncomfortable situations. In these first two months, not much has been funny. People told me before Emma arrived that I should sleep when she sleeps. I would like to add that I also took it upon myself the first couple weeks (and periodically since then) to cry when she cries as well.

And then I'm reminded that this adjustment must be even more overwhelming for her. When we took the car through the car wash this past weekend, my husband affectionately told Emma that it would blow her mind. I can tell you without a doubt that it did. Her eyes were as big as frisbees and her whole body got tense. We talked her through it and she survived, but it really did send her for a whirl. That perspective helps when the screaming gets to be much.

The other three things I have found humor in were when my week-old daughter gave me the finger while nursing. Just what a struggling and overwhelmed new mom wants to see - a vote of confidence from the flopping, squirming, and have I mentioned screaming, set of arms and legs in her hands. I've been told it was involuntary, but I have seen since then a disconcerting personality trait of laughing when we tease her about harassing us on purpose...she's very aware of what she's doing I think.

Then, we had to use the jaws of life (scissors) to get her out a onesie that she had exploded into up the front. Let's take this in shocking pieces. 1) Poop everywhere. 2) Up her FRONT? 3) Cut out of her clothes. This was a two-person job and thankfully my husband was at home. I ran half screaming half laughing into the kitchen with a dangling child looking very pleased with herself held at arms length away. My husband ran to get the extrication device and another onesie succumbed to expelled baby fluid.

Finally, during another screaming incident (see the theme?) we took a walk to help calm Emma and hopefully put her to sleep. In true parenting style, this was our only priority - brief calm in the storm. We did not care to look at the weather channel or even through a glance to the sky. It wasn't until we had walked as far as we were going to go away from the house that we looked up and noticed the storm clouds directly overhead. Black, low to the ground and with some sketchy tentacles dangling. We immediately started wogging (walking/jogging) to get back home. My husband's knee was sore so he added a limp to his giddy-up. It went something along the lines of Wog, Limp, Scream, Laugh, Look, Wog, Wog, Scream, Limp, Look, Laugh. Emma bounced along, either screaming or silently laughing at her parents again or both, and Nick and I convinced ourselves of Worst Parents Status.

There are many things I would like to chat with God about, and I didn't expect that my earlier inquiry about why women have to go through all the changes of pregnancy so dramatically all at once would be so quickly supplanted by the vocal stylings of a little girl. I'm guessing by the time I get up there my list will be even longer and will probably just be answered by a sheet of gold-lined parchment paper of FAQ's. The really important questions get the face-to-face time. That's why I'm starting with "where are the dinosaurs and how do I get one?"

first mother's day!!!

2011-05-06T13:05:00.003-04:00

Here are my top three (in no particular order) favorite "mom" videos. Being only seven weeks into this new job I'm sure these will only get funnier to me as I experience the range of responsibility that awaits. For now, I watched this first video sitting in the backseat of our Honda Fit, holding a screaming infant and then feeding her, in the rain, in a Chik-fil-a parking lot 15 minutes from our house. That's gotta earn a little "mom-cred"...though definitely not to the proportion suggested in any of these favorites...

"In the Muthahood" by Anita Renfroe

"Momisms" by Anita Renfroe

"The Invisible Woman" by Nicole Johnson

Happy Mother's Day!

i have a problem

2011-05-01T15:41:00.001-04:00

One of the first activities our cohort did in our first class was to take a self-inventory of our conflict styles. I was clearly and unequivocally in the avoider/accommodator categories. As the professor went through each style and asked those people who fell under each section to raise their hands, I grew increasingly uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed by my preference to not engage in the topic. When it came time to identify in my category I raised my hand and was shocked to find most of the rest of the class had raised their hands, too. Surprising for a group of students enrolled in a master's program for conflict studies. Not surprising to our professors apparently - the reason many people get involved in the program is to figure out this unpleasant topic and how to make it work constructively.

Fast forward ten years later, and it still makes me uncomfortable. Oh, I can teach on the subject. I know and understand the process and value of dealing positively with an often highly charged situation. I can recite the mediation steps, and I can talk about the communication strategies for effectively asserting concerns or interests. I graduated with a M.S. in the subject for crying out loud.

But when it comes to confronting a group of 11-year-old boys in our front yard who are casually and non-threateningly shooting pellets from our front yard, I get weak in the knees and every jot and tittle of the English language shoots out my ears. "What should I say?" "Maybe they'll go away on their own - aren't children high-functioning human beings who just know that they shouldn't be playing on property they or their parents do not own?" Wishful thinking. So, after I watched just to make sure they were actually shooting the guns and not just chit-chatting in the shade before their next adventure, I mustered up my best intimidating adult voice, unlocked the door and managed a controlled "Excuse me, I don't know what you're shooting, but you need to find another yard to do it in."

To my credit, my voice didn't creak or waver (which I was certain it would). To their credit, they said "Sorry" and left.

I went inside and collapsed on a chair to feed my non-pellet-shooting-completely-responsible (well, and also completely dependent) - child while my legs stopped shaking.

It seems to me that that exchange should not have been so traumatic for me...maybe when more of the maternal instincts kick in it'll be easier to cope with confrontation. For now, and since forever, I have a problem.

thoughts on motherhood: one month in

2011-04-14T20:51:00.001-04:00

Overall Impact
* It's not a learning curve; it's a wall. I'm not talking about a climbing wall, I'm referring to a wall of tile drenched in oil - slick and entirely vertical.

* Your living space is a war zone of binkies and burp cloths.

*Burp cloths are designed to protect your clothes from baby vomit. Indeed they do. They provide a space that baby will refuse to vomit on, preferring instead every other available space on your clothes and theirs.

What They Don't Tell You in Childbirth Education Classes
*All those breastfeeding positions for holding baby are a perfectly simple with a plastic doll. Insert a squirming, screaming, flailing infant to the equation and latching at all becomes a miracle, let alone latching correctly.

*Your infant did not attend this class and/or read any of the "how to get your infant to sleep 12 hours straight" and/or adjust their internal clock to the 14 recommended schedules you're supposed to be on for maximum infant development. Deal with it.

Top 5 Signs You're Pregnant at Work

2011-02-22T14:50:00.003-05:00

In addition to a wildly expanding mid-section, here are Top 5 indicators of a Work Pregnancy:

1. There's a noticeably trod path from your office/cube to the bathroom.
2. Once in the bathroom, you have a reserved stall.
3. You're no longer asked to remember anything. It's all written down or considered promptly forgotten.
4. Wardrobe=comfortable. It's a gradual process but at the end of nine months, flip-flops and blue jeans are necessary - everything is swollen. Business casual is a thing of the past. (If I could wear sweat pants and a t-shirt, I would (if I could find a t-shirt that fit).)
5. Eye contact is spotty - either you're looking at my belly, or I'm looking at my belly (particularly during meetings - sorry, baby moving is far more interesting than anything anyone is saying).

Maybe these aren't the "top" 5 - actually the number is probably the more questionable part of the list. If any more come up, I'll just start adding numbers.

things to tell my daughter...

2010-12-20T16:51:00.001-05:00

As we enter the third trimester, the reality of "bringing baby home" is getting closer at increasing speeds - we're officially under the 100 days mark! Here are just a few basic thoughts I'm passing along to Emma:

1) Thanks for increasing your squirming - it lets me know you're still going strong and takes my mind off of the pain in my lower back.
2) Here's the deal: we are not going to be developing gestational diabetes, I want my Christmas cookies (and, trust me on this, so do you).
3) A lot of people are really excited to meet you - your parents are particularly thrilled...mixed with a healthy dose of panicked.
4) Our current schedule of waking up at night and then taking a nap in the middle of the day is only halfway effective - keep the nap, ditch the middle-of-the-night shenanigans. I understand this is normal, but I sense you're an over-achiever so go ahead and skip to sleeping through the night - it won't hurt my feelings.
5) We love you!

tiny friffles

2010-11-22T09:33:00.001-05:00

I can fairly effectively reach into my purse on the passenger side and dig around for an item without taking my eyes off of the road. However, this only works when the item has a distinct shape or feel - so, pulling out a fluorescent yellow highlighter to apply as lipstick is not helpful. Must recommend a different shape for one or the other...
I enjoy my lunch period as a time to "get away" from work. It's usually split between lunches with friends and lunches alone. Lunches alone find me parked in a parking lot eating in solitary with NPR on the radio. I used to think this was likely somewhat strange (not that that ever stopped me) until I started looking around from lunch and daydreams and realized there were other people doing the same thing. I'm not sure if this is an introvert thing or a general recommended de-stressing technique in the middle of the day, but there is a bona fide group of Car-Eaters and I'm a proud member. At some point I'll have to post some guidelines to the Car Eaters movement.
Got an email recently titled "18 easy steps to becoming a good writer". Generally speaking, anything over 10 steps is not perceived as easy. Specifically speaking, numbers that are not divisible by five annoy me - no one is fooled that 18 is almost 20, go ahead and round it out or knock it down to 15.
Is it weird that pregnant women have to request "virgin" drinks at the bar?

needed: "how to prepare for baby" tutorial

2010-10-13T16:48:00.001-04:00

I believe I'm going to need a "Reserved Parking" sign for at least one stall in the bathroom at work. I'm pretty close to an established runway between my office door and the bathroom door, and I anticipate that it will be finalized by March 2011.

In other news, we've signed up for a few baby classes courtesy of our hospital, with one notaable exception: where's the class on registering?! Twice I have visited Babies R Us and Target, and twice I've walked out marveling at the amount of stuff. If you think the wedding industry is doing well, wait till you get to the baby industry.

So, the following questions are within the context of "what do I need to buy in advance?" "what is hype and what is legit?" "what has been your experience?" Given the number of mothers and grandmothers I am fortunate to know, it seemed easiest to put these together in one place and request advice. If you have a soap box on one of these issues, this is the time to get on it. There is no way our future small (fingers crossed) child needs to sample 12 pacifiers to make a selection; however, if there is experience to suggest one option over another, I would love to know before I go crazy with the registry gun and/or my own, personal shopping spree.

So, here's what I've got so far:

What am I looking for in a diaper bag? Shoulder or backpack? How many pockets or are there key pockets I should look for? Size?
Crib bumpers? As cute as they all are and as prevalent as they seem to be with all bedding sets, I've also heard arguments that some people don't consider them safe to have in a crib. Thoughts?
Baby bath options: unless I'm mistaken, my first bath was in something akin to a large pot (mom, feel free to clarify). That may still work fairly well, but there are now also at least ten different options out there, so is there anything that is definitely necessary or that is extremely helpful for infant bathtime or is a pot still a decent option with some gentle soap?
Baby monitors: what should I be looking for? They now have video monitors, but I don't know that that's necessary - we have a small house and I don't know how much extra safety is given by being able to watch a baby sleep. Being a newbie, I'm open to opposing arguments. At the very least, I see the value in a monitor but am not sure what exactly I should be looking for?
Health and safety gadgets: what do I need from this category?
And for the grandparents in the group, or the regular travelers, what's good to have for schlepping baby on overnight trips?
What were the most useful gifts or advice that you received?

Thanks in advance for any advice that you have time to send my way. If you have my email, feel free to send your ideas that way. If you're comfortable posting for the world to see, have at it.

friffles

2010-10-12T15:42:00.001-04:00

Am I the only person who does not like candy corn?! It's colored ear wax! In fact, based on it's shape, it probably came from someone's very large ear canal and the outside is a color-coded representation of the number of layers from which it was extracted.
I'm mildly amused by the reporters who are covering the Chilean Miners' story and including observations that their stressed family members and friends are becoming increasingly edgy and annoyed with the swarm of invasive and pushy reporters. Immediately followed by a quote gathered by one such reporter from one such stressed family member.

Preggers Update

2010-09-12T12:45:00.001-04:00

It was inevitable that these friffles would start to focus primarily on pregnancy life. Now that I'm in the second trimester, energy that was so elusive in the first trimester is slowly making a comeback. It would probably make a more resounding entrance if I could actually get a full night sleep. I was anticipating the nocturnal bathroom trips much later in the pregnancy - when the baby was big enough to consider the bladder a squeeze-toy. Turns out, the uterus pushing on the bladder can cause this too. So, no full night sleep starting in the first trimester. Lovely.

Now, one of the wonderful and annoying parts of pregnancy is that everything is unique per woman per pregnancy. It is wonderful because each child can then be an adventure into unchartered territory - different body shape, different cravings, different symptoms, etc. It is annoying because it means everything is up in the air - should I be showing now? Depends. Is spotting a problem? Depends. Should my left hand be tingling and numb? Depends.

And the one point I was dreading the most - finding maternity pants long enough to fit - turned out to be the easiest and most enjoyable part of the process so far. I'd heard rumors that stretchy pants were the best piece of clothing ever designed and several of my previously-pregnant friends confirmed the rumor. I was a quick convert. My husband is less so and increasingly concerned that I will follow through on my threat to wear them for the rest of my life. After a hearty breakfast this AM, I relaxed in the car swearing my undying devotion to stretchy pants with visions of Thanksgiving and Christmas dancing through my head. I finally came-to and suggested we go grocery shopping to see if I could smuggle a melon (I didn't try, pregnancy brain has not overpowered good sense yet, but I bet I could).

We're closing in on Week 15 and every one is an adventure. According to the weekly announcement I receive, our little Woot is approaching the size of a lemon and about to start growing even faster.

world's longest yard sale

2010-08-13T19:58:00.001-04:00

It was an adventure. I had two goals in mind: have fun and don't use a porta-potty. I was wildly successful with both. Basically, several years ago, someone in Jamestown, Tennessee decided it was a real shame that people were not using some of the scenic back roads in the state. After a brainstorming session, I'm assuming, the idea for a yard sale along Route 127 was born. Needless to say, the idea caught on and the 2010 yard sale stretched from Gadsen, Alabama to Hudson, Michigan. It happens every year on the first weekend in August - incidentally also tax free weekend in many states (the only reason that matters is because we were curious how the residents along Route 127 felt about having their driving time doubled or tripled this weekend if they wanted to go anywhere - not sure, we only met the participating crowd).

Since we were in Scottsboro, we opted to start a bit north of the start point in Gadsen. After winding through small towns, up and down the same streets a couple times (looking for gas, too), and completely annoying the voice of our GPS, we made it to the correct route. It was a overwhelming moment. "Oh, that's the route! Oh, a gas station! Oh! Oh! Yard sales!" Otherwise known as the Bermuda Triangle. Mom pulled in to refresh the gas tank, and I was left staring at a disturbing sign on the side of a restaurant touting chicken wings (with a picture of a chicken without wings looking rather startled at their disappearance) and frog legs (with a frog in a wheel chair going in the other direction and looking panicked at the loss of his legs).

We moved on and found our first group of early morning sales. The heat was already a powerful force so we parked quickly in the sunny, semi-hilly, overgrown "lot" and moved toward the shade. I considered this a warm-up run. Vendors were still setting up and haggling voices were just getting started. I passed on a butter churner - not to worry, we found dozens more throughout our trip and several quilts supporting Auburn or Alabama. But the pawing was good, my eyes were adjusting to bouncing over glassware and the shade was a blessing. Off to a good start.

We continued on the route, stopping and starting at several local sales hosted in front yards. These would prove to be the best places throughout the day. They were families interested in cleaning out excess stuff and were open to bargain-hunters - with the exception of one. We stopped for a "barn sale" after a bit of rain made outdoor sales wet and covered. Mom and I had decided to get some inexpensive towels at Wal-Mart to put in our cooler and then wrap around our neck. As luck would have it, we found a box with some old, slightly stained, definitely faded and frayed towels at the barn sale instead. Good enough for a neck wrap. My mom asked what the lady was asking for a "towel". She said fifty cents. My mom responded with, "How about two for fifty cents?" Keep in mind, these are essentially rags and this is a yard sale, right? "No, I think fifty cents is reasonable." Actually, ten cents would have been reasonable with fifty cents the going rate for the box. Needless to say, mom put them back, and we both walked out shaking our heads.

We would quickly learn that vendors were there to make a profit and mostly sold the same junk as the next guy It was hard to resist the "clumpers." Clumpers are large groups of sales - some vendors, some local, some crafts, some fresh produce - a one-stop shop for bargaineers.

There was one other group: the invalids. Several times we encountered sellers with a sob story a mile long. It is entirely possible that the stories are true, but their blatant use for pity sake was disenchanting. One woman claimed to have recently had her gallbladder removed, one breast removed and minor head surgery. To which my mother observed: "It's a wonder you're able to stand in this heat!" (We interrupt this post for this weather announcement: the heat index was at 114.) Another guy, when asked if he was going to work us a deal, launched into a story about his wife dying of arthritis, they just sold their house and she lost her job, etc.

All a part of the experience. We encountered all types and enjoyed the ride.

As for bargains, my brother is now the proud owner of several records of artists he didn't know existed. My mom found several organizing pieces, a nice suit for a few bucks, a set of Elvis Pez dispensers for a friend and a scrumptious recipe book. I found some baby stuff, corn-on-the-cob plates and a couple books (big shocker). The "big find" eluded me. In fact, the most exciting moment was in a substantially-sized clump. I didn't purchase it because I couldn't even fathom what a person would do with it or why someone sat down to come up with the idea. It is definintely going to be in my permanent collection of underwear (speaking of things I'm not sure what to do with or why I have one). Words fail so the picture is provided below.

Crazy, right? There was mens underwear just as large inside the tent with various commercial labels running in a strip where an outlet might be otherwise. Not sure why Ronald McDonald was on one...I think they had some sports teams also represented, and I'm not sure what that is saying about the teams. I'm pretty sure a guy showing up to his favorite team's football game with gihugic (thats my father-in-law's term and I think it needs to be used more) satin (thong!) underwear would have his guy card revoked.

In any case, other than the $1 fans we purchaed, this was my favorite "find."

We made it into Kentucky but couldn't find lodging. It turned out okay. After two days of 100% yard saling, we were beat. Instead, we took a leisurely drive through Knoxville, TN and Asheville, NC before arriving home to crash.

Final verdict? If you're a yard saler, it's worth the experience. You will go through a lot of junk. You will find more rusted tools than you thought possible and by the time you make it out of Tennessee's glass wonderland you will wonder how it is possible for Kentucky to have any glassware available. You will find super-inflated prices that will just make you laugh and a few treasures along the way. If you're a collector, you'll likely find something worth examining. If you're not a collector, you'll find hundreds of ideas for a start: marbles, license plates, or old McDonald playground rides to name a few. Expect it to be hot. Expect traffic to be slow. Expect everyone to be nice. Expect it to be an adventure worth having at least once.

Unclaimed Scottsboro

2010-08-08T22:27:00.000-04:00

The trip started with large flapping from the soft car-top carrier bunjee-corded to the top of the vehicle and our personal rhythm section stayed with us throughout. Our destination was the Unclaimed Baggage Center in Scottsboro, Alabama. It was the one and only destination in Scottsboro. The pictures, the rave reviews and all the hype had built it to monumental proportions. I had a friend who had gone before and brought my perspective a bit in check calling it a “glorified-Goodwill.” The clerks at the hotel guaranteed we would not be there all day – definitely back in time for a 6 PM free spa.

The clerks, our first introduction to the friendliness of Alabama, chatted with us for ten minutes about some of the stories associated with our morning location. Apparently, in the good ol’ days, no one worried about valuing the finds and designer bags, clothes and the like were sold at Wal-Mart prices. The downside was that inventory wasn’t always accurate – one lady purchased what she thought was unopened Tide detergent. She opened it when she got home and found a kilo of cocaine. Both sides considered, the UBC has considerably updated its process.

If you didn’t know the address for the UBC, it would be easy to drive right by. It appeared to be the only gig in town and was still rather underwhelming. It was identical to a Goodwill – the experience came in constantly reflecting that the items had been someone’s luggage. Wedding gowns, fishing poles, bikes and instruments. Apparently some other items come over from shipments – I’ve not confirmed this, but I have a hard time believing that someone packed a juke box. “Um, hi, my name is Luddite. I don’t believe in iPods, but I do like music so I’d like to make sure this juke box meets me on the other side.”

What we really were looking for was a museum of sorts to look at some of the more unusual finds. Instead we learned it had been relegated to a couple of window boxes at the front. They were interesting pieces – a hand-carved, mahogany, menorah and several movie props – but not the suit of armor I’d heard rumors of or the giant emerald.

Nevertheless, the idea caught on. In the neighborhood were two other shops claiming similar stashes of goodies. A T&W Unclaimed Luggage – contents resembling yard sale finds more than luggage and The Unclaimed Bag – contents resembling Big Lots.

We made it back to the hotel in time for a nap and our free spa. Turns out the spa was a promotional pitch – we had to do most of the work and on only half our hands and face. Not exactly the promo we had received but we sat through it. In the end I had half of a smooth cheek, a mediocre back rub and a rumbling stomach.

The next day started our next adventure – the World’s Longest Yard Sale.

adventures in pregnancy: 6 weeks

2010-07-15T18:11:00.002-04:00

Technically we suspected an addition to the family on July 4th. We joked that we lost our independence on independence day - thankfully in a good way. Attempting to proceed without sounding too many alarms, we quietly told future grandparents and aunts/uncles until we confirmed two home pregnancy tests with a doctor test. That did not keep us from buying "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and "100,000 Baby Names".

Fast forward a week-and-a-half - to the first doctor's appointment. I am by this point experiencing light symptoms of first-trimester pregnancy but nothing overwhelming. In fact the most noticeable change is the amount of time I spend in the bathroom. So, when they ask me to pee in a cup, no problem, right? I had just gone to the bathroom 20-30 minutes ago so I asked for a cup and started chugging water just to facilitate the process. And I waited, and waited, and waited. Meanwhile, the person on the other side of the bathroom kept opening and loudly closing the metal door on her side checking if any cup had been deposited. No pressure. And, no luck.

I exited and explained my predicament. The nurse was rather unforgiving and let me know this was a bit of a problem. She got me another cup of water, took some vitals and told me to try again. Still chugging I re-entered the torture chamber, went through the prep work and was about to settle in for Round 2 when a knock at the door interrupted my process.

"Why don't you come out and talk with the doctor for a bit and then you can try."

Hhmm... interesting - turns out you can do some other stuff without the urine sample.

Quick doctor check, blood work, conversation mostly about everything except pregnancy and then Round 3. I return a text to my mother to tell her to start praying (what a bizarre thing to ask for). Success! Out to the nurse who is still not smiling but at least looks less annoyed. We start going through some pamphlets. I have to ask because I'm thoroughly confused by now.

"So, are we just assuming I'm pregnant? I know your test isn't wildly different than the home pregnancy situation, but I did assume we weren't going to just go based on those."

"Oh yeah. It's positive. You're pregnant. Congratulations."

The most anti-climatic announcement ever.

"Do you know how far along you are?"

"Nope." Since I'd not confirmed pregnancy I had not even thought to confirm "weeks". She went to look and came back looking a little apologetic.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Turns out we didn't draw enough blood last time so we're going to need to draw some more. I'm sorry about that."

"As long as I don't have to pee in a cup again, we're good."

When I got home that evening, within an hour-and-a-half I went to the restroom three times.

Yes, we are preggers. We're only at six weeks so still very new to the idea, but March 8 (or thereabouts) will no doubt come quickly!

turn signal soap box

2010-06-22T10:16:00.002-04:00

I love driving. Playing on the piano (albeit not well) and driving are my two greatest sources of stress release. Usually. Obviously, the best driving is on low-traffic, straight, scenic roads with minimal cop supervision. There's a strip of 29N between Lynchburg and Charlottesville in Virginia that very briefly does a slight up-and-down-and-up-and-down under a canopy of trees. It's my favorite part of any drive on 29N. But those conditions are not always, or rather are rarely, available, and I understand that. I also understand that every driver thinks they're a good driver and everyone else is nuts. That's standard. So, the following rant is my perspective on how the turn signal should be used, though I'm open to other thoughts and suggestions.

The basics. Turn signals are standard on every vehicle. It's not like they are a special feature of mini-vans and Mercury's - every vehicle has one - two actually, left and right. And, you learn how to use them in drivers education. At the very least, you learn when you'd like everyone else on the road to use them. Making a right turn, indicate to others with a right flasher (this is not someone who knows how to expose themselves nude in the correct fashion). Making a left turn, indicate with a left flasher (not to be confused with a liberal who enjoys arrest for indecent exposure). Pretty simple.

Turn signals are not just useful for the people behind your car - they're indicators for everyone around you. Everyone is guilty, myself included, of not always using the blinker, so here are some guidelines to consider:

1.) Always use your turn signal when making a turn - always - no exceptions - even if you're in a turn lane, even if you're merging off of the highway in an "exit only" lane. This lets people know that you are aware of what you are doing and are not going to be one of the nuts to swerve violently out of the "exit only" lane into traffic because the bright yellow sign and exit snuck up on you. It says "I recognize that I am in an 'exit only' lane and intend to use the exit."

2.) TURN SIGNAL FIRST - THEN BRAKE! I had the pleasure of being behind a car that came to a complete stop in the middle of a busy two-way road, on a semi-blind corner, waited for traffic to go by and in the middle of the left turn, put on their turn signal. THAT HELPS NO ONE! If you're braking for geese crossing (which, actually, if they didn't have the potential to cause significant damage to car grills, I could be convinced to suggest you just run into 'em for population control), then it's appropriate to brake. If the car in front of you slows, it's appropriate to brake. I'm not suggesting you not use the brake, I'm suggesting you think far enough ahead to realize that you'll be making a turn shortly and would like to let the people behind you in on that little tidbit so they understand that your braking is not temporary or for a hidden road hazard. TURN SIGNAL FIRST - THEN BRAKE! It says, "I intend to make a turn which therefore necessitates that I slow down considerably and gradually; this is not a brake-tapping exercise."

3.) Put your turn signal on if you want to change lanes. Period. There are enough things to pay attention to on the road without needing to worry about reading someone's mind. If you want to turn or merge or cut someone off, have the courtesy to give them a head's up (and a cheery wave if need be - which is a completely different rant, and, I suspect, region-specific). This one says, "I would like to change my vehicle's position on the road, and this is how it could affect your current position."

4.) This is of course all predicated on the fact that you turn off your turn signal after using it. That is actually my youngest sister's rant though. So, for her, turn off your turn signal so we're not left guessing when you might turn and where. It's a useful device but needs to have distinct "on/off" times to be effective.

That's it. Four suggestions to help everyone better communicate on the road. Whereas many of a car's functions are to provide for your safety, the turn signal, when used correctly, provides for everyone's safety. Just saying.

speed dating - and dumping - Kansas City, MO

2010-06-04T23:02:00.002-04:00

Philosophically, I don’t think it’s fair to judge a city without visiting it first. So, when Kansas City, Missouri was announced as the location for an annual professional conference I attempted to focus on the “well, that’s interesting, I’d have no other reason to visit Kansas City, MO so should be interesting” instead of the “Kansas City, MO, really?” It is hard when the first night at dinner I was reminded of the childhood state song that asks “How did Flora-die?” “She died of Miss-ouri (misery if you didn’t catch it).” And when the announcements leading up to the conference touted the city’s BBQ, Jazz and Fountains, I sensed it could be trouble. 1 of 3 isn’t bad, but neither is it great. It was akin to a campus visit I took to a beautiful school in the mountains of NC. Charming in many ways until they announced that the top interests were skiing and NASCAR – and the library was closed on weekends. That was three strikes and you’re out.

Baseball continues to be a common theme running through city visits and experiences, and in that sense KCMO did not disappoint. The Negro League Baseball Museum was very well done and told the stories of Jackie Robinson, Josh Gibson and Effa Manley. The displays, timelines, information, paraphernalia and general flow of the exhibits placed you temporarily in the time and offered a balanced and thoughtful presentation of the excitement of the game and the struggle of the players during the time. Walking across the building, a visitor can then see the Jazz Museum and hear the stories of Louis Armstrong, Charlie Parker, Duke Ellington and others who contributed to the evolution of the music. As we were reminded, “Jazz was born in New Orleans, but it grew up in Kansas City.”

Sad to say then that the beautiful museums were stuck on a desolate slab of street. It was nearly vacant when we left the event at 9:00 PM, though one blues bar did seem to suggest that the area was not totally empty all the time. Perhaps it was just an off night.

Then again, that’s been a creeping suspicion since arriving. I suspected on Monday it was due to the holiday and didn’t think too much of it, but on subsequent bus trips to the convention center at 8 AM and 9 AM on various weekdays it was hard not to notice the conspicuous lack of traffic and wide-open parking spaces. Who lives here? Who works here? The long stretches of unoccupied buildings are not so worn down as to mimic a “rust belt” city, nor are there indications of being a “bad neighborhood”, though every city has those as well; no, it is not that people don’t go there because they shouldn’t, it seems people don’t go there because why would they?

There are places to go, of course. The city does have patches of architectural gems mixed with semi-modern additions. And there are trendy restaurants and shops here and there. But all the buildings are very nearly the same color, and I wondered if it were not for our conference bringing in 7100 guests if anyone else would have been in the restaurants at lunch.

I go back to the museums as a recommended point-of-interest. Despite the frighteningly large arachnid at the front of the entrance to the contemporary museum, apparently moving to join a baby spider at the front door, the Contemporary art museum hosted several wonderful exhibits. A black chandelier to the right of the entrance looked like a series of ladies hats in progressively larger sizes from top to bottom that had been decorated with a tangled assortment of black ribbon and material and then frozen. It was more industrial than that, but that was the image that immediately came to my mind. The other exhibits in the receiving area are likewise large, bold and assertive though strikingly different in tone. But the true gem of the museum was an exhibit that captured the faces and places of New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. The brush strokes seemed hard on the surface but were applied to suggest a more malleable spirit. The eyes in all the paintings were the most evocative. Lined up in an exhibit the sentiments expressed merely by moving the direction of the gaze, the placement of hands, and the setting of the jaw were obvious. The collection expressed a wide range of emotions primarily in dark browns and neutrals with an occasional well-placed splash of color.

Neither is it fair to expect a city to be all things to all people so I do not give the following overview as a final and comprehensive analysis of the city. It’s like dating a city - you can find things you like and dislike about most people – doesn’t mean you end up falling in love or even falling in like. In this case, I’m glad to have had the opportunity to visit, but it is doubtful I will be returning for pleasure anytime soon.

Boot Camp: Week 4

2010-05-25T22:40:00.003-04:00

I haven't posted on week 4 - the final week - mostly because by Thursday I was not a happy "camper". Tuesday we did a cone course of footwork and legwork...in the POURING RAIN. It's hard to distinguish sweat from rain, but the burn in the thighs is very real.

Thursday we did another "fun run" to see if we've made any improvements. Turns out, I shaved a minute off my mile, which, quite frankly, is not terribly impressive since most people can walk a mile faster than I can wog it. Unfortunately, you don't walk into a doctor's office or a dressing room with the question of choice: "How fast can you run a mile?" Now, I wasn't expecting in four weeks to undo what has taken years to develop - I was hoping to make enough progress that I could generate enough mental momentum to keep going, you know, the whole internal pep talk "look at the progress in four weeks just by eating better and working out for an hour, blah, blah, blah." In other words, negligible results never crossed my mind. So, when that's what came out - numbers that reflected the difference between a day of bloat versus a day of no bloat - I had not foreseen the mental consequences. "Look at the lack of progress made in four weeks of sacrificing favorite foods and sleep for one hour of crazy plyometrics. So, what difference does it make anyway?" Yeah, that's hard to stop repeating. Working on it.

Friday, yes, I showed up for one more day, turned out to be far more of an adventure than I had anticipated. At the bottom of the hill leading to the park a woman walked out in front of my car. She was dressed in semi-workout clothes so I thought perhaps she was going to direct me to a different location for our last boot camp. Thankfully, my car doors were locked. She wasted no time in moving to the passenger door and attempting to open it. I cracked the window slightly, "Can I help you?" "Where's my biz? He took my truck? He took my purse? How am I supposed to get it back?" After a few more seconds of this I said "I'm sorry, I don't know you, perhaps someone at the park can help." She let me go.

Turns out I was not the only one to have an encounter. Without going into details, she did join our last day of camp by standing on one side of the parking lot asking if we were protesting, specifically, if we were protesting black people. Half of us attempted to keep our cool and ignore her, half of us started laughing at the ridiculous situation. Soon enough a man who had been strolling through the park below the parking lot came up and started chatting with the woman. Our instructor laughingly explained it was "community day". Eventually the new couple wandered in the other direction and we continued our slow torture. By the time we were cooling off everyone had recounted their interaction with the woman and an entertaining story unfolded for a nice ending to the four-week camp.

So, while the experiment was not particularly helpful for me, I survived and at least feel a bit fitter. And, shaved a minute off my mile.

Boot Camp: Week 3

2010-05-18T09:51:00.001-04:00

I don't have much to post about this week - obviously, since I'm just now acknowledging that it happened. I will say that, as expected, bring-a-friend-to-boot-camp-day brought out all the "fun" workout toys and conveniently skipped the uphill lunges and stair-climbing shenanigans of other days. I'm not complaining, and I guess it was so that those people who risked their friendship on a 5 AM hour of torture could go home with friendship intact, I'm just commenting that it was expected. I actually looked forward to that day knowing it would be a bit less brutal.

But that's the only comment for the week. I'm on the final week, and I'm pretty sure I can say that exercise does not give you more energy. Some days I've felt better, but I'm almost always crashing at some point in the day. Water consumption has been up on most days and that does seem to be helping my skin, but it's also increasing my trips to the bathroom considerably - including before the 4 AM alarm goes off (as if to add insult to injury!).

3 more days to go!!

Boot Camp: Week 2

2010-05-10T08:52:00.001-04:00

If "sore" was the adjective for Week 1, "wobbly" would be the adjective for Week 2. Whereas last week I could barely lower myself into my chair at work, this week, getting dressed and walking in heels was problematic. I wobbled during the workouts, I wobbled on the way home, I wobbled getting dressed, walking to work, walking around work and walking to get a comfy seat on the couch at home. I wobbled here. I wobbled there. I wobbled almost everywhere.

Some more thoughts:

*The words "plank" and "ladder" are also evil.
* Though the park itself is quite perfectly situated for this type of activity (i.e. lots of hills, stairs, paths, and plenty of asphalt for cones), it is located down the street from a delicious 24-hour bakery and twice this week the overwhelming smell of cinammon interfered with all efforts to stay focused on the task at hand. Incidentally, I glanced at the Dunkin Donuts on the way to the park and it was closed. I'm up before Dunkin Donuts -how am I supposed to run on Dunkin if I'm running before they are?!
* Lunges are bad. Lunges uphill...seriously?
* I somehow keep getting paired with a petite woman at a clearly superior fitness level. And I feel bad for her. She's pushing me, no doubt. But I don't know that she's getting the most out of it when she's keeping pace with her wogging partner when she could be running laps around me.
* I almost puked on Tuesday. Not sure why, but there you have it.

Boot Camp: Week 1

2010-05-02T14:29:00.001-04:00

The worst possible combination for long-term health care success - talking personal level here, not national - is 4 AM and intense plyometrics. So, I signed up for it. For five-days-a-week and four-weeks. And, I brought a healthy dose of skepticism and a few research questions to keep in mind.

When I realized I was starting to develop the tall-woman-mid-section-pooch it was time to intervene - and drastically. Unfortunately, this necessitated also admitting that certain Starbuck-slurping-sweet-tea-sipping-fried-food-dining-late-night-snacking habits also had to go. Needless to say, the last week has not been fun.

Some observations:
* Orange cones are never good - there are far too many ways to arrange them to create a jagged pattern of blood, sweat and tears on the ground from running to them, from them, around them, over them and everything in between.
* Sit-ups under the stars are pretty neat.
* It's cold in the AM. It felt like I had to get dressed for two entirely different days - one for the AM workout in pre-winter conditions and the other for work when the temperature would jump from 50-80 in a day.
* I've gone home almost every day with "All the Single Ladies" running through my head.
* There's a Friends episode where Ross and Rachel are changing Ben's diaper and Ross keeps calling it a "poopy diaper" to which Rachel reminds him that calling it poopy doesn't make it cuter. I feel the same about calling something a "Fun Run". Calling it fun doesn't make it so and, at least in my mind, those words never go together.
* Squats are evil.

So, I'm currently watching "Run, Fatboy, Run" and empathisizing a great deal. Three weeks to go. Buh.

Test

2010-04-30T11:17:00.002-04:00

Sorry. Playing with various blog/FB contraptions - this is a test.

a memorable & meaningful five-year anniversary

2010-04-10T17:13:00.001-04:00

My husband dressed up for our 5-year celebration - he even had all his friends dress up for the occasion. It was a weekend complete with a trip away, dinner with friends and some alcohol consumption.

It's a tradition for the Virginia Ultimate Frisbee reunion team to dress up for the annual Fool's Fest tournament. And there were 40 men there on our anniversary weekend each sporting a different interpretation of business-wear. Bow-ties, black/white tux-looking combinations, full suits with ties, dress shirts/ties and shorts, and a couple guys, who I can only hope created the look for tournament purposes and don't actually wear these to work, in dress-pant capris.

The tournament was hosted in Fredericksburg, Virginia. We drove up separately - which could be seen as symbolic of the first night we spent together on our honeymoon - sleeping in separate beds. He had car trouble on the way up, and I got stuck on I-95, neither of which is symbolic of anything.

Despite having attended a few Frisbee games in the past, this Tournament brought new questions. Mainly, should peach-color capri pants be worn by a large man for a sporting event (I'm hoping there was some costume-related reason involved)?

How long does it take to grow a quality 'stache?

And, I'm sorry to say I don't have a photo of this, aren't mullets illegal by now?

I digress. This wasn't meant to be a fashion show (thankfully). It was meant to be an opportunity for me to practice my camera-skills - and much practice is needed. Nick had used my new camera as a reason for me to come for a bit - after all, I could use the sports setting. If anyone has any doubts about the fast-moving pace of the game, try to follow it through a lens. Since I had no great hope of capturing the next Sports Illustrated cover, I was free to snap at will and hope that something turned out. When Nick wasn't playing, he'd stay nearby and occasionally ask, "Did you get that?" In most cases I had captured an appendage of some sort and the disc somewhere in the vicinity.

Not exactly brilliant. Fun though. That pretty much summed up the weekend - though I think we'd like to think our relationship captures fun and brilliance. Tonight we're out for a nice dinner so it all works out.

Weekend in the Redwoods: Hotel 4 of 4

2010-03-14T23:47:00.001-04:00

Our initial plan was to take Hwy 1 back to San Francisco, but after our adventurous drive to The Tides Inn and the inordinate amount of time we’d already spent in the car, we opted to take the quicker, less bendy Hwy 101. With that plan decided we anticipated an uneventful 4-5 hours in the car and back to San Francisco. The weather was perfect for a drive.

There was one touristy experience we had not had yet – driving our car through a tree. We came upon a little town called Leggett which boasted a drive-through tree and with a flexible schedule we decided to take the small detour. The giant pickup truck that went ahead of us scratched its mirrors and probably should have put its sunroof down, but our little car fit beautifully. As it turned out, the gift shop had a patch and magnet to round out our full-on tourist experience. A detour well worth taking.

The rest of the drive, with the exception of me leaning out the window occasionally to test just how good my camera was (I’m going with user error in the cases when it didn’t work out so well), was uneventful. We pulled into San Francisco and took a road up to a lookout point for the Golden Gate Bridge. We toodled into our hotel, dropped off the car and prepared to leave in the AM for home. At least someone else would be driving.

Weekend in the Redwoods: Hotel 3 of 4

2010-03-14T23:42:00.001-04:00

Cue banjo music.

Our next night was set to be spent on the Lost Cove – so named because it was deemed “…a patch of northern California so rugged that the engineers who built Highway 1, which hugs the coast from San Diego to Oregon, took the road 30 miles inland to avoid it.” (ForbesLife, October 2007). Its remoteness and maintained isolation should have been evident in the confirmation email I was sent upon making a reservation: “Drive slowly, use low gears, and move over if the crazy locals want to pass. It’s 23 miles – but plan on an hour.” And, “We have two nice restaurants with at least one open every evening for dinner.” I had made the reservation looking for a unique experience on the coast and everything indicated that would be the case.

I had apparently not fully prepped my husband for what the route would be like getting to The Tides Inn – frankly, I wasn’t prepared for it either. Indeed it took an hour to go up and down and up and down a mountain – densely wooded, dark, incredibly windy and narrow – an adventure in any car, but our rented Camry certainly had not seen this kind of switchback driving before. And as we continued to drive – presumably to our destination – the scenery rarely changed: it was thick with trees. At one point I thought I had glimpsed the blue of ocean only to realize it was the sky – trees, trees, more trees and some sky. In fact, at about mile 18 we had our doubts that the place even existed or that we would be oceanfront. Until we turned the last bend – and the only reason we hoped to think it was the last bend was at our GPS’ suggestion – we did not see ocean and had no reason to believe we were going to end up anywhere but a strange cottage nestled deep in the forest and outside of screaming distance.

But there it was – the powerful Pacific and a few homes dotting the rugged mountainside that butted up against it. We checked into our Inn, had reservations made at the one restaurant open for dinner and went down to the black-sand beach to check out the tide pools. The room was “beachy” in a low-key way and we had a couple chairs on the patio to look out on the ocean. The Pacific is a completely different beast than the Atlantic – or at least the areas of the Atlantic I’ve seen. Hard. Strong. Wild. Waves pound the rocks that protrude from the black-sand/polished pebble beach. They do not enter as a solid line but as several long lines of upset-ocean rising and crashing at different points, constantly, along the beach. There are warnings in the hotel literature to “Never turn your back on the ocean.” Here, it is ruthless, uncaring and quick.

Dinner was clearly intended to be an all-night affair. Our reservations were for 7 PM and we had a view of the water just before the sky completely blackened. The cover of the menu kindly reminded patrons that it was a small kitchen of only two restaurants on the island, so enjoy the ambiance and conversation. You will get your food but please be patient. Wood carvings, assorted fabrics, hanging lights in the shape of jellyfish freckled the interior. In the corner a man with a guitar provided background music – some Ray Charles, Eric Clapton and others. I ordered Thai Chicken which tasted a bit like someone had sprinkled spices in JIF peanut butter and dropped the chicken in it. It was edible and it gave Nick and I time to reflect on other eating adventures in our travels.

The 100 feet to our room after dinner was again spent with our necks craned upward – the black sky was clear and stars were visible for miles. We didn’t get up in time to see the tide pools so we’ll have to save that for our next visit. Since there weren’t any breakfast places open we opted to start the climb back toward civilization and make it to San Francisco while there was still daylight. On to Hotel #4.

Weekend in the Redwoods: Hotel 2 of 4

2010-03-14T23:39:00.001-04:00

When we were planning this adventure we decided we didn’t want to break the bank – for a long weekend trip we figured the plane, rental car and hotels would add up quickly. So, I identified one hotel that seemed to have decent reviews but offered a King-bed/no-smoking room for under $100.

The second hotel of our trip was questionable from the get-go. No-smoking in our room was correct, but that didn’t deter others from smoking marijuana – and enough to permeate the entire block of rooms on that side. The room size was quite substantial and had a couple old upholstered chairs next to a small table and a separated area for the bathroom sink and vanity before a decent size bathroom. The Jacuzzi tub was not the only thing with jets – when we flicked on the light in the bathroom the fan prepared for take-off.

We did not try the Jacuzzi tub, but lest anyone think we were short on entertainment, our TV channel selection included the Engineering channel. I was riveted – for about 3 seconds. It gets better. Our bed did not have a headboard – a bed frame somewhere is missing its headboard because it was nailed to the hotel-room wall with the legs cut off to give the appearance of a headboard.

We walked the Old Town area of Eureka which is renowned for its Victorian-style houses. Indeed there was a wide range of buildings and colors and cute shops – including two used bookstores. The area was noticeably lacking in foot traffic, though. Un-inspired we opted for dinner and bed. I believe my jet lag was catching up at this point. After grabbing a quick-and-easy dinner we locked ourselves in the room and pulled one of the large chairs in front of the door. I passed out.

Sunshine and crisp air greeted us. We had all the makings of a wonderful morning. It wasn’t complete until a large breakfast at a local squat-and-gobble. Apparently the Chalet of Omelets had wiped out all the local “best-of” awards for breakfast and lunch so we were in good hands. With maybe space for 30 people, it was an intimate breakfast with an omelet too big to finish and enough coffee to put my husband into over-drive.

Good weather makes a huge difference on a road trip. The scenery only got better as we drove toward the National Park. It got bigger, more intense and more diverse. Rivers, ocean, rocks, more big trees, much winding and lagoons kept an almost continual juxtaposition of green, blue and gray in front of us. We stopped at the Visitor Center and selected our route: Lady Bird Johnson’s grove with a lot of the forest’s old-growth trees, a large statue of Paul Bunyon and Babe, and an overlook area to do some whale watching.

The one-mile foot trail through the Lady Bird Johnson Grove was well-worth the time spent. On foot we could appreciate the depth of the forest, the breadth of biodiversity and the many years the Redwoods had lived. Each trunk has a distinct shape and texture, not to mention significant girth. Much of the time is spent walking with heads up – a crick in the neck is almost certain. Across the path are nurse trees that have been sliced in half to make way for the trail – massive even in death. The occasional glance to the trail floor reveals an array of ferns, plants and other living organisms widely shielded from the sun under the canopy of the redwood nevertheless thriving in a protected floor.

For grins we went and took a picture of the enormous statue of Paul Bunyon and Babe the ox.

The last point-of-interest before moving towards Hotel 3 was an overlook area and whale watching. The view was amazing and encompassed the connecting point for the freshwater lagoon and the Pacific Ocean. There were forests and trees on one side and beach and ocean closely beside. For an East Coaster accustomed to one or the other – flat beach or wooded hills – it was a shocking juxtaposition. Just another example of the wildness of northern California that brought such an overwhelming sense of supreme beauty – a controlled palate of colors in a landscape bursting with energy and contradiction.

Alas, we did not see a whale. Which begs the question, if you don’t see a whale, is it still called whale-watching? You cannot be watching something that isn’t there? (It is now a shame I did not work in the “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around, does it still make a noise?”) We decided it was more along the lines of a whale-warning – a possibility but not a guarantee.

And truly we had yet to come in contact with the power of the Pacific. That would be for Hotel 3 – if we could get there.

Weekend in the Redwoods: Hotel 1 of 4

2010-03-14T23:33:00.001-04:00

The trip started with a nearly three-hour delay at the airport. The flight attendant kept making announcements referencing “the equipment that will take you to San Francisco.” When did “equipment” become an accepted substitute for aircraft or plane?

I had about a two-hour “nap” on the equipment so that when I landed in San Francisco at 10:45 PM (1:45 AM EST) I had enough brain activity to come to two conclusions during the taxi drive from the airport to the hotel: mini-vans were never meant to go 80 MPH – taxi or no; and, several of the billboard signs along the highway were larger than the size of an affordable apartment in the area.

Made it to Hotel 1 – where my husband stays for his business trips – and crashed. Took some shampoo and conditioner for the road and we were off on our adventure which would take us to three more hotels and back to the airport.

This morning (Friday) we walked out to a dreary rain which only persisted for the first three-hours of the trip. It appears weather is destined to factor heavily in any trip I make to California. Even in the rain it was easy to see why driving to/through northern California is a treat. Vineyards, the occasional small-town, rolling green hills, moss-covered rocks, an impressive range of biodiversity, curving highways, and rivers are all serene and refreshing – even in overcast weather and dreary rain.

About halfway to our destination we made it to our detour – Avenue of the Giants. About one mile into the detour, the rain subsided. It still came in small drizzles throughout the trip, but the sun was finally attempting to get through – and that meant the camera could be out! So we stopped, took pictures and basically just appreciated the beauty of our surroundings. We spent a lot of time just ooh-ing and aah-ing at the sizes of the trunks. And when we stopped at the Visitor’s Center, the trunks became even more impressive – a trunk was propped on its side with age markers giving its history – dating back to the signing of the Magna Carta.

Among the Redwoods were other trees with clingy moss that occasionally created a bridge overhead – a creepy bridge in the darkness of the forest. The Avenue of the Giants provides an opportunity to quickly understand the depth of the coverage provided by the massive, old trees. A few minutes on the road are in the open – and allow for some beautiful glimpses of the Eel River following the Avenue – and then we were engulfed in darkness. Even in overcast conditions, the uncovered portion of the journey was distinctly more light than the redwood-shrouded forest.

We made it through and back on the main road in time to see a double rainbow hanging over green fields. It was on to our next overnight stop after just a taste of the statuesque majesty that awaited us in Redwood National Park.

tribute to the motivational email

2010-03-01T10:00:00.002-05:00

I love sports movies (except that Invictus was a bit disappointing). Mostly I enjoy them because the endings are usually uplifting, I appreciate the mental and physical demands of competition and teams are always ripe for dynamic relationships. I will confess that my favorite sports movie is The Replacements. I admit that as far as cinematic quality, it was not (nor should it have been) Oscar-bound. I will also note that I love the movie most for the supporting characters and making fun of Keanu Reeves' lines. I still find it hilarious every time I watch it.

But that is the exception. Other sports movies carry a bit more weight - who doesn't love Rudy, Seabiscuit, Remember the Titans, or The Legend of Bagger Vance? I also enjoyed Lagaan (a film set in India about cricket). Like I said, Invictus was a bit of a disappointment. It had much more potential than it was allowed - mostly because the film couldn't decide if it wanted to be biographical about Nelson Mandela (which is enough to cover in and of itself), wanted to look at the integration of his security force, integration of the rugby team or the nation's move to support the rugby team as a step towards further progress.

And every good sports film has at least one "rah-rah" point - the coach and the team, the team leader and the team, the love interest and the team leader, parent and child, etc. Nowadays, these encouraging words can be preserved for all times through email and this is what I share today. My husband is the captain of an ultimate Frisbee team and sends out weekly emails to motivate the group to show up and give 110%. I find them of a quality worth sharing on such an esteemed site as this - to inspire other leaders and to support those of us who find ourselves more appropriately fitted in The Replacements than in Rudy.

*****
(For clarification, their team name is Hot Mustard. Don't ask.)

2/16/2010
So we had one of our better turn outs last week. I appreciate the level of effort we gave last week. I look forward to seeing everyone out on a rain free evening. If you do have an excuse for why you can't make it, here's the list that I'll accept without ridicule:

1. You are in full body traction after a trying a triple toe loop from your couch inspired by watching the pairs figure skating (Who am I kidding? I would definitely make fun of you for that)

2. You've had a date scheduled with a super model for the last 6 months

3. Olympic curling is on and you don't own a TV recorder

4. You got your significant a Dyson vacuum cleaner for Valentine's day because the infomercial "sucked" you in and the bruises still haven't healed. I really thought she would like it. Ugh!

2/9/2010
Ok so I'm going to use guilt and peer pressure as a motivation tool to get you out to play. Don't be that guy (or girl, Lisa) to let your team down tonight by going to the bar and grabbing a fruity drink with an umbrella instead of enjoying the challenge and excitement of ultimate. It's just two hours. The feeling will come back to your extremities soon after you get back home. Would you rather tell people at work that you played ultimate in adverse conditions or watched season five reruns of American Idol for the fourth time? Would you rather have your house smell like air freshener and potpourri or mildew from wet clothes doused with the scent of victory? I'm just saying...
3/1/2010
Close you eyes. Imagine the NBC theme to the Olympics playing softly in the background. You hear the faint sounds of a large crowd chanting something in the distance. As you get closer, you begin to hear the cheers of the crowd. Are they chanting USA? We're better at hockey, suck it hosers? Your mom? No! It's Hot Mustard! Hot Mustard! Hot Mustard! Why would a crowd chant for the last place team in an ultimate winter league? It's because everyone loves an underdog story. From Rudy to Hoosiers, people love it when the team that everyone has written off, rises to the occasion to bring down Goliath.
If you want to put your mark on history and be a part of this Disney-tear-jerking-one-for-the-gipper-I-love-cliches moment, come out the next two weeks for an epic ultimate team moment.
*****

Good luck Hot Mustard!

Final Score: Cooking - 1 to Tubs - 0

2010-02-02T21:38:00.006-05:00

I have discovered something I loathe even more than cooking: cleaning bathroom tubs. That’s right, if given the option of scrubbing a tub or cooking in the kitchen I would leap gleefully to the stinky sweatshop of household food production. And yesterday, while dealing with a preponderance of time on my hands thanks to a snow day, I achieved kitchen success.

The recipe had graced the inside of a “favorite recipes cookbook” for probably a couple years before getting stuck on the side of the refrigerator for several months. My efforts at creating the dish had been thwarted over the Christmas break – even before I got into the kitchen in fact. I took it as a sad sign that I really should not attempt any culinary expertise when I wandered around the store patiently picking up the items that the recipe required only to hear an announcement on the loudspeaker announce that the store’s credit card machine was not working so cash or check only. I had neither. Defeated before entering the kitchen, I went home knowing I’d set a new all-time low record for my kitchen achievement.

It’s just as well because I had been wandering the aisles trying to figure out what a water chestnut looked like – or what the container looked like that it would be in. I’ll admit ignorance here. I had no idea where I would even start. Sounded like a nut. Could be a vegetable? For all I knew, it could have been a seahorse (bada boom, chhh).

When I located a can of the strange substance, diced, at a different grocery store a couple weeks later, I plopped it in the cart and determined to try the recipe once. I had found the most challenging ingredient; my confidence surged.

Sure enough, yesterday, I managed to put all the ingredients together and make an edible, and not terrible, cheesy spinach dip. It probably needs some practice and tweaking, but it tasted the way I think it should have and somewhat resembled the picture on the recipe card. Victory!

The bathroom tubs are still a disaster.

snow weekend

2010-01-31T13:29:00.006-05:00

The origin of our predicament is a southern-style-two-inches-of-snow-storm. One day inside is manageable, two days is borderline stir-crazy. (Yes, there is a reason I live in an area that is primarily warm and dry.)

When the flakes started falling Friday evening I knew I had to stop by the grocery store for some supplies to hold us over until a proper grocery-shopping spree could be conducted. I could not help being swept up in the contained excitement just below the surface of focused shoppers. I was after the staples: bread and milk. I disliked falling into this stereotype, but bread for sandwiches and milk for hot chocolate weren't negotiable. I was amazed that anyone in this general vicinity of the city could possibly not find the groceries they were after - from work to home I have the option of stopping at eight grocery stores – eight – and I live fifteen minutes from my job!

Yesterday we sat inside and rested uncontrollably. I woke up late and took a nap. I banged on the piano a bit, read a bit, wrote a bit, ate a bit and repeated. Nevertheless, the novelty had worn off today. So, we took off in search of adventure.

We braved the frozen paths in search of nourishment. I stepped gingerly on the frozen tundra, knowing full-well that one wrong move could plunge my sneaker-clad foot into a dangerous…puddle of ice-cold water. We made it across the ice-lands, down small hills and up again. We found enough for soup and grilled cheese and discovered much of the ice melted on our return trip.

As far as a source of inspiration, it’s not much: we were inside, went outside and now we’re back inside. But, I seriously needed to start writing again and I’ve been reading that the best way to do that is just to write. As someone noted, you can edit crap, you can’t edit a blank page. So, crap or not, I’ve now done something other than tickling the ivories and sitting up to change the TV channel.

Day 1: San Francisco

2009-10-30T18:23:00.007-04:00

My adventures in California with Nick carry an element of the atypical. I've seen San Diego without sun and San Francisco without fog. The first was not appreciated, the latter certainly has been. Since my internal clock had not adjusted to the time change I was up at 6:30, and we were walking the city at 8:00.

It has become typical for us to preview cities in the morning. Ironic since I favor a vacation involving sleep, but I can't deny that being part of a city's wake-up routine is a unique experience - and ideal for the tourist desiring pictures sans other tourists desiring pictures. If we had caught on sooner we would've started counting the number of people carrying Starbucks coffee. When in Rome. Twist my arm.

So we made it down to the piers, passing bicyclists, runners and moms taking their kids to school. Some were dressed in Halloween garb and one man's desk was covered in faux spider web. The streets were being cleaned, the vines trimmed, pelicans were swooping, and laughs came from behind closed doors. By making a pass of a city in the AM, I don't find it as easy to become engrossed in the role of tourist - the routine of waking up, similar enough to my own morning routine, reminds me that people live here.

This does not stop me from taking advantage of the tourist-less atmosphere. I was unprepared for the giggles produced by watching the sea lions. On what looked like 10-12 large wooden slabs was an entire community of sea lions. And about 3/4 of them appeared to be sleeping-though with all the ruckus caused by the barking and sneezing of the other lions I'm not sure how. It had potential to be the hotbed for Sea Lion H1N1. More amusing were the sentinel sea gulls. Posts were stationed at the front of the wooden slab line-up and one sea gull per post watched over the partially dozing sea lion community. The other side of the view was Alcatraz.

We continued walking and, on a blessedly fog-free Friday, we meandered up a hill to get a perfect view of the Golden Gate Bridge (incidently not the bridge that recently had a severe malfunction and has forced an entire sub-population of the city to "telecommute"). It was still early enough that shops were opening, cafe tables were being shuffled, mounds of jewelry were being lined up for display and bike rentals were just starting. A couple in front of us had rented a tandem bike. The man dutifully was taking it to the side and the woman quickly darted over to follow behind. Nick casually noted "That's not going to work. I saw the look in her eyes." As we meandered up the aforementioned hill for the view the couple passed us - on two separate bikes.

I laughed as the woman wobbled up the steep hill and barely avoided a collision with a more experienced biker flying around a corner and down the hill. It was not so funny when Nick and I decided to climb Hyde Street to get a look at "the crookedest street in America". Straight. Up. And wobbled at the end.

Chinatown also was waking up. You turn a corner, and BAM! People! Everywhere. The markets were open and the smell of questionably fresh fruit was a nice addition to our already overwhelmed senses.

By 10:30 we had hiked our butts around most of the sites we had initially planned to see. It was back to our hotel for a quick shower and to check-out of Nick's business hotel for our personal weekend accommodations. More walking.

A relaxing lunch on top of Macy's re-fueled our spirits, and we set off for a bookstore Nick had passed in Little Italy. More walking. It was a cute bookstore, three small floors, a disconnected staircase and haphazardly organized shelves of books. In the end, I bought a children's book on San Francisco - The Cable Car and the Dragon - and picked up a free newspaper of book reviews. Nick promised we'd come back for dinner at a spot he had eaten at earlier.

Time for the hotel and a break. My internal clock needed a nap and my feet needed to be free. Then it was a trip to a local garden area and museum center and dinner (in Little Italy as promised). Tomorrow will be the farmer's market and a round of museums (the King Tut exhibit being a priority). And Halloween.

calories and politics

2009-10-25T18:45:00.005-04:00

Two things I don't discuss.

clarifying my relationship with pink

2009-10-24T13:13:00.006-04:00

Generally speaking for most of my adult life, and several years leading up to it, I've disliked pink. I trace this strong sentiment back to my birth as the first daughter and first granddaughter in the family - everything was pink. Perhaps "everything" is an overstatement, but it was enough to mark me permanently. Then again, when given the option to pick the paint color for the room I would share with my sisters, Ping Pong Pink was the final selection - so maybe it happened after being contained in a room the size of a large closet brightly covered in the color. In any case, I didn't/don't like it.

Unfortunately, it is one of the colors that I can wear without washing out my skin. So, after I abused black and blue, I introduced one pinkish color shirt to the rotation. I think I'm up to two pinkish shirts now. My disdain for the color is wearing off slightly, but not enough to wish a pink explosion on anyone.

So, I have a bit more respect for the NFL in October (this does not extend to the Panthers). The campaign for breast cancer awareness is phenomenal. And when I realized they had convinced the NFL that the teams should wear pink in support of their efforts, I was truly amazed. It's everywhere. The NFL, our coupon clipper book - for pizza, a Kitchenmaid mixer....everywhere! Anyone who is anyone is involved in one way or another. And I think this is a good thing - and brilliant - and a tribute to whoever is the mastermind behind their campaign. The pink explosion is everywhere, and I support pink initiatives in this vein -but not quite enough to have a pink Kitchenmaid mixer in my house...yet.