To Be Perfectly Frank

My True Name

2012-01-07T22:00:00.000-06:00

I recently received an email from one of my high school teachers in which I was amusingly chided for calling her Mrs. P rather than by her given name in our correspondence. I don't know about the rest of you, but once a person has been established as a Mr. or Mrs. in my mind, that name seems immutable; it is their identity. For example, the woman who taught both my brother and me in first grade, who now regularly socializes with my parents, will always be Mrs. S. My uncle's one-time roommate, about whom I've heard many an amusing anecdote of 20-something antics and who was my eighth-grade social studies teacher, will always be Mr. W.

But it did get me thinking (imagine that, me pondering) about some interesting questions. When is it expected that a person be called Miss/Ms./Mrs./Mr. Surname and when is it expected to use his or her given name? What power is contained in calling a person by their given or their surname?

I love this line from The Avett Brothers' “Murder in the City”

Always remember, there is nothing worth sharing /

Like the love that let us share our name.

To me it speaks to the power of chosen love. The love that joins two individuals is very different than the bonds created between parents and offspring, siblings, even best friends. Most of our relationships are based on sharing with those who are similar to us, except for the relationship with our spouses. For many of us our spouse is the black to our white, the yin to our yang, the chaos to our order, our complement. This is not to say that spouses aren’t similar. Clearly there must be some fundamental things they agree upon, but what makes the relationship special are the things they do differently. They fit together because they are individuals.

When we got married, I did not take my husband’s surname. He has a perfectly fine name, but I felt that

A wife should no more take her husband's name than he should hers.

My name is my identity and must not be lost (Stone, Lucy).

I have been AmyK since elementary school. It's not that I don't want to share my husband's name, I simply don't want to forego my own. My surname is unique and I like it. In many ways it is my “true” name.

It has been almost twenty years since I last sat in Mrs. P.’s classroom. Our recent correspondence was commercial in nature. It could be that I, due to my own biases, forced her into an identity she no longer holds, that of a teacher. Our recent interaction required her to use a different identity; one with whom I had not been introduced.

And I think that’s the deciding factor. A person may hold multiple identities, but they should get to chose who uses which identity and when. When we introduce ourselves, we chose the identity by which we want others to know us.

In Lois Lowry's The Giver trilogy names are extremely important. Each book has a different theme by which characters are named. In The Messenger, the final book, it is The Leader who gives each person their “true name.” Like the characters in the first book, The Giver, who fret about what assignment to lifelong occupation they will receive when they turn twelve, the main character in The Messenger spends a great deal of time pondering what his true name is. In his world, his assigned “true name” defines him. He does not get to chose his name.

In my world, I get to chose which name I go by. Now, I need to learn to accept the multiple identities of the people around me.

Novel Yoga

2011-12-31T13:03:00.000-06:00

December 31, 2011

What is your "one word"? One word for this year, one word for next year.

This was one of the first prompts from last year's Reverb project. I never wrote that post, but I have been using "yoga" as my word for this year. I have used the word to be a touchstone this year, as my mantra when I needed to calm myself. I don't know what others experiences with one word for was, but for me it was incredibly powerful.

I chose yoga because I wanted to ensure, or rather force myself, into taking at least one yoga class for the year and I wanted to bring that practice home with me. I was successful on both those ventures. I also wanted to encourage myself to be more "mindful." I took a Mindfulness class several years ago and wanted to bring that practice more to the forefront of my life.

Mindfulness is being aware of yourself and your actions. It's a practice of doing things with intent. It is not moving from the couch only to realize the can of Salt and Vinegar Pringles, the pint of Cherry Garcia, and half a pan of brownies have disappeared without a trace after watching umpteen straight episodes of <insert television series here> and having no idea if it is day or night. It is having a scoop of Cherry Garcia and savoring it while doing nothing else. Mindfulness is accepting your limitations and taking action to stretch them. It is accepting that the body hurts and then moving on. Mindfulness does not dwell on the negative; it acknowledges them then moves on to savor the good things.

To me (and many others) mindfulness and yoga go hand in hand. For the curious, the book I first used was Full Catastrophe Living by Jon Kabat-Zinn.

For 2012, my word is "novel". I will edit my novel. I will bring more novelty into my life. I will try novel (and mundane) new foods. I will pursue novel activities and read novels outside my comfort zone. I will use the idea of novel experiences to say "yes" to more offerings and to be more creative myself. And I will do this all with intent. The yoga isn't going anywhere.

Elvira, It Goes On and On

2011-12-29T08:41:00.000-06:00

December 29, 2011

What was the soundtrack of your year? Of your life? Which songs most strongly represent the various eras of your life? What songs were playing for the most crucial, formative moments of your life? Or, if the chronological approach doesn't work for you, which songs best capture the different facets of your life? (Childhood, Love Life, Adulthood, Loss, Growth, Career, Happiness, Sadness, etc.) Please elaborate.

Bethany/Katie

Early Childhood

Animal Stories as told by Uncle Lar' and L'il Tommy
were required break while doing chores in my pre-kindergarten days. My dad and cousin would lean against the stanchion separators and listen to these stories then go on with their work. Quiet was mandatory. We still call my brother, Tom, L'il Tommy

Oakridge Boys - Elvira
This is the first song I can remember singing along to. Oomp papa, Oom papa, mow mow.

George Strait - Ocean Front Property
The first song where I questioned the logic of the lyrics. I was old enough to figure out there wasn't any ocean front property in Arizona.

Middle School

Tiffany
This goes right along with Poochie and my mysterious sweatshirt.

High School

Chad & Jeremy - Summer SongOne of my dad's favorite songs. Always worth a listen.
Richard Marx - Right Here Waiting For YouThe first song I can remember all of my piano-playing classmates learning how to play. And for a time it was the only thing played on the school pianos, beating out even Heart and Soul.
Simon & Garfunkel - The Sound of SilenceFor some reason, when attempting to write a speech about this song, I had a glimmer of enlightenment about the meaning of the song and then it disappeared. It was the first time that I had ever felt meaning slip through my fingers.
Bonnie Rait - Something to Talk About, Sinead O'Connor - Nothing Compares to You, and Seal - Kiss from a RoseThe songs I remember playing incessently on Z104, the Top 40 station of my high school years, while I attempted to do my homework and figure out how to fit in with my high school classmates

College

Dvorak - Symphony #9 and Green Day - Dookie
One of my study tapes had the symphony on one side and Dookie on the other.
Violent Femmes - Blister in the SunThis is the song that one hears when walking around campus on 'Dillo Day. It seems to summarize the sense of being young, with friends, and in the sun. Though, really, that's not what the song is about.
Pulp Fiction Soundtrack
The standard at all college parties of the time, or at least with my friends. This is still one of my favorite soundtracks. Right now, Son of a Preacher Man is running through my head.
Prince - When Doves CryFor some reason, this was playing on the radio the summer I walked a lot, trying to get rid of my anger at working at a fast food restaurant
Smashing Pumpkins
Pearl Jam and Nirvana may be the "true" grunge rockers, but it's the Smashing Pumpkins that are my favorite from this era
The Beatles
The Beatles came into my life in college. Revolver is still my favorite Beatles album

Post College

Van Morrison - Jackie Wilson SaidThe first time I had my heart broken this had been our song. I wasn't able to listen to this song for years afterwards
Semisonic - Closing Time and Joan Osborne's Relish
Music from the Norris Center Bookstore, where I learned that the music could be more important than the job.
Ben Folds Five - Song for the DumpedJust a great song for when a relationship comes to a nasty end

First Years in Minnesota

U2 - Joshua Tree and Beethoven's Symphonies (MnOrch's version are great)
Music that I listened to obsessively the first years I lived in Minnesota

Getting to Know Jon

Dresden Dolls - Coin Operated Boy
I heard this song on The Current one day. The next time I see Jon, I tell him about it. He starts singing it to me. While not the most romantic song in the world, it makes me think of my husband every time I hear it
Ben Folds with the Minnesota Orchestra
It was the first time I heard "The Luckiest." Folds is an amazing musician and his performances with symphony orchestras are wonderful. Also, he makes a great Sonny.
Shatner - Real
The discussion about Coin-Operated Boy actually lead me to Shatner's Common People, which lead to Has Been. My favorite song on the album is Real.

Marrying Jon

Dave Matthews Band - Crash
Slow-dancing with Jon shortly after we got engaged
Ben Folds - The Luckiest and Gracie
The dance with my husband and the dance with my dad

Recently I have been ~~obssessing over~~ listening to:

Mumford & Sons
The Avett Brothers

Now that I've gotten through this, I realize I can't think of any songs I associate with my mom. Well, except Elvis, there's always Elvis.

Not Gifts and Domain Names

2011-12-28T21:41:00.002-06:00

December 28 Reverb Broads

Do you consider yourself a romantic person? Do you prefer fancy dinners, roses and chocolate romantic, or are you more non-traditional? What's the most romantic thing you have ever done for a loved one or had done for you?

Kassie at http://bravelyobey.blogspot.com/

I would say that I have cliched romantic expectations and then, when they are fulfilled I find myself extremely disappointed. I have come to realize that there are somethings that are better left to chance. I no longer want roses for Valentine's Day. I would rather have a bunch of grocery store flowers, "Just because". But I'm not going to kid you, I still want the chocolate and the card. I would almost rather make my own fancy dinner than go out for it, but having a clean kitchen is pretty damn romantic, too.

I don't know if it's the most romantic gift my husband has ever received, but it certainly falls into the category of the most thought-filled present I have ever given. For our first Christmas, wherein we each went to our separate families, I wrote a picture book for Jon and sent it to his parents' house to be put under the tree. It was a book of what he was not going to get for Christmas and it was in rhyme. For example he wasn't going to get a sonic screwdriver* so he could be like MacGyver; nor was he going to get a yellow lambourghini because I had no three-wish giving genie. Anyway, I put a lot of thought into it and it featured things we had talked or joked about.

The most romantic thing I've ever had done for me? Well, for Christmas this year Jon gave me 2bperfectlyfrank.com, my very own domain for my blog. He was a little chagrined about not finding a way to wrap it in paper, but he did a pretty good job of wrapping it in words. Something to the effect of "You've been having a lot of fun writing your blog this year, especially this month." He had also previously mentioned that gifts should be something that the receiver never knew they really wanted. I really am going to have to keep him now.

So, next year, I'll be on my very own site. Right now my computer is acting up and I'm focusing on getting that resolved, so stay tuned for updates.

________
*He has gotten the 10th and the 11th Doctor's sonics for various Valentine's Days. I see ThinkGeek now has River Song's, hmm.......Sonic Screwdriver duel anyone?

Christmas is for being with kids

2011-12-26T08:00:00.000-06:00

December 25 Reverb Broads

Silent Sunday - Just post a picture that represents your day.

Pink, Poochie, Plaques, Peals of Laughter, and Pencils

2011-12-24T20:30:00.000-06:00

December 24 Reverb Broads

Name your top 5 best holiday gifts given or received. Who gave it to you? Who were you giving it to? Why was it memorable?

Kassie at http://bravelyobey.blogspot.com/

The first thing I wanted to write about was my pink GUESS sweatshirt with the dogs on it*. I can remember walking through the Janesville Mall with my mom. We passed by a store that had some on display in the window and she asked me if that was the shirt I wanted. I said yes and thought little more of it. That Christmas, there it was, the sweatshirt I wanted, the one that I thought there was no chance I was ever going to get. My mom always was good about that sort of thing.

As much as I would like to deny it, I did go through a "girl-y" phase. For what ever reason, I desperately wanted this ---->.

A pink dog that stamped things when you pushed down on her sunglasses. I think there was special pink paper. And look, it's "For Girls." Ugg...I ~~hope~~ think I got over that pretty quick.

I'm not nearly so good at giving gifts. There was the year I gave my dad a "World's Best Dad" (or something similar) plaque. I have no idea how old I was; I would have been old enough to be allowed to buy gifts by myself, but my age was still likely in the single digits. I gave a plaque to my mom that year, too. Hers featured a woman with curly hair coming out of a cap, a mis-buttoned coat, and a host of other signs of not being put together. Hers said "God knows I try." Don't ask me what the thought process was. I can only think I was trying to tell her that I knew she was always trying her hardest, even if she wasn't always successful.

Given my lack of gift-giving ability, it's a good thing that there is a certain predictability to gift giving with my family, especially with my dad. For the most part all my brother and I need to do is buy some Fannie May Mint Meltaways and some cashews and we're golden. This year was no different, up to and including my father throwing balls of wrapping paper at me. Remember, it's always fun to make Amy scream. That's the biggest gift I give my dad most years: squeals of disgust as he throws wrapping paper at me, puts his icy cold hands on my bare neck, throws more wrapping paper at me, or sneaks up behind me to poke me in the sides. Of course, it all ends up laughter in the end.

But the best gift I've received in quite some time is one that my husband gave me this year.

Yep, my very own library kit. It even comes with a "genuine pencil." I can't want until I have my library. Until then, my books will just stay in their boxes.

_______
*I spent quite a bit of time last night trying to find an image of this sweatshirt. I was not able to find one. If you have one, please send it along. I'd like to think that it actually exists.

I'm dreaming of a white-collar job

2011-12-23T21:15:00.002-06:00

December 23, 2011

If you could have any job, what would it be?

Dana at http://simply-walking.com/

Up until some time in high school I wanted to be a veterinarian. It was herd check day and I realized I didn't want to be doing pregnancy tests on cows for a living. Since then, I've never really figured out what I want to be when I grow up.

My dream job would have the following features:

An office with a window and ability to work mostly by myself
Spreadsheets and statistical analysis
Writing, not standard operating procedures or manuals, but non-fiction
Research
The ability to spend the day following threads through the internet
Freedom to make my own hours
A fun group of co-workers
Not in academia
Relatively free of politics
Technical, even though I would likely be on the sidelines of the technology
Likely at a small to medium-sized business
Projects sufficiently detailed that the end is visible, but still allows for plenty of creativity

Polygons For The Win!

2011-12-22T22:16:00.002-06:00

December 22 Reverb Broads

If someone made a board game of your life, what would it look like? What pieces would you need to play?

Jessica at http://profbanks.com/

My original thought is that my game would likely be a card game, rather than a board game. If for no other reason than I would rather play cards that play

My board game would be something like this.

Materials:

1 hour glass timer
1 storage bag
4 square frames
48 multi-colored polygon tiles

For up to four (4) players or teams, ages 5 and up

Each player takes turns selecting tiles from a bag (think Scrabble tiles) until the tiles are gone.

The timer would start and each player would have approximately one (1) minute to put as many tiles as possible into their frame using the following rules:

Each tile must touch the frame
Each tile must be either the same shape or same color as the tile next to it (think Uno rules)
Tiles may not over lap
Tiles may not extend past the border of the frame
Players may shift tiles within the frame or remove tiles from the frame at any time

Once the time is up, the player who has placed the most tiles in the frame wins that round.

Why this game?

Primary colors: I tend to see the big picture first, the into the subtleties
Polygons: Straight lines are pretty
Rules: As a Myers-Briggs INTJ, I love (love) rules, but I want them to be flexible enough that I can "game" the system
Time Limit: I like knowing when I'm done, even if it is an arbitrary deadline
Clear winner: I like to know how to win the game

I have to admit I'm surprised that it's not a card game or a word game.

Love or Logic

2011-12-21T21:46:00.001-06:00

December 21 Reverb Broads

If you returned (or went, if you've never been) to college to study anything you want, what would you major in, and why?

Matt at http://thegeekygay.posterous.com

Does one go back to school for logic or love? In a world where neither time nor money are constraints does one obtain additional education to advance their profession or their passion?

I obtained an MS in Project Management because I felt it would advance me professionally. I did well and enjoyed it, but I certainly wouldn't say that I had a passion for it. On an almost weekly basis I think I should go back to school and get a degree in engineering (mechanical, I think) and/or statistics. Statistics is just a natural connection to my love of spreadsheets. As for the engineering I seem to have ended up in the medical device and automation fields. Going to back to school for subject of those could make my recent jobs a career.

But I've done enough reading, especially Kohn's Punished by Rewards, to know that I should go back to school under an intrinsic rather than extrinsic motivation.

I love books, but I don't think I could be a literature major. The few literature classes I've taken make me realize how much I miss when I read books. I think I would rather just read on my own time.

I was a credit short of a philosophy minor in undergrad. I suppose I could go back and study that.

But really, at the end of the day, my love is sociology and gender. I already have a BA in Sociology. Just today, Emily's husband posted this article about girls and Lego on his Facebook page. I love studying women's roles, men's roles, intrinsic and extrinsic motivations, in-group and out-group relations, systems and bureaucracies. How do religion, the economy, war and myriad other pressures create generational groups? How are my Gen X'ers different than today's snowflakes, and yesterday's baby boomers? Did you know that marriages get worse and more violent as the economy gets worse, but the divorce rate drops? That's gender studies and sociology wrapped up into one pretty bow.

Yep, I'm pretty sure I could go back and take gender studies and sociology classes. And guess what, there are a lot of stats to be had there, too.

An Evening in the Life

2011-12-19T10:03:00.001-06:00

December 19 Reverb Broads

Self-Portrait: Post a picture of you that you like, write about yourself, post a video - what do you want your self-portrait to say about you?

Kristen at http://kristendomblogs.com/

There are very few pictures I like of myself. I suspect I'm like many people in that respect. I decided to choose three from our recent visit to Jon's grandma and uncle. They seem to capture the basic elements of me.

I'm wearing blue jeans and a cotton shirt. My favorite type of clothes.

I tend to slide into myself when I'm doing mundane tasks. In this picture I am lost in my own little world. The chunk of bangs that always falls in my face has fallen and I'm completely unaware of my picture being taken. I'm off in this little world quite often. It's what makes it so absolutely easy to startle the bejeebers out of me.

This is me in my standard, "Yes, what do you want?" pose. Notice the hand on the hip. Yep, that's standard, too. Apparently I've been a hands on the hips gal since I was a toddler. And the expression, yes, it's a bit unpleasant (?). But really, it's just my neutral look. I really don't mean to scare people, but I do. Sorry.

And this is me sharing pictures with Grandma. That's what I do like to do. Share things that make people happy.

___
All pictures by Jon

Grandmothers and the like

2011-12-18T13:32:00.002-06:00

December 18 Reverb Broads

Who would you most like to meet and why?

Dana at http://simply-walking.com/

I would love to meet someone famous or life-changing or at least who changed my life. Yet, on the occasions where I've had the opportunity to meet some of my favorite authors find myself completely shy and awkward. For example, I stood there silently, scared to open my mouth as Dave Eggers drew his left hand into my copy of a Heartbreaking Work of Terrible Genius.

I hate that sense that I should be able to converse naturally with these people, though completely incapable of doing so. I can only imagine how painful it must be for them, sitting there with dumbfounded mutes all around. If I'm going to meet someone, I'd rather that all of us to be comfortable. I would like to meet my grandmothers.

My maternal grandmother, Grandma F, died from an accidental fall down the stairs when I was in eighth grade, so it is somewhat disingenuous to say I haven't met her. For those first thirteen years of my life, I certainly knew her, but only as a child knows a grandparent. What I would like to do is to meet her as an adult. Her three sisters, "The Aunts", are three of the smartest and most wickedly funny people you will ever meet. I can't imagine that Grandma F. would be any different.

With regard to my paternal grandmother, she passed away before my birth. My grandfather remarried before I was born and she has always been my Grandma K. I would like to meet my dad's mom. Women are usually the key to family history continuity. My dad, his siblings, and his cousins are all great story tellers, but it would be nice to be in the kitchen and hearing the stories from another point of view. There is something magical about women sharing stories. It's those stories that help hold a family together.

I would think that by meeting two women who are a part of me, it would be far more comfortable to sit down and have coffee and tasty baked goods with them rather than feeling I need to impress someone famous. A little more history to tie me into the world behind me. A couple more roots to give me strength to stretch my branches into the world.

10 Things I Hate

2011-12-17T19:22:00.000-06:00

December 17 Reverb Broads

Instead of a list of your favorite things, write a list of your least favorite things, e.g. Worst book you ever finished, the color you hate, bad songs, bad romances, bad recipes.

During confirmation class our pastor asked what the opposite of love was. When we said hate, he told us we were wrong. Hate, he said, is really a different sort of love. They're both strong emotions that demand enormous amounts of energy. The difference is that one of them is fulfilling, the other fruitless.

That being said, I love to complain about the things I hate.

People who suck the life out things. For example, walking out on a spring day and I notice some of the first buds of the season. After pointing them out to my companion, this person goes on a rant about how even the first bit of spring ends in death and decay.
People who don't use their turn signals. I'm with Nikki on this one.
Caraway seed, potato salad, coleslaw, meat loaf, and most winter squash. The first three I cannot eat; I will spit them out if somehow they enter my mouth. As for the last two, I am capable of swallowing them, but I'd really rather not have the opportunity.
Television commercials. I hate the way they break up a show.
Pepto-bismol and breast cancer awareness pink. Both are fine institutions. I just think they got stuck with bad colors.
Having a kitchen full of staples, always. Except for that one ingredient, that we always have, except for tonight when I need it.
When I get home from work and want to sit quietly and read or just generally zone out and my husband really, really, really needs to talk to me.
Shopping for clothes. Books, music, stuff for the house, sure, but clothes? Please, I beg you, spare me.
The morning hosts on the classic rock station on my husband's alarm clock
Underwear that is too tight and socks that are too loose

This will be more fun then half a cookie*

2011-12-16T21:55:00.000-06:00

December 16 Reverb Broads

What are your biggest pet peeves?

Em at http://warmedtheworld.blogspot.com/

I get annoyed by things. A lot. However, there are two things that annoy me beyond reason.

I can't really condone their/there/they're, your/you're, were/we're etc. misuse, but since I am guilty of it**, I suppose I'm obligated to give out the occasional pardon. In fact, while basic grammar failures annoy me, they are understandable, if only from the "English is boring, is it time for recess," mentality of most students.

What I cannot understand is how people confuse "then" and "than." Yes, they are 75% the same word. And yes, depending on regional dialects, they likely to even sound similar. But they are entirely different words. Yet in written and spoken English, I frequently encounter them used incorrectly.

Let's allow The Oatmeal to explain, shall we?

Now that you know how to use "then" and "than", I think it's time to move on to my biggest pet peeve:

The Half Cookie (insert ominous music here)

Based on a rather limited sample, this seems to be a Minnesota phenomenon. As part of being "nice," no Minnesotan wants to take the last cookie or slice of pizza or sheet of paper or really any comestible or supply. The "nice" person simply takes half a cookie. Look, if you want the cookie, take the whole damn cookie. If you want to share the cookie with someone who is in the immediate proximity, please do so. But, for the love of all that is good and true, please do not leave half a cookie to "share" with the person who walks into the room half an hour later.

_____

*the use of "then" is intentionally wrong

**in my defense usually in casual, unedited text

Going Caveman

2011-12-15T21:33:00.001-06:00

December 15 Reverb Broads
Did you taste any new flavors this year? Did you love or hate them or something in between? Will you incorporate these new flavors into your life?

Bethany at http://bethanyactually.com

A little over three months ago I went "caveman." Essentially, after having a complete freak out about my weight I made the decision, with plenty of support from Jon, to dramatically change our eating habits. No grains (particularly corn and wheat), no processed foods, no legumes, no potatoes, dairy optional. It's low carb and high protein. It's part of a lifestyle known as caveman or paleo. Essentially eating what our caveman forebears would have eaten: meat, vegetables, fruits, and nuts.

For the most part, it has been relatively easy. I've learned that cauliflower "rice" is a decent base for curries and stir fries. I enjoy my plain yogurt with fruit and nuts for breakfast. Braised cabbage makes an excellent side. Apparently, though I don't really care for winter squash, I'm surprised to find that with tomato sauce, spaghetti squash is pretty good. I've even made paleo biscuits and gravy. The gravy part tastes just about spot on, the biscuits leave a lot to be desired. Good thing that going paleo lets a person cheat now and again.

I've even caveman-ed some favorite recipes. I'm still learning. I will say that I've lost about 20 lbs. On the days when I stick to the rules my appetite is well under control.

But I've also made some other lovely things. Kassie blogged about these browned butter Rice Krispie treats and I must say they are fantastic. I've had this recipe for Chocolate, Almond, Cranberry Biscotti in my recipe box for ages. I finally made them this year, only substituting dried tart cherries for the cranberries. I think they may be one of my most favorite things ever.

There have been a lot of new flavors this year. Many of them I will have to carry into the next year. Twenty pounds is a great start, but I have a long way to go. Of course, I'm still going to be looking forward to the next new tasty baked good recipe.
_________
I suspect there are readers who will wonder why I chose the gender specific, caveman. I know it's likely un-pc. I don't care. Such is life.

Something to really be guilty about

2011-12-14T21:30:00.000-06:00

December 14 Reverb Broads

Is volunteering something you do regularly? If yes where do you volunteer? If not, why not?

Kassie at http://bravelyobey.blogspot.com

This is certainly a guilt inducing prompt.

I grew up in a volunteering culture. I volunteered with m 4-H club and with the church I grew up in. My mom still volunteers as an election judge and donates time to the church. I donate blood because my dad donates blood.

The volunteering tapered off in college. I still did some random volunteering, but I allowed my time to be gobbled up by euchre and working to pay for college.

After a couple of years in the Twin Cities, I started volunteering with Single Volunteers of the Twin Cities (SVTC) for admittedly selfish reasons. I was volunteering most weekends. I also got trained as an ESL and adult basic education tutor and tutored weekly at the library.

Volunteering is important. I think, and likely others would agree, that volunteering is the best way to get to know a community. For me, volunteering was a lifeline out of the depression that being lonely and single in a new town.

But, I haven't volunteered much in recent years. One must be single to be in SVTC. I took a job that required working evenings and stopped tutoring. I tried getting involved in the local 4-H, but aside from passing the screening, nothing happened. The 4-H organization in Minnesota seems to be quite different than the 4-H I grew up in. The real fault lies in me. I never figured out how to truly offer my help.

With any luck this prompt will force me into action for the New Year. I moved into a new town/county this summer. I have a new community to learn. Maybe I'll find some way to share my myriad (but suspect) talents.

Cleaning Trivial Spreadsheets

2011-12-13T22:05:00.001-06:00

December 13 Reverb Broads

What are three things you are better at than most people

Catie at http://catiecake.wordpress.com/

Three things that I'm better at that most people, in no particular order:

Retaining Random Bits of Trivia
In college my friends took to calling me Cliff after the character on Cheers because of my tendency have a "storehouse of useless trivia, often of dubious veracity and bearing little relation to the conversation going on at the bar." Though I would like to think that my trivia is useful.

A few weeks ago one of my co-workers, quite out of the blue, asked me if I knew if fish oil pills caused indigestion. Well, since one can buy fish oil pills that don't cause "fish burps" it seemed to me that, in fact, they could cause indigestion. See, not only do I retain knowledge, I can use it for myriad purposes.
Spreadsheets
I love spreadsheets. I love using them to organize information, for calculating sums, analyzing things. I know all sorts of tips and tricks. I'm the go-to gal when people need help with their spreadsheets. And I can usually, but not always, make MS Word and Powerpoint behave.

Cleaning
I may not be the world's best housekeeper, but when I do clean, I clean. Top to bottom, inside and out. I get rid of hard water stains, take toothbrushes to grout lines, use shish kebab skewers to that excavate the gunk out of that nasty little seam between the oven and the counter, and disassemble fans/toaster ovens/other small appliances to ensure that every last bit of filth is gone. Bleach, vinegar, Dawn dishsoap, and Barkeeper's Friend are my companions.

Friday Freedom

2011-12-12T20:37:00.000-06:00

Name and explain the one guilty pleasure you can't live without. ie: that cupcake shop you visit weekly, a book you repeatedly read to find solace in, etc). Then explore the idea of how you would feel if you gave that thing up for a year.

Neha at http://whereyouarehere.blogspot.com/

I have a longer commute and usually spend more time at work than my husband, I to leave the house before he does and then return after him. For the most part, when I’m home, he’s home.

Except for Friday afternoons. My last two jobs had short Fridays. It was possible to work nine hours each day Monday through Thursday and then leave at noon on Friday. My Friday afternoons, home alone, are completely decadent. I get to watch my “chick” shows and movies piled up in the Netflix queue. I treat myself to some takeout for lunch or a chocolate-y coffee drink or a tasty baked good (or, sometimes all three – that’s the guilty part). I take a nap. I run errands free from the hassle of after-work and weekend crowds. I read. I write. It is my time to be “single”. My time to be alone and lazy.

With my new job, my solo Fridays are few and far between. Core work hours at 9-3, even on Fridays. A week ago I had Friday afternoon meetings at 2pm, 4pm, and 4:30pm.

How would I deal with a year without my Fridays? Well, I’m already a bit put out that I don’t have as many as I used to. A year without them?!? I imagine there are not enough calming agents in the world to completely replace what a well-placed Friday afternoon can do for my psyche.

The Nut Doesn't Fall far from the Tree, Revisited

2011-12-11T21:49:00.001-06:00

How are you like your mother? And if you're a mother, how is/are your kid(s) like you?

Jessica at http://profbanks.com

Like I said, my dad, brother, and husband are all more than happy to tell you how I am like my mom, usually because they find it so amusing.

So, for the easy things. I don't have kids. I'm not able to address that. Also, I'm a good 6 inches taller than my mom. Such is life.

Still, I chose to query my cousin and my brother about five characteristics that they associated with my mom. Thus far my brother has been kind enough to provide me with cranky and forgetful. Which, sadly enough I share. At least the cranky part. I'm going to disagree about the forgetful part.

My cousin, Gretchen, on the other hand, was quite helpful

Aunt Karen is a hard-working person who demands perfection from those that she works with and those that cut vegetables for Italian salad. She's a stellar cook and enjoys having family around, at least I think so. When I was a kid her style was pretty traditional, meat, potatoes and a veggie, get a glass of milk and get eating. It has morphed some into new dishes with spices I can't pronounce or find in the store, but still really good. She believes men can cook, clean and do laundry and encouraged me to make sure my husband knew how to do those things when I got married. No gathering is complete without a cup of coffee and something to dunk in it, no matter what time of the day the gathering takes place. Your mom works hard to find gifts that bring back memories for her sister and things that are handmade to keep me warm. She doesn't miss major life events (graduations, birthdays, holidays, weddings) and uses her meticulous qualities to make sure everything is perfect, down to the last button, corsage or straight tie. She appreciates a hard-worker and her laugh is infectious.

So, to address the points above.

Like poor Gretchen, I often cut vegetables improperly. Who knew that they had to be just so? Well, my mom, of course. And don't worry. She will tell you when you are doing it wrong.

I’m a good cook myself, but a basic meat and potatoes dinner? I still haven’t mastered it. The unpronounceable spices? I'm not exactly sure what those might be, but I have a drawer full of spices to cook Indian, Chinese, Pakistani, Japanese, Midwest, and European.

My mom has always felt that we all should be able cook and clean and fend for ourselves. Jon and I both cook, clean, and do laundry. In fact, this week is Jon's week to cook and I rarely have to deal with his bike clothing.

Well, exactly, what is the point of spending time with people if you don’t have coffee and tasty baked goods. I realized as I was putting together this year’s tasty baked good Christmas packages that they are all good coffee cookies.

Mom makes awesome knit caps and can even make mittens to match. Hmm, I can't knit. But I crochet. Close enough, right? And sadly, I'm just not that great a gift-giver. Apparently my brother scored on that front.

Why would anyone want anything less than perfect? And my husband wonders why I stress out before my parents are due to visit.

Me and Gretchen in one of mom's hats

I hope that I can be the same sort of person my mom is. The kind that people count on to ensure that everything is just so.

Thanks, Mom.

Potentially Awesome, Potentially Disastrous

2011-12-10T22:28:00.001-06:00

December 10 Reverb Broads

What is the best and/or worst thing about your life right now?

Dana

http://simply-walking.com

The best and worst thing in my life right now? Potential.

Is it the best or worst thing? Yes.

Jon and I moved into a new house this past summer. While it is our dream house, our forever house, it still needs some tweaking. Starting Monday we're having new hardwood flooring put into the rooms that will eventually become the office and the library. And that's fantastic. We'll have wonderful work spaces and eventually shelves for all my books (you're jealous, I know).

But holy smokes is this all a lot of work. What kind of flooring? What do do with the existing flooring? How to create good spaces? Essentially how to deal with all the potential in the house.

Exciting and frightening all at the same time. But eventually my books will have homes, so it's all good.

The Monster at the End of This Blog

2011-12-08T21:33:00.001-06:00

What was your favorite children's book?

Niki at http://nikirudolph.com

My mother never ceases to amaze me. She probably can't remember what happened five minutes ago, but she did remember my favorite little kid book.*

Last night's email exchange

When I was looking for images, this one made me laugh

A: Did I have a favorite little kid book? I need some help for tomorrow's Reverb Broads.

M: You liked "The Monster at the end of this Book", I'm sure there were many others but that's the only one I can remember.

A: You know, it's funny. That's what I was thinking, too, but I thought it was because I recently downloaded the iphone app. Do you know why I liked it?

M: I think the first time it was exciting and then after that it was just funny.

But really I don't remember being read to. It's not that I wasn't; I just don't remember it. What I do remember are all the series chapter books I loved. The characters became like family as I read more and more of the books. It seemed that with series books I would never run out of friends. The more books in a series, the better. Or perhaps, more books by the same author, the better

Some of my favorite series books. I chose the images that most closely remembered the books I read.

I loved walking down to the basement of the public library or circumnavigating "the pit" in the elementary school library and pulling my favorites off the shelf. Other favorites included the Little House books. For more on my love of books, see this post from earlier this year.

Also, the books I liked (um, like) were (are) full of mystery and adventure. I think Kassie wrote that she wanted to live by herself after reading Island of Blue Dolphins. I wanted to make a yucca skirt because we had a yucca plant.

This post doesn't talk at all about children's and young adult fiction I love as an adult. The Hunger Games, To Kill a Mockingbird, Bridge to Terabithia, The Giver - all books I love as an adult. I would also like to meet the woman who didn't use Judy Blume's books as at least a partial guide to growing up.

I was and am a person who reads and re-reads books. So, the monster at the end of this blog? Like the one in Grover's book, benign little ol' me, who just wants a book, or three.

__________

*Apparently, according to my mother, I'm supposed to stop teasing her in my blog because my readers will think she's lost her mind. I asked her what her point was. So, for the record, my mom hasn't completely lost her mind. Not yet anyway.

Glutton for External Validation

2011-12-08T09:08:00.001-06:00

December 8: Reverb Broads Prompt

Why blog? Why do you or why do you like to blog (recognizing that these are not always the same thing)?

Kristen at http://kristendomblogs.com

Appreciate me, please.

I need other people to appreciate it when I do something well. I also need to share the interesting things I find with other people and I take great satisfaction when they are interested in it, too, especially if they haven’t heard about it before.

Also, I am a copy cat. I can’t help it. Just remember if I’ve copied from you it is always with the best of intents; it’s because you did something I thought was a really good idea. If I do that same thing, then I will be cool. If I am cool, then I will belong. If people comment and respond to what I have written, then I will know I belong.

I started this blog last year after reading Emily’s Reverb10 posts. I had hoped that was going to be enough to get me to start writing. And it did, only not in December. I think like many of you, I write because I truly believe I have something to share. I want to start a conversation.

I've found that reminding myself to be looking for post topics helps occupy my mind. What will make this blog-worthy? Take more pictures. Look for the little things. Play with the little people. Listen for the little voices. Sample the little dishes. Pay attention to the little aromas. Remember. We usually remember the big things, but sometimes we forget why they’re big. It’s the little things that make life worth living. And I hope that I learn appreciate and write about the little things.

But really, I just want people to pay attention to me and give me kudos. Acknowledge my small little gift to the world. To be a dust speck.

What's Red and White on the Outside and Gray on the Inside?

2011-12-07T10:26:00.001-06:00

Who or what makes you laugh so hard that milk shoots out of your nose and why? Slapstick, dry witty comedy, your kids, Monty Python?

Kassie at http://bravelyobey.blogspot.com

Why, a can of Campbell's Cream of Elephant Soup, of course.

I heard that lovely joke last week and immediately had to text my dad to share the fun. His response "Gah-roan." Exactly. What made that joke funny to me was knowing that I could call my dad and share it with him.

The one post I wrote for Reverb 10 was about my sense of humor. When Melanie responded with "What is brown and sticky?....A Stick." I was on the floor.

I love the smart, clever word play of a will written Aaron Sorkin show (I re-watch Sports Night and West Wing regularly). I'm pretty sure I laughed out loud at every single episode of Firefly. Doctor Who makes me laugh on a regular basis. I laugh at word play in books and word play in real life. I laugh at ironic images and political satire. My husband makes me laugh.

But what makes me laugh until whatever fluid I'm drinking gets expelled? That's my family. Well, it's actually more that they make me laugh until I can't breath. Asthma is really a pain in the lungs.

I'm not able to recount any single episode, but whenever I go home and sit at my parents' big oak dining table something happens. Stories are told. Recollections are made. At some point my mom and I will find something funny and will get trapped in an infinite loop of giggles.

I'm looking forward to spending Christmas at my parents'. I'm looking forward to laughing.

What did the grape say when it got stepped on by the vintner?

Nothing, it just let out a little whine.

I Solemnly Swear...

2011-12-06T21:49:00.001-06:00

December 6: Reverb Broads Prompt

List 10 things you would never do.

Katrina at http://katrinatripled.blogspot.com/

That to the best of my ability, and barring extraordinary circumstances, I will never...

10. Take my crock pot, KitchenAid Stand Mixer, or my husband for granted

9. Become a vegan (sorry, I love beef, chocolate, milky coffee too much)

8. Run a marathon (for what ever reason, running is one of the things that really aggravates my asthma.)

7. Lose my appreciation for fireworks (Shiny)

6. Stop procrastinating (deadlines are there for a reason, right?)

5. Regret getting married at my parents' farm

4. Stop talking to myself when I'm grocery shopping (yes, I'm ~that~ crazy lady)

3. Using sarcasm or irony, even when it's not in my own best best interests

2. Have enough books or music (or have enough time to consume as much of both as I want)

1. Stop appreciating the pure, unadultered joy of kids being kids

Wow, this post was much harder than I would have thought. And yes, like Em, assume that the really bad things like murder, running a meth lab, etc are already on the never list. Also, there is the tendency for me to feel obligated to take lists like this as a challenge.

____
All photos by me! Except no. The one of the wedding, someone else took that one. Oops.

A Little Closer to that Elusive Cat

2011-12-05T08:00:00.000-06:00

December 5: Reverb Broads Prompt

What is the one thing you finally did this year that you always wanted or said you were going to do, but in your heart of hearts never thought you would actually do?

Amy (Me)

I thought that since this was my prompt and that I knew what I was going to write about this was going to be an easy post to write. I think I may have been wrong, but only because I realized it was going to take a different path than I had originally intended.

First off, I was going to write about participating in this year's National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). As I say in the About section of this blog, I have always intended to write a book named A Cat Named Frank. Now, I've had that title floating around since I was in high school. I had chosen the name basically because I liked out it sounded. Also, at the time, I think we actually had a cat* named, well, Frank.

I started this blog just about a year ago. Well, I started my Blogspot site about a year ago, motivated by Ms. Ronning's Reverb 10 posts. I never really got around to writing those posts, but I did get around to writing this blog. Anyway, from Ms. Ronning's blog, I ended up at Ms. Sands' blog and eventually ran into NaNoWriMo. Writing a book in a month. I could do that. But, I never said anything about it to anyone.

In October, I got an email from my mom.
"You probably have seen this website but I'm passing it on from Ingrid." - nanowrimo.org
Yes, I had seen it, I was surprised my mom would have thought to send it to me. Sadly, upon query, my mom isn't able to remember why she sent it on.**

Now, I don't know about the relationships the rest of you have with your moms, but even when something is somewhat obliquely referenced by my mom, that's almost as good as command. She's a wee bit bossy, you see, and it is usually easier to just do what she asks, even when she hasn't actually asked. In other words, by sending me the website it seemed that my mom was saying, "Get on with it. Write your book. In November. Of this year." Though really, that doesn't really sound like her.

And then Troy told me that I had to say I was NaNoWriMo-ing in order to prod Beth*** into participating. He mentioned some other of my former co-workers who were also going to participate. What he didn't know. Or at least I think he didn't know, was that I was already thinking about participating myself.

And the days ticked ever closer to November 1.

I've tried to write A Cat several times before. I've tried to write outlines. I've tried to map out a story. I've maybe managed to get to two pages. Monette has said we should write a cheesy romance novel together. But really, I never truly thought I had a novel in me. I thought it was vanity idea. I pretty much figured I was going to end up writing things like "Bringing RPL2 back into service in accordance with SOP xx-xxxxxx will require that the DCP and RMP are approved and all assays pass the 10-microliter testing" for the rest of my life. BORING (but it pays the bills).

Then November arrived and I started writing an actual story. At the end of the month I had over 50,000 words of gibberish that with careful editing will become something****. I am surprised and thrilled with myself that I actually wrote it, especially since based on my previous attempts I never really thought it was going to happen.

It isn't great. It made me realize I still have a lot of pent up anger about losing my job this past March and the circumstances around it. I now know that I can sit and write for hours and pull a story out of the air. I know what authors are talking about when they talk about their characters taking on a life of their own. I know I have a lot of editing to do. But in the words of the Mommy Person, you "can't edit if you don't have anything written." It made me realize there are a lot of people around me who have believe in me more than I believe in me.

Here's a big giant thank you to Mom, Troy, Kassie, Emily, Beth, Melanie, Astella, Gretchen, and the Husband for your support this last month. Maybe someday I'll even let you read part of it.

If you're curious, the post entitled "Snippet" contains just that.

____________

*I'm a farm kid. Farm cats aren't known for their longevity. There are certainly some who have passed the test of time, but really, they are just long-tailed phantoms in my mind

**Sadly, it isn't surprising my mom doesn't remember.

***And here's kudos to Beth who works mad crazy hours and still got well into her novel as well!

****Right now as I am writing this part of this post, my husband has finally realized that I will be blogging all month. He wants to know if you all know that you are preventing me from working on my novel. For the record, he got thbthththth-ed

Movie, Schmovie

2011-12-04T17:19:00.001-06:00

December 4:Reverb Broads Prompt

In the movie version of your life, which actor/actress would

play you and the significant players in your life?

What kind of movie is it (e.g., made-for-TV, action, emo/indie, etc.)?

What would be the major plot points, and how will it end?

courtesy of Emily at warmedtheworld.blogspot.com

So, here's the thing. I don't really think of my life as something to be put on on the screen. I love my life. It is very interesting to me. There are parts of it that could actually be made into decent little vignettes. But two hours of something? I just don't see it.

Also, I don't know much about movies and such. I know that the last movie I saw in the theater was An Education and that was in February of 2009. I actually watch a lot of movies and television shows thanks to Netflix and Amazon streaming, but I don't analyse them. I watch. Well, sort of, anyway. I'm often doing something else.

This is Me

So, since whatever movie about me would likely have food, I suspect it would be some sort of home-based indie movie, centered around the kitchen table, with lots of talking about nothing. Sorry, i can't think of any movies that really represent that. As for the actors and actresses? Honestly, I've got no one. Several other Reverb Broads bloggers have commented about the lack of plus-sized actresses, so that's certainly a hurdle. And I even went so far as to search for actress with dark hair and blue eyes. Going through the list, and assuming that size is relative, there's not a single one of them I would chose to be me. Maybe, maybe, maybe, Zooey Deschanel, but only as Trillian in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. And a lot of that is only because that's what I've seen her in. Though I would love for any the words to come out of my mouth to be as witty as anything either Lauren Graham or Alexis Bledel said in Gilmore Girls. Also, my eyes are easily as blue as either of theirs.

As for the other players in my life. Um, I just don't think that way. I've never really send someone on screen and thought, "my word, that actor is just like that person I know."

So, to make life simple and at the very least pay homage to the intent of Emily's* prompt, I guess my movie is going to be a documentary where the people I know and love are sitting around a big wooden dining table, eating and drinking and talking and maybe playing cards, and everyone just is, just as they are.

______

*Afterall, she is the only one of these lovely bloggers I actually know in person

Is There Somewhere Between?

2011-12-03T16:05:00.001-06:00

December 3: Reverb Broads Prompt

How did you become more of a grown-up this year?
Or did you pull a Peter Pan and stubbornly remain childlike?

Bethany at http://bethanyactually.com/

I did, in fact, start this post yesterday, but now I'm somewhat glad that child-like procrastination and grown-up things prevented me from posting, because this was in my inbox this morning.

And, well, that's me. I am a grumpy grown-up. I now realize that I should have said two things to middle school me; the second would have been: try not to loose whatever it is that had you that happy before 7:30 in the morning. And how do I know what was before 7:30am? That's when the school bus arrived and that picture is clearly a before school picture.

Still, I had to write a list to decide if I was a grown up or not and this is what I came up with

Grown Up Things

Took myself to urgent care when I fell off my bike and broke my thumb*,**
Bought a new house and I signed my first mortgage papers
Bought a well-researched and practical car
Starting to re-model said new house, including refinishing the floorr
Didn't buy Lucy Charms or any other "kids" cereal
Bought a Christmas Wreath from the local school kid who came to the door
Apparently was a stingy crochety Halloween candy giver
Got laid off and found a new job
Started eating at the table rather than on the couch in front of the tv.

Childlike

Slept until 10 at least once and until 9 on numerous occasions
Wore pajamas all day more than once
Carved jack o'lanterns
Christmas decorating will be limited to the wreath, partially because of the floor
Not sure that I have a career

I'm in my mid-thirties I can (for the most part) fold a fitted sheet. I cook. I clean. I eat my vegetables. I go to work and even work on weekends. I am married. I ~~own~~ am paying for my own house.

There is still something very juvenile about our (my husband is going to get sucked into this, whether he likes it or not) existence. We have been married for fourteen months and eight days (but who's counting). This is a first marriage for both of us. We have neither pets nor kids which means we get to choose how we spend our days. We can sleep late, eat whenever, and go to bed when we like. We can open a bottle of wine and watch stupid movies to our hearts' content.

I'm not going to say we are child-like. We are responsible, contributing members of society, yet we haven't been forced to truly set up to the plate as far as "grown-up" goes. But is possible that I may have lost some of my child-like zest for every bright new day.

So, I'm going to call myself a grown-up, but I'm going to start focusing (again) at looking at things from a child's perspective. Just as soon as I get these darn reports for work finished.

__________
*Okay, well, maybe falling off the bike is child-like
**and going to Urgent Care, very adult like. My pinky is still crooked from when my mom didn't take me to the doctor when it got jammed playing volleyball in middle school.

Yes, That Was Truly, and in All Other Ways, STUPID

2011-12-02T18:47:00.001-06:00

December 2: Reverb Broads Prompt

What is the stupidest thing you did this year? What about in your whole life? You can take stupid to mean: embarrassing, dangerous, funny, lame, whatever you consider "stupid."

Kassie at http://bravelyobey.blogspot.com

I do a lot of stupid things, mostly of the open-mouth-insert-foot category. I hope they are as transient for those who see them as they are for me. Sadly, they don't really stick in my mind so I am somewhat condemned to repeat them.

This week seems to have been somewhat full of stupid things: leaving my phone/music at home one day; leaving my coffee at home two days in a row; leaving my computer-glare reduction glasses at home one day. Stupid, stupid, stupid, but likely forgotten by next week

Then there are some stupid things I have done that I don't simply forget. They teaching devices after all.

At the end of my first week at a new job I went out to my car to find the inside dripping with some sort of liquid. My first thought, my absolute first thought: Who hates me so much after one week at this job that they would vandalize my car*. I was convinced someone had done this on purpose as some sort of revenge for some previously aforementioned foot-in-mouth event. Upon closer examination, I realized it was Diet Coke, from the full, unopened can I had intended to take with me into work on that hot July day**. The can, inside my car on a rather warm day developed a pin-hole leak and sprayed the inside of my car with Diet Coke. So the stupid thing? That was assuming someone was out to get me. No one wished me harm, but that was the first thing I thought of. Since then, I've made it a priority to look for causes rather than someone to blame when things go wrong.

But, in the grand scheme of things, those are relatively benign stupid things. Sadly, I have made at least one, potentially malignant, mistake.

One of the more stupid things I did was smoke my first cigarette. Absolutely, hands down, without a doubt, the stupidest thing I ever did was smoke the second one. I don't know much about the science of addiction, but I know this: it took me six or seven attempts over thirteen years to finally become an ex-smoker. The lesson, don't do drugs. Ever. Accept that I have a tendency to obsess over or become addicted to things and I need to find a way to put limits on them. Do what I can to repair the damage I've done to my body. It's been years since I last had a cigarette, but, in those minutes when I really, really want one, that's when I need to take a deep breath and figure out what it is that I'm trying to avoid.

________
*It should be noted that this was before my window was smashed and my car radio stolen from that same parking lot. Not from malice, just because it was a bad luck parking lot. Mine was not the only radio that was stolen, and unlike my truck driving colleagues, my spare tire never went roaming.
**Yes, if my head wasn't attached there are days when I would show up at work without it.

Engineering? Really?

2011-12-01T07:00:00.000-06:00

December 1: Reverb Broads Prompt

"If the you of today could go back in time and give advice to any of the previous yous, which age would you visit and what would you tell them?"

Kristen at kristendomblogs.com

To the middle school me, I would tell her "Never to let anyone take a picture of you on a bad hair day." The frightening thing is that given the grin on my face, I was pretty happy with my efforts. Must have been a dress up day at school.

But in general, I'm not sure there is much I would be able to tell previous me's that would have made any difference. I have have made my mistakes and learned from them. They are the mistakes of youth. The mistakes we all have made as we travel through this life. They the errors that we are warned against, but we are young, we know what we are doing, we don't need to listen. And really, would you want to change your path? Remember, it is the one that brought you to where you are today.

Still, there is one thing that I do wish the young me would be willing to listen to. Perhaps because of where I have ended up professionally, I do wish that someone would have talked to the high school me about becoming an engineer. I imagine I wouldn't have listened. It's even possible that someone did. And then I still would have had to make it through college chemistry and calculus, both of which were enough to convince me to not be a chemistry major*. Still, there is a part of me that is awfully curious about what I may have missed by sticking with the social sciences.

_________
* For the curious, I ended up with a degree in sociology.

Snippet

2011-11-13T16:19:00.001-06:00

Along with many others, past and present, I am spending November participating in NaNoWriMo and attempting to write a novel. Or, at the very least attempting to write fifty-thousand words (yes, 50,000) that could, at some point become a novel.

At the end of today, in order to be on pace to finish my 50k words for the month, I should have 21,671 words. As of right now, I'm at 19,305. I'd like to be a a littler further along, but I am thrilled with what I have accomplished. Now, many of my character's don't have names. Lucy's uncle, at least for right now is named Uncle; her best friend is named Friend; the Friend's husband, his name is FHusband. There's also Examiner, Gran, Nanna, Old Woman, and wife. The whole point of NaNoWriMo is quantity. To put something down on paper, to put anything down on paper so you have something to edit later.

This is not a cat named Frank

I have been "going to" write a novel for years. Mostly I never got started because I didn't have the whole thing planned out in my head. What I'm learning as I write this month is that I don't need to have the end in sight. Often, I have heard authors say that their characters take them places they never expected. Until this month, I had never understood that. I had thought the author should be able to control the story. I now understand how the character gets hit with a great idea and that changes the story.

So, glutton for external praise that I am, here is a snippet of Lucy's story. Let me know what you think.

------

Lucy pulled into the house driveway with a huge sigh of relief. Seeing Uncle’s old tan and brown F10 pickup through the garage window she parked on the other side of the driveway. Gasping as her bladder protested the sudden change in motion, she put the car in park, turned off the ignition, and raced around the house to the back door. The Coke she had treated herself to at the truck stop in combination with the 24oz vending machine cappuccino she bought as she was leaving were making their presence painfully clear. Knowing that the back door into the mudroom was always open, even if the house doors were not, and that it was extremely close to a toilet to that door were her prime considerations.

Swinging the backdoor open, forgetting that the spring was long since gone, Lucy cringed as the screen door handle slammed into the side of the house. In years past that would have been cause for discipline. Lucy, more than once, had stood on the back step in the cold practicing opening and closing the door quietly one hundred times as punishment for slamming the door closed in anger or even absentmindedly throwing the door open so that it banged against the house. Uncle had no patience for those sorts of antics from a girl he was trying to teach to be a lady.

Crossing the threshold , Lucy made the turn into the grimy bathroom, dropped her pants, and sighed as relief burst out of her. Lucy took stock of her surroundings. Her vomit-speckled jeans cuffs were dragging on the floor of the bathroom. At least their blackish-blue color was a nice complementing to the yellow splotches surrounding the base of the toilet. The areas that weren't splotched were coated in a thin coat of mud, almost as if someone had used a trowel to smooth a translucent layer of dirt-brown glaze over the ancient gray linoleum. Scattered over the floor were of corn kernels, oats, and the odd soybean shell. Lucy heard the old furnace turn on and watched the grains skitter across the floor as the hot water pipes rattled with the flow of water.

Pulling up her pants Lucy caught a waft of something dead. It was not unusual for mice to make their way into the mudroom, especially as summer turned into fall. As defense, Uncle usually left mouse bait around and a dead mouse or two in the mudroom was not an unusual event. Once, one of the rodents had crawled into her boot during it’s final moments. Lucy still remembered the squishy feeling that met her stockinged toes as she pushed on the boot. She never did wear that pair of socks again and she always made sure to shake her boots out before putting them on.

Walking into the house, Lucy was met by the the smell of cooking dust that comes off radiators when the first chilly nights and frosty dawns prompt the first furnace use of the season. This was one of the smells of home, or at least the smell of home before someone had a chance to make coffee or start cooking dinner. Oddly though, the air in the house was exceedingly dry. Uncle was prone to nosebleeds so he tended to keep the air in the house well-humidified. There were desk-sized humidifiers in the dining room and the main hallway upstairs. For what ever reason, Uncle must not have turned them on when he turned on the furnace. Lucy’s eyes burned and lips chapped almost immediately due to the exceedingly hot and dry air in the house.

Yet underneath the smell of the dust burning on the radiators and the crackly-leaf smell of over-dried air, the smell of dead mouse continued. This was a curious, new development. In all the years she had lived in that house, she could not remember a single time when a mouse, dead or alive, had ever made it into the main house.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, she saw Uncle at the table, his arms folded across his chest, head bent down, asleep in the straight back chair. Lucy stood in the doorway for a moment, quietly taking in her sleeping uncle.

The hair on the top of his head was the swirled,tangled mat that only comes from going to bed with wet hair, waking up, pulling a billed cap on over the uncombed hair, and spending the next five or six hours of the day sweating beneath the hat. The hair below his hat-line was more or less presentable, though sun-bleached several shades lighter than the chestnut brown of the rest of his hair.

Uncle had pulled off the once bright, but now faded reddish-gray suspenders and let them dangle from his waistband of his work jeans. Most of his blue chambray work shirt was faded almost to white, but there were criss-crossed stripes of fabric protected from the sun and the other elements that remained the the blue of an October sky. The paper, opened to the crossword, was spread out in front of him. The pencil he had been using had fallen from his hand rolled under the table.

So as not to startle Uncle awake, Lucy called out softly. When he didn’t respond, she walked closer intending shake Uncle from his slumber. Only when she got closer did Lucy realize that Uncle’s form seemed puffed up and that he chest wasn’t moving. She tried to stop her feet from taking the next step and futilely attempted to keep her hand by her side as she realized the smell of death was stronger in this room. Intent on keeping its original mission Lucy’s hand reached out to shake Uncle awake only to topple his corpse off the chair. His body hit the floor with a sodden thump, and the smell of death exploded into the room.

Not one for hysterics, as Lucy’s legs collapsed beneath her, she opened her mouth and screamed until the dry air stole her voice away.

Carving the Watermelons

2011-10-30T18:57:00.000-05:00

As a farm kid living in the city, I still have the need to play around in the dirt. I like to spend time putting seeds in the ground and watching the plants grow into maturity.

This year I was going to be very organized about the gardening. I had a spreadsheet...

...a file box...

...and gardening in Minnesota book

Yet, despite all the preparation, time came up short and the garden quickly fell into chaos. I had hoped that by putting straw down around all my plants I could avoid some weeding. And I will say, the straw did help keep the weeds down. Of course, that just helped the oats sprout and grow that much better.

There were also the mystery plants coming out of the compost pile. That wasn't part of the plan. With its big broad leaves and spreading vines, it was easy to see it was some sort of squash or melon.

Personally, I don't spend a lot of time remembering all the vegetables and fruits that we throw into the compost pile. Still, I was convinced I had a watermelon on my hands. I was even rather excited about this. I'd never grown a watermelon before. It's one of my favorite fruits.

The color and striping didn't seem quite right, but I figured it would just grow into it. I also figured it was one of those little personal-sized watermelons and their coloring seemed somewhat different than a true watermelon. I was pretty sure I had bought one of those for myself because somebody doesn't really care for watermelon; he doesn't not like it, but doesn't get all excited about it either. Yet even he was excited about the idea of a watermelon in our garden.

And so the garden grew.

We had jalapenos,

soybeans for edamame,

cucumbers,

eggplant flowers*,

tomato potential**,

and all sorts of tasty vegetables

And, now that Halloween is here, I spent the day carving some of my watermelons. You'll have to let me know what you think.

________
*which turned into eggplant parmesan

**Which turned into over 30 lbs of frozen tomatoes

My Garden Buddy

2011-09-02T18:23:00.000-05:00

While out foraging in our garden, I noticed that something had been eating my parsley leaves. Not the whole stem, just the leaf snipped off right where it joins the stem.

Admittedly my first reaction was one of continued exasperation and frustration. I wouldn't say I'm the best gardener to begin with and this year seems to be especially challenging. Our Minnesota spring was cold and wet and that combined with a broken thumb made it difficult to get anything going in the garden. Despite my spreadsheet and planning, our garden just didn't get planted in a timely manner. Though now the entire garden has been fully planted and is now going crazy, there are still plants that aren't flourishing. Sadly the crab grass, cottonwoods, and whole cast of unnamed weeds are growing much better than the beets, beans, and broccoli.

Full of ire, I looked into the parsley and saw this.

A big ol' caterpillar munching away. Now, I'm not squeamish. I think caterpillars are cool. So, I plucked that stem of parsley in order to look more closely at my new buddy.

I got really excited about it; my seconds earlier irritation forgetten. I'd never seen such a brightly colored caterpillar.

It even does tricks.

Anyway, I posted some pictures of my new buddy to Facebook and a friend commented, "To see caterpillars is so rare anymore. Is it because we're not kids anymore or because they aren't as many of them?"

My first reaction is that we're not kids anymore. And we don't spend time outside exploring like we did as kids. Mostly, as a kid, outside time was fun time. Yes, maybe there was some yard work to help with, but in my world, outside time was free time. Time to find adventures.

As an adult though, I don't seem to find as many adventures outside. The lawn needs mowing, the garden needs weeding and watering, trees need trimming, and hedges need haircuts. On an adventure it's important to keep your eyes open, your wits about you. When doing mundane chores I think the tendency is to close off our senses in order to get through the day.

I have no idea whether there are fewer caterpillars than when we were kids. I will say that my research led me to finding out my caterpillar should turn into a Black Swallowtail butterfly and they particularly like parsley. So, I think part of finding caterpillars is having the right plants for the caterpillar.

Hopefully I'll see this

fluttering about my yard sometime soon.

And I challenge you to find an adventure in your next mundane task. Who knows what you'll find.

The end of an era

2011-07-14T21:20:00.000-05:00

When I was in first grade, we made model Space Shuttles from paper airplanes and toilet paper tubes in anticipation of a shuttle launch. Then, on the day of the first* lift off of the Space Shuttle Columbia, we had fresh popped popcorn** and watched the liftoff on TV. We sat in awe of the flame and smoke and space. We had another popcorn event when Columbia landed. And thus the amazement and grandeur of space travel filled the minds of the six and seven-year olds in small town Wisconsin. At that age, we didn't realize what it took to take a machine into the sky, we didn't realize it was an endeavor fraught with danger, we didn't realize that those brave men (for it was only men at that time) may never come down to earth.

Columbia's First Launch

Later on in elementary school we had actual astronauts visit us from NASA. The rumor (or perhaps truth) is that they thought they were going to Evansville, Indiana (pop. 125,000 or so in the early 1980s) which is much larger than Evansville, Wisconsin (pop. 3000 give or take). We learned what the letters in NASA stood for; we ate freeze dried ice cream; and we attempted to comprehend the size of the shuttle and the distance it would travel. Space was cool, the space shuttle was cool, and the astronauts were cool. They made the space program real.

In fifth grade our space reverie was shattered. While sitting in my desk (last row on the left, third seat from the front), waiting for the teacher to start a video an announcement was broadcast over the loudspeakers. I have no idea what was said, or even who made the announcement. I do remember our teacher foregoing the video and attempting to get a television signal so we could watch what was happening. It was the first time our generation was part of a national event. In that moment, we realized that even the good things in our lives, the things that made us hope for something more, could come to an end. I think it was the first time we experienced and understood that grief was something that an entire country could share.

The Challenger

In 2003, I turned on my computer to check my email (I'm not one to watch television). There, in one of the windows was an image of something exploding in the sky. My stomach sank, but my first thought was, "Oh, it's just something from the Challenger explosion." And then it wasn't. My stomach sank further than it had in a long time. The Columbia disaster seems to be dwarfed by the Challenger disaster before it, but in my mind, it is this later explosion that ended the romance of space travel. The Columbia was the first shuttle that went up. It is fixed in my mind as a time of amazement.

The final launch

Now the final shuttle mission is nearing the end. The Atlantis will land and become a museum piece. Space travel will be turned over to commercial entities. No longer is the government the sponsor of (literally) out of this world ventures. That is what government should do, support the grandiose aspirations of the best and the brightest. Yes, there are plans for the next stage of space travel, but for those of who grew up with the shuttles, there's a bit of magic is gone. And that seems a little sad.

-----

*The first launch of the Space Shuttle Columbia was April 12, 1981 around 7:00am eastern. Which would have been long before school started for the day and when I was still in kindergarten. My memory is very distinctly of first grade and with Mrs. T. So, despite the fact my memory feels it was the first launch, it clearly must not have been. Looking at the launch time line I'm guessing it was more likely the third.

**My scent-track of elementary school is filled with the smell of air-popped popcorn served on industrial-grade brown paper towels.

Parts of this post have been culled from "My Columbia Eulogy," an email sent to my friends after the Columbia disaster, saved, recovered, and resent by JLH. Thanks.

Not too far from that tree, either

2011-06-17T20:48:00.000-05:00

As much as I am my mother's daughter, I am also my father's daughter.

My dad and I share a love of word games: spoonerisms, puns, rhymes, and bad jokes. We share a temper that manifests itself in streams of incoherent cursing. We believe that placing cold things on the back of someone's neck is an amusing thing to do. We believe popcorn is best with butter and salt and in a big ol' orange bowl.

Whether it's because he's learned to live with my mom or that I'm so much like him, sometimes he knows how to read me and either put me in my place or what it takes to adjust my mood.

As a kid, I had a tendency to pout*. My dad is the one who taught me that birds have a tendency to poop on that out thrust lip. And what kid can not laugh in the present of a poop reference.

As a college student, home during Christmas, and struggling with what would become the start of a chronic run of clinical depression, my dad reminded me what the holiday season was really about. Not necessarily religion, but the transcendent feeling of watching kids playing in the snow, thrilled with the joy of living. Since that time, I've taught myself to look for the little joys around me. I'm not going to say it's easy and I'm not going to say it's the cure for depression, but I am going to say that finding the little joys makes surviving that much better.

As a bride, my father showed that he truly understands me and our relationship. When meeting with our officiant in preparation for the ceremony, we requested that the officiant not to ask for the bride to be given away. Yet, habits being habits, my dad walked me down the aisle and when we reached the officiant he asked "Who gives this bride away?" My dad, without missing a beat (and not knowing that I had asked not to be given away) said "No one. She comes here as her own person." Yep. He got it right. And then proceeded to call me "Baby girl" several times that day. For the first time in my memory.

How wonderful for a father to acknowledge his daughter's independence and dependence.

___________

*It's possible I haven't lost this tendency

Read, read, read

2011-06-14T21:14:00.001-05:00

I've already told you I love books. I've recently had three experiences that have only served to reinforce books as a wonderful thing to love.

First, I'm participating in 1Book140 this month. It's a monthly Twitter-based book club sponsored by The Atlantic magazine. As of this week there are over 10,000 participants. The book chosen for this month is Margaret Atwood's The Blind Assassin, a book I've read several times before, but I realize now that it has neither been been recently, nor carefully. This community of readers is teaching me to read more conscientiously. And yet there are times I begrudge them for the same. I find when I read with intent, I read word by word by word and appreciate the science of the text, but often lose the art. When I read for pleasure, I turn off the analytical* side of my brain, read by phrases and become flooded with images. Though only black lines on a white background, novel text transports me to an ethereal and yet somehow completely tangible environment.

Then, earlier this week I met Beth in Mankato to attend the Traverse des Sioux Library System Storytellers series featuring Jennifer Weiner. While waiting for the event to begin, Beth and I got caught up in a conversation with another attendee. Among the three of us we were able to share stories of reading our favorite books and how the text we read became a part of our realities. How reading a great book made us think about our own lives differently. Also, we got to listen to Ms. Weiner speak and answer questions - the author bringing us more in touch with her characters.

Which brings me to this article based on this study. Though dated in December, I've only just seen it. Based on data analysis of 30 years worth of responses to the Interpersonal Reactivity Index, Sarah H. Konrath and her colleages have found that "almost 75 percent of students today rate themselves as less empathic than the average student 30 years ago." The article goes on to state that Americans have become more socially isolated and less likely to read fiction over than same period of time. "The number of adults who read literature for pleasure sank below 50 percent for the first time ever in the past 10 years, with the decrease occurring most sharply among college-age adults."

But humanity's saving grace may in fiction. From Raymond A. Mar's article:

While frequent readers are often stereotyped as socially awkward, this may only be true of non-fiction readers and not readers of fiction. Comprehending characters in a narrative fiction appears to parallel the comprehension of peers in the actual world, while the comprehension of expository non-fiction shares no such parallels...The tendency to become absorbed in a story also predicted empathy scores.

Who knew there was symbol for empathy?

Many of us are reading information (non-fiction) from the time our cell phone alarms wake us in the morning till we take that one last look at the Google news before going to bed. We have Twitter feeds, Facebook updates, work email, personal email, text messages, online magazines, news aggregation sites. But stop and think with me for a moment, which made you better understand the experience of those living in Afghanistan over the last 30 years: the innumerable news articles we've seen or Khaled Hosseini's heartbreakingly beautiful novels, The Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns?

Admittedly, there is a bit of self-selection here. As someone who would rather read fiction than non-fiction, the idea that fiction could be emotionally and socially beneficial gives purpose to my favorite reading pastime. But doesn't it also give purpose to us all, a medium to reach out and connect with those around us? A fuel to power the empathetic human experience.

_____
*Apparently the spell checker I use does not like analytical, wanting me to use analytic in it's place. An internet search reveals they are synonyms with the "al" suffix being slightly more American.

Life lessons via improv

2011-05-22T19:01:00.000-05:00

First of all, Tina Fey's Bossypants is a great book. I enjoyed it cover to cover. Not least because of reminders of people, places, and things (Greg-the-bicycle-helmet-guy, Davis St. El-Stop, and Heartland Cafe's sweet potato fries) that were part of what made my life in Evanston/Chicago memorable.

But really, what I want to share with you is Ms. Fey's

The Rules of Improvisation
That Will Change Your Life and Reduce Belly Fat*

These four rules echo some of my own personal philosophy with regard to success, dealing with challenges, making it through the day.

The first rule of improvisation is AGREE. Always agree and SAY YES. When you’re improvising, this means you are required to agree with whatever your partner has created. So if we’re improvising and I say, “Freeze, I have a gun,” and you say, “That’s not a gun. It’s your finger. You’re pointing your finger at me,” our improvised scene has ground to a halt. But if I say, “Freeze, I have a gun!” and you say, “The gun I gave you for Christmas! You bastard!” Then we have started a scene because we have AGREED that my finger is in fact a Christmas Gun.

As Fey states, this isn't going to work in all cases. BUT, leading a life where the first answer is "Yes", and then dealing with any complications that arise from this seems that it would lead to a far more adventurous life than one where any suggestion is met with a definite, obstinate, recalcitrant "No."

I'm not advocating saying yes to everything. Many people, myself included (and I'm really going to try to change this) have set their default answer to "No."

No, I don't want to try the brussels sprouts.

No, I have no desire to go to the store with you.

There's NO way I could bike 40 miles in a single day.

No, I will not help you rob the bank.
What I am advocating is setting the default to "Yes." It seems that if our initial response is to accept the things and events presented to us we open ourselves to ever larger experience.

Yes, I will try the brussels sprouts. By saying yes to one of the first things my now-husband cooked for me, I showed I was open to adventure with him. Also, I found a new vegetable that I really like.

Yes, I will go to the store with you. You never know what you might see on the way to, at, or from the store. Maybe today's the day with the unannounced sale on those wish list things you've been longing for.

Yes, I can bike 40 miles in a day. If we go slowly, have some rest stops, and carry plenty of water. Our bodies are usually capable of much more than we give them credit for. And how good does it feel to walk into work the next day and say, "I rode from home to that place 20 miles away and back again yesterday." Oh Yea.

No, I will not help you rob the bank. But before I said "No." But I thought about it. At the very least I thought about why you might need to rob a bank. Also, it's a wee bit flattering to have something thing I could help them rob a bank. Or, at least, I'm going to assume it's flattering. The true answer might be that I'm just a good patsy.

The second rule of improvisation is not only to say yes, but YES, AND....To me YES, AND means don’t be afraid to contribute. It’s your responsibility to contribute. Always make sure you’re adding something to the discussion. Your initiations are worthwhile.

If you're going to come to the party, the least you can do is bring a bottle of wine or bag of chips. I also think this is part of what makes these rule a challenge. It's easy to say simply "yes" or "no". We are often content to let someone else find the adventure so that we can just tag along for the ride. It can be scary to try to contribute. But try anyway AND learn from the experience.

Yes, I will try the brussels sprouts. And I think they would look nice on this antique plate.

Yes, I will go to the store with you. And let's create a realistic plan to acquire those wish list items.

Yes, I'll bike 40 miles with you. And if we take this path I heard there's a great burger place along the way. Let's have lunch there.

Nope, I'm still not going to help you rob the bank. However (a sort of and) I'll help you find a legal way to acquire those luxury goods you so desperately want.

The next rule is MAKE STATEMENTS. This is a positive way of saying “Don’t ask questions all the time.” If we’re in a scene and I say, “Who are you? Where are we? What are we doing here? What’s in that box?” I’m putting pressure on you to come up with all the answers.

In other words: Whatever the problem, be part of the solution. Don’t just sit around raising questions and pointing out the obstacles.

This seems to fill right into line with my Wallow With a Purpose philosophy. It's important to spend time evaluating the risks and obstacles, but don't stop there. My high school math teacher* was always willing to help students through problems on our homework. However, she would only help you if you tried the problem first and could tell her where you got stuck. She forced you to find figure the sticking point and then helped create a path past it.

THERE ARE NO MISTAKES, only opportunities. ... In improv there are no mistakes, only beautiful happy accidents. And many of the world’s greatest discoveries have been by accident. I mean, look at the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, or Botox.

No one is going to be always successful. Falling flat on our face is what teaches us we stronger than we thought. Be brave enough to try anything. To say "yes" first. To add to the pot. To bring your own ideas into the mix. Some concoctions are horrible, but some are greater than the sum of their parts.

*improv will not reduce belly fat**

Thank you Tina Fey.

________

*Yes, I had same math teacher for all four years of high school.

**Actually, it might. Research shows (here, here, and here for starters) that stress raises cortisol levels in the body. Cortisol seems to be related to the storage fat in the belly. So, if these Rules help reduce the stress in your life, they could help narrow your waist line at the same time. I'm just saying.

The nut doesn't fall far from the tree

2011-05-05T09:33:00.000-05:00

I am my mother's daughter.

Mom, me, Great-Grandma B, Grandma F.
1975ish

Mom

My father and my husband are more than willing to remind me of that on a regular basis. And admittedly there seems to be a genetic predilection for alphabetized spices, properly folded towels, and overall control-freakishness.

And, quite truthfully, I am proud of this. In fact, there are times I wish I had some more of my mother's traits. She seems to be able to maintain a calmness and pleasantness in the face of adversity that I just don't have.

Well, some adversity. She's good in retail and office situations. It might just be because every one is scared of her. When she's at home, with a limited audience, she's not always so collected. Apparently as a youngster I came into the barn repeating my mother's admonitions to the calves she was attempting to teach to drink from a bucket.* Apparently she was convinced they were made of excrement and lacked intelligence. Yes, toddlers talking about the shitty dumb calves is rather cute.

Yet, here is my question. Likely 99.999999% of the troubles I had with my mother were based on me talking back. Where did I learn this? Clearly I must have had a good role model. See, I'm thinking I learned it all from her. So really, shouldn't she have been glad to have created a child willing to speak up for herself instead of constantly chastising her for that? I suppose we'll never really know the answer.

Still, and all, I'm glad my mom is my mom. I'm glad she's at least partly responsible for making me who I am today. If only I could remember why.**

Fall 2010

________
*It's a bit of a trick to teach a calf to drink from a bucket. The general trick is to lead her mouth to the fluid by allowing her to suck your fingers. The problem is that the calf believes that butting her head is a good way to get said fluid. So, the calf butts her head and the teacher's fingers end up painfully trapped between the bottom of the bucket and the edges of the calf's teeth.

**One trait I do seem to have escaped is my mother's tendency to not remember things.

Struggles with the Stream of Consciousness

2011-04-27T13:02:00.001-05:00

Despite my early struggles with typing, I now am capable of touch typing, allowing the thoughts that race through my mind to have a physical dimension. They appear in black and white (or whatever font and background color I choose), and allow me to share what's on my mind. Yes, you, lucky reader are privy to some of the craziness that flows betwixt my not-so-pointy ears.

My normal script

The advantage of typing is that my thoughts can be conveyed in a form other people can understand and allows me the priviledge of being able to edit the text after it has been spewed. As an introvert, I need to take some private time to focus a thought, organize it, edit it, and present it. This is great for when I'm writing emails, work documents, resumes, etc. It is important that all these documents are legible. Those of you have been afflicted with my handwriting know that me using a writing utensil to communicate is an exercise futility. On good days, those who are familiar with my handwriting have a 90% chance or so of understanding what I want to say. On bad days or for people who have not been exposed to it, well, that understanding percentage drops to about 40%. So, I type.

Left-handed

Well, not being able to use my right hand made even the most simple of written communications slow and difficult. Though I have practiced writing with my left hand, clearly it has not been enough. While my hand was trapped in it's blue cast I wasn't able to hold any type of writing utensil and I was limited to typing with my left hand and right ring finger.

This is what I learned when I couldn't use my right hand to fully type. I need my right hand. Not able to type properly I wasn't able to get thoughts out of my head. They were dammed up behind the part(s) of my brain that had to look at the keyboard and direct my right ring finger to the appropriate key. Even though I was in a writing mode, the words would not flow out of my head. And (at least in my head) when words are trapped by a dam, like water they eddy and swirl and are lost.

Things didn't necessarily improve once I was in the splint. I could use all the fingers on my right hand. Except my thumb. Which I use to hit the space bar. My typing turned into "Is [hit-space-with-left-thumb] this [hit-space-with-left-thumb] thought [hit-space-with-left-thumb] ever [hit-space-with-left-thumb] going [hit-space-with-left-thumb] to [hit-space-with-left-thumb] be [Ow!-Use-left-thumb-for-space-bar] completed?" I spent so much energy trying to teach myself to use the left thumb to hit the space bar that once again swiftly flowing thoughts washed away.

On the other hand, I went back to a standard two-button plus scroll wheel mouse, switched the buttons and was able to mouse quite competently with the left hand.

It is now a month post-break and the majority of the pain is gone. I can use my right thumb for both the space bar and the track ball on my mouse. I can use forks, spoons, and table knives with my right hand. With any luck I have strengthened my brain by learning to do simple tasks in mirror image.

And I'm now able to capture my stream of consciousness, once again, in legible text.

Some Books

2011-04-19T12:26:00.000-05:00

For whatever reason, there are books I simply can't finish. I have started to read Anne of Green Gables* innumerable times and I have never been able to finish the first book nor even watch all of the wonderful PBS mini-series of the same name. There are many others, but Anne is perhaps the most egregious example. I think I even got to within 20 pages of the end once and just couldn't finish the book. Yes, I stopped reading Stephen King's The Stand because I got grossed out. I stopped reading The Canterbury Tales because the book was so old I was having an allergic reaction it it. I stopped reading Kingsolver's book of essays, The Year of Wonders, because I was irritated by its self-righteousness. And those of you who have been my loyal blog followers will have noticed that Watership Down has been sitting in the "What I am Reading" section for quite some time.

Amazon's book image

My interest in the book was piqued some time ago following an email discussion of Young Adult (YA) literature and how it was "better" or at least more satisfying than adult books (of recent books, the Hunger Games series comes to mind). I, for one, have always loved to read Newbery and Caldecott winners, but I think more than one Booker, Pulitzer, and/or Nobel prize winning novel sits abandoned on my shelves.

It's not uncommon for me to be reading several books at once and for one or two of them to be abandoned, unread, and left to their own devices**. Watership Down seemed to be the next likely resident of the abandoned book pile. After being chastised for not having read the book, during our work discussion of what was or was not a YA book, I ordered the book and started to read it. And didn't get very far. But I was determined to be determined in finishing the book. I had purchased the book to participate in discussion, it wasn't right for me to stop reading just because I didn't find it all that compelling.

And so I plugged on. And in fact, started to enjoy the book. I realized that some of my earlier dislike of the book was based on vocabulary bias. The author was clever enough to develop a language for the rabbits. The etymologist in me was frustrated by these words--they weren't based on any words or language I was familiar with. Instead of treating these words as something to be savored and admired, I was fighting against them, refusing to memorize them or acknowledge their value. I, also, allowed myself to be irritated by the names of some of the characters, particularly that some of the male rabbits had names that I associate as female names.

Once I settled into the book, I was able to enjoy the adventures and the myths of the rabbits and it became a rapid and satisfying read. My opinion, not only based on the fact that the book was a book written by a father to amuse his daughters, is that this is a book intended for the YA audience. After all,

A group of young rabbits, who were already disenchanted with their status, leave their home
Several characters have "coming of age" moments
Friends are made with those who are "different"
The establishment is defeated by the cleverness of youth

Really, the only thing that was missing from the script was the death of mentor (e.g. Obi-Wan or Dumbledore).

There are also some who rail against the treatment of the female rabbits in the story. My opinion, is that one should read the story as an ethnography. Yes, the treatment of female rabbits was abhorrent to our standards, but quite likely representative of rabbit society.

Have you read Watership Down? What are your thoughts? Are there books you simply can't finish, no matter how hard you try? What's the last book you finished that you had thought was doomed to the discard pile?

_________

*My mom signs notes to me and my brother with L. M. for Love, Mom. I have always harbored a sense that my mother is also, somehow, associated with Anne's author, L.M. Montgomery.

**This is why I don't use my library card as much as I should. If I have troubles finishing a book, it ends up buried someplace and forgotten until three months have gone by and I owe an absurd amount of money in library fines.

Spring

2011-04-10T21:22:00.003-05:00

I saw the following in Gantthead Lite, a project management newsletter, in early March.

March is the month that God designed to show those who don't drink what a hangover is like.

Garrison Keillor

I forwarded it on to my parents who responded with "Amen to that" and an "I believe that is true." A couple of weeks ago I saw it again as a trail of stolen status updates on Facebook. To me that seems like evidence of the ubiquity of the sentiment.

And how true it is. By March 18 it seemed that Spring might finally be making its way to Minnesota. We could see and use the grill, snow had started to melt, and new growth was visible.

And then it snowed. Again.

The first crocus, valiantly fighting the snow

It seems like, in March, as soon as it seems like spring might be arriving, Mother Nature reminds us who the boss really is. March even seems to smell like a hangover. There's something in the smell of melting snow that's reminiscent of one's mouth the morning after over-consuming cheap booze. All the litter that appears as the mounds of snow melt, simpy further reminders of fun that might have been had the night before, but now seem like festering blots on the landscape.

Now April is here and like that long, hot morning-after shower, its winds and thunderstorms purge and freshen the landscape. No longer does the outside smell like the ice from the back of a freezer; sunny days bring forth the smell of fresh grass.

Right now the smell of tornado season is in the air. Not that we're in the middle of any severe weather, but the air has that heavy, damp, changeable feel to it that precedes a boisterous thunderstorm. The birds, at times deafening in their courting and territorial calls, are silent. The warm sun has slid behind darkening clouds and the breeze that earlier was wafting through the screens carrying the scent of warm grass has turned into a cold wind cruelly throwing tree buds against the windows of our house.

Tonight's likely thunderstorm is welcome. It will wash away the last dregs of snow, make the grass even greener, and force the tree buds to the point of exploding. Like brushing one's teeth the morning after, April storms purify and refresh.

It's April, and Spring is well and truly here.

The crocuses have flowered,

The hyacinths are preparing to bloom,

And the spunky rhubarb leaves are unfurling from the dirt.

----------

*ducks, geese, grackels, robins, blackbirds, crows

Pedal Power

2011-04-02T17:53:00.014-05:00

There is a sense of freedom and power I get from riding a bicycle. From that first banana seat bike to my current road bike, I love that feeling of first taking off; right foot on the pedal, pushing off with the left, and starting to fly.

Betsy, my least favorite of the dogs** we had growing up,
chewed up the nose of the seat.

To some extent I still feel like Jennifer Weiner's Candace Shapiro. "When I was eight* I learned to ride a bike. And this, too, opened my eyes to a new world that I could explore on my own...".

Of course it was a limited world. Not limited by the vagaries of small town or suburban boundaries, but limited to the rideable places on the farm and by the arbitrary borders set by my parents.

There is a paved quarter-mile lane leading down to the farm. We (my brother and I) were allowed to ride about half-way up the lane by ourselves. Eventually the border was extended to the full length of the lane (I'm guessing so that getting the mail could be added to our list of chores), but no further without escort. We could also ride around the buildings and out to the back fields on the gravel lanes.

And ride I did. Up the lane, down the lane, up the lane, down the lane. Again and again and again and again. Slaloming around the dirt clods left by tractor tires. "Racing" my motorcycle-mounted cousin as he left for the day. Chasing gophers, imaginary armies, and herds of fantasy animals. Whirling by the red machine shed, around past the big corn crib, back towards the white machine shed and around again in my own little velodrome. Pedaling down the back lane to deliver newspaper-wrapped Pepsis and bags of Oreos to my dad and grandpa working in the fields. Pedaling up the lane to put the out-going mail in the box and up the lane again to get the mail after it had been delivered.

This is Tai.
She played soccer with a basketball

A bicycle was also the first major purchase I made with my hard-earned allowance money. For weeks (ages and ages it seemed) I watched my savings balance slowly increase as I saved up for a new 10-speed. I don't remember too much about the shopping experience, but I do remember being told it was more important to buy a "quality" bike, rather than a "pretty" bike. And so I ended up with a black bike rather than the pink and gray*** one I had yearned for at ShopKo.

Me, my black bike,
my brother, and the lane.

Riding a bike has always been a way for me to escape and to feel empowered by my own abilities. I have never been nor will I ever be an athlete, but I usually feel strong, athletic, and sure of myself on bike. Well, except for when I'm dying biking up a hill, but the sense of success of having made it is totally worth it.

Sadly, I have been let down by bikes and my own clumsiness on more than one occasion. I'm not talking about the normal spills of bike riding, but the bone-breaking splats of the truly graceless.

The summer after third grade, newly freed from the wrist splint I had been trapped in after falling from the monkey bars and breaking my arm near my wrist, I went racing up the lane on one of my parents' too-big-for me-and-therefore-more-fun-to-ride bikes, accidentally hit the front brakes, and went head over heels into the ditch, and broke my arm again. Truly, it takes a talented third-grader to break their own arm twice, in two different spots, within three months.

And now, this week I have done it again. Proudly setting off on my new bike I managed to ride for three whole (city) blocks before I shifted the wrong way while going up a hill, fell over, and in the process of landing I broke my thumb. But hey, at least I got a pretty blue cast out of it.

Still, my faith in the power of riding is undaunted. Once the pain goes away and the thumb is healed I will be back on the road. I may no longer race against motorcycles or chase herds of unicorns, but you can bet I'll be out there again, flying down the road on two wheels, slaloming between the dirt clods left on the road by the construction equipment.

Maybe I do still need those training wheels

________

*Well, actually I must have been six or seven

**I don't have any pictures of Betsy, but here are pictures of Kate, Skip, and Pete because who doesn't like pictures of happy dogs.

Kate. We got her when I was two.

Skip. Yes, he did look like a Coke polar bear.

Thanks for asking.

Pete. He was a little Kong obsessed.
It's likely at his feet in this picture

***I would like to hereby thank my parents for not letting me get what I now think would have been a horribly ugly bike and for teaching me the value of buying for quality.

I decided, so it must be

2011-03-17T11:10:00.000-05:00

I've decided the best way to avoid reality is to just create my own facts. "We can clear out the rest of our brains because we have the best fact." This enlightening gem from XKCD has brought freedom to my chaotic mind. I can be like Ethan Hunter's Aristotle and just decide on the facts.

Men have more teeth than women.
Oh yeah? You counted them?
No. I decided. I’m the decider

See, if I just decide on the fact and become the ultimate authority on everything, then my life becomes so much easier. The way I see it, it's a form of denial that contributes to my sanity by freeing me from cognitive dissonance. I no longer need to hold onto competing thoughts. I choose the best one and move on.

No longer do I need to sit and ponder on things. It's not necessary to go scrambling about the internet looking for information to prove or disprove a point. I. AM. THE. DECIDER. I have made it so. No longer will I lie awake while the events of the past hours, days, weeks, months, years swim and swirl within my cranium like a swarm of migrating sardines swept into a giant bait ball by sharks swishing through the sea. Nope, those thoughts get completely switched off.

Thinking is overrated. Fact-making is where the true power is. I will now go forth and rule the world.
_____
Seriously, though folks, the absence of critical thinking and questioning in some people is amazing to me. I suppose it is possible to go through life with completely self-made facts, but that seems pretty boring to me.

Why must everything be political? Updated

2011-03-08T13:04:00.002-06:00

I find myself constantly perplexed by people who believe it is their duty to link any and every event to some cause that furthers their political agenda.

For example, did you know that Mrs. Obama is killing people in crosswalks? It's true. The article would like you to believe that because the First Lady is encouraging people to go outside and move, the recent rise in pedestrians involved in accidents is her fault.

Seriously folks. I mean, seriously. You don't think the problem could be the thousands and thousands of Americans who live in neighborhoods designed for unimpeded automobile traffic? Or distracted drivers texting, fumbling for their cell phones, and trying to find that playlist on their MP3 player? Or preoccupied pedestrians doing all that while walking around auditorily oblivious to the world because of the buds jammed in their ears?

And even if the number of accidents can be correlated to (much less caused by) a more active populace, I doubt that Mrs. Obama's Let's Move is the primary cause. Isn't it possible that the housing bubble and subsequent economic melt down are at least as likely at motivators to a more ambulatory public. Just think, those with limited resources (i.e. the unemployed, the underemployed, and those folks with housing issues - you know all those people affected by the Great Recession) might be making the financially-based decision to take a walk outside rather than use the treadmill at the gym? According to this, the biggest exercise trend in 2010 was a move to more budget-conscious exercise options.

Update: As I was driving home today I thought of two more reasons why pedestrians may have been involved in more accidents.

The numbers they quoted were from the first part of 2010. Remember what happened then? Oh yes, the original Snowpocalypse. I only thought of it as I was dodging snowbanks while driving home along Selby Ave*. If the sidewalks are full of snow, then more people are going to be on the street. If the snowbanks are as tall as the houses, it makes it hard to see people
The Baby Boomers are now hitting retirement age. In other words, they're getting old**. Old people are not known for their high quality hearing, eyesight, or dexterity. All conditions that can make them more likely to be on either side of a pedestrian automobile accident.

Oh and that increase in pedestrian accidents, it's 0.4%. There were seven (7) more accidents in the first six months of 2010 as compared to the same period in 2009 -1891 accidents in 2010 as compared to 1884. While that is seven more people possibly suffering, as a fact that number means nothing, absolutely nothing, without some sort of context. If 0.4% more people are walking, unfortunately, that's the sort of increase one would expect to see. If 4.0% more people are walking, then overall the pedestrians are safer than they were in the past.

What bothers me is that people can take a fact , and then twist it to serve their political purposes. And while the press release from GHSA does not list Let's Move as a root cause, their executive director, Barbara Harsha, is more than willing to point the finger.

But the “get moving” movement, led by Obama’s “Let’s Move” campaign to eliminate childhood obesity, could be to blame, Harsha told The Washington Examiner.

“There’s an emphasis these days to getting fit, and I think people doing that are more exposed to risk [of getting hit by a vehicle],” said Harsha, who conceded to having no scientific evidence that the Let’s Move campaign has led to an increase in walkers and runners, or deaths.

It's unclear if it is the quote-er or the quote-ee who is trying to make the connection here, certainly that person wants that connection front and center.

Okay...I'll stop ranting about the poor pedestrians; now I'm going to rant about the Easy-Bake Oven. First off, I never had one. I have no idea if I wanted one. I have no emotional attachment to it one way or another (though, I'm sure many an interesting post could be made about said ovens, girls, play, and feminism).

Actually, I'm not going to rant about the Easy-Bake Oven. Or gender role play. I'm going to rant about the commentors in an article about the Easy-Bake Oven. Briefly, the planned phase-out of incandescent light bulbs starts with 100-watt light bulbs in 2012. With no 100-watt incandescent light bulbs, the Easy-Bake oven has no heat source. Hasbro has plans to issue a new Easy-Bake Oven with an alternative heat source.

Again, seems like some plain-Jane information. And yet the (admittedly few) commentors feel this is death-knell to (at least little girl) society. Really? A company announces they have made a change in their product and the world is going to end? Folks, this is not New Coke. It's a legitimate change based on current regulation based on concern for our future. Presumably the little cakes from this oven won't be affected, but woe be to the environmentalists who have determined there must be change in our toys. I bet these folks miss the lead in their paint, too.

I suppose there are people whose world view is dependent on destroying their enemy in any manner possible. Can you imagine how constrictive that must be; to spend the whole day focusing on how a person or group has caused some event to occur? I'm not sure I'll understand why people spend so much time and energy focusing on the people who offend them.

I suppose ranting against the ranters isn't going to help anything. But I feel better. Good enough for me. And now that I've purged this from my mind, I don't need to think about it any more. Whew.

______________
*And while we're on the topic of Selby why remove the snow from the NE corner of Snelling and Selby, but not the other corners? I mean, that's where the cookies are. People need to be able to park near the cookies.

**Yes, calling the Baby Boomers old is a wee bit dangerous, but they'll get over it. Besides they're losing their memories, too.

Made My Day: Singing Mike

2011-02-24T14:05:00.001-06:00

Yes, I'm blatantly stealing the "Made My Day" idea from Emily. It's a good idea.

coffee, coffee, coffee
coffee, coffee, coffee
Mmm, coffee

Today I went to the dentist* and then treated myself with an extra-shot large latte** from the Byerly's*** Eagan Caribou.

There was an Asian gentleman behind the counter who looked familiar. And honestly I was afraid my brain was pulling an "all-Asians-look-alike" trick on me. But then he seemed to look at me like he knew me. Which was enough to convince me that he was likely the same person I had seen before.

Me: Did you used to be at the Burnsville location?
He: Yes
Me: You sang me a song there.
He: Do you want another song?

And then he sang me another song. A completely made up one. This time about being Amy and getting extra caffeine. Totally made my day. And the last time I ran into him, I was super crabby. He got rid of the crabbies then, too. I think the song last time was about my mocha.

There's been some chatter lately about how "happy" posts (see here and here) make people depressed. Well, that may be. So this post isn't intended to bring you down. It's intended to show that every once in a while one runs across something that just makes things a little brighter. These serendipitous finds are the things I find make life feel well-lived.

I completely understand how a singing barrista could be the most annoying thing ever, so now you know to watch out if you frequent the Eagan Byerly's. So if you run into Singing Mike you should know he has a nice voice, doesn't sing for very long, and doesn't sing for everyone. Also, he asks if you want a song. It doesn't seem like he'd be offended if you declined.

But really, who doesn't like an improvised song with their coffee?

_____
* No cavities
**I (heart) caffeine!
***For those of you not from the Twin Cities area, Byerly's (and Lunds) is a local high-end grocery store chain that conveniently has Caribou Coffee shops located inside the stores. Also, Caribou is basically a MN Starbucks. I just want to ensure we're all on the same page.

Ah...I feel so much better now

2011-02-20T18:19:00.001-06:00

This past week was my week to cook. While looking unsuccessfully through the spice cabinet for marjoram to complete the spice mix for the Quinoa, White Bean, and Kale stew* I was making, its disorganization caused me quite a bit of trauma: shifting spices from one side of the cabinet to the other caused bottles to fall to the counter below; my husband proudly presented me with bottle of garam masala wherein I reminded him I was looking for mar-jor-am; and all in all a great deal of time was wasted looking for something that wasn't in the cupboard. As I announced before walking out of the kitchen, "This is unacceptable." And then I walked away, took several deep breaths, and calmed myself before returning to the kitchen.

For the record, both of us are responsible for the disarray in the cupboard.

Look at this cupboard.

And this bookshelf.

Clearly, change is needed. I set off on a quest for organized space. The first step, empty of the cabinet and bookshelf of everything. Then, get rid of anything excessively old. Then, return items to what will now be their rightful place.

You want to know what's frightening? Well, okay, not as frightening as the fuzzy yet oozing glop of blackish green stuff at the bottom of the refrigerator, but still a wee bit disturbing? Opened bags of chocolate chips that are two years past their sell by date. What kind of monster doesn't use all the chocolate chips?

While the chocolate chips were clearly the greatest offense, they (unfortunately) were in good company. There were unopened containers of spice mix two and three years past their sell by dates. Unmarked containers of caked solid spice something-or-another. And duplicates, duplicates, and more duplicates. Four containers of chili powder, three bottles of ground cumin, two bottles of rosemary leaves and one bottle after another of well-aged spices. And zero containers of marjoram.

I sorted. I tossed. I re-arranged drawers. I made labels and placards.

Now we have an alphabetized spice drawer,

Space in the cabinet,

And a well-ordered pantry

But still no marjoram.

Regardless, tonight I will sleep the sleep of success. Isn't a well-ordered space calming?
_________
*1. I've had it now A) without fennel in the spice mix and b) with garbanzo instead of white beans and without marjoram in the spice mix. Both versions were very tasty. Add a crusty rustic bread and you're set.
2. Many thanks to my siblings-in-law, CMT & HET V**, for making it the first time I had it and for leading me to the recipe.

**D'oh. Corrected.

The Way to our Hearts is through the Kitchen

2011-02-16T10:09:00.000-06:00

About a month ago Jon, my husband, and I made ravioli using the ravioli press I had gotten him for Christmas. We like to cook together. Our kitchen time is excellent bonding time. However, four words pretty much summed up the endeavor: It was a disaster. That might be a bit of exaggeration, but...

Careful, the filling will ooze into
every nook, cranny, and gap

Neither of us had mastered the use of the pasta machine. By adding too much flour and overly working the first quarter of the dough we ended up with pasta crumbles. Well, fine, we needed to use some dough to clean the machine anyway. Our technique improved with the second and third quarters of the dough, but we let the fourth quarter get too dry and once again we were left with crumbles.

It was relatively easy to use the ravioli press, except for the ravioli filling oozing out all over the place.

Three hours later we had 26 filled ravioli. After all that work, they were only okay. The filling was kind of bland, though the sauce made up for it, but certainly nothing that would merit that sort of effort again. The whole endeavor left room for improvement. Lots and lots and lots of room.

Our filling tasted a lot like this.
At least we made better sauce

It should be said the relationship part was not a disaster. That part was fine. It was the edible results of our attempt to make ravioli that was the disaster.

So, we come to this weekend. Our first pre-Valentine's day weekend as a married couple. We like to cook up special dishes for ourselves and weeknights simply are not conducive to dinners that take several hours to prepare. So we decided to make it a weekend of high-effort meals.

Earlier in the week, Jon had mentioned we should make cheesecake. We decided on an old favorite, the individual chévre cheesecakes with raspberry sauce from the Lunds and Beyerly's magazine. Though I don't make cheesecake very often, when I do I'm struck with it's simplicity. In many ways one of the easier desserts to make.

Add dollops of filling, fold lengthwise, seal, and cut

With a dessert idea well in hand, we had to figure out what to have for the main course. We really like homemade pasta and felt that we should attempt to improve our previous efforts. We bravely set forth on another ravioli making quest.

Instead of a plain cheese filling, we used ricotta, spinach, onion, and Parmesan filling on the Cook's Illustrated* website, along with directions for filling ravioli by hand. In addition to CI, I looked through Epicurious and other websites for instructions on rolling out pasta.

Fresh tomato sauce, boiling ravioli,
simmering raspberry sauce

It seems our biggest problem was over-rolling the dough. The pasta maker instructions seemed to imply we should send the pasta through multiple times per setting. Other sources said to roll the dough through the widest setting, fold, and re-roll a couple of times and then run the dough one time through each of the incrementally narrower settings.

Anyone have more fresh pasta making advice?

Net result? Fantastic. Much less labor intensive than we thought and much more successful. We were even able to freeze a bunch of the ravioli for a future meal. There's still room for improvement. I think I over-boiled the ravioli and we definitely didn't get them drained enough. Still, we were rather successful and had a perfectly wonderful dinner.

Apparently I didn't make enough cinnamon raisin biscuits

Sunday morning brought us cinnamon raisin biscuits with powdered sugar frosting. If one wanted to be fancy, I suppose one could call these scones, but they're not. These were fluffy and light with that melt in your mouth tang. I'm still leery of making classic biscuits, but these seem to turn out successfully almost every time.

If you must know, lunch on Sunday was quesadillas using up the leftover fajita fixings from earlier in the week.

Sunday night we prepped a pan of lasagna for Monday and made Beef Wellington for dinner. Both recipes are from the 2009 Cook's Illustrated Cooking for Two**.

There was a remarkable amount of cooking and spending time together in the kitchen over the weekend. It gives us time to tease each other, discuss random topics, calm ourselves, and laugh. AND LAUGH A LOT. It gives us time to learn together - about something new and about each other. It allows us to be gently taken to task for our various tendencies - me for my perfectionism (you see the purple ruler in the picture, right?); he for focusing on only the current instruction. It gives us time to share memories of our past. It gives us time to make our own memories and traditions. It gives us time to be a couple and revel in each other.

By Monday we were off to work, flush with weekend success. The pre-work exchange of Valentine's cards was followed several hours later by lasagna, garlic bread, some wine, and more cheesecake.

What says love better than 70% cacao on a cheesecake on a plate ~~stolen~~ from Mom's kitchen?

_______

*Yes, I too have some issues with Cook's Illustrated marketing tactics and their excessive amounts of emails. I will say that I emailed them asking only to get the newsletters and not the advertisements and they complied.

**The Cooking for Two series is great for small households - main courses of 2-4 servings, suggestions for using up ingredients, plus all the cooking instructions and product recommendations CI is known for.

Wallow with a purpose

2011-02-11T21:50:00.000-06:00

Emily just wrote a great post about choosing to remain positive. And I have two add-ons:

If you're going to whine about something, whine with a purpose. Note what's wrong, provide a potential solution, and move on.
Always do your best, strive to provide others with more than they ask for.

I'm going to be the first to admit, here and now, that I am guilty of failing to do both these things. All too often it's comforting to sit and whine about things that are bad. Sometimes we need to acknowledge the bad things and just be lazy -- to wallow in a pit of despair. But I find myself frustrated with those who make this their default attitude.

Speaking of a "Pit of Despair", The Princess Bride conveniently provides us examples of both add-ons.

He's only mostly dead

Now when Inigo and Fezzik found Wesley dead in the Albino's lair they could have just stayed laid their heads down, wailed their hearts out, and given up. But no, they threw Wesley over their shoulders and hauled ass over the Miracle Max's.

Sure they had no idea if they were going to be successful, but they didn't let defeat and despair get them down. They bemoaned, noted the problem, and acted on a solution.

And over at Max's. Sure, Valerie had to convince Max to take on the commission, but eventually Max took on the job. What did they do at the end? They coated the pill with chocolate because "The chocolate makes it go down easier." Max and Valerie could have just given Fezzik and Inigo the pill and told them to wait 15 minutes, but they took the extra time to coat it with chocolate. They went above and beyond. They didn't have to.

Lately, it seems like I've been surrounded by people who purposely do the least possible and bitch and moan their way through life. I really try not to be that way. As Emily so eloquently put it, I try to "Buck the F@ck Up." Hopefully others will, too.

Be positive
Find solutions
Add a little extra

I'm just saying.

Cells Have Families, Too

2011-02-09T21:52:00.000-06:00

I often find it difficult to read non-fiction. I read to be entertained and while I'm quite fond of knowledge and like to learn about new things and go into greater depth on topics, book-length exploration nearly always defeats me. The opening pages grab me, express their theme, and then spend the next several hundred pages defending the theme. This is all well and good, but where's the drama, the suspense, the romance, the mystery?

Not so with The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, Rebecca Skloot's book of the history of the cell line (known as HeLa) grown from a biopsy of Ms. Lacks cervical cancer tumor. I love good mystery and suspense stories and this book is one of the best I've recently read.

This is not to imply this was a sensationalized story. If anything, Ms. Skloot writes of the experiences of the scientific/medical community and those of the Lacks family in an un-biased, fact-based manner. Skloot's depiction of her experiences with the Lacks family and the history of the cell line is not dissimilar to a fictional detective uncovering the clues to a crime.

Briefly, in the early 1950s Henrietta Lacks was treated in the black ward of Johns Hopkins hospital for cervical cancer. As part of her treatment, a biopsy was taken of the tumor. Some of those cells made their way to a researcher who was attempting to find a way to grow human cells in culture. Cells from Henrietta Lacks's tumor were the first to grow successfully in a culture medium, eventually commercially, and have been used to help test the polio vaccine, study chemotherapy treatments, and evaluate the effect of zero-gravity on human cells. This cell line is still alive today and the weight of all cells grown since Lacks's death weigh more than she did in life many, many times over.

Through grit, determination, and likely a stubborn streak a mile wide, Skloot is eventually able to interview many of the living members of Ms. Lacks's family. Skloot's quest to meet the family and the family's quest to understand the role of Henrietta's cells in modern science frame the narrative. Yet, this is an entirely human story, full of the failings and successes, strengths and weaknesses that fill the book of humanity.

Even the first passage I marked indicated it was the human story that captured my attention.

As one on of Henrietta's relatives said to me, "If you pretty up how people spoke and change the things they said, that's dishonest. It's taking away their lives, their experiences, and their selves."

And the lives of Henrietta's offspring are not pretty. One of her sons ends up in prison for murder, one daughter must fight off a cousin-rapist, another dies in an institution. Henrietta's early death leaves her offspring motherless and lost. They face the ravages of life and respond with human fear and anxiety. This book is about the pure humanness of the Lacks family.

Yet, the rest of my markings indicate there was something else that caught my attention. There are myriad ethical dilemmas throughout this text. While Emily's post focuses on the ethical dilemmas of scientific/academic research in a capitalistic, for-profit world, the passages I marked reflected my agitation the state of medical ethics, how the researchers were simply following the status quo.

For better or worse I've taken a lot of philosophy classes and many of them have included the readings of Immanuel Kant who posits that the Categorical Imperative form the ground work of universilizable ethics: In essence only do something if that something won't screw up the world if everyone else does it, too. For example, you shouldn't steal because if everyone stole, the world of commerce and personal property would implode. The second maxim goes like this:

"The rational being, as by its nature an end and thus as an end in itself, must serve in every maxim as the condition restricting all merely relative and arbitrary ends." (Kant, Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals)

Or, each person is an end in and of him/herself, of infinite value, and should not be used as the means to achieve some other purpose.

Or, the exact opposite of what the scientists working with the HeLa cells did. Without any sort of compensation the medical/scientific community used Ms. Lacks's cells, her family's cells, and the bodies of innumerable others as a way to propel their own advancement and to promote their own self worth while simultaneously negating the worth of those they studied.

A report from Science asked Southam (medical researcher) why, if the injections (of HeLa) were as safe as he swore they were, he didn't inject himself.

"Let's face it," Southam responded, "there are relatively few skilled cancer researchers, and it seemed stupid to take even the little risk."

However Southam was more than willing to inject others, without their knowledge, with these cancerous cells. When this situation finally came to the attention of the University of the State of New York Board of Regents, the defense boiled down to "If the whole profession is doing it, how can you call it 'unprofessional conduct'?" Over and over Skloot finds evidence where the medical community, following their own norms disregarded the value of their human subjects in pursuit of "the answer."

Granted one can argue, quite extensively I'm sure, about whether or not Henrietta Lacks's cells are human and should therefore not be treated as means to an end. Regardless, one can certainly appreciate that people, even if they volunteer for studies, should be informed of the (potential) content of what goes into their bodies. Researchers should give those they study the same respect and regard they give "the answer" they are searching for.

Skloot has done a wonderful job of showing the individual, the family, the humanity behind HeLa-derived advancements. She provides honor and shares the value of the Lacks family. Honoring the HeLa cells with humanity, humility, and honor.

I Love Books

2011-02-07T21:59:00.000-06:00

I love books. A lot. In fact, probably more than a lot. One could say I'm completely enthralled with books. Though I cannot remember a time when I didn't read, I have two very specific memories of reading firsts.

Who Will Help Me?

I remember sitting in my parents' living room reading, (or maybe "reading") The Little Red Hen, one of the umpteen bazillion Little Golden Books* I had as a kid. I was sitting on the green couch, occasionally calling out to my mom** in the kitchen to tell me what a particular word was.
Me: Mom! What's r-e-a-p?
Mom: Reap
There was such satisfaction in reading the book myself; not all that dissimilar than the Hen's satisfaction in eating her bread herself.

I also have a faint, but stirring recollection of receiving a copy of Little House on the Prairie as a gift and the thrill (THRILL!) of getting a whole grown-up book to myself. I was on to the big leagues. I now had a thick book like my parents read. No more Little Golden Books for me.

My first novel

That first novel created a habit that continues to this day. I read, and read, and read. I, perhaps like other bibliophiles, can't tell you what it is I like about reading. I know it's not simply the escape, the sense of language, the art of story, or the sense of community. Books help make up my essence.

I've spent a lot of time mulling over how I want to share the books I read with others. As a kid I read constantly, but could barely provide the three book reports per term required in one of my grade school language arts classes. I still hate writing book reports. To me, they take the fun from reading the book. The intrinsic motivation to read is lost; no longer am I reading for myself and my enjoyment and betterment. Instead I'm reading for someone else, proving that I am, in fact, capable of reading comprehension. All this to say that I have no desire to write book reports. For the same reasons, I have no desire to write book reviews. I'm never quite satisfied with my finished product in that respect.

My ponderings have lead me to a solution that I quite like. Upon finishing the Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, I realized the themes that kept me reading were quite different than the theme that arose from the passages I marked while reading. Therefore, as I write about the books I've read, I'll write about what kept me reading and what caught my attention while I was reading. Hopefully, this will also encourage me to mark the passages I find interesting as I read the book. All to often I find myself enthralled with a passage only to keep going never to return to a fascinating section.

Why do you love books?

I'm looking forward to what these two methods of evaluation illuminate. I often find to hard to determine what it is about a book that I enjoyed or disliked. Even now, Watership Down is sitting abandoned while I finished The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks and started The Serpent's Tale. Perhaps (with the aid of a spreadsheet?) I'll be able to determine what I think makes a book readable.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

*The old, hard cover Little Golden Books are also good for building roads and castles for toy cars and tractors.

**I haven't verified this story with my mom, but since she has no memory anyway, she wouldn't be able to confirm or deny it.

Cat Tracks

2011-02-03T11:31:00.000-06:00

Lately, I seem to be a bit obsessed about a cat.

This cat's path takes it through the visitor parking area at work,...

...across the median sidewalk,...

...past my parking space,...

...and off towards the dry ice factory.

I spend a lot of time thinking about that cat. Perhaps even an absurd amount of time. I've already admitted I'm a bit obsessed about a cat I've never seen. I have to wonder at the cat's story.

Is it male? female? old? young?
Why, with wind chills in the -20s F (-29 C), is the cat out and about?
What color is it?
Is it someone's pet?
If it's someone's pet why in the world does it have to be out in the cold.

And kitty is obviously cold. If you compare the image below to the "classic" paw print, you can see the cat is practically walking on it's tip toes.

On the other hand if the cat is out and about, maybe I don't need to worry about it. Assuming that this cat like most cats is a creature of comfort, it wouldn't be wandering if it didn't want to.

But really, what I like about this cat is that I'm aware of it. Too often, especially when it's cold, we tend spend our outside time bemoaning the elements and not seeing anything. One of my challenges for this year is to be more aware of the things around me. I tend to live in my head and over-think things. At least with this cat I'm over-thinking something outside my head.

Meat Sauce

2011-01-30T22:00:00.000-06:00

For well over a year now, my husband and I have alternated responsibility for meals by week. It's great. Every other week I don't have to plan meals, go grocery shopping, or do much cooking. It's wonderful. We recently decided that we each need to expand our cooking repertoires and that we should to attempt to try one new recipe a week.

Alas and alack, it's my week. And like every other week, I am not in the mood to figure out what we're going to eat this week or go to the grocery store. In fact, today I've taken two naps (one intentional, one not so much), done some reading (The first third of The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks has been amazing), watched an episode of Desperate Housewives, and all and all pretty much been a complete slut. No, not that kind of slut. This kind of slut: When this woman answers the door, she shrugs without remorse at her unkempt apartment and declares, "I''m such a slut" (Kingsolver, Barbara. High Tide in Tucson).

And while even on my best days I will never be Bree Van de Kamp*, I usually try to take the extra time available on the weekend to make meals that require a little more effort. Yesterday I made blueberry muffins** for breakfast and oven-friend chicken for dinner. Not so much today. Today, I went so far to threaten a dinner of pasta and sauce from a jar.

But even I wanted something more elaborate than jarred spaghetti sauce, so I pulled the some ground pork, ground beef, and ground chicken from the freezer and decided to concoct a meat sauce based on the recipe for the Simplified Lasagna Bolognese from Cooks Illustrated: More Best Recipes cookbook. Basically, I put in twice as much pork as the recipe called for, swapped the veal for chicken, added garlic, oregano, and basil. Served it up with some whole wheat thin spaghetti, salad, and bread.

I don't know if that necessarily counts as a new recipe given that I've made the lasagna before, but hey, at least it didn't come out of a jar. Which is good. I'll need that jar of pasta sauce for Wednesday or Thursday's dinner.

*I can't stand the sort of sterile household that Bree epitomizes and promotes. I like my home to have that lived in feel.

**The husband lost some valuable points by complaining about the lack chocolate chips in said blueberry muffins.

Gravy

2011-01-28T20:36:00.000-06:00

This post is based on a Reverb10 Prompt

December 8 – Beautifully Different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful. (Author: Karen Walrond)

Mmm....gravy

I admit it, I have an odd sense of humor.

You know that one person heard laughing by herself in the movie theater? Yep, that’s me. I find things funny that no one else does. This used to bother me, but long ago a former boss shared this nugget his buddy shared with him. “My sense of humor is just for me. If anyone else laughs, that’s just gravy.”

I was reminded how my sense of humor seems to differ from the masses during President Obama's State of the Union Speech. The president was discussing ways to reduce the federal debt, while cautioning against making changes without careful consideration.

"Cutting the deficit by gutting our investments in innovation and education is like lightening an overloaded airplane by removing its engine. It may make you feel like you’re flying high at first, but it won’t take long before you feel the impact."

I howled with laughter. Who would have thought the president include such a horrible joke in such a serious setting? And then I laughed even harder because the audience was dead silent. Were they also all in shock? Did they get it?

Now, this is certainly not the only time I've been the only one in the room to laugh at something on-screen.

Must not stop staring at the television

Remember in Ocean's Eleven when Don Cheadle's character, Basher, is completely enthralled with the television news report of the hotel implosion and the hotel is actually imploding in the window behind him? I thought that was funny. Here, the guy could see it actually happening and he's glued to his television. I was the only one in the theater who laughed.

Personally, I think one of the most beautiful things in the world is a person who is laughing from joy or benign amusement. I'm not talking about someone who's laughing at the groin shots on America's Funniest Home Videos. Or Stewart/Colbert/Leno/Letterman when they're being malicious. It may be funny, but it's also malicious. I'm talking about harmless laughter and appreciative humor.

I think I have a beautiful sense of humor.

So, I'll leave you with this.

Hurry up kids, we need to save the forest

Q: Why do ducks have flat feet?

A: For stomping out forest fires

Nope, no ducks here. Move along, folks, move along.

Q: Why do elephants have flat feet?
A: For stomping out burning ducks.

I just set myself into a fit of laughter. I need to go find some Kleenex to wipe the tears from my eyes.

Here it begins

2011-01-27T10:11:00.000-06:00

A Cat Named Frank - A novel by... I still plan on writing you. I still don't know what you're going to be about.

On the other hand, I have figured out what to make this blog about. I'm known to be a little blunt, even overly frank about things. This blog, while not necessarily long on opinion per se, will be about about the things that deserve frank and open discussion and evaluation, regardless of how mundane they may be.

The purpose of this blog: develop a community of book readers by forcing myself to read and analyze more classics and non-fiction while still reading lots and lots of brain candy; write about the wonder of words and language; share kitchen creations and catastrophes - mine, my husband's, and restaurant's; marvel on the power of words; delve into the things that make a life well lived; ponder the things that make me laugh; and maybe test some of my own fiction. Oh, and spreadsheets. There's a chance I might talk about spreadsheets. Cuz I like them. A lot. So much that Emily gave me a mug to proclaim my esteem for spreadsheets.