Pinterest

Have you played around on Pinterest at all yet?  I had no idea how interesting, addicting, and eye-opening it would be.  An endless and forever-updating source for all things crafty, recipe-y, travel-y, decorating-y, etc-y.   It is amazingly fun, but also a huge time-sucker.  I first joined Pinterest a couple of months ago and after a week and a half of spending a ridiculous amount of time pinning...and pinning...and pinning, I implemented some self-imposed guidelines for my pinteresting.  Because I do actually have other stuff that I am supposed to be doing (read:  a dissertation), I now primarily limit my Pinterest perusals to Sunday afternoon or Sunday evening which is, coincidentally, my self-imposed no-homework day.

(Tangent:  when I was in graduate school, the first time around, my sister-in-law challenged me to consider avoiding doing any schoolwork on Sundays.  She extolled the amazing things that had happened in her life after she made the choice to not study on Sundays - understanding the material came easier, her grades stayed where she wanted them to despite one less day of study, she recognized God's influence in her academic success, etc.  I informed her that, as a graduate student I couldn't afford to not study on Sundays.  She informed me that, as a nursing student, she found she couldn't afford to study on Sundays.  She ended the conversation by saying that maybe I ought to try it out, see if I was blessed for keeping the Sabbath day holy, yadda yadda yadda.  At the time, I was annoyed.  But, after a few weeks of her suggestion gnawing at the back of my mind, I decided to give it a whirl.  And I have never turned back.  Try it out.  Amazing things will happen.  AND you will have one whole day a week that you have permission NOT to do schoolwork. So thank you, Arianne, for helping preserve my sanity with that decision.  Seriously, thank you.  Okay, end of tangent.)

So, Pinterest.  One of my goals with it is that I hope I don't just spend all my time pinning, pinning, pinning instead of actually doing, doing, doing the things I discover there.  So far, some of my favorite things have been (in no particular order):  salt and vinegar potatoes, homemade potato chips, an awesome pillow and, the latest adventure - this bad boy:

 Yes, that is a clementine orange transformed into a candle. 

 Here it is after it had been burning for a good hour or so.  It smelled heavenly.

 I seriously love stuff like this.  Quirky, fun stuff to try.  Pinterest is, in my opinion, delightful.

Here's the tutorial on the Clementine Candle.

What awesome things have you found on Pinterest?  Please share!

And On a Lighter Note...

Once upon a time, I wrangled a snake out of my apartment.  Long about the time I was flinging his writhing body over the balcony I thought, "This is why I need a big, burly man in my life. So that I'm not the one wrestling vermin out of my house."  

(Note:  This is not me.  Thank you Google Images for perfectly conveying my feelings about snake-wrangling)

 

It was a Sunday morning, the one day in which I unabashedly allow myself to sleep until my body is done sleeping.  And I was.  Sleeping, that is.  Peacefully, soundly, unaware of the world when a knock pulled me out of my slumber.

As I mumbled a croaking/throat-clearing/I-sound-like-a-dude, "yeah?", I heard my roommate say she needed help and asked to open the door.

Forever etched in my brain, her words rang out, "There is a snake in my bathroom.  I'm not kidding, there is a snake in my bathroom."

There are a few facts that I think are worth mentioning.  Firstly, I live on the third floor of an apartment building.  I have to climb 42 stairs to get to my front door. Secondly, when I say I was sleeping, I mean that I was SLEEPING, as in I was not lazily dozing, I was not laying with my eyes closed while avoiding getting out of bed, I was conked out sleeping.  Jumpstarting your brain from sawing logs to fight-or-flight-let's-deal-with-a-snake mode is not an easy feat.  Thirdly, I live on the third floor.  Fourthly, my roommate was standing in my doorway with wet hair and clutching her bathrobe around her body.  Even in my sleepy haze, I knew she was in no state to wrangle a snake.  And lastly, we live on the third floor! What in tarnation was a snake doing way the heck up there???  One of the perks of climbing 42 stairs to get to my living space is that insects/rodents/reptiles should not be there!

But, I digress.

Jarred out of my slumber, I sat up in bed and had one and only one thing on my mind, "We need to get the snake out of the apartment."  I do believe I said this, very Rainman-like, no less than 17 times as I paced around quickly gathering my snake-wrangling equipment.

When I was a teenager, I went to Girls' Camp every summer.  This week-long camping adventure with the other youth-aged girls at my church was designed to teach us how to survive in the wilderness. Such skills involved starting a campfire with a tampon (name-brand works better than off-brand, by the way), mastering the four-legged race with Melissa and Audriana (the trick is to number the legs), and learning to blow snot rockets while choreographing synchronized swimming routines (thanks goes to Melissa for that one).  At no time in this wilderness preparation did I learn how to wrangle a snake.

Convinced I was faced with mortal peril if I did not, as stated previously, "get the snake out of the apartment", I prepared myself for battle.  For your own future reference, I will tell you that you only need 3 things to abscond with a snake.  They are, in no particular order:

Item #1:  A hoodie.

It helps if you put the hood up (I did.).  Also, sleeves that cinch tightly around your wrists are preferable to loosey-goosey sleeves up which a snake could slither.  Because, as I'm sure you know, the only thing worse than a snake in your apartment is a snake in your shirt.  So, tightly-cuffed hoodie.  With the hood up.

Item #2:  One single gardening glove.

Of course, in your dash to "get the snake out of the apartment", you may be so lucky to find the other gardening glove, which would be preferred.  But, I am here to witness that one will work just fine.  You will want to put your single gardening glove on your non-dominant hand, because you'll need your other hand to operate....

Item #3:  Barbeque tongs.

Now, I know it seems crazy that you would use tongs to wrestle a snake.  You are not picking up the snake with the tongs, silly, you're using the tongs to pick up the toiletry bag that your roommate has told you is harboring the snake.  Per the story she has been telling you as you've been dashing about the apartment gathering your supplies, you learn that she stepped out of the shower to come face to face with a snake coiling up out of her bag.  You are hoping against all hope that the snake was just as startled to see her as she was to see it in nothing but the skin the good Lord gave her, and is still in the bag.

That's it.  That's all you need.  A hoodie, one single gardening glove, and barbeque tongs.

Battle gear assembled, I stepped into the bathroom.  Sure enough, the snake was slithering it's scaly little head back out of her bag.  Knowing I had .7 seconds to make my move before that snake slithered out of its temporary home (read:  it would no longer be contained!), I looped those tongs through the handle of her bag, supported it with my gloved hand, and had that thing out of the bathroom, through the living room and out onto the balcony in no less than 2 seconds.  By the time the snake and I had gotten to the balcony, it was slithering up my arm (now do you see the importance of those tight cuffs???) and in one fell swoop I flinged it (flung it?  flang it?) right over the railing and watched it land on the grass below. (Now, don't worry, all you PETA people, it slithered away - I saw it.  It was fine, I'm sure.)

Because I know you're dying to know...No, we have no idea how the snake got into the apartment and no, we have not (thank heavens!) seen another one.

Seriously, thank heavens.

And while I am certain this informative tutorial regarding snake-wrangling preparation would help with all of your snake-absconding needs, may you never have need of it.  Amen.

p.s. Lest I deceive you, this was not a snake like unto a 30-foot python.  It was but a little snake, probably a garter or garden snake.  This does not, however, in any way lessen the ickiness at having to deal with it.  Someday, someday, I hope my big, burly man will take care of all these things.  I hope.

One Year

A year ago today, a friend, classmate, and colleague completely and totally unexpectedly passed away.  It has been an immensely difficult year for my friends, for our department, and me.

I didn't have a context to understand the true impact of suicide before November 5, 2010.  I now know that I hate it.  Everything about it is wretched and terribly, terribly sad.

I will miss him, always.  But, I know that I have been forever changed by this tragic experience, and in this way, his death has very much not been in vain.  I find that I am a little kinder, seek to be a little more in tune with those around me, and never, ever take small (or large) cries for help for granted.  I have become well-acquainted with the anguish of grief and have learned that it is okay to acknowledge things are hard and not going so well.  It is hard to be humble in that way, but grief manages to circumscribe your desire to be humble, and forces you to be humble anyway.  Which is good, because I have learned that humility is exactly what helps ease it.

I would have liked to have learned these things in another way.  And it is my prayer I will never land in this particular crash-course-of-life again.  Mostly because I would rather have learned these things with him instead of just because of him.

Life does go on, but this week in particular, the remembering has been powerful and often.

But, it will be okay. I have been freshly reminded that none of us are so insignificant and alone that we don't have influence on countless others around us.  And while it is something I wish he had fully understood, it is my opportunity to remember it and live accordingly.

Finding delight

This is a picture of my parents, er....my Mom and Santa Claus...circa 1993.  

  (Don't let my mom's rockin' sweater fool you.  That sucker is straight outta the 80's and a castoff of my sister's.  My mom was way too practical to let a perfectly good sweater with giant snowflakes plastered across the front of it go to waste.  But, I digress.)

This is a picture of my parents circa 1993.

I love this picture.

My parents have been married for 38 1/2 years and they like each other a lot.  I have seen evidence of that fact countless times throughout my life.  He opens the door for her, always.  She puts brown sugar and marshmallows on the sweet potatoes at Christmas because, though she does not like sweet potatoes that way, he does.  He brings home cashew caramel clusters on ordinary days that are not a special occasion at all, and they are just for her.  She mows the lawn every week so he can putter in the garage after work, instead of cutting the grass.

Etcetera.

I know there is no one on earth they'd rather be with than each other.

Now, this is not to say that they don't love being with their children and grandchildren.  I know they completely delight in us.

But, I love more that they delight in each other. I feel so fortunate to have parents who like each other that much.

And this picture managed to capture the essence of that delight perfectly.

I hope we can all be so lucky.

Sometimes you feel like a nut

And sometimes you don't, apparently.

I've been running subjects through a little pre-dissertation experiment this past week.  Just a quick little study that undergraduate students have been coming into the lab to complete for me.  Sitting on the table, all week, has been The Cabbage out of which I have invited all to take a treat after they're finished, if they so desire.

Yesterday, I noted the state of The Cabbage.

(Yes, that is a melamine Cabbage bowl. Hands down the best thing I've ever found at a Value Village.)

Apparently, no one has any love for the Almond Joy anymore.

This is something I cannot understand.  Almond Joys are delicious!  Coconutty, chocolately, almondy, YUM.  Because I know you're dying to know, the Almond Joys were up against Reese's peanut butter cups, Kit kat bars, and plain ol' hershey's chocolate in this particular smorgasboard.  Now, Reese's peanut butter cups are clearly the heavyweight in this mix, but Almond Joys lost to Kit Kat bars?  And Hershey's milk chocolate bars???

Granted, most of these students were young undergraduates who possibly have not honed an affinity for coconut.  While Almond Joys are not at the top of my favorite sweet treat list (that honor goes to Twix, I feel), it is definitely in the top five.


What about you?  Which funsize treat is at the top of your list?  Is there anyone besides me who enjoys the coconutty goodness of Almond Joys anymore???

To be a Cornhusker

When I decided to move to Nebraska to get a doctoral degree just some few short years ago, I got in touch with a former of professor of mine to share the news.  She congratulated me, offered some sage thoughts to get me through the tough times ahead and then casually observed that she'd heard you had to be crazy into college football to be at Nebraska.

In that moment, I think I stared at her and said something along the lines of, "Um, what?"

 This same sentiment was offered so many times, "Ooooh, Nebraska, well...hope you like football!", "Have fun in the land of corn and football", "football, football, football".

I even remember one interchange not long before I moved where I put it together that the "Cornhuskers" my father watched on New Years Day more than once while I was growing up were indeed the same

Cornhuskers I was about to join. 

In that moment, I think I stared ahead and said something along the lines of, "They're those Cornhuskers?!"

I went to my first Nebraska football game on a whim when a friend texted me an hour before the 300th consecutive sellout game and asked if I was interested in going.  I happened to be on campus tailgating with a group from church (which, I need a whole different post to discuss the ridiculousness of a bunch of Mormons tailgating before a huge football game) and opted to tag along.

It is not an understatement to say that nothing could have prepared me for the experience of watching a Nebraska football game.  Live.  With 89,000 of my closest friends.

The energy is palpable.  It gets inside of you.  You can't help but smile dopily and stand on your seat and cheer wildly and wiggle your spirit fingers everytime the kicker gets ready to punt the ball (you would be hardpressed to convince me that there is no correlation between my spirit fingers and the quality of that kick.  Just sayin' is all).  

Not only did the spirit of Nebraska football embed its way into my innocent little heart at that game, Shari stood there beside me and answered every question I had about football, the game, the players, the cheers.  Did you know that there is actually a rhyme or reason to this game?  There is strategy.  You can predict what players are going to do.  It is not just a tousle of huge guys randomly ramming into each other.  There is a point to it all.  I literally had no idea.

We are now halfway through my second year of being a card-carrying-member-of-the-season-ticket-holders club.  I go to every game.  I look up NCAA ratings at the beginning of each week.  I read up on our opponents. I read game summaries and game predictions...on a weekly basis.

Good heavens, I don't even know who I am anymore.

 Everybody now:  GO BIG RED!

An Interesting Try

I mentioned a few weeks ago that my roommate had spent some time in Hawaii recently.  She brought me back some of these:

Oh, yes.  You read that right.  SPAM flavored macadamia nuts.  Why wouldn't the Hawaiians combine two of their favorite products into one gloriously, stunning taste treat?  SPAM and macadamia nuts...in the same can!

I suppose the other option would have been a can of SPAM with chopped macadamias inside it.  (Gag).  There are many things, in my opinion, that SPAM should not be (in my mouth, for one...), and crunchy is one of them.

I'll take the Classic Flavor SPAM macadamias instead, thank you very much.

While I do not have much affinity for SPAM (I once had it fried, which actually wasn't too bad, but then what isn't tasty when it's fried?), I do love me some macadamias.  While this could just be the result of an appreciation for tropical nuts, I believe it may have more to do with one of my favorite songs of all times.  I have no idea what the actual name of the song is, but I call it "The Word Song".

And suffice it to say that the macadamia plays a pretty pivotal role in its execution.

Enjoy.

*disclaimer:   I have only ever known this song as audio only, not in video.  I'm not that impressed with the animation, but it does not lessen my love for impeccable lyrics.  If the animation drives you crazy, just close your eyes and bask in vocabulary greatness.

p.s.  The SPAM macadamias nuts, by the way?  Not bad.  They basically just tasted like salty, meaty macadamias.  I still have half a can, so if you want to give them a try, just mosey yourself on out to Nebraska and I'll happily share them.  Or you could just take my word for it and call it good.  Your call.  :-)

A Lovely Lady

So, in my family growing up, we each had our own birthday month.  Not sure if it was actually planned that way, but such it is.  As a result, I will always associate July with my mother - her birthday is in a couple of weeks and hence, let the celebration of Mom begin.  At the risk of sounding cliche, unoriginal, and/or mundane, I want to unabashedly declare that my Mom is seriously the most incredible woman on the planet.

Me and Mom, Christmas 2009

No seriously folks, she's the real deal.  This is a woman who, on a regular basis, shuttled kids to and fro to practices/jobs/bus stops, baked homemade bread for a family of 7, mowed the lawn, kept a ginormous garden going, sewed our clothes (like, all of our clothes...but that's another story...), canned tomatoes/peaches/pears/apple pie filling/beans/etc, taught half the neighborhood how to play the piano, and stayed up until all hours of the night anytime one of us just needed to talk.

And she never complained - and I'm not just saying that - cross my heart. She honestly and truly never complained.


I never knew that she was tired or exhausted.

Cabbage women - circa 1983.

I never assumed that there was anything she'd rather be doing than being with us, playing with us, talking with us.

With my Mom and little brother, 1983ish

I have received many things from my Mom.  For one, my calves.  For two, gray hair at 24 years old. 


On any given day, I am grateful for my mom for a variety of reasons including, but not limited to:  the gift of never being bored (mostly because the first time you ever declared you were bored, she'd say, "Oh, I'm so delighted to hear that you're bored!  Would you like to choose something to do from my list or your list?"  I only chose from her list once.  I ended up doing something super fun like scrubbing the bathroom floor or weeding 3 extra rows in the garden.  Lesson learned.  I have never been bored since.  That has been an incredible gift.), the gift of knowing how to cope when things get hard, the gift of confidence in the face of overwhelmingness (yes, I made that a word), her delicious pankhutchens (which is this completely scrumptious crepe-like breakfast food that I swear could single-handedly bring about world peace if everyone just knew about them).  And many other things.

Tonight, though, I am most grateful for the gift of knowing I had a mother who delighted in being with us.  I am convinced that this is a supernal gift parents can give to their children: the knowledge that their children are wanted and enjoyed, always.

I am happy to say that, in my case, the feeling is unquestionably mutual.

A true test of character

So, last month after a delightful visit to my beloved Washington to see both family and friends, I was sitting somewhat morosely in the Spokane International Airport waiting for a flight that would return me to my humdrum world of school, school, school (which, despite reports to the contrary, I do actually enjoy.  It's just that playing at home is so much fun!  School is, well, much more ordinary than playing with friends and family while shamelessly avoiding homework.  But then, I digress.).

So, there I was, feeling a bit lonely, a bit glum, and well, having my own little pity party.  From my vantage point in the airport, I was sitting some 20 feet from the over-priced convenience store that sells everything from peach rings, huckleberry hot chocolate mix, 'I heart Spokane' keyrings, and $4 bottled water.  When people walked through, they were very predictable.  Most stopped to peruse a few magazines, activate the "push me" paws of the stuffed animals (which, coincidentally were mostly beavers and bears.  Why?), and look over the variety of nostalgic and humorous Washington magnets.

And there was this guy.

This is Roger (as I found out when I bought an orange juice just before my flight boarded).

Roger presumably spends all day earning a living keeping post at this cash register or perhaps doing some other routine airport duty in Spokane's little airport.  And yet, somehow, that smiley demeanor you see in the picture above (go ahead, look again), is totally and completely sincere.  Without fail, for every customer that strolled up to the counter, Roger jovially asked, "How ya doin' today?  Where ya headed?  Ooooh, [insert place here, be it Milwaukee, Albuquerque, Boston, or Boise], that's exciting!  Goin' home or leavin' home?" After a small chitchat, the conversation usually ended with, "Well, just keep livin' the dream, right?  Have a great trip!"

And it was all totally genuine.  For the hour that I sat there observing his interchanges, not one person refused conversation or ignored Roger.  He managed to engage everyone at his little counter.  Everyone from the too-cool jock, to the young businessman in the pinstripe suit, to the earthy hiker who looked like she just stepped out of an REI catalog, to the bossy busybody in the matching tracksuit.  No one was above Roger's smalltalk. (and while some of you are wondering if this is because people are humoring him because he has some sort of developmental delay and is part of a government-supported vocational job training program, I assure you, he possessed all of his mental faculties.  He was honestly just that pleasant.)

On a related note (I swear its related), a few weeks ago a classmate and I were engaged in a morbid game graduate students sometimes play: What stereotypical patient would you be if you had a traumatic brain injury?  (this is very similar to another game called:  If you had to have a stroke, which part of the brain would you choose?)

If you want to know what type of TBI patient you'd be, there is a simple formula.  All you do is take your worst quality and magnify it by a million.  My classmate (who, by the way, has spent her career working with TBI patients, so she's got this down to a science) declared she has no doubt she'd be the mean, nasty patient who'd yell a lot and torment her therapists.  I was surprised given her pleasant demeanor, hilarious sense of humor, and the fact that she's completely fun to be around.  She explained that usually these worst qualities are the ones that you are the best at suppressing, though they are your natural tendencies.  The problem with a brain injury, see, is that you no longer have the ability to inhibit these qualities from barging on out.

I considered where I would fall.  I didn't think I'd be mean.  It's not that I'm angelic or anything, but I just don't have a tendency (suppressed or otherwise) to be mean, nasty, or vindictive.  When asked which patient I'd be, I concluded I'd probably be the excessive worrier.  Constantly, and pathetically, worried about every confusing thing happening in my world.

Without batting an eye, my classmate said, "Oh!  You'd be a crier!"  I probably would be.  Which is ironic, given my decided distaste for crying in general (not others crying, my crying).

So, what does this have to do with Roger?  Given Roger's genuinity (yes, I made that a word) for kindness, social engagement, and jollyness (yes, I made that a word too) even when working at what might be considered a dull, boring, or menial job, I'd put money on the fact that he'd be a pretty dang pleasant TBI patient.

When it comes down to it, the way any of us respond to less-than-desireable tasks (be it a job, an obligation, or the fact that we're returning to Nebraska after a fantastic visit home) and/or who we'd be if we had a head injury very possibly provides enlightening (if not disturbing) glimpses into who we are at the core of our character.

I don't know, I've just been thinking about this for the past few days.  For all that I want to be (kind, genuine, happy, at peace), my character still needs a lot of work.  Perhaps one day I'll get to a point where I can with confidence say, "I'd be the happy, but bumbling, and not at all mean or sobbing TBI patient!"

Aren't you delighted this blog provides a window into my weirdo thoughts?

What kind of TBI patient do you think you'd be?  Kinda scary to think about, huh.

Three things that happened...

...in the last month:

1.  I finished teaching a bonafide college class for a whole semester for the first time ever. LOVED it.  After uprooting myself 1500 miles for something I had a hunch I might enjoy, and waiting two-and-a-half years to get the chance to give it the proverbial old college try (um, literally), it was a bit of a relief to discover all those hunches were correct.  I loved it all - persistent questions, regaling the class with crazy clinical stories (the kid who blew spit right into my face while huffing and puffing as the Big Bad Wolf?  It's a good one.), watching students finally get it, and even ridiculous emails from perfectionist students pleading for one more point.  Is it cheesy to say I just might have been born to do this?  Throwing caution to the wind, I will say it anyway.  College teaching gets me pretty dang excited.

2.  I jogged 3 miles in 38:56 minutes. For those of you with svelte and athletically-inclined physiques, this may not seem like that big of a deal.  Speaking as one who is decidedly rotund and does not enjoy public displays of pseudo-athleticism, I am freaking Flo Jo.  You wait, one day I will break 38 minutes. 

3.  I hobnobbed with really smart people (think Engineers, Speech Scientists, people who routinely wear pocket protectors, etc.) at the Acoustical Society Meeting in Seattle...and managed to somehow hold my own (albeit barely). 

 

During said hobnobbing, I informally diagnosed more than one bigwig in my field as being somewhere on the autistic spectrum.  Given my ability to, in some estimation, keep up with them, should I be worried that I  fall somewhere on the spectrum?

...in the last week:

1.  I spent the long Memorial Day weekend in my parents' adorably cute new-to-them old house playing with my brother's boys and my sister.

  Mom, Dad, sister, and four little nephews - seriously, who could ask for anything more?  My favorite part of my parents' house?

They have an actual, factual clawfoot bathtub in their one-bathroom house.  My least favorite part of my parents' house?  There is only one bathroom in their one-bathroom house.  Even so, the weekend was all that I dreamed of, and more.

2.  My plane from Denver to Omaha was unexpectedly and inexplicably delayed for four hours.  As a result, Frontier Airlines (God bless 'em) made their in-flight TV service complimentary for all passengers (they also gave us all $50 vouchers, truly....God bless 'em).  But, back to the TV.  I have never had access to said service during flights and have always kind of *ahem* poo poo'd the notion that TV would be that great in-flight.  I'm here to declare publicly and unashamedly that I was wrong.  Granted, the flight between Denver and Omaha is all of just over an hour - but this week it was the fastest just over an hour I've had in a long time toggling between Mythbusters, The Office, The Simpsons, and HouseHunters.  While it was great, the question remains as to whether or not I think this greatly enjoyable luxury is worth the $6 credit-card swipe that they usually require.  The jury is still out.  But, for this trip?  Great!

3.  The CSA farm that provides me a sack of vegetables on a weekly basis over the summer provided asparagus in this week's bag.  Delicious, delicious asparagus...which my roommate and I promptly grilled on my grill....on my balcony...despite the newly posted warnings all over our apartment building that grills are banned on the balconies.  Grilled asparagus is worth the risk.

...in the last day:

1.  I went for my first swim of the season.  When I go to the pool, I go to swim.  No sissy-la-la dabbling in the water with delicate splish splashing about for me.  My swimming activity of choice is throwing in as many diving toys as possible in the deep end and then diving down to retrieve them over...and over....and over.  Seriously, it never gets old.  Feel free to mock me, I will continue to do it forever and for always.

2.  We celebrated my roommate's birthday, a few weeks late (she was in Hawaii for her birthday so don't feel too bad, y'all).  As part of said celebration, after an absence of a year, we had the triumphant return of the Oreo Truffle.  

We used peanut butter Doublestuff Oreos and mint Doublestuff Oreos.  Heaven in a truffle.  D'lish.

3.  I started listening to Tina Fey's new book Bossypants on my bike ride this morning.  I laughed out loud more than once, which got a little awkward when I nearly swallowed one of the many bugs flying about in the hot Nebraska humidity (which was present even at 10 o'clock in the morning).  While I am only an hour and a half into it (I have no idea how that translates into chapters in the book), I highly recommend it.  Please let me know if you read it so we can discuss it!

...in the last hour:

1.  I ate far too many of the previously-mentioned Oreo Truffles.  I can confidently witness they are in fact d'lish.

2.  My roommate and I started Season One of the Gilmore Girls from the beginning.  Again.  I am unwilling to disclose how many times she and I, since living together, have worked our way through the entire season.  If I told you, I'd probably have to kill you so, um, don't ask.

3.  I wrote this blog post.  I have missed blogging, honestly.  It is a soul-satisfying outlet in my world that is busy with academic writing, academic reading, and academic doing.  Think I'll do it again soon, very soon.

Keep on Rollin'...

I reached a milestone today.  Or, my car reached a milestone today.

I bought her when she had 57,000 miles.  When I'd had her for 5 days, driven her seven times, and she had 57,223 miles on her, a kid ran a red light and smashed into her.  And me.  I mean, I was driving her at the time (it's not like she was out on the town on her own or anything).  

I don't have pictures of that dark time in her existence.  But suffice it to say that the whole front end of the driver's side was smooshed, crunched, kaput.   Six weeks later and a $9000 payout from the other guy's insurance, she was good as new.

And the good times sure did roll.  I tried to see if I could account for those 43,000 miles I've put on her since I've had her.   Some biggies stand out.

Washington state to Chicago and back with my sister via Mt. Rushmore, larger-than-life sculptures of prairie dogs, buffalo, and roosters, hours upon hours of crazy 20 questions, torrential rainstorms, and miles upon miles upon miles of cornfields.

Scores of weekend trips to explore exciting places like...the wilds of Western Nebraska and...

  

....Kansas City for Babycakes (the heavenliest cupcakes you ever did eat).

She traversed countless times across the Pacific Northwest visiting family, friends, the ocean, etc.  Long story short, this car and I have been through some good, good times.

Anyhow, as I was thinking about all that has transpired in my fabulous little car, I had the following thought:

What would I have said if someone had told me that naive day in June of 2006 when I handed over the moolah, that 5 years later I would be living in the middle of Nebraska slogging my way through a PhD program.

At the time, I was speech therapizing it up in the wilderness of Washington State having a darn good time doing my own little thing.  I knew Nebraska existed, was "somewhere in the middle", but had no inkling that I had then or ever would have any kind of personal connection to it.  Let alone have lived there for three years by the time I'd owned my car for 5 years.

I do believe I might have reacted something like this.

Or thought something like this.

Who'da thunk it.  Surely, not I.

But, glad to have my little car with me all along the way.  Who knows where we'll be 5 years from now.

*note:  Although I tried in vain to drum up a name for my beloved little car for the first little while after I purchased her, it turns out I don't think she has one.  I do know, however, she is female, responds well to encouraging pats on her dashboard and purrs like a kitten when called, "Sweetie". 

*another note:  As you can see, per the odometer, it was 93 degrees...in Nebraska....on April 8th.  Sheesh.

And on a lighter note...

While I was home for the holidays, I scanned a pile of family pictures from when I was growing up.  It was a fun trip down memory lane.  With a few exceptions, I was familiar with most of the pictures and it was fun to remember/laugh/sigh about those many moments that made up my childhood.  That's all well and good.

However.

This time around, I also paid much more attention to what was happening in the background of these pictures.  Have you ever focused on what's going on behind the kid blowing out the birthday candles?

 (My fifth birthday and my AWEsome heart-shaped cake)

This is actually how I think of my oldest sister from the time I was but a wee babe until I was....12 or 13.  There was a lot of teasing/bossing/bugging/tormenting that happened during that time.  Glad to say we are excellent friends now, despite that history.  But honestly, I can say I'm thrilled to have pictoral evidence of this Sarah.(Also, check out my mom's hair!  So black...)

 This was one of our piano recitals.  While I would love to say some things about my sister's AWEsome outfit (why yes, that is a ruffle...), a perusal of the background shuts me right up. 

I look like an overgrowned tomboy (bruised shins and all) stuffed into a ridiculously frilly frock.  With frilly socks.  For those of you who wonder about my aversion to poofy dresses and gettin' all gussied up...I'm fairly convinced this is where that aversion stems from.  Clearly, I didn't love it when I was nine...not much has changed on that front...

Wow.  There is so much to say about this picture:

Yes.  I'm sitting on a "potty chair".

Yes.  We had a potty chair.

No.  I have no idea where the piano bench is.  We had a piano bench.  My parents still have a piano bench.  Where the heck was the piano bench in this picture?

Is that a sack of garbage on the floor? Old clothes?

I'm wearing a pair of awesome jammer shorts I sewed.

And holy cow, I have a ridiculous amount of hair. 

And I'm sitting on a potty chair.  Moving on.

What a nice picture of my dad with a fishing pole circa 1987...

...and my lovely face.  Thanks be to whoever snapped this picture at this moment.  I find it priceless.

I love old pictures.

Otherwise, how would I possibly have remembered cheering my brother on in a blow-the-boat race at a Scout meeting...next to my best friend Emily...with my My Child Doll nestled in the crook of my arm.

I wouldn't have.  Because I didn't, until I saw this little gem and then it all came back to me.  The feel of that pink sweatshirt (I loved that sweatshirt), the fuzzy face of my doll, the smudged lipstick Emily and I had painted on our dolls' faces for blush.

I'm glad for pictures with backgrounds in them.  They say so much of the life at the time.  I have renewed my effort to make sure I don't cover the background in pictures I take these days.  Who knows what gems I'll find 20 or 30 years from now that I overlook now.  Have you checked the backgrounds in your old pictures lately?

What I Need

Just a little less crazy in my world, please.  Five months of nuttiness is wearing me out.

How about no crazy.  That's really what I'd like.

Rainbows. Ice cream cones. Lazy days.

Okay?  Alright then.