It's in the genes...

This is my sister, Rebekah (a few years ago...).

She’s basically fabulous. How do I know? For starters, she is four years my senior and had to share a room and a bed with me for much of our childhood and she never complained about it. Ever. I would often bemoan my ill-fated sentence of sharing a room with her but grossly underappreciated her kindness and patience with sharing a room and a bed with a pesky little sister. Seriously, she’s fabulous.

There are certain Rebekah-isms that characterized memorable moments of our childhood that I think of and remember with great fondness. Such Rebekah-isms include Rebekah bursting into opera (frequently), Rebekah’s complaint that “you’re pulling my skin!”, Rebekah’s “cleanliness is next to Godliness” family home evening lesson, and the fact that she could not travel nor eat at the dinner table without having her feet up. I remember many a car trip and/or dinner table interaction that included, “Rebekah, put your feet down please” to the oft-repeated response, “But I can’t. I need to have my feet up. It’s not comfortable to have them down!” Repeat (for our entire childhood). In fact, when I think of her at the dinner table, I always see the crook of her knee at her shoulder and when I think of her in her assigned seat in the van (back seat, door side), there are her feet crossed and propped up on the seat in front of her (much to the chagrin and annoyance of my other sister whose assigned seat was directly in front of Rebekah).

A few weeks ago, I had the unexpected and delightful opportunity to ride in a van for 12+ hours with my fabulous sister and her and her husband’s great kiddos.
What a treat! I enjoyed the trip immensely. Imagine my surprise when, not 50 miles down the road, I heard from the back seat, “Jacob, put your feet down!” and the quick oh-so-familiar response, “I need to have my feet up!”

I could not squelch the burble of laughter from me. If only they could understand how delightfully hilarious they were.

Highlight of My Week

All last week, this note hung on the office door across the hallway from me.

What she meant to say was that she was in the Home Economics building, room 11. But, something about those happy tulips and peppy handwriting and unfortunate miscommunication just made me chuckle everytime I walked out my door.

Epiphany

I love epiphanies. I love discovering them, I love that exhilirating, all-consuming AHA! feeling you get when you have them. Even the word "epiphany" is fantastic. Go ahead and say it a couple of times. It feels good. e-PIFF-uh-knee. Just a great word.

I have had some memorable epiphanies in my life. They have run the gamut from the eternally significant (spiritually life-changing) to the mundane (learning in 8th-grade that I don't actually have to participate in stupid getting-to-know-you games--nothing will happen to you if you don't!) to those that allow me to embrace being ME (I don't like backpacking. And that's okay.).

I recently had an epiphany. It turns out that when I go to Art Museums, I am less interested in the Art and more interested in the people looking at the Art. I have known for a long-time that I am an avid people watcher, and while I have tried valiantly to appreciate any and all Art, it turns out that I am much better at appreciating People. And, that's okay.

Now, don't get me wrong, there is Art that I know and love. But, people. People. They're just so fascinating. While I was appreciating the Art at The Art Institute of Chicago recently, I found myself in a room with several works by Monet. I like Monet because a) I can recognize his work, 2) it really is stunningly beautiful, and d) I like impressionism because it seems uppercrust artistic, but even I can enjoy it. But, I digress. As I wandered the room appreciating the Art, I noticed a man studying Water Lilies.

And thus began the People watching.

He looked to be in his seventies or eighties.

He was alone.

He wandered from painting to painting, apparently unattached to anyone.

And he was carrying a purse.

Why?

I kept him in sight for several rooms because I was dying to know whether or not the purse he carried belonged to someone or if he was unaware that most men don't sport girly leather purses? Had he decided, in his older years, that he didn't care what the rest of the world thought--he would carry a purse if he wanted to? Was he being chivalrous by carrying the heavy bag for a wife that didn't seem to be around?

I had so many questions. I eventually lost sight of him and was left to wonder about my purse carrying man-friend.

But, no. Two hours later, three floors later, and a whole lot of Art and People later, I spotted him again. Ah, there we go.

Although this picture doesn't adequately depict it, their interaction did suggest they were husband and wife. As they silently moseyed from one room to the next, it was evident they were both comfortable and at ease in their respective going-to-the-art-museum roles. He, unashamedly carrying her purse, she walking, standing, staring, studying. Just after I snapped this picture, they walked out of the room arm in arm, clearly content in who they were as individuals and as a couple.

And, as more of a People appreciating person at an Art museum than an Art appreciating person, I, too, am comfortable and at ease in my going-to-the-art-museum role.

Welcome Aboard Flight 263 to....Chicago!

So, a few days ago I returned from a fabulous little excursion to Chicago with a friend. She was there to present a paper at a conference, needed someont to go with her, and being the kind person that I am, I consented to go. It was a real sacrifice. While we were there, we went to the top of the Sears Tower (which is now the Willis Tower, did you know that? I think it should still be called the Sears Tower, but no one asks my opinion on these things...), ate fabulous food, and saw Topol as Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof (but that's another story).

But, a first on this trip was flying on Southwest Airlines, which resulted in my first experience with "open seating".

On traditional flights with assigned seating, I usually request the window. I like watching the landforms change outside as I fly across the country and I like having the side of the plane to lean my head against while I nap.

Open seating is basically a first-come, first-serve seating system wherein those who board early take the window and aisle seats and those who board later (read: ME) are left to squish in the middle seat, much to the annoyance and irritation of aforementioned first-came, first-served folk. As those who board later (read: ME) climb over/on/in front of/around the aisle dweller, they are usually met with glares, much hmmphing from the annoyed passengers they have interfered with and are left to fumble for the seatbelt which is inevitably under the derrieres of said aisle/window seatmates. It’s not all that pleasant.

But, here’s the real reason for my post. On this trip of open-seating, I had a lot of time and reason to think about seatmate etiquette.

Observation #1. Had I to do it again, even though the row I happened to select was the exit row (score! More legroom!), I would be much more cognizant of the people between whom I am going to sit. In this case, it was two men—one middle-aged, the other slightly more middle-aged—who were engaged in a loud and monotonous conversation about used cars. The aisle guy was a used car salesman from whom the window guy was insistent on getting used-car-buying-tips for the entire flight. Leaning around me and talking loudly over the whirr of the airplane the entire flight. Comparing notes and quotes for the entire flight. I saw them engaged in conversation before I sat down, and although this should have been the cue to head for another row, I realized this all too late—namely, as soon as I had my seatbelt buckled.

Observation #2. I have strong opinions about armrest etiquette. Or, perhaps we ought to call it “armrestiquette” (ha! I love that idea…). Let me pose a scenario: if you were a person sitting in either the window or aisle seat, where you readily have two armrests at your disposal, would you kindly concede the shared armrest to the poor soul in the middle who has neither a window nor an aisle to stretch out/lean against/enjoy the flight? Of course you would. My seat buddies thought otherwise. Both of them had their piggy little arms firmly planted on both armrests for the duration of the flight. The entire flight.

Observation #3. Personal space, although limited in the confines of an airplane, should carefully be maintained. In relation to the armrestiquette issue, the guy sitting in the aisle seat had little-to-no personal space. In addition to hogging the armrest, his feet kept veering into my space, he kept digging in his bulging pockets which meant his knees/hips/elbows kept bumping into me and to top it off, he had unruly armhair that kept tickling my arms.

Observation #4. An adjunct of the previous observation, when on an airplane, the seat pocket in front of you is to stow your items such as books, mp3 players, and other personal devices. YOUR personal items. One of my seatmates (yep, the aisle guy), used his seat pocket AND my seat pocket for his garbage (which included his crumpled up used-car inventory lists he was sorting through to show the great deals to the window guy and his old newspaper) and more than one used-car quote book (how much stuff do you bring on a plane, anyway?).

Observation #5. The only people for whom open-seating is a bonus are privileged fliers (business class, premiere folks, etc. etc.) and those flying with children (although, to be honest, anyone flying with small children has my sincerest pity.). Because they get to board early, they have their pick of the airplane! The rest of us are left to fight for anything but the crappy middle seat, dreading that we will find ourselves next to a hairy-armed used car salesman who hogs the armrest.

Your next seatmate

(image courtesy: Swiftian on photobucket)

Whoosh

The other day, while riding my bike to school, a bird darted unexpectedly out of the bushes on the side of the bikepath directly in front of me. As we both flew down the bikepath, I kid you not, I could feel the draft from its wings.

It was awesome.

A Scientific Experiment, of sorts

This is my friend Kendra.While this picture was taken a couple of summers ago, it is reminiscent of a roadtrip we recently went on. We met up in Portland to see The Flight of the Conchords (who were, by the way, a total kick in that pants, as expected. I was not disappointed.). The next day, we drove back to ye olde Tri-Cities together.

Along the way, we busted out some Skittles and while she was trying to be sneaky about it, I called her out on picking through the Skittles for her favorites (the red and the purple, which coincidentally are also my favorites, hence my disapproval with her antics. Are the reds and purples everyone's favorites? Hmm...). Everyone knows that in a communal pool of candy, there is no picking allowed. You get what ya get, and ya don't throw a fit.

After a, "but I don't liiiikke the other ones..." (said in the perfect likeness of a whiny six-year-old), I handed her a Skittle and asked her to blindly identify the flavor (no peeking!). I think she was certain it would be no problem.

"Orange." Nope, it was green. ha! Next.

"Green!" Nope, it was yellow. Next.

"Red?" Nope, it was purple. Ha ha!

To be fair, she did get some right. But, I will say that her accuracy rate was tragically low. Low enough to NOT warrant the picking through said pile o' Skittles.

Also, be warned. She has a penchant for just the red and pink starbursts.

Why I Love the Northwest

So, right now I'm going to school in Nebraska. The scenery looks much like you might expect it to look.

There's corn.

It's flat.

I drove 420 miles to the other side of the state and still there was corn and still there was flat.

While I do believe that Nebraska is beautiful in its own right (have I shown you the pictures of the fabulous bike trail I like to frequent?), it is not My Northwest.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to go to Portland for a conference for school and since I had family nearby, my advisor all but twisted my arm to stay a few extra days to visit them. Graciously, I accepted the offer. In that time, I drove around the state of Washington visiting and staying with various members of my family.

In that time I saw mountains,

I saw rolling hills,

I saw valleys,

I saw rocky hillsides,

Desert,
Columnar joints,
I even saw flat. Very flat.

And I didn't even make it over to the coast where I could have seen sandy beaches, rocky beaches, ocean, and rainforest.

All in the same state.

That is what I love, and miss, about My Northwest. Beautiful, stunning variety.