Confession

(An open letter to right a wrong made some 24 years ago)

To Emily's Mom:

I'm sorry I lied to you when you offered me some peas out of your garden that summer day, circa 1986.  Contrary to what was stated at the time, it is not a fact that I am allergic to peas that are still in the pod but can "eat the frozen kind".

In actuality, your peas in their pods frightened me and I was just too scared to try them.  While I was convinced my bold-faced lie was stealthy and went unnoticed by you at the time, age and experience have convinced me otherwise.  And, rather than let you go on thinking I was nothing but a lying, conniving, six-year-old who was too proud to eat your delicious home-grown garden-fresh peas, I am coming clean now.

I am sorry I was too chicken to try your peas.  Moreover, I am sorry I faked such a ridiculous allergy.  Kudos to you for keeping the straight face. 

With regret,

Katy

On finishing another semester

I just finished another Fall Semester.  I have not stopped and counted the number of quarters/semesters I have attended college.  This is something like the ending of my 26th semester (I'm actually not joking about that.).

This has been a really weird semester, for so many reasons.

-I'm no longer taking classes full-time, but am still a full-time student.

-I passed my comprehensive exams, but have not moved onto a set dissertation yet.

-I have shifted my area of focus and am much more involved with a new advisor, which has required getting-to-know a style of mentoring that is in near-complete opposition to the advisor I have been working with the past two years.

-The research project I'd planned to run, analyze, and finish by now got waylaid for two months and is still in full swing.

-I feel very behind.

-And a friend and classmate completely unexpectedly passed away, which was awful and gutwrenching.  Ugh. 

I am relieved the semester is over.  I do not believe, in fact, that I've ever been more relieved to be done with a semester.

But, ironically, never have I ever felt so completely anti-climactic at the end of a semester. In the past, a semester marked an ending, the promise of a new start with new classes, new projects.  All of the aforementioned tasks just continue on.  Nothing has ended and nothing will start anew as a result of this new semester.  It's just life ticking ever onward.

For now, I relish in the two weeks I get to spend at home away from the end of the semester, away from the start of the semester, just....away.

My plan is to recharge, reorient, and refocus.  That's a lot of re-ing.  Wish me luck.

SkyMall Goodies

So, I recently went on a little hiatus to the Northwest to see some friends (a grand time was had by all...).  While I should have been reading articles, planning lectures, or doing any semblance of schoolwork during those eight hours of flight time, I spent it (much more wisely, I think) perusing the new SkyMall magazine.  There are SO many fabulous products to covet, discuss, and/or mock.  Here is a smattering:

The Magic Showerhead Combo

Are you kidding me?? This fits squarely in the category of products to covet.  Who wouldn't want to take a shower under a dazzling rainbow of changing color?!  Sign me up for it!  Their description is a little dicey as it claims to:  "create an experience that can feel as enjoyable and relaxing as being in a spa." I'm not sure how a rainbow shower is like unto a spa (to be fair, I've never been to a spa...so, maybe there's nothing but spouting colorful water, but...I doubt it), but, no matter.  Yay for the Magic Showerhead Combo.

Okay, item #2:

Orbitwheels

I find these absolutely absurd.  Here's the description:  "A cross between a skateboard and inline skates, but with more freedom and simplicity than either, the Orbitwheels are a brand new concept for wheeled sports. The design is simple: two feet, two wheels... and you're ready to go.  No need to fuss with buckles and flaps - just step into the hoops and take off."

Now, perhaps I just don't understand how this product works, but it seems to me that stepping into two objects that do not actually attach to your feet, can roll in any whichway direction, and make you go sideways is just really complicated.  I don't understand, at all, how these work.  Am I just an idiot? Maybe.  But I think the real idiot is the person who buys these.

And item #3:

Brobdingnagian Sportsman Chair

Yes, my friends, that IS a giant camp chair you see before you. With 6 cup holders.  Designed so as (and I quote), "its 9' sq. seat affords ample room for full-body gesticulations or sharing your prodigious chair with a friend" and "where your feet are free to dangle and sway instead of merely floundering in dirt or sand".

Seriously.  I can't make this stuff up.

I want to own this chair just so that I can casually pull it out of the coat closet when we need extra seating when we have people over.  "Oh, we need another chair?  I'll set up Big Bertha here."

What's your favorite Skymall product?

Hear Ye! Hear Ye!

So, once upon a time I mentioned here that a favorite past-time of mine is being a proverbial fly on the wall when specific niche groups convene.  Case in point:  have you ever been to the International Accordion Festival in Leavenworth, Washington??   So many people shamelessly cavorting about in liederhosen and ruffles!  Wow!  Netflix has introduced me to a number of these specialized gatherings.  The International Whistling Conventioners? Scrabble-ists Extraordinaire??  Champion Cross-worders???  Darkon!  Trekkers!   Be still, my heart.

I am not a member of any one of these upstanding organizations but am utterly delighted that in some way or another, they have allowed me a glimpse into what makes them tick.  What is it that I love about these snapshots?  I love it when people find "their people".  Heck, I love it when I find my people.  You've had that experience, right?  You're in a new situation.  You scan the crowd wondering if there's a kindred spirit (a nod to Anne) amongst all these new faces. You make a smirky comment, one random guy turns around, he gives you a sly smile and bam!  You've found "your people".  That's how it works for me, anyway.  Apparently, others find their people by greeting everyone in Klingon or playing a merry tune on the accordion strapped to their chest.

Whatever.  To each his own.

On Saturday, my roommate spontaneously suggested we mosey on down to Kansas City for the Kansas City Renaissance Festival!.  Twenty minutes after she suggested it, we were in the car prepped with munchies and music and on our way to all things Renaissance-y.

The picture just doesn't do the village justice...

Nothing could have prepared me for what we experienced.  Sixteen acres of an authentic Renaissance village complete with wandering wenches, heaving bosoms, village idiots, knights in sort-of shining armor, queens, jolly jesters, etc. 

My word of the day was undoubtedly, "Wow.".  I just couldn't stop saying it.  Wow.  Wow.  Wow.

First off, you must know that it was about 90 degrees and storming while we were there.  This resulted in streets of mud, drenched patrons, mist through the trees, and unquestionably the most perfect atmosphere for the event.

Through the joy of all this people watching, I made a few observations.

Observation #1.  People get really into the whole dressing up thing.  I wish I had some pictures of some of the uber-fancy costumes we saw.  There were women in 5-foot diameter hoopskirts, the aforementioned heaving bosoms laced into ornate whale bone corsets, myriads of pantaloons, and minstrel-hatted folk everywhere.  As an extension of this observation, I must make....

Observation #2.  It takes a very confident man to wear tights.  Strike that.  It takes a very confident anybody to wear tights with no skirt.  But, a sight such as this was not uncommon.

One has to wonder if he ever says to himself, "I am standing here in my yellow tights and an artisan bread-loaf-shaped hat on my head.  Oh yeah...I'm all that."

Observation #3.  I wish I better understood the intricacies of how one selects/receives/becomes their designated character.  It would seem to me that if it is a matter of choosing your Renaissantial (yes, I made that a word) identity, the village would be comprised of only noble knights, damsels in distress, regal kings, and fat'n'happy queens.  Why would you ever elect to be this guy:

Yes, he is sitting in the mud.

Yes, he has a hunk of meat hanging out of his mouth.

Yes, his teeth appeared to not have been brushed for several days (gotta be authentic...).

I just don't understand why... if you're really in to the Renaissance lifestyle and you have a choice of what your economic standing is, because this is not actually, factually the Renaissance...you would choose to sit in the mud all day.

Observation #4.  Somebody needs to save the children.  I do not think it would be outlandish to say that some of the Renaissance crowd, while fully accepted in their medieval circle, have suffered some social consequences in the real world for their devotion to The Cause.  I saw many children of these folks excitedly prancing around with their swords and shields, proclaiming intentions to head out on quests, and pining for the wands/armor/chainmail/weaponry on display at every turn.  And all I could think, when I saw those youngn's was...."This is not your fault." 

Now, do I believe that children have the right to play/pretend/act/engage in good-natured revelry?  Absolutely yes.  But, still.  I can't help but wonder about the social consequences of some of this.  (I said it.  I know...I'm a jerk.)

Observation #5.  Renaissance-ians (yes, I made that a word too) will accept you for who you are, no matter how awkward you are, no matter how eccentric you act, no matter how bizarre your character-interpretation, no matter how uncoordinated your fighting skills.

And no matter how drowned-rat-esque you look because you've been walking on their turf through a 90-degree thunderstorm.

They'll still love you, raise a cuppa ale in your name, and wish you good morrow 'til next time.

Someday my Prince will come...

There are many reasons that it would be nice to someday have a big, burly man in my life.  Eternal life.  Companionship.  Love.  Yadda yadda yadda.

But, prolonged singlehood as a woman has made me all the more convinced that one of the things I look most forward to (seriously, I'm pretty sure it's in the Top 3.) about getting hitched is that I will no longer be the one who has to deal with these:

(photo credit: Google Images)

I hate spiders.  And I don't use that word lightly.  I'm not a hateful person, but I tell you what.  I loathe spiders.  Inside/outside/under things.  *shudder* I just can't stan-'em. (movie line, anyone?)

When I was growing up, I showered in the basement bathroom at my parents' house.  Every morning, every morning, I would roll out of bed and in my morning prayer plead that there would be no spiders in the shower.  Every morning, every morning, I would reluctantly ease the door of the shower open and carefully scan every corner of the shower to ensure it was vermin-free.  The spiders at my parents' house, we later learned, were hobo spiders.  All you need to know is that hobo spiders are big and FAST.  One memorable morning, I flipped the light on in the bathroom and there was a giant hobo spider the size of a dinner plate (I swear) nonchalantly basking on the rug (the prayer was answered--not in the shower.  I learned to be more specific...).  Life had taught me no shoe in my hand is large enough or fast enough to ensure the demise of these spiders, so I searched for another option.  A textbook sat on the table outside the bathroom.  I hovered over the spider, counted to three, and dropped the 10-pound beast of a book to the floor. The book had about 12 inches to fall.  Between the time the book left my hand and hit the floor, that nasty spider zoomed between my legs and out into the family room with dark brown carpet (tangent:  why would you EVER put dark carpet in a basement.  Think of all that must be lurking in that and you can't see it!!!  Gross...).

When she learned they were hobo spiders gracing us with their presence, my mom went out and bought glue traps to put in the basement.   She kept buying and replacing the traps until they stopped filling up (and when I say "filling up", believe me I mean FILLED up).  I looked for a picture on google images to demonstrate how full these traps were but was so grossed out I decided not to subject the rest of you to its nastiness. My brother used to tease that the only reason you'd see a spider in your house is because it meant the walls were too full of them (yes, gross.  I know).  After seeing all those glue traps, I don't think he was that far off.

When I lived alone, I found not one, but TWO sets of mating black widow spiders.  One set in my lawn mower (don't even get me started on the nastiness that is the fact that I was digging at the dried grass with my bare hands before the killer spiders emerged from their lair, not two inches from my vulnerable fingers) and one set on my back door.

And everytime I have another one of these blessed encounters, I remind myself that someday, somehow, I will have a big, burly man who will gallantly abscond with any spiders in my life.  For now, I resort to sleeping with spider spray (my weapon of choice...).

And for those of you who already have your big, burly man and are about to say that you still have to deal with spiders...please.  I don't have much to live for in my life.  Please don't take this away from me.  I need to believe that he will gladly and willingly protect me from these heinous creatures.

A new level of nerditude

I admit it. Every semester when the course catalog from the local community college shows up in my mailbox, I eagerly peruse it and decide which classes I would take for fun were I not presently bogged down in the middle of graduate school. (I told you. Nerd. With a capital N.)

(I've been honing and developing my nerdiness for a long time....as evidenced by this circa 1985 pic--I can explain the potato head pieces. I cannot explain the hair. You'll have to ask/blame my mother for that. )

I've considered instrumental classes (brush up on those guitar skills), amateur photography, understanding the stock market, appliance repair skills (think how handy it would be to know how to troubleshoot washer/dryer issues!), basic car maintenance (ditto!), and about a hundred other course offerings (basketweaving anyone? oil painting? paper sculpting??? Why not?!)

In any case, with this semester's course catalog came the offering of all offerings: Introduction to Beekeeping.


How. Awesome. Is. That.


It's a year-long course taught by a Retired Professional Beekeeper wherein students get to maintain and harvest honey from their own instructional hives!(!!!) I'm not even kidding--this sounds totally amazing to me.


And I'm completely jealous that the $150 course fee and the fact that I live in a 3rd floor apartment and therefore don't have a place to put said instructional hives (am thinking my rinky-dink balcony won't cut it...) and the fact that I'm occupied with 3 research projects this semester (ho hum...) are keeping me from harvesting my own honey this year.


I'm pretty certain I'm an incurable nerd and this is just the bazillionth piece of evidence convicting me. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. :-)

One of a kind

I witnessed this combover while people-watching in an old cemetery in Boston.

It begs several questions....

How is this nobler than being bald?

Is this the look he was going for?

Is it not frightening that those long tendrils of hair resemble tentacles creeping across that noggin' of his?

Is that not the most impressive combover you've seen in a long time?

I thought so.