The Shepherd's Daughter

Dr. Who and Torchwood Crossover Guide

2011-01-23T18:45:00.017-05:00

This week, I contracted a terrible stomach flu and was too nauseated and weak to do much but watch Netflix. First, I watched all of Torchwood, as it had been recommended to me. Then, I decided to go back and watch Dr. Who. The thing is, things get confusing, what with a British airing system so different from what I’m used to in the US and time within the shows being all “wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey.”

I was inspired by my confusion and the most popular entry ever on this blog—the Buffy and Angel Crossover Episode Guide— to create a watching guide for Dr. Who and Torchwood. I’ll give the order in which the shows were originally aired, mentioning specific crossover episodes when possible. For dates, I relied on Wikipedia. Note: Sometimes I label it “CROSSOVER” when the label “SEEDS OF FUTURE SPIN-OFF” would be more accurate. Also, I tried to keep it vague, but there are some SPOILERS.

This is, perhaps, the geekiest thing I’ve ever done. Enjoy!

The Ninth Doctor Christopher Eccleston

Dr. Who- Series 1- March-June 2005

CROSSOVER: Episode 3- “The Unquiet Dead” In Cardiff, The Doctor and Rose meet a servant, Gwynneth, played by Torchwood’s Eve Myles. Gwynneth is later implied to be Gwen Cooper’s ancestor.

CROSSOVER: Episode 4- “Aliens of London” “Dr.” Toshiko Sato examines a space pig. Mentioned again in Torchwood Season 2 Ep. 13 “Exit Wounds.”

CROSSOVER: Episodes 9-13 “The Empty Child,” “The Doctor Dances,” “Boom Town,” “Bad Wolf” and “The Parting of the Ways” Jack Harkness joins Rose and The Doctor on their travels. “Bad Wolf” also includes the first mention of Torchwood.

The Tenth Doctor David Tennant

Children in Need Special 2005- Found the mini-episode HERE! The Doctor claims he’s leaving Jack behind to rebuild the earth.

Dr. Who Special- “The Christmas Invasion”- December 2005- Note: Although the Christmas special episodes aired in the UK between seasons, on Netflix this is Episode 1 of Series 2.

Dr. Who- Series 2- April-July 2006

Torchwood- Series 1- October 2006 to January 2007*

*Dr. Who Special- “The Runaway Bride”- December 2006. Although Netflix and boxed sets place this as the first episode of season 3, it aired between Torchwood Series 1 episodes 11- “Combat” and 12-“Captain Jack Harkness.”

Dr. Who- Series 3- March-June 2007

CROSSOVER: Episodes 11-13 “Utopia,” “The Sound of Drums” and “Last of the Time Lords” Captain Jack Harkness finally catches up with the doctor and they end up battling The Master.

Dr. Who Children in Need Special - “Time Crash” Found the mini-episode HERE!

Dr. Who Special- “The Voyage of the Damned” December 2007: Although the Christmas special episodes aired in the UK between seasons, on Netflix this is Episode 1 of Series 4.

Torchwood- Series 2- January-April 2008

CROSSOVER: Episodes 6-9 “Reset,” “Dead Man Walking” and “A Day in the Death” Dr. Martha Jones, now of UNIT, comes to help Torchwood investigate a series of murders in Cardiff.

Dr. Who- Series 4 April-July 2008

CROSSOVER: Episodes 12-13 “The Stolen Earth” and “Journey’s End” Ianto, Gwen and all The Doctor’s companions (from the new series) work with him to battle a dangerous foe.

Dr. Who Special- “The Next Doctor”- December 2008- Netflix includes this special as episode 15 of Series 4.

Dr. Who Special- “Planet of the Dead”- April 2009 - Easter special

Torchwood- Series 3- “Children of Earth” miniseries July 2009

Dr. Who Special- “The Waters of Mars”- November 2009

Dr. Who Special- “The End of Time” part 1- December 2009

Dr. Who Special- “The End of Time” part 2- January 2010

The Eleventh Doctor Matt Smith **Note:

I haven’t seen episodes past this point, so I don’t know what crossovers might exist.

Dr. Who- Series 5- April- June 2010

Dr. Who Special- “A Christmas Carol”- December 2010

Dr. Who- Series 6 -First 7 episodes- to air “Spring 2011”

Torchwood “Miracle Day”- Series 4 - to air “Summer 2011” simultaneously in the UK and in the US!

Dr. Who- Series 6- Last 6 episodes- to air “Fall 2011”

30 Days of Truth- Day 8: Someone Who Has Made Your Life Hell

2010-11-26T12:11:00.001-05:00

On day 6, I gave a brief preview of today. Here’s where I spill the beans in detail. Ugh, dredging up junior high/high school angst! Let the catharsis begin: A girl I grew up with, Leslie, decided at some point that I would be her target. Leslie sat at the popular table, but her friends feared her bad side as much as/more than they actually liked her (at least that’s what they told me). She wasn’t like Jill, the homecoming queen, who played the Regina George completely-sweet-until-she-isn’t role to perfection.

No, Leslie was all about judgment. She was, for example, the one who told me I was a blasphemer for saying words like “gosh,” “jeeze,” and “darn.” This wasn’t entirely her fault. When we were 7 or 8, our teacher held a presidential election, and Leslie told us we had to vote for Bush, because her parents said the other guy liked murdering babies.

Me: “That can’t POSSIBLY be true. If he murdered babies, it would be in the newspapers, and…”

Leslie: “But it IS true. My parents TOLD me! He thinks murdering babies shouldn’t even be against the law. It’s called abortion.” Start ‘em young, eh, Pro-Lifers? So Bush won the election in our classroom by a LANDSLIDE, as no one in the second grade had a convincing Pro-Choice rebuttal. What I’m saying is, the judgemental-fundamentalist-Christian part is not entirely her fault. She was fed that rhetoric from birth.

The part that was her fault was her cruelty. On day as she was mocking Chris, one of the most-teased kids in our school, he said, “Didn’t you just leave an FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) meeting? Christianity is about being kind! You’re being a hypocrite.” My ears perked up, as I’d always wondered how Leslie justified her behavior to herself. She replied, “We’re all hypocrites in the eyes of the Lord. None of us is without sin.”

BAM! We’re all sinners, so why bother being kind? That’s when I knew something I’d never known before: that she was dangerous and I didn’t want to be around her. You see, before that, I thought there was hope for her. In fact, when her friends ostracized her at one point, I let her sit at the lunch table with my friends and me. I thought our kindness might have an effect on her. It only made her see us as weak once she got back in the cool kids’ good graces. (See yesterday’s post on the weakness/strength of being forgiving.)

Over the years, Leslie mocked me mercilessly, pulled my hair, shoved me up against lockers, and once when a teacher was out of the room she whacked me in the face repeatedly with a rolled-up magazine chanting my nickname, Eek (formed from my initials, E.K.). Cornered, I ignored her for as long as I could. Eventually, I calmly said, “What, Leslie?” Whack, whack, whack! “Leslie, if you touch me again, I’m going to hit you…” Whack, whack, whack! “…and I’m going to KEEP hitting you until you stop.” Whack! went the magazine into my face.

SMACK! My palm connected with her smug face, but she kept touching me, so I smacked her over and over and over, I don’t know how many times, until she finally stopped. I ran out of the room crying, sure I was going to be suspended and grounded. Instead, the teacher apologized for leaving me alone with “that girl.” Hee! The sad part of the story (besides that I was not good at maintaining pacifism in a stressful situation) is that if I’d stayed and acted like nothing happened or—better yet—laughed at her, it would have changed everything, because it would have been Cool. Instead, I was a geek pushed to the breaking point. Under her leadership, the bullies were determined to make me lose it again.

And sometimes I did lose it. When they soaked my clothes in the showers during gym class, I kicked over a trash can and went on a yelling tirade. On another particularly memorable occasion, Leslie sat behind me on the bleachers, leaned forward and tried to rip a mole off my neck by pinching it between two nickels and twisting. Sometimes their attempts to goad me fell flat, though: they tried to ditch me when I was driving behind them to Boone for some event (Mom’s orders, as it was deer season, and she was afraid I’d hit one with the car or something.) I guess they forgot that I drove to Boone EVERY WEEKDAY to take college classes.

It was Leslie who started the mocking nickname Julia and my Roy Orbison theme song. In DNA Biology, my lab partner Christine was depressed because someone told her she looked like Barbra Streisand. “I hate my nose!” I told her, “Oh, I’ve been told I look like her, too! Don’t worry about it. It’s just something people say when they don’t know what to say. I mean, people are always telling me I look like Julia Roberts or Barbra Streisand or whatever other actress. And these women look nothing like me or like each other. Whatever!” Leslie, who had been eavesdropping turned around. “You think you look like Julia Roberts?” “No,” I replied. “People just keep saying I do.”

By the end of the day Leslie had the school convinced that I thought I looked like Julia Roberts. After that, every time I ran out on the field or in the gym to cheer, they would shout “JULIA” and sing “Pretty Woman.” Heck, even if I was just getting up to give a speech in English class, they’d hum it. Luckly, that one didn’t really bother me. They were trying to point out the absurdity of me thinking I looked like someone that beautiful? Oh, no, you think I think I look like someone dozens of people say I look like!

The worst part, though, was Leslie’s effect on my friend Dawn (more on that tomorrow). Dawn and I were incredibly close frenemies. When Dawn was with me, we got along well and had so much fun. When she was around Leslie, she would turn cruel. It hurt that someone with whom I shared so many good times could, at any moment, turn against me to mock me with my nemesis.

How did I make it through all that torture? Luckily, I had a ton of amazing friends. I had supportive parents who offered to put me in private school. (Just knowing you have the option of escape is an immense relief). I got out of the building as often as possible to take college classes or do a work-study program at a daycare center. Spring semester of my senior year, I was a page in the State House of Representatives, so I only came to school on Fridays. I had cheerleading, choir and drama to cheer me up. I was a strong person, and the torment only made me stronger and more empathetic. It also helped that I knew the teachers were on my side, even if they couldn’t stop the abuse.

The last week of senior year, our English teacher broke us into teams and had us build weight-bearing structures out of macaroni and gumdrops. Leslie was bragging about g how her team was going to dominate, as she’d gotten a prestigious acceptance letter: “ISU Engineering program, YEAH!” she bragged, high-fiving Brandon. Leslie’s team built some crazy stilt-structure. My team built a bridge-like box with a large surface area for weight displacement, and plenty of crisscrossing spaghetti noodle support beams reinforced with gumdrops that I mooshed up wrapped around every cross and joint. (The other teams just jammed their noodles into the gumdrops.) In the end, every other team’s structures broke, and our structure supported not only our books, but most of the other teams’ books, too. I told Leslie off for being so arrogant, imitating her earlier tone: “Logic! THAT’S how the English majors do it!” After the rest of the class left, the teacher called me to her desk, laughing: “Thank you so much! I’ve been wanting someone to tell that girl off for years!” Hee!

One of my junior high students said to me once, “You must have been a geek in school.” I asked her, “Why do you say that?” She replied, “Because you never put up with bullies in class. You yell at kids whenever they’re mean.” At the time, I thought it was sad that a kid would assume only a former geek would be kind and protect her students. I should have, instead, taken it as a major compliment: I was doing a good job at preventing bullying in my classroom. Students recognized my room as a place where they were safe, and trust me: when you’re bullied, you appreciate any oasis.

I heard Leslie got pregnant in college and dropped out of school. Maybe she went back and graduated; I don’t know. Leslie brought her husband and three kids to our 10-year reunion, and she seemed like a nice mom. She was the first one to come up and hug me when I arrived. She looked like I’d hit her in the face, though, when Dawn and I were explaining our complicated past to her fiancé, Chris. Dawn admitted that she used to pull my hair: “It was me and…” “Leslie,” I finished. “Yep, you guys used to torture me.” I wasn’t mad, but I wasn’t going to pretend it didn’t happen, either. After the reunion, Leslie requested me as a Facebook friend. I figure my life is awesome, and if she wants to read about it, that’s fine.

Maybe being a mom has changed her and made her a better person. I hope so. I hope she’s raising her kids to be kind.

30 Days of Truth- Day 7: Someone Who Has Made Your Life Worth Living For

2010-11-25T11:32:00.000-05:00

What an appropriate prompt for Thanksgiving Day! Who has made my life worth living? Every person I’ve ever called a best friend, including (but not limited to): Marjory; Harmony; Gwen; Justin; Jan; Amanda; Alexis; Chieko; Dawn; Kari; Margo; Mary-Elizabeth; Calvin; Misty; the women of Heritage 11—Jenny, Jessy, Kelly, Kiyo, Emily and Rachael; Jackie; Lex; Drew; Tom; my NYC girls—Madrid, Laura and Carolina; Todd; and, of course, Rose and Val. God bless you all for the laughter, the letters, the late-night conversations, the adventures and the fun. I wouldn’t have made it without you.

My students, in a weird way, make life worth living. As I help them, I send ripples of good out into the world. Help one kid in the Bronx and you may help his family, not just now, but for generations to come. That kind of hope is inspiring and renewing. Also, my students are often vivacious and kind. I work part time at a daycare center, and the hugs and giggles are a natural antidepressant!

My family makes life worth living. I am blessed beyond measure to have been born into my family. They are one-in-a-million in terms of closeness, supportiveness and camaraderie. They raised me with faith, good values and kindness. They taught me a strong work ethic and a dedication to civil justice and community. They taught me to be patriotic—not an unquestioning drone, but rather an informed, reasonable woman who loves her country and shows it respect.

Over and over again, it strikes me how lucking I was to have parents who were crazy in love and took such good care of us, six grandparents and countless aunts and uncles who teased/doted on us, and cousins who are as close as siblings. Living in New York, I’d hear people say of the homeless, “that could be you.” But I always knew it couldn’t. I was blessed with a support system that would never let my life spin that far out of control. Some of my friends and family members have admired my accomplishments, or my bravery venturing so far from home. To them I say that it’s easy to jump when you know there’s someone there to catch you.

Thank you all for the fun, adventures, comfort, time, energy and love. Thanks for the love most of all.

30 Days of Truth- Day 6: Something You Hope You Never Have to Do

2010-11-24T11:27:00.001-05:00

I pray that I never lose a child. Several years ago, my nephew was born premature and passed away before his due date. Noah was in our lives long enough for us all to fall in love with him and to believe that he could survive.

Loving Noah taught me that sometimes you must love freely, completely, without reservation—even if you suspect your heart will be broken, because love—however fleeting—is worth it. Noah changed the way I lived my life (not long after, I moved and changed careers) and the way I love. For that, I will forever be grateful for knowing him. That said, losing Noah was devastating for all of us, and I pray our family never faces such a tragedy again.

30 Days of Truth- Day 5: Something You Hope to Do With Your Life

2010-11-23T11:22:00.000-05:00

I hope to become a tenured professor and a published author: precisely what I’m doing now, just on the pro level. I love my work, I love writing, and that’s what I want to do for the rest of my work-life. No extensive explanation is required. What is required is for me to overcome my fear of rejections and submit, submit, submit and apply, apply, apply.

30 Days of Truth- Day 4: Something You Need to Forgive Someone For

2010-11-22T11:13:00.003-05:00

You know what’s tough about being a Christian? The part about forgiving and loving your enemy. It feels weak and doormattish, or as Mark Twain put it, “Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.” Mahatma Ghandi has a great rebuttal, however: “The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.”

You forgive for three reasons: it’s better for you, better for the forgiven, and it’s better for the world—every bit of hate/every bit of forgiveness counts. Ghandi also taught us, “We need to be the hope we wish to see in the world.” If I want the world to be peaceful and forgiving, then I must be peaceful and forgiving. That doesn’t mean I don’t learn from the past and use that knowledge to build a safer, happier future. It just means that I try to let go any anger and pain attached to past wrongs. So here goes.

The people I forgive:

The mean kids I grew up with, whose methods of torture ranged from throwing my clothes in the shower during gym class to violence, mocking jokes, skits and even a theme song. (More about this on Day 8.)

The students who insulted and/or assaulted me when I taught in the Bronx. All I wanted to do was help them. All they wanted was…a million things and none—whatever was running through their heads at any particular moment. To feel safe. To vent all their frustrations in life on a safe person: me. Students, I forgive you.

Mr. B—I described our breakup on this blog years ago. I cared about and trusted him. He accused me of deceiving him when I did not. I realize now that it was about his inability to trust, not my untrustworthiness. Though his issue hurt me, it wasn’t ABOUT me. Ex-boyfriend, I forgive you.

The employer who tied me in knots. She was just trying to do her job, jumping through bureaucratic hoops— hoops that coincidentally tightened around me neck. The fact is, we both wanted the same thing: safe, happy, well-educated students. We just had different ideas about how to achieve that goal. Former boss who took a chance on me and gave me a job, I forgive you.

The guys who burglarized me, breaking into my apartment and stealing my DVDs, my cameras, my jewelry and more. BOO! I miss my stuff! But I survived the loss of my stuff, just I my family survived the loss of a bunch of our other stuff in the tornado. I love my stuff and find it comforting, but I don’t NEED most of it. Thieves who reminded me of that, I forgive you.

The pickpocket frat boys who stole my wallet in Solas, my favorite NYC bar, and used the info on my ID to mess with my head before taking off. Violated on so many levels! Stupid frat boys, I forgive you. Okay, not entirely yet, but I’m still working on it.

The guy who attacked me at a party in college. I managed to fight him off, but I occasionally suffer symptoms of PTSD, including a couple times while kissing a boyfriend I had flashbacks that left me crying and hysterical. Those moments—scared in the arms of a man I loved—I was so angry. Carrying that anger around is exhausting. It doesn’t hurt the attacker; it only hurts me. I forgive you, bit-by-bit. It’s a struggle, but I keep trying.

Other creepy guys who’ve pushed too far: you make being a woman feel scary and lonely. Stop it! That said, I forgive you for your past icky, slimy, grabby come-ons. That said: cut it out!

Okay, forgiving the last three on the list—guys who made me feel vulnerable and violated—it’s not as easy as saying, “I forgive you!” Or maybe it would be if I let it. Maybe I’m afraid of violet forgiveness: sweet, velvety and crushed.

In "Forgiveness - The Power to Change the Past," an article in the January 7, 1983 issue of Christianity Today, 7 Lewis B. Smedes wrote, “Forgiving is love's toughest work, and love's biggest risk. If you twist it into something it was never meant to be, it can make you a doormat or an insufferable manipulator. Forgiving seems almost unnatural. Our sense of fairness tells us people should pay for the wrong they do. But forgiving is love's power to break nature's rule.”

Ghandi said that forgiveness is the purview of the strong, but Smedes remind us that it is also their privilege: “To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.”

30 Days of Truth- Day 3: Something You Need to Forgive Yourself For

2010-11-21T21:33:00.002-05:00

There are a few, specific deeds I regret. In middle school I bowed to mean-girl peer pressure a few times. Once, in the midst of a fight with my friend Alexis, I overheard some popular girls making up a song about her. Their lyrics were so lame. Before I thought better of it, I threw out a perfectly rhyming verse with insults that would hurt my estranged friend. Who knows better than our friends what hurts us? Another time, I threw two birthday parties because I knew my more popular friends wouldn't attend a sleepover with my less popular friends. That must have hurt them, and I'm sorry.

I was irresponsible on other occasions: I opened the lambing barn to show a fried a baby lamb and didn't close the door properly. The lamb got out and died, and that loss of innocent life was my fault. In high school, I stayed up too late studying. Sleep deprived and fuzzy-headed, I tried to pass in a no passing zone at dawn. I was sure it was a passing zone, but I was wrong. Coming at me was a car with no headlights on. I managed to avoid a collision my jerking the wheel to return to my lane, but the truck flipped, totaling Dad's Ranger.

Yes, I need to forgive myself for those mistakes, but more importantly I need to forgive myself for mistakes in general. Logically, I know that no one is perfect, but I obsess over every mistake I make, and for every dream that hasn't come true, ruing the gap between who I am and who I was supposed to be.

I'm not happily married with kids and an impressive, established career.

BFF Val reminds me of the things I've accomplished: A MFA in Poetry, an MS in Teaching, a BA in English. Two years as a reporter. A three-year term in the Americorps/Teaching Fellows teaching in the South Bronx. An adjunct job at a state university. Being a good friend.

BFF Madrid reminds me that I might not have been any happier if all of my exterior measures of success had been reached. If I'd gone after my dreams of acting, my relationships might be more difficult to maintain, and everyone who has been my student would be a little pit different from learning from another teacher instead (for better or worse). If I'd fallen in love and gotten married years ago, I might have missed many of the academic, service and artistic opportunities I've been blessed to pursue.

So I graduated late. So what? It's time to forgive myself. So I'm 30 and my career as a poet and professor is still in its nascency. So what? I need to forgive myself. Each aborted career helped make me who I am today, and I like who I am.

As a child in the talented and gifted program, I thought I was going to be some kind of prodigy. I thought that was what people wanted from me, and I desperately wanted to please all those grownups with their high expectations. I prayed that I would manage to create something that would show everything that their faith in my was justified, and that the mean kids I went to school with were wrong: I was special in a good way. Being smart didn't just make me a geek: it meant I was destined for good things, and the world would reward me.

I love that the movie Hope Floats because emphasizes the idea that not being special is okay. Birdee, a former beauty queen, takes an ordinary job at the photomat in her ordinary hometown. Yes, her family is quirky and she develops an artistic hobby, but her life isn't glamorous. Justin, formerly a hot-shot architect in a powerful firm, gave it up because the pressure made him hate work he used to love.

The external recognition wasn't enough for him. It never will be--not for someone like me. I seek external validation, hoping it will make me happy, but the result is fleeting, like a drug. My best chance for lasting happiness is to find validation within.

I know how cheesy that sounds: like a self-help book run amok. I'm not talking about the kind of self validation that leads people to feel justified in every selfish choice. What I'm suggesting, instead, is a stab at self-acceptance. The serenity prayer isn't just for people in a 12-step program; it makes good sense for all of us. Here is Reinhold Niebur's original version: "Father, give us courage to change what must be altered, serenity to accept what cannot be helped, and the insight to know the one from the other."

So here goes: I forgive myself for my mistakes and for not living up to my dreams and the expectations of others. Some things I cannot change: I will probably always battle depression and the roadblocks that come with it, but I can work the steps to ameliorate its effects. I may never fall in love with someone who will marry and have kids with me. I can't control that, but I can do my best to get our and meet new people. I will change the things I must and work to accept the things I cannot change.

For my mistakes, I'm very sorry, and in this moment I forgive myself. I'll have to work hard to forgive myself over and over; I know this about myself. I will forget who I am and get lost in who I'm supposed to be. Then I will remember again, examine the lacuna between "am" and "should be" and step back from the ledge. I will remember again that I need forgiveness--that we all do. Why is it so much easier to forgive someone else than myself? Because it is hard to believe that I deserve such clemency.

The thing is, we don't always forgive because the wrongdoer deserves it. Sometimes we forgive because we need to let go of the grudge. Grudges are burdens that weigh us down, standing in the way of our paths forward. The only way to lay that burden down is forgiveness, but that the place to start is also the hardest place for most of us: we must start with ourselves.

30 Days of Truth- Day 2: Something You Love About Yourself

2010-11-20T23:58:00.001-05:00

I love being an artist. From my first memories, I remember being happiest when I was drawing, sculpting, taking pictures, singing, acting, writing or telling stories.

As an actress, being other characters let me explore other lives, and it made me more empathetic. I made people laugh and cry. On stage, you can feel your audience, even when you forget they're there. You can feel what they need from you--what you have to do to give them the emotional release they've been seeking.

Being a writer/storyteller bestows that same gift to the artist: helping the audience feel something they've been longing to feel or better understand an idea they've been grappling with. The Kennedy/Gioia Anthology of Literature claims the goal of drama is to lead audiences to a new understanding of what it means to be human. I'd say that's the goal of all art. One of the greatest gifts I've ever received was after my MFA Thesis Reading. Several members of the audience told me my poem Mirrorbox captured their grief: "That's just how it felt," one told me. "Thank you for reading it," another said. Somehow, hearing my words helped. As Julia Kasdorf wrote in her poem "What I Learned From My Mother," "Like a doctor, I learned to create/ from another's pain my own usefulness, and once/ you know how to do this, you can never refuse."

When I was a reporter, I had the added bonus of getting to hear other people's stories. I got paid to ask people questions and examine their lives in search of what made them special and beautiful. Every person I interviewed had a great story in them, though some required more digging than others. I mentioned this to Buzz Bissinger, author of the nonfiction book Friday Night Lights, and with a mixture of skepticism and boredom, he informed me he hadn't found that to be the case. Perhaps it was my scant time in the reporting biz (a mere two years) that lead me to believe that every individual has a great story, but I don't think so. You see, in six of the seven years since I left reporting, I had my students write memoirs--hundreds upon hundreds of students-- and each one had a unique story to tell, one that I could learn from.

In yesterday's post, I said I hated my depression, and I do, but that's not the whole story. Jacob Clifton, a Television Without Pity recapper, wrote about the season finale of Weeds (he tends to do literary/ psychological analyses of episodes), "The thing that makes you awesome is the thing that makes you suck. 100% of the time. But we hardly ever get to talk about the opposite thing, which is also true: The very worst thing about Nancy Botwin is the very best thing about Nancy Botwin. [...] The thing that makes you suck is the thing that makes you awesome." His language is crude, but he speaks the truth.

Last year, I told a therapist, a quiet Chinese man, that I hated being depressed and feeling so emotional.

He steepled his hands and softly asked me, "But you are artist, yes? A poet?"

"Yes," I replied, wondering where he was going with this.

"And this is a calling that requires understanding of emotions? You must be able to feel things deeply?"

"Well...yes."

"Okay, then!" he said with a beatific smile.

I was flabbergasted. The thing I hated most about myself--my depression and the attendant pitfalls and insecurities--also gave me what I loved most--my empathy and my artistic nature. Go figure! And here he was, a psychiatrist, telling me that it's okay. It's not only okay that I'm depressed: a good thing! A good thing with a hefty price tag, but a good thing, nonetheless.

It's a hard lesson to hold on to--hard to believe my depression is a gift even as I'm battling its more detrimental aspects. But in the end, I love who I am. I love my relationships with my friends and family. I love believing in the goodness in others. I love art, both partaking in it and creating it. If depression is the price I have to pay for those gifts, then so be it. Maybe that's the secret to a happy life: learning to love the flaws.

30 Days of Truth- Day 1: Something You Hate About Yourself

2010-11-19T23:01:00.000-05:00

I can't believe I'm jumping on a meme bandwagon. I haven't posted since March, though, and I've barely been writing. Then, on Facebook, I saw that my former BVU classmate of Micah Chaplin was writing on some challenging topics for her blog. The postings were prompted by a list from another blog, Hope Dies Last, which she got from girlvaughn.com. (Sorry: as an English prof, I'm meticulous about citing my sources.)

Following the list seemed like a good way to write brief-yet-substantive posts that might even help me grow as a person. Hey, did I just hear you groan? Well, you can either keep reading or wait for a post without a 30 Days of Truth doily in the corner. With that warning, we're off!

Day 1: What is something you hate about yourself?

I hate that I suffer from depression. I also hate that I'm ashamed of my depression and I'm nervous that some future employer will Google me, read this post, and decide not to hire me for my dream job.

So why post it here for the world to see? My grandfather killed himself in 1955, a time when people thought psychiatry was just for weak, crazy people. More than 50 years later, people are still dying of silence and shame. I'm tired of being ashamed of who I am, and maybe my honesty can help someone else.

Here are the symptoms of depression, according to WebMD:

difficulty concentrating, remembering details, and making decisions
fatigue and decreased energy
feelings of guilt, worthlessness, and/or helplessness
feelings of hopelessness and/or pessimism
insomnia, early-morning wakefulness, or excessive sleeping
irritability, restlessness
loss of interest in activities or hobbies once pleasurable, including sex
overeating or appetite loss
persistent aches or pains, headaches, cramps, or digestive problems that do not ease even with treatment
persistent sad, anxious, or "empty" feelings
thoughts of suicide, suicide attempts

I was first diagnosed with clinical depression when I was 20, though I'd probably been suffering off-and-on before that. (Depression comes and goes in waves, but many mental conditions strengthen in the teens and early twenties.) That summer, I'd lost my appetite and my weight had dropped below 120 lbs. (I'm about 5'7".) I also suffered from insomnia and had trouble completing my school work. One day, I thought, "It would be easier if I wasn't alive." I probably would have written the thought off, but I remembered my Grandfather Nissen's suicide at the age of 25. I decided to go get help before my problem got any worse.

In the ten years since my diagnosis, depression has affected my career, my art and my relationships. Sometimes I feel exhausted, I can't concentrate, and I fall behind. As a result, I feel guilty and hopeless, and I draw away from the people I love. Those "empty" feelings mentioned on the list? At my lowest points, I felt like I wasn't real--like maybe I was just a character in someone else's fiction. It's hard to fight for happiness and for what you want to achieve when you can barely believe that you're real and you matter.

Even when I feel good, I have to be vigilant: Am I tired, or am I depressed? Is this a normal backache, or is it depression? Am I eating too much candy because it's Halloween or because of depression?

It doesn't help that, unlike most physical ailments, mental conditions can't be proven by a simple blood test or x-ray. I've had people suggest that I should just try harder not to be depressed. When I was on antidepressants, more than one person told me I should get off them and/or that they would never deign to alter their brains via chemicals.

Stigmas regarding depression, therapy and the use of antidepressants may have diminished over the decades, but many people still believe that depression is an empty excuse for weakness or bad choices. No one would judge someone with an inherited heart condition, but an inherited mental condition they will judge 'til the cows come home. (Farmgirl tangent: What a dumb saying! Dairy cows will come home by nightfall to be milked, and most domestic cattle will be back for the evening hay or grain. Judgmental attitudes last way longer than that!)

When my depression is problematic, I combat it with medicine, therapy and behavioral strategies--which I try to maintain even when I'm not in therapy or on meds. I have to fight for my happiness, productivity and positivity. I've had to go on meds three times, and each time felt like a failure--like maybe, if I'd fought harder, it wouldn't have happened. If I'd been more careful about what I ate and how much I exercised and maintaining my sleep patterns. If I hadn't allowed myself those negative thoughts. If, if, if. But even that line of thoughts-- the what-ifs and the blame-- are a symptom.

So I remember my therapy: Some of my depression isn't my fault. I can't help it, and that's okay. Some of it I can help. I can't change what's happened in the past, but I can try to make better choices next time.

And I try to remember that people love me, and I love them. That so far, my life has worked out, and it probably will again. That the world is beautiful, and there are a million wonders in it to see, to create, to and be. Every moment is a new opportunity. Each breath is a gift. Just like in The Velveteen Rabbit, it's love that makes you real. Start by loving one breath. Breath by breath, build that love into a life.

*If you are depressed or suicidal, please seek help. The world needs you. Please keep trying.

How Not to Get Published: a Literary Magazine Editor’s Guide

2010-03-13T20:24:00.005-05:00

I recently became a poetry editor for a new literary journal. One hour as an editor gave me a deeper understanding of several writing pitfalls than the classes I’ve taught, classes I’ve taken and books I’ve read on the subject. We had hundreds of poems submitted, but only 30 slots to fill, and we saw a pattern in the poems we rejected. The fiction and nonfiction editors saw patterns in their rejected pieces, too. I've compiled handy guide, based on our pet peeves.

How Not to Get Published: a Literary Magazine Editor’s Guide

1- Address your submission “Dear Sir” or “Dear Sirs” regardless of the editors’ genders.

The call for submissions listed our names. Two of us are female, and one is male. Our names aren’t misleading like “Sam” or “Chris.” Either the offending submitters chose to ignore the female editors in favor of the male editor, missed seeing our names entirely and just guessed our gender, or simply could not process the thought of women in charge. Either way, writing “Dear Sirs” was a bad call. Perhaps they should go find some “sirs” to publish their work.

2- Ignore the instructions on the call for submission.

Follow submission instructions, or your work will be rejected. While you’re at it, proofread carefully. I’d think that goes without saying, but apparently it doesn’t.

3- Try to prove your cleverness.

We read a few poems spoiled by one weird element. Actual dialogue between us at one point (with identifying details removed):

“This poem is beautiful, but why did the author do X? Was it a mistake?”
“It can’t be. Look: he/she does X in every stanza.”
“But why? To suggest some kind of theme?”
“I think she/he wants to suggest ‘I am very clever.’”

The stunts distracted us from the poem’s meaning and music. Offenses included needlessly obscure word-choice or imagery and bizarre use of numbers, symbols, or capitalization. Clever stunts occur in fiction and nonfiction, too, but in different ways (See 4 -6).

4- Build your poem/story very slowly. Withhold information.

We found that several poems with excellent endings had inferior first stanzas. In poetry workshops, we call that “throat-clearing.” It’s okay in a first draft, but not in the final poem. Choosing weak first lines is like showing up for a hot date in baggy sweats. Make a tantalizing first impression!

In fiction and nonfiction, by the end of the first few paragraphs, the reader should have a general understanding of the character, setting and situation. If the character or the narrator knows what’s going on but refuses to tell the reader, the result isn’t mystery: it’s annoyance.

Withholding sometimes works in a movie (e.g. The Sixth Sense*), but in written media the strategy isn’t as effective. In written fiction and nonfiction, the message of such a revelation is: “Congratulations, reader! I’ve now told you what I refused to tell you before!” Wouldn’t you rather have the character and reader make some kind of discovery together?

*I think withholding worked in The Sixth Sense because of the visual medium, but also because the movie didn’t taunt the audience. We made the discovery as Willis’s character did. We weren’t tricked. The narrative wasn’t thumbing its nose at us, singing, “I know something you don’t know.”

5- Buy into the imitative fallacy.

In The Electric Kool-aid Acid Test, a nonfiction novel by Tom Wolfe, Ken Kesey and The Merry Tricksters are frustrated. They want to use footage of their lives to create a psychedelic movie that will open audiences’ minds, but it never works. Why? I’ve seen some of the raw footage— weird but boring because it lacks plot, character or structure. Nothing happens! It’s just a bunch of “heads” tripping. Wolfe’s book, on the other hand, works because he uses an experimental writing style to capture the psychedelic mindset of his protagonists, but gives us a narrative thread to follow.*

The text itself needn’t be insane to explore insanity. The story doesn’t have to be boring to explore boredom. You don’t have to distance your reader from the narrative in order to explore the protagonist’s difficulty connecting in life. You shouldn’t torture your reader in order for him or her to understand a protagonist’s trauma (See 7).

Employing imitative fallacy in the situations above will likely end up annoying, boring, losing, or traumatizing the reader, respectively. Wouldn’t you rather make readers care about a character’s struggles and/or triumphs and subsequently gain new understanding of the world, being human, etc.?

*Some of my friends argue that The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test doesn’t work—that his experimental style is meandering, distracting and annoying. In other words, even Woolf’s skillful negotiation of the imitative fallacy loses many readers.

6- Preach!

Some poems seem to proclaim, “LO, I CALLED OUT TO THE MUSE, AND SHE BESTOWED UPON ME THE SOUL OF A POET!” Sigh. My colleague dubbed these “Poetry Poems.” In any case, we don’t need a speaker proclaiming, “This will be my X poem!” Don’t force it. Just get out of the way and let the poem do its work.

In fiction and nonfiction, I’m told the preaching problem often manifests either in didactic dialogue or moments when the narrator stops the action to pontificate on a concept. The cliché is “show, don’t tell.” Of course a writer occasionally have to break that rule, but only occasionally…and skillfully. Lecturing the reader is not the way to go.

7- Get sexually graphic.

When dealing with sex—whether romantic, erotic or traumatic— please avoid being gross, clichéd, or gratuitous.

When writing about rape or incest, don’t imitate a police report. Giving a detailed play-by-play of the crime isn’t the most effective way to help the audience understand the emotional/mental experience of the character. There is a difference between therapeutic writing done for oneself and writing done for an audience. Ask yourself which details are necessary to advance character development or the plot.

As an actor, I learned from the Aquila Shakespeare Company not to make stage combat too realistic. If the violence looks too real, the audience is ripped out of the story, because they fear for the actors’ safety. The same occurs with intensely graphic depictions of sex crimes. Give the reader enough space so that he or she can stay in the story.

For erotica, check out Steve Almond’s amazing advice*. For example, he declares clinical terms like “penis” and “vagina” unsexy, but warns that “genital euphemisms” should also be avoided, “unless you are trying to be funny.” Then what are you supposed to do? “As a rule, in fact, there is often no reason at all to name the genitals.” He then gives examples proving his point. For more sex scene advice, try the link above.

*I was going to warn about the naked picture at the top of the page, but I realized that’s ridiculous, as it’s an article on erotic writing. Ha!

Conclusion:
I’m not trying to discourage anyone. I want make you aware of these problems so you can avoid them and get published! Keep writing, keep submitting, and keep believing. But stop calling me "sir."

Want to watch my thesis reading?

2010-03-09T00:17:00.004-05:00

Mom had the brilliant idea for me to record my thesis reading, since none of my family or non-Norfolk friends could make it. I set up my laptop on the podium and let it record. After a few moments, though, the screen went black, so we didn’t really know when we were in frame. Still, it turned out pretty well, though the microphone on my Mac only caught the loudest laughs and comments from the audience. Sometimes it sounds like we pause for no reason, but they’re laughing. As funny as we sound on the recording, in real life we were even funnier!

Speaking of funny, the goofy intros were Jesse’s idea, yet when it came time to read mine, he chickened out, and in so doing killed the laughs! Boo! BC is to blame for me cursing in his intro…although I’m solely to blame for my use of the “f” word in “The Science of Wearing High Heels.” Sorry.

A funny thing about that night: I had planned to drive, but my roomies blocked in my car. I had to RUN there in 3.5” heels and a knee-length dress, despite the chill. (It was too late to go back and change.) As a result, I start out a tad flustered, and my hair in the video is not nearly as cute as it looked pre-run. My BFF Gwen assures me that people cared more about my words, anyway.

NOTE TO MY WATCHERS: Remember, poems aren’t necessarily non-fiction, even if they contain the word “I.” Sometimes it’s me, but just as often, the person speaking in the poem is a made-up character.

Enjoy!

ODU MFA Thesis Reading Part 1- Introduction from me on Vimeo.

ODU MFA Thesis Reading Part 2- Me , Poetry from Me on Vimeo.

ODU MFA Thesis Reading Part 3- BC Wilson from Me on Vimeo.

Maybe We Will Shine

2010-02-02T16:07:00.004-05:00

I should be working right now, not blogging, but my brain is too twirly to focus. I figured venting might help.

I keep bouncing back and forth. One moment, I feel love and joy rolling off of me in waves that I just want to share with the world. The next, I don't feel real. It's like I'm a character in some story, and the book could close and I would cease to matter. (I know I sound manic depressive. Well, that's never been the diagnosis by the professionals thus far.)

Just when I feel irrelevant, though, I remember moments when people told me that I made their lives better. I know I'm blessed to have been told such a thing. Most people never know the good they do.

For example, I once ran into my friend Olga after several years apart. She told me, "What you said changed my life." I didn't know what she was talking about. "You told me, 'If someone is bored, it's their own fault. You choose how you react to the situation. If you decide to enjoy something, you will enjoy it." I remembered the context of the comment. We lived in Spain, and our class was discussing our proms for some reason. My senior prom was lame (in terms of decorations and music), so most people were sulking. A few of us decided we were going to have fun and dance anyway, and we had a fabulous time. We realized that happiness can be a choice. I had no idea, but my little anecdote changed the way Olga lived her life. A moment that I had thought inconsequential made her a more joyful person.

I recently received an e-mail from someone who was plagued by self-doubt, and I gave him advice. Now, I'm the one drowning in doubt, so I must give myself the same advice I gave him:

"Sometimes I cringe because my work isn't as good as that of some of my colleagues, or when they win awards and get publications I do not. There's always going to be someone better. I became a poet because I read (and fell in love with) Lorna Dee Cervantes' 'The Body as Braille.' Maybe, someday, someone will read my work and it will be what they need--it will become a part of them--the way 'The Body as Braille' has become a part of me. You never know what part of you, what gift, the world needs. As such, you must give your all."

The Bible says not to hide your light under a bushel. Enough of us hide our lights (even from ourselves) that it needed to be said, recorded in a holy text. Why? Let me quote a text I hung on the wall of my classroom in the Bronx:

Our Deepest Fear is That We Are Powerful Beyond Measure.

From A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be?

[…] Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightening about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. […]

It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Work to set yourself free from fear, and I'll do the same. Maybe we will free each other. Maybe we will shine.

Top Ten Reasons I'm Psyched that Chuck Returns to NBC tonight, January 10!

2010-01-10T19:18:00.001-05:00

10. Chuck finally gets a decent haircut. Zachary Levi is a handsome man. They gave him that awful haircut (see photo at left) to make him look dorky. Well, hot geeks exist, and they’re the best, so bring on the haircut and the hotness!

9. Jeffster, a.k.a “Sam Kinison and an Indian Lesbian.” The band rocks every venue they play, from the Buy More to a church on a wedding day.

8. Chuck gets spy skills! It’s bugged me for a while that the government didn’t just put Chuck through spy training. Then he’d be better at defending himself. Heck, Casey and Sarah could have at least taught him basic self-defense. But did they? No. Thanks for remedying the situation, Intersect!

7. Maybe this year, they’ll have Chuck sing. Zachary Levi used to be a musical theater actor, and his voice is beautiful. I’ve seen an ad for the new season in which the Intersect allows Chuck to play guitar. Maybe it will allow him to sing, too. Shows with singing are in this year! Pretty please?

6. John Casey. Oh, how I’ve missed that cranky man, with his love of Reagan, bonsai trees and his Crown Vic. How will Casey react to Chuck’s dominating new skills? I can’t wait to find out.

5. Wait, Chuck’s magical spy skills will sometimes malfunction? Hee! Let the hilarity ensue.

4. Spies + Romance + Humor = Awesome!

3. Speaking of which: the return of Captain Awesome. Captain Awesome (a.k.a. Devon) can do sit-ups hanging upside-down from a doorframe. He’ll teach you how to tuck in your shirt, use hair product or dance the tango. Devon will come to your party wearing nothing but a fig leaf, and on top of all that, he’s a doctor! Oh, and his fumbling at keeping Chuck’s secret (something he’s not awesome at?) makes Captain Awesome all the more lovable.

2. Chuck and Sarah’s chemistry. It makes my heart flutter!

1. It’s a miracle we got Chuck back at all! (Thanks, Subway!) And even after NBC renewed it, Chuck wasn’t supposed to air until spring. They moved it up! How? Why? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’ll just thank my lucky stars and soak up the sexy, goofy spyfun.

On shooting oneself in the foot: (a.k.a. "I Call My Writer's Block Jordan Catalano.")

2010-01-09T00:00:00.008-05:00

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

Seriously, I wish I could scream my fool head off, but I have roomies and neighbors. I have a good scream, too. I’ve been told it's blood-curdling.* In fact, I've been a stunt screamer in a play. The girl whose character was supposed to scream didn't have my mad shrieking skills.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

I’m tired of fucking up, of standing in my own way. Once upon a time, I didn’t know failure was an option, but now it is, and I flirt with it—the boy who smokes under the bleachers: dangerous, unsuitable, easy. And the more I’m warned that he’s all wrong for me, that he's my doom, and that I’m throwing my life away, the more irresistibly I’m pulled away from the limelight of the cheerleading squad to linger with him in the dark, the gravel and smoke—to let him touch my clean, chaste skin even though God and my grandmother wouldn’t approve. Even though it makes me feel dirty.

“You’re not a fuck-up,” Val assures me. “The world is fucked up. They try to use fear and negative reinforcement as a motivator, and it doesn’t work! That’s what the prison system is based on, and it does it work? No, but it’s not going away anytime soon. You and I, we’re sensitive to negative reinforcement, so when we face it, we shut down. You’re not a fuck-up. You’re a talented, accomplished, dedicated woman."

As long as she was talking—as long as I could hear her soothing voice—I could believe it, but as soon as we hung up, the shame would rise again. Well, fuck that noise! I wish I were the kind of girl to shout, “FUCK THIS!” and go out drinking. Hell, maybe later tonight I will.

I am human. I can only do what I can do. I need to stop worrying about others and just worry about myself. Maybe I’ll reread the Tao of Pooh. There’s a part in it about how Pooh never works, but somehow always finds what he needs. I’m going to try to do that: joy my way through life. Follow my bliss. All that hippy bullshit.

*I seriously doubt anyone screams like that in real life. It's certainly not how I scream. When startled, I have let out a quick shriek (like the blood-curdler, but only a millisecond long) or--more often-- a low, hoarse "AAH!" (Perhaps I subconsciously want to seem tougher and think a low shout is more effective than a high scream?) My weird rant on screaming technique is now complete. As you were!

P.S. I can't believe how many times I just wrote the word "fuck." I can hear my mother scold: "Inappropriate!"

Cute Overload!

2009-10-19T21:45:00.003-04:00

I adore the web site Cute Overload. If you're ever having a bad day, click on over and soak up the adorability.

The site has its own vernacular and some unusual obsessions, including animals' tongue, paw pads and rear-ends ('tocks), but has plenty of warm fuzzies to spare. Just beware of the 'nuffers (judgmental individuals for whom nothing is cute enough).

I've recently submitted a few pics there. I don't know if they'll ever display my parents' pretty pets, but here are some pics just for you. More are available on Flickr.

Article about me!

2009-08-24T18:28:00.000-04:00

I know I haven't blogged in forever, and I promise I'll catch you all up soon, but for now, here's a link to an article about me on my university's web site!

Birthday and Hybrids

2009-05-10T13:41:00.006-04:00

No time to write it up yet, but I can post the pictures!

Happy Mother's Day!

2009-05-10T07:08:00.004-04:00

I know I'm way behind in my blogging, but schoolwork has to come first, and I'm not done yet. That said, I had to post for Mother's Day.

Most years, I send flowers, but this year I saw something on Amazon that reminded me of fun times Mom and I have shared together. I can't think about this thing without hearing my mother's voice and laughing. Unfortunately, the package didn't arrive in time, so I can't say what that item is.

Well, until her package arrives, this essay I wrote for my creative nonfiction class will just have to do. In class, we were supposed to list every pair of shoes we'd ever owned. Then we had to pick one significant pair and write an entire essay about them. I went in another direction. This was first semester, but the story stayed in my professor's head so distinctly that when I told him this week that I'll spend my summer in Iowa, he asked, "Going to try on your mother's shoes again?" Here's why:

Echoes

As a child in Iowa, I attended the school where my mother taught. She often wore high heels back then. My mother’s clack was distinct from that of any other woman I’d heard. I would hear her steps echoing down the hall and know she was coming to pick me up and take home, when we would sing “You Are My Sunshine,” driving up the driveway of our farm.

I loved to wear Mom’s shoes as a girl. I teetered happily in her heels, hiking up her old prom dress so I wouldn’t trip on the hem. By my teen years, we were the same size. I wore my mother’s navy pumps to my first job interview after college, when all of my shoes were either too casual or too sexy. Her shoes were grown-up shoes, professional.

A few years later, I became a teacher in New York City. One day, when walking to class, I heard a familiar sound. It was my mother, striding quickly down the hall. But it wasn’t. She was a thousand miles away. The sound I’d heard was me, wearing my own high heels, clicking down my own school hallway. The shoes, the path and the pace were mine, but the walk was hers.

This summer, I returned to the farm to stay for three months. I’d been away for years, with only brief stays for holidays. A few years ago, a tornado destroyed our family home, which had been in the family for 120 years. A new house was erected in its place, but I couldn’t picture it when talking to my parents on the phone, or when I dreamed at night. I hoped that a summer in the new house would make it more real to me, make it home.

I would stay all summer and help my parents on the farm. Every pair of my shoes I had that were suitable for farming had been lost in the tornado. Mom loaned me a pair of grungy white sneakers. I slid in my feet and laced them on. I was surprised at how uncomfortable they were. The dips and rises of Mom’s feet didn’t match mine at all.

The first few times I wore her shoes, picking up rocks from the pasture, or helping my dad build livestock pens in the new barn, my feet ached. Day by day, I wore her shoes as I worked the farm, watered the garden, or fed and watered sheep.

By the end of the summer, the shoes fit perfectly. Whether my feet had adjusted to the shoes, or the shoes to my feet, I don’t know. It was time to leave home again. Now I could picture the farm as it stands— changed but still my home.

My mother’s shoes were no longer things of glamor, items that hinted at who I might become. Now, they were tools of daily work, to reconnect with my past and the land. They let me be who I’d been: a girl in her mother’s shoes. I walk new paths, but always carry her rhythm.

Mom, you are strong and lovely and kind. I'm a lucky woman to have such a wonderful mother, and I am thankful for you, always.

Love,
Your Daughter

Check, check, zzzzzzz, check!

2009-04-19T10:10:00.004-04:00

I know I didn't do a proper Easter posting, so let me take a moment to say that I hope yours was happy and spiritually fulfilling. I didn't go to church after last year's fiasco. I was going to try to find a new church, but I accidentally slept in. Instead, I just spent some time in prayer and reflection.

This week was like one giant checklist that I was fighting to complete, check-by-check:
File taxes-check. (I did it online last weekend and now await my modest returns.)
Visit doctor- check.
Poetry workshop- check.
History presentation- check.
Student conferences- check (19 times).
Grade papers- check (countless times).
Apply for summer job- Check (after doing the 20 necessary sub-checks).
Find new roomie- check.

But I made it through. The most important items all got checked off (although the "Grade paper" entry has a few more "countless checks" to go). It felt good to get so much done, but there's still so much left to do! Yesterday's mishap didn't help.

When I went to the doctor, nothing serious was wrong, but he did give me a prescription. Yesterday, my nose was really stuffy, so I called the Wal-mart pharmacy to make sure it was safe to take Benadryl with my prescription.

Wal-mart parmacist: Sure you can take it. Benadryl is just an antihistamine.
Me: Cool! Oh, if I get a back spasm, is it safe for my to take my [extremely low dose of] diazepam?
Wal-mart parmacist: Hmm...you should talk to your doctor before you do that. But Benadryl can actually serve as a muscle relaxer.

What I thought: Cool! Benadryl is safe, will clear my sinuses and will relax my muscles.

What I should have thought: 'Benadryl is safe with your prescription, muscle relaxers aren't. P.S. Benadryl is a muscle relaxer.' This suggests a logic problem. Perhaps I should not trust this woman with my health.

Okay, it crossed my mind, but I thought I was being paranoid. I took the Benadryl and woke up many hours later. Coincidence? Maybe, but as I'm not normally a napper, I have my suspicions. Was the Wal-mart parmacist trying to kill me? What if I'd been driving, pharmacy lady? What about that?

Heh. I basically lost my Saturday to a Benadryl coma and the ensuing grogginess. I had things to do yesterday! Oh, well. At least I'm well-rested.

In other news: Thursday, Nikita came by to check out the apartment. She'll be a senior next year, majoring in Spanish. She seems considerate, and she brought her mom. I like that, because now I've seen the source of her rent money. I think her mom has slight delusions of me being a surrogate mommy to Nikita. She asked who cooks, and Rakel announced that I do. "So, do you all share food, then?" I told her, "Only on special occassions."

Listen, I'll make Thanksgiving dinner if everone pitches in some cash. I'll give roomies some cookies from my latest batch. But I've got too much on my plate to become the cook. Not happening. I know some people who run their apartments that way--more like families. Sometimes I'm jealous of their closeness...but I've tried food-sharing roomie-situations in the past. In college, despite being great friends, when sharing food we ended up arguing over triffling nonsense like name brand vs. generic peanut butter. Now I just share food when the mood strikes me. It's fun when there's no pressure or expectation.

Anyway, I'm thrilled I found Nikita. She was the first person to answer the ad. The summer before I moved here brought a deluge of desperate prospective roomies for me to sort through, and I was dreading a repeat performance. Could I have stalled looking for a new best friend to place in the room? Yes, but I could have lost Nikita in the meantime, and ended up with someone less suitable.

Summer update: Last week the school counsellor suggested I apply for the summer English Adjunct position at a local community college. It would be PERFECT for me, so I did. It's a long shot, since I submitted pretty late in their application process, but all I can do is try. It was hard work tracking down references and transcripts from all my universities, but I did so at dizzying speeds. If I get the job, I'll stay here until August. If I don't, I'll probably be back in Iowa as early as June. Although I'd love to come home sooner, this position would look great on my resume, I'd enjoy the work, and it would probably pay better that most other summer jobs I could find. We'll see.

Well, now that I'm wide awake again, there's a new week of tasks to accomplish. I'm off to try. Congratulations to us all on the return of Spring.

Maybe we aren't putting our flock to its best use...

2009-04-12T14:13:00.000-04:00

I mean, who knew there were so many possibilities?

French Toast for One and Work Excitement

2009-04-07T20:19:00.006-04:00

Enjoy some random recent pictures I've taken at left.

Over the weekend, I made French toast by myself for the first time. I figured out the perfect recipe to make a single serving of French Toast. Here it is:

French Toast for One
Combine one egg, ¼ c milk, a smattering of sugar (1/4 teaspoon maybe?), and cinnamon and nutmeg to taste. Beat the mixture, and pour it onto a plate. Place the first bread slice in the egg mixture, carefully turning it over to let the mixture coat each side for a few seconds. Then it's "toasting" time. Spray a little Pam on a frying pan (ore use a little butter or margarine), and fry each side of the bread until it is golden brown. Dip the second slice of bread while the first is frying. Repeat the frying process on the second slice.

After frying my two slices of bread, I lightly buttered each, then layered on sliced bananas. I crumbled a few pecans, and sprinkled the pecan bits, too. Then I dusted on more cinnamon and nutmeg, drizzled a wee bit o’ syrup and voila! Yum, yum, yum, yum, yum. French toast is so delicious and easy to make! I don’t know why I didn’t figure that out sooner.

Today I continued my cooking streak, making scalloped potatoes and turkey kielbasa. I almost keeled over from the deliciousness. Then I noticed Todd’s bananas were turning brown and stinky, so I whipped up banana bread using Mom’s Bisquick recipe. It was way quicker than my old recipe. Banana bread is Todd’s favorite food, so he’s very happy.

I’m happy, too, but not just about the bread. Today I went in to talk to my supervisor at work. I asked him whether I could try teaching some different classes next year. He agreed that it would look good on my resume, so in the fall I’ll be teaching rhetoric.
I'm looking forward to the challenge of teaching new classes.

In the spring, I might get to teach literature, which I've been requesting to teach since Fall '07. Hooray! Not only would lit be fun to teach, but having three courses (composition, rhetoric and literature) on my resume could only help me find a job after graduation. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

P.S.- Does anyone recognize the plants in this picture? (Click the picture to see it blown up.) They are tiny and grow in my yard, and I have no idea what they are.

Erin Dust

2009-04-04T08:09:00.005-04:00

Last Sunday, Todd got back from Florida, where he’ll start getting his Poli-Sci PhD next year. I’ll miss him. I hope I like my new roomie as much. Anyway, we celebrated his academic victory at La Herradura (The Horseshoe?), where we had tacos and daiquiris the size of our heads. Mine was peach, and it was breathtaking.

I had a busy, run-around workweek. I exercised every day, which is a nice accomplishment. On Thursday, I had some therapy because I’ve been depressed this semester. My therapist says I’m hard on myself, and I need to let go of other people’s expectations. I was trying to explain that it’s not as easy as it sounds. Then, she asked why I left my job in New York. As I was talking to her about teaching and the problems with the system, her face lit up, and she went on a tangent about what a great administrator or education policy wonk I’d make.

“Okay, this is what I’m talking about. This is the problem. It’s easy to say that I should ignore the expectations of others, but people just expect things from me…even you.”

She apologized for getting carried away. She says with all my accomplishments and such, I “sprinkle [my] Erin dust all over the place.” Hee! Like I’m Tinkerbelle or something. Well, now that she’s been caught up in Erin-based expectations, she knows what I’m up against. I like her, and I've found our sessions helpful. Sometimes it's just nice to talk to an impartial person.

Friday was the best day I've had in a while. After work, my office-mate Jacqueline invited me over to her house to have lunch, play with her kitty and help her clean out her closet. Free shopping, hooray!

I played with her pretty cat. I tried on the clothes she was giving away and helped her cull a little more. Then we baked cookies using Mom’s cakemix cookie recipe and had supper.

We rushed off to an MFA reading. Graduating students present their work, and this week it was Christian, Andrea and Paula. Their writing was so impressive. Andrea and Christian are in my workshop, so I was already aware of their awesomeness.

Christian’s poems are sharp and modern, and incorporate thoughts and concepts seamlessly. Andrea is a master of fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and kayaking, with natural themes prevalent throughout. Paula is the stereotypical Southern woman writer: sweet manners, but a tongue so sharp it could split diamonds.

I felt a twinge of jealousy at their talent and accomplishment, but that jealousy was overwhelmed by my pride in their accomplishment, and my happiness for them.

After the reading, they threw a party. Most of the MFAers were there. They are all such fun, fascinating people to talk to. At the party, I ended up singing karaoke with the program director Sheri Reynolds (her book The Rapture of Canaan was an Oprah book pick). We sang Pink’s “Get This Party Started,” which is not really in my range, but I was game.

I had a lot of entertaining conversations and even got to play with Sheri’s standard poodle Rumi. It’s amazing that Scooter (my parents’ mini poodle) and Rumi are the same animal, as one could knock me flat, and the other would fit in my purse. Not that I’d put Scooter in my purse. Scootie thinks she’s a sheepdog, so being relegated to bag-dog status is an indignity she wouldn’t suffer lightly.

It was good to be out, having fun with my peers, and served as an important reminder: this will all be drawing to a close before I know it. I need to make the most of it while I can!

The school counselor is right:I probably should put less pressure on myself, and I need to let go of other people's expectations. Grandma Carmie gave me a card at Christmas reminding me that the judge I need to satisfy is the woman in the mirror. The thing is, as the Spiderman franchise tells us, "With great power comes great responsibility." I'm not saying I have Spiderman-level power, of course, but I believe we all have unique gifts for a reason and we need to use them to the best of our ability. Well, that's the operative phrase: the best of my ability. I guess the key is to be realistic about what my level of ability is. Time for me to go sprinkle some "Erin dust" around. You go sprinkle your magic elixirs, too.

Still raining.

2009-03-28T22:01:00.003-04:00

It's still raining. Not with the thunder or lightning I love, just rain--drumming and drumming outside my windows, splashing against the central air conditioning unit in the yard. The rain is loud, dropping straight down from the high second story. (The landlord never cleans the gutters.) That's why grass doesn't grow properly back there: hard rain running off the roof and too much shade.

It's quiet today. Rakel and Todd are both out of town. Rakel's in D.C. for her niece's birthday, and a university in Florida has flown Todd down there. Their PhD program wants him so much that they've offered him $20k per year, flown him down there and even provided a hotel room. In this economy? Yowza. Good for Todd! It's sad to think about what it will be like without him next year. Not only does he drive me around, he's also my best friend here.

At least my parents are arranging a car for me. Mom and Dad are so generous. When J.B. and I graduated from college, we each got to take one of the cars our parents had on the farm. When I moved to NYC, I left mine with Mom and Dad, and the tornado got it. Oops. Now my parents might have a vehicle to spare again. (YAY! Have I written about this already? If so, sorry.) Dad thought he might send the parade car, the awesome '70s car with a working 8-track, to Virginia with me. The thing is, he loves that car, and I'm a little afraid it might attract too much attention (aka CRIME) in my neighborhood. As such, I have requested the slightly-tornado-damaged Buick...assuming it runs well. I have terrible luck with vehicles, so a car with a tempermental engine wouldn't be a good call.

Last week I mentioned my students' recent lethargy . Wednesday I joked, "What do I have to do, bring cookies?" They laughed, and one member of the armed forces perked up so much at the mere mention of cookies that I had to laugh, too. Friday before class, I whipped up some chocolate chip cookies. As I handed out napkins, one student asked with disbelief, "Wait a minute. You didn't actually bring cookies, did you?"

"Would I do that? Would I get up this morning and bake you chocolate chip cookies from scratch?"

The soldier could barely contain himself. "You really brought us cookies?"

"Still warm from the oven," I assured him as I passed out the treats. His reaction made me want to ship cookies to the front line. Hopefully tasty pastries bought me some goodwill, and my students will associate writing and composition class with happiness.

Meanwhile, I'm still home alone, listening to the rain. A train's whistle blows in the distance. Maybe it's headed to where you are.

Portsmouth Reading

2009-03-22T21:05:00.013-04:00

I've been back in Norfolk for a week and a half. I guess it's nice to be back to my grown-up autonomous life. I like what I'm learning in my classes, and I like teaching.

My class has been in a weird funk, though, lately. Their attendance has been dropping, and their quiz grades are tanking. Is it me? I've tried using fun videos in class and asking for their suggestions, but nothing seems to fix it. When I asked for suggestions, most students said I was doing fine. (One said we should do all the reading in class. Heh. Good luck with that, kid.) Oh, well. I'll keep at it.

Yesterday, there was an ekphrastic poetry and nonfiction reading at the Courthouse Gallery in Portsmouth. Ekphrastic means (roughly) art inspired by/relating to other art. We were supposed to visit the gallery, pick a piece and write in response to that piece. I couldn't get a ride, so I had to use their web site. They had a few quilts posted, each entitled "Biography," so I wrote a poem called "Quilting Memoir."

I'd never been to Portsmouth before this weekend. It was a glorious, sunny day, and Mary was nice enough to give me a ride. About a dozen people read, and there were even a few people in the audience who didn't take part in the reading. Heh. The gallery accidentally listed the date wrong on their web site, but I'm not sure listing in correctly would have helped much.

We poets joke that we mainly write for each other, because the people who buy poetry are poets. I read recently that only 5 percent of poetry books bought in bookstores are written by living poets. Living poets tend to make the majority of their sales when they give poetry readings...which, like I said, are mostly attended by other poets.

Anyway, it was so Springy out. Recently, it's been COLD. Not Iowa cold or anything, but 20 or 30 degrees below the average temp here. The crocuses and hyacinths have bloomed, and I was afraid they would freeze, but they seem to be doing alright. Trees are blooming all over town. My professor, Luisa, says her daughter calls them dandruff trees, though they look more like snowballs to me. Portsmouth was pretty, and I'd love to check it out sometime.

I enjoyed listening to my colleages and other area poets. Their work is so inspiring. I had to keep my pen in my hand the entire time to jot down ideas for new poems. I was a little nervous as I read for some reason. I try to get in character like I used to in theater, and it didn't work too well, but I don't think anyone could tell.

Afterwords, a handful of us went over to a local German restaurant for beer and snacks. The pretzels, lunchmeat, liverwurst, pumpernickel bread and spicy mustard were surprisingly satisfying. Mushy meat...yum!

All-in-all, it was one of those days that remind me why I'm here. I'm here to interact with other writers, become a better writer, and better connect with my audience. Just sitting at a table full of women, all of us laughing, was worth a lot.

Great grandparents, and a return to Virginia

2009-03-13T16:30:00.010-04:00

Sunday, I'd planned to go visit my wonderful grandparents. My dad was even going to come with me. The weather was not on our side, though. The temperature had been dropping steadily since I arrived in Iowa. Northern Iowa was icy. In Woodward (where our farm is), it started out rainy. The rain turned to sleet, then hail, then snow. Days ago, I was sitting in the 70-degree sun. Then, in a few hours the ground was white. Iowa's weird like that.

Since we couldn't travel, I spent half of the day filling Mom's new mp3 player (a generic iPod) with music and half the day helping Dad on the farm, mainly just filling buckets with water. It was actually fun to spend time with him and see the lambs bounce around. Then we went to Unkie's house to take care of our sheep there. (Some have been living there ever since the tornado.) I quickly popped into the house to say hello and get a last round of hugs.

I had rescheduled my visit with my grandparents for Tuesday, but Monday I woke up to weather predictions of an ice storm on Tuesday. I decided to head up there while the going was good. Grandma Carol and Grandpa Kenny met me halfway by coming to Algona, where we had lunch at the Pizza Ranch. Grandpa even cancelled a doctor's appointment because he wanted to see me. Aw!

We sat and talked for hours until we were the last ones in the place. The woman who ran the place didn't mind. I also gave them their Christmas presents, as our gathering was canceled for weather at Christmas, too. It would have been nice to spend more time together, but it was a short trip to Iowa. I didn't even get to see my friends, which was the biggest bummer of the whole trip. (I should have gotten the Pizza Ranch lady to take our picture. I forgot to, so I had to dig out the pictures at left from the summer of 2006!)

After leaving my Gilbaugh grandparents, I got together with my Kiley grandparents (their picture is from summer 2007). Grandpa Russell had been in the hospital for heart trouble. It was very stressful for Grandma Lenora, who collapsed and broke her leg. It's been hard on her, maybe it's kind of a blessing.

You see, Grandma is supposed to stay off her feet and rest. Grandpa is supposed to move around and get exercise. This way, he has to move around to help her. When I arrived, he made me a cup of tea. We chatted while they opened their Christmas presents. At supper time, I volunteered to cook, and made egg sandwhiches for us all. Then I hit the road again, trying to get home before the weather turned.

Tuesday, I tried to catch up on my reading while my parents were at work. Then, I helped Dad with farm work again, filling buckets, moving sheep, and helping Dad to build a new pen. It was cold that day, the temperature plummeting fast. At one point, Mac (the border collie) dropped a ball at my feet, and I stepped on it, sloshing cold water down my leg. I tell you, that is not fun when it's below freezing. I eventually went in to change and get warmer gloves. Nonetheless, by the time Dad and I were done, I was ready to go in and have hot chocolate (though I did linger in the garage for a bit to play fetch with Mac). Mom brought home Chinese take-out, which really hit the spot. Then it was time to pack.

Wednesday morning, I was up before 6 a.m., gathering up my stuff and getting ready to fly home. I even had time to mix up replacer and feed the lambs. I gave my dad hugs and kisses before he went to work. Then Mom and I hit the road. It was 8 degrees F when we said our goodbyes at the airport. My flight was delayed by hours, and I was told I'd have to get a 5 p.m. flight from Detroit to Norfolk. When we got to Detriot at 2, I decided to give it a shot, and ran for my original 1:50 flight to Virginia...which I managed to catch. Boo-yah! I was cozy in my apartment before 5 p.m., and because I'd only used carryon luggage, all my stuff made it, too. It was gorgeous out, 70 degrees and sunny.

Of course, by the next morning the temperature had fallen 25 degrees. Today it is cool and rainy. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm a bad-weather magnet. Oh, well. Maybe that will help me focus on my studies.

P.S. I've done pretty well with my Lenten goals, but I slipped today and posted a new Facebook profile pic. Because I usually wear glasses, I've been wanting a profile picture of me in glasses. The thing is, I usually don't wear my glasses in pictures because there's alway a glare. Well, on my trip home, someone snapped a good one, so I decided to post it. It took less than a minute, but my friends were quick to call me on it. Todd even chastized me from London. Isn't Facebooking while on a trip to London as bad as cheating on a Lenten fast? Okay, maybe not. Sigh. What can I say? I'm weak. Well, their teasing scorn has strengthened my resolve. I can do better, and I will!

Family time!

2009-03-08T16:02:00.005-04:00

When I got home from Unkie's house (it's hard to say or even type "Unkie's house" instead of "Unkie and Helen's house"), Mom took me to L'James beauty school. There, Mom got a facial and she got me a massage. It was AWESOME! Well, mine was. Mom's? Not so much. I mean, she looked fresh and young, but they got something in her eye. She has the worst luck with that (a student, for example, once shattered a sheet of glass, and got glass in Mom's eye). People need to stop getting stuff in my mom's eyes. It makes her sad and me nervous.

That afternoon, J.B. and Erika brought my nieces, Courtney and Brooke, over. We gave Erika her birthday presents, had some supper, and played. The favorite game is still Peter Pan, and I alternated between being Peter and Captain hook, while the girls were both Wendy. I think it's been a year of Peter Pan, so I'm amazed at Brooke's focus. Mixed in, however, was some Little Mermaid 2. My dad even joined in, being King Triton for a while. Well, done, Dad!

Mom served a scrumptious roast. Then we went to feed the baby lambs. Brooke was a bit shy about it, sitting on Dad's lap and helping him hold the bottle. Courtney was a bit bolder. She was willing to get down on the floor with the lamb. Her lamb was younger and needed a little more help, so Erika helped to hold the bottle, and I helped the lamb to latch onto the rubber nipple.

Courtney even pet the lamb. I think she really liked it, and Brooke, though shy, thought the lambs were cute. It was so wonderful to spend time with them. Each time I see them, they're bigger and more mature. They are such wonderful girls. It was good to see my brother and sister-in-law, too. They've got a nice home, J.B. is great at his job, and Erika is a great stay-at-home mom. I hope that I'm lucky enough to have all that someday.

Iowa, hooray! Sleepover at Unkie's house.

2009-03-07T14:46:00.002-05:00

I was swamped with a big midterm due the night before I left for Iowa. I got home and started packing. The next morning, I rushed around, doing my last-minute preparations. Todd had arranged a free ride to the airport...who turned out to be the teaching assistant for the class I was skipping that night. Oops. Anyhoo, before we knew it, we were at the airport. My roommate and I were catching the same flight to Detroit, though I was coming to Iowa and he was going to London. He was a bit mystified at going west to go east, but there's the modern airline system for you. As I was going through security, I got the full treatment, pat-down and all. My security agent (a woman) was so funny: "Just think of it as a free massage, provided by Homeland Security."

Before I knew it, I was in Detroit, running to catch my flight to Des Moines. I made it with a few minutes to spare. It was cold when I left Virginia, but in Iowa, it was nearly 70 degrees! I basked in the sunny breeze while waiting for my mom to get off work and come to get me. It was so relaxing to see my family and pets, and just to be on the farm. As a bonus, it's lambing season, and there were adorable bottle babies in a big box in the garage. Baby lambs were always my favorite thing about the sheep. In fact, as a girl on the farm, they were my main job. My brother was stronger and better at understanding what Dad wanted him to do, but I could mix up bottles and feed the babies.

I hated the grainy powder of the milk replacer (formula) under my nails, but I loved the rest of the process. I would combine the hot water and the replacer in the blender and mix it up to get rid of any lumps. (To this day, the ozone smell of a blender running makes me happy.) I would let the froth and excess bubbles settle out. Then I'd measure it into bottles and test it on my wrist. Then I would feed the babies, tilting the bottle just right to keep them from getting to much air. I was good at getting even the weak, tiny ones to take to the nipple and drink the whole bottle.

Friday, I went over to Unkie's house. He called to see when I wanted to visit, and my cousin Hannah called to turn the visit into a sleepover. When I got there, Unkie was off doing some farm stuff, so I snapped some pictures of my cousin Connor's 4-H pigs and a barn cat, Shaggy --who I call Nuisance. He earned his nickname because he's attention-starved, and always underfoot. He's rather shaggy, though, so his real name suits, too. He is increasingly scrawny and recently seems to be licking his fur off. Poor little guy. I always pet him, and he got so excited by my presence that he attempted to jump onto my body from the fence. Heh. I think I'll just pet you from here, little guy.

I found Unkie on his 4-wheeler and tapped his shoulder. He gave a little shout and accused me of trying to scare him. He always says that when he's not wearing his hearing aid. Heh. He took me on a little ride on the ATV because it was so nice out. Then we went inside. It was my first time in the house since Helen passed away, which was a little bit weird.

Once the kids were home from school, we all went to dinner together, Unkie, Karen (my honorary sister), Lynn (honorary brother-in-law), Connor and Hannah. They took me out to The Machine Shed where I got some delicious ribs and we got to chat. Unkie admitted that my posts about my neighborhood make him nervous. Well, me, too, but it's not like Iowa is immune from crime. Unkie's had stuff stolen from his farm. So have Karen and Lynn. Dinner was delicious, and the conversation was entertaining. On the ride home, Hannah asked to be told the story of The Frosting Fight (which I will tell another time). I only got so far as, "I was just trying to be a good little sister..." when Unkie burst out laughing. Why is that funny? I'm innocent, I tell ya, innocent! Karen said she hadn't heard Unkie laugh that hard in a long time.

We went back to the house and Unkie pulled me into his lap. He teased me about my awesome new lovehandles. (He teases me about being skin-and-bones when I don't have lovehandles, though, so it's more about finding a random excuse to tease than my actual weight.) Unkie is one of the few men on Earth who could ever pray to get away with that combination of actions. Then Hannah joined us in the cuddling. Karen snapped a pic, then had Connor joined us for a group picture.

Hannah reminded me of how to play War, and as we were playing, Connor and Unkie took to throwing something at each other. It was a plastic peach, of all things, and they were throwing it at each other OVER me. I told them not to hit me, so of course Unkie did. I approached him, shaking my fist. When he grabbed my arm, I got nervous, because Unkie's horseplay can get out of hand. Well, I pulled away too hard and...fell backwards. EEP! I tried to fall in a way that would do the least injury. The safest choices are generally to go limp or use momentum. I picked momentum and hit the floor rolling backwards, then rolled forward again to a sitting position.

"Wow," Karen exclaimed, shocked. "Your eyes were like dinner plates...but all your cheerleading and acting payed off, apparently, because that was remarkably graceful." We all laughed for a good long while. Eventually, we all went off to bed, and Hannah bustled about turning on the electric blankets, a core element of any sleepover at Unkie's house. The next morning, Unkie and Connor made us waffles with blueberry syrup. YUM! He's turning out to be a great cook, and jokes about starting his own waffle house. Well, if he does, I know where I'll be having breakfast in Iowa.

Norfolk Snow

2009-03-02T07:00:00.006-05:00

There's a "snow storm" in Norfolk. Heh.

School is on a two-hour delay for a dusting of snow--though I suppose that's better than the time they canceled school on the mere threat of snow.

I'm too swamped with homework and grading to write now, but here are some photos I snapped in my backyard before 7 a.m. this morning. I'll add words at a later date.

P.S. Who's going home to Iowa on Thursday? ME! I'll be home for less than a week, but it'll be great to see my family and, hopefully, some friends.

P.P.S. At 9:45, I checked to make sure school was still on. It was, so I showered, dressed, did my hair and makeup, went over my lesson plans and went to work. There was a strong, chilly headwind I had to fight the whole was there. When I got to my classroom...no students! Sometime between 9:45 and 10:45 ODU canceled school for the day. Grr.

It's Lent! aka I quit you, Internet!

2009-02-25T16:28:00.001-05:00

For my non-Christian (or non-churchy-Christian) readers, Lent is the 40 days leading up to Easter (although different denominations count it out differently, according to Wikipedia, with Western churches claiming that Sundays are "mini-Easters" and don't count). The 40-day time period represents the time Jesus spent in the desert enduring temptation by the devil. Some Christians choose to give up a temptation during Lent in sympathy with Jesus. Others feel that the sacrifice, combined with prayer and "alms giving" help prepare the spirit for the coming Easter holiday.

I generally give something up for Lent, partly to sympathize with Jesus, partly as a reminder to think about God daily, and partly to remind myself about what I really need. I eat at least one piece of chocolate every day. Giving up chocolate for 40 days reminds me that, although I love chocolate, I don't need chocolate.

That said, I'm not giving up chocolate this year. I'm stressed out enough right now as it is. Also, last time I gave up chocolate for Lent, I gained weight. I think I subconciously overcompensated for the lack of chocolate with other food, which is counterproductive.

No, I'm giving up the Internet. Well, not the entire Internet. I still have to teach and be a student, and these days the web is required for both. I'll be cutting out any non-essential internet activity. Writing is kind of my job, so I'll still post here, but I'm giving up on reading blogs and using social networking sites until April 12. Sigh.

Earlier this semester, I was depressed, and when I'm depressed I have trouble focusing. I turned to social networking sites and blogs. They required very little concentration, yet could occupy my thoughts for hours. Now, they've become a pleasurable habit, but they're taking up too much of my time. Thus, for Lent I'm swearing off of them all, including Facebook, Twitter, Television Without Pity, Dear Old Love, CakeWrecks, Craftastrophe, LOLCats, Cute Overload, One Sentence, and Passive Agressive Notes. I'm kind of hoping I won't miss any of them, and when Lent is over I'll only read my friends' blogs. It's worth a shot. I know some Christians' pet peeve is people who treat Lent like a second crack at New Year's resolutions, but to them I say, "Phooey." If a resolutionish Lent sacrifice gets me to think about Jesus daily while improving myself as a person, how can it possibly be a bad thing?

(The image above is from www.yogabytheseatofyourpants.com.)

Buffy and Angel Crossover Episode Guide

2009-02-23T16:20:00.001-05:00

Recently, I was trying to watch some Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel crossover episodes in order (I watch them while I exercise in the morning). I couldn't figure it out using the guide booklets that come with the boxed sets, so I did a quick search of the Internet. I quickly found a chart by Simon Hampel. Thanks, Sim'! I then turned the chart into a list, which can be copied and pasted into Word, printed small, and tucked neatly into a boxed set. You're welcome. Warning-TONS of spoilers.

Buffy and Angel Crossover Episode Guide

B 4-1 The Freshman -Angel calls Buffy but says nothing.
A 1-1 City Of... -Angel moves to L.A, saves Cordelia.They team up.

B 4-3 The Harsh Light of Day -Oz agrees to take a ring to Angel for Buffy.
A 1-3 In The Dark -Oz gives Angel the ring in LA.

B 4-8 Pangs -Angel visits Sunnydale without telling Buffy.
A 1-8 I Will Remember You -Buffy visits L.A. and Angel, who becomes human.

A 1-10 Parting Gifts -Wesley, a “rogue-demon hunter,” joins the team.

B 4-15 This Year's Girl (Part 1)-Faith wakes up from her coma.
B 4-16 Who Are You (Part 2) -Faith takes over Buffy's life.
A 1-18 Five By Five -Faith is in L.A., being a bad girl.
A 1-19 Sanctuary -Buffy comes to L.A. to take on Faith.
B 4-20 The Yoko Factor (Part 1)-Angel comes to Sunnydale and fights with Riley.

A 1-22 To Shanshu in L.A. -Darla (staked in B1-7 by Angel), is resurrected.

A 2-1 Judgment -Angel visits Faith in jail to see how she is.

A 2-9 The Trial -Drusilla comes to L.A.

B 5-17 Forever -Angel comes to Sunnydale to comfort Buffy.

A 2-17 Disharmony -Harmony comes for a visit in L.A.

A 3-1 Heartthrob -Angel retreats to grieve over Buffy's death.
A 3-4 Carpe Noctem -Angel learns Buffy is alive.
B 6-4 Flooded -Buffy leaves to meet Angel.
A 3-5 Fredless -Angel returns from meeting with Buffy.
B 6-5 Life Serial -Buffy returns from meeting with Angel.

A 4-13 Salvage -Faith breaks out of prison to help fight Angelus.
A 4-14 Release -Faith fights Angelus.
B 7-17 Lies My Parents Told Me- Willow gets a call from Fred in L.A.
A 4-15 Orpheus -Faith’s in Angel’s/Angelus’ mind. Willow comes to L.A.
B 7 -18 Dirty Girls -Willow brings Faith back to Sunnydale.

A 4-22 Home -Angel is given an amulet by Wolfram and Hart.
B 7-21 End of Days -Angel returns to Sunnydale to help Buffy.
B 7-22 Chosen -Angel gives Buffy info. and a mystical amulet.

A 5-1 Conviction -Harmony joins the team in L.A.
A 5-2 Just Rewards -Spike is resurrected in L.A. and joins the team.

A 5-10 Soul Purpose -Buffy appears in Angel's nightmares (at least her voice).

A 5-11 Damage -Andrew appears in L.A. searching for a slayer.

A 5-20 The Girl In Question -Angel and Spike rush off to Italy to try and protect Buffy.

Word Cloud

2009-02-22T12:00:00.004-05:00

I just went to a cool site called Wordle. You enter a web page or document. It creates a graphic ("word cloud") showing the words used most often in the text. You can tell which words are used more often based upon their size.

I entered a document with all the poems I wrote from 1999 to 2008. Iowa and NYC are so big because I labeled where I wrote each poem. The layout is chosen by the computer, but I tweaked the coloring a bit. Cool, right? To see the image above full-sized, click the image above or click here.

I'm not surprised at my use of love, like, body, skin, heart, light and life. People comment on how much I mention earth, land and dirt in my poems, but they don't show up here at all. Hmm. I am surprised how much I use the words girl, even, want, let, know, hair, one, still, leave and away.

Cagey Cardinals and Incredible Edible Eggs

2009-02-21T21:54:00.002-05:00

Oh, but not cardinal eggs, of course. Heh.

In a previous posting, I mentioned my mini-photo-safari I set out on in pursuit of one of the many cardinals who've been flitting around the neighborhood. When I went out with my manual camera with the awesome telephoto lens, they were nowhere to be seen. (I guess when you're the color of a bull's eye, it's smart to be so easily spooked.

One cardinal kept mocking me by perching on the fence outside my window. The moment I peeked through the blinds or walked out the front door, he would take off. Well, one morning I saw him when I first woke up. I grabbed my camera and slipped out the front door, then tiptoed into the yard. I stalked around snapping pictures.

I think I got some nice shots, but I won't be sure until I develop the roll. I tried to get the cardinals on my digital camera, but couldn't manage it. Then, later in the week, I saw the silhouette again. I decided to try getting the picture through my window. Got him! It's not the most impressive picture, but it's a start.

Erin's Over-easy Egg Sandwich Recipe

This year, I've been living on egg sandwiches. They're cheap, easy, and delicious. When I was a child, if my Dad was cooking, chances were he would make fried egg sandwiches. Dad's were fried over-hard on toasted, buttered bread. The egg and butter complemented each other perfectly, especially combined with the nuttiness of wheat bread. YUM!

I first tried eggs over-easy in Europe. In Spain, my senora (house mother) made a soup with an egg poached in the broth. It was surprisingly good. Then, upon returning to the states, I fell in love with Eggs Benedict (especially the three-chiles version at Itzocan Bistro in Spanish Harlem).

I can't afford Eggs Benedict these days, but I've developed the next best thing.

First spray the frying pan with Pam and carefully crack in the egg. While it's frying, toast bread or, better yet, a flaky layers biscuit. Then lightly butter the bread, and sprinkle lightly with paprika, sea salt and fresh-cracked black pepper. Carefully flip the egg, taking care not to break the yoke. Let it cook a little while, then gently lift the cooked egg onto the bread or biscuit. Sprinkle bacon pieces (I use the pre-cooked kind that come in a pouch) on the egg and close the sandwich. When I take a bite, some yolk drizzles out onto the plate, and I dip the sandwich in the yolk. YUM! It tastes fancy and indulgent, but is cheap and easy. Buen provecho!

I quit you: Private Practice (and Grey's Anatomy?)

2009-02-20T10:15:00.003-05:00

I quit you, Private Practice. One of the most amazing things about Grey's Anatomy is that they brought in Addison Shepherd-Montgomery to break up Meridith and Derrick, but made us grow to love her. We loved her, even though she cheated on McDreamy with his best friend. She was smart, funny and (poison oak notwithstanding) classy.

When Private Practice started, it had a lot of the light-hearted fun that GA has been missing lately. Okay, so the patients of the week seem more emotionally manipulative...and the soundtrack isn't as good as Grey's. So the characters are starting to act like they're in junior high...and this show has Broadway luminaries, but they never sing. Okay, so the awesome Dell never does anyhing anymore...You know what? Not okay. I'm a busy woman, and I don't have time for a show that requires me to make this many excuses for it. Addy, Naomi, and Dell you are welcome to cross-over any time. See you in Seattle.

Maybe...because I might quit you, Grey's Anatomy. Thankfully, the ghost sex has come to a close. I loved the original storyline. Dr. Izzie Stephens fell in love with heart patient Denny, who died of complications. It made me sob out loud like a little girl. (The last time a tv show made me cry that hard was when Stone died of AIDS on General Hospital, and that was a long time ago.) As such, I was okay with Denny being back as a ghost/hallucination, even a bit psyched. But the writers drew it out too long, took it too far (GHOST SEX, PEOPLE!), and are resolving it soooo sloooowly.

In general, everyone at Seattle Grace is just too sad right now. Grey's Anatomy used to be sexy doctor fun with a little drama and angst mixed in. Now it's drama and angst and doctoring with just a little sexiness and fun mixed in. Give us more fun, more Alex, and more George! While I'm making wishes, can I also have cocky old Christina and spunky old Izzy? Writers, you recently gave back old Bailey. Keep going. You can do it!

On the plus side? Christina and Hunt make my heart flutter. Sigh! That is all.

I quit you: Gossip Girl

2009-02-19T13:22:00.001-05:00

I quit you, Gossip Girl. I'm a little embarrassed to admit I watched you at all, but (like your predecessor The O.C.) in the beginning, you were smarter and funnier than most people gave you credit for. A friend talked me into watching you, and once I did I was smitten. You were trashy, witty, razor-sharp eye candy. But then you started trying to convince me that a date rapist was so dreamy. (I find the number of people out there with Chuck Bass crushes scary.) Listen, I just don't like the Beauty and the Beast Blair's-love-redeems-a-rapist concept. The thing is, you kept Chuck just enough of a drugged-up-prostitute-frequenting-asshole for me. (He's not completely redeemed; Blair just has masochistic taste.)

With this new Letourneau storyline, though, you may have driven me over the edge. Lately the media has been amping up stories about female teachers sleeping with their male students. Statistically, it is more often male teachers with female students, but that's not the story that's being told. It's sexist, and it's irresponsible, because in some ways it perpetuates the problem, as when Dan is in the courtyard getting high-fives for his 'conquest' of the hot English teacher--a Teach For America volunteer who moved to NYC from Iowa. Of course, the fact that I'm and English teacher from Iowa who moved to Manhattan for the New York City Teaching Fellows (which is just like TFA) added insult to injury. Getting appropriate respect from teenage boys is hard enough without you encouraging those kinds of fantasies. Cut that nonsense out!

I quit you: J.J. Abrams shows (present or future)

2009-02-18T13:31:00.001-05:00

I quit you, any television series by J.J. Abrams. J.J., you broke my heart when you abandoned Alias for Lost. You had an intricate plan and labyrinthine twists and turns, but I trusted you to make it all make sense and get us to a satisfying conclusion. Then you got distracted, and left other people to enact your plans. It didn't work.

Imagine if Michelangelo had just found some decent painters and told them, "Listen, I have a plan for the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. It's going to be God and Man reaching toward each other, almost touching. Now, I've planned it out for you. All you have to do is...paint God. Good luck with that, I'm out!"

Dude, no. That's not how it works, J.J. You get lackeys to paint sky, clouds, maybe some cherubs. You don't get them to paint GOD.

I intensely loved Alias. Even now, I look plan to re-purchase the entire series box set the instant I have disposable income (mine was stolen last year). For the first three seasons, at the end of each episode, I was dying for the next. A couple of times, the show startled me and made me scream aloud. (Sorry, roomie!) No other television show has made me do that.

It was a smart, funny, edge-of-your-seat thrill ride for years, but without J.J. toward the end it began to feel convoluted. During the series finale, I got distracted and started doing the dishes. That is SO wrong. As such, I don't plan to ever watch a J.J. show again. Sorry, Fringe. I'm sure I'd love you, but fool me once, shame on J.J. Fool me twice, shame on me. J.J. will get distracted and break your hearts, people. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I quit you: Judge, Talk and Reality shows, and Ugly Betty

2009-02-17T13:23:00.001-05:00

I'm quitting some things that I no longer have the time, money or patience for. I will write about the things I'm quitting and why in a series for this blog.

Part One- Television:

I quit you, judge shows, talk shows and all but the highest-quality reality shows. Judge shows, you taught me not to make loans. You taught me to get it in writing, keep the receipts, and take pictures when you get something and again after any damage. Thanks. I think we're done here.

Talk shows, unless you're The Daily Show, The Colbert Report or Craig Ferguson, I have no use for you.

Reality shows, I love top-notch competition (Hi, Project Runway!) or functional families with cute kids (Hey, Gosselins!), but other than that, meh. I now know how to pick the right pants, create a faux finish on my walls, and smile with my eyes. I also learned that alliances are annoying. Thanks, reality TV, but if I never hear the term "threw me under the bus" again, it will be too soon.

I quit you, Ugly Betty. I signed on when you were about a spunky outsider, fighting for her dreams, supported by her awesome family. This season, Betty has not been her smart self, her family has been truly awful to her (How dare you have your own life, home and career, fully grown woman? Don't you know your place is taking care of your father and sister? What? Who are these people, and what have they done with the REAL Suarez family?) Also, this season some of the gay jokes felt less campy, and more...mean. I can't explain the shift, but I felt it, and I'm out. I hear rumors that the show has improved recently, but since quitting you, I haven't really missed you so...bye!

Happy Valentine's Day!

2009-02-14T13:49:00.000-05:00

Nothing too special happened today. I took the holiday as free license to eat all the chocolate I wanted, and roomie Todd and I went for cheap, yummy frozen drinks at the local Mexican restaurant. Perhaps next year will be more romantic. Well, may we all have days filled with the love of family and friends, if not romance. If we manage to score some romance, too, that's the icing on the cake!

Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!

2009-02-12T20:52:00.001-05:00

Usually, I send flowers for Mom and Dad's anniversary. This year that was not in the budget, and I feel bad that I didn't send a card. I'm terrible at getting stuff in the mail before important days. I did get to talk to them on the phone, though. It sounded like they were having a nice night.

My parents have been married since mom was 20 and Dad was 21. If my math is right, they've been married for 37 years. Isn't that something?

(Forgive me if I get any of these facts wrong. I'm working from memory, and memory is a tricky thing.)

Mom and Dad met on a blind date. Dad's fraternity brother wanted to date Mom's sorority sister. Mom’s friend would only agree to go on a double. The other couple wasn’t a match, but Mom and Dad have been together ever since. Two months later, they were engaged, and six months after they met, they were married.

Mom says they just didn’t want to wait. There was a war on. Everyone would sit in campus lounges watching the lotteries to see whose numbers were up in the draft. Young men would be taken from their lives, and return changed if they returned at all. My parents couldn’t take for granted that they would have time for a long courtship. When Mom told me the story, she used the same words Grandma Carmie used when explaining that she ditched a date at a dance for Grandpa Keith: “I think I made the right decision!”

I’m lucky, because my parents are not just still together, but crazy in love. When I was in high school, my friends were shocked when we’d walk into the house and find my parents passionately smooching in the kitchen. I didn’t realize how rare it is, that my parents kiss and joke, that they hold hands when they walk around the State Fair.

Being in love doesn’t make life perfect. I asked Mom when I was a little girl, if Dad passed away, would she remarry? She told me she probably wouldn’t, because creating a good marriage was such hard work. But my parents do work to understand each other, and make each other happy. That hard work built a loving family. Their marriage is truly an inspiration.

Sunday Stroll

2009-02-11T16:46:00.000-05:00

Saturday, I finally began to pick up steam. My room had become a pit of despair. (Actually, The Pit of Despair in The Princess Bride was grimier than my room, but MUCH less cluttered.) In a burst of energy, I updated my blog, created new spreadsheets to keep track of the apartment finances (did a mini-audit), and then started cleaning. I didn't want to lose momentum, so I stayed up until it was done at 6 a.m.

I got up at 9 a.m. and it was such a gorgeous day, sunny and 70 degrees. I decided to go for a walk to get some fresh air, exercise and sunshine. It would also give me a chance to try out the awesome camera Sandy gave me, and its amazing giant lens. Hooray! I don't have a guide book or anything, and I hadn't used a manual camera for quite some time. Actually, I've never mastered manual photography.

The day before, I'd seen some cardinals flitting around, and I hoped the awesome zoom lens would allow me to get one on film. I found a purse big enough for my manual and digital cameras. I put on some sunglasses and my iPod. This is partly because the sun was bright and music is entertaining, but partly a defense measure. Guys in my neighborhood can be very flirtatious. Some of it isn't flirting, really. It's just a cultural difference.

In Iowa, people smile and wave or nod, and maybe say "Hi," or "Morning." In Spanish Harlem, Harlem or my current neighborhood, some people say "Good morning," but men are as likely to say "Lookin' gooood, girl." Sometimes it feels like a friendly greeting, but other times it makes me uncomfortable.

Usually, if a guy seems too flirty, I give my best You're sweet, but I'm just too shy for you smile. (Erin's acting skills put to good use!) The shades and music give me the option, though, to ignore them without seeming rude. In the pre-iPod days, sometimes a guy would give me a creepy feeling, so I would ignore him, and he would get offended. "What, you too good to talk to me?" I would go from dealing with an overly-flirtatious stranger to a hostile stranger. I don't have that problem anymore. Hooray for iPods! (On a safety note, ladies, don't turn them up too high. You need to be able to hear if someone's approaching you from behind.)

I started out taking pictures in the back yard, then got some shots of the big Baptist church on the corner. Next, I walked and walked until I finally found a park I'd never seen before. I sat and watched kids run and swing and play. They were all so giddy. Just a few days before, it had been below freezing and windy. Now it was balmy.

Norfolk is a funny place in the spring. Some deciduous trees are bare, with some berries or seeds dangling. Others never lose their leaves at all. Despite the cold last week, at the least warmth, crocuses and daffodils sprung up in local gardens. I never did see a cardinal on my trip, but I did get some bird pictures and shots of spring flowers. I have no idea how my non-digital photos turned out. I haven't finished the roll of film, and I'm waiting until I have a little spare cash, but for now I have some lovely digital pics.

As I returned home, my neighbors Justin and Stephanie were out with their dogs, Tinkerbelle the pit bull and Jagermeister the boxer. The dogs bounded over for me to pet them, and I did for a good long while. I miss having pets.

It was nice to be out in the world, enjoying its beauty.

Homemade Chicken Noodle Soup Recipe!

2009-02-10T19:43:00.000-05:00

Okay, technically I made turkey noodle soup. At Thanksgiving, I roasted a turkey and froze most of the leftovers with a drizzling of the liquid from the roasting pan (A mixture of white wine, herbs and turkey drippings) to keep the meat moist and flavorful. This week, it was cold, so I thawed out a small batch to make a cheap, warm, hearty soup.

It was mom's soup first, but she's been making it so long that she doesn't really use a recipe. The recipe she gave me didn't seem to have the right liquid to dry ingredient ratio or taste like hers. (The first batch I ever made is in the photo. I hadn't gotten it right yet. It should have more liquid.) I think I also bought the wrong chicken soup base. Anyway, after some experimentation, it's not as good as Mom's, but it is flavorful and satisfying.

This recipe is designed to be made from a winter pantry, but in the future I'd like to try it with fresh onions and garlic. I'd also like to try liquid stock. Adjust the recipe to your own taste!

4c. Water (or more if the soup is too thick or too much liquid boils off)
2c. Egg Noodles
1.5 or 2 c cooked chicken or turkey or 1 9oz. can chicken breast and 1 4.5oz. can mixing chicken.
1 T onion powder
1 tsp. garlic powder
1/2 tsp. pepper
4 tsp. low sodium chicken-flavored soup base
cornstarch to thicken
Salt to taste
(I've also made batches where I added mustard powder and lemon pepper. Trust your instincts.)

Boil water and cook noodles until tender. Add all other ingredients. Heat to simmer. Dissolve cornstarch in warm water and add it to the soup. Stir until thickened. Serve.

This one is a family favorite, and I hope you enjoy it as much as we do.

My new guardian angel, and a design adjustment.

2009-02-07T18:22:00.006-05:00

This week has been all about trying to get back in the swing of things. I've been catching up on work, schoolwork and housekeeping. Now I'm catching up on blogging, too.

When I first got back from Iowa, I meant to post on this adorable little statue Sacketts got me. Doesn't she look at home on my bookshelf? They also gave me a great t-shirt.

They made official farm shirts as Unkie's Christmas present, and gave me one as an honorary family member. Everyone weighed in on the design, each person requesting a different image. Hannah, for example, insisted on the kitty. A designer helped put it all together in a way that looks clean and modern. The shirts look great! My dad thinks they need one little adjustment:

Hee! Dad keeping some sheep at Unkie's farm was supposed to be temporary, but I'm beginning to suspect they're there to stay. Next time they order a batch of shirts, maybe they should add a Suffolk!

Getting through

2009-02-01T19:49:00.012-05:00

I spent most of the week in bed, studying and planning lessons just enough to keep my head above water. I really only got out of bed long enough to teach, hold office hours or go to class. It was a rough week. I longed to hug my family.

I wanted to stay in bed, but I made myself get up, and go to school and work. I'm glad I did. It was a good teaching week. My students were so receptive. One student has an undiagnosed learning disorder, and I think I really helped her. I gave her tips for coping with her challenges, and they seemed to be working. If they do work, then I've given her tools to succeed, not just for my class, but for her entire college career and beyond. It made my heart flutter, almost like being in love. Teaching is so powerful, because it can transform lives for the better. That's why we do it. (Most of us, anyway. I suppose some people do it for the vacations.)

I talked to Mom a lot this week. The snapdragons I ordered arrived in time for Helen's visitation. I asked for snapdragons for two reasons. First of all, I didn't want to leave the florist to his or her own devices. Some florists make such morbid floral arrangements for funerals. Funerals are depressing enough without depressing flowers! I wanted something colorful and fresh. Also, Helen liked snapdragons. Once, when I was a little girl, she had a gorgeous vase of them on her kitchen table. I asked why they were called that. She pointed out the dragon faces in the blooms, and showed me how to gently pinch to make the blossom's jaws open and snap shut. I thought it was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen, and the flowers have made me think of her ever since.

Friday, the MFA program had a reading with judges to help us improve our technique. The judges told me it was lovely (yay!). They also gave some helpful suggestions for improvement. After the reading, about 20 of us went out to The Tap House. It was so nice to spend time with them outside of class and chat.

(Family, I know how some of you are. Don't get excited by the picture of me and a guy. He's a happily married classmate.)

Now I just need to get back to my routine of sleeping right, eating right, studying, writing and exercising. Piece of cake, right? Mmm-hmm. Sure.

(Snapdragon photos from www.bradyevents.com and www.hort.purdue.edu.)

Helen

2009-01-31T20:22:00.003-05:00

A time or two, I've told the story here, briefly or at length. Unkie and Helen helped to raise me. At their big anniversary party a few years ago, Unkie introduced me to everyone as his oldest granddaughter. His guests would scratch their heads, probably doing the math and wondering if one of his girls had had a secret baby in her youth. He would laugh at their expressions and explain that when I was born, Mom got sick, so he and Helen took care of me, and I'd been their girl ever since.

Helen embroidered a pretty wallhanging when I was born. She made me beautiful dolls and sewed an activity book for me. Helen made me Christmas tree ornaments, too. When I got my appendix out, she and Unkie gave me a teddy bear that remains one of my favorite toys from childhood.

Unkie and Helen let me stay over a lot. Sometimes, my parents would arrange for my brother and me to come visit. Other times, my parents and I would be stopping at their farm for a moment, and I would beg to stay. Usually, Helen said yes. She would find some spare pajamas for me, and wash my face with cool, thick swipes of Noxema. Cool nights, she would tuck me in with mounds of quilts and cozy electric blankets, and I would fall asleep to the sounds of the hogs' waterers clanking.

Mornings, I would sneak into bed with Unkie and Helen. It must have been indecently early if they were still in bed, because they were early risers. Usually, Unkie would start to tickle me, or give me Tazmanian Devils (twisting my big toes). This often would continue until I screamed out, "Helen! Heleeeeeen! Save MEEEEEEEEEEE!" She always did: "Now, Dad, cut that out."

On summer mornings, Helen would smear my skinny arms and legs with sunscreen and Skin-So-Soft to keep the mosquitoes at bay. Then we would go play in the garden or the creek while Unkie farmed. We would sweep the playhouse and wipe down its surfaces with warm soapy water. There, I would pretend to cook for her, using empty spice tins.

Other days, we cooked for real. Helen let me make "marshmallow salad," which was a mix of mini marshmallows, raisins and chocolate chips in a Tupperware canister. When I was a little older, we started making candy. She would help me melt almond bark and chocolate in the "radar range." We would pour it into moulds in the shapes of bows and bells, or make chocolate peanutbutter cups and pops.

Then Helen began teaching me to bake. First she taught me how to make cinamon rolls. Together we mixed powders and liquids, kneaded it into dough--folding and pressing, lifting, turning and pounding-- and set the bowl of dough in the sun to rise. Once the cheesecloth covering the bowl arched, we uncovered the yeasty mass, punched it down and let it rise again.

She taught me how to flour the heavy rolling pin, roll the dough flat and brush it with butter, cinnamon and sugar. We rolled the pastry and sliced the rounds, which rose in the oven, filling the house with a heady sweet-spice scent. I got a purple ribbon at the county fair with those rolls. Another year, she taught me to make a seven-grain bread, so hearty I had to hold the mixing bowl between my legs and use both of my scrawny arms to stir. I would grunt with the effort, and Helen would laugh.

Helen and I would play dress-up. She had a box of costume jewelry, and she would help me select a necklace, and clip matching earings on my ears. She would put a little cherry chapstick on my lips. Helen would play with my hair and let me play with hers, or Unkie's, for that matter. In fact, once she even let me use her makeup to give him a makeover while he slept (or pretended to be asleep).

Her house was so clean that I was afraid to make a mess. A few times I did, and I was so afraid she would be mad both times. The first time, I threw up goulash on her brand new beige carpet. The second time, we were preparing thousands of strawberries and frosting thousands of pretzels for Karen's wedding when Karen and I got into a frosting fight. In the first case, she just told me, "Oh, that's okay, honey." In the second case, she ran to get a camera, and snapped several candid pictures of Karen and me, streaked with teal icing. I don't remember Helen ever yelling at me. She was amazingly patient and kind.

On a church trip a few years ago, Helen was on a boat that circled Manhattan. She told me afterword that it scared her to see the island, so big with its looming buildings, and imagine me on that island, so small and on my own. I hugged her and kissed her, because nothing I said seemed to make her less concerned.

I hope I'm remembering this story right, because its one that stuck in my head: when Helen traveled to Russia, her hosts had been marinating meat out on a counter all day long. With one bite, Helen knew if she ate it, she would be ill. Rather than hurt her hosts' feelings, she snuck each bite into her purse. It was told as a story of cultural differences, and mishaps abroad. For me, it was a lesson on how to be a lady. A lady is gracious and makes those around her feel at ease. Helen was truly a lady.

Thank you, Helen, for all the love and care you gave me. I will never forget it. I will never forget you.

Love always,
Erin

Through tears

2009-01-26T16:45:00.002-05:00

Mom called over the weekend. She had to deliver bad news. Mom is the one who generally has to deliver bad news. She’s gotten better at it, though. When I was twelve and my cat died, Mom turned off my alarm clock, left a note and went to work. I woke up in a blind panic, and ran downstairs shouting, “We’re LATE!” The house was empty. My parents were gone, my brother was gone and the cat was gone. Then I found the note: “Sheba died in the night. You can stay home today. Love, Mom.” On the plus side, it was nice to have a day off to grieve.

This time, Mom was calling to tell me Aunt Helen had died. I knew bad news was coming from the long silences, during which all I could do was wonder who had passed away. When Mom finally told me, it took a while for the truth to sink in, even though Helen had been fighting cancer for years.

All I wanted was to go home. I began looking for flights. I have a Delta voucher, but the cheapest Delta flight was $1500. I did some more searching and found one for 1,100. Wow. Just 11% of my yearly pre-tax salary. I looked at buses and trains, which would have taken a day or two of traveling time. I looked into flying to nearby cities and driving into Des Moines. Nothing would take less than a day.

I called to discuss it with my parents. Mom warned me that weather might make my trip take even longer. Could I afford to spend that much and miss that much class and work? With two grandparents in the hospital, would I need to make another trip soon? I certainly hoped not, but what if I did? I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to come home so much, but intellectually I knew I couldn’t. I felt guilty. Mom told me it would be okay for me not to come, which I needed to hear.

Dad suggested that I could come home for Spring Break. Right now, Unkie, Karen, Lynn, Connor and Hannah would have many people around to comfort them and keep them company. During Spring Break, I’d probably be able to spend more time with them. I wanted to call and talk to them, but I told Dad I wanted to wait until I could do it without crying.

“That might take a few years,” he replied, making me chuckle through my tears.

My dad’s funny bone mainly emerges in three situations: 1- when he is interacting with small children, 2- during parties when he tells stories and jokes and 3- when I am crying.

When I was a child, I would be crying, and dad, in a baby-talk voice would croon: “Don’t laugh! Don’t laaa-augh!” or “Uh-oh. Careful with that lip sticking out. Some bird’s gonna poop on that lip!” I would get so mad, but would always crack up. When the tornado wrecked the farm, reporters were amazed at my parents’ good spirits. “Well, it’s either laugh or cry,” Dad replied.

Or, as in this case, both.

Who's reading this thing?

2009-01-21T17:52:00.002-05:00

Nobody responded to my last post. I began to wonder who actually reads this blog, if anyone at all. I inserted a counter (which I started off with the number of posts I've made since I started the blog). The counter shows how many people visit the blog. If they were referred from other web sites, the counter tells me which ones.

People are visiting, yay! In fact, more people are reading this blog than I had suspected. You all are just really quiet and non-comment-y.

A surprising number of my new visitors are here looking at my recipes, so I'm contemplating making this a cooking blog. I like simple, affordable recipes, so maybe I could call it "Cheap and Easy." Oh, my roommate Todd informs me that readers might get the wrong idea. Hmm. Scrap that, then.

Should I change the blog to attract more readers? I could post more often with shorter posts. I could make all my posts on one topic or gimmick. I could also make comments on more popular blogs to attract readers. Or instead of worrying about the number of readers, I could work on crafting more entertaining entries for the readers I already have.

If you have any suggestions, let me know. Don't be shy!

New Format

2009-01-19T19:50:00.002-05:00

I've been wanting to jazz up the format for a while. I combined elements of the old format (the center section) with elements of a new one. What do you think? Should I go back to the old? Go all the way with the new format and get rid of the old entirely? I know most of you are lurkers, but I'd appreciate the feedback. Thanks!

Mini flood. Also, when it rains, it pours. Prayers for Family.

2009-01-18T22:22:00.007-05:00

I just had my first week of the new semester. My new composition class seems fun. They’re less feisty that the group I had less semester, but more diverse. They range in age from 18 to 25, and are of several majors, races and nationalities. That’s fun, because it adds different perspectives to their papers and class discussions.

This year, my workshops is different. They created a hybrid nonfiction-poetry workshop. Yes, my two specialties in one place! I’m taking a course on the craft of fiction. Except for models for my middle schoolers, I haven’t written fiction since 2002! I find fiction kind of intimidating, because it’s challenging to create a new world that manages to ring true.

My third class was supposed to be Post-Colonial Literature, but that class got cancelled (why do my classes always get cancelled?), so at the last minute I switched to “Imagining the Civil War.” When I got there, I discovered that it’s actually a history department course that counts for English credit. Noooooo! I will have to write a 20-page research paper on some aspect of the Civil War, with Teravian-style notation. I hate learning new forms of notation! For English, it’s MLA. For Education it was APA. Now this? Sigh.

When I was unpacking last week, I noticed that my skirt was wet, but couldn’t figure out why or how. Well, it had been snowing in Detroit…but the suitcase didn’t feel wet inside, only outside. I was puzzled. A few days later, I was walking across the carpet, and my sock felt damp. Had I spilled water? I couldn’t find a spill on the carpet.

Wednesday, my sock was WET. It was raining out, and there was an empty water bottle on the floor. Had the bottle leaked? Was the apartment flooding? I didn’t know. I got a towel and tried to dry the carpet…then a second towel…and a third. After the sixth towel, I called the emergency pager for our maintenance crew.

I realized that the closer I got to my bookshelves and the wall to the laundry closet, the wetter the carpet was. Rakel and Todd helped me carry all my books, my bookshelves and desk into the living room. (The living room looks like Strand!) Verdant mold was climbing more than an inch up the sides of the bookshelves. The leak had apparently been going for a while.

The maintenance guys showed up with a shop vac and drying fan. Over the next few days, they ripped up the carpet and sucked up the worst of the liquid, fixed the leak, opened the wall, and set up the fan to dry it all out. For days, I lived in a wind tunnel (resulting in model hair, Gilda hair, or a resemblance to Cousin It, depending on who you ask). Then, unbeknownst to me, they put up the same square of plaster. I think it was moldy! The guys assure me the plaster is fine, because it dried out, but Virginia is humid! I would prefer not to have deadly black mold growing in my walls. I’m crazy like that.

Oh, and to top it all off, Grandpa Kiley, Grandpa Staker and Aunt Helen are all in the hospital. Grandpa Kiley had to have a heart bypass, which Mom said went well. Grandpa Staker had congestive heart failure, I think? I was kind of in shock when Mom told me. Helen needed fluids. I'm having trouble with everyone being so sick. Funny how I sometimes write least about the things that are most important. Well, if I'm honest, it's harder to write about painful things. I hate being so far away. If I was there, at least I could give people hugs. They are in my prayers.

Nieces and niceties

2009-01-07T22:20:00.001-05:00

Sunday, we were going to attempt a do-over Christmas with Dad’s parents. Once again, weather didn’t permit. Sigh. This week, I did get to visit my nieces and Kelly, my college roomie. Monday afternoon I went to visit the girls, bearing presents from my Mom and Aunt Sandy, including kids music and a string of Disney Princess lights.

I was amazed to find that, after all this time, Brooke’s favorite thing to do is STILL to play Peter Pan. The average visit requires at least 8 rounds of Peter Pan. Brooke tries to run the show, so I would occasionally stop to ask what Courtney wanted to do. Brooke would say, “You have to go back to the ship!” “I don’t have to,” I would reply. She would grin, good-naturedly, and I would see the gears turn in Brooke’s head. “You don’t have to, but you could. It would be fun.” Hee.

J.B. came home for supper, and as usual, I enjoyed Erika’s cooking. I meant to get the recipe for the cheesy chicken with flakey pastry(along with her goulash recipe), but I forgot. I stayed until bedtime, when I helped read the girls their stories. I explained to Brooke that the last time I went away, it was for four months, and it would probably be four months until I saw her again. She sighed dramatically and flopped back on her pillows: “I’ll never see you again!” Heh. Courtney not only knows who I am, she was actually clamoring for me to come and read to her. Every time I see them, they’re so much bigger and more mature.

Tuesday, after a day of packing, I drove to Grimes to visit Kelly. Kelly made pizza, and I tried to just have a tiny bit. You see, Mom knows I love her split pea soup, and it was one of the few signature soups she hadn’t made during my visit. She started it that morning , not knowing I was going to see Kelly. Well, I ended up eating several pieces of pizza. It was nice to chat with Kelly, and when I got home, I still managed to find room for soup. That night, I gave my parents hugs goodbye.

The next day, I managed to gather all my belongings together and made my way to the airport, where I took a bump! Yes, I agreed to take a later flight in exchange for $200 off my next Delta flight. The nice fellow at the counter even figured out a flight that would get me home sooner than I was originally getting in. Magic!

The flight into Norfolk was rough. I was actually scared as we landed. I’m a good flyer, but the turbulence was nauseating. I was getting scary plane crash images in my head, but I closed my eyes and prayed. Once we were safely on the ground, I thought perhaps I had been overreacting. However, there were several Air Force pilots on the flight, and they went up to the pilot to shake his hand, compliment him, and thank him for getting us down safely. Eep! I think I should have been MORE scared! That said, I made it home safely, and when I got to the apartment, I hadn’t been burglarized. Who can ask for anything more?

In with the New Year.

2009-01-03T22:16:00.002-05:00

It is bitterly cold in Iowa, but the sunsets are gorgeous. I joked with Dad that it's God's way of compensating us: "'I will make is miserable, but gorgeous!'" All I’ve gotten done so far in 2009 is a little painting. I wanted to do something for Unkie and Helen. I adore them, and besides Christmas it was also Helen’s birthday. Helen collects pig decorations, as they used to be pig farmers. (My cousin Connor has revived the operation a bit.)

I painted a small wooden box leftover from last year when I painted boxes for my friends. I took it to Unkie and Helen when dad went to their house to feed sheep. After the tornado, Unkie took in part of the flock. Dad has built a new barn, but it can’t quite house all the sheep right now. Plus, I suspect Dad likes being able to chat with Unkie. Unkie likes to tease Dad about his reticence to sell sheep and his tendency to chore in the dark.

Unkie has gotten a lot of mileage out of a story about the time he heard a strange noise in the middle of the night. What could that possibly be? He warily made his way out to the barn, only to find my dad, chopping a big, round hay bale with a chain saw. Hee!

When I got into Unkie and Helen’s house, it was a bit chaotic because a light had just exploded for some reason! Everyone liked the pig box, though, and it was a nice visit. Helen’s been really sick—facing a tough combination of lung cancer and the flu—but she was starting to get her voice back. Their daughter Carla was still visiting, and while I was there I didn’t get to see the adorable Hannah or Lynn, but Karen and Connor stopped by. Connor was on a mission to detect the short or surge that had taken out the light.

Connor was telling me about his Christmas gifts. When I’d seen him last, his mother said (with a TONE), “Tell Erin what you’re getting for Christmas.” “A potato!” Me: “Baked for supper, or a Mr. Potato or what?” Karen said, “No, a potato. And a carrot. Tell her why, Connor.” He informed me that when giving his Christmas wish list, he’d been unable to come up with anything that cost less than $200 (like many adolescent boys, Connor longs for costly video game systems). Then one day, he mentioned wanting a baked potato. “Well,” Karen replied with a clap, “That we can do.” On Christmas morning, he did receive a potato and a carrot…and a new cell phone. Heh.

Connor shuffled his feet the whole time he described making some kind of hammer with the potato…a tomahawk, perhaps? (Apparently, it didn’t hold up well to impact.) Unkie admonished him to hold still while talking to me. I laughed and told Unkie that my Child Psychology professor (I love you, Sholly!) taught me that adolescent boys concentrate better while moving, and if you really want them to learn something, tell them while playing catch. “Well, I’ll be darned,” Unkie said. “See!” Connor exclaimed, “I’m not crazy!” I laughed, knowing that I’d just given the young man license to fidget like the dickens.

Since then, I’ve finished a red, white and blue box for my Kiley grandparents and another for my Gilbaugh grandparents, yellow with purple accents, proclaiming “Peace, Love and Joy!” Grandma Carol told me once that she tries to live her life for joy. She hopes that’s how she’s remembered. I hope she likes it. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll get to see her this visit. Sigh. Well, I’m not visiting as many people as I’d planned to, but at least I’m catching up on my rest and my writing.

Out with the Old Year…

2008-12-31T15:24:00.001-05:00

After leaving the Blacksmith’s shop, Sandy drove us to Suzanne’s. She and Mom have been friends sincebefore I was born.Suzy told me a great story about how my Mom, very pregnant with me, was cursed out by a student and responded by hauling him out of the room and LITERALLY kicking his butt with every step they took down the stairs. Hee! Why didn’t she tell me that story when I was teaching in the Bronx and fantasized about being able to do such a thing? Perhaps she feared beinga bad influence. Imitating her in our modern society might have gotten me not just fired, but sued.

Suzie took us to a local Jewish deli (Choppie’s, I think). She had smoked whitefish, Mom got a salad, and Dad and I ordered Ruebens. Then the waitress brought Dad a Rueben and me a corned beef sandwich. I pointed out to the waitress that mine was missing the goop. “Oh, yeah, you said corned beef, right?” “Well, I said a Reuben with corned beef, not a corned beef sandwich. This is missing the sauce, cheese and sauerkraut.” “Oh,” she replied, “I told them to hold the cheese, because I thought that was how it was done.” Erin’s internal monologue: What? Why would you asking the kitchen to hold something if the customer didn’t ask for anything to be held?

I waited and waited for my sandwich. Dad came to my rescue and gave me half of his sandwich. (Mine would arrive as everyone else was done eating). Though the service was sub-par, the Reuben and fries were mouth-wateringly delicious enough to make up for it. The meat was juicy, tender and finely-shaved. Yum, yum, yum.

Suzie also snagged us some bagels for breakfast, which she served us with cream cheese before we took off for the airport New Year’s Eve. We made it through security pretty easily, though Mom and Dad accidentally left a bag there. Luckily, when they doubled back it was still there. Our second flight out of Dallas was delayed.

When we got to Des Moines, we were hungry. We stopped in Grimes for take-out Chinese food. The pets were ecstatic to see us, despite being spoiled in our absence by teenage house sitters. After supper, I momentarily considered hitting the road for Des Moines, trying to find some New Year’s Eve festivities. I ran through it in my head: frantic primping, driving, a few hours of partying without being able to drink because I’m driving, then driving home on roads full of drunken partiers. When I saw on Facebook that my friend Kelly was staying in, I decided I would do the same. Here’s hoping that the adage “How you spend New Year’s Eve will dictate what you will do in the New Year” isn’t true.” Actually, I could use more sleep, so maybe it’s okay after all.

I'm ready for a new year. When I left NYC, Tom told me about a blogger at "BaRou is the New Brooklyn" making a similar transition. Well, she was brave enough to proclaim 2008 a "FAIL," so I guess I can, too. Well, it was a teaching win, and I think I'm learning a lot, but I'm tired of being poor, carless and friendless. Okay, friendless is an exaggeration. I've got my roomies. Todd and I get along particularly well, but he's graduating this spring. And I keep complaining, but I can't seem to change it. Loneliness sucks. My professor thinks I've found the heart of my first book of poetry, which is great, but I need to get braver about submitting poems to magazines. Rejection sucks, too. AAARGH!

Here's hoping that 2009 leads to new adventures, opportunities and friendships.

Sunshine in the Old West.

2008-12-30T14:50:00.012-05:00

December 30, Sandy drove us down to Scottsdale. Mom’s friend Suzanne lives there, and it’s close to the airport. First we stopped at Old Scottsdale. The neighborhood is a preserved frontier town.

We were following a tourist map to see historical sites –and tons of shops and galleries in between. Dad was kind of grumpy, because we were shuffling around and standing around. That makes his back and hip hurt. (He drives the mail route sitting on the passenger side of the car putting mail in boxes while running the steering wheel, gas and breaks with his left arm and leg stretched WAAAY out. More than two decades of that can’t be good for the body.)

The closer we got to lunch, the more the grumpiness increased. Mom kept asking, “Well, do you want to eat here?” Dad kept claiming he didn’t care, but eventually muttered, “We’re in the Southwest and we haven’t had any Mexican left, but whatever. I don’t care.” “Great,” I replied, “Mexican it is!” Mom asked a information-booth-guy where we should go, and he recommended Las Olivas. It’s a neighborhood favorite. It’s been around a long time, and is named after some ancient olive trees that still stand nearby.

After fish tacos, chimichangas, gorgeous savory fajitas and a pitcher of daiquiris, everyone’s dispositions were a lot sunnier. We were peeking into the blacksmith’s shop when the blacksmith invited us inside. Cavelliere’s Blacksmith Shop has been in the same family since 1909. Originally, it was made of tin. George Cavalliere (aka Doc) wanted to built it on Main Street, but Scottsdale officials made him build outside of town. Now, it’s laughable, as outside-of-town is just a few blocks from Main Street, and has become squarely in town.

The blacksmith (whose name may or may not be Schoenau) let us wander around, looking at his antiques, decorative metalwork and sculptures. He says his specialties are fancy spiral iron staircases, the kind no one else wants to take on.

He’s been working there for decades, and jokes that before that he officially worked there, he was slave labor. What he enjoys most is fixing up old Indian motorcycles. The place was heaven for my dad, who loves collecting things. Hanging from the ceiling in groups were legs from potbellied stoves, iron tractor seats, and antique spurs.

He told us about a man who had admired the blacksmith’s antique saw collection so much that he hauled some saws all the way from Iowa to donate to the collection: “He said, ‘I just wanted them here. I knew they just had to be here.”

As we spoke to him, a woman bustled in, eager to have him fix her menorah. She didn’t even ask how much it would cost—I suppose because so few people know how to fix metal. It one of those things I think I’d like to learn. Dad and I welded a giant metal star once and strung it with blue lights to hang up on our windmill for Christmas. (This was before the tornado. Sadly, we no longer have a windmill.) That was fun. I can’t imagine undertaking such an activity in the blazing heat of Arizona, though. The day we visited Scottsdale, it got up to 70 degrees, despite being the end of December!

STRIKE! And, on the road again.

2008-12-30T14:29:00.006-05:00

Monday, my grandma kept asking us what we wanted to go and do. My dad replied that he likes relaxing on vacation. Most of the time, when he takes time off work, he ends up doing farm stuff. Every time he goes away on vacation, he has to work so hard to get the farm ready for his absence. I know how he feels.

When I was a reporter, I generally spent the week before I left banking stories to be used in my absence. Now, my vacations are directly preceded by finals. As a result, I start my vacations exhausted. I zone out a few days, then rush around to visit everyone in the remaining days and end the vacations exhausted. Boo! Well, I’m taking a page from Dad’s playbook: take it easy.

Midday, we played a dominoes game called Chickenfoot, which we’ve enjoyed for years. I actually won, which is rare. Yay! We ended Monday by playing video games. Grandpa and Grandma received a knock-off Wii for Christmas (“My Sports Challenge”) which has bowling, tennis, hockey, golf, baseball and boxing. First, Mom and Sandy paired up against Dad and I.

Mom boogied after each strike or spare. Dad was frustrated by the differences between video bowling and real bowling. Mom’s dancing just seemed to rub it in. (Days later, Mom would play using our bowling avatars, and the result wasn’t as favorable. “I think it’s this girl,” Mom complained. “She’s just not good!” I told her we should tell Dad that. It wasn’t us that lost, it was that we chose bad avatars.)

After Mom and Sandy won, we cajoled Grandpa joining grandma to play against them. Grandpa was up and about for the first time since our arrival in Arizona. (He’s not in good health.) He and Grandma were in fine bowling form. Grandpa also developed a victory dance that had us all in stitches. We had so much fun that Mom decided to go out and buy herself the game to take home with us.

While she was out, Dad and I tried tennis (he had better results than I did, but worked up quite a sweat), and I tried boxing. Despite having no instruction manual, I managed to win an around-the-world boxing tournament through random button-punching and flailing wildly.

That night we packed our bags. We were hard-pressed to get all our belongings, presents and purchases into our luggage, even with the extra suitcase grandma gave us.

Tuesday, we had to hit the road again. I hid some notes around the house. It’s something I first did years ago because Grandma gets sad whenever we leave. She teared up as we piled into the van. Sometimes Grandma is so no-nonsense, but whenever we go, she gets sentimental. She was apologizing. I don’t know why. It’s just because she loves us! That's nothing to be embarassed about.

Merry Christmas from Arizona!

2008-12-28T13:56:00.000-05:00

I was up until almost midnight packing my bags, trying to get everything I would need for a week of variable weather and a variety of occasions into carry-on bags (to save $50 round-trip). Mom woke me up at 4, and we were halfway to the airport by 5.

We left frigid snowy Iowa behind for sunny Arizona. Well, it was actually rainy and foggy, but it was still a lot warmer than Iowa had been. Grandma and Sandy picked us up in Phoenix, and carted us up to Prescott Valley, where Grandpa was waiting. They had put up lights outside, and inside set up a cute holiday village. Grandpa wanted to put up more, but Grandma reminded him that they would have to take down whatever they put up. Grandma was eager to open presents, so after supper, we opened our stockings.

I was in bed by 9 p.m. and awake by 5 a.m. That day, we took to the stores to buy Christmas presents. (This freed up space in out luggage, and we were able to take advantage of day-after-Christmas sales.) I got Mom’s favorite perfume and a wallet for Dad. For the grandparents, my aunt and uncle had gotten them a digital-picture-displaying ornament, which they filled with pictures of their daughters, sons-in-law and grandbabies. I found a similar device, and filled it with our side of the family. I also added some new pictures to the large digital frame we bought them a while back. For Sandy, I got some fancy beer and a mystery novel. Even Sandy's dog, Tipp, got in on the present-opening act.

That night, we went to Prescott for the Arizona Review. Each fall and winter, a group of local performers get together to sing and dance, with a little bit of comedy and some historical regional stories. Most of the time the show is western-themed, but at the end of December, it becomes a Christmas show. It was great fun. Grandma is friends with one of the singers, a tall diva named Jenifer, whose hair proudly proclaimed, “Thank You for this 1989 Country Music Award!” Voluminous hair is making a comeback.

Saturday I stayed in the house with Grandma and Grandpa while my parents went shopping. My parents then made “Texas Caviar,” a recipe Dad procured at grandpa Gilbaugh’s birthday party. He even helped mom make it!

I think that was also the night we visited the Valley of Lights, an animated Christmas light display that raises money for the Make a Wish foundation (like Jolly Holiday Lights in Des Moines). Grandma was collecting donations.

Sunday morning, I was lazing around the house. Then grandma announced that she would be leaving ASAP for choir practice. I volunteered to come, too, and managed to get ready in ten minutes. We picked up an anniversary cake to celebrate Grandma and Grandpa’s 61st. Singing was a lot of fun. Ever since the sing along with Rose and Ted over Thanksgiving, I’ve missed singing. Well, I missed it before then, but it’s keener now.

That afternoon, we dined on Chinese takeout. Mom cooked oyster stew for supper. It’s a generations-long Christmas Eve tradition in my family that will likely die with my mother. The smell of oyster stew just turns my stomach. As a kid I would hide it my room whenever Mom made it. Most foods I hated as a kid, I’ve tried as an adult, just to see if I’ve changed my mind (Fresh, raw cucumbers and tomatoes, yum. Fresh raw mushrooms and onions, meh. Slimy cooked mushrooms, yuck.) With oyster stew, I know, KNOW, there is no need. Shudder. Those oysters were ENORMOUS.

I toasted my grandparents: “Here’s to Grandma and Grandpa, who show us that love really can last a lifetime.”

“One More Sleep ‘til Christmas.”

2008-12-24T13:15:00.004-05:00

The title of this post comes from the awesome movie Muppet Christmas Carol, a fabulous family film that I added to my must-watch Christmas list the moment I first saw it in the early ‘90s.

Christmas Eve was hectic. I was running around all day. I did laundry and started packing. Then, after lunch, Mom announced she was going to Des Moines and I realized I hadn’t deposited my roomie Rakel’s rent money. (I’d been carrying around $700 of her cash for quite some time. It made me nervous, but I just hadn’t made it to the bank.)

We went online and discovered that the bank would only be open until 2. If we left immediately, we just might make it! Well, we hopped into the car and made it just before the door was locked. When we got home, I had time to do just a little packing, shower and slap on clothes and makeup for the early Christmas Eve church service.

The church service was so lovely. Usually it’s a candlelight service, but for the early service, the church provided glow sticks instead. “I feel like I’m at a rave,” I whispered. Mom laughed and replied, “Well, it’s better than drippy hot wax any day.” We sang tons of carols, and the moment church was over we were in the car again. I went back to packing, and before I knew it, it was time to go to Alice’s house.

Alice is Mom’s best friend, and her house was bustling with family and friends. Alice served up delicious food and lots of laughs. Her granddaughters had been arguing over the names of the elves, and I was amazed how impressed people were that I knew them all. (Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen and Rudolph.)

When we got home, Nathan S. was there with his wife and children. Nathan was my brother’s classmate in high school, and now he works construction. He’s been helping my parents to fix up their house, and the two families have bonded. Nathan’s oldest boys were wilder than March hares, but the youngest was cute as can be in a tiny Santa suit. It was 11 p.m. by the time they left. Then I had packing to do, and 40 winks to catch before flying out to Arizona Christmas day. Well, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Early Christmas!

2008-12-22T12:23:00.002-05:00

Sunday, mom’s family came to visit us. In fact, J.B., Erika and my nieces beat us home from church where Mom, Dad and I had been ushers. We also got to visit with the adorable Auchenbach family. Too cute.

Anyway, this time my nieces both immediately remembered me and gave me big hugs. We went down to the basement to sit around the tree and open our stockings and presents. Everyone liked their gifts. It was the most fun, probably, to see the looks on Brooke and Courtney’s faces as they opened their presents.

Over the summer, I got their family Enchanted, because I thought the kids and adults could all enjoy it. The girls really took to the movie, so I got them dolls depicting the main character, Giselle. I also found little Disney princesses with carriages. Mom and Dad got them a Barbie car, fairies from the Tinkerbelle movie and books. I usually go for books, but Perry is a better source of toys than books, for some reason.

That said, the girls loved their toys. We had some lunch. Mom served vegetable beef soup, chili, chicken noodle soup, and black bean chicken. Mom is such a good cook! Courtney was brave about trying new things. Brooke tried new foods, too…partly out of bravery and partly out of a competitive spirit. The girls were nervous that the boys would try to play with their toys. We assured them it wouldn’t be a problem, but sure enough, the boys were enticed by the girls’ dollies.

Once my aunt, uncle, cousins, cousins-in-law and their little boys came over, Mom and Dad showed the kids the musical Christmas carousel, Santa’s Marching Bell Band, and the player piano. They were big hits. I discovered that little Logan loves Bing Crosby, so I quickly burned him a CD. The toddler was mesmerized, and pushed play on the CD player every time the disc ended. Jenny and Megan’s little boys are so cute, and both girls are expecting again. Visiting with family always makes me simultaneously appreciate my free time and adventures, and admire their happy marriages and cute babies.

Monday I finally got a chance to visit Karen and Lynn’s house. My car was stuck in a snow drift, so I had to take Mom’s car. Lynn wasn’t home, but I got to visit with Karen, Hannah and Connor. I always have fun when I see them. Hannah showed me her newest kitten (Sunny, Sir Fluffenstein, I think.) Then I got to see Unkie and Helen. They took care of me when Mom needed surgery just after I was born, and it created a special bond between us. Helen’s sick, so I didn’t want to wear out my welcome. I admired their gorgeous Christmas tree and exchanged hugs and kisses. I quickly fed the sheep. Then, as I tried to leave, I discovered my car was stuck on the ice. I couldn’t budge it.

It took Unkie and I with shovels, then taking turns steering and pushing, to dislodge it. I don’t know how long we struggled with the darn thing. “Unkie,” I admonished, “Don’t hurt yourself. I would feel so bad.” “You should,” he replied with a teasing tone. When the car was free, he informed me it was the most exercise he’d gotten in quite a while. Once I got the car back to my parent’s farm, I opened the garage door and gunned it up the hill. (If you slow down, you lose momentum, and you’ll never make it.) But then I got scared that I’d slide on the ice and knock of a side mirror, so I put the darn think in park. “You know what? I’ve already had two stuck cars today. I’m out. I’m done. I’m not pushing my luck.” Mom laughed, told me that was fine and brought in the car for me. Thanks, Mom.

I had an awful headache that night…the worst I could remember. I wanted to weep, it hurt so much. Mom thought it was because Helen is so sick. I’d felt shock and grief at seeing her so weak, but I didn’t want to show it in front of her or Unkie. The stress of holding it in caused the intense pain. I’d forgotten that my body does that. I tried to acknowledge it and cry it out. Tears flowed, but the pain stayed and stayed. What more can I do? How do I let this pain happen, then let it go?

Back in Iowa! (It's a warm 10.)

2008-12-20T12:21:00.000-05:00

Dec. 17, I hadn’t gotten much sleep. I was up late packing. I managed to drag myself out of bed just in time to snag a cab to the airport.

My cabbie was from Senegal, and quickly became enamored with Iowa and…me. Heh. He has a business degree and specialized in insurance, so he loved the idea of a city full of insurance companies and low rent. When he learned that my dad raises sheep, which he sells to Africans for fresh lamb for parties, he was a goner. “Okay, but what are the winters like?” I told him the first snows might come now and then in October. They would come and go through November and December. The weather gets colder and snowier in January. In February you kind of want to die, it’s so cold and dreary. March brings ice storms, but by the end of march it’s usually spring. “Oh, no. I was wondering why the rent was so cheap.” Hee! Yes, there’s always a catch.

My flights went smoothly. When the pilot announced it was just 10 degrees in Des Moines, my body clenched, but stepping off the plane onto the tarmac, I was relieved. There was no wind, and the sun was shining. It was a warm 10 degrees, with gorgeous fluffy snow everywhere. For the first time in years, I managed to make it to Iowa on time, and with all of my luggage. Mom got to the Des Moines airport just as I snagged my bag off the baggage carousel. That night, I happily ate Mom’s vegetable beef soup, happily reunited with my parents.

The next day, they were at work while I played with pets and went shopping for Christmas presents in Perry. Roads were bad enough that I didn’t want to drive all the way to Des Moines. I managed to find items from J.B. and Erika’s wish lists, as well as toys my nieces would like, locally. Hooray!

Friday, school was cancelled for bad weather, so I got to hang out with mom. After lunch, I played in snow. When I bought Christmas presents, I also got a great deal on a saucer-sled ($4!) which I tried out on the slopes behind the house. The dogs were happy to go out and play with me.

Once Dad got off work, I chored with him. Mostly I followed him around while we bought fuses and tires, handed him buckets of grain or a bale of hay. I shoveled snow out of feeders for the sheep. Dad suggested I use an empty bucket. The only problem is, the hungry sheep didn’t quite get the concept of EMPTY BUCKET. Eventually, I was pinned to a fence by snuffling ewes. “Dad,” I called out, “I don’t think this is working. Can I have a shovel?” Heh.

I finished shoveling them out, then helped dad board up the top half of a barn door (so the sheep could come and go at will without the building losing too much heat). Then I shoveled the sidewalk and front steps. Note to town-people: if you have to clear driveways, etc., and don’t have a snowblower, buy a scoop shovel and a scraper. Those snowshovels are flimsy and inefficient. Trust me.

Saturday, we were supposed to have family Christmas in Northern Iowa, but weather was bad, so we stayed home. I’d been hoping to see my paternal grandparents, but didn’t relish a long slog in blizzard conditions. All day, Mom kept musing, “I’m so glad we’re not driving to Algona right now!” I hope we get to see them, though.

FINALS!

2008-12-14T12:04:00.001-05:00

I know I haven’t written in a LONG time. Well, once Rose and Ted left, I was suddenly aware of how much work I had to do. I had a ton of papers to grade. I had a poem to memorize for my craft of poetry class. (I chose Phillip Booth’s “First Lesson.)

I had to prepare for a public reading of my own work for my poetry workshop. I needed to put together a small book of publishable poems, too. That, my friends, is a challenging thing.

I also had to finish a 15-page nonfiction piece, and my intended subjects wouldn’t give me an interview. NOOOO! I managed to work my way around it and turned in a story on my Halloween parade exploits, with background on the parade and Project Bueller. My professor called it “a brilliant piece of reportage.” Thank you, sir!

In the midst of turning in papers and grading student papers, finals and portfolios, I also had to do domestic stuff. I was running around like crazy cleaning, laundering and packing for my trip. I also figured out how to arm our alarm, installed security lights and locked up my valuables in the closet. Pray with me that we’re not burglarized again.

I wanted to decorate for Christmas, but I didn’t have the time or money, so I created a flair tree on Facebook. (Facebook is a social networking site. You can find former classmates, etc., and e-mail them, play games with them, exchange photographs, etc. You can also send/pick out electronic buttons with pictures and sayings and arrange them on a corkboard.) Voila! Merry Christmas, everybody!

Happy Thanksgiving!

2008-11-30T16:51:00.011-05:00

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! It's been so long since I spent Thanksgiving with my family. Last year I cooked for myself and my roomie, Todd. The year before, I was with Tom's family. The year before that, I was with Mr. B's family. The preceding year, I went to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. This year, Ted and Rosa were here to keep me company. Yay! I still can barely believe that she came all the way from California, or that he trekked all the way down here when he barely knows me. They are wonderful people. Rose calls her trip down here her vacation-within-a-vacation.

Wednesday, I was running around like a crazy woman, making up beds and cleaning to prepare for my guests. I hadn't seen Rose in almost two years, and even then it was only for a few hours in the JFK airport while Rose was on a layover.

When she arrived late that night, we hugged each other so hard! Thursday, I woke up early and exercised. When everyone was up, we started the dressing, prepped the Turkey and popped it in the oven.

Then we went on a walk around the ODU campus. Rose lead us in lunges across the entire quad. Yowza! We walked around my neighborhood a little more, then drove to the market for fresh salad supplies.

Then it was time to get started on the side dishes. Ted started the candied yams. Rose made a marinade for her salmon and prepped a head of garlic for roasting. I started boiling macaroni and chopping potatoes. Then Ted took over the macaroni and cheese and Rose mashed the potatoes while I showered and prepped for supper. Ted was great. He did the hardest part of the turkey (flipping the bird over half way through baking) and held down the fort while Rose showered and dressed for dinner, too.

We all pitched in for the finishing touches: setting the table, lighting candles and opening wine. I said grace, and we all sat down to a scrumptious meal. Later that evening, we finished our feast with Pushing Daisies and pumpkin pie.

The next day, we decided to go to Virginia Beach. We ended up parked in front of a cafe/psychic. Hee. We decided it was fate, because Rose had been wanting to have her cards read. We made an appointment, had some soup, then went for a long walk on the beach.

The weather was gorgeous: sunny and mild. The sky was so blue. At one point, we took off our sweaters. It was amazing to be outside in a tank top in November!

(Well, it wasn't as nice for for Rose. It's in the '80s where she's from.)Some watersports enthusuasts were crazy enough to be surfing and riding waverunners. It was warm, but it wasn't that warm.

We decided to write a little Thanksgiving card in the sand. Then we posed for pictures with the King Neptune statue and returned to the psychic for our readings. She guessed that I had been a reporter. Impressive, right?

We returned to my apartment for a dinner of leftovers, or "Thankgiving Dinner, part 2," as Rose called it. We even had port and Lindor truffles for dessert. MMMMmmm...port. If you haven't experienced it, it's like the wine version of candy. Or the candy version of wine? Whichever. Rose got it in Napa valley, and it was SO good.

Then Ted serenaded us for hours while we listened adoringly. He's been taking guitar lessons since he was a small child. His singing voice has a really nice tone, Rose has great rhythm, and I have teh ear for pitch. Put the three of us together and you'd have one fine musician! Heh. All that matters is we had fun. It turned from a serenade to a sing-along. Whenever we thought of a song Ted didn't know, we only had to go online and print out tabs and he could instantly play it for us. Awesome!

Saturday I was up early again, so I exercised, took a shower, and made some mixed CDs for Rose and Ted's car trip. We made french toast (using sourdough bread brought from SanFrancisco) and fruit salad for brunch. We watched a movie, and before we knew it, it was time for supper. Then my guests had to hit the road. Sigh! We rushed around finding packing up their belongings and said our good-byes.

Good-bye, Mariposa. Who knows when we'll be together again? Well, whenever it is, it will be too long from now...but also as if no time has passed. That's the best part of our friendship. It never feels like catching up. It's like we've been together all along.

Rose is coming, hooray! Also: recipes for a feast.

2008-11-25T15:59:00.000-05:00

Monday, one of my students gave me a great compliment...kind of: "Ms. Kiley, aren't you teaching English 111?" I told him I wasn't, because I'm better at the artistic side of composition than strict rhetorical forms (the focus of 111 is rhetoric and research). "Well," he replied, "I was going to take it with you. If my teacher next semester sucks, I'm going to be mad at you." Hee! Then a few other students added that they had tried to register to take 111 with me, too, and were disapointed to see that I wasn't teaching it. Aw! It's nice to be appreciated.

We're at that point in the semester when I start to panic just a little--the point when time is running out and I have tons of papers to grade and finals to complete. Aaaaiieeeeeee!

Well, I don't have time to worry about that right now, because Rose is coming. Hooray! First she'll fly from San Diego to DC and hang out with her friends there. Then she and her friend Ted will rent a car and drive down here. In honor of her visit, I've been picking out recipes for Thanksgiving dinner, and buying supplies. I even decided to do a little decorating. Okay, perhaps that's not the best use of time when there's too much to do, but our living room had zero decorations. I've stayed at hotels with warmer decores. At Wal-Mart I spent $12 on picture frames and a couple of dollars on acid-free paper. Then I printed out a black-and-white photo I took a few years ago. I cut out the paper, layered and glued it to make a little wall art. Ta-da! (Note to self: Straighten those pictures. They are crooked!)

Below are the recipes I plan to use for Thanksgiving dinner, adjusted from recipes found random places on the internet (I forgot to write it down). Travel safely and have a happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Turkey-
INGREDIENTS
• 1 whole turkey, neck and giblets removed
• kosher salt
• 1/2 cup butter, melted
• fruit (I chopped an apple and cut the peel and skin off an orange and lemon.)
• onion, peeled and chopped
• thyme
• bay leaves
• dry white wine
• Optional: celery, chopped and carrots**

DIRECTIONS
1. Rub the turkey inside and out with the kosher salt. (Last year, the turkey was too frozen to rub inside, so I just rubbed outside. Place the bird in a large stock pot, and cover with cold water. (You can also use a thick plastic bag inside the roasting pan.) Place in the refrigerator, and allow the turkey to soak in the salt and water mixture 12 hours, or overnight.
2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Thoroughly rinse the turkey, and discard the brine mixture.
3. Brush the turkey with 1/2 the melted butter. Place breast side down on a roasting rack in a shallow roasting pan. Stuff the turkey cavity with fruit. Scatter the vegetables, bay leaves and thyme around the bottom of the roasting pan, and cover with the white wine.
4. Roast uncovered 3 1/2 to 4 hours in the preheated oven, until the internal temperature of the thigh reaches 180 degrees F (85 degrees C). Carefully turn the turkey breast side up about 2/3 through the roasting time, and brush with the remaining butter. Allow the bird to stand about 30 minutes before carving.

Mashed Potatoes-
INGREDIENTS
1 1/2 lbs yukon gold potatoes, peeled and quartered length-wise
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 Tbsp heavy cream
2 Tbsp butter
1 Tbsp milk
Salt and Pepper
A potato masher

DIRECTIONS
1. Put potatoes into a saucepan. Add 1/2 teaspoon salt. Add water until potatoes are covered. Bring to boil, reduce heat and simmer, covered, 15-20 minutes, or until done - a fork can easily be poked through them.
2. Warm cream and melt butter, together, either in microwave or in a pan on the stove. Drain water from potatoes. Put hot potatoes into a bowl. Add cream and melted butter. Use potato masher to mash potatoes until well mashed. Use a strong spoon to beat further, adding milk to achieve the consistency you desire. (Do not over-beat or your potatoes will get gluey.) Salt and pepper to taste. [Edited to add- Rosa ended up making the potatoes. She fixed a whole lot more potatoes and added fresh roasted garlic and a bunch of low-fat sour cream instead of heavy cream.Yum!]

Candied Yams
INGREDIENTS
* 1 (29 ounce) canned yams
* 1/4 cup butter, cut into pieces
* 1/2 cup brown sugar
* 1 1/2 cups miniature marshmallows

DIRECTIONS
1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees C).
2. Drain yams. Place sweet potatoes in a medium baking dish and mash slightly. Distribute butter pieces evenly over the sweet potatoes. Sprinkle with brown sugar and cinnamon to taste. Layer with miniature marshmallows. [Edited to add- Rosa ended up picking out some of the butter. She did not approve of the suggested quantity.]
3. Cover and bake in the preheated oven 25 minutes, or until sweet potatoes are tender and marshmallows have melted. Hint- spray foil with Pam. Remove foil and bake a few minutes to brown marshmallows.

Macaroni and Cheese
INGREDIENTS
* 5 cups cooked macaroni (8 ounces raw)
* 4 tablespoons butter
* 4 tablespoons flour
* 1/4 teaspoon salt
* 1/8 pepper, or to taste
* 2 cups milk
* 3/4 cup shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
* paprika, optional

DIRECTIONS
In a saucepan, melt butter over medium-low heat. Stir flour into the butter until smooth and bubbly. Stir in salt. Gradually add milk, stirring constantly. continue to cook, stirring constantly, until thickened. Add cheese and continue to cook and stir until melted. In an 8x10-inch baking dish, alternate layers of macaroni and cheese sauce. Sprinkle with paprika, if desired. (Toss some buttered bread crumbs if you want to add a little crunch.) Bake in a preheated 350° oven for 20 minutes, or until hot and bubbly.
Serves 6.

Crock Pot Stuffing
INGREDIENTS
5 c. bread cubes
1 c. chopped celery (or to taste)
½ c. chopped onions (or to taste)
½ tsp. Sage
¼ tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. pepper
½ c. chicken broth (or more. Enough to moisten the the bread.)
up to ¼ c. melted butter

DIRECTIONS
1-Combine all ingredients but butter. Mix well. Toss with butter.
2- Spoon into slow cooker. Cook on low 4-5 hrs.
Note: The portion is rather small because I have the 1.5 quart Crock Pot. If you have a big one, triple it!

[Rose ended up adding a lettuce salad with cranberry goat cheese, raisins, raspberry vinaigrette, and who knows what else, and she baked some salmon with an awesome marinade. I've got to get the recipes!]

Autumn

2008-11-16T18:00:00.003-05:00

This year, fall did not sneak up on me. Last year, it was an instant revelation: When did these trees turn orange and red and gold? When did the air take on this edge? This year I saw it as the leaves turned, not just tree by tree, but leaf by leaf.

Here, fall is a rainy time, but some crisp, clear mornings, all I can think about are high school football games, with waxed paper bags of popcorn, and cocoa in styrofoam cups, reverently held between two gloved hands--those cold nights, huddling over the cup, breathing in the scent of chocolate, breathing out a plume of breath to the sound of plastic helmets and bodies crashing as the crowds cheered and groaned.

If ODU had a football team, I would be tempted to attend a game.

Since I posted last:

Election night, I went to sleep and woke up at 11 p.m. to the sounds of joyful cheering in the distance: Obama had won. I was happy. Some people I knew were sad, and I sympathisized. Soon, McCain was back to his old self on TV-- the guy I actually liked before the election began. Why must candidates pretend to be more stuffy and conservative when they run for office? It didn't work for Dole or Gore or McCain. Hopefully, future candidates will take note. Be yourself!

I recently came down with a virus that made my temp go up and down. The doctor's verdict? Get rest and lots of fluids. Gee, thanks. I was too out-of-it to grade papers, and my throat was so sore I could only eat soft food. I fell asleep one evening at 5 p.m. and slept the whole night through. Sigh. I cut exercise out of my routine for a while and spent every minute when I wasn't in a classroom in bed. I'm almost all better now.

I'm also excited, because one of my best friends in the world, Rosemari (aka Rosa), has decided to come visit me during Thanksgiving. First she'll visit her friends in D.C. Then her friend Ted will drive Rosa to Norfolk. He let Rose and I stay at his place years ago when I visited L.A. The three of us will have Thankgiving dinner on Thursday, and that weekend we plan to visit Colonial Williamsburg, too. Hooray!

Please Vote! (Also, what Obama has done for me.)

2008-11-04T08:47:00.005-05:00

I just stood in the rain for and hour and a half (with another half-hour waiting inside) just to vote. Did I mind? No, because as Alice Walker said (and Barack Obama quoted), "We are the ones we have been waiting for." Everyone in line was in good spirits. Teens were having people take their picture in line, to commemorate their part in this election. Parents had their children with them, some planning to drop the kids at school after, but others to teach them about the democratic process.

I grew up in a politically active family. Grandma was a mayor and she and Grandpa advocate for veterans' rights. Dad was on the Planning and Zoning commission. Mom protested for Planned Parenthood. We went door-to-door working on political campaigns. We would all go vote together. I was a page in the Iowa State House of Representatives.

I helped run letter writing campaigns for issues I thought were important, like preserving the National Arctic Wildlife Refuge. At the time, the campaign brought in more letters to the White House than had been seen on any issue in nearly three decades. It worked! We won. Then Bush took office, and quickly undid all of our sweat, work and words. He didn't care that hundreds of thousands (perhaps millions) of Americans cared enough to write on behalf of the preserve.

I found myself disillusioned with politics, a disillusionment that only grew as I taught in the South Bronx under the No Child Left Behind act. Day after day, I saw the needs of people fall by the wayside, lost to the needs of political parties. I stepped away from politics, and began waiting for someone to fix things somehow. I forgot that no one can do it but us. ("Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has." -- Margaret Mead)

Recently, Barack Obama has given me some of that old optimism back and (dare I say it) hope. My friend Kelly has accused me of "drinking the Kool-aide." I haven't. I used to be a reporter, and I still have a level head. I'm good at cutting through spin. Obama's yes-we-can-hope-hope-hope rhetoric is a sales pitch, but I respect that he chose a positive sales pitch. I respect his economic and social ideas. I think he will be a remarkable diplomat, repairing the USA's relationship abroad.

Obama did something unexpected: he appealed to the patriotism of the left! Democrats may love their country differently than Republicans, but just as deeply. He has roused not only my activist side, but that of scores of people who previously felt disenfranchised.

If you love your country, go vote for whomever you believe in. Be a part of the process. As Ghandi said, "Be the change you hope to see in the world." We are the ones we have been waiting for.

Halloween in NYC

2008-11-02T07:35:00.013-05:00

I decided to spend Halloween in New York because I miss my friends and I love the parade. I had planned a costume, Joan from Mad Men. I arranged a place to stay, with my friend Madrid. I scheduled a take-home test for my students (Halloween is traditionally a low-attendance day, anyway) and hopped on the bus to NYC. A friend from the MFA department, Jesse, was coincidentally on the same bus, so I even had someone to talk to on the long ride.We got into the city around 7 a.m. and grabbed breakfast. Then I went to Madrid's for a nap. Her hubby, Chris, was home, and post-nap we grabbed lunch.

Then it was time to get costumed-up. Joan is known for three things: Her pen necklace, her red hair, and her figure. I donned some strategic padding, pinned my hair in a sixties hairdo and threw on a vintage dress and accessories. I had died my hair auburn the day before, but it didn't turn red enough, so I added some red spray-on color. (In natural light it looked more natural, but in flash photography, it looks more punk-red. Less authentic, but still fun.)

I met up with Madrid, Jenny, Irene and several of their teacher-friends for drinks. Jenny and Irene were 80s prom murder victims. Madrid was Professor Minerva McGonagall from Harry Potter. We spent hours talking. Then everyone went their separate ways. It was fun, but I must admit, I thought to myself, "Wow, that was a long, pricey bus ride just for drinks at the local bar." Everyone except Carolina had even baled on watching the parade with me.

I couldn't find Carolina anywhere. Our phones kept cutting out. There were so many people between me and the barricade that I could barely see the parade. Then, I got a text from Carolina explaining that she had accidentally ended up in the parade (more on that later). I managed to sweet-talk a police officer into opening a barricade to let me in. When I finally found her, we were giddy with relief. Our giddiness only increased when we ended up on a float.

To truly understand how I spent Halloween, first I need you to watch the first five minutes or so of this. (If you're in a hurry and want to fast-forward to the good parts, "Danke Shoen" starts at 0:45. "Twist and Shout" begins at 2:37 and ends at 5:18.)

Who doesn't see that scene from Ferris Beuller's Day Off and think, "That looks so much fun! I'd love to be part of something like that!"

Now watch this. There's no sound, but we were shakin' it up, baby. (I'll post a better video at a later date if I can find it online.)

I'm the one in the red dress. My friend Carolina is the German Beer Wench on the right.

Two NYC artists, Mina Karimi and Kara Suhey, decided to recreate the parade scene from the movie, recruiting thousands of people to help. Carolina's costume just happened to match the girls on the Project Beu ller float. When Carolina got shoved into the parade, it gave me an excuse to get into the parade. ("Officer, my sister is in there, and I have to find her!") Hee.

"I wish we were on the float," Carolina said. So we approached a barmaid and asked her about it. Her reply: "Sure. If two people get off, you can get on, as long as you dance." We waited for our moment, hopped on and joined in the dancing. It didn't take us long to pick up the official dance moves. First we waved languidly to Danke Shoen, then we twisted and shook, singing along to "Twist and Shout." Well, you've seen the clip, so you know the routine.

Even when the sound system shorted out for a while, we kept singing and dancing. At least it was working when we went past the TV cameras (for NY One, I think?) According to NBC New York, 2 million people watched or participated in the parade. Dancing on the float was the most fun I've had in a long time, and it is one of my all-time favorite New York moments.

The next day I spent some time with Madrid and Chris (watching Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog). Then I met up with Lex (one of my best friends from the Teaching Fellows) for brunch. She's in a Leadership Academy to become a principal. When she gets her principal gig, it will be amazing. She says she'll still teach at least one class a semester, so that she never loses sight of what it's like to be in the classroom. God bless her!

Then I hopped on the Chinatown bus back to Virginia, knowing my weekend in NYC couldn't get any better. Save Ferris!

New Blog Entries!

2008-10-18T22:40:00.003-04:00

At left: I was writing in bed when I noticed the mirror on my open closet door was facing me. I used picked up my digital camera and snapped this cool, almost impressionist self-portrait.

I've recently added a about ten new posts. It's come to my attention that many of you didn't know they were there, because they're old posts. They're below the post about my new laptop. I started at August 14 and worked my way toward the present. (You can read about Day One and Day Two of the Suffolk sheep show at the Iowa State Fair, my 10-year high school reunion, and traveling to visit my Kiley grandparents, former BVU professor Nadine and Unkie and Helen. I've also written about repairing childhood toys, my friend Emily's wedding, and my trip to New York.) I've also written new, post-laptop-buying entries.

I still need to go back and write up the English Department's "Moveable Feast" party and the ODU Lit Festival, but then I will be all caught up. Yay! I hope you all enjoy. You know, I never know if anyone is reading this thing until I talk to my friends or my mom on the phone. Feel free to leave comments. It makes me feel like I'm not just talking to myself out here.

Shoe Ew.

2008-10-14T14:07:00.007-04:00

I recently saw this on a fashion blog, and all I can say is, yes. Too square. Hideously square. The flats aren't as egregious as the Herman-Munster-in-Drag heels at left, but no. No-No-No-No-NO. Not cute. Never gonna be cute. Buy uber-cheap knock-offs if you must perpetuate this ridiculousness, but please don't do it. It will just confirm fashion designers' belief that they can sell us anything as long as they convince a few celebs to wear them first.

Remember, it's a business. Fancy shoe designers have finally talked women into spending $400 on top-shelf high heels. $400 shoes don't wear out easily, so how do they keep women buying? By manipulating trends so that last year's Jimmy Choo shoes are now out. Don't buy into it, ladies.

Also, the return of the chunky heel? Well, this one is more borderline. At least a chunky heel gives added stability and, unlike a stiletto, will not get stuck in a subway grate or manhole cover...not that that's ever happened to me. The picture I found at left is not as square as some, but the average chunky heel is not doing your leg any favors. If you want comfort, go with flats. For height and stability, try an elegantly-sculpted wedge. If you're going to go to the trouble of contorting your foot with a high heel, pick one that makes your legs look long and slender. It's just common sense! Okay, end of shoe rant.

P.S. if you have some truly adorable pictures of square-toed shoes that will win me over, send them my way. I've been wrong before...I just suspect this isn't one of those times.

Fall Break

2008-10-11T21:39:00.000-04:00

Through careful planning, l managed to turn a four-day break weekend into a five-day weekend. Monday, I gave my students their midterm. I had student conferences scheduled for Wednesday and Friday, but we all agreed to have them Wednesday and Thursday instead, giving us Friday off. It made my week hectic, but I needed a weekday off when the campus was still up and running. Friday would be errand day. Near the end of the day, I realized I had just one hour left to make it to the registrar and post office before they closed. And what time would the campus bookstore close? I had no idea, but if I wanted to get even my first two tasks done, I would have to run.

Then, ahead of me on the sidewalk, the entire Old Dominion University women’s field hockey team was running, carrying their sticks. I realized I would have to pass them, and it was going to be…at least awkward, and at most embarrassing. Why? Because I was wearing a knee-length black dress and ballet flat-sneaker hybrid shoes, with black faux-alligator purse slung over my shoulder. It’s always funny to see someone run in a dress. Also, they may have thought I took their running as some kind of challenge and I was trying to show them up; I’m not sure.

As I chugged past, I heard exclamations of surprise: “What?” “Who was that?” I could hear all of their footsteps pound behind me. They eventually caught up because I stopped to consult a map (I’d never been to the registrar’s office before) and I got caught at an excessively long “Don’t walk” light. Anyway, I did manage to make it to the registrar, fill out forms, jog to the post office, stand in line and fill out forms, then jog to the bookstore to find a book I needed, all before my hour was up. Looking at a map, it should have been impossible. Here’s hoping all my fall break chores go as smoothly.

Poetry Reading

2008-10-03T21:41:00.000-04:00

Last weekend, I was exhausted from Lit Fest week. It’s my favorite week of the school year here, but it requires endless running to get everything done. That meant this was a week of playing catch-up: catching up on cleaning, reading, homework, exercise, grading and rest. Of course you can’t really catch up on all of those things in one week. Guess which one had to go? If you guessed “rest,” you guessed correctly.

Last week I also signed on to take part in an ekphrastic (inspired by art) poetry reading. I was supposed to look at an art exhibit centered on mothers in prison, Interrupted Life. Because of all the catching-up, I didn’t make it to the gallery until 1 p.m. Friday, with the reading just six hours away.

I was relieved, however, to see another of the poets there, too. Luckily, I found a series of letters that really inspired me. I went home and wrote two poems I really love. They’re so different from the rest of my work, and they’re persona poems. Writing more persona poems (Poems that are clearly from the point of view of a character who is not me) is one of my goals for the year. I called my BVU professor and mentor Nadine to get her opinion, and she made some helpful suggestions.

Before I knew it, it was time to go. As I walked to the coffee shop where the reading was being held, another poem popped into my head, so when I got inside I quickly jotted it down and did a bit of revision while waiting for my turn.

I got to meet the wife and baby of Noah, the other student in my poetry workshop. It’s some ways, it’s annoying that there are only two of us in the workshop right now, but at least Noah is really talented and kind. Also, Christian is auditing the class, so he comes as often as possible. The beauty of there being four of us, including our professor Luisa, is that we all get tons of attention paid to our work every single week. Also, there’s camaraderie beyond what I’ve felt in prior workshops.

I loved the reading. Hearing other peoples’ work is so inspiring. Luisa read a brand new poem she had just shared with Noah and I in class. He and I shared a quick look of “We heard this first!” then settled in to listen again. I got to hear Andrea’s work, Til’s, Noah’s and Dana’s.

Dana was our lone fiction writer of the night, and she helped me look at fiction a new way. It wasn’t the average story, a series of events from beginning to end. Rather, it was an internal monologue with a harried assistant trying to decide whether or not to spit in her boss’ Starbucks. A-ha! I thought. Fiction can do that. Her story was a good reminder and made fiction a little less intimidating.

When I it was my turn to read my poems, I linked into the audience, the way I used to when I acted. It was great. I could feel them hang on my words, and they were with me for every emotion in the poems. People came up to compliment me. Noah’s eyes were wide: “You need to read like that in workshop. Why don’t you always read like that?” Because workshop is not theater. With most of my poems, I’m not playing a character…or at least not one different enough from me to trigger a noticeable change.

Sigh. I miss acting. I need to join a community theater…one that magically doesn’t practice at when I have evening classes…or infringe on the time I need to teach, plan, grade and do my homework. Maybe writing more persona poems will give me a different way to play at being someone else.

P.S. I got home and realized I got pictures of everyone but me reading, so I used the bathroom mirror to snap these. You can’t see what I looked like during the reading, but this is what I looked like that day.

ODU Literary Festival- Friday

2008-09-26T23:27:00.000-04:00

Coming soon: Writing to go with the pictures! Rishi Reddi, Douglas Kearney, Richard Bausch

ODU Literary Festival- Thursday

2008-09-25T23:11:00.000-04:00

Coming soon: Writing to go with the pictures!

Gioia Timpaneli

Steve Almond

Mary Karr

Monarch Grille (Richard Bausch, Janine Latus, Tom Robotham)

ODU Literary Festival- Wednesday

2008-09-24T23:10:00.000-04:00

Moveable Feast

2008-09-12T23:28:00.000-04:00

Macs and Hurricanes

2008-09-06T20:42:00.004-04:00

Great googley-moogley. I had written blog updates from July 31 to August 20. Then, August 21 I was writing on my laptop in the Des Moines International Airport. I was plugged in, because my battery conked out last year. Suddenly, POP! It was gone. My laptop snapped off, never to turn on again. The keyboard would light up, but the screen would stay blank, and the start-up music wouldn’t play (leaving me to believe that the problems extended beyond the screen). Gone, baby, gone.

The one good thing about my computer conking out last year is that I’ve been pretty careful about saving things to disk. I lost some photo editing, and my blog updates. I don’t think I’ve lost anything else, although it will probably be like after the tornado or the burglary. Months later I will need something and be unable to find it. Only then will I know all I’ve lost.

Now I’ve gone back with my calendar to piece together what happened from July 31 to now and type entries up on my shiny new MacBook, which came with a free printer and an iPod Touch (an MP3 player that also serves as a tiny computer--See photo at left and below left). The freebies made my choice of new laptop quite simple, as did the student discount. I even managed to convince my credit card company to give me 0% interest for six months and dropped my interest rate by 3 percent after that. Yay!

I think I’ve captured most of the events of the last month or so, though some details have been lost. After all, this is the first chance I’ve had to write.

When I got back from NYC, it was right back to school the next morning. I had to update my syllabus, make lesson plans, do all my homework and grading, and buy and get used to using a Mac. As I told my friend Kelly, it was like when I went to Spain and the accent and slang were completely different from the Spanish spoken in America or Mexico. And learning the vosotros form...say what? No right-click? Qué? (For example, where is Mac’s version of Microsoft Word hiding the upside-down question mark necessary to ask a question in Spanish?) Sigh. I’ll figure it out eventually.

As we speak, I'm waiting out a hurricane/tropical storm situation. On Friday they were discussing the possibility of evacuation and advising everyone to stay indoors. Todd and I went to Wal-Mart for hurricane supplies like hand sanitizer and bottled water in case we lost running water and non-perishable food that doesn't require cooking in case we lost power. An irrational part of me believes that the storm isn't as bad as they predicted because we bought supplies, and if we hadn't bought supplies it would have been more serious. Hopefully, my theory will continue to hold true and we'll ride out the storm with nothing more than some heavy rain.

Returning to New York, Part 2

2008-08-24T21:13:00.002-04:00

Saturday- I slept in and took my time getting around. No one called to hang out, and my leg felt funny. As such, I didn’t want to walk all over, so I hopped the subway to TKTS in Times Square and bought discount tickets to Gypsy. I’ve had a long-standing wish to see Patti LuPone perform. After getting tickets, I had just enough time for a burrito at La Paloma (my favorite restaurant in the theater district).

Then it was time for the show. I love Broadway theater. I sat in the dark, listening to the overture. It was an old-fashioned score, with no synthesizers, hooray! Before I knew it, “Sing out Louise!” Patti Lupone was there, a stone’s throw away, walking down the aisle and up onto the stage.

It’s a long show, 3 hours, but I loved every minute. Patti, the actress who played Gypsy and the actor who played Herbie all brought home Tonys for the show. I’ve now seen three versions of the show, and this versioun had the feistiest Herbie and the most nuanced Louise/Gypsy. Her transformation was the most gradual, with steely strength glittering throughout.

LuPone’s “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” was a show-stopper. What’s the cliché? A tour de force. That’s the best way to put it. As amazing as everyone was, though, I didn’t cry. I almost always cry at Broadway shows. Huh.

After the show, on my way home I ran into Elmo...at a Free Tibet rally. New York never lacks surprises. That night, my leg was still giving me trouble, so had some muscle relaxers with my supper. As a result, when Riza called me to go out with her I couldn’t sufficiently rouse myself.

Sunday- It was my last chance to hang out with the girls. I ate a picnic breakfast in Central Park while reading poetry by Symborska. After checking out of the hotel, I strapped on my bags, the big pack in back and the small bag in front—a look I call the pregnant camel. By the time I got to the train, a twinge was forming in my back. After getting off the train, I accidentally walked four blocks in the wrong direction. When I realized my mistake and began trudging toward Putanesca for brunch, the twinge in my back became an unbearable ache. I flagged down a taxi…which took me the whole remaining three blocks to the restaurant.

We settled down to gorgeous brunch food (I went for Eggs Benedict) and mimosas. It was Carolina, Laura, Riza, Madrid, Laura’s friend (who I’ve just met, but about whom I’ve heard enough that I should know her name by now) and me.

Our conversation was quite lively. Laura revealed that a good friend of hers had cancelled her wedding. The young woman’s fiancé had absconded with her car. She had known him for years, and upon his departure discovered his secret past.

“So,” Carolina quipped, “I’m staying single forever. Good plan?” Although it made us all uneasy about trust in relationships, it made Carolina and Riza feel better about recent relationships or potential relationships gone awry. Oh, they are not the only ones to choose a man and discover he’s the wrong one.

At one point, Laura asked if I was taking the bus to Virginia, and I confirmed that I was.
“Just don’t get beheaded.”
“WHAT?”

She explained that she takes Greyhound a lot, and it made her mother nervous, because a psycho had stabbed, decapitated a young man on a Greyhound bus. He even ate part of the corpse. Ew.

“I don’t think we’re dealing with a murderous cannibal with brand loyalty!” I replied. The gang all laughed, but Laura filled us in on the sobering details.

The other passengers couldn’t stop the murder, but they managed to get off the bus and lock the murderer onboard. When the police got there, he had and ear and a finger in his pocket. He was in jail now, but the passengers all noted how normal he’d seemed before the attack. Don’t they all?

Madrid later told of us a “perfectly normal” guy in a grocery store who, unprovoked, informed her, “Your tits are gorgeous.”

“Perfectly normal, hmm?” Someone replied.

“Is that an ear in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Eventually, we’d had enough dark comedy and moved on to other things, including Paula Dean. I did my impression of her Southern drawl everyone, focusing on her obviously-faked surprise when her sons “unexpectedly” visit: “Well boys, I didn’t know you were comin’! You wanna help yer Mama in the kitchen?” It’s all done as if the boys have no idea that their mother is filming a cooking show. Heh. That’s my pet peeve, but Laura’s is that everything Paula Deen makes seems to contain a pound of butter.

All to soon, we had to go our separate ways. We all hugged and Carolina gave me a ride to my subway station. Only after she left did I discover the station was closed for repairs. I had to trek several blocks with my way-too-heavy bags and take one train to catch another. Then I went to the wrong bus station (there are two in one block) and barely made it to the right one on time. Then, they didn’t want to let me on the bus, because my ticket was so old. (I won it in a silent auction at Christmas, but no one told me there was an expiration date.)

There was a lot of arguing in Chinese, which led me to panic a bit. I could have calmed down, but I find that being too calm is sometimes the wrong tack. Generally, if you want help you, there are a few choices. You can be direct and calm. This is the best, most dignified choice. I tried that three times with the ticket-takers to no avail. I’m not at all scary looking, so intimidation was out. I went with a combo of offering the money in my wallet ($20) and genuine emotion—I was on the verge of tears.

I would never fake crying, because I think it’s sick and wrong, but if you’re genuinely upset, you have a good chance of getting help, because some people have a desire to be helpful, and others want to get you out of their hair. One of the guys told me to get on, and I rushed to do so before the argument could start up again. I even got to keep my $20.

Late that night I finally made it to Norfolk. Todd took me home where, thankfully, unlike at Christmas, the apartment was unscathed. Also: Moxie lives! She's scraggly, but she's alive. Hooray!

Returning to New York

2008-08-22T19:58:00.021-04:00

Thursday was rough. I’ve already mentioned that Mom and I were in a rush to get out of the house. Then, at the airport, my laptop DIED. I think it’s dead for good. NOOOOO! I guess I should have gotten a summer job after all, because I’ll need a new laptop, and that is going to make a HUGE dent in my savings. My flights went just fine, with no delays for once, and the Detroit airport had a cool tunnel (see photos at left.

It took a while for my shuttle to arrive. When I checked on line, they estimated that the shuttle would take an hour and a half to get from Newark into the city. Instead it took HOURS! A Costa Rican man took a shine to me, and insisted on asking me questions about poetry, as I was reading a book on the craft of poetry. It was good to practice my Spanish. Then I arrived at my hostel. I booked it in part because of the cheap shuttle bus and in part because of the elevator. The elevator was so slow that after the first ride up to my floor, I never took it again.

I’d left messages with all my friends saying I was back, but no one was calling me back. I decided to grab a shower, since it was an off-hour. In hostels, where the whole floor shares a handful of showers, it is essential to shower off-hours to avoid long waits and cold water. At the last second, I remembered to throw on some flip-flops as shower shoes. (Phew. I once got a foot fungus from a hostel shower years ago, and once is enough to sufficiently learn that lesson.)

My hostel wasn’t too far from where I used to live in Harlem, although it was farther west, and a few blocks south (technically the Upper West Side). I strolled about looking for a nice place for supper and found a great Thai place. The decor is really the biggest difference between most independent restaurants in Iowa and those is in New York. Back at the hostel, there was a movie showing in the lounge, so I watched a Spiderman movie. Meanwhile, Tom texted me, suggesting I call him the next morning.

Friday- I called Tom at 8, as agreed, and suggested we have brunch at Amy Ruth’s, a soul-food restaurant (specializing in chicken and waffles) he’d particularly enjoyed back when we were dating. Tom eats like he’s got a hollow leg, and Amy Ruth’s was one of the few restaurants we ate at where he left feeling full. Anyway, I knew it would be a few hours until the trains would deliver him with Brooklyn. I breakfasted on leftover Thai, then went for a walk in Riverside Park. Then I trekked all the way over to Central Park. I started out in the North Woods section, where I found all the waterfalls. Then I hiked to the North Meadow, accidentally found myself in the East Meadow, and ended up at the Conservatory Gardens.

I met up with Tom on Central Park North, and we walked to the restaurant, where I had OJ, fabulous hash browns and a giant waffle topped with fresh banana slices, pecans and copious cinnamon. YUM! Tom had chicken and waffles smothered in gravy. Usually we would walk off such a meal, but Tom was tired, so we only walked as far as my hostel. Since I’d been walking for hours already, I was fine with that. We say in the lounge catching up until a loud movie drove us back out into the city. We found a café and sat outside, chatting. I complained about my roommates.

In a hostel, the idiosyncrasies of one’s many roomies come with the territory, but it is common courtesy not to turn on the light in the middle of the night. Seriously! If it’s after midnight, don’t turn on the light. Travel with a flashlight. Sigh. Also, I would maintain that enough light was coming through the window from outside that not even a flashlight was necessary. Was it inconsiderateness, or obliviousness on their part? Who knows.

Anyway, we talked for a while, but then Tom had to get going. It felt different than last time we met...more distant. Post-breakup, on the phone and during visits, we got along really well. Sometimes it didn't feel any different than the conversations and dinners while we were dating. This time the breakup felt real. I wasn't sitting across from a date or from a friend. I was sitting across from an ex. I don't know if it will keep feeling that way, but for now it does.

I should probably stop seeing or talking to him for a while. Maybe it will be better. I do want to be friends with him, but I think I need more time and distance before we can really be friends.

Friday night, I went out with the girls. I met up with Madrid, Laura and Carolina in the village for Italian food. The food was indeed scrumptious, and we had a lovely time. By mere coincidence, we all showed up wearing black and white with a red accent. Hee! I don’t think that’s ever happened to us before.

After dinner, we went for drinks. We ended up in a Moroccan-themed lounge. It looked a little like the inside of Genie’s bottle. Laura did her "Blue Steel" imitation for us. At one point, Madrid got bored and decided to toss coins into my cleavage. Eventually, we were all doing it, aiming money down each others’ necklines. Hee. There's nothing like time spent with your best girlfriends.

Visiting Grandparents, Nadine and Unkie and Helen

2008-08-21T17:12:00.001-04:00

The last of my days in Iowa were quickly flying away. I wanted to see my Kiley grandparents, my former professor Nadine and Unkie and Helen. I wanted to spend more time with my cousins, too, if possible. Monday, I was supposed to visit Grandma and Grandpa, but I was running late. I was trying to pack my bags before my road trip (as I’d be cutting it close by returning the night before my flight), but airlines are so strict now about the weight of bags, and I’d acquired more things during my three months at home. Also, I was tired of hauling huge suitcases across New York City, bruising my legs and nearly throwing out my back as I lugged them up and down too many flights of stairs. I wanted to use my big backpack instead, but it holds about 20 lbs. less stuff. Somehow I managed it, but I ended up arriving at my grandparents’ house later than I anticipated. Sigh.

I drove for hours, but I finally made it. We went out to dinner and had Mexican food. It was quite yummy. I showed Grandpa Russ and Grandma Lenora my award-winning picture and a few others they might like. Grandma Norie and I talked about some redecorating options. Grandpa and I watched a documentary on TV. It was nice to see them, talk to them and hold their hands. The next morning, we had some lovely oatmeal. Then Grandpa was off to help a friend, Grandma Norie was off to work and I was off to Nadine’s house.

At Nadine’s, I was amazed to learn that her boyfriend (manfriend?) of more than a year has moved in. Surprise! Well, he seems like a great guy, and seems to make her happy. Nadine made me a gorgeous shrimp supper. It was unbelievably good. I shared some of my new poems with her, and Nadine showed me what she’s working on.

We both set some writing goals for the new year. Neither of us submits for publication enough, because we’re afraid of rejection. We decided to have a rejection slip contest. Whoever gets the most rejection slips in a year wins. Even if we lose (by getting selected for publication) we win.

The next morning, I went to see Nadine’s mom, Sarah, in the nursing home. She is an amazing nonagenarian. I had fun talking to her, but had to get going. Soon I was on the road. On the way home, I stopped at Unkie and Helen’s house. Unkie was out mowing, so I talked with Helen for a while. Eventually, I went out to flag Unkie down. He didn’t see me until I got right next to him, and he laughed that I’d snuck up on him.

We went back to the house to chat. When Karen got home with Hannah, they came over, too. It was good to just sit and talk with them and give them hugs. I miss them. All too soon, I had to go…before Connor could even get home from football practice. I still had packing left to do. In fact, I ended up packing until the wee hours of the morning. It was hard to drag myself our of bed at the alarm the next morning.

Mom and I ended up basically running out the door in order to get me to the airport without making her late for work. I gave all the pets a last pat, and threw Hooligan a hand-made baggie of catnip I’d bought at Prairieland Herbs, our neighbors’ store. (I would later learn that Hooligan liked my gift so much that he ate a hole in it while Mom was at work. Oops.)

After a brief visit with my friends in New York, I would be back in Norfolk…back to school and to work. I knew it would be great to get back to teaching and writing, but it would also be hard to leave my family behind. Goodbye again, Iowa. I’ll miss you. I’ll miss all of you in Iowa until I make it back again.