Buffy and Angel Crossover Episode Guide

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

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

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?)

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

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)

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

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!

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!

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

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!

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.

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

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

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

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?

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

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.

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

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.

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.