I Tried It: Bikram Yoga

Armed with some bravado and two friends, I attempted Bikram yoga last night.

(Psst: That's also known as hot yoga, usually a 90-minute practice in a room heated to 105 degrees.)

I think our class was a beginner class, so it was heated to 90 degrees and it was an hour-long practice of Vinyasa yoga. (Psst: Vinyasa yoga is more about flowing between poses rather than practicing them separately. Think: sun salutes and such.)

There is a yoga studio offering a free week of classes in a yuppie neighborhood in St. Paul (lovely, but definitively yuppie). I was a little reluctant to leave my "You can do it!" atmosphere at the Y for something I knew would be a little more serious and competitive. And laced with teeny-tiny girls with amazing flexibility and balance. But, I thought, life is short, say yes to adventures (especially with friends), do one thing every day that scares you, and I've been doing yoga for a year now, so it's time to put it to the test.

I was right about the atmosphere. One friend noted that she felt like she was in the middle of a clique and didn't fit in. That's why you do these things with friends, if you can. ;) The class was packed, and there wasn't enough room to fully feel like you had enough space. Like, I could reach out and touch my neighbor, who didn't know me, and most definitely would not appreciate my sweaty limb on hers.

My other deal was the instructor. She was nice, and maybe even helpful, but she was way too cheerleadery for my taste. Not that it has to be super hippy-dippy chakra examination talk, but it was hard to stay in the zone when she was saying, "Noooow, iiiiiinhale! EEEEeeeeexhale!" as though she was at a pep rally. And she sounded a little scripted. But I did like that she kept the focus on moving forward, letting go, and realizing you aren't always going to do everything perfectly. I need that reminder, often.

The gym was nicely appointed, and there were many drool-worthy items from Lululemon and other swank gym accessories/clothing companies in the shop area. The locker room was like a spa.

The hot yoga room itself wasn't as suffocating/saunalike as I expected it would be. Although my heart was racing like two sun salutes in, I assume in response to the heated room. The lighting was nice and dim, there was ample mirror space, and I liked the music they played (if it was a little loud).

About halfway in, I was really, really sweating. As in, dripping on my mat. I didn't mind the sweat (that's part of the point) as much as it was physically problematic for my mat and my hands and feet staying in place. I had a hot yoga towel, but it didn't have the little skid bumps underneath, like the fancy ones the sell in the lobby. I would not suggest the Gaiam quick-dry towels they sell for this purpose at Target, if you're worried about your footing at all. It just slides around too much on the mat. But it DOES have great sweat-vacuum properties and though it's yoga-mat shaped, could be good for gymming overall.

There were a couple of poses I just couldn't quite get through—probably because I haven't been hitting the gym as much lately. BUT, I felt a noticeable difference in my flexibility. Like, I TOUCHED THE FLOOR last night in a forward fold, people. I've only done that one other time in all my yoga history and I swear it was a fluke, or that I dreamed it. I TOUCHED THE FLOOR! (Cue Rocky theme here.)

I also—and this doesn't quite make sense to me logically—felt more balanced during the tree pose and other balance poses. Maybe just because my muscles thought they were hanging out on the beaches of Hawaii instead of a cold gym in the middle of winter. As a total freezebaby, I loved the heat.

Overall though? A nice free hour of yoga. An escape from the icy clutches of winter. An hour of sweat and exercise. Time with two friends who I don't get to see nearly often enough. And the realization that I CAN keep up (mostly) with fancier places. I CAN do this.

Namaste, bitches!

Simple Indulgences to Daily Ritual: Baby Steps

I am not one who typically enjoys free time. On my days off I wake up early and strategies on what work I can get done that day while tossing and turning and ultimately getting not-so-tiny daggers from my wife. “Why can’t you just relax and enjoy the snuggles?” she often asks.

Good question: Why can’t I relax and enjoy my downtime? I work my tail off every day. You think I would relish any free time I might stumble across, however fleeting. Well, there is light at the end of the tunnel.

My one simple indulgence that makes my systematic life feel luxurious are long showers with fanciful products showered upon me by my wife. Typically my mornings are squeezed between packaging orders, exercising, or trying to wake the sleep out of my eyes from the previous nights Netflix extravaganza (pins and needles!)—and long showers are not an option. However, on those special days when my life is not consuming me head-first, kicking and screaming, out come all of these products and I cherish every single one of them.

My manhood is wholly affirmed. While I often do not hear my male friends talk about looking, smelling, and feeling proper that does not mean they shouldn’t. Why have men gone from looking so dapper (see image above) to completely disheveled (see Knocked Up)? I am not promoting excessive vanity (heck, I just mentioned I only do this on special days) but I am questioning why the simple urge to look good for your significant other—shit, society—has vanished. I guess I could raise a big middle finger to Brooklyn hipsters!

That said, I should segue from the podium back to my simple indulgence and leave this discussion to the more informed.

Soap: Soap is the kingpin to a great shower. Not only should it get you clean (often the only quality measured by men—Lava, anyone?) but it should energize you while relaxing your body at the same time. It should also smell great; I am not talking about a field in Ireland or an old boat either. It should be subtle, a backup scent that works well with your colognes, but has the depth to stand alone. (See Merry Clayton on Gimmie Shelter).

I prefer milled soap to standard off-the-shelf soap. Mostly because it distributes the fragrance evenly throughout the bar as well as making it harder and longer lasting—further incentive to pay a little extra for milled soap. Luckily my wife has a multitude of milled soaps to choose from, French milled, triple milled, hard milled ... While all of these feel great on the skin, very few are scented for men. One soap manufacturer that not only combines great milled soap with not-overpowering masculine fragrances is Organic Grooming. They have a wide range of scents to choose from—my favorites are Wild and Original. Both will leave your skin clean and soft, thanks to the cucumber and Kaolin clay, but also smelling wonderful because of the deodorizing rosemary and other fragrances.

Shampoo: Hair is a complicated thing. I won’t even try to sound knowledgeable in this area, but rather go off of my own experience. Men simply have more oil on their scalp. Simply removing all of this oil with standard shampoos can leave the scalp sensitive, dry, and irritated. The shampoo that works best for my hair is Aveda Pure-Formance. It does a great job and removing the excess oil, while keeping my scalp from drying out. On days that my hair is excessively oily, usually from wearing a baseball cap for too long, I use Aveda Pure-Formance Exfoliating Shampoo. I always finish with a little Aveda conditioner to refresh my scalp to a balance of shiny and dry.

Shaving: I wasn’t an early shaver. Hell, I still can’t grow a full beard and will probably turn 30 before I can get the five o’clock shadow look. Shaving is almost more important when your beard is not yet there. While full stubble can look rugged and handsome, as seen on George Clooney, chin stubble will only leave you looking like Spencer Pratt.

Back to the issue at hand, the act of shaving. This should always be the last thing done in the shower. Let the hot water soften your skin before you rake 3-5 steel blades across it repeatedly. I prefer Menscience shave formula as it takes the edge off of the blades while yielding a buttery smooth finish in only one pass. The price is not for the faint of heart—$25 for 6 oz. A more wallet-friendly substitute is Organic Grooming’s Shave Cream. While it has a much stronger scent, it still leaves the skin extremely smooth, thanks to the aloe, and feeling cool, thanks to the lavender and peppermint oil. Shaving will no longer be something you despise more than cleaning the drain or losing in fantasy football.

Now that you smell great, your hair is thoroughly cleansed, and your face is as smooth as butta you need to keep your skin feeling great and your body smelling great as you navigate your way around potholes, TPS reports, and garbage duty. Deodorant and/or antiperspirant are a necessity to men unless you want to smell like this guy. Deodorant should do just that: stop odor. If you are using your deodorant to smell great let me tell you something, you’re not. You are just letting everyone around you know you are sweating. Just stick to something clean and unscented. Let your cologne be responsible for your scent.

The harsh Minnesota climate can as quickly take your perfect skin and turn it into a pile of ashes as it can go from 32 and sunny (quite warm really) to below zero and depressingly gray. To combat against such extremes I love to use L’Occitane’s oil for men. It also has a wonderfully masculine scent, while not splintering your nose while shoving an old ship past your olfactory bulb.

Cologne: This is a highly personal choice that can change from day to night and season to season. I typically stick with one “signature” cologne, Lanvin L’Homme. I should probably mix up my scents to coordinate more with the seasons, but I would rather have one constant in my ever-changing and hectic life to remind my wife that I am her husband and always will be—even under all of that sawdust.

It'll Be OK...Just Dance

OK, OK, I know that this is KIND OF a no-shitter, pardon my French, but wow. Exercising regularly really DOES make me feel better.

Here's how I know.

So, when I had that cold, I really didn't think I had the lung power to make it through an hour-long cardio class (not to mention the visions of snot flying out of my nose. Sorry. I've been talking about snot a lot lately.)

Then, I was on vacation, but between snuggling babies and my dog, and my birthday, I just didn't seem to find time to go to the gym. Then I was getting back into work mode ... Basically, I allowed daily life to get in the way of taking care of me.

So for the last four or so days, I've had wicked stomachaches around the 2-3 p.m. hour. I think this is a function of two things:
1. Sitting at a desk all damn day. After lunch I maybe need to move around more.
2. I hadn't exercised in like...ashamedly....10 days. 12 days even.

Yesterday, I felt terribly around my witching hour at work. I got permission to leave a little early. Walking out to my car helped (but that doesn't always do the trick). Still, I was all like, DUDE, I'm still going to the gym. By the time my power yoga/pilates/tai chi class was over, I felt amazing.

Today, I'm sore (and I definitely slid backwards in my two weeks off, so class felt really hard), but I still went to zumba class to stretch out and warm up rather than continue to let my muscles seize. No stomachache today. I feel really, really good. Yay for endorphins!

Back on track.

Current Obsessions II

Here are three things that I can't stop talking about.

1. The power of the Neti pot.
Look, people. Have you never used a Neti pot? Do you know what one is? Do you think it's a bunch of hooey?

I am here to tell you as a former Neti pot skeptic, that that shit WORKS.

In case you aren't sure what a Neti pot is, view Exhibit A:

That's not drugs, people, that's the power of the H2 and the O. And a little NaCl. See! I did learn something in chemistry class after all! (Side note, in my chemistry class we had to make a periodic table of the elements of ______. I chose Rock and Roll for mine. My mom helped me. We had so much fun! Elvis was Hydrogen and the Beatles were ... whatever matches up with Hydrogen on the other side of the table. It followed all the rules of the Periodic Table. I'm still proud of it. I wish I had kept it. Also, my mom's and my knowledge? Formidable. Anyway.)

So you put a little warm saltwater in the pot. And pour it through your nose. If you tilt your head properly, you don't choke or gag on it. It's amazing. It's not even gross. I swear. It just totally irrigates your nose! Clears you right out! AND, a big thing for me is that it doesn't dry me out, but instead moisturizes! I already have dry skin, live in a superdry forced-air situation in the winter, and have side effects from my stomach medicine that dry out my skin. Taking cold medicine really, really sucks the life out of me.

YES!!! A non-chemical cure. I swear it lessened the mouth-breathing suffering and general malaise by a few days. I'm not exaggerating.

2. The power of grapefruit seed extract.
Dudes. This is also a new one to me. When I announced on facebook that I had a cold (because I'm sure my friends care and want to know), my brother's girlfriend shared a secret remedy. Yep. Grapefruit seed extract. Stuff's not cheap. I think it was $13.99 for a small bottle. But all you need is like ... half a teaspoon to a teaspoon, dissolved in a LARGE glass of water.

It tastes a little bitter/sour and weird. But it's worth it. It's not overpoweringly gross and I'm telling you. I had a cold for like FOUR days. Usually it's at least a week to two weeks. And the symptoms started magically dissipating almost immediately after drinking it. Highly recommended.

3. LOST.
Ohmahgah people. LOST. Wm and I are halfway through the second season—don't spoil anything—and I cannot believe that I never watched this show.

Although it does NOTHING for my flight anxiety or the fact that I will be flying to tropical locales sometime in the vaguely near future ... order me up one extra Xanax, sir!

Such a great storyline, cool storytelling and effects, it reminds me of my love of Hawaii, and there are just so many smart, good things about it. I can't believe it was on network TV, actually. It's sort of been ruining my gym habit the last two weeks.

OK, you'll have to excuse me now. I have to go watch Sayyid. I mean, LOST.

Winter Wonderland

So, we're getting socked with our first winter storm of the year. It's slippery and windy and snowy and gross. I went to weather.com to see the latest, so obviously I'm interested and/or concerned about road conditions and travel tomorrow.

But I have to say, this totally cracked me up.

On weather.com's home page:

Vicious winter storm blasts the Midwest

Parts of the Midwest are being ravaged by an December blizzard while the Northeast looks at a wintry mess.

Then, when you enter your zip code, it must do a weather-coding translation based on where you live. Because St. Paul's summary is this:

Light Snow

17°F
Feels Like
2°F

Muaaaaaahahahahahahaa! For the rest of the world it's ravaging blizzards, but for we St. Paulites, it's just a little light snow. Midwestern modesty kicking in. Or bragging rights? Or stupidity for continuing to live here? You decide.

The Crud

I haz it.

Loud, mouthbreathing, chest hurting, cracking lips and nose... UGH.

I really haven't had a cold in a looooooong time. I think I got one because I was just saying that I haven't had one in years. I'm loading on C and Zinc . . . I even drank this super bitter grapefruit seed extract this morning. It was horrible, but I think it might have helped! Then I took a shower with a eucalyptus shower tablet and that helped open my sinuses a little bit. I bought a Neti pot yesterday but I didn't realize we didn't have any regular table salt at home (we always use sea salt) and i've been feeling too cruddy to go out and get some. I've been wanting to try it out though!

When I was kid and we got the crud, as my dad always called it, I stayed home from school and he made a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup and we would watch People's Court and Love Connection ("back in two-and-two"). We laughed when Judge Wapner would put the smack down on people (the original cranksta judge) and when people on Love Connection went on horrible dates.

Then my mom would come home after she was done at work and I would look forward to the moment when she'd put her cool hands on my forehead to see if I had a fever. Even if I didn't, I still loved that moment. Just the other day I was throwing myself a pity party and I said, "Mom, will you feel sorry for me for a few minutes and pet my head?" She did. It still has the same curative power.

At least now I don't have to chew those awful grape children's Tylenols.

I need to get better! I have next week off and hope to hang with Pamcakes and her babies but I can't if I have the sniffles.

What are your favorite home remedies?

NaBlo Official Finisher

Well, well, well, another NaBlo under my belt! During a very busy month, too. Not all my posts were super quality but it's really helped me get back into making blogging a part of my schedule. I miss it when I don't.

I won't lie. I'm really tired and sort of lacking for subject matter today. I didn't sleep a wink on Saturday night, which is strange for me, and yesterday we spent five hours on the road (well, I did catch a few winks in the car), and then we had to feed our LOST addiction.

I FINALLY understand what the deal is with that show! Wow, talk about sucking you in with its bizarreness. I'm about halfway through the first season (thank you again Netflix) with William and we are totally, completely obsessed. He has to work late tonight and I'm anxiously awaiting him to come home so we can at least watch one show.

Otherwise, I'm gearing up for my first full month at the gym. Tomorrow is an hour of cardio and an hour of weightlifting. So far, the scale hasn't budged, but I do feel like I can see some very minor changes. So, hey! It's something.

OK, really, I think I'm down to about six brain cells. More tomorrow.

Thank you for Being a Friend

This weekend, William and I met Dorothy and Don, Mae and Liz, a priest (who blessed us), and touched a baseball that Yogi Berra and Whitey Ford signed.

We talked about institutional food, military medals, 100-year-old photos of long-gone, distant relatives, practiced our two-phrase Polish vocabulary, were vigorously hugged and kissed, and ate dinner at 4:30 and got ready for breakfast at 8 sharp. We were stared at, reached out to, and thanked. We were asked to speak up and step closer. A lot.

Above all, we were thanked.

I guess that's not what I expected.

William's grandparents recently moved into an independent senior living complex in South Dakota, not too terribly far from their last home, and the home before that, a sprawling farm. Life has changed a lot for them since the farming days they know and love. It's hard accepting that you don't or can't do the work that you're used to. It's hard to wonder what you do next with your time and feeling like you have limited options.

There are a lot of people in their building who feel that way. Some were nuns, and helped the sick. Some were farmers. Some have kids spread across the country. Some served in WWII and can now talk about their days overseas, while they couldn't as young men. One man told me: "My daughters, they married lawyers. They have money that I could never imagine, while we hang on to whatever we got as hard as we can," clutching his fists in the air for emphasis. He sat close to me, nearly touching my face, because about two years ago, he began rapidly losing his sight. He told us about his medals, but only after we described what they looked like and what they said. THAT he remembered.

Then there was Liz. Liz was a nun who left the convent when her mother was dying. The nuns wouldn't let her leave, so she quit. She was lucky enough to meet the famed Yankees players Whitey Ford and Yogi Berra while working as a nurse in Rochester, Minnesota, with the photo and baseball to prove it. "You can kiss it," she told us, "if you want to." Then she laughed and took us on a tour of her favorite artwork, interrupting herself only long enough to take us to a friends' apartment upstairs, who made lots of beautiful things herself. She was about to get in the shower, but she put her "housecoat" on, and received us like we were old family.

We shook hands with strangers in the chapel, strangers who thanked us later for coming to shake their hands. We heard life stories, life sorrows. But always at the end, "But now you're here. And you just made my day." Or, "I'm so glad you are here. I feel like I know you already."

If you think you can't make a difference without spending a lot of money—If you think you can't do it without spending a lot of time—If you just don't ever get around to it, but you think you want to.

There are lots of seniors out there, who have memories to share and lives not yet fully lived (and they're fascinating). And they love young people, even if they're crotchety or don't see or walk so well. And if you just make eye contact, you have a new friend. A new friend dying to show you a cookie recipe or a ceramic pot or photos of their kids. A new friend who wants to know all about you and your life. A friend who needs a hug and a kiss, and maybe a "peace be with you."

William and I are lucky to have grandparents that are well and with it, even in their eighties and nineties. It's a treasure trove of stories, lessons learned, love, and kindness. And good recipes and laughs and chats about politics or what life was like, or how crazy life is now, or how good communities are built. (Watch a 92-year-old man talk about, and proficiently work, a cell phone. It's a trip.) Old men flirt better than anyone in the world. Grandmas just want to be that—grandmas.

But not all of these people have that. And they're starving for it—whatever it is that you have to offer. Not money, not gifts. Just your conversation and attention. And maybe you'd make a good friend. By just being you, by just being there, by just showing you're interested, you've made a friend for life. And you've made someone's day—someone who maybe feels like they don't have much purpose anymore.

It's a win-win. Because you'll walk away feeling like you have a purpose too, one that isn't an obligatory get-through-the-day, pay-the-bills one. A really important one, even if it's just a genuine five minutes of your time.

Sorry

Daily quota met for NaBlo....

Must run.

meetups

Lots happening today. Started the day out with gym time with Big Sister and Big Sister's friend--a half-hour Zumba Express class and then an hour-long Flow class. Feeling good. Cleaning our place. Party-food prep.

Reunion with some of my favorite people in the world tonight. Must run.

Thankful For

...As much sun as you can ask for in a Minnesota November
...Future trips
...Molly snuggling on my lap
...Being in love
...A lovely day with my family, eating good food and lounging around
...Streaming Netflix
...Email when my best friend is halfway 'round the world
...Having my first cheesecake turn out OK
...Nike Fit Yoga pants
...Paying off debt
...Staying optimistic
...Loving the YMCA
...Christmas cactus blooms
...French Roast coffee from Trader Joe's
...A low-maintenance car (knock on wood)
...A really, truly good life.
.....and all those blogger buddies out there.

Happy Thanksgiving. I'm off to enjoy more family time.

Little Gratefuls

1. I got to leave work early today.
2. My boss picked up the lunch tab.
3. No technological mishaps.
4. Easy trip to Target, and I only spent $50! Some kind of miracle.
5. It's getting crappy outside--cold and rainy, but my house is nice and toasty.
6. I'm baking my first cheesecake. No major mishaps. Yet.
7. My Yeah Yeah Yeahs + many other bands channel on Pandora radio.
8. The Netflix William got for his birthday--we both benefit! We've been streaming movies like mad.
9. My sweet Molly looking at the KitchenAid Mixer, cocked head indicating a total befuddlement with the noise.
10. Tomorrow I'll be with the people I love most in the world. Lots of good food, good conversation, and love.

Yuck

Little flare-up of the tummy problems today. Had to leave work early for the first time in a long time.

I'm frustrated and disappointed, although overall I've been feeling great. Meds, exercise, giving up pop. What else??

I want a transplant.

I've gotta lay down; no ability to think up good stuff tonight. Sorry.

P.S.: This is totally crazy coming out of my mouth, but yet, here it is: I'm sad I don't feel well enough to go to the gym tonight. Yep. I said it.

Stuff I Wanted to Get, But Didn't.

I kind of love these.

Growing Pains

Seriously, I do not recall a time when I've known such muscle pain.

My thighs are screaming. If I sit, which makes the pain go away, when I stand up, my muscles lock up. A few times they've just sort of buckled under me. And some cruel twist of fate is making me drop everything I pick up, and bending over is ... horrible.

Yet, I went back to the gym this morning to stretch out in a yoga/pilates class. I can't imagine how much stiffer I'd be if I hadn't. Maybe negligible, but it seems like it helped a bit to warm me up.

Then, an afternoon with my family to celebrate Wm's birthday. Lasagne, pear/gorgonzola salad, squash soup with bacon and roasted squash seeds, and flourless chocolate cake with Haagen-Daz ice cream. Mmmmm.

My body is simultaneously ravenously hungry—we're talking hunger PANGS here, people—and exhausted.

After a really productive, busy weekend, I'm finally going to eat some Triscuits (black pepper ones) and sharp cheddar pub cheese, and read Vanity Fair and watch TV. Ahhhh.

Weighty Issues

Today, I took my first weightlifting class. Yep.

I think tomorrow is going to hurt really, really, really, really badly. And I have a yoga/pilates class in the morning. Greeeeat.

But seriously though, despite the pain, I'm feeling good. As in, Really Good. I haven't had a stomachache in DAYS. DAYS! And I think that maybe I'm feeling my energy level picking up a little, which Jesus God Hallelujah! Because I don't have a lot of energy typically.

I also have found myself feeling absolutely STARVING the last couple days. That has got to mean that I'm burning up the calories, but nothing has changed outwardly. I feel like I'm off to a really good start.

Otherwise, today has been a typical Saturday. Dog to the groomer, errands, cleaning, laundry. But it feels good to be productive and done.

On tap tonight: takeout and friend time at home.

Happy day.

Happy Birthday, Baby

Today is my husband's twenty-ninth birthday.




You're a classic, honey.

I love you always and forever.

Beautiful, In Every Single Way

If you haven't read my friend Doahleigh's post on feeling beautiful, please exit this post and go read it right now. It's not long, and it's very powerful. I can wait . . .

Back? OK, good.

First of all, I want to give her a standing ovation for her bravery and awesome writing. This blog spoke to my heart, and I am sure the hearts of women across the country.

Secondly, I'm going to publicly say that I think she's a beautiful person, both inside and out. And I'm so happy to see that even though the memories of her story still put a pang in her heart, but that she realizes, at the end of it, someone calling you hot or not doesn't make it so.

While I don't have an exact moment like hers, I spent my junior high years and most of my high school years feeling less-than. Less than pretty. Too skinny. I had crooked teeth until my parents sprang for braces even though the price was so steep (Mom, Dad: THANK YOU. It was easily one of the best boosts to my self-confidence).

I grew up in a family who told me I could be whoever I wanted, and that was good enough. I can remember thinking, as a very young girl—elementary school—that I had long, pretty blonde hair, and my plan was to grow it as long as Crystal Gayle's. I had big, round blue eyes and running around outside all summer long made me nice and tan. I remember thinking that I was kind of pretty. And I knew I was pretty smart.

Then, junior high. A lot of girls were developing their cute little figures, and meanwhile the scale stayed on the underside of 80 lbs for me, even as my legs and arms grew. I was too skinny. Nothing fit me right. Everything that fit me around was about six inches too short. (To this day, I can't wear those cute Audrey Hepburn-inspired ankle-length pants.) Anything that was long enough meant I needed hips and a butt. And a belt that my dad had to notch about 8 inches in from the last pre-punched hole. I called it "garbage bag" waist. Incidentally, this is ALL OVER the runways the last couple seasons (and my beloved J. Crew catalogue). I will never wear it. Ever.

My teeth were badly crooked, and to top things off, I had no athletic ability. Boys didn't even know I existed. I was a band nerd. One day I went to school, and one of my very good friends from elementary school (no one I've mentioned on this here blog 'til just now) just up and stopped talking to me. I remember walking over to her locker, saying hello, and her shutting her locker door and walking to class with me in her wake, clearly ignoring me. I had no idea why.

I went home and soaked my pillow with tears.

That's probably around the time that I felt that I wasn't very cute anymore.

I remember my brother telling me one night that it didn't matter if I was cool or not. He gave me this long talking-to about how being cool is fleeting, and that the whims of junior high students are not to be taken to heart—what did we know about anything?—and that life was probably going to suck for a while, but it was important to remember that true friends would stick with me, and that I'd be a super cool grown up, and all those people would be stuck permanently at the age of 13. I was like OK, then you go to school for me for the next two years.

I was lucky, because one of my best friends, C, was my best friend then, too. And we stuck through those awful years together. We used to joke that we were really too cool for the other one but since we felt bad for each other, we'd just stick together. We were each other's best audiences (still are), and distracted each other from feeling too badly about random Mean Girl crap. We danced in her basement a lot. To this day, it's one of the most therapeutic things I do when I'm feeling low.

But here's the thing: my stupid brother was right. He was right about it all.

Most of the girls who had those cute figures in 7th and 8th grade? Well, let's just say a lot of their figures aren't so cute anymore. And I don't judge people that I meet based on their weight, let's just say that this is sweet justice for terrible people (who continued to act like little dictators as long as I've known them).

Most of them still have the personalities of two-by-fours.

(And, maybe worst of all, they've been made victims, too. Because many of them now only judge their self-worth by their looks.)

Here's the thing about me. OK, I still hate most photos of myself, but it's because I'm not very photogenic. I don't mind the way I look overall.

Oh, and my body? It might be a few pounds past the point I would like to see on the scale, but I stayed pretty slim, and eventually I gained weight. (I finally broke 100 lbs. in 10th grade. And trust me, being too skinny is just as bad as being too heavy, socially speaking. Or maybe I just missed the heroin chic and Land of Double-0s culture.) I'd like to think my body's pretty cute too. (PS: C turned out absolutely beautiful.)

But overall, what I value most about myself is not my looks. And I can decide how to feel about them. While it's certainly nice to hear a compliment, my self-worth doesn't hinge upon one.

It's the fact that I'm a loyal friend and confidante, a good compliment to my husband, a kind dog-mom, and that I am an intelligent person. (I know a little more about style now, too, and that never hurts.)

I wouldn't go back and do those years for a million dollars, not even if I could go back with the knowledge I have now about how it all turns out.

But I'll tell you what: that experience made me a more compassionate person. And I know that truly awesome women are not completely driven by their looks. They are driven by kindness, intelligence, and good humor. And women who can set aside those jealousies and shallow feelings and truly connect with other women are the women worth connecting with.

It makes me sad that so many people could relate to Doahleigh's story.

But MY GOD. Look at us now.

Let's Get Literary

It's the month of Thanksigving, and one thing I'm thankful for is that I learned to read. And that I had parents, teachers, and friends and family who encouraged me to follow my dreams to be a writer and reader. It's something I love to talk about and share with other people, too.

One of my simple pleasures is the smell of books—old, new, whatever. Mmmmm.

I don't detail all my reads like my friend A. does on her blog, Bookish Bent, but I do try to read a book a week (or so). It's hard, but I know it's one of those things that if you don't carve out the time to do it, it's easy to push it onto the back burner. And I believe books and words are important and I'll support the industry until the day I die. (And, hopefully, one day, contribute to it.) Reading simultaneously fuels my passion for writing and reading, and soothes me. I usually read right before bed.

The last book I read was The Forever War, by Dexter Filkins. It's reportage from an embedded reporter (he works for the New York Times and has won a Pulitzer Prize). It's about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and it rips your heart out and stomps all over it. The man has balls of steel, I will say that. He narrowly escapes death a few times; some of his compatriots don't. Tears came to eyes a few times, but more than a crying-sadness, it's the hollowed-out kind of sadness, a depressed, how-can-this-ever-be-fixed sadness. The book is a series of essays of experiences there, not unlike Michael Herr's groundbreaking Dispatches, or Tim O'Brien's incredible fictional account, The Things They Carried. (Many feel that this book was based on his own experiences, and from what I understand, many feel it's accurate about war, even if the accounts themselves did not happen.) Highly recommended for insight into the war on terror, the psyche of some cultures, and what is really happening behind the headlines.

Tonight I'm moving onto something a little lighter. I had the realization recently that I tend to read dark, depressing books, most of them nonfiction. I think I need something a little on the lighter side, but without being stupid or vapid. Tonight, I'm going to start reading The Know It All, by A.J. Jacobs, kindly loaned to me from A.

I'm also on Goodreads. Are you? Are we friends? Want to be?

Choosing my favorite books or authors is a nearly impossible task, but I have a few that stand out. And um, no links here, but let me know if you need more information.

I love Susan Orlean, Joan Didion, Margaret Atwood, Random Family by Adrienne Nicole LeBlanc (in my mind, one of the most important books about race and class ever written), The Translator, Push, The Color Purple, Crime and Punishment, Stolen Lives, Mountains Beyond Mountains (Tracy Kidder), All the President's Men (sigh, the first amendment), The Orchid Thief, We Wish To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families, China Wakes, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Where the Red Fern Grows, Island of the Blue Dolphins, Under the Banner of Heaven, Cash by Johnny Cash, What is the What... I could go on and on and on and on.....

What are your favorite books/authors? Why? I'd love some recommendations and book talk around here.

Goodies

Good things for today:

1. Cute outfit day.
2. In re: cute outfit day, I splurged and bought a little bit more expensive tights at Target. I figured it'd be a gamble. It paid off! They are super thick and opaque, and kept me warm in a minidress. Well worth the extra couple bucks.
3. New Vanity Fair arrived with Robert Pattinson on the cover. Sigh.
4. Good songs on the radio. Songs I'm currently loving:

• Buster Voodoo, Rodrigo y Gabriela
• Sugarfoot, Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears
• Drain the Blood, Rural Alberta Advantage
• Baby, Devendra Banhart
• Soft Shock, Yeah Yeah Yeahs
• I'll Fight, Wilco
• Horchata, Vampire Weekend
• Lizstomania, Phoenix
• Heavy Cross, The Gossip

5. Yummy dinner: meatloaf, sweet potato fries, broccoli
6. Zumba class!
7. Reorders from the shops William is in.

90 Days

Nearly little muscle in my body hurts from my flow class yesterday. Some are sort of screamy-hurt. It takes masterful effort not to walk like I've been riding horses all week long.

This gets better, right? Please promise me it does.

I thought I'd share a couple of goals with y'all since I'll probably be blogging about my gymming it up [note: I promise this won't become an all-fitness, all the time blog], and it will help me keep on track.

I want to lose around 10 pounds. HOWEVER, I think that weight is just another way to measure health. I don't live and die by what the scale says. And I'm not going to diet to do it (although: healthy recipes and snack ideas always welcome here). I've already cut out pop, I don't eat fast food, I like veggies and fruits and I don't eat much pasta, etc. I figure my diet is pretty dang balanced right now. If I diet, I will hate my life and not go to the gym either. I will take my measure more from the way my jeans fit, but I know they fit me when I weighed about 10 less pounds.

I want to gain muscle. I want to have a nice, toned, strong body. I like the way Jennifer Aniston's body looks (obviously I will never be that skinny because I don't, and won't, live on whatever bottled water she promotes). Toned and strong, but not wiry or hard. If that means I have to weigh more, so be it.

I want to gain even more flexibility. I'm about as flexible as a two-by-four, but I'd like to continue striving to be more flexible.

I want to feel happier.

I want to feel more energized.

I want to feel capable of performing even moderately difficult athletic tasks.

I want to conquer my stomachaches.

I want to conquer stress and anxiety.

I want to work up to going to the gym five times a week. Yep, you heard it here, friends.

I know I am not really old. But as I age, I want to always feel like "dang, I am in the best shape of my life." I want to live well, be well, and be active in making that happen.

I want to make it past the three-month mark my trainer warned me about. People often quit at month three. I have to make it past that.

Here we go.

Rock My Body

Dudes. I joined a gym, 'member? So I went to my first class this morning, which is a combo of tai chi, power yoga, and pilates. I thought a class with the name "Flow" in the title might really be kind of nice and soothing. Nooooot really. It felt great, though, and I really liked the class, as did Sister Soup. Plus it was set to music, and I loved that. I'm feeling more confident about hitting up classes now, too.

But um, I kind of want to die. I had to bow out of a couple of moves early, because my thighs were a-burnin'. Bad. I am pretty sure stairs are going to feel hellacious tomorrow. I'm a little scared. And I felt super tired the rest of the day (the class ran from 10-11). I guess I'm just not at the point where I feel energized by exercising. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?

Besides that, I went to see This Is It (FINALLY) with my mom this afternoon.

It. Was. AWESOME.

It only made me love MJ more. Seriously. There are some darling moments. And let me tell you, he was too skinny, but any reports that he was frail or sickly--nuh uh. That man was moving and grooving and clearly loving plotting his return to the limelight.

You have to wonder, if he hadn't died. Would it have been spectacular enough to win over all the haters? Would it have re-cemented him as a star, or would it have seemed desperate to most? My money is that it would have been a total hit. He was really planning something amazing, and it's all this imploded potential. All this footage, when Michael is singing like an angel and doing his particular brand of hover-dancing...it's tragic to think it never became something.

They pulled some of the best dancers and singers from around the world for this show, and as they backed him up onstage during rehearsal, I couldn't help but think they couldn't even touch his talent.

Sooo, that's pretty much all the news fit to print today.

I will love you forever.

It's not often that you get to meet your childhood-friend's children. Think about it. A lot of times, people don't stay friends that long. From my own pink-corduroy, pigtailed days with Pamcakes to now, when I meet her at her house and meet her beautiful, thriving twins after a long, complications-frought pregnancy and delivery. Post ICU, post-hospital, and now, we are officially post-childhood. She has two absolutely perfect babies of her own.

I'm still in shock even though I've had more than 9 months of knowing this would happen, and was there at the hospital to witness it myself.

One of my oldest, bestest friends in the world has two baby girls. And although we are not related through blood, I love them with the intensity of an auntie. Their mom and I are like chosen sisters, rather than blood relatives. I love them thoroughly and completely, even if I just met them for the first time today, nearly three weeks after their birth. (Hey, that's not bad considering the circumstances.) Trust me, it killed me to wait those nearly 21 days to hold them in my arms and to inhale their baby scent and touch their tiny fingers and feet, and kiss their sweet cheeks.

Today I held a baby that shouldn't have even been born yet, not for at least two more weeks, this little negative-aged being. And they are both so, so, so tiny, their heads fitting neatly into the palm of my hand, their body fitting the space between my wrist and my elbow. They are petite, but they are fighters. Like their mom.

One of my nearest and dearest friends is a mom. We are no longer playing hide-and-seek, swimming at the public pool, throwing parties at our college apartment, or meeting for lunch on break from our first real jobs. She is a mother.

I will love you babies, forever and ever. You can always call me Auntie Katie. And I will always be there for you. Always. For every reason. You can call me late at night, ask me the embarrassing questions, and I will always bring you frivolous gifts, and I will always tell you the truth. I will let you chew the flavor of bubble gum that your mom hates the smell of, I will take you shopping and to the movies, and buy you treats you're not supposed to have, and I'll always, always, always love you. Always.

Spitty Rain

Oh, November. There YOU are! It was dark and raining that kind of misty/spitty rain all day. My lunchtime walk not quite as pleasant.

But tonight, I had tasty Chipotle and wine with my husband and then we're watching movies, all snuggled up against the November nastiness.

Tomorrow, I finally get to see the babies that were born nearly three weeks ago--the closest thing I'll have to nieces outside my blood relative nieces. My heart is already overflowing with joy.

But now, my couch, yoga pants, gorgeous husband, and snuggle dog are awaiting me.

Feeling St. Paul

Blackberry mojito, guacamole, jicama salad.

Long talk about a love of writing.

Giggles.
A hope that seems reachable.

A brisk walk home amid trees dressed with white twinkle lights, only a slight chill in the air, unseasonably warm in November.

Everything is still and quiet, even downtown, like I have it all to myself. Like it's all mine.

Veteran Memories/New York New York

I've written about Veterans' Day before, and I feel like I've said enough about that. At least for now.

I have another memory associated with Veterans' Day, too.

Four years ago, my then-boyfriend of sixish months asked me to go to New York City with him to visit some of his friends from grad school. (They have long since become like family to me.)

We planned the trip on Veterans' Day weekend. It wasn't the smartest idea we've ever had. Half the places we wanted to tour were closed on government holiday. But we had a wonderful time anyway.



We went to see the public library, but instead found a gigantic Veterans' Day parade. I don't have any digital photos of how many soldiers marched for peace that day. The U.S. had already been in the Middle East and Afghanistan for four-ish years. Many held signs that said things like "Veterans for Peace" and things about jailing President Bush.



We had so much fun, we almost missed our flight. Have I ever told you THAT story, dear readers?

My hair is flying in this photo, not because it was windy but because we were RUNNING to get on the subway to get back to our friend Jimmy's apartment, to get to the subway again to get to the airport. And we were supposed to be AT the airport at this point.



This is one of my all-time favorite photos, taken by our friend Lee.



Our relationship was still so new at that point. And I was head-over-heels, hopelessly, madly in love. Already. And I still am. And always will be.

In New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of
There's nothing you can't do, now you're in New York
These streets will make you feel brand new
Big lights will inspire you, let's hear it for New York
New York, New York
—"Empire State of Mind," Jay-Z feat. Alicia Keys

Simple Goodness

Today has been like the third or fourth day that it's been in the 60-degree range, and man, I'm taking it in. It won't last much longer--it's unseasonable now, anyway. It might be dark at 5 p.m., but it's warm.

And that makes me really happy.

Also, I finally get to meet my quasi-nieces this week. And I could not be more thrilled.

Also, I added a little Greatest Hits Collection of some past posts. Maybe more to come? People, going through my old posts, I need to step up the game. Word.

Stop the Bench Presses

People.

This is not a test.

I joined the gym yesterday.

No, for real.

No, it's not April Fool's Day.

Like, oh my God!

It's time. Here's why:

Community ed wasn't really delivering anymore on what I wanted. I loved most of the classes I took and I'd still consider going back to my belly dancing class but otherwise, I needed something more. And the last class I took was a joke, and a waste of a month's worth of gym money for five measly classes.

I know, right? Me, something more? Here are some more reasons:

• I get a little discount with my health insurance. And I have to go or I don't get the discount.
  
• I figure the barrier is a little higher when it comes to fitness at a gym vs. comm ed. This ain't no Richard Simmons' oldies class.
• I have lost a little weight, but I need to lose a little more before I'm satisfied.
• My doctor has recommended that with my two irritating illnesses, IBS and thyroid disease, to exercise five times a week. Say WHA? I'm not there yet. But I hear him.
• The Y was offering no joiners fee, and a free consult with a trainer.
• My sister belongs to the Y and we both are taking an interest in fitness, so we will push each other to go to class.
• Extra endorphins can't hurt. Especially as we enter the season called Depression around here.
• I've been inspired by some bloggers lately. And my husband.
  
• And the biggest one: I can eat more cheese if I work out. instead of a carrot dangling in front of me, imagine a chunk of Old Amsterdam Gouda and a Mounds bar.
• Expect updates.
• I would love some encouragement.

Dudes. I JOINED a GYM.

An update on my attempted productivity and cuteness

Yesterday got more annoying, if that's possible. After not getting my car 'til 1, I realized I still had to go to Target because I had to hit up the pharmacy. So, I get my car and scoot on over there to try and get some productivity out of my day.
I grab few groceries and head over to the pharmacy where....they're CLOSED for a half hour in the middle of the day. Normally, this wouldn't be an issue for me, because I love Target for one, and for two I usually have more shopping to do, but I had done that first. I wanted to throw my Yoplait yogurt cups at the closed window. I don't get it...why can't the pharmacists take rotating breaks for lunch so the pharmacy doens't have to grind to a halt during the day? There were a couple frail, older peeps that didn't look like they could stand and wait for a half hour for the pharmacy to open! Not nice.
Anyway, it worked out OK because once they did open, I got my prescription and then they printed out a $5 off coupon for my next purchase, which were the groceries! Yay!
Then I hit up a cancer benefit, and a birthday party, and went home.
Now I have a story to write today and lots of stuff to get done. So I leave you with this high dose of cuteness:

Don't call me honey

I'm sick of getting sexist treatment when I get my car serviced.

Seriously. I've had it.

My car is NEVER done when they promise it, they try to upsell me on absolutely EVERYTHING that they do not try to upsell my husband on, and they call me demeaning names. I know I am not brilliant at car maintenance, but I DO know how long it takes to get an oil change. However, I have had just about every incident related to my car take twice as long (or more) with a bunch of runaround.

At this point I'm willing to drive anywhere if I get fair service. A few months ago, I bought a set of four tires from a car place near my parents' house. Overall, that went really well. And not only did I get tires, but the deal at the time was that I got free oil changes for the life of the tires. I was excited about this. I figured since that service went well I'd be happy with that place.

Then, as I was planning to head out of town this summer for a weekend, I called the shop on a Friday morning. I asked the person who answered the phone if it'd be possible for me to drop by the store and have my oil changed quickly around 5:30 that evening. The guy said, "Oh yeah, no problem at all." I mentioned that I had the free oil change and asked if I should set up an appointment to guarantee my car gets looked at immediately, as I had a night of driving ahead of me and didn't want to waste daylight.

He tells me it's no problem at all and no appointment needed. I didn't feel good about it, but I didn't push it and said thanks and hung up.

5:30 rolls around and I'm in a huge hurry, and I stop by the store. The guy I talk to looks confused and says they can probably squeeze me in but it might take up to two hours. I look around. I am alone. I have no other car. I explain AGAIN that I was told it'd be no problem and take about 30-45 minutes. The guy says hes sorry, bu he didn't know who told me that because they tell everyone to plan on TWO HOURS for an oil change.

Now I'm pissed, I need to drive for about five hours and I just want to get on the road. I'm like, DUDE, I CALLED for this VERY REASON. He can tell I'm getting mad, and I'm mad because I don't want to take it out on this dude, who did not take my phone call in the first place. Then this dude pops his head in from the shop and says, super condescendingly, "Oh, HONEY, you talked to me this morning. I would have never told you that we could do that and I would have said you should set up an appointment." And shakes his head all slow back and forth, like I'm hard of UNDERSTANDING.

At the word honey, my blood boils over, and now I'm super pissed. I'm like, "Maybe I talked to someone else," trying to figure out why he'd blatantly LIE about talking to me and hoping I did, in fact, talk to someone else. And they both say, in unison, "No, he's the only guy here in the morning ever."

I was like "Then YOU TOLD ME this would be no problem and an appointment wasn't needed and in 45 minutes I'd be out on the road." I wait for them to back off, say they're sorry, and squeeze me in. I'm not asking for the world, here, and they promised it to me that morning. I can see two people out of the corner of my eye who are starting to look uncomfortable.

He's like "Honey, I'm sorry. You must have misunderstood me."

STOP CALLING ME HONEY!!!!!!!!!!! I was ready to punch him in the face.

I was like "No, I didn't misunderstand you. I know what you said, and I asked twice because I had a feeling you didn't know what you were talking about!" I grabbed my keys out of the guy's hand and stomped out. I was so furious at that point. I haven't been back.

So then I needed another oil change, badly. I stop by another shop, which happens to be right across the street from my house. I was like, whatever, it's convenient, even if it costs me to have it done. And they were once two hours late getting my car to me when I had to get to WORK but I have to get it done and this is the easiest way to do it.

I stop in, the guy is super friendly, no problem, he can have it done in the morning. He asks me what time I need my car by. I tell him NO LATER than 11 a.m. It is Saturday today, after all, and I have a ton of stuff to get done this weekend, including getting to the post office and the bank by NOON.

You can guess what happens, right?

11:15 rolls around and I still haven't heard anything. I call around 11:30 and ask if my car is done, hoping they just forgot to call me to pick it up. Nope. I'm on hold for FAR too long, and the guy comes back and says, "Oh I got it in for you, I can call you when it's done, OK?" Which means they hadn't even STARTED on the oil change despite the fact that they've been open since SEVEN this morning. So now it's 12:15 and it's STILL not done. Dudes. It takes like a half hour. Bank is closed. Post office is closed. Day's plans are totally screwed up and now I'm so mad I could spit.

I'm so flipping mad. This happens to me EVERY TIME. EVERY. TIME. I wish I didn't have to have a car. I'm so done dealing with these jerks who think my time is expendable and think it's OK to lie to me and call me honey. I realize car things suck for everyone. But seriously. These are just two of the incidents I've had. WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO CUSTOMER SERVICE? And treating women like equals? Seriously. That dude is probably going to get an earful when I go pick my car.

Friday night lights

Here's what I love about Friday nights:
Coming home from work, usually off a short happy hour.
Eating takeout with my husband and good conversation.
Watching a movie or catching up on TV and snuggling with the Miggle.
Sleeeeeeeeep.

Done being an adult

Some days, I really want to give back my title of Adult and take back the title of Child.

Today is especially one of those kinds of days.

It started out with opening a piece of mail that was a magazine subscription offer. i was being offered the SENIOR DISCOUNT.

SENIOR DISCOUNT.
.
.
.
SENIOR DISCOUNT!

I am not that much of an adult.

Then, more adult-world-type problems ensued. And want to take care of those problems by writing a note in crayon that I am running away and bringing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to eat behind the big cottonwood tree in my parents' former backyard.

Now, how can I go about trading in that title?

Q&A

What is your current obsession?
Funny you should ask. I just wrote about this on Monday. See: Monday’s Post, Aptly Titled: Current Obsessions.

What is your weirdest obsession?
Gosh. I don't know. I obsess about a lot of things but it usually passes.

What are you wearing today?
I wore a magenta cashmere hoodie, a cream-colored, ruffly tank top, and skinny gray corduroys. I’ve replaced the cords with yoga pants since arriving home.

What’s for dinner?
My darling husband made pork loin and a yummy pasta salad with tomatoes and spinach. I wish I hadn’t had a stomachache. That would have made it immeasurably more enjoyable, but I still loved it.

What would you eat for your last meal?
Expensive cheese. Pineapple. Homegrown tomatoes.

What’s the last thing you bought?
I bought an apple-and-cheese sandwich and three-pepper chips for lunch.

What are you listening to right now?
William is watching basketball.

What do you think of the person who tagged you?
No one tagged me, but I picked this up from Red Red Whine, who is a new addition to my blogworld.

If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
I don’t really want to leave my family, but you can’t pass up a fully furnished and paid for house on the coast of South Maui.

If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
Um. That is far too overwhelming. Maybe somewhere in Hawaii to meditate on how to answer this question?

Which language do you want to learn?
A few. French, Arabic, Mandarin.

What is your favorite colour?
Pink.

What is your favorite piece of clothing in your own wardrobe?
I have a bright yellow wool pencil skirt that I’m fond of. My (see above) magenta cashmere hoodie. Citizens of Humanity jeans.

What is your dream job?
Writer.

What’s your favourite magazine?
Bitch. Bust. Vanity Fair. Body + Soul. Real Simple. Elle Décor. ReadyMade. There are a lot.


If you had £100 now, what would you spend it on?
Travel money. Winter boots. A class.


Describe your personal style?
I love vintage and very feminine things. But I also love very tailored things. Pencil skirts, ballet flats, cardigans, belts, animal prints (esp. zebra). Jackie O. I’m a long-haired person, not a short-haired person. I love glitter and eyeliner and loads of mascara.

What are you going to do after this?
I have some writing to catch up on—work.

What are your favourite films?
Almost Famous, Annie, High Fidelity, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Love Actually, Lost in Translation, The Graduate, all the John Hughes canon. But my favorite types of movies are documentaries.

What’s your favourite fruit?
Pineapple. But I also love apples (but not red or golden delicious). And raspberries. And mango. I love fruit. I hate bananas, though. Gross.

What inspires you?
People who follow through. People who manage to make lemonade out of lemons. People who take the disparate pieces and put them together. People who speak out about injustice. People inspire me, in short. That is why I like to write stories about them.
Also: spectacular summer and fall days and great writing.

Do you collect anything?
The question is, what don’t I collect. I have no filter, so I collect junk mail and nearly-empty chapsticks and god knows what else.

I don’t know. I guess I don’t have a dedicated collection.

Your favourite books?
A tough call. This list is a mile long. Some to start you off: Island of the Blue Dolphins, Push, We Wish To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families, What is the What, Cash, The Kite Runner, Me Talk Pretty One Day, Random Family, The Bullfighter Checks Her Makeup, The Orchid Thief, Crime and Punishment, She’s Come Undone, Where the Red Fern Grows, The Color Purple, The Great Gatsby…I could go on and on and on.

What are you currently reading?
The Forever War by Dexter Filkins. Amazing writing and reportage (See again: Current Obsessions post).

By what criteria do you judge a person?
Very interesting question. I don’t know! I have strong feelings about political leanings… I probably judge a lot on that. Sense of humor, apparent kindness, whether they like dogs. . .

What skill would you like to acquire immediately?
Skill or natural talent? Because what I’d love to be able to do is sing. As far as acquired talent, I would like to be good at guitar and piano.

What would you tell yourself 10 years ago? 10 years from now?
10 years ago, I was 18 and starting my freshman year of college. I would tell myself to screw it and take out more loans and study abroad, I would tell myself to get more involved, I would tell myself not to be so damned worried about everything.

10 years from now: I would remind myself that though the 20s were indeed a time of great change and frustration, that there were really awesome parts of my life that I loved and to remember them often. Falling in the for-real love, getting married, living in a loft downtown.

The rules:
1. Respond and rework; answer the questions on your blog, replace one question that you dislike with a question of your invention, add one more question of your own.
2. Let me know you did this!

Thriller

OK, it has been well documented here how much I love Michael Jackson. And I love marching bands. Geeky, but oh-so-true.

So this is really especially awesome for me, especially considering that it's my alma mater:

Obligation

Lately I've been doing a lot of thinking about how busy my life has become. I keep thinking, "Oh, after this I'll have some free time," or "Oh, once this passes I can do x, y, z."

You know what? I don't think that time is ever going to come. That really is just dawning on me in a real way.

Which means I'm going to have to learn to adapt and learn that I'm not going to be able to do everything, and that I can't judge my relative success or failure in life by the number of Yeses and Nos that I have to give people when they ask me for something--no matter how badly I want to do something.

It also means I have to prioritize. I don't like the word prioritize. it seems to suggest that some things can be truly counted as more important than others. I'm always afraid I'm going to hurt someone's feelings or let someone down. And saying "Oh, this doesn't fit on the priority list" seems like the coldest thing ever, even if I'm just saying it to myself.

And that means I have to make sure to schedule in time to spend with my husband that's not just the daily living-together stuff that any cohabitators would have. Same goes for my dog, my family, and ... myself.

It means not overcommitting so that I feel consistently overwhelmed on a weekly basis. And consistently frustrated and feeling like I failed when the to-do list spills over from week to week, month to month.

We all need time to be creative and daydream or blow off steam. It makes us more productive and happy in the long run. I wonder how long it will take me to truly take this advice for myself, no matter how much I believe it for other people.

Current Obsessions

1. Good reports from the hospital.
2. MAC Fluidline in Blacktrack and Macroviolet.
3. Halloween photos. (we didn't dress up this year, but man, babies in Halloween costumes. Half the reason you people have kids, right?)
4. Public radio.
5. The finally-normal fall weather.
6. Alba Botanica Hawaiian Spa cocoa butter hand & body lotion
7. The Forever War, by Dexter Filkins. Amazing writing and reportage.
8. The word reportage.
9. Roasted sweet potatoes.
10. Grapefruit.

What are some of your current obsessions?

Post One

Oh my gosh, I nearly forgot it was November today. That would have sucked to be out on Day One.

Yes, I'm gonna try to do NaBloPoMo again this year.

I'm pretty tired after a long week and I want to close out my weekend without sitting in front of a computer screen (I have a long day ahead tomorrow and Tuesday).

But I did want to say something very, very important.

Thank you so much for your kind and supportive comments after the last post. Speaking to just one of the people you rallied good thoughts for, I want you to know that one of my best friends in the whole world had twins last week, and after spending 6 weeks at the hospital pre-birth on bed rest, she experience the mother of all complications after delivery. She was in the ICU for several days afterward. She has opened so much of her life to everyone's business, so I'd like to leave it at that level for the grander internets to peruse.

But she has been transferred to a regular room now, and her two babies are so healthy and thriving. She's slated to come home later this week, perhaps, and begin her journey as a mother.

So thank you. I don't doubt for a second that all our positive thinking helped.

Walk the Line

Sometimes it's hard to blog when things are happening, and they're affecting you and yours, but they aren't your stories.

I try very hard to walk that fine line between talking about my life and William's life, our life together ... and talking about our world. Two completely interconnected, but yet different, sets of reality and privacy. This week has presented some challenges, but William and I are simply Support Staff, not Chiefs of Staff.

So, with that, I'll just say that healing powers sent this way are all to the good and will go to several deeply good people who deserve all the love and support in the world. Want to join me in sending some up into the atmosphere and aimed this-a-way? I'll be sure to cast the net and bring them to those who need it most.

Thanks, friends.

PS: How do you overcome the idea of blogging about you vs. your world?

What You Miss

When I was in college, I had to do a writing assignment that was based on a poem. The subject sounded morbid— "What you missed by being dead." I don't recall the poem itself or the author—nor did a very cursory Google search.

But it's always stuck with me, that idea of explaining to a long-gone someone, here's what came after you. And I remember sitting in that overheated, tiny classroom and writing a list of the things I wish I'd shared with my grandma. It felt therapeutic.

A couple of weeks ago I was talking with my mom about her. I knew her as a child, and I have many happy memories to treasure from that time, but I didn't know her as an adult. I wish I had. I wish I could see how our relationship would have unfolded. I wish she would have been there to talk with me about fashion. I wish she'd taught me how to sew. I wish I'd gotten old enough to have her use one of her snarky comments on me. I wish, I wish, I wish.

Back to the conversation with my mom. It turned the idea on its head, because I learned what I missed by someone being gone.

Because, for someone who has been gone since October 12, 15 years ago—can that be right?—I learned something about her that I'd never known before:

My grandma had a pretty singing voice, and she could play piano by ear.

I was so struck by that little, glittering gift. A little gift to worry around in my head, to think about, to add to her biography. It's not that often that you get to learn something new about someone who has been dead for so many years—especially a person that you felt you knew so well.

My grandparents never had a piano in their house. The fact that she could play must have been one of those things I never got around to talking with her about. (I do remember her telling me that the clarinet was her favorite instrument and that I should take it up. I didn't. I played flute.) And maybe she sang around me, but I don't recall what her voice sounded like when she did.

I never got to ask her much about her childhood. I never related to her as an adult. Luckily, my mom has a great memory and can recall lots of things that Grandma told her. And then once in a while, a little shooting star straight from heaven lands in my lap and I feel, again, like she's here.

The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what we share with someone when we're uncool.

I have never been cool.

I am not sleek, subtle, cool-as-a-cucumber cool, mysterious, secretive. None of that.

No, no, I am more like the golden retriever running in circles, slobbering all over you with my melodramatic chatty-chat and panic this and quasi-crisis that. I am not the person in the corner at the party, quietly sipping on a drink and looking bemused—the person people wonder about—because I pretty much can't hold myself back from putting it all out there.

I've never really wanted to be that cool person, either.

Whenever I've attempted any semblance of being cool, I've fallen flat on my face. Whenever I become too conscious of my writing process, I feel like it shows. When I just go about my life, I find that I have kind friends, supportive family, and my knight in shining armor. When I just write for writing's sake, write to share, write to breathe, I find I do my best writing.

Philip Glass said in his fascinating documentary on PBS that he doesn't really "think up" music. Rather, it's this rhythmic current that runs underneath everything, below in the subconscious, and he's tuned his ear to dip into the water and express it.

That's the first time that another person has articulated my process. I never had the words to explain it before. I almost fell off the couch. How could I have the same process, the same feeling about creation as a FLIPPING MUSICAL GENIUS? I'm not comparing my talent level to his, but suddenly I felt like a had a kindred spirit. Have you seen Philip Glass? He's not cool, either.

When I write, I have hot and cold spots like the springs in the lake my parents' cabin sits on. Sometimes life presents me with rich material. Sometimes it doesn't. The art is to take the everyday and elevate it; after all, that everyday is what people understand.

I won't ever be cool. I am my own stumbling block. I need to get out of my way, be me, and just write. And by that process, maybe something cool will happen.

Online goodies

I've been a very good girl lately about not shopping. But there are two things that are really catching my eye.

I can't seem to get the photos to hang out here, so links will have to do. :(

Hell or High Water ring

Elephant ring

Just sayin'.

It's So Hard to Say Goodbye...

This morning, I got up at 5 a.m. I showered, put on my makeup, and got dressed in the dark, so that Wm could sleep til our usual wakeup time.

It felt like a normal day, except it was early, and I was going to say goodbye to my best friend.

About two and a half years ago, C and I sent the Kilipino, our other best friend, off to South America, to join the Peace Corps. It was the hardest thing I'd had to do with my friends, to see one of them get on a plane and know that definitively, our lives diverged at this point. We were here, she was there.

And it doesn't matter how supportive you feel and excited you are for that person--you still have that corner of your heart that feels sad. And it's for multiple reasons: one, you're not going along for the adventure; two, you know that things will not be the same. The rest of the reasons just sort of spiderweb out from that and are small but sting all the same--your friendship just doesn't have the same immediacy when you can't dial up the phone and talk about the latest. We'll have a twelve-hour time difference between us.

It doesn't even mean it's all bad; but no one can remain unchanged, and we're all moving forward at a different pace, or on a different path, with our life plans. A little reminder that we're all growing up.

Last spring, C told me that she was going to go to Thailand for a semester to teach. After the total shock wore off, I rallied into excitement mode. The rest of the year was spent in preparation; helping myself get used to the idea, starting to plan a trip to visit, and keeping her spirits up if ever they faltered.

But still, even though I've been in this place before, in an airport, crying, knowing this person will be chasing their dreams ... it was hard. it was hard to say goodbye, even if it's just a "pause." Even if it's just a couple of months -- and haven't I been talking about how fast time has been going lately? I had convinced myself that this goodbye would not be difficult. It would be joyous and I would say the right thing and feel just fine afterwards. But after waving at her one last time as she walked through security, I had a tough time reining in the tears. OK, I cried. A lot.

This is a friend who extends far past the term friend. When you've been close for more than twenty years, that person is your chosen family. We know nearly all the things about each other there is to know--for instance, when she said last night, "I never sleep the night before flying." I said "I know," and shot her a pointed look--indeed, we've shared that before our own trips together. We laughed then.

We grew up just three short blocks from each other; we began playing together as soon as our parents would let us cross the busy street by ourselves. We met each other halfway each time; indeed, people must have seen us walking the neighborhood daily. We rode bikes, our hair blowing out straight behind us, transitioning from little kids in terrycloth shorts to teenagers, from corduroys to flannel shirts and Doc Martens, braces and too-skinny bodies, secrets and rumors, drivers' licenses and boyfriends, dance clubs and library research, high school graduation and college graduation, plus all the challenges life tends to throw your way once in a while, just to see if you're still paying attention.

There have been a million transitions we've faced together, and always come out the other side. This challenge will be no different. But I'm here and she's there. She hasn't even touched down in Bangkok yet, but I already miss her. My little friend group has dispersed; they're there and Im here. Things will feel just a little emptier while she's gone.

Stories

I caught up with a source today--someone I spent a lot of time with before my layoff. Together with her cooperation, I wrote the most important story I've ever written.

Tonight we just had tea and I dropped off some of her photos and some extra copies of the magazine she appeared in. We talked about politics, her community, what's sh'es been doing, what I've been doing. It was lovely.

And as I left, I had the same thought I've had over time, but I felt it more strongly tonight: I want to write good stories. REALLY GOOD stories. Stories about different cultures, about different lives, stories that change the way people see life. Even if it's a miniscule shift. I'm not expecting a Nobel Prize overnight. But I need to write stories people care about. I need to write stories I care about. I need to write stories that shape the world, whatever the size.

I need to find a way to do it.

Maxin'

There hasn't been much downtime around the Willikat household in the last few months.

We have had multiple weddings, friends giving birth (two more tonight!), and side projects going on...

One super positive thing is that William has been contacted by a very popular local store, and they will be carrying some of his work! How awesome is that? but it's been a lot of work to get there, and a lot of work to finish so they can finally go on the shelf.

I'm juggling a couple of different assignments myself, plus preparing myself for my best friend's departure to Thailand next Monday. Then there's meeting with an old source to give her the magazine she appeared in and her old photos. The friend I need to visit in the hospital. Yoga and dance classes. A wedding. A birthday party. Errands.

It leaves so little time for organization, contemplation, writing, my family, myself.

This is like month four of this kind of schedule. I kept thinking it was going to slow down eventually, but I think it's not. Because...here come the holidays! It already snowed four inches today. Good lord. With still-green leaves on the trees.

I'm really wondering how to keep myself from constantly feeling like a hamster on the wheel and running behind--even though many of those things are good things. HALP!

We're Gonna Win Twins

My god, what a baseball game.

I have a rocky relationship with sports. Most of them I don't like. I'm not good at sports. I hate most athletes.

But I have always loved the Twins. Tonight they proved exactly why. What a nailbiter of a game. So clutch.

Now David faces Goliath in NYC tomorrow.

Our little underdogs. Happy sigh.

Freeze Out

So, our building has to turn on our heat. We can't do it ourselves. Typically this happens around October 15. Usually it's warm 'til then
Not this year.
Compounding the problem, we live on the north side of the building. We have two walls that are pure brick (not insulated) and one wall has three nearly floor-to-ceiling windows.
It's been 39 degrees at night.
It's only been like 60, at most, usually cooler, during the day.
It's been damp and dark.
Our plants are dying.
It's freezing in here.
Calls to the management have been basically ignored. We are undergoing a management switch, and since they don't have to LIVE HERE they are probably not putting heat high up on the list. But I bet the heat's on in THEIR HOMES.
And the bass. I am being battered by bass on all sides with neighbors lately. It's like water torture. Thud, thud, thud boring holes through my skull.
DAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

If Wishes Were Horses

Some things I wish:

I wish that no animal would ever be mistreated.
I wish that no human, especially no child, would ever be made to feel small or worthless.
I wish that people had more joy in their lives; they wouldn't feel the need to be jealous or petty or untruthful.
I wish I had time to read all the books I want to read and write all of the things I want to write.
I wish I had more clarity and resolve.
I wish Hawaii was not a half a country and a huge ocean away.
I wish it wasn't an uphill battle to let everyone live and love the way they want, with healthcare they need and the family they choose, and the safety and stability to flourish.
Well, frankly, if I'm wishing for things, let's wish for some cash flow to shop -- and share -- with others.
I wish for polar bears to have enough ice and for tropical plants to have enough rain.
I wish for a kickass, long-lived career.
I wish for a Ph.D.
I wish for happiness and good health for my family and friends.
I wish for cancer and Alzheimer's and Parkinson's and ALS and alcoholism and depression and all those awful diseases to be eradicated from the Earth.
I wish that no matter how many times the horse bucks me off, I have the courage to get back on.

One thing I wished for, and got:
The love of my life.

One thing I wished for, and didn't get: Patience.

What are some of your wishes?

We Interrupt Your Regular Programming With This Breaking News

Mercury is no longer in retrograde.

So...catastrophes, miscommunications, electronic mishaps, and all chaos caused by this phenomenon must now be over.

I know you feel better about this.

Carry on.

Falling

Yesterday, I went in the mall with one of my BFFs, the friend I've had the absolute longest, who happens to be leaving the country in three weeks to teach English for six months. (I will then lack a best friend that lives in the state, my little tri-shaped cocoon broken up by geography.)

When we came back out of the mall a couple of hours later, the temperature had dropped a good 10 to 15 degrees. The wind was blowing, and the sky looked menacing. The thin hoodie and yoga pants I was wearing (yeah, I really care about my appearance lately) were not enough, and we ran for the car, giggling about how she wasn't going to miss the cold winter. I told her that no one else runs screaming to the car like we do when it's cold...so now I'm just going to look insane when I do it by myself.

Again, today was dark and cloudy and threatened rain. It was a long, swirling ball of stress and more-than-intermittent frustration, running here and there, my patience (never known for its long fuse) shorter than usual.

Suddenly, friend-adventures abound in my life; babies (my GOD the babies; what water all are these women drinking? I think I now roundabouts 20 people who are pregnant or gave birth this year), weddings (again, around 20 people), travel, blazing new pathways through our quasi-adulthood. Seasons are changing.

I'm so, so excited for all these people and their wonderful news. Seriously, I love getting the news that someone's engaged or pregnant or off to fulfill a life dream, and I get super crabby when people aren't supportive of everyone's good fortunes. I've noticed lately that there's a lack of genuine excitement for other people and I'm working hard to combat that jealous force all by myself, if I have to. And their good newses end up cheering my OWN moods, and I rely on them when I'm feeling like the world is tipping off its axis just a little bit.

But still. It forces me to evaluate my own life. I'm struggling to find my next adventures, my own life path, my own dreams, whatever they may be. But that doesn't change my happiness or excitement for everyone else--hell, if they pursue their dreams, it inspires me to do the same.

I have to say that tonight, as I walked through the door after an extralong day, those fall clouds parted a little upon seeing my darling husband chopping garlic for our dinner.

Limbo

So it's past the middle of September, and the sun is setting just after 7 p.m....I can feel it's getting darker earlier and earlier.

Yet the weather is still hovering around 80 degrees and the rain that was promised today didn't come.

It's weather limbo, people, and as glad as I am for the long stretch of beautiful, sunny days, I know we will be socked upside the head sooner or later with cooler weather. And my internal fashion clock says it's time to be wearing cords and long cardigans.

Please don't mistake this as a longing for fall weather. I am a summer baby through and through—I love the sunshine, swimming and fishing at the lake, skirts every day, and fresh flowers and homegrown veggies.

Fall, to me, always seems like a time to make decisions, make plans, get organized. Although I have nothing to really make decisions about right now, either, but some of the leaves are changing color--sumac are turning red (and have been up north for some time), and some trees are sporting some yellow highlights. I'm all confused!

The clocks are just all off!

Weekend update:

Yesterday, Wm and I went for a boat ride with his parents. It was a warm day, but with a crisp wind out over the lake. We cruised around and ate roast beef wraps and string cheese. A bass fishing tournament was underway, and people were waterskiing and wakeboarding, creating fun waves for us to bounce over. I believe I got my last (mild) sunburn of the summer.

Saturday I went to the Twins game, and they beat the Tigers in an exciting late-season matchup. It'll be the last game I see in the 'Dome, so I did let myself have a drink of 'Dome Coke (I don't know why, it just is the best Coke in the world) and we had Dome Dogs. Outdoor baseball is great when the weather is great, but I have my reservations about the new park opening up in Minneapolis. I'd love to go see a Gopher football game at the new stadium on campus though!

Friday I went to visit a dear friend who is hanging out at the hospital due to an early labor. Let's everyone send some collective "hang in there, babies!" (yes, "babies," plural) to help them stay put!

I have also been noticing a lot of spelling errors lately. I wish I'd had a camera for them so I could post them here. The other day I was driving down the freeway next to a Head Start bus. On the side was painted "For Offical Use Only." Really? I can only hope the person who painted that on isn't the same person that's teaching the alphabet. This made me irrationally angry; this is why the world needs copy editors!

Um, and that's about it for now. There's no good exit out of this train wreck.