So I found out from my mother that there was an article in The Star newspaper in Auburn this week about my husband Lynn as a new employee at Sweetwater Sound. Behold, Sweetwater hires Auburn native.
http://www.dekalbstar.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=6784:Sweetwater-hires-Auburn-native&catid=51:latest&Itemid=53
You know that this must be a small town when employment makes the newspaper - or at least evidence that we are in a recession.
Oh and did I mention this Auburn native is not from Auburn?
Friday, February 26
Thursday, February 25
Eritrean Hospitality
I said goodbye to a beautiful family last night. This was the Eritrean refugee family to whom I taught English in Orlando the first year that I was in Florida. Ever since, I have kept in touch and visited on occasion.
Jaered, Heda, Olana, Senayit, Layda, me and my mother
It was a difficult goodbye, especially since I noticed that Jaered (sounds like Yahdred), the father, had lost an extremely large amount of weight. I found out that he had been sick and the doctors do not know what is causing his sickness.
As we caught up and discussed the changes in our lives, Jaered said, "When I heard about the death of your father, I placed my hands over my face and cried. I see your mother in my head and it makes me sad. Tell your mother 'God bless you.'"
Senayit shared with me about how they fled their hometown in Eritrea because of the war there. They crossed the border into Ethiopia and after staying in a refugee camp, were placed in Orlando through a charity organization. I miss my mother in Eritrea very much, she said. I speak to her everyday on the telephone.
View Larger Map
Senayit is a very intelligent woman and was a teacher in Eritrea. "I love mathematics. I taught my native language. But numbers is my favorite." Because of the language barrier, she works in a bakery and Jaered in a hotel.
As I hugged the children and said goodbye to these precious people, I realized that family can span culture and language. God does that purposefully so that we know how big he is and how little we are in the world. Genuineness of spirit and a love for the other can entwine people from across the globe.
I will see this family again. Maybe someday they will welcome me into their home in Eritrea when, God willing, the war is over and they no longer have the title of refugee.
Jaered, Heda, Olana, Senayit, Layda, me and my mother
It was a difficult goodbye, especially since I noticed that Jaered (sounds like Yahdred), the father, had lost an extremely large amount of weight. I found out that he had been sick and the doctors do not know what is causing his sickness.
As we caught up and discussed the changes in our lives, Jaered said, "When I heard about the death of your father, I placed my hands over my face and cried. I see your mother in my head and it makes me sad. Tell your mother 'God bless you.'"
Senayit shared with me about how they fled their hometown in Eritrea because of the war there. They crossed the border into Ethiopia and after staying in a refugee camp, were placed in Orlando through a charity organization. I miss my mother in Eritrea very much, she said. I speak to her everyday on the telephone.
View Larger Map
Senayit is a very intelligent woman and was a teacher in Eritrea. "I love mathematics. I taught my native language. But numbers is my favorite." Because of the language barrier, she works in a bakery and Jaered in a hotel.
As I hugged the children and said goodbye to these precious people, I realized that family can span culture and language. God does that purposefully so that we know how big he is and how little we are in the world. Genuineness of spirit and a love for the other can entwine people from across the globe.
I will see this family again. Maybe someday they will welcome me into their home in Eritrea when, God willing, the war is over and they no longer have the title of refugee.
Wednesday, February 24
Headless Chickens and Romanian Seinfeld
In high school I spent one month in Romania working in an orphanage. During my time there I worked regularly in a soup kitchen but was commissioned, one day, to go with my friend Rachel to pluck headless chickens on a Romanian farm.
When we arrived at the farm, we were greeted by a dusty yard full of farmers with knives. I turned the corner just as one of them dropped a chicken and it ran headless into the fence - over and over again until it twitched in a pile on the ground.
My job was to remove the blood clots from the necks while Rachel made sure all the feathers were off of the outside.
As I am reading this, it sounds a little disturbing. Then I remember I eat chicken every week. Duh.
After the chickens were plucked, they were gutted and handed to me to remove the clots. They kept every part of the chicken and the guts were used for soup. Yum.
I can't remember how long we worked in that small room that was lit by kerosene lamps but we were at the farm for at least half of the day. There were few things on the property that hinted that the farm made it into the 20th century.
I was reminded though that this was 2000 when we were waiting for our ride back to the orphanage. The farmers had invited us into their home and the television was stationed in the center of the room under an enormous antenna. Rachel and I were surrounded by silent Romanians who were transfixed on the television screen.
A Seinfeld episode was playing and Jerry and George had been discussing something inconsequential. The Romanian translation scrolled on the bottom of the screen when, to the amazement of the farmers in the room, someone in the episode mentioned Eastern Europe. As soon as the words fell out of the character's mouth every Romanian who was present shouted and jumped up out of their seats in joy. It startled me.
I guess they were excited that people in the West know that they exist in the 21st century.
P.S. There was fresh chicken bones and meat in the soup the next day. I was proud.
When we arrived at the farm, we were greeted by a dusty yard full of farmers with knives. I turned the corner just as one of them dropped a chicken and it ran headless into the fence - over and over again until it twitched in a pile on the ground.
My job was to remove the blood clots from the necks while Rachel made sure all the feathers were off of the outside.
As I am reading this, it sounds a little disturbing. Then I remember I eat chicken every week. Duh.
After the chickens were plucked, they were gutted and handed to me to remove the clots. They kept every part of the chicken and the guts were used for soup. Yum.
I can't remember how long we worked in that small room that was lit by kerosene lamps but we were at the farm for at least half of the day. There were few things on the property that hinted that the farm made it into the 20th century.
I was reminded though that this was 2000 when we were waiting for our ride back to the orphanage. The farmers had invited us into their home and the television was stationed in the center of the room under an enormous antenna. Rachel and I were surrounded by silent Romanians who were transfixed on the television screen.
A Seinfeld episode was playing and Jerry and George had been discussing something inconsequential. The Romanian translation scrolled on the bottom of the screen when, to the amazement of the farmers in the room, someone in the episode mentioned Eastern Europe. As soon as the words fell out of the character's mouth every Romanian who was present shouted and jumped up out of their seats in joy. It startled me.
I guess they were excited that people in the West know that they exist in the 21st century.
P.S. There was fresh chicken bones and meat in the soup the next day. I was proud.
Tuesday, February 23
Shoplifters Will Be Beaten
This weekend I drove to Cape Coral, Florida to visit Great Aunt Kay and my Grandma Geiser.
One of the adventures of the weekend was a visit to a large flea market.
We walked around the dusty stalls for a few hours and I was bombarded by the smell of leather, fried food, dirt and sweat. As people walked by speaking Chinese, French and Spanish, we stopped every few minutes to check for deals. You name it, it was for sale at this flea market.
You could even procure a single plastic hand encased in glass. Classy.
The sign below was posted over every tray of jewelry at one particular stand. The woman who stood there was hard faced and I could imagine her punching the lights out of anyone who dared mess with her goods.
After a full day, I took a walk with my grandmother before sitting down to record stories from both her and my great aunt's childhood.
They recalled the death of their sister Jane, whom I am named after (Allison Jane) and who died at the age of 16.
Grandma Geiser and Jane
My grandmother shared about the time her father was trying to make it into the house to use the bathroom. She heard him running up the porch stairs and as the front door slammed, he yelled, "Oh! Shit!" He didn't make it in time.
It was a memorable few days and a great way to spend one of my last weekends in the Sunshine State.
One of the adventures of the weekend was a visit to a large flea market.
We walked around the dusty stalls for a few hours and I was bombarded by the smell of leather, fried food, dirt and sweat. As people walked by speaking Chinese, French and Spanish, we stopped every few minutes to check for deals. You name it, it was for sale at this flea market.
You could even procure a single plastic hand encased in glass. Classy.
The sign below was posted over every tray of jewelry at one particular stand. The woman who stood there was hard faced and I could imagine her punching the lights out of anyone who dared mess with her goods.
After a full day, I took a walk with my grandmother before sitting down to record stories from both her and my great aunt's childhood.
They recalled the death of their sister Jane, whom I am named after (Allison Jane) and who died at the age of 16.
Grandma Geiser and Jane
My grandmother shared about the time her father was trying to make it into the house to use the bathroom. She heard him running up the porch stairs and as the front door slammed, he yelled, "Oh! Shit!" He didn't make it in time.
It was a memorable few days and a great way to spend one of my last weekends in the Sunshine State.
Monday, February 22
Gene the Hummingbird
Upon observing hummingbirds at the hummingbird feeder in Colorado, Gene decided he would bond with these creatures and attempted to extract sugar water from the feeder. Behind the camera I was yelling, "BE the hummingbird Gene!"
Friday, February 19
Skinny Dipping Exit Strategies
There is something very exhilarating about skinny dipping. It may have to do with the thrill of taking a risk, but I think the appeal is roaming free with no restraints.
I can't count the number of times I have skinny dipped but if I recall correctly, I have tried it in five different states. It is just as fun in Florida as it is in Indiana.
During one particular escapade, a group of friends threw a party to say goodbye to a couple who were moving to a different country. While the guys obliviously relaxed inside, about five of us snuck out and jumped in the lake. I dove in without noticing that the lake level was low and there was no ladder or beach to easily maneuver my way back to safety once the skinny dipping adventure was over.
We had our fun and all proceeded to climb out of the murky water when I realized my folly and couldn't get out. I tried climbing, jumping, going backwards, sideways and any other way that you can imagine.
My friend Katie and I stood there for a few minutes debating what to do. There was that part of me that knew the only way to get out of the water was to throw caution to the wind. So I repeated to myself that it was dark enough that Katie couldn't see that well and clumsily (and I mean clumsily) crawled over the ledge with a not so gentle shove from the aforementioned friend.
Life lesson people: Never skinny dip without an exit strategy otherwise you'll have to rely on the notion that your friends really do like you for who you are on the inside. They will never forget what they see.
I can't count the number of times I have skinny dipped but if I recall correctly, I have tried it in five different states. It is just as fun in Florida as it is in Indiana.
During one particular escapade, a group of friends threw a party to say goodbye to a couple who were moving to a different country. While the guys obliviously relaxed inside, about five of us snuck out and jumped in the lake. I dove in without noticing that the lake level was low and there was no ladder or beach to easily maneuver my way back to safety once the skinny dipping adventure was over.
We had our fun and all proceeded to climb out of the murky water when I realized my folly and couldn't get out. I tried climbing, jumping, going backwards, sideways and any other way that you can imagine.
My friend Katie and I stood there for a few minutes debating what to do. There was that part of me that knew the only way to get out of the water was to throw caution to the wind. So I repeated to myself that it was dark enough that Katie couldn't see that well and clumsily (and I mean clumsily) crawled over the ledge with a not so gentle shove from the aforementioned friend.
Life lesson people: Never skinny dip without an exit strategy otherwise you'll have to rely on the notion that your friends really do like you for who you are on the inside. They will never forget what they see.
Thursday, February 18
You Can Call Me Shirley
I am nearing the end of my time working at a university in Central Florida. I have included below a short list of what I will miss when I move to Indiana.
1. The student who called me Shirley, which does not remotely resemble my real name.
2. The Psychological Services sign that hangs ironically outside the doorway to my suite. Whoever hung that sign, knows what it means to be a Financial Aid Administrator.
3. The one particular student who emails me the same question every day and to whom I have offered the same answer 50 times in 50 different ways. Breathe.
4. I will miss the student who called me vanilla. "You can be vanilla. I'll be chocolate. That guy with the red hair can be strawberry. We are Neapolitan. We work together."
5. Sending emails to students who have ninja, warrior, deathstar and shizzle in their email addresses.
6. Working with an amazing group of people who, despite the stresses of working with money, take the time to laugh and live life to the fullest.
I will miss you all.
1. The student who called me Shirley, which does not remotely resemble my real name.
2. The Psychological Services sign that hangs ironically outside the doorway to my suite. Whoever hung that sign, knows what it means to be a Financial Aid Administrator.
3. The one particular student who emails me the same question every day and to whom I have offered the same answer 50 times in 50 different ways. Breathe.
4. I will miss the student who called me vanilla. "You can be vanilla. I'll be chocolate. That guy with the red hair can be strawberry. We are Neapolitan. We work together."
5. Sending emails to students who have ninja, warrior, deathstar and shizzle in their email addresses.
6. Working with an amazing group of people who, despite the stresses of working with money, take the time to laugh and live life to the fullest.
I will miss you all.
Wednesday, February 17
Texas Style Mayberry
One day, not so many years ago, I worked a classic car auction in Texas.
Bid 1000 would ya give two? Two, would you give three? I see that hand! $3000, $3000, $3000, would you give four?
I determined that since I was in Texas for the first time in my life that I would leave for the airport early when the auction was complete. I wanted to explore on the way. As I drove, I passed by cheesy pottery dealers and open expanses of field, but one exit caught my eye. The sign boasted a small town historic district.
It was about lunch time so I decided to pull over.
I cannot for the life of me recall the name of the town but I remember driving down the abandoned Main Street. It was Sunday and it appeared as if most folks were in church or sleeping.
Despite the quiet, I noticed there was a section of Main Street where cars lined the streets. Wearing gray pants,a black shirt and high heels, I walked into the restaurant and the whole town was inside. I looked out of place but I bought myself a cup o' chili (because that is what you eat in Texas) and listened to the guitar-playing man in the corner.
As the waitress was serving my food, the cowboy singer broke out into the song I Got Friends In Low Places and the whole room started to sing along. The waitresses clapped and men in flannel shirts patted their neighbors backs.
I couldn't believe it. I had been transported back to the time that deep down we all wish it was but are too uptight to admit. I couldn't make myself clap or sing though. I just smiled and stuffed my face with chili.
Next time I go to a small town in Texas, I am going to sing along with the cowboys. I will also replace my heels for a flannel shirt.
Bid 1000 would ya give two? Two, would you give three? I see that hand! $3000, $3000, $3000, would you give four?
I determined that since I was in Texas for the first time in my life that I would leave for the airport early when the auction was complete. I wanted to explore on the way. As I drove, I passed by cheesy pottery dealers and open expanses of field, but one exit caught my eye. The sign boasted a small town historic district.
It was about lunch time so I decided to pull over.
I cannot for the life of me recall the name of the town but I remember driving down the abandoned Main Street. It was Sunday and it appeared as if most folks were in church or sleeping.
Despite the quiet, I noticed there was a section of Main Street where cars lined the streets. Wearing gray pants,a black shirt and high heels, I walked into the restaurant and the whole town was inside. I looked out of place but I bought myself a cup o' chili (because that is what you eat in Texas) and listened to the guitar-playing man in the corner.
As the waitress was serving my food, the cowboy singer broke out into the song I Got Friends In Low Places and the whole room started to sing along. The waitresses clapped and men in flannel shirts patted their neighbors backs.
I couldn't believe it. I had been transported back to the time that deep down we all wish it was but are too uptight to admit. I couldn't make myself clap or sing though. I just smiled and stuffed my face with chili.
Next time I go to a small town in Texas, I am going to sing along with the cowboys. I will also replace my heels for a flannel shirt.
Tuesday, February 16
Dog Energy For Sale
After dog sitting two dachshunds this past weekend I have decided I need to find a way to bottle up dog energy and put it in my pocket so I can take a swig at 3:00pm every day at work.
Meet Stan Smith and Face Murdock.
If these two aren't wrestling on the floor, they are running around the yard, humping something or sleeping in your lap. Can you say, bundles of energy?
Stan is the older, wiser dog. He is extremely smart, which reminds me of our dog Maddy. He is smart enough to know how to get attention. He usually wants to please you but at times that stubbornness kicks in.
Take for instance Saturday morning when he peed on the curtain. He stared at me across the room as the urine inched its way up the fabric. Proceeding in seemingly slow motion, I tripped on the edge of the counter while yelling NO! This was done to no avail. Stan knew I could not make it in time.
Face is the younger, cuddly one. He can sleep in any position and follows Stan wherever he goes. Face chews on Stan's ear like it is a wet wash rag so I am surprised it hasn't fallen off. Stan takes it like a man or an annoyed older brother who knows better.
During playtime:
After playtime:
Coming soon to a store near you: Face Smith Energy Drink
Meet Stan Smith and Face Murdock.
If these two aren't wrestling on the floor, they are running around the yard, humping something or sleeping in your lap. Can you say, bundles of energy?
Stan is the older, wiser dog. He is extremely smart, which reminds me of our dog Maddy. He is smart enough to know how to get attention. He usually wants to please you but at times that stubbornness kicks in.
Take for instance Saturday morning when he peed on the curtain. He stared at me across the room as the urine inched its way up the fabric. Proceeding in seemingly slow motion, I tripped on the edge of the counter while yelling NO! This was done to no avail. Stan knew I could not make it in time.
Face is the younger, cuddly one. He can sleep in any position and follows Stan wherever he goes. Face chews on Stan's ear like it is a wet wash rag so I am surprised it hasn't fallen off. Stan takes it like a man or an annoyed older brother who knows better.
During playtime:
After playtime:
Coming soon to a store near you: Face Smith Energy Drink
Monday, February 15
Three-Week Vegetarian
When I was in high school I decided to attempt to become a vegetarian. I didn't eat THAT much meat and I thought it sounded refined. Also, I had a friend who was considered eccentric at that time because she recycled and wore bright green bell bottoms. I figured becoming a vegetarian was just as cool.
So, I refused meat.
People automatically think that if someone is a vegetarian, that they are a healthy person. This is what I thought so I ate salad for lunch for the first week. The second week I realized that there are a lot of other options for the pure vegetarian. Potatoes, pasta, chips, chocolate and Ranch dressing do not contain a hint of meat.
I could handle saying no to hamburgers, chicken fingers, pepperoni pizza and sausage but when it was Taco Day at school it became too much to handle and I gave in. I couldn't resist the seasoning soaked, hamburger-like meat.
Looking back, if I couldn't refrain from eating that, then I must like meat more than I readily admit.
So, I refused meat.
People automatically think that if someone is a vegetarian, that they are a healthy person. This is what I thought so I ate salad for lunch for the first week. The second week I realized that there are a lot of other options for the pure vegetarian. Potatoes, pasta, chips, chocolate and Ranch dressing do not contain a hint of meat.
I could handle saying no to hamburgers, chicken fingers, pepperoni pizza and sausage but when it was Taco Day at school it became too much to handle and I gave in. I couldn't resist the seasoning soaked, hamburger-like meat.
Looking back, if I couldn't refrain from eating that, then I must like meat more than I readily admit.
Friday, February 12
Retirement Home Revelries
When I was in high school I worked at a retirement home as a waitress. I grew to know and appreciate the quirks of the residents there.
Elsie and Robert were a couple that usually sat at a table by themselves. Robert drank hot water with lemon every day. Mary, a few tables over, had a raspy smokers voice. "Butta! Where's the butta?!" she'd yell. She did not know how to speak quietly.
Wanda always wore pink and when I told her she looked nice, she would pat her hair and blush while George, with his neck scarf and black rimmed glasses, hit on every female that walked through the room.
I will never forget the day that E refused to eat her meal. She was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's and stubborn about what she ate. I was under strict orders to serve her soup, a meal and then ice cream for dessert. She only ever wanted soup and ice cream so when the plate of potatoes, chicken and green beans came out she stared at it for the longest time.
I walked by her table a while after the meal was served and asked her how she was doing. She gave me the stink eye, punched me in the shoulder and spit out chewed chicken on her plate as if to say, "You see that vomit on my plate? There is more where that came from. Go ahead and try to feed me again."
I wonder what I will be like when I have gray hair and am two inches shorter? I hope I have as much projection as Mary, as much beauty as Wanda and as strong of a body punch as E.
Elsie and Robert were a couple that usually sat at a table by themselves. Robert drank hot water with lemon every day. Mary, a few tables over, had a raspy smokers voice. "Butta! Where's the butta?!" she'd yell. She did not know how to speak quietly.
Wanda always wore pink and when I told her she looked nice, she would pat her hair and blush while George, with his neck scarf and black rimmed glasses, hit on every female that walked through the room.
I will never forget the day that E refused to eat her meal. She was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's and stubborn about what she ate. I was under strict orders to serve her soup, a meal and then ice cream for dessert. She only ever wanted soup and ice cream so when the plate of potatoes, chicken and green beans came out she stared at it for the longest time.
I walked by her table a while after the meal was served and asked her how she was doing. She gave me the stink eye, punched me in the shoulder and spit out chewed chicken on her plate as if to say, "You see that vomit on my plate? There is more where that came from. Go ahead and try to feed me again."
I wonder what I will be like when I have gray hair and am two inches shorter? I hope I have as much projection as Mary, as much beauty as Wanda and as strong of a body punch as E.
Thursday, February 11
Wednesday, February 10
School of the Grabill Amish
I have often wondered what it was like to grow up Amish. My father-in-law and my husband's siblings lived a portion of their lives as an Amish family.
For those of you who do not know, Grabill, Indiana is home to a large Amish community. In fact, after I was married my husband and I lived on a road where our family was the only "English" family.
I learned a lot from those years living near the non-English folk.
Not only can I name an inordinate amount of Amish and Mennonite last names like Yoder, Graber, Miller, Stolzfus, Schwartz, Eicher, Schwartzentruber, Brenneman, Stauffer, Zehr, Schmucker, Beachy, Bontrager, Byler, Coblentz, Helmuth and more, but if you have one of the aforementioned last names, I have learned how to play the name game.
Among the Amish and Mennonite community it is important to have connections. When you meet someone, you can usually play the name game until you find an acquaintance that you both have in common. It is comparable to Six Degrees of Separation but it seems to end at one degree because of the Mennonite and Amish love for community.
Below are more lessons that I have learned from my years of living in Grabill.
1. Although I will always miss the time that I lived with my family, I learned the importance of growing up and embracing life as an adult.
2. Horse crap splatters when you drive over it with your tires.
3. Being a wife can be the most frustrating and rewarding endeavor.
4. If you don't have a cell phone and need to make a call, ask the nearest Amish man. He is sure to have a phone.
4. It is still possible to live in and participate in a community despite the ever-growing independent nature of our society.
5. Amish teenagers love Metallica, bass and bright flashing techno lights so I should never be frightened of the purple-lighted object in the road while I am driving. It is not a UFO.
For those of you who do not know, Grabill, Indiana is home to a large Amish community. In fact, after I was married my husband and I lived on a road where our family was the only "English" family.
I learned a lot from those years living near the non-English folk.
Not only can I name an inordinate amount of Amish and Mennonite last names like Yoder, Graber, Miller, Stolzfus, Schwartz, Eicher, Schwartzentruber, Brenneman, Stauffer, Zehr, Schmucker, Beachy, Bontrager, Byler, Coblentz, Helmuth and more, but if you have one of the aforementioned last names, I have learned how to play the name game.
Among the Amish and Mennonite community it is important to have connections. When you meet someone, you can usually play the name game until you find an acquaintance that you both have in common. It is comparable to Six Degrees of Separation but it seems to end at one degree because of the Mennonite and Amish love for community.
Below are more lessons that I have learned from my years of living in Grabill.
1. Although I will always miss the time that I lived with my family, I learned the importance of growing up and embracing life as an adult.
2. Horse crap splatters when you drive over it with your tires.
3. Being a wife can be the most frustrating and rewarding endeavor.
4. If you don't have a cell phone and need to make a call, ask the nearest Amish man. He is sure to have a phone.
4. It is still possible to live in and participate in a community despite the ever-growing independent nature of our society.
5. Amish teenagers love Metallica, bass and bright flashing techno lights so I should never be frightened of the purple-lighted object in the road while I am driving. It is not a UFO.
Tuesday, February 9
Brussels Sprouts Rule
As I was growing up I didn't eat Brussels sprouts. My mother did not make them so I never gave the forbidden veggie a try.
On occasion I tune into cooking shows on T.V. One Saturday I watched a show that offered a recipe for Brussels sprouts. I bought the vegetable that day and to my surprise they have become a favorite of my side dishes (and on occasion main dishes) for dinner.
No joke, my brother is currently attending college and he called me one evening. "Hey, do you have that recipe for those green things you make? I want to make some for my roommates and I." I found out through some prodding that he was referring to sprouts, not all that green I rake in as a Financial Aid Administrator.
Cut fresh (not frozen) Brussels sprouts in half, sprinkle with salt and pepper and drizzle with olive oil. Place them in the oven for 15 - 20 minutes at 400 degrees.
That's it. Simple and good.
Did I mention I have a love for cabbage too? I am a sucker for stinky vegetables.
On occasion I tune into cooking shows on T.V. One Saturday I watched a show that offered a recipe for Brussels sprouts. I bought the vegetable that day and to my surprise they have become a favorite of my side dishes (and on occasion main dishes) for dinner.
No joke, my brother is currently attending college and he called me one evening. "Hey, do you have that recipe for those green things you make? I want to make some for my roommates and I." I found out through some prodding that he was referring to sprouts, not all that green I rake in as a Financial Aid Administrator.
Cut fresh (not frozen) Brussels sprouts in half, sprinkle with salt and pepper and drizzle with olive oil. Place them in the oven for 15 - 20 minutes at 400 degrees.
That's it. Simple and good.
Did I mention I have a love for cabbage too? I am a sucker for stinky vegetables.
Monday, February 8
On Being Alive
I am alive. Sometimes the thought hits me like a pile of rocks. As you read in my first post, we lost a baby in 2008. It was a difficult time, but what impacted me more than anything was the fact that I almost died and survived.
The doctors said it was a miracle that I am alive. I had an ectopic pregnancy and bled internally for two hours before I went into surgery. Because of the loss of six pints of my blood, the phlebotomist couldn't puncture my veins for blood tests the next week. They were too shriveled.
I am not naive enough to think that I will die when I am old. I am not proud enough to think that I deserve to live a long life. But I am wise enough to be thankful for my next breath.
I am alive. I don't know what else to say. Maybe, thank you God?
The doctors said it was a miracle that I am alive. I had an ectopic pregnancy and bled internally for two hours before I went into surgery. Because of the loss of six pints of my blood, the phlebotomist couldn't puncture my veins for blood tests the next week. They were too shriveled.
I am not naive enough to think that I will die when I am old. I am not proud enough to think that I deserve to live a long life. But I am wise enough to be thankful for my next breath.
I am alive. I don't know what else to say. Maybe, thank you God?
Friday, February 5
Holey Handbags!
I rarely shop. I don't see the value in doing it all the time but when I have spent a year holding my clothes together with safety pins and I realize there are holes in the bottom of my shoes when it rains, I pull up my bootstraps and brave the clothing stores.
I have become an expert at covering holes and tears. I currently own a shirt that sports sleeves that are no longer sleeves. The arms are simply fabric hanging from the shoulder. I love this shirt so I wear it under a cardigan and no one can tell that it belongs in the dumpster.
Since I received a little cash for my birthday, I analyzed my wardrobe and determined that I really need a new purse. If you know me you have seen the purse that I have carried around for awhile now. It is a beige, colorless thing which to the keen observer sports holes and stains and is falling apart.
I am not one of those girls who MUST buy a new purse to match the color of the season but I gave it a try this time. I perused every web site that boasts the most versatile and stylish purses. I told myself that this time I will buy a nice one. I will spend the money so that it will last.
I have never spent more than $15 on a purse.
Never.
My husband jokes with me that if I look at a line up of potential goods and choose my favorite item without seeing the price tag, it never fails that I pick the item that costs the most. The mixture of this fact as well as being tight with our money has meant that I don't really wear or own what I prefer. I make due with less-than-$15-dollar purses.
Below are the handbags that caught my fancy but after looking at the price tag, I realized that my husband was right about my expensive taste and I am treading on dangerous ground.
Cost: $1,499.99
Cost: $2,199.99
Cost: $1,699.99
Never mind. I shut off my computer and went to Target. I would like to introduce you world to my new purse. I spent more than $15!
Cost: $19.99
I have become an expert at covering holes and tears. I currently own a shirt that sports sleeves that are no longer sleeves. The arms are simply fabric hanging from the shoulder. I love this shirt so I wear it under a cardigan and no one can tell that it belongs in the dumpster.
Since I received a little cash for my birthday, I analyzed my wardrobe and determined that I really need a new purse. If you know me you have seen the purse that I have carried around for awhile now. It is a beige, colorless thing which to the keen observer sports holes and stains and is falling apart.
I am not one of those girls who MUST buy a new purse to match the color of the season but I gave it a try this time. I perused every web site that boasts the most versatile and stylish purses. I told myself that this time I will buy a nice one. I will spend the money so that it will last.
I have never spent more than $15 on a purse.
Never.
My husband jokes with me that if I look at a line up of potential goods and choose my favorite item without seeing the price tag, it never fails that I pick the item that costs the most. The mixture of this fact as well as being tight with our money has meant that I don't really wear or own what I prefer. I make due with less-than-$15-dollar purses.
Below are the handbags that caught my fancy but after looking at the price tag, I realized that my husband was right about my expensive taste and I am treading on dangerous ground.
Cost: $1,499.99
Cost: $2,199.99
Cost: $1,699.99
Never mind. I shut off my computer and went to Target. I would like to introduce you world to my new purse. I spent more than $15!
Cost: $19.99
Thursday, February 4
Dancing with the Vampires
I usually spend my weekends relaxing with my husband. But since he has been out of town, my days have been spent a little differently.
Last weekend I had a lot of alone time. I can handle this most of the time but there comes a point when I have done everything that I can think of to do and cabin fever sets in.
Last Saturday I watched two hours of tennis, paid bills, cleaned the house and ran errands to three different locations all before 11:30am. I was on a roll.
When I returned home from the errands I stood in the living room for awhile trying to concoct some amazing plan to fill the rest of my day. The song Horchata by Vampire Weekend was playing on my computer and I suddenly had the urge to run. So while the song was on repeat I danced and sang my way around the kitchen and living room. This lasted for about fifteen minutes.
I guess cabin fever can be fun. Right now I am looking at the herding marks in the carpet that I created from that moment of insanity. (Like the dirt path around my parent's house that was formed by the family dog Bailey.)
Who says that you can't dance in your living room by yourself when you're 26? I plan on doing it when I am 60.
Last weekend I had a lot of alone time. I can handle this most of the time but there comes a point when I have done everything that I can think of to do and cabin fever sets in.
Last Saturday I watched two hours of tennis, paid bills, cleaned the house and ran errands to three different locations all before 11:30am. I was on a roll.
When I returned home from the errands I stood in the living room for awhile trying to concoct some amazing plan to fill the rest of my day. The song Horchata by Vampire Weekend was playing on my computer and I suddenly had the urge to run. So while the song was on repeat I danced and sang my way around the kitchen and living room. This lasted for about fifteen minutes.
I guess cabin fever can be fun. Right now I am looking at the herding marks in the carpet that I created from that moment of insanity. (Like the dirt path around my parent's house that was formed by the family dog Bailey.)
Who says that you can't dance in your living room by yourself when you're 26? I plan on doing it when I am 60.
Wednesday, February 3
Don't Touch My Nose!
Below is a short list of my ticks and mannerisms that make me... well, me.
#1
At night time I generally complete one Sudoku puzzle while I am laying in bed. I like to lay on my right side so the only hand I have free is my left hand. Even though I am right handed, every time I complete a Sudoku puzzle, I write left handed. I have become an expert in writing numbers that way. Go me.
#2
I also have Rain-Man-like tendencies. I catch myself counting the syllables in sentences when someone is talking to me. I count as if the person is talking in 3/4 time signature or 4/4 time signature. I tap my fingers while the person is talking. Yes. I am that person. Def-Def-Definitely.
#3
Also, no one is allowed to touch my nose. No one period - not even my husband. I am not sure why my mental state prohibits this but I think it has something to do with the thought that I might have boogers hanging from these orifices.
#4
My husband tells me that I frequently exaggerate the amount or the cost of something. Instead of saying, "I had 50 emails in my Inbox today," I will say, "I had a million emails in my Inbox today." Or "That run on the treadmill lasted ten hours."
#5
When I make a point that I think is definitive, I push my plate away at the dinner table. I also repeat myself purposefully at least three times when I feel a thought is profound or important because I am not sure that the other person understands the magnitude of my epiphany.
The Magnitude Of My Epiphany.
THE MAGNITUDE OF MY EPIPHANY.
#6
And did I mention that no one should ever, ever, ever, touch my nose or I will punch you in the arm with my left hand a million times while counting the syllables in your cries for mercy?
#1
At night time I generally complete one Sudoku puzzle while I am laying in bed. I like to lay on my right side so the only hand I have free is my left hand. Even though I am right handed, every time I complete a Sudoku puzzle, I write left handed. I have become an expert in writing numbers that way. Go me.
#2
I also have Rain-Man-like tendencies. I catch myself counting the syllables in sentences when someone is talking to me. I count as if the person is talking in 3/4 time signature or 4/4 time signature. I tap my fingers while the person is talking. Yes. I am that person. Def-Def-Definitely.
#3
Also, no one is allowed to touch my nose. No one period - not even my husband. I am not sure why my mental state prohibits this but I think it has something to do with the thought that I might have boogers hanging from these orifices.
#4
My husband tells me that I frequently exaggerate the amount or the cost of something. Instead of saying, "I had 50 emails in my Inbox today," I will say, "I had a million emails in my Inbox today." Or "That run on the treadmill lasted ten hours."
#5
When I make a point that I think is definitive, I push my plate away at the dinner table. I also repeat myself purposefully at least three times when I feel a thought is profound or important because I am not sure that the other person understands the magnitude of my epiphany.
The Magnitude Of My Epiphany.
THE MAGNITUDE OF MY EPIPHANY.
#6
And did I mention that no one should ever, ever, ever, touch my nose or I will punch you in the arm with my left hand a million times while counting the syllables in your cries for mercy?
Tuesday, February 2
Bare Cracks and Birthdays
I turn 26 years old today. Honestly, I was over the idea of a birthday when I turned 13 years old. I used to sing the Toys R US song. Do you remember it?
I don't want to grow up, I'm a Toys R Us kid. There are a million toys at Toys R Us that I can play with...
Every year on my birthday and the day before it, my mother recounts what she was doing and how she was feeling. My father used to tell the story about how I didn't want to come out. I was too comfortable. He would demonstrate the doctor's stance. "He grabbed this tool that looked like salad tongs and pulled your head. I thought he was gonna rip your head off! Dr. Warrener was pulling you so hard that he was shaking!"
I will spare you the remaining details of my birth.
Moving on.
I have some good Birthday memories like receiving that Garth Brooks CD in elementary school. The thunder rolls and the lightning strikes. Another love grows cold on a sleepless niiiiggght. My family didn't understand my fascination with country music. Looking back, I don't get it either.
In celebration of this day, I think I am going to jam to Garth Brooks in my office. Sharon and Brandy- if you hear The American Honkey Tonk Bar Association, I am not a crazy hillbilly. I'm just in the mood to listen to a song about bare cracks, gun racks and six packs.
At least I won't demonstrate how the doctor delivered me with salad tongs. Oh wait, I already did that yesterday.
I don't want to grow up, I'm a Toys R Us kid. There are a million toys at Toys R Us that I can play with...
Every year on my birthday and the day before it, my mother recounts what she was doing and how she was feeling. My father used to tell the story about how I didn't want to come out. I was too comfortable. He would demonstrate the doctor's stance. "He grabbed this tool that looked like salad tongs and pulled your head. I thought he was gonna rip your head off! Dr. Warrener was pulling you so hard that he was shaking!"
I will spare you the remaining details of my birth.
Moving on.
I have some good Birthday memories like receiving that Garth Brooks CD in elementary school. The thunder rolls and the lightning strikes. Another love grows cold on a sleepless niiiiggght. My family didn't understand my fascination with country music. Looking back, I don't get it either.
In celebration of this day, I think I am going to jam to Garth Brooks in my office. Sharon and Brandy- if you hear The American Honkey Tonk Bar Association, I am not a crazy hillbilly. I'm just in the mood to listen to a song about bare cracks, gun racks and six packs.
At least I won't demonstrate how the doctor delivered me with salad tongs. Oh wait, I already did that yesterday.
Monday, February 1
Florida...I Guess
I realize that over the last two and a half years I have not spoken highly of the Sunshine State. On this Monday in February I am proclaiming that Florida has grown on me. Thankfulness is a choice.
I will miss Florida a little bit when I move back to the Hoosier state. (Just a teeny weeny bit)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
