Roses in December

It's icky and grey outside today, so I thought we could all use a rose:

I had other pictures, but I mistakenly deleted them from my camera without verifying they were loaded to the computer. Oops. This was the first bush to bloom of the ones I planted in April. The BEST bush, though, was the one with candy cane striped roses.

But now the bushes are all covered up with snow. I followed the rose care directions and covered the canes with dirt and then wrapped up the branches with burlap. I hope they don't freeze. I want more roses next year!

On another note, what IS it about West Virginia that makes everybody freak out when a snowstorm is announced? Total run on the grocery stores. Okay, yes, we got eight or nine inches this time, but usually we get all of an inch. Why the panic? And why don't people shovel their driveways? The roads that got cleared (thank you, nice neighbor up the hill!) are dry pavement now. People who didn't shovel their driveways couldn't get out because of slush and then frozen slush overnight. Some Iowans need to come give these folks some road-clearing lessons, I think.

Enough with the ranting. Merry Christmas!

Christmas trees are big story books

Monday night I put up my Christmas tree for Family Home Evening. Every time I put up the tree-- and all the other decorations-- I'm reminded that really my Christmas tree is like a three-dimensional scrapbook of my life. I can't put up ornaments without thinking of the stories behind them. Unlike really pretty designer Christmas trees that have a theme or color scheme, my tree has no theme. Or rather, the theme is "memories from Sheila's life." I suppose most Christmas trees are like that. Anyhow, here are a few of my favorite stories represented on my Christmas tree:

I have four of those styrofoam balls covered in silk. Those silk-covered balls are then covered in crocheted white lace and have silk poinsettias on top. They were made by Cleo Mickelson, a wonderful woman I visit taught in Priest River, Idaho many years ago. (I don't think she's alive now.) After she had a stroke, she got her hand mobility back by continuing to crochet. These ornaments are also preferred cat toys, so I hang them VERY HIGH on the tree.

One year a family in my ward in Priest River decided to do "the twelve days of Christmas" for me. Every night a gift was left on my porch (including decorating my patio door window with laminated Christmas designs-- those go up every year, too). One decoration was a set of "stained glass" ornaments where you melt the little colored crystals in the oven to look like glass. Those ornaments remind me how fun it is to serve others for Christmas.

A friend at BYU had a "hanukkah party." We made shrinky dink Christmas ornaments. I have a "ten commandments" and a little square dealie with some kind of pseudo-Hebrew lettering on it. Still not sure what it's supposed to be, but it makes me smile.

I do have some of the generic colored glass balls, some blue, some red. A college roommate and I split the ornaments between us when we went our separate ways after graduation. We each took half of each color. Kinda nice to remember what Christmas was like as a poor college student.

A little glass angel. I volunteered at the Provo temple during my Masters degree, working in the youth center on Saturday mornings when families came to be sealed. Basically, I played with kids, got them dressed in white, and got to watch them be sealed to their parents. Awesome. The ornament came from a temple workers Christmas luncheon.

Bubble lights-- I need more strings of these, by the way. A family I knew in Point Clair (Montreal) had bubble lights on their tree. I have them on my tree to remind me of that family because they had so many fun Christmas tree decorating traditions. I'm nowhere near the 14 strings of white lights they'd put up every year, though.

Speaking of the mission, I have a little violin tied to a branch. We taught a wonderful woman named Diane, and one Sunday in investigator class we watched the video "The Touch of the Master's Hand." She was visibly moved by that video. When I went home from my mission (just before Christmas), she gave me the violin ornament and told me to always think of the poem.

Several tatted snowflakes. Two are from Grandma Benson. I have absolutely no memories of Grandma Benson at Christmas since she was always in Utah and we were always in California, but I like the idea of having something of hers on my tree. I also have two little cloth ornaments she sewed and put sequins on: a reindeer and a Santa sleigh (complete with a little plastic Santa head, which actually is a little creepy now that I think about it).

One more tatted ornament: a wreath with a candle in the middle, woven through with a red ribbon. My favorite mission companion made it for me. Coming the day after we'd had a car wreck, it meant even more.

Now I kind of wish that I'd saved some childhood ornaments from when I went through my parents' Christmas decorations when it was time to sell the house. I should've kept the elf playing the banjo . . . and one of the canaries that ties to the branch by its feet. I'm not saying parents should keep the salt-paste clay ornaments you make in first grade and keep even thirty years later after they've cracked in half, but I think the memories are more important than the tree looking like it belongs in a decorator magazine. My Christmas tree reminds me of what's most important in my life. Looking at it makes me happy. I hope yours makes you happy, too.

What Not to Wear

Let's start this entry with a few Snuggie pictures that didn't make it into the official advertising materials. (Gee, I can't imagine why . . .)

First, two-headed Snuggie:



Next, Roman orator Snuggie:

And my personal favorite, "Ghost with No Hands" Snuggie:

Seriously, who wouldn't want one of these things? Look at the entertainment value! Now it's time for a fashion quiz. In which places would the above-shown Snuggie be appropriate attire?

a. my office

b. the seminary building, while teaching

c. the airport

d. on the Rail Trail, while jogging

e. my kitchen

f. at the bus stop

Would the world be a happier, more peaceful place if we all wore Snuggies? How about Snuggies along with footie pajamas? At least we'd be comfy and warm, right? Doesn't that count for something?

steel drum videos!

Friday was my last steel drum class. I left early last week, so I missed the announcement that friends and family could come watch. I'd been hoping we'd have a recital, but we only learned two songs, so it would have been a very short recital (as in under ten minutes). Instead, I borrowed a friend's flip video to document the fun.

First, here are all the different kinds of drums:

Then come the double pans, which are what I played. Sorry about the "Blair Witch Project" filming quality on these videos.

This was a fun class to take. I would do this again-- provided we could move a little faster through the music. One of the lead drummers had absolutely NO sense of rhythm, so that slowed us down, and another lead drummer had almost no memory for what we'd learned the week before. Amazingly, we pretty much pulled together at the end for our "performance." That always seems to happen. I wonder why.

Some of you may be thinking, "Hey, where's the footage of actual PLAYING?" I tried to upload the video three times. It never worked. I think there was too much for the system to handle. So, sorry. I really did play these drums, honest!

Time? Time? Where does it go?

Let's revisit one of my goals I set for the semester: not overpacking my days. Hmm. What's my typical daily schedule?

4:30 AM- Alarm clock rings.
4:35 AM- Alarm clock rings again (I hit the snooze).
4:40 AM: Alarm clock rings yet again. This time I get up.
5:40 AM: Head out the door to teach early morning seminary.
6:05 AM: One student (sometimes two) is present for the start of class.
6:55 AM: Seminary ends and everyone rushes out the door. Someone generally gets left behind, so I end up joining the high school car pool line.
7:30 AM: Finally get home and change into running clothes.
8:30 AM: Done with running. Time to get ready for work.
10 AM: Suddenly very hungry while sitting in office. Why? Oh yeah-- I've already been up for almost six hours.
12 PM: Wonder where the morning went. How could a meeting with no point to it eat so much time? Realize I have a conference presentation to write, a stack of papers to grade, and a mid-tenure portfolio to compile.
2:30 PM: Hungry again. Who has chocolate? Time to wander the building and see.
4 PM: The minute I intend to get out the door to go home and rake leaves before it gets dark, three students stop by with emergency situations. Happens every time.
4 PM on Wednesday: I'm teaching until 7. Hungry again by 5:30 PM.
6 PM: Hopefully eating dinner.
7 PM: Working on tomorrow's seminary lesson. Also catching up on e-mails and whatever phone calls need to be made.
9:30 PM: Whoa! Where'd my evening go? Time for a shower and getting ready for bed.
10:30 PM (hopefully): Bedtime!

This actually doesn't look all that busy, but it seriously feels like the minute I wake up four hours have suddenly vanished. Don't get me wrong: I love teaching seminary. I'm wondering, though, how I did it and grad. school at the same time. I thought this semester's pace would be slower. Boy, was I wrong!

I think ultimately what matters is that my priorities stay in the right place. I'm coming to terms (well, sort of) with the fact that I will never, ever get everything done that I want to do. What matters is that I pace myself and do first things first.

Good night!

Any costume ideas for these hats?

First, let me give some background. A week ago, I was in the creative arts building on campus for a friend's double-bass recital and saw signs for a pre-Halloween costume sale in the costume workshop. I was hoping for the makings of a Renaissance costume. Either lots of other people were as well and got there first, or there weren't any Shakespearean costumes up for purchase. Instead, I bought three hats for a quarter each.

Let me also apologize for the lousy facial expressions. I couldn't figure out the timer feature on my camera, so I was just trying to get pictures from arm's reach.

So here's the game: what costume would you suggest for each of the following hats?

First, the hat I have unofficially named the "itty bitty hat":




Next, a hat that looks much better than the photo suggests. It's lavender and the veil extends all the way down if you let it:

Finally, my favorite (although you'd never know by the facial expression)-- I have named it "pansy fantasy":

Okay, send the suggestions!! Maybe I'll use one next Halloween!

Sushi Night!!

I've been wanting to put together a Relief Society cooking group for months. A week ago we finally did it. Yay for sushi rolling in my dining room! Look how much fun people had:



One person knew what she was doing. The rest of us just played around with seaweed, sushi rice, veggies, and bamboo roll-up thingies. We mostly stuck to California rolls so that we didn't have to risk some kind of weird food poisoning due to poor seafood handling. A few brave souls put smoked salmon or fake crab meat in their rolls, but mostly we did avocado, cucumber, and Daikon radish. The wasabi peanuts Jen brought weren't a hit with everyone. Some of us got a little addicted, though . . .

Don't these look pretty?

Look, a rare appearnce of ME on my own blog! My sushi rolls kept coming out square for some reason, but they still tasted good. The beautiful thing about sushi night: sushi's not so scary to make after all, and it's fun to cook with lots of people.

Next month: homemade pasta. Come learn with us!

Inefficiency Ramblings

First, check out this video: www.wimp.com/inefficientdrinker/

Once you've done that, the rest of this entry will make sense.

[Insert elevator muzak here]

Okay, done? When I first watched this video, I thought, "Man, what a funny/stupid cat! I can't believe it did that!" Then I started thinking some more. Uh oh. You know what happens when I start thinking more? I start drawing connections to my life. Yup.

So here's what I started asking myself: When do I do things in my life like the cat in this video? In other words, when do I get so bull-headedly sure that MY way is the best/smartest/most efficient way that I can't see that maybe my way ISN'T best?

Thinking, thinking.

Okay, pretty much all the time. Maybe not ALL the time. A lot of the time, though. I see a goal ahead, something I want, and think, "Okay, here's how I get there. Easy." In the process of getting there, I don't always choose the best way to reach the goal, though.

Example: Friday night was our ward autumn party/hayride at a farm about four miles out of town. The party started at 5:30. I had steel drum lessons until 6:45. I called a friend who was at said party to make sure it was still happening. Oh yeah, come on over. I'd forgotten, though, about the fact that it had been raining all day and that the road to the farm was unpaved. And narrow. And it was getting dark. The road ended up being washed out in places, full of puddles, and harder to navigate than usual. That combined with it essentially being a one-lane road presented problems. I should have just turned around at the first turn-out and gone home. But no, I bulled ahead, sure that despite the sudden return of a downpour, the party would still be happening. I ended up just blocking the way for lots of people trying to get home. And being cranky that I drove out there and everyone was leaving by the time I arrived. Plus getting lost on the way home. I was so focused on "I'm going to the party" that I ignored all the details that suggested going to the party wasn't such a good idea.

Not that the above event was a huge tragedy or anything, but it reminded me that I so often insist on MY way and MY schedule that I'm like the cat in the video, getting drenched and laying back my ears in discomfort while I keep sticking my head right under the faucet. I need to learn to wait a bit. I need to open myself up to alternative routes that might work better.

We Are the Knights Who Say Ni!!

Things I learned at the Renaissance Fair:

Two-year-olds wouldn't have been very good at defending the castle.

Attending the Fair in costume is a lot more fun. I need to make my own costume for next year. The ones they sell there are WAAAYY too expensive. (See? This is why you should learn to sew. You never know when you'll need a Renaissance outfit.)

History gets sanitized for the sake of pageantry. When they announced Henry VIII's royal court, they didn't say which wife this was. How many had already been beheaded by this point, huh, huh?

In staged jousts, the better horseman always plays the role of the bad guy. Here he is: the Italian champion who insisted on a joust to the death (which we didn't get to see because we had to go home). I guess I also learned that I gravitate towards the bad guy. Hmm.

The Renaissance Fair was a lot of fun. I also learned that a lot of people really have no concept of what Renaissance clothing looks like. I went to the fair on "Talk Like A Pirate Day," and there were TONS of pirates in the crowd. (I guess Sir Francis Bacon was kind of a pirate . . .) Really, this was kind of like a Trekkie convention except with older-looking clothing styles. It was an excuse for people to dress in costume. Lots of fairy wings for sale, along with elf ears and horns (hmm . . . what would Shakespeare have done with that?). I wanted to start quoting insults from Monty Python as I watched the joust, but I refrained.

Next year: Sheila goes in costume. There might be a blog entry or two about the making of the costume this coming summer . . .

And now for something completely different

C'mon, who got the Monty Python reference? (Tracy . . .?)

Friday late afternoon I had my first steel drum class! Yay! I've wanted to learn to play steel drums for years. Okay, maybe not as long as the lady in class who said she first wanted to learn steel drums after watching an episode of Sesame Street in the 70's. But a long time. I walked in the orchestra room, saw the drums set up, and thought, "Yes! Time to live the dream!"

There are 8 students: me, a mom and her son and daughter (who look to be ten and twelve or so), a high school viola player, a woman who's maybe in her 50's, a woman who's in her 60's, and a boy who's 8 or so. The teacher (I've already forgotten his name-- whoops) explained the different kinds of drums and then assigned us to what we'd play for the evening.

Steel drums are set up kind of like an orchestra. The lead drums are the little ones that people think of most when they hear steel drums played, and they play the melody. They're like the violins. Doubles are, well, double the size of leads, and one person plays two drums (as opposed to one person playing only one drum). The viola player and I played doubles. Our job was to play chords to go with the melody the lead drums played. Next biggest are the triples, which are 3/4 the size of a full drum (oil drum, that is, which is what steel drums are). They're kind of like the cellos in an orchestra. The mom and her son played the triples (they each played two drums at once). The woman in her 60's got to play the bass drums-- all six of them. She got the biggest mallets and the coolest rhythms. I hope we get to trade off once in a while so we get to play all the drum types.

Problem: The bass drums are almost the same height as me. I may never get to play them. Boo!

The teacher said he's never going to give us actual written out music to play. He clearly knows music, but he said the point of this class is to have fun, not to focus on learning to read music (several class members don't have much musical background). He taught us to play a scale and a couple of arpeggios, and then he taught us a song based on a C-scale progression and some rhythms.

Good thing the drums have the notes labeled so you hit the right note at the right time.
Good thing we played slowly.
Good thing I can memorize patterns quickly.

See, the way you get notes on a steel drum is that there are little dings hammered out in different spots. There are two octaves (almost three) on each drum or set of drums. The notes aren't next to each other, though, like on a piano keyboard. They're kind of all over the place. Octaves are near each other, but I can't figure out the rest of the pattern. I'm just memorizing where to hit the drum to get the notes I want.

Other things I learned:
Don't hit the drum too hard or you get a "bark" rather than a ringing tone.
You have to figure out the best spot (the teacher called it "finding the sweet spot") to hit to get the note you want.
Keep your thumbs on top of the mallets and your wrists loose.
Keep your elbows in (kind of sounds like using a portkey).
If you miss a note, just come back in at the right spot and nobody will know you messed up (except the teacher).
Not everybody has a sense of rhythm.

I like how the teacher would sort of chant out the rhythm he wanted us to play. He had a cowbell that he would hit with a mallet to give us the general rhythm, but he would also say it to try to get us to feel it. Several people had a hard time pushing the beat (does no one sing or play jazz anymore?). Our teacher is very patient and he laughs a lot.

Friday afternoons are going to be FUN!!

Remembrance of things past

Yesterday when I was checking Facebook updates of friends, one friend had suggested that everyone post a little blurb of what they were doing on September 11, 2001 when the planes hit the World Trade Center. I posted a little blurb, but I thought my blog would be a better space to say more.

We were maybe three weeks into my first semester of grad. school at The University of Iowa. I had just finished teaching a 7:30 AM freshman rhetoric class. I was sitting in the grad. student lab in the basement of the English Philosophy Building, finishing up a peer response sheet for the next day's peer review session on the first paper of the semester.

In walked a fellow graduate student. She looked terrible, and I asked what was wrong.

"Do you have any idea what just happened?"

Everything just sort of stopped. No more clicking of computer keys or anything. All of us in the room had been in class for the past hour, so no, we had no idea what just happened. When the newly arrived graduate student told us, we rushed into the reading center down the hall, where there was a television, to find out more. About 15 people, clustered around a TV screen, watched the second tower fall.

Good thing I was done teaching for the day and could go home. Everything felt surreal. I remember taking a walk through my Coralville neighborhood and wondering if the world was turning crazy. I didn't really know many people yet, although I did call my sister-in-law, who traveled a lot, to make sure she was okay and not stranded in an airport. I thought about all the missionaries who were in airports all over the country, trying to get to their mission fields (or come home).

That night I went to the Institute building for a choir practice. I was almost out of gas, so I stopped by the station near my house to fill up. What was with the big line of cars?

I woke up the morning of September 12th at 5:30 AM and thought, "Man, I hate getting up this early!" Then I remembered how many people would never be getting up for work or school again. Note to self: don't complain about daily schedule ever again. In my evening graduate class, we didn't talk about whatever was scheduled on the syllabus. One of my fellow grad. students had a cousin who was missing somewhere in Manhattan. We sat around a conference table and talked through possible explanations and tried to give her hope. (The cousin was eventually found in a hospital, knocked into a coma after being trampled on. I'm not sure if she ever came out of the coma.)

Friday afternoon, September 14th, I drove to Ames to visit a friend. We were still in shock. She turned on Duran Duran's greatest hits and we had a dance party with her kids in the living room. We needed to know we could still laugh.

I had to speak in Sacrament Meeting the Sunday after September 11th. I'd hoped I'd get out of it. I was sure the bishop would want to speak instead of me. When the second counselor in the bishopric called, I thought, "Yes! Here's my out!" Instead, he said, "We still want you to speak Sunday. Please make sure it's especially inspirational for the congregation." Gulp. So much for "Hi, I'm new in the ward and here's where I'm from and why I'm here." Somehow that didn't fit this setting. I don't remember what I talked about, but I remember it was hard to do.

Today, eight years and one day later, I spent the day at the Washington DC temple. I can't think of a safer place on earth. Lots has happened in the world in eight years, and our world still isn't a safe place. But WE can be safe individually and in our families. We can make sure our homes are holy places, places where the Spirit resides and keeps us safe. We can serve in the temple. We can live so that we always have the Spirit guiding us so that we're where we need to be at any given time. The Gospel of Jesus Christ is our only true peace.

Lobster Killer . . . Qu'est-ce que c'est . . .

Date of Incident: Saturday, September 5, 2009

Time of Incident: 6 PM

Location of Incident: A West Virginia kitchen

Victim: See photo below

Investigator's note: Victim was still living when the above photo was taken. He (or she-- gender was hard to verify) was waking up from being stored in the cooler for several hours. Confined to the box and getting warm, the victim was getting restless. Something smelled fishy (sorry, couldn't resist).

Victim just before his (her?) untimely demise. Valiant escape efforts were made but were ultimately useless. Note that this was only the first of five lobsters who were part of the bloodbath. Perhaps there is a serial lobster killer on the loose.

Three of the victims after they were fished out of a pot of boiling water. Oh, the carnage. Gotta have a tough stomach in this business.

Lobster bodies were no longer locatable once they left the kitchen, although there was a distinctive aroma throughout the house for several hours. Empty shells were found in the garbage can, along with a few, well, green internal tissue, but the damage had already been done. Here we see what was in the back yard of said house. Could the lobsters have met their final fate here? I'm thinking yes.

Three local felines were questioned about the lobsters' fate. Here's what they shared:

Sable: I don't know. I was hiding in the basement. There were CHILDREN in my house!

Jesse: Mom promised me I'd get to eat a lobster liver if I kept my mouth shut. She didn't keep her end of the deal, so I'm squealing now. I watched it all, cleverly pretending to be dozing in the sunshine. Absolute carnage, I tell you! Lobster shells flying, water being poured out of empty claws, what a mess! Rumor has it there was a trifle served for dessert, but I didn't see that happen. Excuse me. I need to groom myself now.

Salamanca: I went into spy mode and pretended to be a lawn ornament the whole evening. Five lobsters were killed and disposed of in the back yard, along with copious amounts of lemon risotto, spinach and strawberry salad with goat cheese (which nobody let me sample, I might add), two kinds of artisan bread, corn on the cob, grilled chicken, tomato salad, and grilled zucchini and potatoes. No wonder humans weigh so much. Disgusting. And why were there children in my house and yard? Good thing they were allergic to me.

This case is still pending. I'm sure the lobster killer will strike again. Maybe this time I'll catch my criminal.

Hi diddley dee, a feline life for me

Hi to Mom's blog readers. While she's busy in the kitchen making soup and not allowing me and my sister to eat either the bacon OR the ham hock, I'm co-opting her blog. It's been a little disruptive around here the past five weeks, and I know you haven't gotten the full story. Mom reads this postmodern theory stuff that talks about needing multiple perspectives. Here's mine. First, though, here's me with my favorite birthday toy:

Note the irritation in my expression. It's not that I don't love my toy. I REALLY LOVE my toy. I don't know why; it just calls to me. I carry it around the house, meowing gleefully the whole time. I cannot peacefully sleep without it near me. It reminds me of the primeval need to swallow fur. I bring it to Mom to show her my carefully evolved hunting skills. If she would just let me outside, I could bring her something with REAL fur. Maybe even feathers. Sometimes she throws it and I humor her and pretend to chase it. I bring it with me to the bathmat while Mom showers she knows she is safe in the presence of a sabre toothed tiger descendant.

But I digress. Why am I irritated in this picture, besides the fact that Mom flashed a camera in my eyes at bedtime? Look at the photo again. See all the extra pillows? I hate them. They have been keeping me away from Mom's lap for five long, long weeks. Sure, she'll let me sleep on a pillow if it's on her lap, but that's not as comforting as actually BEING on Mom's lap. Why oh why won't she let me comfort her by curling up in her lap and purring? I know she's been healing from something, and I wanted to help, but that pillow was in the way. All I could do was sleep on her legs.

And you know what else? Strangers kept coming into the house! Some of them brought their kittens. Most of those people kittens were well behaved, but one tried to pick me up when I was sleeping on Mom (protecting her, really). He didn't understand my warning hiss, so I swiped at him. Mom wasn't happy that I swiped, but I was protecting her.

I also didn't understand why Mom couldn't feed my sister and I for a couple of weeks. She seemed like she couldn't bend over. Why was that? I would meow and meow and she would just look at me and say, "Sorry, you have to wait." I hated that! Good thing a couple of nice strangers came over to feed us and clean our litter boxes. Sometimes the strangers had a kitten tagging along, but we were hungry enough that we didn't care.



Things are different now. Mom can feed us. And guess what else? No pillow on Mom's lap! Mom even called to me that I could sit on her, but I haven't done it yet. What if it's a trick? What if she's not REALLY better from whatever kept her from letting me on her lap? I will be cautious. But Mom seems like she's back to her old self.

Hmm. Early morning seminary starts Monday. That means fresh muffins. I wonder if she'll leave them unsupervised so I can lick them?

Uh oh, here she comes. I'll just curl up in the rocking chair and pretend I don't know how to type.

New Year Resolutions

New school year resolutions, that is. The start of a new school year always feels more like starting over than January does. I love the coming change of seasons and the excitement of meeting a new group of students. With early morning seminary teaching starting again this year, combined with several weeks of post-surgery house confinement, I've had a LOT of time to reflect and plan.

Here's what I've come to realize: I have spent the majority of my adult life pushing myself far too hard. For the most part I've been able to get away with it and even convince myself that I had a balanced life. That does not mean that my resolution is to be a slacker. It does mean, though, that I need to find some ways to maintain real balance rather than the illusion thereof (ooh, that sounds kinda Biblical . . .).

I also realized tonight, while reading Doctrine and Covenants 127 and 128 for Sunday School tomorrow, that we can honestly be joyful no matter what's happening to us. I was struck by how full of optimism Joseph Smith is while he's writing these sections. The verses ring with joy and enthusiasm. And where was Joseph Smith while he was writing said sections? Hiding out somewhere outside of Nauvoo so that people wouldn't kill him. Yeah; he was hiding from killers and wrote these amazing verses as letters to sustain his fellow Saints. I got nothin' to complain about.

So here are some goals for the new school year:

1. Spend more time working from home rather than holing up in my office. For those readers who are not academics, this is going to sound weird, almost like I'm slacking from work. Quite the contrary. What I've learned from having to stay home these past few weeks is that *gasp* I actually can be MORE productive here because I don't have all the interruptions that happen on campus. If I really expect to get some research published, I have to write at home. So the goal is to have at least one day at home, preferably two.

2. No more forgetting to eat. Maybe forgetting isn't the right word; procrastinating is more accurate. I get busy doing something and think, "Hey, I'm kinda hungry. Nah, it can wait." Then I get busy again and forget until hours later, when I'm REALLY hungry. Several consequences: low blood sugar, which leads to crankiness-- and as I've learned this week, serious vertigo-- bad eating choices (hey, when I'm hungry and need food NOW, anything looks good), more expenses for groceries (because I buy junky stuff that I can consume quickly because I'm hungry NOW). I'm going to consciously plan my eating this semester. I've stocked my office with some foods that can be emergency snacks, and I'm planning meals more purposefully.

3. Along with not forgetting to eat, I need to eat BETTER food. Specifically, more fruits and vegetables. Experimenting with more whole grains, too. So far, oatmeal is my favorite breakfast option: I made it almost all the way through the morning without being hungry the other day.

4. Get those stomach muscles stronger! I start Pilates on September 8th. I've always wanted to have strong core muscles, but I figured it wasn't a big priority. You know, I was well, um . . . busy doing other stuff. My doctor says I have to keep my core muscles strong (for me, that means GET them strong) or my bladder could drop. Okay, that's enough motivation for me, thanks!

5. Don't overload my days. A new mantra: One or two and the rest can wait. Since I haven't been able to do a whole lot the past few weeks without being really tired, I'm learning to slow down. Slowing down reminds me how overcrowded I've made my life. I have way more energy now than I've had for months if not years, but I need to use that energy productively and wisely, not manically (is that a word?).

Whew! That's good for now. Really, ultimately, these five goals are about staying focused on what most matters: serving God. I can't do that if I'm physically wiped out. I can't be open to spiritual promptings if all I can think about is where I can get my hands on some chocolate. Or if I'm too exhausted to move, or too frantic about meetings and "to dos" that my mind can't calm down. I need to get back to the "one needful thing" and let anything not needful sit and wait.

link correction

I just checked out the link. It doesn't go directly to Norah the cat like I thought it would. It takes you to the msnbc home page. You have to click on "videos" and search out the top videos for the day (8/19/09) and you'll find it. Norah performed for the Today show. Wow. Makes you wish you had a cat, doesn't it? Or at least a musical one.

Who says cats don't got no talent?

Okay, MY cats have no talent, but THIS cat does:

http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/32475749/ns/today-today_pets_and_animals/

Not that this cat is composing, but she's playing the piano. My cats just follow my hands in hopes of getting their ears scratched. They won't actually step on the keys; just the bench.

But if they could play, then they might let it go to their heads and get all prideful and stuff. We wouldn't want that.

In other news, I signed up to take steel drum lessons! They start September 11th. Every Friday until December 17th. Yay!

How's THIS, Julia Child?

The other night I went to see the movie Julie & Julia with a few friends. We turned it into an "event" by asking people to bring hors d'oeuvres first. Hey, can't be hungry before you see a foodie movie like this, right? It felt good to cook again after three weeks. Okay, so I didn't really cook per se, if you define cooking as "turning on a heat source and putting food onto it." My friend Sharleen made the little individual peach pies at the left. I made the tomatoes caprese at the right. Maybe "made" isn't the right term either. I grew the tomatoes and the basil, so that counts. And I drove to the store to buy the mozzarella cheese to slice up.

You know what else felt good? Making food pretty AND tasty. Very, very satisfying. (Note to Jenn: you can probably eat this recipe-- well, maybe not the cheese.) When I watched the movie and the Julie character said something about how satisfying it was to make good food, I was right there with her. Cooking is just plain satisfying.

I'm not about to cook my way through Julia Child's cookbook, but I want to buy it. Not going to steam any lobsters or make aspic or truss a duck. I love the idea of people loving beautifully prepared, healthy food, though. I wish there were a culinary school for people who don't want to be chefs but like to cook and want to do it better. Actually, that's what got Julia Child started: she wanted to cook better because she loved food.

Here's what else I thought while watching the movie: blogs can get out of control. There was a scene where Julie was about to publish to the blogosphere that she and her husband had just had a huge fight and he'd left. The camera focuses in on the computer screen from behind Julie's shoulder. She hesitates, then deletes the sentences. I almost cheered out loud. I love blogs and the idea of lots of readers to interact with. I worry sometimes, though, that blogs become public dumping grounds for personal information. Trust can be broken. People can be painted differently than they really are. Okay, the postmodernist in me understands that we always paint people differently-- including ourselves-- than they are. We can't help it. But while a blog pretends to be a personal journal, it's not. It's very public, even if only one or two other people read it. Blogs don't substitute for real life relationships.

Don't get me wrong-- I still like blogging. Watching this movie, though, reminded me that it's important to be careful what you blog about.

Now what can I cook?

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Recovery is teaching me patience. LOTS of patience. Every so often in my life I get yet another patience lesson. I have a hunch I'll keep getting them all my life. It's good for me to keep (re)learning patience. Heavenly Father knows what He's doing. Here are some things I'm learning:

I need to enjoy whatever time is right in front of me, even when I'm feeling bored and/or antsy to do something.

I SOOOOO overbook my time usually! If I stay focused on just one or two "to do" items in a day, life is a lot less frenzied.

Walk slowly. I overdid Monday and paid for it most of the rest of the week. Surgery recovery is teaching me that I've spent way too much of my life overdoing and then ignoring the consequences of overdoing. Gotta stop doing that.

There's a fine line between pushing myself to get stronger and overpushing. I've struggled with this line my whole life, so I guess it's about time to learn this lesson, huh?

Celebrate small victories: watering plants on my own (with a not all the way filled watering can), emptying the dishwasher, walking to the mailbox, folding laundry

Notice blessings along the way. I've had time to write thank you notes, time to prepare for seminary, time to just plain SIT.

Why does it take something as drastic as surgery to help me see this? There must be less drastic ways, right?

Post-Surgery Pros and Cons

I'm back!! And thanks to strategic positioning of pillows to keep cats from kneading on incisions, I can sit at the computer in relative comfort. I'd intended to write an entry about clear liquids cuisine before the surgery, but instead I got called to come into the hospital earlier than planned and then waited on a guerney for the extra hour I was asked to come in. I think most who know me already know surgery details, so I won't put them on my blog. I will, though, share a list of things I like/dislike about this whole process:

Dislikes:

clear liquids the day before surgery-- the noodles saved from the Thai soup for later just weren't as satisfying eaten separately
colon cleansing-- if anyone recommends this, run away. Seriously. Who would do such a thing outside of a medical procedure?
catheters (hey, I have a consonant theme going here)-- I always thought you didn't feel any bladder pressure if you had a catheter. Not sure where that idea came from, but it was wrong. Post-surgery day with the catheter was not fun.
pain med nausea
sleeping on my back-- I WILL be able to sleep on my side again, I WILL!
the sound of a cat hacking up a hairball upstairs where I can't clean it up

Likes (this list will be longer):

a Pioneer Day song serenade during pre-operative prep. (thanks, Nancy!)
a much flatter abdominal area-- not that this is the best way to lose ten pounds, but I lost them
great conversations with friends who come to help during recovery
comfy jammies
care packages
meals brought in-- seriously, who would have guessed how many would come? I'm set for at least two weeks and it's only been one week
feeling stronger every day
napping whenever I feel like it (even though it's on my back)
love flooding my home

I have to admit I felt a little cheated when I realized that no family or close friends would be able to stay with me while I recovered. What I hadn't anticipated was all the wonderful friends here in Morgantown who would step in. I'm experiencing loss, but I'm also being so, so blessed at the same time. So if this experience were the only way to feel this love, would I do it again? You know, I think I would.

Have you ever . . .?

Here's the deal: Anything bold is something I've done. Copy the list and adapt it to what YOU'VE done!

Started your own blog
Slept under the stars
Played in a band
Visited Hawaii
Watched a meteor shower
Given more than you can afford to charity
Been to Disneyland
Climbed a mountain
Held a praying mantis
Sang a solo
Bungee jumped
Visited Paris
Watched a lightning storm at sea
Taught yourself an art from scratch
Adopted a child
Had food poisoning
Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
Grown your own vegetables
Seen the Mona Lisa in France
Slept on an overnight train
Had a pillow fight
Hitch hiked
Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
Built a snow fort
Held a lamb
Gone skinny dipping
Run a Marathon
Ridden in a gondola in Venice
Seen a total eclipse
Watched a sunrise or sunset
Hit a home run
Been on a cruise
Seen Niagara Falls in person
Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
Seen an Amish community
Taught yourself a new language
Had enough money to be truly satisfied
Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
Gone rock climbing
Seen Michelangelo’s David
Sung karaoke
Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
Visited Africa
Walked on a beach by moonlight
Been transported in an ambulance
Had your portrait painted
Gone deep sea fishing
Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
Kissed in the rain
Played in the mud
Gone to a drive-in theater
Been in a movie
Visited the Great Wall of China
Started a business
Taken a martial arts class
Visited Russia
Served at a soup kitchen
Sold Girl Scout Cookies
Gone whale watching
Got flowers for no reason
Donated blood, platelets or plasma
Gone sky diving
Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
Bounced a check
Flown in a helicopter
Saved a favorite childhood toy
Visited the Lincoln Memorial
Eaten Caviar
Pieced a quilt
Stood in Times Square
Toured the Everglades
Been fired from a job
Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
Broken a bone
Been a passenger on a motorcycle
Seen the Grand Canyon in person
Published a book
Visited the Redwoods
Bought a brand new car
Walked in Jerusalem
Had your picture in the newspaper
Kissed a stranger at midnight on New Year’s Eve
Visited the White House
Killed and prepared an animal for eating
Had chickenpox
Saved someone’s life
Sat on a jury
Met someone famous
Joined a book club
Got a tattoo
Had a baby
Seen the Alamo in person
Swam in the Great Salt Lake
Been involved in a law suit
Owned a cell phone
Been stung by a bee

Making Pesto

The other morning when I was watering my tomatoes on the deck I realized that my basil plants were growing out of control. So Sunday after church I picked all the leaves that were big enough (and we're talking elephantine leaves, here) and made pesto.

Why didn't I just leave the basil on the plant? Readers should know me well enough to know I'm going symbolic here.

When I was in graduate school, my faculty advisor said that when bigger issues in my life are bothering me, I focus on details. That's pretty much what's going on now. Ten days until surgery and I'm making pesto- why?

Simple: making pesto is something I can control. It's predictable. It's also, in a weird way, a sort of nesting behavior. I've been spending pretty much every day since my surgery was scheduled trying to figure out what I can do in advance to get ready. More importantly, I'm trying to figure out what has to get done because I won't be able to do it while I'm recovering. It also occurred to me that when people ask, "Hey, how can I help?" I can maybe have a list ready to pull out. So here's my list of things I won't be able to do and will need help with:

Yard-- lots of subtopics here. I got the hedges trimmed and the front flowerbed weeded, and the rocks ejected from the rototilling of the garden are now moved off the lawn so somebody can mow (I don't think I'll need to mow before surgery). But MORE rototilling needs doing. I won't be able to lift the watering can (over 5 pounds), so somebody will have to keep tomatoes and all the potted plants on the deck alive.

Stair-related-- no stairs for at least two weeks. Washer and dryer are in the basement. Who wants to do laundry? Upstairs: kitty litter box #2 needs cleaning. Probably kitties will hack hair balls all over the upstairs floor because I won't be able to get up there to clean up.

Garbage can hauling
Getting the mail-- only a couple of steps, so maybe after a few days I'll be able to do this one
Groceries
Meal prep-- not that I'll feel like eating much the first few days, but I still gotta eat.

Stuff involving lifting more than 5 pounds-- okay, so my book bag weighs more than I'll be able to lift. And, come to think of it, my laptop. And the cats (even though they're skinny). And pretty much any pots and pans.

I'd like the house to be clean before I'm stuck in it for several weeks. And I need to get my seminary room set up. And buy cute pajamas. And haul home every book I might possibly need to prepare my fall course syllabus.

I'm sure there are more things, including somebody making sure I'm okay the first few days when I'm still really whacked out on pain meds. I hate not being able to plan and predict. Gotta let that go. Maybe stock up on fun movies . . .? What am I missing?

Eat local!!

How do you spell gluttony? It's actually two words: Apple Annie's. Some friends visited from out of town this weekend, and after a tour of Fallingwater Friday afternoon, we were all VERY hungry. Apple Annie's was on the way home anyhow, so we stopped to eat.

These pictures explain why we had to wait a long time for a table. These are individual pieces of homemade desserts. Over half the chocolate cake with sea foam (on the right, upside down-- it had some trouble getting home safely) is still in my fridge after my guests have left. This is after said possessor of dessert ate from it TWICE. That's right: it took her TWO DAYS to eat HALF the SINGLE piece of chocolate cake. I got a blackberry cobbler piece (also still in fridge, partially eaten) and I can't remember what the fourth dessert option was.

What I do know is they were BIG. And home-made. Apple Annie's is one of those places that gets featured on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives-- or should, anyhow. Family-owned, local (it's in Point Marion, PA, 6 miles from my house), just plain good food at a very reasonable price.

Maybe after I digest some dinner I'll have room for a little of the dessert that's still in my fridge.

Birthday action adventures

The night before my birthday, my sister-in-law e-mailed me that I needed to open one of the birthday packages she'd sent when I was home alone. She said I'd understand why when I opened it. She also said she'd been saving it for a while and felt like now was the time to give it to me. When she said that, I knew what it was. So after I came home from my birthday party the other night, I opened the box. Sure enough, there it was:

Fort Apache. Yeah, baby! It was really my older brother's toy, but we usually played with it together. Who wouldn't like a toy like this? The plastic picket gates swung closed to shut out the invading Indians (see the unfortunate settlers who got left outside in the picture above). Now check out a wider view:

I mean, come on. This toy has it all: gun turrets and towers to put action figures in, plastic horses, even a plastic tee pee. Imagination opportunities all over the place. My brother and I played with this for hours. Here's a taste of the Indian contingent:

The Indian chief on his horse was my favorite. Of course, he was the only Indian who could actually ride a horse. Several horses are in the set, but all the Indian figures have plastic bases to stand on, which makes it impossible for them to ride the horses. The settler figures have the same problem. Here's the one lone settler rider (and even he doesn't balance very well):

My camera didn't focus on him very well for some reason. Does that give the illusion of speed? Since we couldn't use most of the figures for riders, apparently at some point during the years we created a solution:

I was wondering why there were astronaut figures in the play set. This one's got a little camera and he's documenting the, um, well, the carnage from the fort attack. Yeah, that's it!

Play potential aside (and even as an adult, this play set is FUN), this gift meant a lot to me. My sister-in-law signed the note accompanying the gift with my brother's name. He's been dead almost 15 years, but she felt like he needed to be part of this birthday.

If anyone wants to do some role play with cool little action figures and a fort, let me know.

Putting Pieces in Place

Ta-dah! This is the jigsaw puzzle my mom and I started on Christmas. It was a little more complicated--okay, a LOT more complicated-- than we'd expected it to be. Even putting the frame together was complicated (we had to re-do it several times). It was really tricky to figure out how pieces fit together. I love the end result, though.

But this blog entry really isn't about jigsaw puzzles (although you have to admit that it looks cool, right?). Let's say the jigsaw puzzle is my metaphor of the week. Why? Thought you'd never ask.

So for a while now-- probably since about Christmas, or maybe mid-January-- I've been feeling kinda tired. I figured it was just being overworked. Then, gradually, running's been getting harder to do. At first I'd just plain stop wanting to run after half a mile or so, but I'd gut my way through until I'd at least finished two miles. My motto has always been, "Anyone can find the energy to run two miles." Then, maybe a month and a half ago, my heart would really pound after a quarter of a mile. What in the world was going on?

I also noticed-- spoiler alert: reference to female issues coming-- that I was bleeding longer and heavier during my periods. I started to wonder if there was a connection, and I started to worry. Granted, I didn't worry enough to contact a doctor, but I worried. Then I figured I was being a hypochondriac.

Meanwhile, I kept getting promptings to contact a doctor SOON. I finally made an appointment, and the appointment was Tuesday morning. I had the exam, the nurse practitioner requested blood work (done by a technician who was on her FIRST DAY at the job-- a bit anxiety-causing, but she did a good job), and I went on my way. The nurse practitioner seemed very worried, but I felt fine.

Or so I thought. I came home in the late afternoon to a message to page the nurse practitioner. When I reached her, she said, "Your hemoglobin count is unusually low. Go to the ER right now and get a transfusion." Um, not what I was expecting. Turns out I needed four units of blood. For any medical readers out there, my hemoglobin count was 4.4. Normal is 12.

Here's where I have to pay tribute to a FABULOUS visiting teacher who had just gotten off her nursing shift at the hospital and had just decided NOT to attend her daughter's softball game when I called and told her what was going on. She dropped everything and spent several hours at the hospital with me, staying until I was settled in a room for the night (and returning to her own shift six hours later). She drove me to the hospital. She translated doctor talk into real people talk for me. She kept me calm during the pelvic ultrasound. She knew how to tie the hospital gown so I didn't flash anyone. She made me laugh. She talked me through possible options if it turned out to be what I thought it was (which it was). She told me that my tongue and lips really were white, and it wasn't until I got a unit of blood and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror that I believed her. Without her, I would have had to lie on an emergency room bed all by myself for hours, getting myself more and more scared. Instead, we laughed hard enough that I think we disturbed the patient in the next bed over (oops). By the time I was wheeled up to my room, my Relief Society president and one home teacher and his wife had joined the crowd, so I had a little parade up to the sixth floor.

So it turns out I have a uterine fibroid. I don't know how big it is, but it's been growing gradually. That explains the anemia, the fatigue, the low hemoglobin count. It's been so gradual that I haven't noticed I was losing color, or that my ankles were starting to swell (well, I noticed that occasionally, but I attributed to air travel because that's when I usually saw it). Pieces falling into place. The Spirit had been telling me something was wrong, and I had a hunch what it was, but I didn't know for sure. Now I know, and now I move on to treatment options (might be next week's blog).

Here's another piece that fell into place for me this week: while I was waiting for another unit of blood to get into my body, I read General Conference talks in my hospital bed. I don't remember what talk I read, but it mentioned the promise at the end of D&C 89 about the destroying angel passing you by if you kept the Word of Wisdom. I immediately felt the impression that I had lived that promise Tuesday night. The doctors who saw me were shocked that I was still alert and standing at my hemoglobin level. Apparently I could have had a stroke. (Who knew? Obviously not me.) I really feel that exercising and living the Word of Wisdom kept me healthy enough that my system could still keep functioning at a much lower level of blood supply. I feel loved and protected and incredibly grateful to be home and feeling good again. I don't know what's next, but I know it'll be okay. I'm living little bitty pieces of a much bigger, much more beautiful picture and it'll all work out.

A Writer's Holiday

Did I tour a colonial home this week? Nope. Time for a story that will explain the pictures above.

When I was a little girl, my mom would load all three kids on the Greyhound bus every summer and we would toodle on down Highway 1 (I knew the names of every single stop along the way) to visit Grandma for two weeks. Grandma lived in Ojai, and her house was the BEST!! Croquet, raspberry bushes, orange, lemon, and grapefruit trees, a great big hammock, a tire swing. Who could possibly not have fun at Grandma's house? Grandma also had a rolltop desk in her den. When I wasn't making lemonade (a daily event) or playing Army guys with my brother on the den floor or going on an outing to the beach or walking around the corner to the grocery store on an "important errand for Grandma," I liked to sit at Grandma's rolltop desk and write.

Let me point out here that I didn't really know HOW to write at this time of my life. I may have mastered printing my name and telephone number, but I know I didn't know how to write cursive. Maybe I could read; okay, probably I could read. But that desk called to me. It had fun cubbyholes and pretty paper and stamps and all sorts of things to use. When I sat at that desk in the rolly chair, I felt important. Whatever I was doing while seated at that desk was important and grown-up. I would sit for a long time (maybe hours, maybe not) and "write" on pieces of Grandma's stationery. Line after line after line of squiggly scribbles. I was writing.

For years now I've been looking for a rolltop desk like Grandma's. I've wanted it so I could have my own little "writing station." Yes, I have an office on campus. Yes, I have a sewing table converted into a computer desk. But that's not the same thing as what I had at Grandma's house. I've wanted a space of my own, a place where I can store pretty paper, pens, and cards. A place to sit and write what I want to write for myself, not for work.

Just after Memorial Day I poked around a fairly new consignment shop, just to see what was there. They had a rolltop desk and a drop-leaf desk, both with fun cubby holes to store writing materials in. I looked and thought and tried to talk myself out of the purchase. I told myself delivery would be a hassle; the store delivers for a $25 charge. I told myself I didn't have room in my house; I ended up measuring and going home to check.

Bottom line, as you can see from the pictures: I have a desk and rolly chair, a writing station of my own. (The rolltop didn't fit the space as well, so I went with the drop-leaf, which you have to admit is prettier with the little spindle legs, right?) Every time I look at it I feel happy. Grandma's desk went to some relative five years ago after her funeral, and the house in Ojai has probably been sold and resold. But I have a writing space that reminds me of her.

Go zombies, go!! Or, What if Jane Austen authored a B movie?

I was going to post a picture of the book cover for Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, but the technology isn't cooperating right now. Instead, here's the opening sentence:

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains."

How could you not want to keep reading?

Seriously, this was a really entertaining spoof that still managed to stay true to the original novel. Okay, so there's the zombie invasion subplot and Elizabeth Bennet as an expert zombie killer (so's Darcy; how could they not be made for each other?). I love the playfulness. To give you more of a feel, here are selected "book group discussion questions" from the back of the book:

Some critics have suggested that the zombies represent the authors' views toward marriage-- an endless curse that sucks the life out of you and just won't die. Do you agree, or do you have another opinion about the symbolism of the unmentionables?

Does Mrs. Bennet have a single redeeming quality?

Some scholars believe that the zombies were a last-minute addition to the novel, requested by the publisher in a shameless attempt to boost sales. Others argue that the hordes of living dead are integral to Jane Austen's plot and social commentary. What do you think? Can you imagine what this novel might be like without the violent zombie mayhem?

Hmm . . . can you imagine the novel without zombies? Maybe I think this is funny because I'm an English teacher geek, but give this book a try!

Things Found in the Dirt

My sister-in-law and I have been sending each other "things we found in the dirt" for over fifteen years now. This one's a little too big to send in the mail, so here's a picture:

Okay, okay, here's the story behind what you're seeing. I set out this morning with a couple of friends to dig the footings for the bottom level of the terracing project in my yard (you can see the hillside in last week's "arm workout" entry). Each of them were happily sinking their shovels into the clay and filling the wheelbarrow with dirt to be hauled off. I, in contrast, was getting nowhere. That's because I was hitting concrete. THIS concrete. As in concrete porch stairs. Complete. Thrown down the hill and buried lo these many years ago. My theory is that they're the original porch steps from before the breakfast room and deck were built onto my house. It floors me that someone would just toss a large piece of construction waste down the hill and bury it. Here's the scene as I imagine it:

Burris and Cletis have just detached the porch from the kitchen doorway. The porch is quite heavy. Burris pauses, wipes the sweat off his brow, and says, "Hey, that there porch needs hauled to the dump."

Cletis: "Yep. Kinda heavy, though."

Burris: "It's a long way to the truck, and we have to haul it all the way around the whole house. Reckon we can carry it that far?"

Cletis: "Mebbe."

It starts raining.

Cletis: "Look how it's pourin' down the rain! Now what do we do?"

Burris: "Let's just give the porch a big shove and see where it slides to. We still got lots of diggin' to do. We'll just cover it up later."

Let me also note that this was the point in the project where we wondered what else we might find as we dug: a vent into a coal mine, perhaps? A decaying sofa? The skeleton of a beloved pet? (My home teacher called dibs if we found a sofa.) Dinosaur bones?

Anyhow, we finally got the stairs shifted and broken enough to continue the trench and build the wall. (Sledgehammers are awesome when wielded by someone who knows how to use them. When they're wielded by me, they're not so awesome. Good thing I wasn't wielding it today.) This is row one, being carefully measured to be sure it's level and doesn't shift.

And here's the finished wall! Yay, pretty! Well, except for the sides we can't figure out how to do yet. Two more terrace walls to go. Next step, fill in that monster hole where the stairs were dug out.

Hans and Franz: The Summer Workout

Are you tired of those flabby arms? Are you secretly afraid of having to write on the whiteboard because you don't want students to snicker at the chicken fat hanging down as you move your arms to write? Well fear no more! This summer workout plan will guarantee that your arms will be toned and muscular by the end of the summer. No pills, no steroids, no complicated equipment. Just do the following tasks and you'll be ready to show off those beautiful arm muscles in no time!

1. Lawn mowing. This must be done on a regular basis: every one to two weeks. The best mower is one of those old-school models where the blades only spin when you push. However, if you have any slope at all in your yard, this model could have the unfortunate side effect of a heart attack. A self-propelled mower is okay as long as you have slopes you have to push up for resistance. Just don't mow over your feet or damage a rotator cuff.

2. Sod removal. This exercise is terrific because it has two parts: actually removing the sod and then picking it up and putting it in garbage bags. These two parts are followed by

3. Garbage bag hauling. A wheelbarrow is permissible (see heart attack side effect warning in #1 above). Some dead lifting is permissible to build muscular strength.

4. Wall building. Digging the ditch for the first row of wall stones will build one set of arm muscles. Hauling the wall stones over to the ditch and laying them will build another set. Finally, shoveling gravel/sand to line the ditch prior to wall laying and against the back of each row will build yet another set.

5. Wallpaper removal. Who says arm workouts can only happen outdoors? Just pick up a wallpaper scraper and some DIF and you have a great workout when it's raining!

Limited space is available, so act now to be part of this exciting summer workout opportunity! Your arms will thank you.

Note: If you return in the fall, the painting workout option may also be available (possibly in the summer, depending on how diligent you are with #5 above). There may also be a rototilling option after #4. Does it get any better than this? No folks, it doesn't!

Good fences make GREAT neighbors!

Quick review for all you blog fans out there: A few months ago, I said in one of my entries something about being tired of my yard being a doggie toilet for the neighbors' dogs (at last count, there were seven-- I think they're running a kennel). Not only that, but the Doberman has rushed me three times.

No more! Look at my beautiful new chain link fence! Yay!! The neighbors' cat can still poop in my yard, but not the dogs. My new fence says, "Lookie here, all you canines, I have MARKED MY TERRITORY!! Stay off!" I'm sure the neighbors aren't real thrilled about the fence, but it's on my property, so what can they do?

Here's the gate. I installed that because technically, all the yard just beyond it belongs to ANOTHER neighbor who allows the dog owners to use his yard as long as they clean up after the dogs. That neighbor put a fence well inside his property line, so to avoid creating a dog chute and making mowing difficult, we did the gate thing. (Do you like my finger in the corner, too?)

While I'm on yard renovations, look at my now sod-free garden area! Now it's time to terrace. I finished the sod removal and thought, "Hmm, I wonder how I do the next step?" Fortunately, I have a visiting teacher who's dad's a contractor, so she knows how to do this stuff. I also have a colleague who knows how to build walls, and a friend was over here the other night and said, "Hey, my husband likes to build walls." Wall party Saturday morning at 9 if you want to come. Or you can just wait for post-terracing pictures.

Pomp and Circumstance

Caustic. T-t-t-tchudi! A skull-shaped candle lit during a reading of "The Raven" and me wondering if the sprinklers would be set off in the classroom. Review upon review of action research projects. "Don't stay silent, because I'm not afraid to call on people." Enthusiastic, gushy e-mails about enjoying student teaching; and a few not-so-enthusiastic e-mails about student teaching. Frantic brainstorming sessions for unit ideas. Blogs about breaking up student fights. Stress, tears, and frequent impromptu counseling that yes, you chose the right career, yes, you can make it through the 5-year teacher ed. program, and yes, it's worth every bit of work. Best of all, twenty newly minted teachers who are going to make a real difference in kids' lives.

I've been to a lot of graduations, high school and college. I've worked with a lot of preservice teachers. This group, though, is mine; they're the group I started with three years ago when they first entered the program, the first group I've seen all the way through. We've been through a lot, individually and collectively, and I'm so grateful I got to be with them at the start of their teaching journey. I knew this graduation would be emotional for me. I made it just fine until Paige (in the photo with just me) found me at the post-ceremony reception and told me what a difference I made in her life. Then my 5-year students handed me a framed portrait of all of them so I could see them in my office even after they were gone.

The thing is, these people were good before they got to me. I truly believe that certain people are born to teach, and this group was filled with people who've had "teacher" etched into their souls since birth. They said I made a difference in their lives, but I feel like it's the other way around. I'm a better person, a better teacher, because we were together for three years. I wish you all-- all 20 of you-- many, many years of happy graduation moments with your own students. Keep the gift moving through the generations. I can't think of a better job.

baseball bobbleheads

Admit it. You're jealous. I got to go to a Pittsburgh Pirates game on Nate McLouth bobblehead night and you didn't. Not only did I get a free bobblehead, but I also got $5 towards concessions. Okay, so that means I only had to pay for ONE overpriced item (my Cracker Jacks) rather than two (I got the super dog for free-- after waiting in the rain for 10 minutes for it to cook). Yep, this little collector's item gets to hang out in my office now (hmm-- will that add to the professional atmosphere?).

Seriously, though, a Saturday night baseball game is fun. This was my first major league baseball game; up until this point I've only attended farm team games for the Giants, and even that was a long time ago. I went with a friend from my ward and three farmers from Uzbekistan. Yup, now you're even more jealous, aren't you? How did I get in on this great opportunity? WVU is doing some kind of agriculture hosting deal where they've brought in farmers from Uzbekistan to learn American farming techniques. Two of those farmers are staying with my friend's family for two weeks. They wanted to see an American sporting event. Pirates tickets aren't exactly pricey since the team isn't exactly very good (although they were winning when we left at the bottom of the 7th inning last night), so baseball it was. The farmers invited one of their friends from another host family, so that made two English speakers, three Russian speakers, and limited communication other than a Russian phrase book, pointing, and smiles. The Uzbeks came home being able to say "baseball" and "pizza."

Back to the game. We had pretty decent seats, although not where we could catch any foul balls (of which there were many). We were a little too high for when the mascot started shooting t-shirts into the crowds, but we could see well and we were close to a covered entrance when the rain started. In one game I experienced a rain delay, a home run by the real-life version of the bobblehead, Pirogue races around the outer edge of the field (not real pirogues; people in pirogue costumes. Um, is this a Pittsburgh thing?), baseball food, and a lot of random games and trivia clips to keep us entertained when innings got slow. Oh yes-- and guess who the visiting team was? The Colorado Rockies. Nice link to my Colorado family and friends, even if they're not Rockies fans. (The Rockies were the better team as far as I could tell, but don't tell anyone I said that.)

And I got a bobblehead souvenir for free. Life is good.

Mama Morels

I had never heard of morels until I moved to Iowa. For those of you who don't know what they are, they're wild mushrooms and they're really, really yummy. I ate them at Casa Gonzales (i.e., the Gonzales' home), breaded and fried. Very, very yummy.

So when a friend here in West Virginia said, "Hey, I have morels growing near my house. Wanna come morel hunting?" I jumped at the chance. I'd eaten morels, but I'd never foraged for my own. We drove to the spot and started looking around for morels. We were under some pine trees, mostly. Remembering the morels I'd eaten in Iowa, which were maybe an inch long at the most and maybe 1/4 inch in diameter, I asked my friend if we needed to move the pine needles to see them. She looked at me a little strangely.

Then I found one-- only it was LOTS bigger than the morels I remember in Iowa. The pictures are an attempt to give a sense of scale. GINORMOUS morels!! I found one all on my own and three more with the help of my friend's husband's eyes.

I'm having fried morels and leeks over spaghetti tomorrow for dinner. Anybody wanna come over?