WanderingAmylessly

Take that, Phelps

2012-01-27T09:05:00.001-08:00

Friday

2012-01-27T07:18:00.001-08:00

At Saloon, on the Ped Mall in downtown Iowa City, there's a margarita with my name on it. That margarita is salty and seductive, and it calls to me. I'd call back. But I'm continuing to keep my voice at a respectful level.

In fewer than 8 hours, I'll be sitting with my drink in hand, winding down after a truly forgettable week. They call it Happy Hour for a reason.

Wanna join us? 5 p.m. today.

Cheers.

(Someone reminded me that National Margarita Day is in February. I think we should definitely revisit this conversation in a few weeks...)

Is it a four-letter word?

2012-01-26T13:06:00.000-08:00

So today, I went for chuckles on Facebook. I posted a diagram that, in a nutshell, claimed that the only men who are handsome, smart, and nice are also gay.

I think I may have offended my betrothed.

I'm now going to tell a story, one that may get me in more hot water with the hubs. But it's true, and I love it. And I love him. I hope he forgives me.

It was the summer of 1996. I had just had my heart broken by a man I thought I could trust. I told my mother I was never going to date again. I moaned and whined and cried and wanted to lock myself in my apartment and never come out.

Then I got a phone call from someone. Turns out he was the photo intern at the paper where I worked. He and I had a mutual friend who suggested he call me and see if I wanted to have lunch. So we met. And after, I was on the phone with my mom, bemoaning my miserable life. She kept wanting to hear about this guy.

"He is just a guy. We went to dinner. It was just dinner. Nothing more, Mom. He's a nice guy. But I'm not interested. He's just a nice guy."

I look back at that and shake my head. If he hadn't been a nice guy, I'd have been chasing after him? Given my previous bit of bad relationship drama, I'd probably say "yup."

Fast forward a few weeks, after our friendship developed into something more, and I actually said those words to him. I said, "You are such a nice guy."

I think he groaned. Apparently he thought that was the kiss of death, too.

But let me tell you something about nice guys. In my experience, there aren't nearly enough of them out there in the world. When you find one, grab on and don't let go. In my case, he wasn't just nice. He was handsome. And smart. Witty. Sweet. Delightfully sarcastic. Truthful. Passionate. Dedicated. Loving. Talented. Loyal. Honorable. Trustworthy.

And he's most definitely not gay.
(Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

He's not just my husband and father of my child. He's my best friend.
And he's nice.
Deal with it.

Restless

2012-01-25T13:15:00.000-08:00

OH.

Will this day never END.

I had to sit through a two-hour conference call, juggle three deadlines, and remember to occasionally do necessary things like go to the bathroom or drink liquids so as to not become dehydrated.

I am ready for a run. I can't wait to do something I want to do rather than HAVE to do. I WANT to leave my space in this chair in front of this computer before I HAVE a breakdown.

But just in case you were wondering, I have managed to keep my volume (and/or my boisterous sighs and occasional fits of tears) at a respectful level.

You call that noise?

2012-01-24T06:29:00.000-08:00

There's a volume war going on in my office at work.

The copy editors sit in a row of cubicles smack between two major hallways. We also sit just over the wall from project managers who lead conference calls all day every day. It's not exactly a library-voice volume in our area (although have you been in a library lately? it's not all shush-ey like back in the day).

I used to work in a newsroom. At various places in my employment past, I had to write coherent, page-one stories while the people around me talked on the phone, watched the evening news, yelled at each other, told dirty jokes, chain smoked, threw things across the room, played trash can basketball, paced while thinking of the perfect lead, and asked me every five minutes when my copy would be ready.

I kind of miss that.

Maybe that's why I didn't much notice when the other editors started complaining about the noise in my current location. To me, it seemed perfectly normal when people walked past, chatting about what they had for dinner last night, or what their kids were doing in little league, or where they were planning to party that weekend, or how they planned to tell a customer about a work scope change (occasionally people do talk about the job).

My colleagues up the row were incensed. They'd finally had enough when a couple managers held conference calls on speaker phone...with their office doors open. The other editors ran to our manager with complaints.

I think the manager quietly asked the others to close their doors. Then the call went out to us to figure out a way to keep people a bit more hushed when they turn our corner. Personally, the chatter doesn't bother me. When it might start to, I put on my headphones, plug in to my iPhone, and lose myself in Pandora.

But this is what they came up with. We should hide a camera and see just how many eyerolls it gets.

Edited to add: At the end of Day 1, we were short one sign. Either it blew down or someone, in an editorial comment to our passive-aggressive move, aided it in finding its way to the floor.

WWJND

2012-01-23T11:33:00.001-08:00

Someone posted this on Facebook.
I stole it.
Because I think it's brilliant.

Happy Chinese New Year!

2012-01-23T07:31:00.000-08:00

Today is the Chinese New Year. This year is the Year of the Dragon. How will you celebrate?

According to the Internets:

Expect this to be a very energetic year, filled with optimism, power, and entrepreneurship. However, the year is of the water dragon, which means that even the most powerful will give a patient hearing to the weaker, and will try to see through their point of view. Better alliances and decision will take place.

Will the politicians follow this prediction? Try to see each other's point of view? Don't hold your breath.

Optimism and power? That does sound positive.

Through my surfing adventure this morning, I learned that my Chinese zodiac sign in the pig. Not thrilled about that. However, I did learn that I'm a good match to my rooster husband and am seen as "nobel and chivalrous" and my "friends will be lifelong." Aww, shucks.

Do you think my boss would buy it if I told her it's a holiday and skip out early? I'm in the mood to sip tea, barefoot in an embroidered floral silk dress.

For You

2012-01-21T21:16:00.000-08:00

“I love you,
Not only for what you are,
But for what I am
When I am with you.
I love you,
Not only for what
You have made of yourself,
But for what
You are making of me.
I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can’t help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find.
I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple;
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.
I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.
You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.
Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means,
After all.”

- Roy Croft

MegaMobileAccuWeatherNonsense

2012-01-20T07:22:00.001-08:00

It may snow 1 inch.

It could snow 8-10 inches.

How's that for nailing it down?

When I left the house this morning, there were a few stray flurries. Nothing like the near-blizzard Channel 9 had claimed would descend upon us today and bring us at least 7.5 inches.

It boggles my mind that, in the age of apps and smartphones and instant information, no one seems to be able to accurately predict the weather. I'd do better to not listen to anyone and just stick my head out the window every morning and dress accordingly.

I guess SOMEONE will claim a correct prediction when all is said and done, because, most likely, we will get at least 1 inch and no more than 10 inches.

That someone probably went in a back room somewhere and threw a dart on a board. Or flipped a coin. Or consulted the Ouija board. Or shook the magic 8-ball.

Will it snow? Yes, definitely. Will it snow more than 5 inches? Signs point to no.

Click here to try your turn at the magic 8-ball.

Edited to note: The superintendent must have been watching the doomsday'ers. The schools let out two hours early. Which is even more inconvenient than canceling classes all day. Not to mention...it was merely flurrying when the announcement went out. *exasperated*

Heaven forbid we face REALITY

2012-01-19T06:11:00.000-08:00

There's a huge uproar about an ABC television program. Again. No, it's not Dennis Franz's bare butt on NYPD Blue. This time, it's the F-word. Spoken by a toddler-ish girl. Bleeped out. The little actress didn't even actually say the word. The director had her say "fudge." But everyone's in a snit. Click here to read an article about the controversy.

The show, Modern Family, was addressing the very real dilemma parents face when their children learn naughty words and say them out loud, often during the most awkward, uncomfortable public moments. I don't even watch this show. But I say, good for them, for putting a very real situation in a situation-comedy.

Newsflash to the world: kids will say naughty words. Mostly, it's because they don't realize the wrong-ness of the situation. Or maybe they do know the words are taboo, and they say them for shock value.

Henry and I were driving in downtown Iowa City on a gameday Saturday a couple years ago, and we passed a man standing on a street corner, hawking T-shirts that had foul language on them. The man was yelling the word at the top of his lungs. From the back seat, Henry quietly observes, "That man is yelling the F-word. That's not nice." He was in KINDERGARTEN. I said, "Where did you hear about the F-word?" He says, "At school. Kids say it on the playground."

Pause.

"But I don't say it."

I looked back at him for a second. He grinned. We moved on.

A week or so ago, we had another, more upsetting situation. I had just gotten off the phone with someone and was very angry about something that I won't get into here. Needless to say, I was ranting in the living room to Tim while Henry was reading in his bedroom. Then I muttered that Henry needed to get to bed, so I went to tuck him in.

He looked at me with a bit of shock and plainly said, "I am NOT a shit."

He had heard me exclaim, in my anger and frustration, that someone was being a sanctimonious, manipulative shit. And then assumed, when I added that Henry needed to get to sleep, that I was talking about him.

My first reaction was to yell at him and tell him never to say that. I added that I wasn't talking about him, I was talking about someone else.

Then he burst into tears. And I felt horrible, for making my boy think for even a second that I had been talking about him.

And guess what. I was proud of him for calling me out. For confronting me, right then and there, with the word I so inappropriately shouted in my rage. I'm glad he felt comfortable enough to say it in defense of himself. He'd done absolutely nothing wrong, and then I yelled at him for saying it.

I apologized. I gave lots of hugs and kisses. He forgave me. We moved on.

Kids will cuss. It happens.
Grownups cuss. Perhaps we shouldn't.

Good for ABC for addressing the issue. Maybe we should all take a moment to reflect on the power we give these words. They're just letters, strung together in a certain order, plopped into snippets of conversation for exclamation or emphasis or effect. Maybe sheer laziness.

Next time I'll try to be more creative.

And quiet.

2012-01-19T06:06:00.000-08:00

Expect nothing and accept everything and you will never be disappointed. --Laurence Overmire

Just in time for Valentine's Day...

2012-01-18T07:50:00.000-08:00

Doogie's romance. I know he's on a new show that is wildly popular, and I should stop referring to him as Dr. Howser. But I can't help it.

This was a sweet article (and the whole Love issue sounds perfect to gear up for V-Day). And the photos were lovely. I just kept wanting to say: Come to Iowa, Doogie! You can call him your husband here!

Click here for a glimpse into The Love Issue

Tuesday playlist

2012-01-17T12:42:00.000-08:00

I realize I've been posting music a lot lately.
In that spirit, I'm going to post a playlist to help me get through the day.
Check out the tunes...

Collide by Howie Day
Tear in Your Hand by Tori Amos
Forever and Almost Always by Kate Voegele
The Way I Am by Ingrid Michaelson
Catalyst by Anna Nalick
What if You by Joshua Radin
Beautiful Disaster by Kelly Clarkson
Everywhere by Michelle Branch
Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri
Run by Leona Lewis
Verdi Cries by 10k Maniacs
Hands by Jewel

Edited to add:
Glitter in the Air by Pink
Crash into Me by Dave Mathews Band
Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol
Fall Into You by David Hodges with Amy Lee
Alone in this Bed by Framing Hanley
Mad World by Gary Jules

Poetry

2012-01-17T08:40:00.001-08:00

I heard a song this morning that sounded more like poetry than a silly pop song.
I'll share.

Beside You
by Marianas Trench

When your tears are spent on your last pretense
And your tired eyes refuse to close and sleep in your defense.
When it's in your spine like you've walked for miles
And the only thing you want is just to be still for a while

If your heart wears thin I will hold you up
And I will hide you when it gets too much
I'll be right beside you
I am right be right beside you

When you're overwhelmed and you've lost your breath
When the space between the things you know is blurry nonetheless.
When you try to speak but you make no sound
And the words you want are out of reach but they've never been so loud

I will stay.
Nobody will break you,

Trust in me, trust in me.
Don't pull away
Trust in me, trust in me.
I'm just trying to keep this together, because I could do worse and you could do better

Tears are spent on your last pretense
And your tired eyes refuse to close and sleep in your defense.
If your heart wears thin I will hold you up
And I will hide you when it gets too much
I'll be right beside you
Nobody will break you

A cat. Really?

2012-01-16T06:29:00.000-08:00

There's a cat up a tree in Iowa City.

Normally, that might lead to curious chatter with one's neighbors.

But this made the local news. The evening news. The lead story on the evening news.

The news hook to this story? The fire department refused to come rescue the feline from its 30-foot perch on the grounds that the cat had already bitten two people who had tried to rescue it and daring a rescue would only put the firefighters at undue risk.

Undue risk? These men and women rush into burning buildings all the time. They're afraid a 10-pound tabby will nip at them? Ooh. I'm shaking in my boots.

The cat was up there for five days, mewling and screeching pathetically. It was keeping the neighbors up, both with the noise and the concerns that the poor thing would waste away from lack of nourishment and exposure to the elements.

Finally, yesterday morning, a local plumber rented a cherry-picker and swooped in to save the day. Kitty is resting at the animal shelter, being treated for an upper respiratory ailment.

A friend joked that we have slow news days now that the caucuses are over.

I joked that if they really wanted a story, they could come over to my house. My DOG climbs the tree out back. It wouldn't be much of a tale though. Maggie knows how to get back down.

Friday -- Romantic music to start the weekend

2012-01-13T06:49:00.000-08:00

Not a huge Sting fan.
But wow, I love this song.
From the movie, "Sabrina":

Latter Days

2012-01-10T18:07:00.001-08:00

I would like to take this opportunity, on the night when it's looking like Mitt Romney will win the New Hampshire primary, to give a shout-out to a terrific movie from 2004...just released on Blu-Ray! It's a movie I'm guessing Mitt would not approve of -- the story of a Mormon missionary coming to terms with his sexuality and his relationship with God.

1/10/12

2012-01-10T10:13:00.000-08:00

So here we are, the second week of January. Blah brown landscape. No snow. Short days (but not nearly short enough when you're stuck at work). Nothing much exciting on the horizon to look forward to. I have a million things I could be doing with any free time I have -- among them, organizing the basement for a future renovation project, finishing several knitting projects, writing (something besides this blog yammering), reading (because when I can't make the words dance on the page, I'd like to experience someone else's attempt), making jewelry from the stash of baubles I collected last year. But nothing seems interesting enough to snag my attention and snuggle it close for more than a few minutes.

Yep. Like I said, it's January.

My mind's preoccupied with a mishmash of negative thoughts and frustrating inaction. I'm wrapped up in a frenzy of wishing. Wishing that I had more control over situations clearly beyond mine. Wishing some people didn't disappoint me so much. Wishing life didn't often feel like such a giant, flaming ball of hassle.

Wishing I could fall asleep tonight and wake up in April.

Time to stop followin' misery's lead...

2012-01-09T07:51:00.000-08:00

And it just gets worse

2012-01-05T06:47:00.000-08:00

First, Rick Santorum ended up a mere 8 votes away from winning the Iowa caucus on Tuesday night.

Now, "Christians for a Moral America" (CFAMA) endorses him. (He was actually the group's second choice, but bat-sh**-crazy Michele Bachmann dropped out of the race so they needed to find some other ultra-right-wing, bible-thumping, come-to-Jesus kind of candidate to back while spouting their anti-everything agenda.)

Ever heard of CFAMA? Piece of work. The group recently posted on Twitter a shout-out to pray for the death of British singer and former Wham! frontman George Michael, during his recent bout with pneumonia. And I quote: "Pray for George Michael's demise. He has chosen a satanic lifestyle and must meet an appropriate end."

This is one of many reasons why being a Christian is, frankly, unappealing to me. Why would I want to associate with people who claim to be bearers of Christian love, yet clearly are driven by nothing more than hate hate hate. I spent about five minutes on the CFAMA blog and couldn't take it any longer. I was queasy and dirty and felt the need to shower. How can people just spew this garbage and send it out? And how can recipients suck it all in and come back for more?

For example, this group came up with its Anti-America Hate Group List 2012.

1. Liberals (Liberals, they say, are part of every group in the "cesspool"--prostitutes, homosexuals, pedophiles, muslims, jews, illegals, atheists, and feminists--so I'm not sure why they bothered to make a list of 5...Liberal seems to sum it up).

2. Atheists

3. Homosexuals

4. Muslims

5. Feminists

Did you make the list? I made the list -- a COUPLE times! I'm in the cesspool! Wanna join me?

But seriously, I would advise you not to click on the blog link. Don't give them extra hits to their site. I can tell you, among the other filth I found there, was an "expose" on sodomy titled "Lifting the Lid: The Dark World of Homosexuality PART 2" (complete with picture of a manhole cover labeled "sewer"), a post on how "America must invade Iran to ensure our survival," and a plea to "Boycott GLEE" (yes, the American musical comedy-drama TV series on FOX that focuses on a high school glee club competing in show choir...singing, dancing devil's spawn).

Apparently, though, God doesn't listen to these dimwits. Yay, God! George Michael survived. He's alive and well. Which is more than I can say for CFAMA's Twitter account; I heard it has been deactivated. I didn't bother to confirm. I don't care to know any more about how much hatred can be spread in 140 characters or less.

For an alternate view, check out the site Jesus is a Liberal. According to this group, which, interestingly, worships from the same Bible as the CFAMA, Jesus's teachings "outline a Liberal, Progressive, Tolerant, Loving, Open-Minded, Holistic, and Sustainable Vision for our World."

Amen to that.

If Rick Santorum becomes president, I will...

2012-01-04T06:36:00.001-08:00

Become a vegan.
Join the ACLU.
Donate to Planned Parenthood.
Swear. A lot.
Actively support legalization of marijuana.
Faithfully watch Rachel Maddow.
Recycle obsessively.
Subscribe to The Advocate.
Listen to every Dan Savage podcast available.
Get a new piercing.
Vacation in Canada (if I can't move there).
Never drink tea -- party or not.
Carry this bag:

Going Solo

2011-12-30T06:11:00.001-08:00

Tim and I are organizing a non-date this weekend.

It's the last weekend of 2011 and we're desperate to see the holiday-released flick Girl With a Dragon Tattoo. However...it's the last weekend of 2011 -- no one's around to hang with Henry and, to make matters even more dismal in the new year, our favorite sitter is spending the next semester in Denmark as a foreign-exchange student.

So Tim and I have decided to go see a movie. The same movie. Separately. One of us will do something with H while the other sees the film, then we'll switch.

That way, we can still talk about it afterward. Not very romantic, but quite practical, don't you think? We'll save money on sitters. We'll go during the day, so we'll get matinee prices. I'll sneak in Christmas goodies to avoid paying exorbitant concession prices.

It's Date Night, ThriftySchoon style.

I'm just excited that this will be the first theater movie I've been to in ages that wasn't either animated or in some way geared for kids. I'm a grownup! I'm going to a movie that promises "brutal violent content, strong sexuality, graphic nudity, and foul language"...woohoo!

I'm going alone. What did the guy in John Hughes' The Breakfast Club say? "That's sorta social...demented and sad, but social..."

Truthfully, I used to love going to movies alone. For years, when I never had any dates (and I'm not exaggerating), my favorite escape was sitting in a darkened theater with a diet soda and losing myself in someone else's life for a couple hours. But shhhh, don't tell Tim that. Because we'll eventually find a sitter. And get out of the debt this Christmas brought upon us. And it's pretty fun sitting next to Tim at the movies, too.

I love being part of a couple. I'm automatically less pathetic. Or perhaps, it's nice to share pathetic-ness.

At any rate, with this movie, I won't be spending 2 hours alone. I'll be spending 2 hours with Daniel Craig. And that, my friends, is a Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas Blogosphere!

2011-12-27T12:15:00.001-08:00

Peace to you, John Lennon

2011-12-08T13:21:00.000-08:00

On this day, 31 years ago, a vile creature named Mark David Chapman gunned down one of the most brilliant musicians of all time.

The following is a cover of Imagine by Tori Amos. Don't bother watching; the video's awful. But the music is beautiful, the words as significant today as they were when he wrote them. Have a listen.

Click here.

In Denial

2011-11-30T07:55:00.000-08:00

On a cold December morning,
At 1-something a.m.,
I screamed my way into the world.
Time's been ticking away since then.

From toddler ways to school days
To career and marriage and childbirth,
Wondering where all the time went,
Wondering what it's all worth.

Amazed when I Google to find
Exactly how much time has ticked by:
Twenty-one million, thirty-seven thousand
Nine hundred fifty minutes. Oh. My.

I hesitate to write this,
Because I want no undue attention.
I'd rather quietly mark the day
In silent, brooding detention.

Tomorrow, I'll knit and bake and shop,
Decorate for the holidays to come.
I'll drink coffee, read, listen to music,
But from reality, I think I'll play dumb.

No one can convince me, there's no possible way
That I'm reaching a milestone so cold.
Middle aged? Over the hill? Ten years from AARP?
I refuse to admit I'm four decades old.

Harried Holiday

2011-11-29T07:55:00.000-08:00

That Christmas card letter isn't going to write itself, is it?

What did we do this year?

My mind's a blank.

I need inspiration. I need free time. I need a kick in the pants.

The Menu

2011-11-23T16:27:00.001-08:00

We're having Thanksgiving at our house this year. What's on the menu?
Check it out...

Turkey (a 14-lb. Butterball Fresh)
Cajun corn bread stuffing
New pisano bread and olive oil
Mashed potatoes and gravy
Sweet potato soufflé
Roasted asparagus
Sweet corn
Cranberry relish
Zinfandel and pinot grigio wines
Pecan pie
Pumpkin pie
Margarita pie

But FIRST:

Breakfast is Bubble Bread!

Where are your stretchy pants?

Treading water

2011-11-22T05:47:00.000-08:00

I missed Henry's first swim meet, which was Sunday, because I went home to say goodbye to Les. I found myself wracked with Mommy-guilt as I prepared for the trip, hand-wringing over the decision. Henry was less emotional. Before I left, he said, "It's ok Mom. I'll be fine. But when you get back, will you please stop crying?"

I'm still working on that.

I had the next best thing to being there, though, on my drive back to Iowa Sunday morning. Tim texted me the play-by-play on the way. As I read the updates, I realized it was probably a good thing I wasn't at the pool. I would have been more nervous than the kid, and I, no doubt, would have made him a mess in the process.

The iPhone commentary went something like this:

Tim: Chaos. Or so it seems to me. He's been Sharpie'd though, so he looks like he fits in. (Sharpie'd: had his races and lane assignments written in black permanent marker on his arm)

Tim: He's warming up. I'm nervous for him. His start looks waaaay better than a couple days ago.

Me: Crossing my fingers!

Tim: DQ. (disqualified)

Me: Shoot.

Tim: He's OK with it, I think.

Me: Tell him I'm proud no matter what!

Tim: Backstroke in about 10 minutes.

Tim: (10 minutes later)...Oh dear.

Me: What???

Tim: False start. And they couldn't get him to stop. So he did the whole thing solo.

Tim: Big ovation at the end

Me: Was he the false start?

Tim: Yep.

Me: Oh well.

Tim: Ya. Went again with the big kids. DQ.

Me: Tell him not to be too bummed.

Tim: He's fine. They gave him a ribbon.

Me: One more to go!

Tim: Yep. H is up again in about 5 minutes.

Tim: He didn't DQ this time! He didn't win. But he didn't DQ!

I'd call that a win.
Even better, he left the meet stoked about swimming and said, "I can't wait for my next meet!"

And in honor of the DQs, we took him for a M&Ms mini blizzard that night.

Moving on

2011-11-21T12:19:00.000-08:00

I never noticed until I started to blog this morning that the letters directly behind my name in my blog title are "LES." As soon as I realized that, I lost it. Again. I'm still trying to process the weekend.

I changed my ringtone to the Beatles' Yellow Submarine this morning. We -- all 1,700 people who attended -- sang this song at Les' funeral, at his request. I think he thought he'd get quite a laugh at everyone's expense, looking down on us from heaven as we sang this goofy tune.

It's now my favorite song.

I brought my first media writing book, the one I happened across last week when packing for the trip home to Les' services, to work with me this morning. It now sits on my desk, nestled between my Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary and The Chicago Manual of Style.

I stuck my pens and pencils in a new holder this morning -- a Wichita State University Alumni mug, in Les' honor.

These are my ways of coping. I always took for granted that whenever I needed him, he was only a phone call or e-mail away. I need these reminders of him nearby for comfort. However, as I told some people on Saturday, I thought about Les every day long before he left us.

'Don't be maudlin, AP.' I can almost imagine his warning scratched in the margins of my writing. 'Cut me some slack, Anderson,' I want to reply.

Maybe I'll tone down the tear-stained sentimentality on the rewrite.

More or Les

2011-11-17T09:09:00.001-08:00

More or Les...that was the name of Les' column that appeared for years in the Ark Valley News (the paper he owned and published until he sold it a few years ago).

I keep thinking more and more ABOUT Les as the days pass and the services draw closer. I'm hitting the road in a few hours to drive back home and prepare for the visitation, the funeral, and the informal reunion Saturday afternoon of past and current AVN staff members.

Last night, as I packed for the trip, I ran downstairs to grab a suitcase. Sitting in the top of an open box nearby was my first college journalism textbook. I can't remember the last time I saw it. But there it was, this week of all weeks. I flipped through the pages and realized just how long it has been. The photographers on the front of the book were shooting film cameras. And there was no mention of the Internet anywhere.

But the memories came rushing back, of watching Les at the front of a classroom, talking, showing examples, laughing, debating news judgment, explaining the pitfalls of misplaced modifiers and why no one should ever use semicolons (because 99 percent of people use them wrong, so don't bother trying).

I began to sob. I wanted to run upstairs and do anything else except remember. But I couldn't help myself. I was compelled to scrounge around in a few more boxes. I dug up class schedules, used notebooks, clips of my stories, and class assignments. I flipped through a stack of papers, looking at Les' scrawl in the margins. I giggled as I read his correction of a poorly written sentence that included a quotation I had ended with the credit, "laughed Smith." Les scolded, "People don't laugh words. Try 'she said with a laugh'." Another time I cluttered up an already clunky lead by including the words "Student Government Association fees." I could've found a cleaner way to present that, he noted. He was right, as always.

I read those pages and cringed, my face flushed with embarrassment. "I could've done so much better, Les," I wanted to yell! I realize I was just learning. I'd do better today because I've had experience, practice, and Les' words in my head all these years.

I'm struck by the fact that Les' death has hit me harder than the passing of just about anyone else in my life. My brain won't stop churning. My chest aches. Tears fall. I woke up with a headache this morning -- I suspect from clenching my jaw. He wasn't family. But he made me feel a part of his.

Anyone who ever knew him seemed to become an honorary Anderson, more or less.

Melancholy

2011-11-16T06:18:00.000-08:00

I've been walking around in a fog all week, remembering my college days and how far I've come from those first reporting and editing classes. At work, as I've been interacting with fellow editors, I keep wanting to say, "How can you go on with work and life as though nothing has happened?" But they weren't the lucky ones who had the benefit of Les' care and attention. So I move through the moments alone, with only my memories keeping me company.

Tomorrow I hit the road for an 8-hour drive back home to attend the visitation and funeral for Les. That's 8 more hours of alone-time to reflect. One good sign: thinking had been resulting in tears, but I'm transitioning to more smiles as I recall happy times.

There's a Dan Seals song I keep thinking about:

One Friend
© Dan Seals

I always thought you were the best
I guess I always will
I always felt that we were blessed
And I feel that way still
Sometimes we took the hard road
But we always saw it through
If I had only one friend left
I'd want it to be you

Sometimes the world was on our side
Sometimes it wasn't fair
Sometimes it gave a helping hand
Sometimes we didn't care
'Cause when we were together
It made the dream come true
If I had only one friend left
I'd want it to be you

Someone who understands me
And knows me inside out
Helps keep me together
And believes without a doubt
That I could move a mountain
With someone to tell it to
If I had only one friend left
I'd want it to be you

In memoriam...

2011-11-14T06:59:00.000-08:00

I remember the first time I heard the name "Les Anderson." A bunch of Wichita State University communication majors were sitting around on campus, talking about classes they planned to take. Several people warned me: watch out for Les Anderson. He was tough. He had a murderous grading scale. It was nearly impossible to get an A.

They weren't kidding. But he wasn't tough just to be a tyrant. From his teaching sprang a fleet of incredible, successful journalists, writers, editors, broadcasters, public relations experts, advertisers, non-profit professionals...I could go on and on. Most importantly, he created a legion of people who wanted to make a difference in the world. The greatest gift Les gave to them all? He believed in them, cared about them for their own personal stories as well as the stories they told for class assignments or in the pages of his hometown newspaper.

Les was my teacher. My boss. My mentor. My conscience. My champion. My friend. When I started college, I never thought I'd make it as a reporter. I intended to major in PR or advertising. Truthfully, I never thought I'd be much good at anything. But Les pushed me to keep at it. He saw in me potential I never saw in myself. He hired me as a reporter for the award-winning newspaper he published in Valley Center, Kan. He encouraged me to apply for an internship at a major metropolitan daily I thought I had no chance at getting. And he was the first person I told when I found out I'd landed that coveted city desk intern position at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

He made a few contacts and paved the way for me getting my first post-college full-time job at the St. Joseph News-Press, where I helped start the paper's new Atchison, Kan., bureau. That's where I met my now-husband Tim.

If it weren't for Les, I don't know what I'd be doing. I probably never would have stepped foot in a newsroom. Which means I probably never would've met Tim. (And I might never have known that you shouldn't say "over" when you mean "more than"...and I could rattle off those editing-related Les-isms for hours.)

It sounds so trite to say that I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for Les. He wouldn't have been keen on anything trite.

Les kept a sign in his office during my time at WSU. It said: No Whining. I felt like whining over the weekend -- it's not fair, I'm so sad, life stinks -- after hearing he had died Friday night. But he wouldn't have liked that either.

Les lived a life of service: to education, to community, to family, to friends, to students like me. I vow to avoid the words "very" and "really" in my writing. I'll try not to whine. And I'll never forget what this amazing, dedicated man meant to me and thousands of others. It was an honor and privilege to sit in his newsroom on production day, putting the paper to bed; to stay up until 2 a.m., working on an editing layout in hopes of avoiding the wrath of his red pen; and to meet in his office years after my graduation, laughing and catching up on our lives.

Les called me AP -- my initials in college as well as the initials of the Associated Press Stylebook we followed in our reporting classes. It was a term of endearment. It was a poke at my obsession with proper grammar and style. It was another connection between us.

I'm not AP anymore. When I left the newspaper world for other publishing endeavors, I always felt the tiniest bit guilty, as though I were somehow letting down Les. I told this to a college friend when we were texting this morning. He said, "You never let him down. Les' gift was that he believed in you as a person, not just a journalist."

As he was so much more to us than simply a college professor, we were more to him than kids in a classroom. We were the future of his passions for learning and sharing and growing. While the future seems so bleak without him, I take some comfort in knowing his spirit lives on in the thoughts and actions and successes of all those he touched.

Les Anderson 1948-2011
Click here for the Wichita Eagle obituary

- 30 -

Henry's Activities

2011-10-29T14:45:00.001-07:00

Every time I turn around, Henry's joining something or trying something new or just generally being much more social and active than his parents. We're looking like slackers next to this 7 -- excuse me -- almost 8-year-old.

He's in intermediate gymnastics.

He joined the swim club (three practices a week, new family orientation, multiple fund-raisers, club uniform orders, picture night, joining the social committee, and prepping for his first meet in mid November).

He's been selected for the elementary school's student council. Two meetings a month, in the mornings before school. (More fund-raising...I sense a theme.)

His parent teacher organization sent everyone out with catalogs to earn money for classroom supplies and other learning tools. (Thanks to those who bought crappy wrapping paper and mediocre chocolate for the cause.)

His birthday's in a couple weeks, so he's throwing a shindig at Iowa City Gym-Nest, complete with play, pizza, and Sponge-Bob cake.

He loves his after school program, so I've volunteered to be on the board of directors. They need money. So guess what. Fund-raising.

And he won an award last week for being an outstanding, responsible student who always completes his homework and respects others. In addition to the kudos, he got a pizza party with the principal.

I'm really proud of him.

But all of his ACTIVITY makes ME tired.

National Coming Out Day, Oct. 11, 2011

2011-10-11T11:22:00.000-07:00

What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it's curved like a road through mountains. -- Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire, 1947

This is what the boys do during Bye Week...

2011-10-03T13:23:00.000-07:00

University of Iowa football player A.J. Derby has been suspended for two games after he was arrested on charges of criminal mischief and public intox over the weekend.

From the local paper: "A.J. Derby will serve a two game suspension as a result of his poor decisions this past weekend," said Iowa head football coach Kirk Ferentz.

Wow. Way to go out on a limb with that punishment, Coach.

Derby will not be allowed to participate in the next two games. Interesting, since he's the backup quarterback and most likely wouldn't even play in the games ANYWAY.

Not that I wish anyone ill, but it would so serve them all right if starting quarterback James Vandenberg has to leave the game on Saturday against Penn State. Trouble with this little lesson is that John Wienke, the QB who would come in instead of Derby, isn't a third string true freshman. He's a junior who has been battling Derby for the second spot.

Way to teach these boys a lesson.

Way to crack down on drunkenness and illicit shenanigans.

I guess this is one of those teachable moments. What have we been taught? Party at your own risk.

'Cause it turns out it's not real risky, after all.

Here, Kitty Kitty

2011-09-15T07:04:00.001-07:00

Magnificent creature, isn't it?
Yeah, maybe. In a zoo. How about in residential areas of cities, near schools and businesses? Or along your favorite walking trails?

In the past week or so, there have been three mountain lion or cougar sightings in town. The first two caused a lockdown at some area elementary schools, and children were not allowed outside for recess. The third sighting was along a trail near our grocery store.

Should I start a freakout? I scoffed at the first sightings, thinking someone saw an overweight Maine Coon. But this third sighting has me fearful. We have wooded trails near our house. These are trails I run on several times a week. And Tim shares a bit of info with me. "If you see one, don't run. Act really big and make roaring noises."

Well...what if I'm already running and come upon one? Turn the bend and...HELLO, CAT. Don't RUN AWAY? That goes against every ounce of self-preservation I have.

From the Internet:

As with many predators, a cougar may attack if cornered, if a fleeing human stimulates their instinct to chase, or if a person "plays dead". Exaggerating the threat to the animal through intense eye contact, loud but calm shouting, and any other action to appear larger and more menacing, may make the animal retreat. Fighting back with sticks and rocks, or even bare hands, is often effective in persuading an attacking cougar to disengage.

When cougars do attack, they usually employ their characteristic neck bite, attempting to position their teeth between the vertebrae and into the spinal cord. Neck, head, and spinal injuries are common and sometimes fatal. Children are at greatest risk of attack, and least likely to survive an encounter. Detailed research into attacks prior to 1991 showed that 64% of all victims–and almost all fatalities–were children. The same study showed the highest proportion of attacks to have occurred in British Columbia, particularly on Vancouver Island where cougar populations are especially dense. Preceding attacks on humans, cougars display aberrant behavior, including: active during daylight hours, unafraid of humans, and stalking humans. There have sometimes been incidents of pet cougars mauling people.

I'm all for animal rights and everything. You know, when the animal is either my pet or is very far away from me. Like on Vancouver Island in British Columbia. In this particular situation, I'd like to invite area hunters to grab their guns and go on an expedition. The World Conservation Union currently lists the cougar (aka puma, mountain lion, mountain cat, catamount or panther, depending on the region) as a "least concern" species, which I suppose means it's not endangered and, therefore, up for grabs by shotgun-wielding sportsmen.

It's certainly not a "least concern" in my community.

Remembering...

2011-09-09T10:25:00.000-07:00

I've spent the morning trying to stay awake. And/or engaged in my work. YOU try being engaged in my work. My job is to make sure words are spelled correctly, in the right order, and surrounded by the appropriate punctuation. Still awake? Yeah, I thought so. Your face started to imprint itself with the textured pattern of your shirt. And that, right there, might be a hint of drool...

It's Friday. It's beautiful outside. I've been listening to my favorite music and radio talk shows. So why am I in such a funk?

9/11.

That must be it. I have a strange, seemingly misplaced feeling of dread washing over me. I cannot help but feel as though something is about to happen. Something bad. Something even worse than Obama's toilet-tanking approval rating or the putrid economy that's joining it.

Odd how I had no such feeling just moments before I turned on my car radio to listen to NPR on the way to the newsroom at the Ogden Standard-Examiner that pre-fall morning. That's when I thought, "Wow, they must be running old audio from that twin towers bombing a few years earlier." A few minutes in to my drive, I called Tim and said, "Are you watching the news? Get up. Turn on the TV. Tell me what's happening."

Nothing's been the same since. Wars. Hatred. Anger. Loss. Fear. Wariness. Weariness.

What's next? I hope nothing. I hope I manage to stay alert and focused until 4 p.m., when I go pick up my kiddo at school and get him ready for swim clinic and a weekend of football-watching and fun times with friends.

This is a kid who wasn't even around when 9/11 became more than simply the eleventh day of September. He has heard us talk about the attacks a bit, and he's asked questions about who did it and why. I hope we gave him an appropriate answer. Bad people hurt good people because the bad people were mad at America. Wrap your 7-year-old head around that one. He's seen a bit of video of the planes crashing into the towers and, truthfully, I don't think he realized it was real. It wasn't some Hollywood production. Those were dying people jumping out of windows hundreds of stories in the air. Those were real live people on those planes, people's mommies and daddies, grandparents, children, best friends, lovers, heroes. To him, it seemed almost "cool" to see the explosion and watch the buildings cascade to the ground in smoke and dust.

Will I watch the remembrance coverage? I can't. It hurts too much to remember. I can't NOT. We've all heard the phrase: We'll never forget.

I just hope NO ONE gives us something ELSE to watch this weekend. The date, 9/11, looms large. It seems to beckon those who wish us, as a nation, harm. Will they, a decade later, commemorate the day with further destruction? I worry about the possibility.

Then again, on that day ten years ago, I wasn't worried about much more than getting to work on time. It was just another day.

Until it wasn't.

Eww, really?

2011-09-08T13:18:00.000-07:00

Who decided to put an egg on a hamburger and call it gourmet?

Maybe I'm missing out, but I've started to see this dismal delicacy pop up on menus at trendy restaurants and just cannot wrap my mouth around it. I've never tried it, so perhaps I shouldn't knock it.

Maybe I need more information. Is it a scrambled egg, all crispy on the edges? Or is it sunny-side up, with yellow yoke oozing out between the burger and bun? Or how about hard boiled and chopped into egg salad, then spread atop the meat?

None of that sounds like anything but a bucket of yuck.

Add the egg-on-beef to the growing list of food oddities that I could do without. Frickles (fried pickles). Chocolate-covered bacon. Ben & Jerry's Late Night Snack flavor ice cream with giant chunks of fudge-covered potato chips.

New diet idea! Serve me these. I'll pass, thanks.

When to push, when to back off

2011-09-06T08:42:00.001-07:00

Every time I think about organized sports, I begin to feel ill. I remember that time in first grade when I went out for T-ball and hated every single moment of it. I made myself sick worrying that I would strike out. Or get called out. Or fall on my face. Or not be able to propel my chubby, unathletic body around the bases. I cried before every practice and every game, fearful of failure and embarrassment and pathetic ineptitude. Once that season ended, I put any notion of athletics out of my head and settled in to a life of flabby bookworm nerdiness. Picked last in P.E. Never able to do more than hang on the climbing rope for (barely) the required time.

Fast forward to junior high, when my P.E. teacher -- in an effort, I think, to boost my confidence and get my fatness in check -- encouraged me to try out for volleyball. I showed promise, she insisted. After the first practice, I couldn't move for several days. And I quit.

Ever since, I've done my share of aerobics classes, biking, and even occasionally running (it's really jogging slowly, but in addition to being unathletic, I'm also a bit delusional).

Now it's my kid's turn. He's already shown less than no interest in baseball or football or soccer. He took an ice skating class once and did more sitting on the ice than gliding. We've had him in swim lessons and gymnastics, and I thought we were doing it more for ourselves, to look like engaged and encouraging parents attempting to keep our kid from becoming a pint-sized couch potato, than because he showed a real interest.

However, something happened over the summer. He passed level 4 of the Red Cross swim lessons. And he advanced from beginner to intermediate boys gymnastics. All of a sudden, he showed a spark of something -- could it be athletic promise?! -- that had me exploring local swim team information and gymnastics advancement possibilities.

And here I am, feeling ill again. I'm remembering my athletic failures and fears and desperately wanting something different for my child. I want him to have fun and enjoy sports. I want him to succeed. I want him to be GOOD and AMAZING and TALENTED! I want coaches to come to us and say, "Wow, he's a little dynamo. We see him going far in this!"

And then I see him in action, not breathing to alternating sides during lap swim. Not holding his body the right way. Not listening to his coaches when they say, "Eyes on me! Listen!" In gymnastics, he runs around a lot and does what he's told. Sort of. But if THAT is a cartwheel, I'm Mary Lou Retton.

I so don't want to screw this up. I want to encourage him to do his best and enjoy the activity and learn and grow at the proper rate. I want him to find his place in the world, his niches, his passions. I don't want him to be affected by my fears and dreads, my anxieties and recollections of my own shortcomings.

I want him to be able to do anything he wants to do. But first, I must make sure it's what he wants, not what I want for him. Or for myself.

I keep having to remind myself: he's only 7. He's still allowed to be a kid, first.

From the back seat

2011-09-02T08:47:00.000-07:00

On the way home from swim practice last night, H shares:

H: Mom, guess what?! I have purified vision!!
Me: Purified vision? What's that?
H: Purified vision. I can see out the corner of my eye!
Me: Oh...you mean peripheral vision?
H: Oh. Yeah! That!!

Hurricane Warning!

2011-08-26T05:49:00.000-07:00

Tim and I have both declared our June vacation to the Outer Banks of North Carolina to be the best vacation we'd ever been on. We loved the ocean. We adored our little cottage, Sea Spray Cottage #3, with its pink adirondack chairs, pink and green trim, and two-block distance from the Atlantic.

A mere 2 months later, and we're waiting to hear word as to whether Hurricane Irene will rip our vacay destination to shreds, chew it up, and spit it out, then cover it in a 30-foot storm surge.

Nags Head, NC, is expected to take a direct hit by the massive storm, which is due to make landfall there sometime tomorrow. Tim and I recall several conversations we had while on our trip, commenting on the designated "Hurricane Evacuation Route" signs posted all up and down the ONE WAY OUT of the barrier islands by car. The traffic was hideous on a normal day. I cannot imagine what it might be like during a real evac. The Sea Spray Cottages were built in the 1940s or '50s, long before the city changed the building code to require all homes to be built up on stilts. So they're right on the ground, and just a road and a sand dune away from shore.

I e-mailed the property owner to tell him we're thinking about them and that we hope everything's ok. He actually took the time to write back and say "Thanks for the well wishes. Appreciate all the positive vibe. Fingers crossed, prayers a going."

Our fingers are crossed too. And toes, even.

What's most concerning, though, may be what happens with Irene once it passes the Outer Banks and heads farther north. People in the Carolinas are storm savvy compared with, say, New Yorkers, who are going to flip their ever-loving lids if the storm stays intact enough to send a wall of water over lower Manhattan. National news media will be having coronaries trying to cover their precious East Coast under attack from Mother Nature.

Remember the "What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas" slogan? I have one for New York. "What Happens in New York...is more important than anything that could happen anywhere else." I think Brian Williams has it tattooed on his left butt cheek. He might need a swift kick there if NBC and all the others choose to cover the storm as I predict they will. Interrupted programming. Continuous video. Some fools standing sideways in yellow raincoats, holding on to light poles for support.

Tim commented that Al Roker must be really sweating his assignment to cover the hurricane, what with his weight loss and all. He'd have been much more stable with added poundage.

But before it gets to NYC, the hurricane must barrel through eastern North Carolina first. Stay safe, Dare County. We want a beautiful vacation destination to return to!

Lucy's Medical Fund

2011-08-22T13:48:00.000-07:00

The Lucy Jane Roth Medical Fund has been established today (8/19/11) with Bank of the West. Stop by your local branch or send checks to help with Lucy's medical expenses. If you do not have a Bank of the West near you, you can still donate by doing the following:

Make check payable to:
Lucy Jane Roth Medical Fund

Endorse the back of the check with:
For Deposit Only
Lucy Jane Roth Medical Fund

NOTE: It is important to endorse the back of the check if you are mailing!

Mail check to:
Bank of the West
301 South Clinton St.
Iowa City, IA 52240
319-338-9751

Taking "yo-yo" to a whole new level

2011-08-19T12:30:00.000-07:00

Yo-yo dieting is that all-too-familiar phenomenon of losing weight on a diet, going off the diet, gaining the weight back, going on another diet, and so on. Been there, done that, ate the doughnut.

But what does it say about me that I was on a diet the past few months and did one helluva yo-yo while I was still on the diet the entire time. It was getting slightly ridiculous. I couldn't string two consecutive successful weeks together -- after having lost more than 30 pounds from December to May. Up 2, down 1, up .5, stay the same, E.T.C.

I credit my med changes and my mood for part of the problem. Mostly, I missed my Jenny Craig consultant, Amberly, who took a leave of absence around the same time my weight loss efforts skipped town.

However, she's back now, and today was the end of week 2 back on the wagon! I lost 1.2 last week and 2.6 this week. I'm less than 7 pounds from my halfway goal. She made a deal with me: when I hit halfway, we go for manicures!! Woooohoo!

I'm determined to get as close to goal as possible before my birthday. It's a milestone birthday. An ugly, looming, agonizing birthday. I'd like there to be less of me when I reach it.

Lucy update

2011-08-19T05:05:00.000-07:00

Little Lucy from yesterday's post survived 12+ hours of brain surgery and most of the tumor was removed.

She's still in a critical time, but her mom says the love and support they received yesterday meant so much to them.

We continue to hold them in our hearts and minds.

Mixed emotions

2011-08-18T10:21:00.000-07:00

Everyone in our house started the day excited: first day of second grade for Henry! We had delivered his supplies to his room on Tuesday night at the annual back-to-school ice cream social. He met his teacher. We visited his classroom. He slung on his new big-kid backpack (sleek black and red with NO cartoons), grabbed his Super Mario lunch pail, and walked to school with Dad with a spring in his size-1 step. I couldn't wait to see pictures, since I had to zip off to work early.

Then I arrived to work to learn simply horrible news. A former coworker's 2ish-year-old daughter, Lucy, has been diagnosed with a massive malignant brain tumor. She went in at 7 a.m. today for a 12-hour surgery to remove as much as they can of the tumor. Once recovered from surgery, she will undergo chemo treatments.

I don't know much more than that, except that I haven't been able to think of anything else since. I cannot begin to imagine what they must be going through or what they will continue to face in the days and weeks ahead.

Henry went to summer camp with Lucy's brother. The two were best buddies, playing games and making paper airplanes and living the carefree life of 7-year-olds. I just saw her a few weeks ago, cherubic and innocent and looking as healthy as can be.

How life can change in a moment. Certainly puts things in perspective. And of course, I've been muttering "it's not fair" and "why why why...to a beautiful, innocent toddler." Makes no sense. Makes me angry.

Thinking. Praying. Hoping.

In the meantime, if you're interested in donating to or finding more about pediatric oncology patients at the University of Iowa, click here.

UPDATE: Later in the morning, a manager in our office building had a heart attack at work and died. Everyone's reeling.

Avian Update

2011-08-12T11:05:00.001-07:00

I arrived at work Monday morning to find the following in my e-mail inbox.

From Facilities:

The birds were all dead by the time the pest control company arrived. There was no chirping. They were not able to determine how the birds were getting in, but they will be back over the weekend to follow up on the issue.

So let's break this down sentence by sentence.

The birds were all dead. That is, birds, plural, and all, indicating quite a few (more than just two or three). So we had a mass grave up there above the ceiling tiles. Lovely.

There was no chirping. Not to be picky, but this is a bit of redundant information. Since ALL the BIRDS were DEAD.

They were not able to determine how the birds were getting in. Yeah, here's how that went:

Thing 1 on a ladder: How do you suppose they're getting in?
Thing 2 looking up at Thing 1: Dunno. Can you see anything up there?
Thing 1 on a ladder: Nope. Don't see holes or nuthin'.
Thing 2 looking up at Thing 1: Well, don't that beat all.

They will be back over the weekend to follow up on the issue. Translated to regular-speak: They aren't coming back unless we report more chirping, in which case they'll bring over a big sprayer filled with bird poison to kill them. Unless they don't get over here in time.

In which case the birds will be dead already. And how will they know that ALL the birds are DEAD?

You got it. No chirping.

In the meantime, I'll be curious to see if and how someone answers this question online.

Swan Song

2011-08-04T07:38:00.000-07:00

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

All day at work, I hear it. You'd think a melodic tune from a songbird would be a welcome diversion from the work day. Think again, when it is the final tweettweets of a bird trapped in the duct work of my office building. It can't get out. It hasn't eaten for days. There it is, just chirp chirping away.

Help me, help me, help me...

I brought it to the attention of the office manager, who called the facilities folks. Yesterday, a guy with a ladder came around, lifting the ceiling tiles and poking around, looking for the critter. He found it. But he couldn't reach it. So he said he'd be back again today.

I thought, "Ah, he'll figure out a way to rescue the birdy and let it loose outside to fly away home to its friends."

Again, think again.

His solution? "I think I'll spray it with wasp pesticide. That'll kill it."

Whoawhoawhoa! If I'd wanted it dead, I would've kept my mouth shut and let it go into the peaceful beyond on its own. I don't want someone to poison it to death! And then let it rot in the ceiling! Keep in mind, my office building is located in a research park that is monitored by the National Wildlife Federation. Surely there's a more humane way to deal with this issue.

When Dimwit the Barbarian was on his ladder, rooting around, he found another bird dead up there, too. He tried to reassure us about what he thought was our concern.

"Don't worry," he said. "This one's been dead a while, and it's not stinking or anything..."

No. The only thing stinking is his building management skills.

Big fan...but not THAT big?

2011-08-02T17:08:00.000-07:00

Henry made a discovery on his recent trip to Colorado. Mountains? Hiking? S'mores by the campfire? Been there, done that. No, his discovery was made in the car on the way to and way back from his destination. License plate game, you ask? The Alphabet game, maybe? Guess again.

He fell in love...with The Lion King.

This movie we'd tried several times to watch with him when he was younger yet failed to finish because, let's face it, that Scar is SCARy. Totally freaked him out before. Not this time. Tim said he watched it over. And over. And over.

And that is evident by the sheer amount of dialogue he can recite, complete with Nathan Lane's and Ernie Sabella's East Coast accents, only to be outdone by the fits of singing he bursts into in the shower, in bed, on the toilet, while eating dinner.

Pumbaa: Hey, Timon, ever wonder what those sparkly dots are up there?
Timon: Pumbaa, I don't wonder; I know.
Pumbaa: Oh. What are they?
Timon: They're fireflies. Fireflies that, uh... got stuck up on that big bluish-black thing.
Pumbaa: Oh, gee. I always thought they were balls of gas burning billions of miles away.
Timon: Pumbaa, with you, everything's gas.

...Giggle. Giggle. Giggle....
"Caaaannn you feeeel the looooove tooooonight..."

"It means no worries for the rest of your days It's our problem-free philosophy Hakuna Matata!"

So Tim and I were thinking, wouldn't it be fun to go see the musical stage production of The Lion King? We started poking around on the Internet, looking for the show somewhere near us. Too bad H didn't make this discovery last January, when the touring show came to Des Moines. I thought we'd scored when I found a listing for a show at the Fox Theater in St. Louis, then realized it isn't coming there until August of NEXT YEAR. There will be some shows in Minneapolis, but they're in January and February. Middle of winter. Minnesota. What's the likelihood we could get there and back without major ice and snow issues?

So, how about New York? It's still playing there, eight shows a week. Yeah. No problem $400 per person to fly there, $200 a night for a "cheap" hotel, and show tickets -- $125-$150 apiece. Food. Cab fare. And so on.

There's still hope, I think, as I found a production at the Mandalay Bay Resort in Las Vegas through December. Yay! Or not so yay. THOSE tickets are $177 each, plus airfare, hotel, and so on, again. Besides, Tim says, "If I'm going to Vegas, it's going to be a grown-up trip."

Hakuna matata, my a**.

I'm thinking the closest we're going to get to The Lion King is a trip to the African Lion exhibit at the Niabi Zoo in the Quad Cities. We can listen to the soundtrack on CD in the car, on the way.

HOT ENOUGH?

2011-08-02T13:32:00.001-07:00

Geez-o-pete.

The heat index is an unbearably sweltering 116.

Not a typo. 1-1-6.

It's physically impossible to breathe air that thick. We're going to drown in the atmosphere. Honestly.

There's slight hope on the horizon. I hear we may get a thunderstorm tonight, during which time the temps will lower a bit, but the humidity will soar from 55 percent (now) to 88 percent (9 p.m.).

Six/half dozen.

Yes. I'm moaning about the weather. It seems Congress got their act in gear regarding the debt crisis so I have nothing else of interest to moan about. If you have suggestions, feel free to throw 'em out here.

Here, I'll give YOU something to moan about.

Knock Knock

Who's there?

Doris.

Doris who?

Doris locked, that's why I'm knocking.

Dating is a euphemism for hooking up

2011-08-01T17:45:00.000-07:00

I just discovered a rather horrible web site. So horrible I couldn't look away. I had to search. I couldn't help myself.

www.famoushookups.com

In case you ever wondered, Jennifer Aniston has been in 14 celebrity relationships averaging approximately 1.3 years each. At least according to this web site. Exactly what this site bases its information on is a bit suspect. One of her "hookups," it claims, is David Spade. When you were married for five years to BRAD, you'd think you could do better than David Spade, sarcastic SNL has been and real-star hanger-on-er. Really.

I spent more time than I'd ever care to admit thinking up my favorite stars and searching for their tawdry tidbits.

I'm fairly disgusted by the fact that two of my favorite leading men, Gerard Butler and Colin Farrell, have both been linked romantically, er, horizontally, with Lindsey Lohan. Colin also has Paris Hilton, Denise Richards, and Carmen Electra as notches on his cyberspace bedpost. Gerard's had quite the variety, including Jessica Simpson and (surely not) Fran Drescher.

Then again, who HASN'T been with these two men. Combined, they've had more than 70 celebrity relationships. And...full disclosure...Gerard is a man-slut. He's had a whopping 52 of that total.

It seems that if either of these men breathes anywhere in the vicinity of a woman, she's on the list faster than you can say Voulez Vous Coucher...

It's a wonder the entire Population of Hollywood isn't one giant, festering, angry venereal disease.

Then again, maybe it is.

Guess I'll just have to force myself to stay away from Colin and Gerard. I know. I'm an amazing example of iron-strong willpower. Their loss.

What do your dogs sound like?

2011-07-29T08:39:00.000-07:00

When my dogs speak, I listen. I also pull off an amazing feat of canine ventriloquism.

I initiate conversations with my dogs and, in grand style, respond as I believe they would if they could move their mouths in cgi-enhanced fashion. What are you looking at? What are you pointing at?

You do it too. You know you do.

My real question is: what do your dogs sound like?

Mine have the same voice, really -- a high-pitched fast chatter, not unlike The Chipmunks, waffling between sarcasm and dimwittedness, depending on the moment. I'm nutty, but I'm not going to spend the time it would take to master the art of pup-speak and discern between the two.

And I'm certainly not going to bother perfecting a raspy Scottish brogue, although wouldn't that be adorable to have a Scottish Terrier and a West Highland Terrier bantering in the backyard like Sean Connery visiting Shrek in the swamp.

Just think what kind of a road show we'd have if they'd wear kilts and play the bagpipes?! Maybe I could start speaking Gaelic to them, or learning some sayings or slang from the old country and putting it to good use. Say, when they won't stop their incessant barking (or in Eisie's case, when he's biting giant chunks of wood out of our fence).

Haud yer wheesht!
It means "be quiet."

Gonnae no' dae that!
It means "don't do that."

Yer aff yer heid
It means "You're off your head - a little bit daft."

So yeah, I talk for my dogs. They're hardly great conversationalists. And they mostly whine about wanting more food or desperately needing to trot outside and kill a small rodent or wishing I would share my popcorn.

They're not the brightest. Of course, they're only as smart as the woman who's putting the words in their dog-breathified mouthes.

And she's talking for her dogs. Who's a bit daft?

Playing Hooky

2011-07-26T06:05:00.000-07:00

It's taking every ounce of effort not to fake an illness and take the day off. My boss is gone. The weather's hot and sunny and perfect. I can barely keep my eyes open. And so far, I have absolutely nothing on my plate, workwise.

The lack of work may change. In fact, I'm certain it will.

Maybe I should get out while the getting's good.

Contemplating playing hooky from work is kind of like imagining what you'd do with a boatload of lottery winnings.

In this case, actually quitting my job isn't really an option. I'll have to settle for daydreaming about spending the day soaking up rays, sipping lemonade, snuggling with the pooches, maybe catching a flick at the cinema.

Anyone up for Horrible Bosses?

Netflix Addict

2011-07-24T13:53:00.000-07:00

Streaming video. 24 hours a day. My husband and kid have left for their trip. Netflix is my babysitter.

I'm enjoying a day-long movie bender, watching while I clean house and do laundry. Light on the folding and cleaning, heavy on the vegetating in front of the TV.

Here's what guilty pleasures I've enjoyed so far.

Quantum of Solace
Sweet November
Maid in Manhattan
Four Weddings and a Funeral
Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back

I think tonight's going to be a marathon of The Tudors.

Truly pathetic. Yes. You don't have to point it out.

Edited to note: I love Kevin Smith. But that Jay and Silent Bob business? No thanks. I ditched it after 20 minutes.

_____ on a Stick

2011-07-22T12:58:00.000-07:00

The Iowa State Fair just announced its newest fair foods being introduced at next month's fair.

Doncha wish you lived here? Are you now planning a road trip?

Fried Butter on a Stick
The ultimate Butter Cow tribute, butter dipped in a honey flavored batter and fried golden brown on a stick.

Chocolate Covered Fried Ice Cream on a Stick
Found at Oasis Concessions at the Pioneer Livestock Pavilion.

Peanut Butter and Jelly on a Stick
A tasty skewered version of this childhood favorite.
Found at Salad Bowl on the upper balcony of John Deere Agriculture Building.

And it's not on a stick, but it's worth a mention:
Red Velvet Funnel Cake
A chocolate-flavored version of a Fair favorite, complete with a cream cheese glaze. The Best Around located at the Triangle.

What building's the Pepto Bismol-on-a-stick in? Where's the location of the nearest portaJohns? I'm waiting for the follow-up news story...

Dumbest Headlines of the Day

2011-07-22T10:41:00.000-07:00

Info no one really needs to know. Taken straight from the Internets:

What's up with Rob Pattinson's hair? (People magazine)

Sci-fi women more than hot babes (CNN)

Accused penis cutter poisoned husband's soup (KSEE)

Love it or hate it, self-checkout is here to stay (MSNBC)

Man allegedly force-fed iPhone to girlfriend (MSNBC)

Help! I accidentally killed my crazy neighbor's cat (Slate.com)

E.G.O.

2011-07-22T08:19:00.001-07:00

I think EGO. I hear UGH.

Tim and I were talking last night about what possesses men in positions of fame and power to think that they can do whatever the hell they want, and they get a free pass because they're, well, THEM. And then when they get caught with their pants down, sometimes literally, they're all incredulous about the intrusion into their private lives. They blame the media, the paparazzi, a tortured childhood, addiction, their significant others. It would never occur to them that they, themselves, might want to take a look in the mirror and re-evaluate their own actions and behaviors.

Tiger Woods. Lance Armstrong. John Edwards. Anthony Weiner. Charlie Sheen.

And if they can't take the heat, maybe they should get out of the glaring spotlight that they willingly stepped into in the first place. The one that made them famous enough to land the hot babes and the drugs and the big endorsements and the public platform in the first place.

I so do not feel sorry for them. I know they say they just want the opportunity to play their game or practice their craft or do their art. They don't want the fame.

Sorry, dudes. Maybe you should go be a ditch digger or trash truck driver or elementary teacher or, say, unsung hero of the copyediting world...and play ball or join in community theater on the weekend. It's called a hobby. I'll guarantee People magazine won't care who the hell you are anymore (except for the occasional "what ever happened to..." features).

Neither will the groupies and the throngs of fans who've paid your salaries through ticket sales and purchases of endorsed products and admission to public appearances.

I'm tired of the woe-is-me tortured, misunderstood soul. Take responsibility. Or go peddle your schtick elsewhere. I'm not buying it.

I'm sensing a theme...

2011-07-21T20:09:00.000-07:00

I've been prepping for my upcoming week of movie-watching by scouring IMDB for possible rentals. I've discovered something. I don't like blond men. I just might be the only girl in the world who doesn't think much of Brad Pitt. Or Matt Damon. Or that Swedish guy from True Blood.

I like 'em dark and handsome. And, evidently, hairy.

Colin Farrell

Joseph Fiennes

Gerard Butler

David Boreanaz

Alan Rickman (I miss "this" Alan. I might have been in my teens when he was "this" Alan.)

Jake Gyllenhaal

Rob Lowe

Funniest Guy on Late Night TV

2011-07-21T10:48:00.000-07:00

Not Letterman.
Certainly not Leno.
Jimmy Kimmel? Nah.

Hands down funniest guy on late night TV has to be Craig Ferguson.

He makes me cry, he's just that funny. I love his delivery, his excellent timing, his sarcastic edge. And of course I love his Scottish accent. He could probably just sit there and talk in his accent about absolutely nothing, and I'd crack up. He's hysterical.

He's also on at midnight. Which is why I never watch him.

I think I'll start DVR'ing and watching at a more reasonable hour. I have to get up at 5 a.m. And I'm old.

He does have some clips on the CBS web site and on YouTube. Perhaps my favorites feature him interviewing another Scot, Gerard Butler.

But nothing beats his monologues, which critics have described as more a storytelling session than a series of one-liners.

Like this one

British invasion

2011-07-19T10:55:00.001-07:00

Ever since I went to the latest (and final...sniff, sniff) Harry Potter movie last weekend, I've been -- in my head -- talking with a British accent. I've had to be careful so as not to have it burst forth during work meetings.

I can't even say Harry Potter normally. I feel the need to say "Haaaarrrayhhh Pottahhh."

I feel the distinct urge to drink tea. And place my groceries in the boot of my auto. And declare everything to be "Brilliant!"

I'm going to miss those kids. I can't wait to see what the young actors do as grown-up stars. I wish them well. I'm nervous for them. I want them to find success apart from, or perhaps in spite of, their early career adventures.

And, with Tim and Henry off on their excellent adventure to Colorado next week -- and me with a new subscription to Netflix -- I feel the urge for an appropriate movie marathon. Lots of men in silk and women with big hair and corsets and cleavage giving Oscar-worthy performances. All the whilst speaking the Queen's English.

See. I've got it bad.

Edited to Add: OMG. I had no idea that the guy who plays Luna's father in HP is the same guy who played Spike in Notting Hill. AAAAUgh!! He's a riot!

Home Sweet Home

2011-05-13T11:35:00.000-07:00

Name 5 places you'd like to live

1. Iowa City: I love it here. Great schools, fantastic cultural events, good friends...who could ask for more.

2. St. Louis: Having my kid grow up close to grandparents would be wonderful. I've also loved the cultural vibe of the city ever since I interned at the paper there in the mid-'90s. Question is...would my inlaws and I still be speaking to each other if we lived that close?? (I'd say the same thing about my own parents, too...but I don't want to live near them because if I had to live in Kansas again, I would cry. A lot. There's no way I'd send my kid to school in a state that doesn't want to teach evolution, for criminy sake.)

3. Monterey, Calif.: Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Too bad the state's bankrupt and marred with active earthquake fault lines. Loved visiting. If I had a zillion dollars and felt daring with my welfare, I'd plant roots there in a heartbeat. (I could probably say the same about any of a number of California cities -- San Francisco and San Diego are two others that come to mind.)

4. San Antonio: Love the Riverwalk. Not thrilled about the state, but any place that has highs in the 60s and 70s in the winter and virtually no snow rates high in my book. As I get older, my tolerance for cold weather gets exponentially lower.

5. Seattle: I've never even been there, but anyplace that in love with coffee and angst would be perfect for me. Lack of sun would be a problem. But everyone I know who's lived there adores it.

If I Were Me, What Kind of Me Would I Be?

2011-05-12T05:49:00.000-07:00

Brainstorm 10 titles to your autobiography.

1. Wandering Amylessly (of course)
2. Caffeinated: The Highs (and Lows) of an Ordinary Girl
3. Scattered
4. I'd Rather Be Elsewhere
5. Short and Sassy
6. I'm Not Your Maid or Your Personal Chef
7. Tales of a Love Triangle: Semicolon, Em Dash, and Me
8. Images in the Mirror are Happier Than They Appear
9. Screaming Inside: I Know All the Bad Words and I'm Not Afraid to Use Them
10. Life Doesn't Have a Handbook, But What About the Cliff's Notes?

Trolling the Imagination Generator for Inspiration

2011-05-11T06:05:00.000-07:00

What's something you've always wanted to do, but have been afraid to?

I'm afraid of a lot of things. A lot of the time. But hey, I read a quote from Mark Twain once: Do the thing you fear most and the death of fear is certain.

I've always wanted to:

1. Get my nose pierced
2. Get a tattoo (just a small one, Mom!)

With these, the major hurdles are fear of pain and fear of alienating Tim. It irritated him enough when I chopped my hair off. I'm not sure he could handle more piercings and body art.

3. Quit my job

Not like I haven't done that before. But I'd love to work full time on a book. I could get published. Really. I might have to self publish to do it. Major fears associated with this: bankruptcy, failure.

4. Take a cruise

My luck, I'd have hideous seasickness the whole time. That's the only fear. Well, that and the fact that a while back, people kept disappearing from cruise ships, never to be heard from again.

5. Be open and honest

I'm probably more open and blabby, in general, than most people. But sometimes I wish I could say whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Fear of offending and fear of mortal embarrassment top the list there. I'd be more specific about details, but I'm afraid, remember?

Which of these am I most likely to do? Nose piercing. It's not permanent if I decide it was a bad decision. And it really affects no one but me. Despite what my guy might think.

Showing my age

2011-05-11T04:54:00.000-07:00

What could make me feel older and more out of touch than these words coming from my 7-year-old:

My bad.

AND

Oh snap!

I still am not sure I can properly use those in a sentence.

But I have decided that what makes me grow older faster (by the second) than anything else is having to explain how babies get created. I've had to be increasingly descriptive each time H's inquisitive self gets revved up.

Guess we're both growing up.

BTW

2011-05-10T13:13:00.001-07:00

Nothing makes me more naturally manic than oodles and gobs of sunshine and warmth.

I was just noticing today a spring in my wedge-sandaled step, the urge to chatter about nothing in particular, and the general feeling of giddiness that a bright, cheery, 80-degree day in May brings.

No need to alert my docs. A little hypomania never hurt anyone. If it spurs me on to clean my house, it's probably a great thing.

Enjoy my great mood (while it lasts). I know I am!

OneRepublic - Good Life

2011-05-10T09:32:00.000-07:00

This is my new favorite song. Enjoy...

Bipolar Spring

2011-05-10T09:18:00.000-07:00

First Catherine Zeta-Jones. Now teen actress Demi Lovato. Both recently announced that they had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I wonder how many other public figures have been diagnosed yet are keeping quiet? The stigma won't fade until people speak up.

For an interesting column about the disorder on Huffington Post, click here. The author also maintains a blog. Read it here.

And as if my mommy guilt wasn't already overwhelming, here's something to add to it. It's a story on a new study that finds children of parents with bipolar disorder are four times as likely to develop mood disorders as children of parents without the disorder.

Wonder what studies show about the link between reading articles like this and becoming stressed out?

Bipolar in the News

2011-04-13T11:27:00.001-07:00

People Magazine revealed today that Catherine Zeta-Jones has been treated for bipolar II disorder, following the life stressors brought on by dealing with husband Michael Douglas's cancer.

Read the story here.

As the story reminds us, bipolar disorder afflicts about 6 million Americans.

I'm glad to see the actress putting her beautiful face on the disorder...to show that, see, it can happen to anyone. It's also nice to see someone taking care of herself and apparently following treatment.

Just a week or so ago, we had this headline in our local papers after a man fatally shot a law enforcement officer in an Eastern Iowa town: Man had long history of mental illness, substance abuse. He had been battling bipolar disorder for 30 years.

The battle never ends for anyone. Sometimes there's a lull in the action. Other times, the fighting's harder than ever. Unfortunately, there are usually casualties of one kind or another.

Hello again

2011-04-11T13:23:00.000-07:00

Wow.

It's been a while.

I've had bronchitis and a sinus infection. My dog had an intestinal blockage and a back injury. My family life's challenging. Work...well, no comment.

Even my Jenny Craig consultant abandoned me. (Although she really took a "leave of absence" from her job and I'm highly conceited for thinking it's all about me.)

The past few weeks have been less than stellar.

Here's to brighter days ahead. If nothing else, we can countdown to summer vacation in June...a week at the beach in North Carolina. Can't wait!

Just a few more hours...

2011-03-10T11:53:00.000-08:00

Never have I been more excited about and looking forward to an 8-hour car trip that I have today, 1 day before my vacay begins.

It's turning out to be a day of grouchy messages from managers and conversations I wish I'd never heard.

And now, I find out there's a Charlie Sheen virus spreading rampant on Facebook.

Stop the madness.

Spring break, here I come.

People do weird stuff in the bathroom

2011-03-09T10:43:00.000-08:00

I just saw a woman's foot in the stall next to me in the bathroom, tapping away. Later, I watched the owner of said foot walk out of the bathroom, bopping away with her iPod earbuds in.

Is one's life so in need of a music soundtrack, one must not put down one's portable music player to do one's bathroom business? Really?

I've heard of people talking on the phone, too. If you are ever on the phone with me while you're in the can, hang up on me. Seriously. I'll forgive you. I do not understand the kind of urgency that anyone must feel to both converse and well, you know.

I've also seen women applying makeup while driving their cars. I've seen men playing trash can basketball while on a conference call. There are probably people out there who listen to their iPod in one ear while listening to a conference call through another, while driving and applying makeup. Throw in "passing through the drive through for a quick bite of lunch" and you have yourself a show called Juggling in 2011.

There's multitasking. And then there's feeding the beast labeled: Attention Deficit Disorder.

Focus, people. Focus.

Did you just flush? I swear I heard that...

Must be spring: the kids are singing

2011-03-08T13:29:00.000-08:00

Tonight, we're going to Henry's first-grade music program.

Have any of you heard my beautiful child sing? Let's just say he inherited his parents' lack of vocal talent. He gives it his all. Off key. But all the while genuinely trying his best. When he's not tapping his neighbor on the shoulder or fiddling with his shoelaces or wiping his nose on his sleeve.

I'm actually looking forward to it. I remember last year's concert was more amusing for its accidentally comedic moments than for its stellar pitch. Kids totally not paying attention, having side conversations during the choruses, trying really hard not to beat each other with the wooden blocks they were using as noisemakers, picking noses, wriggling in itchy clothes.

That was kindergarten. I'm fully insisting that first grade's when we start seeing the Justin Biebers-in-training hit the scene. Too bad we cut H's hair.

In addition to the entertainment, we're also going this evening because Henry's planning to coerce us into buying him books at the school's book fair. I think Henry's school must get money or free books or some sort of graft based on how many books get sold because yesterday he came home with a pink sheet of lined paper titled This is my book fair wish list. Get out your wallets, suckas.

My wish? I wish they wouldn't DO THAT.

He had five or six books written down, complete with prices and an accompanying explanation for why it was imperative that he have each one. Come on kiddo. Convince me. Tell me how Star Wars The Clone Wars Secret Missions #2 The Curse of the Black Hole Pirates is going to get you into an Ivy-League school. Explain how you're going to contribute to society after reading Captain Underpants and the Invasion of the Incredibly Naughty Cafeteria Ladies from Outer Space

I can almost see it now. The negotiation. The fit about to be pitched. The concession. The sack of reading materials plunked into his hot little attention-seeking rock star hands.

With or without the Justin Bieber hair, he'll deserve an ovation for the performance.

Making Connections?

2011-03-06T04:18:00.000-08:00

A Circle of Useless Facts to Fill Up Your Brain...

Denny's Grand Slam breakfast made its debut in 1977.

There are 27 sovereign member states of the European union -- 20 republics, 6 kingdoms, and 1 grand duchy.

A grand duchy, sometimes referred to as a grand dukedom, is a territory whose head of state is a monarch, either a grand duke or grand duchess.

Genevieve Guidroz, born Aug. 7, 1932 in Berwick, Louisiana, is better known as the grand dame of dieting: Jenny Craig. She started her company in 1983 in Australia with her husband Sidney and started in the U.S. two years later.

Jenny Craig Inc. has been part of Nestlé Nutrition since 2006.

Nestlé HealthCare Nutrition employs 2,500 people in approximately 30 countries, with global headquarters Switzerland and North American headquarters in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Nutritional Information for a Grand Slam: a Belgian Waffle Slam with margarine but no syrup is 1,030 calories.

This made me cackle

2011-03-04T13:41:00.000-08:00

Click here for an amusing example of office passive aggressiveness.

Treat day. Really.

2011-03-04T12:10:00.000-08:00

Our company rewards us quarterly for our hard work and dedication to the company by hosting "Treat Day." This is a day where the company provides sugary snacks to employees. This is the same company that has been sending us nutritional pamphlets and books on how to be healthier. This is the same company that has been advertising its upcoming participation in a Global Corporate Health Challenge. This is the same company that bemoans the fact its health care premiums are skyrocketing because its employees are so sedentary and fat and generally unhealthy.

Makes perfect sense, eh.

Used to be that the company would also provide apples on "Treat Day" so that those trying to watch their calories would have a reward as well. The company stopped doing that. When no one ate the fruit.

So here I sit, on "Treat Day," having to deal with the fact that a giant plate of cream cheese brownies is sitting in the empty cube right next to me.

Truthfully, I'm not that tempted. I like the way 24.4-pounds-lighter feels on me these days. That's how much I've lost on Jenny Craig since I started in December. I've dropped at least a pants size. I can run more than a mile without stopping. I can walk more than 10,000 steps a day.

And I can say no to cream cheese brownies. Sitting. By. My. Desk. All. Day.

It's ok. I have a Jenny Brownie waiting for me at home after dinner tonight. Happy "Treat Day" to me. And in August, when I fit into that two-piece swimsuit, that will be treat enough.

Truthfully, if the company wanted to reward me for my hard work, I'd take a few bucks extra in my paycheck. You know. If anyone asks...

10 days and counting...

2011-03-02T05:52:00.000-08:00

...until Henry and I (and the two dogs) hit the road for Spring Break! Tim's teaching a photo class that week, so we're on our own. Where are we going? What exotic locale have we chosen?

Kansas.

I know. You're overtaken with envy. Try not to hate us too much.

Actually, I'm extremely excited to go on this trip. I get to see my parents, Henry spends time with his grandparents, and I get some freedom to go shopping or to movies or to knit or read while the kiddo's entertained by people who adore him. I adore him too, but I already get to experience his wonder and brilliance 24/7/365. I'll give someone else a chance!

We'll also hit the tourist venues of the Wichita metropolitan area. I hope the weather's nice. We're planning to visit the zoo, the children's museum, and mini-golf, for starters. Anyone else out there have ideas? I'm open to suggestions.

Five glorious days away from work...that's the true joy of vacation. It doesn't really matter WHERE we go.

Now, if we could just figure out a way to wriggle our noses and magically appear at our destination, instead of having to endure an 8+ hour drive. I guess it's the price we pay for paradise.

So J.E.A.L.O.U.S. you are. I can tell...

It's that time again!

2011-03-01T07:58:00.001-08:00

Everyone get out your party hats and noisemakers! Friday is National Grammar Day!!!

I'm giving you ample warning. You have no excuses. You WILL be celebrating, won't you?!

Just say no to split infinitives. Don't dare end a sentence with a preposition. Watch out for subject/verb agreement.

To check out Grammar Girl's festivities, click here.

To enter a grammar day contest, click here.

To see how another blogger marks the occasion, click here. (Truthfully, I have no idea who the hell Betsy is, but I'm sure she's a fine person.)

To buy your favorite copy editor kewl stuff, click here.

Finally, remember this: "I'm the grammar snob about whom your mother warned you." Learn it. Know it. Live it.

Madness

2011-02-28T18:56:00.000-08:00

Crazy. Nutty. Wacko. Psycho. Freaky. Cuckoo.

I'm probably a hypocrite. I've used the words before, frequently to label myself. Usually in a self-deprecating way. But the last thing someone who's ill needs is to be belittled or insulted or, for that matter, labeled.

Anyone who uses these labels keeps the stigma of mental illness alive. I'm as guilty as the next person. I'm not pointing fingers. I'm reminding. I'm raising that red flag of awareness. Would you tease a cancer victim for being sick? Of course not. So why should this be any different?

I've heard and/or read each of those six negative, harmful words above in the last few days, all uttered to describe one person and his erratic, out-of-control behavior: actor Charlie Sheen.

He's gone on rants, often nonsensical and seemingly delusional. He claims he's cured himself of addiction. He brags about women. He bemoans how people are out to get him. His paranoia leads him to declare war on others. He insists he's fine and that everyone else is messed up.

I don't even know whether he has mental illness. But people who are well do not behave in this manner. And I've seen enough of the paranoia, the claimed invincibility, the addiction denials, the hypersexuality (one of his best pals these days is a porn star)...if he isn't exhibiting a raging case of bipolar disorder, then he should win an Oscar because he's putting on a damn convincing performance.

Someone says he's crazy or nutso or loco or you-fill-in-the-blank. I just keep thinking ... how sad. Others see him as a punch line. I keep thinking how this must be affecting his kids. Those behind the scenes at TMZ.com must be thinking they hit the mother lode. My gut clenches as I read the headlines and wonder how long before he physically hurts himself or someone else.

I'm no expert. But I have enough personal experience to say that when you're sick enough that you can't see that what you're doing and saying is hurtful and cruel and destructive, someone is going to have to intervene and help protect you from yourself. I hope he gets the help he needs. Before it's too late. If it isn't already.

"There is a particular kind of pain, elation, loneliness, and terror involved in this kind of madness. When you're high it's tremendous. The ideas and feelings are fast and frequent like shooting stars, and you follow them until you find better and brighter ones. Shyness goes, the right words and gestures are suddenly there, the power to captivate others a felt certainty. There are interests found in uninteresting people. Sensuality is pervasive and the desire to seduce and be seduced irresistible. Feelings of ease, intensity, power, well-being, financial omnipotence, and euphoria pervade one's marrow. But, somewhere, this changes. The fast ideas are far too fast, and there are far too many; overwhelming confusion replaces clarity. Memory goes. Humor and absorption on friends' faces are replaced by fear and concern. Everything previously moving with the grain is now against--you are irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable, and enmeshed totally in the blackest caves of the mind. You never knew those caves were there. It will never end, for madness carves its own reality."
— Kay Redfield Jamison (An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness)

Date night!

2011-02-25T05:40:00.000-08:00

We booked a babysitter.

Those are four glorious words in the Schoon household. We don't hear them often. But we've now found a new, reliable, consistent, responsible young woman who loves our kid and who's generally available when we need her, who luckily agreed to relieve us of our parental duties for one evening so we can go have dinner and drinks and conversation like grownups. (Tim, there better be NO whining. NO negotiating. NO complaining that you'd rather be playing video games. Hear me?)

Dinner's at HuHot mongolian grill, one of the only places we can NEVER go with Henry because, well, the concept of various foods all mixed together...not a hit with the H-man. Foods covered with sauce (that's not ketchup) and touching -- a deadly combination in the eyes and palate of our 7-year-old.

Then we're headed to the First Avenue Club in Iowa City to watch the River Rats Dueling Pianos show, featuring two guys from Minneapolis, two grand pianos, and an array of rock-n-roll favorites. It is billed as "not your mother's piano bar."

So excited I can barely get through the day! Happy Friday!

5 Things I'm Pessimistic About

2011-02-24T05:38:00.000-08:00

1. Politics. Everyone hates everyone else. No one listens. Lots of people are nuttier than I am. It's amazing anything ever gets done.

2. The Weather. From mid January to early April, it just simply sucks. At least, here, anyway. It's probably delightful in Florida or Australia or somewhere where I'm not.

3. House cleaning. It doesn't matter how well you do it once. You're just going to have to do it again. That holds true for laundry, dishes, and working out.

4. Glasses. They're always half empty with me. Sorry. Just the way my brain works. If you're searching for Patty Positive, you'll have to look elsewhere.

5. A size 4. No matter how much I diet, nevermind how many running miles I log or the exorbitant number of ab crunches I complete, I am fairly sure I will never squeeze myself into size 4 jeans. Perhaps later this year I will prove myself completely wrong. Or vanity sizing will treat me kindly.

Both optimists and pessimists contribute to our society. The optimist invents the airplane and the pessimist the parachute. -- G.B. Stern

It's easy to cry when you realize that everyone you love will reject you or die. -- Chuck Palahniuk

A pessimist is somebody who complains about the noise when opportunity knocks. -- Oscar Wilde

Yay, Team Kenyon!

2011-02-23T07:43:00.000-08:00

I've written about the Kenyons before. They are an inspiration. They also went through something no one should ever have to: losing a child. Little Will was one reason I started this blog, way back in 2004. I think a little piece of everyone who heard his story passed away with him the day he left us.

Click here to see pictures of three sweet, beautiful boys. Read their family's story. Then donate to the March of Dimes' March for Babies if you can. Or find a walk in your area and sign up to participate and collect donations yourself.

Tim and I are so lucky; we had a full-term, healthy baby boy with no complications. To ensure that the risks and challenges decrease for other babies-to-be and their families, we support the March of Dimes in its invaluable research efforts. I plan to walk with them on April 16 in Iowa City, remembering Will and celebrating his two adorable, treasured siblings!

Rumor has it

2011-02-22T10:37:00.001-08:00

Several people on Facebook posted that today is National Margarita Day. Mmmmm.

Nibblin' on sponge cake,
watchin' the sun bake;
All of those tourists covered with oil.
Strummin' my six string on my front porch swing.
Smell those shrimp
They're beginnin' to boil.

Wasted away again in Margaritaville,
Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt.
Some people claim that there's a woman to blame,
But I know it's nobody's fault.

Don't know the reason,
Stayed here all season
With nothing to show but this brand new tattoo.
But it's a real beauty,
A Mexican cutie, how it got here
I haven't a clue.

Wasted away again in Margaritaville,
Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt.
Some people claim that there's a woman to blame,
Now I think, - hell it could be my fault.

I blew out my flip flop,
Stepped on a pop top,
Cut my heel, had to cruise on back home.
But there's booze in the blender,
And soon it will render
That frozen concoction that helps me hang on.

Wasted away again in Margaritaville
Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt.
Some people claim that there's a woman to blame,
But I know, it's my own damn fault.
Yes, and some people claim that there's a woman to blame
And I know it's my own damn fault.

Thinking of...

2011-02-22T08:22:00.000-08:00

Warm rays
Sweet tea and iced chai latte
Sundresses and sandals
Outdoor cafes
Street musicians
Runners
Dog walkers
Lovers holding hands
Cyclists riding the roads
Giggling children
Packed playgrounds
Reading in the hammock
Sandy beaches
Lying by the pool
Sleeping with the windows open

Oh Last Week: You were such a tease

2011-02-21T07:21:00.001-08:00

Last Thursday, the temperature soared to nearly 70 degrees. I ran outside on the trail in a t-shirt and shorts. In FEBRUARY. In IOWA!

Here we are, four days later, and it's 30 degrees, drizzling, with the promise of snow showers later in the day.

I pulled out my light box this morning for the very first time this winter, hoping it will help me through...so a rough patch doesn't turn into a deepening chasm. Yesterday I felt grouchy and out of sorts. Today, I'm sleepy and grumbly and staring out at the gray day, wishing I was anywhere else but here.

Snap. Out. Of. It.

I so wanted that beautiful day from last week to be a sign of things to come. And I guess it was. Too bad the "things to come" are a month or two off...

I Wonder

2011-02-20T17:15:00.001-08:00

I often wonder what my life would have been like if I'd been diagnosed with mental illness when I was in college. If someone would've told me that what was going on inside my head wasn't a character flaw or simply just the way I was born, then helped me find the right meds and therapy, it would've saved me a boatload of pain, anxiety, and self-loathing.

Who knows, given that the very best meds have only recently been released, maybe I would've ended up on a regimen of electroshock therapy or with a good old fashioned lobotomy.

No one even seriously suggested I might have a problem, even though I was an emotional, manic depressive basketcase for years and years and years.

That's why I'm happy to find out that there's a web site out there devoted to a campaign that aims to "change the conversation about mental health on college campuses."

At ActiveMinds.org, organizers promote development of chapters of a student-run mental health awareness, education, and advocacy group on the nation's campuses. They do this to help increase awareness of mental health issues, provide info and resources, encourage students to seek help as soon as possible, and serve as a liaison between students and the mental health community.

The site itself is a valuable resource, including the latest news on trends and research, ways to connect with those who can help or empathize, and listings of relevant programs and events.

And, because it's always the right time for a reminder, the site offers 12 signs that a friend (or you, yourself) might need some help.

The first thing to know is that seeking help is a sign of strength. If you're worried or concerned, go with your gut, ask for help! This is never a wrong decision. Truly, seeing a professional can really help.

1. Feelings of hopelessness or worthlessness, depressed mood, poor self esteem or guilt
2. Withdrawal from friends, family and activities that used to be fun
3. Changes in eating or sleeping patterns; Are you sleeping all the time? Or having trouble falling asleep? Are you gaining weight or never hungry?
4. Anger, rage, or craving for revenge; Sometimes people notice they are overreacting to criticism
5. Feeling tired or exhausted all of the time
6. Trouble concentrating, thinking, remember or making decisions; Are you suddenly struggling in school? Sometimes academic performance suffers and grades drop
7. Restless, irritable, agitated or anxious movements or behaviors
8. Regular crying
9. Neglect of personal care; Have you stopped caring about your appearance or stopped keeping up with your personal hygiene?
10. Reckless or impulsive behaviors; Are you drinking or using drugs excessively? Are you behaving unsafely in other ways?
11. Persistent physical symptoms such as headaches, digestive problems or chronic pain that do not respond to routine treatment
12. Thoughts about death or suicide

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK

From the Random Idea Generator...

2011-02-19T10:54:00.001-08:00

5 of my very worst ideas

1. Wouldn't it be great to work for corporate America?!

2. How about meeting men on the Internet. Yeah. There's nothing dangerous or freaky about that at all. (Let me just add that it was long before Tim made his appearance in my life AND before Match.com became something all the cool kids do.)

3. I graduated from college and bought a car...without having a steady source of income. Thanks to Mom and Dad for paying my insurance and various other debts...

4. At various moments in my life: "Oh, sure, I'll just have one more glass of wine..." Hardly anything good ever comes of that.

5. Trying to write responses to this particular blog topic

Hello, Merriam-Webster

2011-02-18T05:56:00.000-08:00

Close your eyes, open a dictionary, and point to a word. Does your word mean anything special to you?

performance 1. the execution of an action; 2. something accomplished: deed, feat; 3. the fulfillment of a claim or promise; 4. the action of representing a character in a play; 5. a public presentation or exhibition; 6. the ability to perform; efficiency; 7. the manner of reacting to stimuli: behavior

The first thing that popped into my head when I saw this word was "work performance." As in "performance appraisal." As in, let's sit down and have my manager tell me all the reasons why I do a great job but am not being promoted. This year it was because I had communication issues, specifically that I displayed negative nonverbal cues. I'm not altogether sure what the problem is. It's not like I flipped people off in staff meetings. Some days, I would like to wear a shirt that says, "I think I'm doing pretty well for being mentally unstable."

How do you think that would go over at work? It wouldn't pass the dress code, for starters.

Next on my mind was "performance" as in theater or music. I've taken the stage twice in my life, fifth and sixth grades, I believe. I played bit parts in two holiday plays at my Methodist church. One was A Christmas Carol. The other was Merry Christmas Charlie Brown. The one takeaway from those productions was that I am not meant to be a thespian. I make myself so incredibly nervous in preparation for the big show, I nearly throw up. The thought of all those eyes watching me...I'm feeling queasy just thinking about it now. There was one other benefit from my stage days: I can quote nearly every line when we watch Charlie Brown every December.

"You want a reason? I'll give you five good reasons: 1, 2, 3, 4...5" (she says, folding each finger of her hand down to form a fist, which she shoves in Linus's face)

Overall, "performance" is a fitting word for me to delve into, because, my whole life, I never felt as though I performed to the best of my abilities. I struggle a lot with believing in myself. There are things I'd like to do, but I'm afraid if I don't excel at them, I will feel as though I have not "performed" well. My need to strive for perfection duels with my reality that I will never get there. Not even close. Am I an actress? At first thought, NO. Then again, I've only tried twice, and that was when I was an awkward tween in a church play setting, surrounded by all the popular kids (of which I was not one).

I could play this game with many areas of my life, my many interests.

Am I an athlete? NO. But I'm working on it.
Am I a knitter? Well, I dabble.
Am I a musician? Not really. Although I spend half the year playing around with the community band.
Am I a writer? I'm writing this blog. The books inside me screaming to get out don't get any quieter. Yet my fingers can't seem to find the keys to string sentence after sentence together.
Am I a mother? Well, yes. But am I a good one? That's the question...
Am I a copyeditor? (This is me shooting you nasty, nonverbal looks.)

In most areas of my life, I don't have someone rating my performance. (With the exception of work. And we've seen how that goes.) Then again, maybe I do have someone rating my performance.

Me. And I'm a bitch of a critic.

Going on 6.5 Years

2011-02-17T10:35:00.000-08:00

That's about how old this blog is.

Doesn't seem possible. I went back and read some old posts during lunch. I swear I never remember writing half of that drivel.

Most of the rest, I wish I wouldn't have written.

Manipulated

2011-02-17T05:47:00.000-08:00

Do you watch The Biggest Loser?

For that matter, do you watch any reality show?

I feel completely manipulated. I react the way the show's editors and producers want me to react. By playing up certain scenes, by leaving out other important information, by changing up the background music or camera angles, they lead me to believe one thing happened. But really something else entirely is going on.

Manipulated. Tricked. Teased and toyed with.

I'm such a puppet.

The fact that "reality" shows are anything but reality isn't really news to me. I just had a moment last night, watching a DVR'd episode of TBL, when it all came together in a nice little package with a big, shiny bow.

Is that what makes these shows compelling? I think the stories would speak for themselves, without all the overly produced touches. Maybe, in TBL case, they could cut down the artificially inflated drama at the weigh-in and have more time to let the stories play out on their own rather than being forced along and awkwardly enhanced.

I also wonder how much like puppets TBL contestants feel. At one point during the episode, a trainer got all up in someone's face and pushed him harder than everyone else in an attempt to break that person down and have him face his emotions. Would the trainer really do that? Or is there a director taking the trainer aside and saying, "You know what would be really dramatic? Be so pushy and obnoxious and ruthless, you make him cry!"

Anything for ratings.

And yes. I, the puppet, keep watching.

Pull my strings.

On Writing...

2011-02-16T12:12:00.000-08:00

Do not put statements in the negative form.
And don't start sentences with a conjunction.
If you reread your work, you will find on rereading that a
great deal of repetition can be avoided by rereading and editing.
Never use a long word when a diminutive one will do.
Unqualified superlatives are the worst of all.
De-accession euphemisms.
If any word is improper at the end of a sentence, a linking verb is.
Avoid trendy locutions that sound flaky.
Last, but not least, avoid cliches like the plague.
-- William Safire, Great Rules of Writing

BITE YOUR TONGUE

2011-02-15T16:41:00.001-08:00

Just yesterday, I was bragging to my friends at work about how my kid hadn't missed a day of school all school-year long so far due to illness.

Today, when we picked him up from the after-school program, he sniffled and sneezed all the way home. Then I took his temp, just for kicks.

102.8

Poor baby. I don't know how long he has been running the fever. Why didn't anyone at school notice? He mentioned "I got so hot in P.E., I totally wanted to take off my shirt in the gym."

Well no wonder, poor guy is practically boiling.

I hate seeing him sick. He's so not himself. He just sprawls on the couch, curled up with a stuffed animal, and stares at the TV as if in a hypnotic trance. It's like he's asleep with his eyes open.

So there goes his stellar attendance record. Now Tim and I have to play rock, paper, scissors to decide who'll stay home with the puny punkin.

It really had been a long time since he's been sick. When I reached for the unopened bottle of Children's Ibuprofen in our cabinet, I noticed that it had expired.

In September 2009.

Song I'm Currently Loving

2011-02-15T07:36:00.000-08:00

Little Wonders
Rob Thomas

Let it go
Let it roll right off your shoulder
Don't you know
The hardest part is over
Let it in
Let your clarity define you
In the end
We will only just remember how it feels

Let it slide
Let your troubles fall behind you
Let it shine,
Till you feel it all around you
And I don't mind
If it's me you need to turn to
We'll get by
It's the heart that really matters in the end

All of my regret
Will wash away somehow
But I cannot forget
the way I feel right now

In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists and turns of fate
Yeah, these twisted turns of fate
Time falls away
Yeah, but these small hours,
These small hours
Still remain

ME.

2011-02-15T03:53:00.000-08:00

lo·qua·cious
/loʊˈkweɪʃəs/ Show Spelled[loh-kwey-shuhs]
–adjective
1. talking or tending to talk much or freely; talkative; chattering; babbling; garrulous: a loquacious dinner guest.
2. characterized by excessive talk; wordy: easily the most loquacious play of the season.

Bathroom conversation

2011-02-14T13:55:00.000-08:00

I noticed that, after a couple weeks of being out of his own Suave 99-cents-a-bottle shampoo, Tim was still using mine in the shower.

Me: So you really like my shampoo, eh?

Tim: Eh, shampoo's shampoo. Whatever.

Me: My shampoo's 25 bucks a bottle.

Tim: *shudder* Next time I go to the store...

Happy Valentine's Day

2011-02-14T07:08:00.000-08:00

If you're with someone, you love this day. If you're not, you're likely spewing venomous curses on the world. OR you might be a jaded, cynical beast somewhere in between, ranting your conspiracy theory about the card companies, candy makers, and florists.

Whatever your take on romantic gestures, I wish you a happy day. If you love hearts and flowers, enjoy! If you can't stomach one more mention of the holiday, go eat some chocolate or buy new shoes and shut up about it. For the cynics: lighten up. Go kiss someone. It'll make you feel better.

And for my valentine: our song.

These Are Days
10k Maniacs

These are the days

These are days you'll remember

Never before and never since, I promise

Will the whole world be warm as this

And as you feel it,

You'll know it's true

That you are blessed and lucky

It's true that you

Are touched by something

That will grow and bloom in you

These are days that you'll remember

When May is rushing over you

With desire to be part of the miracles

You see in every hour

You'll know it's true

That you are blessed and lucky

It's true that you are touched

By something that will grow and bloom in you

These are days

These are the days you might fill

With laughter until you break

These days you might feel

A shaft of light

Make its way across your face

And when you do

Then you'll know how it was meant to be

See the signs and know their meaning

It's true

Then you'll know how it was meant to be

Hear the signs and know they're speaking

To you, to you

Hmmm...

2011-02-13T10:07:00.001-08:00

Just saw one of those automatic ads pop up on the right side of my Facebook page. It was from groupon.com, the web site where you can sign up for daily coupons and deals from local businesses. The ad said, "365 things to do in Cedar Rapids before you die."

I wonder if number 1 on the list was, "Get the hell out of Cedar Rapids!"

Back in the Day

2011-02-07T12:38:00.000-08:00

Tim and I were sitting on the couch, watching bad TV and chatting about a lot of nothing this weekend when it suddenly struck me that as of this summer, Tim and I will have known each other for 15 years. Last year, we celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary, and that was big. But 15 years is a LONG time. We met in the '90s. Remember when the Olympics were held in Atlanta? When the Packers won the Super Bowl the LAST time around? When Princess Di divorced Prince Charles? When Boris Yeltsin was leader of Russia? Bill Clinton was elected to a second term?

All those things happened in 1996.

I can barely remember what I had for breakfast yesterday. So I'm not that surprised I had to Google 1996 to come up with some major events to relay. However, my hubby surprised me...really floored me...when he told me he remembers what I was wearing the first moment he laid eyes on me when we met that day for a meal at Applebee's in St. Joseph, MO. He was specific: those shorts that looked like a little skirt. He thinks they were blue plaid. He also insists that we went to dinner, not lunch, and that I picked him up at his apartment rather than meeting him at the restaurant. All details I failed to remember.

I. Love. This. Guy. So. Much. !!!

It wasn't the day we officially started dating. This first meeting was simply a friendly meal -- dinner, yes, dinner -- between two people who found out they had a mutual friend and needed something to do on a night off work in a town that I've often described as "the armpit of the Midwest" and that others told me was "an all-you-can-eat kind of town." It took us a couple more months to realize the attraction. Not even my dried-out pork chops and box-mix brownies scared him away that time.

We've been through a lot since we met. We've lived in, between the two of us, at least 6 different zip codes. Tim earned a master's degree. He won a photographer of the year award. We've been pet parents and real-time parents. We became homeowners. Twice. I rode in an airplane for the first time (and several more times going to visit my long-distance love). I moved away from Kansas for the first time. Tim went camping in 20-below weather. He also hiked the Appalachian Trail and canoed the Boundary Waters. Together we've been to the Grand Canyon, Alcatraz, Mt. Rushmore, up the Sears Tower and Hancock Building, to Dallas's grassy knoll, the Four Corners, KC's Plaza, Grand Teton, Yellowstone National Park, and the beaches of Southern California. Tim tried to teach me to ski; we survived that. I spent time in the hospital and was diagnosed with mental illness; survived that, too.

Fifteen years. It's a long time. It feels like longer. In a good way. I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be than with him. Good times. Bad times. Anytime.

"I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." -- Harry in When Harry Met Sally

SNOWPOCALYPSE 2011

2011-02-03T08:11:00.000-08:00

We ended up with 15-17 inches of snow, but some drifts were chest high! Wacky stuff! Schools and businesses closed. City buses stopped running. I worked from home half day and took the rest off to play. We had to clear paths for the dogs to run in. Tim went in to work about noon, once the buses started running again, and took pictures for a campus-snow-day photo gallery (even the UofI canceled classes, which is nearly unheard of). Today, I'm back to work. H had a 2-hour delay for school. And the sun is brightly shining.

If only it weren't -14 on my way to work. UGH! I'm ready for spring.

Winter Wonderland again

2011-01-31T06:01:00.000-08:00

I've been saying for weeks, either it needs to dump some more snow to cover up the gray, nasty mess, or it needs to warm up enough for me to run outside.

Over the weekend, I ran outside twice in temps in the upper 20s to low 30s.

However, I'm getting my other wish starting tomorrow. It's going to dump up to a foot of snow here between Tuesday and Wednesday, and then the whole mess is going to blow around like crazy. The "B" word has been tossed about...b as in blizzard.

Our management team sent out a note today warning people not to take risks and to take the day off if it's too nasty.

Sounds like a great plan to me. Fireplace, jammies, board games, books, knitting, puzzles.

Just as long as the power stays on.

We Google Because We Can

2011-01-27T06:33:00.001-08:00

Did you know if you type a few words into Google, say, the beginning of a question, Google will give you all sorts of possibilities for discussion?

The bit I typed in this morning was: "Does this..."

Here were some of the ways Google completed that phrase, based on what other Google users have previously typed. Should we be afraid for the future of humankind?

1. Does this mean you're moving on?

2. Does this mean you're annoying?

3. Does this look infected?

4. Does this guy like me?

5. Does this mean I'm pregnant?

6. Does this mean I'm gay?

7. Does this look stupid?

8. Does this offend you?

9. Does this make my ass look fat?

10. (What) does this dream mean?

What did we do before Google? (And as an aside, how many of you are now going to go to Google and type in "What did we...") Well, for starters, if there were no Google, I wouldn't have wasted the last 10 minutes writing this.

And the top "What did we" phrases included "What did we learn, what did we win, and what did we use before toilet paper."

Moving day...again

2011-01-26T07:42:00.000-08:00

Just when I was truly settling into my new space at work, enjoying the more climate-controlled temperatures and the row of windows streaming joyous sunlight into my cube...

We found out we're moving.

The lease is up on the building we're in, and our company isn't renewing. So they'll be shuffling us all off to the four corners of the universe. Really there are three options. Two of the options would mean a shorter commute, the third would tack on another 15 minutes each way.

One of the shorter commute options is a giant building that resembles a cave. Few windows. People crammed in like sardines in a can. Old furniture. It's really a place that could suck out your soul. However, there's a knitting group that meets once a week, and those ladies are super fun.

The longer commute would be to a nearly new office building, likely with more space and fewer bodies. It is located right off the interstate, so it's easy enough to get to. And perhaps if I whined a bit about the longer drive, they'd agree to let me work from home some during the week.

Truthfully, I don't care where we go. I just want to KNOW the DECISION as soon as possible.

Until then, I'm going to sit in my sunshine and enjoy the view.