Travelin'

Last night was very festive indeed, and this morning very early: I had a 7:15 Greyhound to catch. It was also very snowy; Champaign must have gotten about three inches of snow overnight. I got into Chicago mostly without incident, although our bus driver, upon learning from his dispatcher that he couldn't transport just the eight of us, drove us around the block and back to the station, where we had to get on a far more crowded (but thankfully also Chicago-bound) bus. I didn't have a window seat to myself with room for my backpack, but I did manage to sleep despite my gently snoring neighbor and what seemed like an extra-lurchy trip through snowy fields.

I had hoped to visit the Art Institute, but my friends wanted to outrun the impending snowstorm and thus picked me up early. The roads weren't too bad on the way home, but traffic was some of the worst we'd seen, even--and especially--in the seemingly empty stretches of Wisconsin around the Dells. It ended up taking us around eight and a half hours to get home to (also snowy) Minneapolis.

But now here I am. I ate an entire pizza and a tangerine, and still feel slightly hungry but entirely uninspired to do the things that need doing, which include completing my work for the online course, writing an abstract for a conference paper, drafting another conference paper to submit to my writing group, and getting rid of the occupied mousetrap I discovered under my sink upon returning (I caught my first last Saturday: sigh). The deadline for the first three things is tomorrow. I would far rather curl up in bed and sleep.

Under Pressure

People. NaBloPoMo is almost over. Although it has become nearly habitual by now to make sure I have a post in before the end of the day, it's really not getting much easier. Still, it has been an interesting experience, and certainly nothing compared to other crazy experiments I've undertaken in this space.

Champaign continues to delight. This afternoon, we even met up with my aunt and uncle, who live in Indiana and were driving through on their way home from Bloomington. They treated us to lunch at a cafe downtown, to which Ellen and I walked from her house. We walked through a park, and the weather was surprisingly mild and nice-smelling.

Now we're off to evening festivities. Tomorrow, I bus back bright and early to the city, where I'll meet my friends to drive back home--and try to accomplish a lot by the end of Monday. Did December completely sneak up on anyone else?

Collaborative

Ellen helped me write this post, by supplying every other word. You can guess whose words are whose.

Dear Deer,

This is a warning. It may cause surprise. Ellen, magnificent in cookery and cyclery, is broadcasting live from the other side of the moon! Today is a memorial day to the sixth power. Blue skies are delightful. Imminent adventures will surround you. Dinner is an apocalypse of the minor sort. However, you have decided to carry on your conversations with us.

Much of the past is mysterious, unless you are a geomancer! If you are a geomancer, you have the opportunity to discern life from death. Clever am I. Wine will addle your common man, out of your preferred context. This cornbread has fruity overtones. Yes, we are here, and the circus continues.

Thanksgiving

We left this morning at 6:00 a.m. and drove into the sunrise. My friends dropped me at O'Hare on the way to the 'burbs, and I took a train to downtown. It was a beautiful day in Chicago; I thought I'd be able to make it without my hat and mittens at first (though I was eventually proved wrong). I poked around Millennium Park for a while (pictures later), saw the amazing Cloud Gate, and then caught an Amtrak to Champaign.

Given my luck--or, rather, lack thereof--with trains, it shouldn't be surprising that we were delayed 40 minutes getting out because of a failed switch. However, I did make it to Champaign, from which I now write, having enjoyed a gourmet dinner at the Treehouse.

Ellen and I are leaving momentarily for our date with Daniel Craig. I've been looking forward to it for weeks.

Happy Thanksgiving, wherever this finds you!

Thanksgiving Eve

My neighbor called this evening to see if she could borrow an egg, and we were chatting in my living room before I was startled to realize that I was wearing my pajamas. I spend so much time at home these days, and am so comfortable around her, that I hadn't even noticed. She's certainly seen me in my pajamas before, but I did feel a bit sheepish to be wearing them at 7:30 p.m.

We went into the kitchen to get an egg, and I remembered that I had some pears that were perfectly ripe, and wouldn't remain so through the weekend. I'd been googling for a recipe when she'd called about the egg. So we went back over to her apartment, and she searched her Joy of Cooking cookbook for pear recipes while I chatted with her fiance, who was at the computer. We all talked about conferences and books and libraries, which sounds awfully nerdy, and was, but also involved a lot of laughing and a tiny bit of singing (he was singing, not me!).

I decided that I was too lazy and short on time and ingredients to make pear pecan bread before bed, and my neighbor realized she'd left her egg in my kitchen, so we went back over to my apartment. I gave her the egg and the two pears I wasn't going to bake up fancily, and we chatted a little longer before she returned to her cooking, and I to my computer.

Last year, I spent Thanksgiving with her family, and I remember standing in her fragrant kitchen the night before as she made amazing stuffing and we talked about food and family. Based on last year and on tonight, I'm thinking that Thanksgiving Eve may be one of the very nicest days of the year. There is a general sense of people cooking and anticipating eating and having the rest of the week off (and in some cases, a trip!). It's not as big of a deal as Christmas, so there's less stress, but a similar, if subdued, festivity.

Standing in my pajamas on the eve of Thanksgiving, in my warm, clean kitchen, laughing with my neighbor as she described this year's biggest culinary adventure--a cake with chestnut flour she's making herself!--and excited to be roadtripping tomorrow at the crack of dawn, I was very thankful indeed.

Week-ling

It's kind of hard to believe that today is only Tuesday.

The week of Thanksgiving always throws me off: Wednesday feels like Friday, Thursday feels like Saturday, etc. And since I was up late completing a fellowship application (which our department's awesome administrative assistant and I got collated, copied, signed, sealed, and--yes--delivered, to the Graduate College this afternoon); and since I had a student break down crying during my office hours, which is always a bit exhausting; and since it seems as though half of our department is in relational readjustment; and also because we went ahead and took an hour of happy after school; it feels like much later in the week.

In fact, this evening I haven't done any work, just cleaning. My mom taught me it's always better to return from a trip to a clean and orderly home (and the friend returning from Peru may swing by to pick up her plants while I'm gone, too, so I'd like things to be tidy). Thursday morning, between five and six (my friend said he'd call tomorrow to let me know whether it was going to be closer to five or to six) I'm heading to Chicago! Road trips make me excited in general, but ones around the holidays always feel especially festive. Plus, I get to see Ellen, and this time I don't have to take the bus. Which I did, two years ago, although for some reason I completely neglected to blog about it at all.

Hey! Last night I found out I was accepted to present at a conference in Milwaukee this February. I'm pretty excited about that; I've never been, and if I drive, I'm also hoping to get a look at Madison.

Comparison essays

The final essay on my students' second midterm asked them to identify and then write about the images you see above, Manet's Dejeuner sur l'herbe and Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa.

WARNING: Generally, one should avoid reading student essays before trying to do any serious writing of one's own.

The native speaker who is not on track to pass the course:
"In both paintings we are both looking at the woman as being the major focus. They both just stare at you in a gaze which women of the time period really seldom did. Image on the left didn't get to appear in all studios due the fact the woman didn't car she was "naked" not "nude" the forest was not what was being captured backgrounds in both of these image really was to impotant. The mono Lisa on right thugh fully clothes still captured the viewers gaze. The lighting the image on left shows the shadowing of the womans body. Overall you get a feel that women in image on left doesn't have high authority but is just a woman from the streets with the artist trys to depict since he was from (?) streets personally. The Mono Lisa seems to be a women with restrant dignity fully clothed with the gaze that seems to follow you everywhere."

Another native speaker, whose essay is more representative, and includes more information, but is rather oddly phrased:
"The comparison I want to make between these two images is the subject of women. Mona Lisa has always been a famous portrait of a female, and Manet's subject of the naked female and fully dressed scholars have both been seen as controversial paintings. Mane's picnic scenery caused great uproar of women being no more than objects or showcase by them being nude and appearing to be no more than animals. The subject matter for this piece was not exactly what Manet was shooting for, because he was focusing on technique, which this piece is part of the beginning to Impressionism, but besides that his artwork reflected a negative context on women. On the flipside, Mona Lisa appeared long before Manet's painting and similar to Manet, Leonardo was putting focus on painting techniques as well of the use of sfumato (the hazy appearance), but the subject matter of the woman is a complete different connection. Mona Lisa does not appear with jewels or extensive elaborate anything. She shows no other than an average woman. The positive aspect of this piece of the woman, because she is able to gaze at her viewer and this was something very new and real for the time. The similarities between these pieces is the use of landscape as distance, creating a lighter background to bring the viewer backwards. Also the color choices are both part of a muted pallette. There are no bright reds or ranges. Finally, I want to note the difference of the Mona Lisa being very sculptural and Manet's piece has the essence of flatness like the canvas. This was part of his style creating a flatten image with dimension."

The non-native speaker that I kind of just want to hug for this gem:
"These two paintings have some similarities and also there are some differences between "Mona Liza" and "Lancheon on the grass". These two paintings were made at different time, i.e. different Art period and characteristics of that time influence the composition of the painting. First, you notice the nude model on the paintig on the left where Mona Liza has her dress on, almost all body is covered under it. The model from painting on the left look straight to us as Mona Liza does. However, they look differently on viewer, especially that model on the left. She is nude, and it does not seem like she is worried about, she is in compony of to mans but it also does not worry her. Her body is so realistic, and she is like wants to show as that this is not unmoral. She shows that she is beautiful and she does not want to hide it under any dresses, she wants to show her true beauty. L. Da Vinci shows the beauti of Mona Liza by not using any jewerly on her or any bright and fancy dresses. He shows her true beauty by elimenating all these details. He use Light and dazziness on his painting to show mona Liza's mystic view. Background of these two paintings are very different. "Lancheon on the grass" has very peacefull in very warm colors painted background where L. Da Vinci uses very mystic and unrealistic in cold colors back ground. There are more Realistis view of "Lancheon on the grass" than the wiew of "Mona Liza." It is like Leonardo Da Vinci wants to show mystic character of his woman where Monet opens his woman to the viewer and says "Look at her she is so beautiful why does she need to hide it under the dress"

Regulars

This morning I graded papers by the fire at Dunn Bros. They've installed new seating along the window that faces Lake Street, and both of the baristas were new, but I still saw a few of the regulars I've been seeing for the past two and a half years I've been frequenting this coffee shop.

There's the twitchy bald guy with the beanie, who looks kind of like my landlord and smokes just outside the window so he can watch his stuff. There's the older man in the earflap hat, with the crinkly white hair and beard, who brings in small bags and a dog eared journal, but spends hours slowly tearing up the newspaper. And there's the couple who wears almost entirely black and looks so much alike that when I first saw them I wasn't sure if they were partners or siblings. The second year, she got pregnant, and today, their baby was smiling at me and talking. Well, sort of talking.

I think some of the regulars must recognize me, too, although I only know a few names. For all the looking I do from behind my own face, it only occasionally occurs to me that the mirror goes both ways. I tried to imagine today how the others might categorize me. "The student," since I'm generally surrounded by piles of papers and/or books? "The biker," since I often set my helmet (and gloves/balaclava, etc. on days like today) beside me as I work? "The cheapskate," since I sometimes bring in my own baked goods or fruit? (Today a fellow biker sitting beside me busted out a Tupperware of Cheerios and milk!) Or what if I'm "The unhappy one," since if I'm often under pressure to accomplish--frequently unpleasant--tasks while I'm there, like grading?

I do not know. It's so hard to judge these things. At times I've decided I must be the "Cute-ish, probably desperate girl," since boys have taken it upon themselves to flirt with me. I decided the reason was that if I was at a table by myself with my computer and my books on the weekend, I must be single. In fact, I wasn't, though since I have been again, I've been hit on less (though I'm also spending far fewer weekends there).

Public Service Announcement

I'd like to remind everyone that this soup is quite delicious and fast. Eating it over brown rice makes it feel like a real meal.

However, I'd also like to remind you to WEAR GLOVES when cutting chillies. Seriously. If you have sensitive skin like mine, even a serrano can do you wrong. Last night I had finished preparing and eating the soup when a patch on the back of my right hand, and along the sides of a couple of fingers, started to tingle and then burn. It took me a minute to realize what it was, but as the burning continued and became painful, I asked the Internets for help.

They said things like alcohol and--somewhat horrifyingly--bleach. The closest thing I had to alcohol was Scope, so I poured that over the back of my hand, rubbed it around, and then rinsed it off. It made me smell minty, but only helped for about 45 seconds, so I returned to the Google. One person suggested lime juice, and, despite the fact that it had begun looking brown and shrivelly weeks ago, I actually happened to have one in my fruitbowl. I cut it open and was pleasantly surprised to find it both juicy and smelling decent, so I squeezed it over my hand and let the juice sit on my skin for a while before washing my hands again. That seemed to do the trick, for which I was very grateful; it's surprising how bothersome such a burn can be.

Tonight a friend and I went to see The Dark Knight, which opened at the Riverview this weekend and packed the place out. I did think I was better able to appreciate the villain's character (and, oddly enough, the sound design) this time around,* although there was still far too little of Christian Bale for my liking.

Other things I was loving today:

• Waking up to sunshine on snow
• Seeing my first cardinal of the season
  
• My new Capilene long underwear
• Sweet potato fries at the Longfellow
  

*Oddly, I can't find any report on my experience the first time around. I'm pretty sure it was a Wednesday evening in July, and my mom and I went together.

99 Things

I stole this from Erin. Things I've done are in bold. It's odd to me that on a few of these, I actually couldn't remember. I decided that if I didn't have a specific memory, I wouldn't mark it.

I've done a few things that are pretty cool (running marathons, seeing things in Europe), but what is more striking to me is the many things I haven't.

1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland/world
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi concentration camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee

Vaguely Automotive

When you're a kid, a car is one of the most grown-up things you can own. It represents freedom and adulthood and responsibility. You take care of it and put money into it and it takes you places you would probably never go on your own. Maybe you traverse the country together, just the two of you. Sometimes it's the only thing, or space, you can call your own in an otherwise chaotic world.

Cars can keep you warm and dry and get you places, but they can also be a lot of trouble. For this reason, some people switch them frequently. Many Americans consider it a given that an adult should not be without a car for any significant length of time. No matter the trouble they've had with past cars, some people hardly consider their own lifestyle or needs before jumping into another one.

But there are people who don't have cars.

It's easy for the drivers to look out of the windows of their own cars and pity the bikers, alone, exposed, and vulnerable, under no power but their own. I know, because I've looked out of my car windows at bikers, with the empathy borne from experience.

Bikers are colder in the winter, it's true. They have to struggle harder against the wind. In many ways, they are more vulnerable and at risk.

But they're also more independent and in many ways have greater freedom because of what they don't have. They are aware of their own strength and ability. They overcome their fears. They engage with the world in a way that drivers ensconced complacently in their cars couldn't imagine.

Some bikers are born to ride. Others find themselves carless after a short or long period of driving and decide to give it a shot temporarily. Some, like me, have always been bikers at heart, and remain bikers even when happily driving a car.

Winter reminds me how nice it is to have a car, and there are definitely things that make me miss my driving days. I'll probably have one again, if the opportunity and circumstances arise. Not because I need one or am looking, but because sometimes the right thing surprises you when you least expect it.

Lifetimes

As he was driving me home a few weeks ago, I mentioned to The Date (who shall remain so-named until replaced by a successor [for which the girls in the office have in mind a certain young Greek engineering PhD student]), that I had been sort of a graphic designer in a former life. He laughed and asked how many lives I'd had. I think at the time I responded, "Too many to count!" However, I'm not sure that's quite true. There have been a few, but not all that many.

Were I to count them, I think they'd go a-something like this:

1. Child. (Fontana, CA; Bangkok, Thailand; Pacific Beach, WA; Carville, LA; Hillsboro, OR)
2. Pre-teen. (Auburn, WA; Boden, Sweden; Madeira, Portugal)
3. High schooler. (Auburn, WA)
4. College freshman. (Walla Walla, WA. And, yes, this single year definitely counts as a lifetime.)
5. College student. (Lincoln, NE)
6. Girls' dean. (Spangle, WA. One year between sophomore and junior years of college.)
7. Student abroad. (Florence, Italy; around Europe)
8. College graduate; employee, small non-profit. (Lincoln, NE)
9. Master's student. (Bowling Green, OH)
10. Doctoral student. (Minneapolis, MN)

These vary in length from six months to twelve years, and are not precisely chronological. Although I took a year out of college to dean, the years on either side of it are much more similar to each other than the year I deaned, but dissimilar enough from my first year of college (and year and a half as a working college grad) that each has its own number here.

As the presence of parenthetical locations may suggest, these lifetimes are largely divided by my geographical location. In fact, I counted only my childhood as a single lifetime enacted over multiple locations; in every other case a change in location has corresponded with a change in lifetime (though I counted Lincoln as the site of two lifetimes).

I'm not completely satisfied with this breakdown; I'm not sure "pre-teen" should deserve being called its own lifetime (though I just added the Sweden and Madeira labels, which help--and represent my first solo international travel), and I wonder about the summer between my two graduate programs, when I lived in California and worked the Information Services Help Desk at the hospital.

Other people might map their lives not by location, but by relationship; career; vehicle; house/roommate; physical characteristics like weight, hair length or color; musical obsessions or other addictions; political or religious views; community involvement; etc.

What about you? What are your lifetimes?

On Dieting and Religion

Okay, people. All I've got for today is a metaphor, and as it only struck me yesterday at the end of my run, and may have been runner's brain induced, it might be a little half-baked.

So apparently all diets--the ones that only let you eat only fruits and veggies; the ones that let you eat as much animal fat as you want, but ne'er a banana; the ones involving only cookies, etc.--work. No matter how crazy a diet might be, if you follow it, you lose weight (at least temporarily). The theory is that being on a diet makes the dieter think about what he or she is eating, and the dieting mindset and adherence to the rules, whatever they may be, actually result in weight loss. (Even if you're ordering your latte with half and half because you're on Atkins.)

It struck me yesterday that the religions of the world have a similar thing going. Following the tenets of any of them would, ideally, make one a better person--kinder, more generous, more thoughtful, less selfish. Instructions on lifestyle, it seems, don't really vary all that much. Some groups prohibit dancing or alcohol; other groups include those things in their rituals. Most of them seem to advise temperance and worship of an entity higher than oneself. None of them has as a fundamental tenet "Go out and kill infidels," or "Deny rights to your neighbors." Right? The focus is on one's relationship with God and others.

But instead of letting others choose which diets they prefer--no matter how crazy they sound--imagine if certain dieters felt compelled to impose their own diets on others, even violently!

Do I think it's completely insane to replace the milk in your latte with half and half because you're trying to lose weight? Yes. I do. That's crazy. I worry for you and your arteries. But scientists tell me you will actually lose weight on the Atkins diet. Given my genes and general level of Crazy, I will never have to try this, but I'm not going to stop you, because, after all, it's your body. I'm a vegetarian, and I'll extol the virtues of that diet to anyone who will listen, but I also won't place myself between you and your cheeseburger.

Funny, though, how when it comes to religion, leaving each to his own is somehow completely unacceptable. "That's what happens when eternal salvation is on the line," a friend responded recently. Thus, adherents to one diet get to mandate, say, the removal of all salads, or the institution of melted cheddar on everything. They may even instigate wars, not just against those who don't diet, but against fellow dieters who are simply on another plan.

And. Well. That's wrong. Right?

Winter

Today was my coldest run of the season yet. I wore my balaclava for most of it, although I was warm enough by the final half-mile or so to pull the face mask part down below my chin. I pulled it back up as I walked to cool down afterward, though!

It was so cold that although I'd put a new battery into the Marathonator before I left, it only lasted two miles. It had fired right up inside the house, but when I turned it on again outside, the screen wavered and flickered as though it might not even start. It did, obviously, but then petered out quickly--although now, rewarmed, it still appears to have at least half a charge left. Maybe next time, instead of in the outer pocket of my jacket, I should stow the Marathonator in the pocket of my tank top, nestled up against my spine and under more layers of clothing. Because it's hard enough to run by oneself in sub-freezing temperatures, even with the company of a charming Italian popstar!

Today was also the annual reinstallation of the flannel sheets on my bed. I think it's time to hit them. You know, just to make sure they still work.

Unproductive

As I mentioned, I am loving Love in the Time of Cholera. Yesterday, this passage made me laugh out loud:

Dr. Urbino was reluctant to confess his hatred of animals, which he disguised with all kinds of scientific inventions and philosophical pretexts that convinced many, but not his wife. He said that people who loved them to excess were capable of the worst cruelties toward human beings. He said that dogs were not loyal but servile, that cats were opportunists and traitors, that peacocks were heralds of death, that macaws were simply decorative annoyances, that rabbits fomented greed, that monkeys carried the fever of lust, and that roosters were damned because they had been complicit in the three denials of Christ." (Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera, p. 21)

Today, another passage made me cry.

So far today, I've done very little other than sleeping way too late; making C's apple pancake with a bag of inherited Granny Smith apples*; eating the pancake; baking bread; running four miles (in the cold--by the end, it was starting to snow); and a tiny bit of reading. I've been in my pajamas since the long, hot shower I took after running and eating, and now all three things--plus the fact that I should be writing a biographical statement, and putting the finishing touches on the project proposal, for a grant--are just making me sleepy and uninspired. Maybe I'll study some French, since I also need to finally take that exam. (I searched my blog just now for "French," so that I could provide a link that mentioned this correspondence French class I've been enrolled in since October of 2007, though I finished the coursework while I was in California this summer, and discovered a passel of procrastiblogs. I am SO PREDICTABLE.)

Okay. French studying it is, then. I think I'll schedule the exam for... next Friday. Yes. Hopefully having a firm deadline will improve my productivity.

*Which did, actually take me quite a bit of time, as I peeled, cored, and sliced all the apples (smaller than baseballs) by hand. I missed Teri's peeler-corer-slicer!

A Prairie Home Companion

I was up early this morning to take a friend to the airport so that she could catch her flight to Peru. Actually, she drove there, but I drove her car back to my place. This time of year, you never know when they're going to close a side of the street to sweep up leaves or plow snow, so she asked if she could leave her car with me. It was the first time I'd driven since September, and it was admittedly a little scary... but also pretty awesome. She had suggested that I use the car for things like groceries and laundry, so I swung by Whole Foods on the way home, and it felt distinctly luxurious not to have to haul everything home on my own back.

I didn't, however, drive into St. Paul, which is where I spent most of the afternoon. On MPR this morning they had announced that A Prairie Home Companion was at home this week, and that the featured guest was Emmylou Harris. They also said that $15 rush tickets would be available at the box office at 4:00 p.m., 45 minutes before the show. The show's website said that these tickets always sell out, and that people generally start lining up between noon and two. I called pretty much everyone I knew in town, and everyone was busy, so I decided to go by myself. I also decided to bus.

Getting there did take a while (a little less than an hour), but it was also pretty ridiculously easy. I walked about three blocks total, most of them between my house and the first bus stop, and had one transfer in downtown Mpls. It was definitely chilly, but the sun was shining and everything looked sparkly and beautiful.

When I got to the Fitzgerald box office, there was no line and a sign on the door said that place-holder numbers for the rush line were available inside. I'd read that they did this in cases of "bad weather, rain, snow, [or] extreme cold," but I didn't realize that a mere 28° counted! In any case, I got my number (29), and spent the next several hours by the fire at Dunn Bros, outlining and writing an abstract for a paper and reading.* I went back, as directed, at around 4:00, and a crowd had gathered. Apparently they had given out upwards of 100 numbers, although their most optimistic guess was that only up to about 65 had any chance of getting tickets (two tickets could be purchased per place-holder number). Eventually, they ended up calling out numbers and allowing us into the box office to purchase our tickets, but before that we learned about the available seats (the first ones released were in the front row and on the stage, or other seats with partially obstructed views, and the latter ones were just standing-room space) and had to arrange ourselves roughly in order of our numbers. That reminded me of numerous "ice-breaker"/group bonding exercises, but everyone was excited and a little giddy from the cold (I've written about this) and, of course, united by a love of nerdy public radio, so it was actually kind of fun chatting.

So. I'd been nervous, but I did get in, although it was for standing room only. We'd been offered the option of "stepping aside" instead of buying standing tickets, as other seats (guests' reserves and others) were to potentially become available later. However, buying a standing ticket was the only way to guarantee seeing the show, so I did that.

And it was great. I'd called Ellen before leaving to confirm that it was in fact worth it to bus clear into St. Paul, potentially stand in line for hours with the possibility of not getting in, and bus clear back, in order to hear Emmylou Harris, even if I had to do it myself. She confirmed that it absolutely was, and she was right.

Emmylou and her band only played about four songs, but they were fabulous, and I enjoyed the rest of the show, too--though I did get a bit stiff from standing. (I was in the first floor balcony, in the right wing, by a column and behind a railing, so I did have something to lean on. There were two of the railing spots, and as a single, I ended up sharing the space with a guy who was an uncomfortably close talker but who I could mostly ignore after the show started.) For half the price of the cheapest tickets, it was also a great deal.

Unfortunately, I didn't figure out how to submit a message for that greeting segment they do. Mine was going to run along the lines of, "Cërï thanks Ellen, cyborg extraordinaire, who convinced her it was worth it to stand in line." Or hopefully something more clever and amusing... though it's clearly a moot point now. You can ask Ellen about the cyborg bit.

So. Emmylou Harris is a glowing goddess, and I totally have a girl crush on her. But get this. Two-thirds of her band were at a table next to me in Dunn Bros, and I didn't even know! I'd noticed the very skinny guy in the designer jeans, with the shaved head, silver hoop earrings, and black cowboy hat, who walked by outside several times, and then came in and out a time or two. I noticed when another guy, wearing a pin-striped blazer over a printed shirt and a fedora with a feather in the band, came in and sat at his table and that they talked. I realized that the first one was older than he looked, and couldn't figure out whether they were a couple or what. (I was also trying to engage in the aforementioned productive activities, so this was just general distraction, not a concentrated effort.) When the took the stage, though, and I recognized first the feathered hat, and then the two guys--the first one the bassist, and the second the accordionist--I couldn't believe how close I'd been to Emmylou without even knowing. Wow.

*I'm only about 20 pages in, but so far I am loving this book!

Bowling

Bryant Lake Bowl is at the corner of Lake Street and Bryant Avenue, and is across the corner from what I still consider "my" coffee shop, despite the fact that I've only been there a handful of times this semester. Despite the many, many hours I've spent there, however, looking out the window at the hipsters across the street at Bryant Lake Bowl, I'd only been to the latter once before tonight, and that was for dinner and a play, not for bowling. (This is the beauty of the city I live in: mere blocks from me is a bowling alley attached not just to a restaurant that serves primarily local, organic food--but to a theater!)

Tonight, however, we bowled. A friend had passed her oral exams, so a bunch of us joined her to celebrate. Despite the fact that bowling involves sticking feet and fingers alike into potentially wildly unclean locations (at BLB, you grab your own shoes from cubbies on the wall, and return them yourself; a manager told me that they have "someone who cleans them all at the end of every night." Ewwww), and that I have never been good at it, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Everyone was very celebratory and encouraging, and it was just a fun change of pace.

Also, I met a boy who introduced himself by saying, "I'm Tony. You're beautiful!" Even though I'm quite sure he was more interested in the boys there than in any of the girls, it still made me feel special.

I haven't heard anything from The Date--nothing! As relieved as I am that it doesn't appear that we'll have to have any awkward conversations about our incompatibility, I'm admittedly curious; was it(/I) really that obvious? I didn't think so at the time, but now I wonder. I suppose if I--even shy, neurotic I--had had any interest, I would probably have lingered in the car for at least a minute or two. I certainly didn't think I was cruelly or even overtly dismissive, but, again, now I'm wondering. I didn't intend to be, so I hope he wasn't hurt; maybe it just took him slightly longer to realize, as I did, that there just wasn't anything there.

My mom predicts dating in my future, which makes me laugh since there's been so little in my past. Now that I'm single again, though, I think I'll at least try to accept dates when they're offered, even if I don't go in search of them. If nothing else, they make for interesting stories in the office and on the blog.

Feelings

I've been thinking recently about the way emotions feel, physically.

There are the fairly standard ones: stress like a metal band around the head, anger or tension coiling in the jaw. Sometimes there's just pain, or angst, systemic and unlocatable, that contracts the body into a fetal position.

Earlier this week, as I was lying in bed, memories kept hitting me, each one like a heavy canister falling off a shelf above my bed, bluntly striking me in a series of thuds.

Later in the week, I saw someone's photo of Italy, and although I'd never been to that particular location, the sense of longing was like having something pulled from behind my ribs by a hook, just below my sternum.

The mental processes are often inseparable from the physical effects, which is why, although we can't remember physical pain the way we can emotional pain, I also wonder about the kind of physical damage the latter might do, hanging around. Thankfully, it works both ways: the euphoric highs I've had from running are my own favorite example.

And how do I describe that feeling? I've used words like giddiness and euphoria, but I find it harder to put into words that physical sensation than the ones I discussed earlier. It's distinctly nonverbal. It's light and power and weightlessness--the antithesis, I suppose, of a dull ache. It's good chemicals, and the way to outrun the crazies.

Uninspired

Here I am again, in the very last minutes of the day, knocking out my daily blog post without much to say. I still have eleven museum projects to grade (not that I've been counting for the past 37 or anything), but they're easier now that I'm accompanying them with a decaf chai and freshly baked bread.

I made another batch of French onion soup this afternoon (I didn't get quite enough last time, as I had to share with the party!) to accompany another loaf of Leah's bread (yes! another one! I wanted to get it right, and it's so tasty!). Actually, it's so tasty that I've eaten pretty close to half the loaf already.

It seems to be slightly calming the weird evening jitters, a result possibly of the knowledge that I'll be up late grading these persistently awful papers, or more likely of the afternoon peppermint mocha I was tempted into by a 50% off coupon and the knowledge that I had lots to do. It made me rather excitable and loquacious during my dissertation workshop, but seems to have done the usual messing with my brain chemicals, as I feel vaguely chilly and twitchy. Mostly, I want to go to bed.

So! Back to the papers!

Second Date

As I type, we are having our first snow accumulation of the year. It's not scheduled to be too much; last I heard, they were predicting just an inch or two. It may (come such good fortune) be gone by the time I have to ride to school tomorrow.

This week's weather forecast doesn't look too thrilling, but it is pretty; look at that variety of thumbnails! I'd never seen the ice one before.

So tonight, as promised, was the second date. I'd say that I've had way creepier second dates, but I can actually only think of one previous "second date" proper, so it would be more accurate to say that I've had a creepier second date, and that makes this one sound creepy, when in fact it wasn't.

The nugget of self-awareness that this evening's outing revealed to me was that I'm simultaneously a great and a terrible date. Great because I laugh at jokes and keep the conversation going comfortably. Terrible because, among other things, I'm judging while simultaneously remaining apparently enthused.

Yes, judging. And if you can't understand why I avoid Matthew McConaughey movies on principle, we almost certainly lack any future.*

Admitting to judging makes me sound like a terrible person (though McDimples up there is the fluffiest of examples), even to myself, and I have been accused of being as much. It's tricky, though. Prejudice is one thing, but what about recognizing things for what they are? Isn't that one of the things that makes me an effective scholar, educator, and citizen?

And what about the fact that I may overlook or even appreciate certain characteristics in my friends or family that I simply don't want to deal with in a partner--or even a date? The fact that I possess judgment also shouldn't cause people paranoia; I like people!

Anyway, there are many, many reasons why I don't feel the need to see this boy again, as interesting as the (brief) experience has been. And there are many, many reasons why I may not date anyone for a long time and why that is mostly fine with me.

If you do, however, happen to know any staggeringly brilliant, passably attractive, reasonably athletic, and politically aware singles in the 27-37 age range, you can certainly send them my way.

*Though I actually didn't mind him in Tropic Thunder, which we saw tonight, and which was pretty amusing, if somewhat longer than its premise could support entertainingly.

Native Speaker

Dear Student:

Please note that drawing beveled "frames" in brown crayon around the individual entries for your museum project will not distract me from the fact that you write as though you fell asleep at your keyboard:

This sculpture of Cyprus in comparison to Doyphorus [sic] show cases [sic] a smaller built. The drapery does not show the true shape of his body but you can tell there is not a muscle built the most you can see in comparison to other Roman natural look at all while the hair on his head is a more real but still not as perfectly sculpted as a whole piece.

It also doesn't hide the fact that this entry is nowhere near 500 words, despite the 16 point font.

Sincerely,
Your T.A.
(Who is still such a softie that she has given you a pity grade of a D on the project, though it dropped to a D- since you turned it in late.)

In the Kitchen

The 'Kitchen has been comparatively disaster-free of late, although I can't say the eating has been particularly interesting, either: rising food costs, the necessity of shopping on my bicycle, and Winter Grocery Malaise have meant less fresh, colorful, inspired meals. Instead, I've been making old standbys like rice peanut butter carrot loaf,* a variety of soups, and assorted baked goods. I tried Melinda's Moroccan Tomato Soup (more or less), and although it was much better pureed, I was over it pretty fast. Friday night I made some soup, and for some reason thought it would be a good idea to use all of my green lentils--probably two cups--in addition to the carrots and potatoes I already had going. It's pretty tasty, thankfully, but at this rate I could be eating it for weeks. I think I'll take Leah's tactic and freeze some individual servings of it.

I have had a couple of bread disasters recently, though. Yesterday, I made my usual whole-wheat flax bread, but instead of making two puny loves, I decided to make one full-sized one. Unfortunately, I didn't bake it long enough, and although it's beautiful on the outside and the ends of the loaf taste good, there's a gummy sinkhole in the middle that's probably not salvageable.

The bigger disaster, though, was when I tried Leah's no-knead bread, of which she had given a glowing report. Although I've been baking my own bread for nearly two years now, the full-on kneading kind, I apparently lack the skills of your average 4- (to 8-) year old when it comes to making this bread. The very first time I tried, preoccupied with my Brita pitcher, I distractedly added way too much water and had to pour the resulting sludge down the sink. The second time (just after cleaning up that mess), I let the dough rise for nearly 20 hours, but instead of "turning" it out thereafter, I unfortunately poured it all over my counter; it was rather... liquid.

Still undaunted, however, yesterday I tried again, this time with all bread flour (measured by shaking, rather than leveling off, the cup), and with quick-rise yeast--the closest thing I could find to "instant." The results, which I baked up today, are not quite the perfection attained by Leah, but they are striking: the crust is indeed very crispy and the crumb** very tender. This bread reminds me of the bread they used to serve us at Villa Aurora with every meal (though because bread was only delivered once or maybe twice a week--in big plastic tubs--it was approaching crouton status by late in the week). My loaf was a bit flat and ugly; the dough was too soft to form into a nice ball, probably since I only let it rise about 13 hours this time instead of 18 or so. Still, I think I'll make up another batch of French onion soup and enjoy this bread, toasted, on top, and will definitely try the recipe again. Finding and watching this video, which I'd somehow missed, was even more encouraging.

Oh, and Leah, my French onion soup recipe is pretty standard (though I do mine vegetarian, and so used G. Washington broth and McKay's "beef" seasoning); I sauteed the onions in butter and stirred in the flour, but at that point I transferred them to my crockpot, added the hot water and bouillon, and left the covered crockpot on low for the next 18 hours or so. I didn't mean to leave it quite that long, but the soup survived and did end up awfully tasty.

*I took this to school last week, and was embarrassed when people asked me what it was, but I shared bites of it and my friends actually thought it was rather delicious. Or said they did.
**I feel so pretentious even writing that.

Halloween (finally)

So this weekend has been relatively quiet, although I did enjoy some delicious Indian food tonight with a friend who's leaving later in the week for two weeks in Peru.

Date Two in the saga that has sparked commenter interest in my neuroses isn't scheduled until Tuesday, so mostly I've been trying to grade Museum Projects and thinking about how I don't much feel like running in the snow without ridiculously expensive tights (and possibly not even then, although I'm sure they'd at least be inspiring for a while).

Last weekend, however, I set a personal record: three parties in a single night! I carpooled to the first two with friends, and the third was at my neighbor's apartment, in my own building. When I knocked on the door at about 1:00, it opened to a roomful of seated, mostly non-costumed people, staring at me in my ridiculous flapper costume. It was also one of my more dramatic entrances in recent memory.

Here are a few pictures, which you've already seen if we're friends on FaceBook:

My costume, with handmade headband:

Trying the Charleston; note the fishnets!

With Medusa:

With my doppelganger:

Finally, the Palins:

It's A New Day - will.i.am - Dipdive.com

Strangeness

So yesterday, although my lame mini-blog hardly alluded to as much, was a rather strange day.

It started with me waking up at 8:00 a.m., terrified I'd overslept; realizing that my alarm wouldn't go off for another half an hour and going back to sleep; and then waking up at 9:21, having actually overslept significantly (as class starts at 9:45, and I'm a 15 minute bike ride away).

It ended with Angela and me touring the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, eating at the Bad Waitress,* and then having a ridiculous chocolate chimichanga at Little Tijuana on the way home after strolling around the neighborhood.

Before that, I had been cleaning my house when I noticed that the light in my middle room/office was really bright. It looked as though someone had replaced the regular bulb with an extra-bright fluorescent bulb. I wondered briefly if I were going crazy, actually, or if someone were trying to make me think so. After a couple of hours, the light burned out. When I went to replace it, the glass bulb pulled right out its metal sleeve, leaving the latter still threaded into the fixture. I had apparently put a 100 watt bulb into a fixture designated for 60 watt bulbs only, and probably only very narrowly avoided something terrible. The problem is that the light from the 60 watt bulb I installed yesterday is positively crepuscular. Every time I turn it on, I think of that scene from Amelie where she switches the bulbs in the grocer's apartment. I need to buy bulbs with higher lumens, apparently.

The strangest part of my day, though, was in the middle. On Wednesday, I'd received an e-mail from a guy I'd met briefly at a party on Tuesday, asking me to lunch. (That alone was strange: I hadn't been asked on a proper date in a long time, and it had been something like eight years since a relative stranger had looked me up to ask me out.) He had sent the e-mail Tuesday night, but with all the festivities, I hadn't received it until Wednesday afternoon. Anyway, to make a long story short, I thought he had wanted to meet next Thursday, and came very close to accidentally standing him up completely, but ended up texting to confirm and keeping the date after all, just a bit late (and still unshowered, with my hair under a scarf, and following a full roundtrip bike ride from school to home--in the rain).

Anyway, he likes me and wants to go out again. I'm not sure how I feel about that--but I'm also not sure this blog is the correct venue for those sorts of neuroses. However, I am proud of myself for accepting and then actually attending the date, though I'm also vividly reminded of why I have historically avoided this sort of thing.

*I realized that I have taken every single person who has come to visit me to the Bad Waitress. I think it's because it's so close to my apartment, is open until midnight, serves breakfast all day, and has an awesome name. Angela and I were going to eat Greek food, but we were at the museum until closing at 9--which is when Christo's closes, too.

Pumpkin

Yikes! Tonight I have been hanging out with my friend Angela, museum-ing and doing lots of eating, and I just realized that it's almost tomorrow.

These last-minute blog posts are pretty lame, but I'd hate to miss a day of NaBloPoMo madness...

More tomorrow!

Barack Obama

Yesterday was one of the high points of my life.

For months, I had been encouraged by the polls and the palpable enthusiasm indicating increasing support for Obama, but had remained simultaneously terrified by the thought of alternative outcomes. One needn't have been a 2004 Ohio resident to fear both the Republican party's ability to steal an election and the potential for the American public to be hoodwinked and hobbled by divisive messages of fear and hatred (though, as one, I did feel particularly sensitive). Despite data consistently showing Obama ahead, I didn't feel confident.

This week, though, it was hard to hold down the welling excitement and the thrills I'd feel any time I thought about Obama actually being elected. Monday night, it was hard to sleep; it really did feel like Christmas Eve!

Tuesday morning, my neighbor and I headed to the polls later than I'd hoped to, but were still in line by about 7:20. The line was about a block and a half long, and it ended up taking us the better part of two anxious hours to make it in and vote (I had to be to school by 9:45, and she had to teach at 9:55). It was a beautiful morning, though, and we chatted and shared the blueberry muffins I'd brought.

Because my neighbor hadn't changed her voter registration to her(/our) current address, and because her student loan bill turned out not to be a qualifying document, I, as a voter registered in the precinct, got to sign an oath vouching for her. It was exciting and felt very democratic!

I proudly wore my sticker all day, and felt sort of like a member in some huge club as I noticed everyone else's. Membership also earned me a surprisingly good cookie and a surprisingly bad cup of Starbucks (I'd been wanting the Ben and Jerry's, but it was only between 5 and 8)!

I had school obligations until 6, but as soon as I was free I sped home to pick up the French onion soup simmering in the crockpot and a few other dinner supplies and then to a friend's house. We watched CNN's election coverage as we assembled dinner together in her kitchen--the aforementioned soup, pizza, and a beautiful salad. We were still cooking when my friend's partner shouted from the office that it was over and Obama had won; they'd called Pennsylvania. A few minutes later, they called Ohio and we both screamed and jumped up and down. It's been two and a half years since I lived there (and I was only there for two), but I still take Ohio rather personally.

We sat down to eat just as the Daily Show special came on at 9, and it was, naturally, brilliant. And then, then! After only an hour--just minutes after polls closed on the west coast--suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, Jon Stewart turned to the camera and said, "At eleven o'clock at night, Eastern Standard Time, the president of the United States is Barack Obama." Playing that again just now still gives me butterflies.

But it didn't make me cry.

There was shouting and rejoicing, and phone calls, and text messages. My inbox still makes me smile:
10:03 pm, from a friend: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
10:28 pm, from my brother: !
10:49 pm, from my neighbor: Omg!!
10:54 pm, from an Iranian colleague: I'm happy witnessing America saying NO to war, to occupation, & racism

It was McCain's concession speech, weirdly enough, that first made me cry. Maybe it was just the news sinking in, maybe it was the fact that it was the best speech of his campaign, or maybe it was the gracious tone, but it got me. I was angry at and embarrassed by the reaction of the small, bitter, and hopefully non-representative crowd, who clearly didn't even respect McCain enough to be polite, but I admired the speech--and the swiftness with which defeat was conceded.

It was Obama's speech, though, that loosed the floodgates. I've never wept that much at a political speech, nor at live TV, as far as I can remember. The immense relief at his win, the awesome awareness of the history being created and the scope of his achievement, and even pride for my country, seeped right out of my tear ducts and slid down my cheeks. His speech was eloquent, conciliatory, hopeful, but honest about the difficulties we're in.

The Associated Press has called his victory a landslide, but although he won far more electoral votes and a greater percentage of the popular vote than W's 2004 "mandate," Obama didn't gloat or even revel in such a commanding victory. Humbly, rather, and with a heavy awareness of the current state of the country whose leadership he will inherit, he spoke of unity: "...to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn--I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your President too. "

The country has spoken, affirming the desires of the great majority of our global neighbors. We have chosen to move beyond fear and to align ourselves with hope for a better world. We have chosen a president who is brilliant, articulate, thoughtful, and inspirational, one who believes in peace, diplomacy, and surrounding himself with counselors and advisers who are informed, honest, and willing to disagree with him.

I will repeat that I don't believe Obama is flawless, or a mythical savior who will be able to solve all of the very deep and serious problems in which the country finds itself. But I firmly believe he was the right choice for America, and am thoroughly optimistic about his first term. January 20, 2009!

Election

On a friend's laptop...

Waiting for molten chocolate lava cakes to chase our French onion soup and potato pizza...

Still recovering from all the weeping for joy.

Day Threeeeeeeeee

I'm slipping in just under the wire with this post! If it weren't for the daylight I'm currently saving, it would be tomorrow already.

Of daylight, I am a fan, which is why I am sad to be entering the zone of winter darkness. Tonight, I made my first after-dark trip to school--at 5:30 p.m.! I discovered my front light was no longer working, so I stopped at Freewheel on the Greenway to pick up a Frog. It's a very cool little light, but not as bright as I think it should be (it's much brighter, for example, when I'm pushing on the switch), so I'll probably swing back by the bike shop tomorrow to see what they can tell me.

I rode over to the East Bank to meet my friend Angela, who is in town this week for a training event. She reached me just as I was returning from a run,* so I jumped in the shower, biked over to her hotel, and then bussed with her downtown, where we had a lovely dinner at Cafe Brenda (though it seemed almost a shame to eat such fantastic food on such a ravenous appetite) and wandered around downtown and Mill Ruins park. It was a perfect evening; although her coworkers had been giving her a hard time about Minneapolis in November, it's hard to beat 69° at 10 p.m. this time of year, no matter where you are! I rode home in only a light sweater over a thin cotton top, sockless, and was plenty warm.

It was fun, as always, to show the city to someone who loved it and all my nerdy favorites, from the downtown library to the art deco post office. We're going to meet up again on Thursday for the MIA and Greek food. Have I mentioned that I LOVE VISITORS? And that it was 78° today, in the city with the second-greatest number of theater seats per capita? Sometimes, I love this place.

*For the first time I can remember, over the past week I have struggled more with not running than with running! I ran six miles each on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, then nine on Sunday. This afternoon, my neighbor called to see if I wanted to do another six. I should have rested, after yesterday's long run, but I couldn't resist; I gave in after the briefest of hesitations. What has happened to me?

Balmy

Today was gorgeous here. We hit a high of 68° today--and tomorrow's predicted high is 72°! In November. I headed outside to go running in only shorts and a tank, but returned after half a block for my long-sleeved Capilene, fearing the breeze. I needn't have worried, however: I took it off after the first mile or so, and didn't need it at all for the next eight, during which I could feel the sun warming my skin--I even worked up a bit of a sweat.

Near the end, I stopped to take some pictures, partly because I wanted to document the autumnal beauty of the greenway, and partly because I was tired after an hour and a half of running. In this picture, I look like I'm about to be overrun by a horde of bikers. They have plenty of room, but the trail does get crowded on days like these. I don't much begrudge the late-fall crowds; we're all trying to take advantage of the few remaining days before the air starts hurting our skin and lungs. I do always get a bit testy, however, in the spring, when the weather begins to warm up and the same bike path I've been riding to school all bitter winter becomes glutted with the recreational crowd. Fair-weather bikers! Still, as I've said before, one of the things I love most about this city is its crazy outdoorspeople. There were a lot of runners and bikers around the lakes today--but I'll hardly be alone when the snow starts to fall, either.

For the moment, my windows are open, and I'm not at all chilly. It's wonderful to smell the breeze, and even to hear the traffic. As I told my dad earlier, it feels like September--or August!

It Starts

Today is Day One of NaBloPoMo! It's one month of daily blogging, and you too can join the madness. And, really, it's not like NaNoWriMo or anything. Comparatively, this should be a snap!

I'm counting on this being an auspicious month, mostly because I have survived October. I had a friend in high school who always hated February; it was a historically bad month for her. I'd never thought of months in terms of their badness or goodness, but recently I'm thinking that my October might be her February. Granted, this year's wasn't nearly as rough as last year's--with its incessant rain, the Great Mouse Wars, and that pesky stress fracture--but it did come with its own struggles.

However, this year, there's even more reason to look forward to November. In just three short days, the U.S.A. will be making history of one sort or another, and I am positively tingling with excitement. Yes, I was excited in 2004, but mostly because I thought we were going to take the opportunity to rid ourselves of--and apologize to the rest of the world for--a mistake of epic proportions, and not because I had any particular interest in the candidate for whom I voted. This time around, the excitement is palpable, in large part because we have the opportunity to vote for a candidate whom many in the country (and again, around the world) not only respect, but actually like, feel energized by, and believe. We have the opportunity to vote for someone we'd enjoy watching and listening to for the next four years. We have the opportunity to vote not out of fear or embarrassment or anger desperation, but out of genuine inspiration and a belief that our country can and will do better--for our own citizens, for the environment, and for our neighbors in the global community.

Here's to November!