Through a Glass, Darkly

The Beekeeper’s Apprentice is one of my favorite books, one that I hope to have the time to revisit this year. I haven’t read much of anything that Laurie King has written other than her Mary Russell novels, but Touchstone got such good reviews that I couldn’t resist trying it.

And though it did take quite a while to pick up (I really do think that some of the beginning could have been trimmed a bit, though I am not sure I can think of something that could go), this story of anarchy, communism, bombs, secret agents, and the end of a certain way of life (think Gosford Park) sucked me in by the end. It’s not my favorite of hers, and I don’t know how to describe the plot, exactly, but, as usual, she wrote the heck out of it. If you’re looking for a mystery/thriller and you’re willing to have a little patience, may I suggest that Touchstone might be worthy of your attention?

I got a new UNCG ID yesterday so that I can go to the Rec Center. I don’t know if there’s another reason I should have one, but I would like to get some use out of that Rec Center fee, so I am going to try to go a few times this semester. We can have all these beautiful imaginings about me going to baseball games and basketball games, but if that never happened in four years of undergrad and two years of grad school, we need to be a little bit more realistic. I mean, these days, I am so busy that I have to have a robot clean my floors.

I had to get a new ID because mine was, well, expired. In fact, when I went yesterday to get my new one, the boy (child) behind the counter laughed at it. And said, “I guess you want a new photo?” Now, boy behind the counter, I know my ID is apparently older than you are, but please, do not laugh at my picture. That hairstyle was very fashionable in 1997. Also, it was humid that day. Also, my head was not floating, per se. It’s just that I had on a white shirt, and that, combined with the white background of the photo AND the ID, made it APPEAR as if my head was floating. Probably the largeness of my hair did not help the issue.

I have not yet been on campus enough to know which entrances I can actually use to get in the student center (my old favorite one? Closed), so I still feel a bit lost when I am there. But only slightly embarrassed. I get a little bit confused sometimes, sure, but I do generally know my way around. And I know the recent history of the place, so at least I have a reason for being confused. It’s strange to be in a place I loved so much and have it be different, but it’s better than having it be exactly the same. I do not love that I have to take classes, but even though I complain about it, I will let you in on a secret: I love being at UNCG. I love the buildings and the trees and the silly undergraduates. I love being in the computer lab and hearing a male grad student put the moves on a female grad student by telling her that he thinks Tate Street Coffee, a coffee shop I visited when I was in high school, is “trendy,” and that he would prefer to go to Spring Garden Bakery. I love that he probably doesn’t know that they used to be owned by the same people. I love how things change and how they remain the same. Mike always tells me that I should, someday, get my PhD, and maybe he is right. Maybe I will, one day, because I love academic life.

UNCG will always be a special place to me - I did so much growing there and had so many wonderful times. There is always a little bit of weirdness there: people screaming about God and waving signs, a man dressed all in black taking a running leap and climbing a wall like Spiderman (I watched this happen yesterday . . . the question is whether I should have reported it to campus police, because he scaled the wall and had obviously been practicing), the guy with a beard taking over class discussions. I treasure the shiny new ID in my wallet, which proves that I belong there once again.

Let’s get one thing straight. Having a Roomba doesn’t make me lazy. I am a very busy woman, with a job and church commitments and also I am taking two classes this semester! Also, the Roomba gets under the bed. I never vacuumed under the bed. Our standard of living is actually higher now. (Okay, fine, I’m a little bit lazy. I don’t even care. Being lazy is awesome. A robot cleans my floors!)

By “our” I mean my standard of living and Mike’s standard of living, because Big Bunny? She HATES the Roomba. They are mortal enemies in her mind. When she is in the cage and we start the Roomba, she freaks out, as if she is being mistreated in some way. But when she is out of the cage and we start the Roomba, well, that’s when things get awesome, because she hops around, approaches Roomba, and then, when it turns to vacuum in her direction, as it inevitably does, she freaks out and hops away. Lather, rinse, repeat. Do they make Roombas for rabbit cages? Maybe that would win her over.

Speaking of how it turns around, seriously, I am a little bit frightened of the Roomba. Because no matter where I am in the room, that is where it decides that it needs to be. It always turns and comes STRAIGHT FOR ME. So Roomba either has some serious codependency issues, or it is plotting to kill me. You decide. I have this irrational fear of vacuum cleaners coming alive ever since I saw this one episode of Tales of the Crypt in which a vacuum cleaner SUCKED THE LIFE OUT OF PEOPLE. I like you, Roomba, but you stay away from me. At least one room between us at all times.

We want to name our Roomba, but we have had a little bit of trouble choosing a name. I keep saying that Roomba is a boy. Because a robot that cleans my floor, well, that sounds like a boy to me. But Mike says, no, Roomba is a girl, and he constantly refers to Roomba as “she.” Fine, if Roomba is a girl, I want to name her Rosie. But, no again, Mike says that’s too much of a cliche. Our Roomba has no name. And is of unspecified gender. Poor little Roomba.

I have to go now. I am going to watch him/her clean our floor again while eating bonbons. It’s a hard life, but someone has to do it.

So, I mentioned that my cousin who lives in Brooklyn is expecting a baby at any time. We were very close when we were little - our moms are sisters, and we both lived in Greensboro, so we spent a fair amount of time together. He was the closest thing to a big brother I had, and I basically worshiped the ground he walked on. I am going to be an excellent aunt. (I know that is not technically the title I will have, but we have all agreed that it’s what I am going to be.) I already took baby Henry a copy of The Hobbit, because the first time I ever heard the story was from his dad. (Have I mentioned that his wife wrote a book and you can preorder it from Amazon? It’s a young adult book about horses. This is how we see if Sarah Cozart is reading.)

For Christmas, his mom gave me this picture, with a note that he drew it around 1981.

My relationship with him (and my veritable cornucopia of other cousins) has meant that I have brought a lot of expectations to the table when we think about having our own children. Mike’s sister’s children are already 10, 7, and 1, and we haven’t even gotten started, and that makes me a little bit sad. I keep pressuring my brother to start having children, but that’s partly to take the pressure off me. (I should mention that Mike’s 10-year-old niece point-blank asked me at Christmas, “Are you ever going to have kids?” I wondered if her mom put her up to it. heh.)

A couple of weeks ago, Emily and I had coffee and talked (among other things) about relationships and expectations and letting those expectations go. I wanted a better relationship with my in-laws. I wanted my dad to be around to play with his grandchildren. And tied in with both of those things is the desire for my future children to be surrounded by family. During church that Sunday, something the pastor said reminded me a bit of Anne Lamott, whose conversion prayer ended up basically signifying that she was going to stop fighting: “You can come in.” I realized that I have prayed that resigned prayer over and over in my life. You can come in, God, and help me deal with the grief over losing my dad. You can come in and show me how to handle these lost expectations. Even though I’ve been keeping you at bay, even though I’m afraid of who you might be, you can come in and show me who you really are. For me, this prayer is the most tangible way I can think of explaining what working out my salvation means like: Letting God in, bit by bit, I learn about the ways that I need him, the ways I have been keeping him out.

I hope for a safe arrival for baby Henry, and I hope that he will one day know the happiness that is playing with his cousins. And I hope that I will be able to embrace whatever happiness comes our way, whoever it is that loves us, no matter what their exact titles are. And as much as I want to be able to focus on joy without focusing on regret or what might have been, I will need God to come in and show me how that might be done.

KARI: Old Navy, I would like to buy some jeans.

OLD NAVY: I am uninterested in your money.

KARI: No, seriously, I need some jeans.

OLD NAVY: I refuse to provide some in your size.

KARI: I have noticed that. In the three Old Navys I have visited in two different states.

OLD NAVY: Well, now that I think about it, I did have some in your size.

KARI: We have spoken about the skinny jeans before, Old Navy. I am not wearing the skinny jeans.

OLD NAVY: I would like for you to wear them so that I can laugh at you.

KARI: You can’t make me wear them.

OLD NAVY: Soon you will have no choice. Resistance is futile.

KARI: I have also noticed that you like to put the jeans for people my size on the top shelf.

OLD NAVY: I laugh when you try to reach them. And then, after jumping and grabbing them, you still can’t find your size.

KARI: And the ladder, always right there within reach, always with a big sign on it saying I can’t use it.

OLD NAVY: Hee hee hee.

KARI: Did you laugh when I ripped the cardboard off of the front of your fancy display and sorted through approximately 1,000 pairs of jeans and STILL couldn’t find my size?

OLD NAVY: My favorite part was how none of my sales associates offered to help you.

KARI: In any of the stores.

OLD NAVY: Everything is going just as I have planned it.

KARI: Why do we have this problem with jeans, Old Navy? I can find other clothes in my size.

OLD NAVY: I really am conspiring against you.

KARI: Oh! Can I show this to Mike? He thinks I am overreacting.

OLD NAVY: I don’t care who knows. I am out to get you.

KARI: I like this vindication. But it would also be nice to have jeans. It’s . . . kind of cold outside . . .

OLD NAVY: *yawn*

Over the weekend, we flew to Florida for my uncle’s surprise 70th birthday party.

Now, when I tell you that we flew on a private plane to go to a surprise party at the yacht club, you know that’s not how my life normally goes, right? But it was nice to pretend that it was. What are you doing this weekend, Kari? Oh, flying to Florida in a private jet. What are you doing?

We stayed in a nice inn right in downtown Naples, which was fun. My huge disappointment, however, was that I thought we were going to have a suite, with me and Mike in one room and my mom and my brother in the other room. I spent many hours envisioning the pajama parties we were going to have: watching movies, teaching my mom to knit. That, I am sad to say, did not happen, because we were down the hall from each other. No one knows where I got the idea that we were going to be in a suite. Apparently I made it up. But doesn’t my brain sound like a fun place to be? Don’t you wish you could have gone to that pajama party?

Anyway, we ran errands and went out to eat and went to the party (he was very surprised, not least that we were there). And then on Monday, when we could finally hang out with my aunt and uncle, my aunt went with us to Cheeburger Cheeburger, because I was demanding hamburgers and onion rings. Don’t ask why. There is no reason. I just WANTED A HAMBURGER. We chose Cheeburger Cheeburger even though we know that their service is consistently appalling. Both of the locations I have been to in Naples have had terrible service. In fact, there were only about four tables that had people, which should tell you something. And there were at least five different people serving tables. But we still didn’t get our onion rings until we had almost finished our burgers. What were they DOING back there?

Anyway, as you can see from their menu, they have a 20 oz burger. And so begins our story.

Sometimes we all say things without thinking. I think this was the case when my aunt said, “Who’s going to eat the pound burger?” You would think she hadn’t met Mike and Joseph, both of whom can put away some food. Normally volume eating isn’t something she approves of, but since this she had asked, she couldn’t take it back. They were both up for it.

Joseph’s eyes frighten me here. He is seriously intense about that burger.

I stuck with a 7 oz burger. Because I am not interested in volume eating, and I have nothing to prove to anyone. (I can’t claim to be worried about my girlish figure, since I was like: ONION RINGS! MUST HAVE FRIED FOOD AND RED MEAT!)

Anyway, as expected, neither Mike nor Joseph had any trouble whatsoever devouring the burger. And also some onion rings. (And later that afternoon, they each had a bowl of ice cream. Joseph also had an ice cream cone. My mom and my aunt began to turn green just looking at them consume food.)

The good news, though, is that eating this large burger really means something. If you finish it, you get to wear a silly hat and also your picture goes up on the wall.

Wow, that face sums it all up, I think.

Still hungry, I see.

The great thing about these pictures is that you get to write a meaningful sentiment at the bottom to be posted for all to see. It’s practically the Pulitzer Prize of eating. You probably saw these pictures in the paper (how could such a momentous occasion not be written up in the paper?), but just in case you didn’t, let me repost them here for you.

Truly, it was a day to remember. Joseph and Mike achieved what mere mortals only dream of.

After that, to finish off the day, we drove around in our limo and drank champagne in our hot tub.*

(*We did not do either of those things. Instead, we flew home on the private jet. Why can’t that be enough for you?)

Unless you live under a rock, you know that the Oscar nominations came out today. I was excited to see the nominations for Juno (which I loved), Once (the scene with “Falling Slowly” was my favorite scene of the whole year; heck, that was my favorite movie of the year), and Atonement (my favorite book from last year, and a darn good movie).

But I was especially excited to see that the movie that my cousin edited, Freeheld, was nominated in the short documentary category! Yay!

(Also, his wife is due at any moment. And her book will be out in May. You should preorder it! It’s a young adult book about horses! You love young adult books about horses!)

I got a letter today from my sponsored child, Stephen, who lives in Kenya.

It’s upsetting to get a letter like this when you are worried about someone. All I know for sure is what I have read on CNN about the turmoil in that country, and that Compassion lists his center as one of the ones that has reported violence in the area. Every day I check Compassion’s website, hoping to hear more concrete news, but they have had no updates since January 8th, and the news from Kenya has continued to be bad. I have been worried about Stephen, and this letter, written in September, did nothing to alleviate those fears. I couldn’t even read the letter - I made Mike look at it first. In it, he mentioned the upcoming elections, saying, “We believe that God will give us a God-fearing leader.”

I won’t claim to be the world’s greatest sponsor - I am, at best, rather lax about remembering to write to him. But I sat down this evening and wrote a letter back, telling him that my family and my church have been praying for him, that I think of him every day. I don’t know when he will get that letter. I don’t know if he and his family are okay. Even if they are okay, I don’t know if he’s been affected by what’s gone on.

On Sunday, at church, I was the liturgist, and in the prayer for the world, I asked God to help us remember the ways that we are connected to the people of the world that were created in his image. Sometimes the news of the world seems overwhelming, but when we remember that the people who are affected by the news we see on TV are individuals just like us, it helps us to know how to pray. I can sponsor a child, have the money drafted from my account every month, and not really think much else about it. I try to write to Stephen, but I am not good at knowing what to say, and he seems so far from my daily life. And yet, sponsoring him has opened my heart to another country, has given me great concern for the people there and their government and welfare. If you pray for the people of Kenya, please remember my sponsored child, Stephen. He helps his grandmother, and has goats, and loves soccer. Science is his favorite subject. He makes good grades, and he sends me the most wonderful letters.

He signed the letter, “From your loving son.”

I don’t really want to tell you all how impatient I am with the undergrads in my education class (y’all, they are so annoying, with their talk of how 8am classes are too early and the way they say “education should warm the heart of the soul” and actually mean it. What does that even mean? My soul doesn’t have a heart. That could just be because I am old and bitter and impatient. But I digress). Let’s just say that they are not my favorite, shall we?

Instead of that, I will tell you about the large gathering I saw at UNCG last night as I approached the library. There were police cars and I heard yelling, and as I got closer I could read the three signs. One: “Do you love your sins enough to go to HELL for them?” Two: “There is no god.” Three: I don’t remember exactly, but it was something about Jesus being the answer for peace in the world. Also, the third one was not so much a sign as a guy wearing a sandwich board. I strongly disapprove of sandwich boards unless the person wearing them is actually a giant pickle.

Anyway, I was greatly encouraged to see that nothing has changed at UNCG since I left except the place where people gather to hold up these signs and scream at each other. Oh, UNCG, I have missed you and your saucy ways.

In fact, I have made a deal with myself this year. Every time I finish a young adult book, I can read an adult book I’ve been looking forward to. Yay! I do not have to alternate, though. For example, on Saturday, I read Gossip Girl. And after that, I debated between White Teeth by Zadie Smith and Slam by Nick Hornby, and I went with Slam. After Slam, though, I headed straight for White Teeth.

But before I talk to you about reading adult fiction, a word on Gossip Girl. I really enjoy the show. It is good trashy fun. One of the things that makes it good trashy fun is that it’s decently written. I mean, it’s not going to win any Pulitzer Prizes, but it’s sharp and funny. The book, on the other hand, was just plain trash. I read it because girls keep asking if we are going to have the series there at the school. Now I can say with authority: “No, we will not.” I am a worse person because of reading it. Do not make that same mistake.

Anyway, over the past week, I read The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri. It had been on my list for a while, and the movie is now out on DVD, so I finally got around to reading it. (Mike Netflixed the film and so I had to read it right away and watch the movie or else face his wrath.) I don’t know that I have absorbed it enough to do a full review, but I did want to mention that I enjoyed it very much, and that I recommend the movie. It would be easier, I think, to talk about the movie, but they did a good job adapting the book to the screen. I enjoyed reading about the immigrant experience, but I also enjoyed how much I understood and saw myself and my friends in Gogol. In the past few years, I have read some articles and had some conversations about people in their 20s struggling to define themselves, even floundering in some ways. How much does the past define who we are? What about our experiences? Can we find a balance between the two? How much do our parents define us, especially after they are gone? It’s an interesting time in our lives to explore, especially when seen through a different culture.

I didn’t set a reading goal for this year (last year my unwritten goal was a dozen dozen), but I imagine I’ll hit 100 again. I am reading a little bit less voraciously overall, but I will have to read a lot for class, so I am sure it will be a productive year!

I started this book not knowing anything about it. I never do that. I didn’t even realize that’s what I had done until the story got going and I was like, “Is this thing that I don’t want to happen about to happen? Because it sure sounds like it.” And I asked Mike, “What do you know about this book?” and he told me. And what he knew was, indeed, the thing that I did not want to happen. I wonder if I would have read it if I had known.

I think that I think I like Nick Hornby. But, really, I haven’t liked his novels all that much. I love his nonfiction, and I love the movies About a Boy and High Fidelity, but I am not so much a fan of the actual books those movies were adapted from. Isn’t that weird? You don’t expect that from me, I know. Anyway, I do like YA lit, so I thought, “Finally! A Nick Hornby novel for Kari!” And, having finished it, I do think it is my favorite of his novels.

I guess here is the part where I am going to talk about more serious plot points, and that might possibly include spoilers, so I’ll put that below the jump. (more…)

I don’t normally link videos, but these have given Mike his silly laugh, and that means they really should be shared.

First, we love our epic films. We’ll be going to see this ASAP. (HT: Alissa.)

And we are a little bit afraid of how much this actually seems like us. (Seriously. I don’t want to spoil the joke, but this morning we did actually go to the Farmer’s Market and then to brunch. Yikes.)

Last night, our plan was to make black bean cakes according to Lucky 32’s recipe. Except that I had to work on a spreadsheet for someone else at school, so I put Mike in charge of dinner.

MIKE: What’s the salsa recipe?

KARI: I was just going to use jar salsa.

MIKE: We don’t have any.

KARI: I put it on the list.

MIKE: I bought the stuff to make salsa.

KARI: I put it on the list. So we’d have some. For this kind of situation.

MIKE: You should have said that.

KARI: I . . . did.

MIKE: You did?

KARI: I said we should buy some. Which is why I put it on the list. To have to use in recipes.

MIKE: Oh.

KARI: It’s good that I’m not making this. I would be insane with anger.

—

(Later.)

MIKE: *weird inhuman noise*

KARI: What?

MIKE: I can’t tell you.

KARI: What did you do?

MIKE: I can’t tell you.

KARI: What happened?

MIKE: I am not going to tell you.

KARI: Did you ruin the salsa? How did you ruin the salsa?

MIKE: . . .

KARI: What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?

MIKE: I can’t tell you.

KARI: *tastes salsa*

MIKE: . . .

KARI: What IS that?

MIKE: What does it taste like?

KARI: I . . . don’t know! Did you put too much sugar in?

MIKE: Well, you said that I needed to put cumin in. So I grabbed a brown spice.

KARI: What?

MIKE: Cloves.

KARI: CLOVES?

MIKE: I took as much out as I could.

KARI: It tastes like cookies!

MIKE: It’s not that bad.

KARI: It’s not that good.

MIKE: You can’t taste it in the black bean cakes.

KARI: That’s what’s important.

—

(Later.)

MIKE: You should go ahead and pour that salsa down the drain.

KARI: Are you kidding?

MIKE: We can’t eat it.

KARI: Are you sure?

MIKE: It’s the worst salsa I ever tasted.

You guys, those black bean cakes were an ordeal and a half. But they were freaking awesome. Which is a good thing, because what with the Salsa Incident, the Crushed Tortilla Chip Incident, and the Broken Food Processor Incident, I was fairly certain that Mike was never going to agree to have them ever again. However, he was won over by their delicious goodness.

Here’s the recipe. You can use your favorite salsa recipe, but if all you have is a jar of salsa, I’m pretty sure that will be fine. (If salsa prepared with cloves didn’t ruin the dish, I imagine even salsa made in New York City won’t be a problem.)

Lucky 32’s Black Bean Cakes

6 ½ cups black beans

½ cup salsa

½ cup diced red onion

1 ¼ red bell peppers, diced

¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro

2 cups bread crumbs

1 tablespoon diced jalapeño peppers

½ teaspoon Tabasco sauce

1 teaspoon Tabasco jalapeño sauce

2 cups crushed tortilla chips

1 teaspoon cumin

1 teaspoon coriander

2 tablespoons olive oil

Rinse black beans in cold water. Place in a colander and drain well (at least 10 minutes). Add all ingredients except tortilla chips, cumin, coriander, and olive oil to a mixing bowl. Blend well with hands, mashing some of the beans to form a thick mixture. Form into 3-ounce patties and set aside. Using a food processor, blend tortilla chips, cumin, and coriander until it is a crumb consistency. Dredge each bean patty in the tortilla mixture. Heat oil in large skillet and sauté bean cakes over medium-high heat, turning when they are golden brown.

Serves: 4

The premise of this book is pretty simple: a junior in high school falls down the stairs and loses about four years’ worth of memory. Although you have seen this story on a thousand and one soap operas, this book actually explores these issues instead of just having them be a convenient plot point. Naomi, our protagonist and amnesiac, is a very likable character, very easy to relate to. Her best friend Will, however, was definitely my main draw. A yearbook nerd, he makes mix CDs for her for all sorts of occasions, knows her inside out, answers questions about her past more honestly than anyone else, and, as you will quickly figure out, is very obviously in love with her. In short, he is just the sort of guy I would have fallen for in high school, just the sort of guy I always fall for in novels. As one of my former coworkers pointed out, whether it’s novels or reality TV, I always go for the nerds. (Except I’m not really sure Mike is a nerd. I think he is a little bit cooler than I am.)

Besides Will, what I loved about this book is that Naomi, who was very popular as well as being a yearbook nerd herself, found herself in a life she didn’t know, with friends she wasn’t sure she liked (not Will, of course), and a boyfriend she was pretty sure wasn’t her type (again, definitely not Will). Most of us feel too much social pressure to know who we are and what we like in high school, but Naomi was figuring those things out without a lot of those pressures, because she wasn’t caught up in that game. That’s a very interesting concept - why was she friends with some of these people? Why wasn’t she friends with others? Why did she choose yearbook and not acting? What in the world did she see in her boyfriend?

More than that, it made me think about my own emotional baggage. Naomi couldn’t really remember why she hated her dad’s fiancee, or why she was mad at her mom. She couldn’t remember a lot of the emotional experiences that had shaped her, and, reading her journal, she wasn’t even sure that she liked the person she used to be. I was a little bit jealous, to be honest: if I wasn’t able to remember how a particular person had hurt me, wouldn’t I be happier? We could just start over. If I had a chance to learn things over again, we could hope that I might be more mature about the experience, handle some of it better.

Of course, life’s not really like that. Losing her memory certainly created quite a few problems for Naomi, even as it gave her the freedoms to explore new opportunities. I don’t get a do-over, nor can I simply forget about the things, both good and bad, that have shaped me. One of the time-related themes of the book that tied in to Naomi’s father’s wedding was that he chose to say, “I will,” focusing on the future, rather than, “I do,” which focuses on the present. Naomi was forced to live without her past . . . I can, at the very least, embrace the future without focusing on past wounds.

If it’s not clear, I thoroughly enjoyed the characters and story in this book, not to mention the ways that it made me think about my own high school (and college) years and how they might have been different if I’d focused a little bit less on the past.

For her 30th birthday, my friend Melissa had a murder mystery party. I was an archaeologist who believed that hieroglyphics hold evidence that UFOs have come to earth. Here are some pictures from my expeditions!

Here I am with my friend Indiana Jones. Perhaps you have seen some of his documentaries. We went together on a trip to recover some artifacts. He’s just as nice as you would imagine.

Here I am at Stonehenge. That was a really great time for me, communing with the heavens and those not from our world.

Here I am with King Tut. This was my most recent trip to Egypt. Soon my work will be published and the world will understand the truth about these ancient writings and what they teach us about other planets.

And, finally, here is another picture from Egypt. It was a lovely trip.

Mike was an entomologist. Here is a picture of his costume:

Those are shorts that he had on. And also knee socks.

Here is a partial picture of my costume. I do not yet have on my glasses or my foil hat. But, behold my awesome bone! I got that bone at school. And check out my t-shirt. I had a fun time with this costume.

I don’t want to give away the ending, but, apparently, when I say that I will date anything, I mean that I will date anything. Even vicious murderers.

Here are Emily’s pictures. In which you can see my tin foil hat. I know that’s what you’ve been waiting for. (The one of my hat floating in the background makes me laugh very hard.)

Speaking of Emily, here she is with her husband John. I mean . . . here are Amanda the movie star and Bud the sleazy lawyer. (Amanda and my character had a few, how do you say, issues with each other.) Bud’s jacket/tie combo was a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

I had never done anything like this before, and it was very fun. People were in character and got into it more than I thought they would, which made things especially awesome. Like Emily (Amanda) telling everyone how awful I (Carly) was all night (which, to be honest, was basically . . . true. hee hee). We weren’t supposed to know about each other’s characters beforehand, but since I was helping Mike with his costume, I knew he was an entomologist. And I knew from the information that I was given that the entomologist and I were not going to get along. At all. Because the entomologist was a terrible person who had done something awful (conveniently, the entomologist didn’t know about the awful things that the archaeologist had done. Three words: Cask. Of. Amontillado.). We spent all day Saturday “arguing” about what a terrible person the entomologist was. I choose to believe that this only enhanced our scenes at the party. Happy birthday, Melissa. And also, can Mike and I send you our therapy bill?

(Special thanks to Brian for his photoshop skills. Those pictures were even more awesome than I dared to imagine.)

Maggie Dempsey’s hippie parents still prefer a more nomadic life, so she’s not used to staying in the same place for very long. This move has her family headed for Austin, Texas, and Maggie is just plain tired. Tired of making new friends, tired of losing them again when her parents decide to try yet another place. Her plan for dealing with this is to be as weird and unpopular as possible, so it doesn’t hurt so much when she has to leave. So she wears strange clothes, she finds strange extracurricular activities, and she blows off any and all advances that the popular people make. But when she finds herself making friends with other outcasts (and getting a little bit emotionally involved with the most unlikely of boys), will she be able to keep on pretending, just to protect her heart?

Now, this is just my theory, but I would guess that a good many people who would be drawn to a book like this wouldn’t have any idea how to be popular in the first place. I myself was never popular, not the slightest bit, and the concept of popularity is always intriguing to me. How were all those people in my class popular? Who or what made them popular? Why were the rest of us not popular? (Well, I was voted “Smartest” and “Most Likely to Succeed” in my high school class, so I guess I was a little bit known. For being a nerd. But that is not the same thing as popularity. I hope we can agree on that.) And I think I could have worn the right clothes (instead of jumpsuits and galoshes, as Maggie did), joined the right clubs (instead of the geeky Helping Hands, as Maggie did), and been ultra-cool on local TV (instead of wearing a Queen Amidala costume and making lame puns, like Maggie did) and it wouldn’t have made a difference in my popularity level. There’s a certain something that popular people have that the rest of us, well, don’t. Full disclosure: I wore Star Trek t-shirts to school when I wasn’t busy wearing t-shirts representing my favorite Christian bands, so I was probably missing something about popularity on a very basic level.

Even though Maggie’s desire to be unpopular was difficult to empathize with on some levels (but, seriously, how does somebody get to be popular in the first place? I would genuinely like to know), her quest to keep from being hurt was something that anyone could understand. I enjoyed that one of the “Mean Girls” was given a bit more of a story than just being pretty and hateful, and that, as you would expect, the nerds/dweebs/outcasts were interesting and colorful, if a bit, well . . . nerdy and socially impaired. It was true to life, is what I am saying.

Maggie teaches people at her school about not following the crowd, being an individual, and being proud to represent your own interests, which is certainly a message that high school students need to hear more of. (Wear your Star Trek shirts, people! Wear them loud and proud!) Maggie needed to hear that too, since she’d been so focused on being popular in the past that she had missed all the smart, strange, wonderful people around her. But even better than that was the main lesson that Maggie learned: It is not good for man (or woman) to be alone. We as human beings were created to be in community and relationships with those around us. Maggie’s story is funny, but as we journey with her, we also see the serious side of what she is doing, how protecting herself can hurt those around her.

I thought this book faltered a little bit near the end, when Maggie started pushing people away by acting in ways we’d never really seen from her. That caught me a bit off guard, but other than that, I sailed right through, unable to put it down. Even if middle and high school students were only focusing on the silly things that Maggie was doing and wearing to keep people away, it would be hard to miss the idea that all people have value, no matter how strange they look, and that we should be proud to be appreciated for who we are. If that’s how not to be popular, it makes you wonder why popularity is so, well, popular in the first place.

I read Chocolat by Joanne Harris a few years ago, and enjoyed it overall. I think I like it better in retrospect than I did at the time, in part because my book club had a very good discussion of it. I definitely remember that the movie was not as good as the book (except maybe for Johnny Depp’s scenes). That’s the only Joanne Harris novel I had ever read, so I didn’t really know what to expect about this one. I will admit that this type of fantasy isn’t really my favorite kind of book (I only realized that in the past year or so, that I actually shy away from fantasy in favor of realistic fiction), but the world within these pages is so real and full that it drew in even a skeptic like myself.

Maddy is a young woman who was born with a runemark on her hand, one that gives her magical skills and marks her in her community as a witch. The truth is much more complicated than that, and as Maddy discovers her destiny, she finds herself caught up in a battle between ancient gods and the people who fear magic, a journey that includes waking the Seven Sleepers, a trip to Hel, and battling between good and evil, Order and Chaos.

I have never had much of a mind for mythology, I must confess. In high school, we were supposed to read some mythology over Christmas break, and I tried. I really did. But all the bickering and scheming and conniving wasn’t really my cup of tea, and I never finished the assignment. In college, I took a class on Greek Comedies that helped me understand some of the stories of the gods a little bit better, and a couple of years ago I struggled through Don’t Know Much About Mythology, but that’s the extent of my mythological knowledge. If you make a reference to a Greek or Roman god, I am probably going to understand what you are talking about, or at least have a decent idea to which story you are referring. But that’s basically it.

This book was very mythological in nature, specifically Norse mythology, and featured such characters as Odin, Loki, Thor, and Hel. You don’t have to know these stories specifically, though, to make sense of the book - if you know any mythology at all, the ways that the gods interact will be familiar to you. It certainly felt that way to me. I must give Joanne Harris credit - these mythological gods came alive for me in ways that they haven’t before. She was able to make them real.

This book, while long, would be a great introduction for a teenager interested in mythology. The myths themselves would be much more compelling after being introduced to the characters in this way. Even apart from the mythology, it’s a great story - an unwanted, unloved young woman finding her place in the world (not to mention finding the world to be much bigger than she thought), using powers she didn’t even know she had, becoming a part of something much larger than herself and her village. It’s a story we can all relate to, but the characters and the way it is told really make it something special.

In the past year, I have realized something about myself. Some of my friends are quite good with finishing touches, such as nice wrapping paper, beautiful bows, that sort of thing. I, on the other hand, am no good at those things whatsoever. When I am going to buy someone a present, I spend a lot of time thinking about the present itself. This is for two reasons: I am not naturally very good at thinking of presents, so it requires some work, and I hate shopping. I try very hard to come up with something good. And then I purchase said thing. And then I forget to wrap it. I put all my energy into coming up with the present; there is none left for presentation.

To be honest, I think the only wrapping paper I have is Christmas paper. This has been a problem in the past, when I need to wrap baby shower gifts at the last minute and have . . . nothing. If I’m at a birthday party or baby shower, my gifts are always the ugliest. I have been embarrassed by this in the past, and am still not quite sure how I feel about it. On one hand, I don’t want my friends to feel as if I don’t care. I do care! I have spent time thinking about their presents! On the other hand, I am never going to be able to match the presentation and artful bows of some of my friends (if I don’t have wrapping paper, do you really imagine I even HAVE bows?), so I might as well just not even try. (Isn’t that a beautiful attitude? If I can’t win, I shouldn’t try.)

Ultimately, though, I think I should consider the presentation as part of the gift, so it’s probably something I need to work on, at least a little bit. Unfortunately, I have made a bad start to this resolution, since I need to wrap a present for a friend’s birthday today. And, as I said, all I have is Christmas paper. Some of it is kind of wintery, though, so that should be fine, right? It’s January. It’s cold. Winter paper is totally appropriate.

Once again, my present will be the ugliest at the party. Sigh.

And thus ends the longest vacation that Mike and I have had together since our honeymoon. Of course, we didn’t go anywhere, or do much of anything, which was one reason it was so glorious. We had a lovely Christmas, and after that, we spent the rest of the break sleeping in, enjoying the sales, watching movies we’d been given (Once, Waitress) or that we wanted to see (Juno, which was very good) . . . just relaxing. About halfway through our time off, Mike said, “We’re going to have to come up with ideas for things to do in the summer.” Too true. All we did was sit around. We aren’t used to having so much time for activity. What do people do? Also, how is anyone going to convince us to have kids after all this wonderful sleeping in? I hear all you parents complaining about the lack of sleeping in all the time. Go ahead, try to convince me. I will be having some quality time with my flannel sheets.

One very nice thing is that, while we didn’t agree on everything, we didn’t bicker. It used to be that when we spent a lot of time together, we’d end up sniping at each other a little bit, but even the stress of the holidays didn’t turn us on each other. It’s a nice thing to be able to take note of, especially since our schedules are going to basically be the same.

Some people believe in ending the old year the way you’d like the new year to go - fresh haircut, full tank of gas, full pantry. We did that to some extent, cleaning things on New Year’s Eve, making a lot of soup to freeze, making a grocery store run. Our Christmas decorations always come down on the 1st, and Mike, who gets projects in his head and is unstoppable, reorganized our upstairs, cleaned out his side of the closet, and went to Goodwill with all our unwanted stuff that had been piling up. I, um, ironed. And read a book. I did help with the Christmas stuff! I feel ready for the year ahead, which promises some exciting things, namely Mike’s graduation (he can tell you how many days, exactly, if you are wondering). I didn’t feel much like reflecting on the past year, mostly because it took some unexpected turns at the end that I am still adjusting to, but I am thankful for a chance to make a fresh start.

When we went to see Juno, four girls came in during the previews and sat on the row right behind us. They proceeded to talk and talk and talk. One of them said, “Is this the commercials?” and her friend responded, “Yeah, it’s the trailers.” This concerned me, because I realized that it meant that they had no problem talking through the entire movie, and I didn’t have any of these. And, indeed, they did proceed to chat through the first part, until I turned around and said, “I didn’t pay good money to listen to you talk through the entire movie.” They were moderately more quiet after that. On the way home, Mike and I talked about that situation. I asked him if he had been planning on doing something. His plan? Move to the row behind them and kick their seats. You see the difference between us. He asked me why I didn’t just say, “Please stop talking,” and, you know, I have no idea why I didn’t say that. This is my problem - I get so worked up that I just blow my top and say rude things. If this is how I end the year (and it wasn’t just this one time), I can’t help but think that it’s a sign that this is something that needs some attention in my life.

I don’t make resolutions, especially public ones, but it is nice to face a new year (fresh with no mistakes in it) and imagine the ways that you can learn and change and grow. I hope that, at the end of this year, I’m a little further along, a little bit more patient and kind. And I hope I remember not to holler down the stairs when I want to talk to Mike. Seriously, that is such a bad habit.

I put off reading The Golden Compass for a long time, not because I felt threatened by Philip Pullman’s “attack on religion” or whatever you want to call it, but because I read a lot of interviews with him in which he didn’t seem like a very nice person. I like to feel like I could be friends (or at least friendly) with the people whose books I read. Of course, I finally caved to all that pressure and read it, and I did find it very good, but I still can’t quite imagine myself chatting with Mr. Pullman over a cup of coffee.

100 Cupboards sat next to my bed for a while for very similar reasons - N.D. Wilson is the managing editor of Credenda/Agenda, a magazine whose theology I disagree with, and, more importantly, whose (usually sarcastic) tone I have often found uncharitable. I was not sure whether I was interested in reading a book by someone involved with that magazine, nor was I completely sure that I could be fair and impartial when it came to reading it. Here is my best shot.

100 Cupboards is the first book in a new series. It tells the story of Henry, a twelve-year-old boy who has gone to live at his aunt and uncle’s house. His room is in the attic, and, from the start, Henry sees and hears mysterious things that he can’t understand. It’s not long before he has discovered cupboard doors in his walls that seem to lead to other places. As Henry and his cousin Henrietta discover more about these doors, they discover that their ordinary-seeming family has more magical secrets than they could possibly have realized.

While no one can beat C.S. Lewis for doors into other worlds, I thought that the story itself was engaging and interesting. During most of the book, though, I felt that the writing was somewhat stilted, like the author was deliberately writing for kids but didn’t quite know how. Mike and I have discussed in the past that, though we love many Newbery books, the award is sometimes given to a book that kids ought to like, or to the kind of book that adults think kids like. That’s the best way that I can describe the writing in this book - something an adult thinks a kid will like. Henry’s thoughts didn’t seem like the thoughts of a boy to me. They seemed like the thoughts of an adult trying to think like a boy. The first part of the book was mostly setup, and the story picked up in the second half, which I enjoyed more than the first half.

I know that N.D. Wilson’s Leepike Ridge has garnered good reviews, so perhaps I will pick it up sometime to see how it compares. If you are a fan of Wilson’s other work, you might give this a try, and I do think that kids who love fantasy will find something to enjoy here. It would probably be of most interest to kids who have finished Narnia but aren’t quite ready for Middle Earth.