Through a Glass, Darkly

My oldest friend got married on Saturday, and she asked me to read some scripture in her wedding. It was an honor to participate in the service, because she is such a lovely person, she and her new husband seem so wonderful together, and it was a beautiful ceremony that managed to be both traditional and personal. I did the Old Testament reading, from Genesis.

The Lord God said: “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a suitable partner for him.” So the Lord God formed out of the ground various wild animals and various birds of the air, and he brought them to the man to see what he would call them; whatever the man called each of them would be its name. The man gave names to all the cattle, all the birds of the air, and all the wild animals; but none proved to be the suitable partner for the man. So the Lord God cast a deep sleep on the man, and while he was asleep, he took out one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. The Lord God then built up into a woman the rib that he had taken from the man. When he brought her to the man, the man said: “This one, at last, is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; This one shall be called ‘woman,’ for out of ‘her man’ this one has been taken.” That is why a man leaves his father and mother and clings to his wife, and the two of them become one body.

I know that these are not the most romantic verses of all time, but they are pretty meaningful to me, because Mike really did have to leave his father and mother when he chose me, and clinging to each other is how we survived that and all the other challenges we have faced. So I was happy to read those verses for my friend.

The second reading was from 1 Corinthians 13, which is arguably some of the most beautiful language in the Bible. It’s certainly some of the most well-known. We had it in our wedding, in fact. When the second reader began, I wanted to hide under the pew. Because she? Had a gorgeous voice, complete with an Irish accent. I can’t compete with an Irish accent! I was totally upstaged! Even my own family agreed. Mike said I should have read my scripture in a fake British accent. My brother said, you know, sorry, but that other girl totally upstaged you. My brother’s friend said that after I finished she was like, “Wow, that was nice, great job,” but when the second reader started she was like, “Ohhhhhhh.” So sad. Also, she had on a fancy hat, like she was going to see the Queen. I don’t even own any hats like that. Sigh.

My only comfort is that most of the congregation was from New York and Minnesota. Perhaps my accent sounded adorable to them. Perhaps they were thinking, “Isn’t she just the sweetest little Southern Belle?” Yes, thank you for asking. I totally am.

Here is a picture of me and my friend. I couldn’t be happier for her. She has been a constant friend in my life since I was six years old.

(I had on kitten heels. And she had on real heels, maybe 3 inches? And I still tower over her.)

When I was getting ready for the wedding, I got a little bit sad, because my dad really loved my friend a lot. He did not often go to weddings, but he would have wanted to be at hers. He called her his “other daughter,” and he was always threatening to interrogate the people she was dating. I don’t have any pictures of my friend and her husband, but I feel pretty confident in saying that my dad would have approved of the man she chose, because he is nice and sweet and funny and cares about her a whole lot. So when Mike asked me which tie he should wear, I picked the one that was my dad’s so that he could be there, too.

I saw this letter from Digital History on another blog. Jourdon Anderson, an ex- Tennessee slave, declines his former master’s invitation to return as a laborer on his plantation, 1865. I am posting it because Jourdon Anderson was the epitome of a Southern gentleman, and in being so, showed Colonel Anderson for exactly what he was.

Dayton, Ohio, August 7, 1865

To My Old Master, Colonel P.H. Anderson, Big Spring, Tennessee

Sir: I got your letter and was glad to find you had not forgotten Jourdon, and that you wanted me to come back and live with you again, promising to do better for me than anybody else can. I have often felt uneasy about you. I thought the Yankees would have hung you long before this for harboring Rebs they found at your house. I suppose they never heard about your going to Col. Martin’s to kill the Union soldier that was left by his company in their stable. Although you shot at me twice before I left you, I did not want to hear of your being hurt, and am glad you are still living. It would do me good to go back to the dear old home again and see Miss mary and Miss Martha and Allen, Esther, Green, and Lee. Give my love to them all, and tell them I hope we will meet in the better world, if not in this. I would have gone back to see you all when I was working in the Nashville hospital, but one of the neighbors told me Henry intended to shoot me if he ever got a chance.

I want to know particularly what the good chance is you propose to give me. I am doing tolerably well here; I get $25 a month, with victuals and clothing; have a comfortable home for Mandy (the folks here call her Mrs. Anderson), and the children, Milly, Jane and Grundy, go to school and are learning well; the teacher says grundy has a head for a preacher. They go to Sunday- School, and Mandy and me attend church regularly. We are kindly treated; sometimes we overhear others saying, “The colored people were slaves” down in Tennessee. The children feel hurt when they hear such remarks, but I tell them it was no disgrace in Tennessee to belong to Col. Anderson. Many darkies would have been proud, as I used to was, to call you master. Now, if you will write and say what wages you will give me, I will be better able to decide whether it would be to my advantage to move back again.

As to my freedom, which you say I can have, there is nothing to be gained on that score, as I got my free- papers in 1864 from the Provost- Marshal- General of the Department of Nashville. Mandy says she would be afraid to go back without some proof that you are sincerely disposed to treat us justly and kindly- - and we have concluded to test your sincerity by asking you to send us our wages for the time we served you. This will make us forget and forgive old scores, and rely on your justice and friendship in the future. I served you faithfully for thirty- two years and Mandy twenty years. At $25 a month for me, and $2 a week for Mandy, our earnings would amount to $11,680. Add to this the interest for the time our wages has been kept back and deduct what you paid for our clothing and three doctor’s visits to me, and pulling a tooth for Mandy, and the balance will show what we are in justice entitled to. Please send the money by Adams Express, in care of V. Winters, esq, Dayton, Ohio. If you fail to pay us for faithful labors in the past we can have little faith in your promises in the future. We trust the good Maker has opened your eyes to the wrongs which you and your fathers have done to me and my fathers, in making us toil for you for generations without recompense. Here I draw my wages every Saturday night, but in Tennessee there was never any pay day for the Negroes any more than for the horses and cows. Surely there will be a day of reckoning for those who defraud the laborer of his hire.

In answering this letter please state if there would be any safety for my Milly and Jane, who are now grown up and both good- looking girls. You know how it was with Matilda and Catherine. I would rather stay here and starve and die if it comes to that than have my girls brought to shame by the violence and wickedness of their young masters. You will also please state if there has been any schools opened for the colored children in your neighborhood, the great desire of my life now is to give my children an education, and have them form virtuous habits. <>P.S. — Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you when you were shooting at me.

From your old servant,

Jourdon Anderson

Source: Cincinnati Commercial, reprinted in New York Tribune, August 22, 1865.

(That might be the greatest P.S. of all time.)

It took me for-ev-er to read this book. I kept putting it down, and also there were things like the Olympics and the DNC and being sick and being tired from going back to work that kept me from reading as much as I normally do. I am glad I stuck with it, though.

After moving from California to Hampden College in Vermont, Richard finds himself taken in by small, wealthy group of students who study Greek together. As Richard gets to know them better, he discovers that they have a secret. As he falls deeper and deeper into their confidence, their fear of discovery leads them to kill one of their own.

The first part of the book is setting up the things I just told you - Richard’s relationships with the five of them and how their friendship leads to murder. (This is all told on the inside jacket and in the first chapter, so I am not spoiling anything by telling you that.) The second half, which I liked better, was the fear of discovery. I liked how the walls were closing in around them, the sense of dread that permeated the pages. The question is, will they be discovered? And even if they aren’t discovered, will it have been worth it in the end?

The last hundred pages had twists and turns that had me actually gasping out loud, and because of that, I would say that this one is worth a shot. I think it would be a decent choice for a book club discussion because of the characters and their relationships alone. The first part is slow, but the payoff, for me at least, was worth it.

We have fire drills and tornado drills, but what do you call it when there’s an actual fire or an actual tornado? When I was in high school, someone set some kind of fire in a bathroom (the details have become somewhat fuzzy), and what we called it was, “Everyone get out of the building and then stand in the rain for hours and then come back into the building and shiver for the rest of the day because the radiators can’t be turned on.” (Huh, seems like some of THOSE details aren’t exactly fuzzy.)

Today, a tornado touched down near my school, and as we emphasized that, no, it was not a drill, I learned that what we actually call it is “tornado lockdown.” I was actually kind of impressed with this phrase. It sounds so official and makes the idea of everyone crouching by the wall in the tornado position seem so much less silly.

Of course, it didn’t seem silly at all when the tornado siren started going off. I don’t have a lot of tornado experience - we get tornadoes here, but certainly not like other parts of the country. I remember there being a pretty serious tornado warning when I was in elementary school and that we spent a couple of hours crouching by the wall, but I don’t remember hearing the tornado siren. In fact, I am not sure I have ever heard a tornado siren. It was surreal when it went off, because it’s something I have read about but never actually experienced. And I was okay when it went off the first time, but when it started going off the second time, I actually got a little bit scared. We spent an hour in tornado lockdown. I am very thankful that everything turned out okay, and that no one was hurt, but I would be lying if I said that hour in the tornado position didn’t take a toll on all of us. Not to mention the extra hour we all stayed at school because the buses couldn’t run until everything was safe.

That’s where Mike comes in. Let’s start with yesterday, when he drove me to my class so I wouldn’t have to walk in the rain, came home, made chili for dinner (he claims this is not a soup), and came back and picked me up. Today he drove me to class again (because I was going to be late late late without his help, thanks to the extra hour at school), picked me up after class, and let me cry on the way home. This is why he’s my hero - saving me from a downpour, holding my hand as I cry in the dark. It was a long day, and I am more than a little bit overwhelmed. Let’s all hope for a more normal day tomorrow. (Please.)

I do not, myself, like icebreaker sorts of things. It brings out the middle schooler in me, the part that doesn’t like joining things, the part that is still afraid that people will point and laugh, the part that struggles with sincerity. When, in my college classes, we have to do icebreakers, it is hard for me to resist rolling my eyes. It’s not that I think I’m too cool for icebreakers. It’s that I think I’m not quite cool enough, that no one will be interested enough in me to want to break the ice. That people will think it’s silly if I participate too much. So I hang back and try not to let myself seem too invested. (Also, I don’t like silly games that have no point other than breaking the ice. Let’s come up with an actual way to break the ice for a change.)

I like to watch the students when they do icebreaker activities, to see how their personalities come out. This one hangs in the corner, acting much like I always feel. That one dives in fearlessly, asking questions of all his classmates. This one goofs off, that one works steadily. I don’t have kids (or particularly maternal instincts), but from time to time I am unexpectedly moved to see them discovering who they are, taking risks when they would rather hang back, eschewing a sense of safety in order to get involved. I want to take them aside and tell them that it doesn’t do any good to keep worrying about what people think, and that they should jump into these activities with as much abandon as a child joyously jumping into a puddle. But I know they have to figure those things out themselves, so instead I simply say, “Are you finished? Then have a seat.”

Once upon a time, Mike and Kari bought a house. Here is what the kitchen looked like.

(That’s three layers of linoleum. And the scary carpet.)

There were crazy light fixtures and half the room was carpeted and the cabinets had weird yellow slats on the doors and the fireplace was hideously ugly. And ugly wallpaper. There were so many awful things I can’t remember them all.

This is what it looked like for most of the summer.

How did we get through that? I don’t know. Margaritas, mostly.

And, FINALLY, here is what it looks like now!

Yes, I know we need a cover for our vent.

Yes, I know we need some crown molding for the fireplace. You people are so demanding. Can’t we rest on our laurels for a while?

Obviously there are a few details we need to finish, and we need to work on window treatments and hang pictures, but I wanted to let you see how far we have come.

One last word about the kitchen - here is a picture of our tile. I mopped last night, so I feel confident showing it to you. Our friend Randy at Rekoncile Design did the floor, and he did a spectacular job.

The kitchen transformation can also be viewed here.

Apparently whenever you get a prescription filled now, there is a description of what the medicine looks like. I got an antibiotic, and on the sticker that CVS printed, it says, “This is a PINK, OVAL-shaped TABLET imprinted with G on the front and 3060 on the back.” Is this some kind of law, or just a CVS thing? It makes me laugh. Whose job is it to write those descriptions? How do those people feel when they go home at night? Are they tempted to describe the medicines using more exciting colors? Because I would say that these pills are a rose/fuschia combination.

Mike got some cough syrup from the doctor, and his is even better. The label says, “This is a GOLD LIQUID.” Now, I am not positive, but it appears to me that Mike’s doctor prescribed him Felix Felicis. I am linking that for those of you who aren’t Harry Potter nerds. Felix Felicis, you guys! Liquid luck! I am really jealous, because all the doctor gave me was PINK, OVAL-shaped TABLETS. No magic. No luck. What gives, doctors? I was sick, too! I work with teenagers and need all the luck I can find!

(School starts next week. Please send any extra luck my way.)

(The downside to his Felix Felicis is that every night since he has started taking it I have fallen asleep with “Felix Felicis” by Harry and the Potters in my head. “All these ideas seem so reasonable once I’ve had something to drink.”)

Mike and I had two tall bookcases that we used to store DVDs, but when we moved here, we decided that we wanted something else to store our DVDs. This means that our DVDs are still in boxes. Which means that we have been watching the same movies over and over. One day we will find the perfect thing to store our DVDs. How do you store your DVDs? Any advice? (Please keep in mind that we have over 200 movies. It’s kind of out of control.)

When we decided to get rid of the bookcases, I asked one of my teacher friends if she wanted them for her classroom. She said she did, so last night Mike and I loaded them (along with a coffeetable for another teacher) into the back of my grandpa’s truck. Which was parked on the street in front of our house. And then we watched some Olympics, read some books, went to bed. I took some cough syrup and promptly fell asleep. And then I woke up at 11:00 to Mike’s eyes boring into the side of my head . . . and the sound of pouring rain.

Sure, sensible people would have taken care of this sort of thing beforehand. Sensible people would have checked the weather or preemptively backed the truck into the carport. But that’s not the kind of people we are, so I pulled on a sweatshirt, backed the other two cars out of the driveway, and had Mike back the truck in safely. I hope our neighbors were entertained. My pajamas legs were soaked.

Afterwards, we looked at the radar, and the little patch where it was raining was the only place in a five-state area where there was any rain at all. Perhaps the key to fighting drought is to load your possessions into the back of a pickup truck, assume it’s not going to rain because it never does, and wait for it to start pouring.

Last Wednesday I went to the Farmers’ Market and bought lots of tomatoes. But this week I had to go back to work rather than purchasing tasty vegetables. Last night, Mike asked what time it opens on Wednesdays (7:00) to see if it would be possible for one of us to go. But we decided just to wait until Saturday. Great plan, since apparently Barack Obama showed up at the Farmers’ Market this morning.

(Let’s talk for a minute about the voicemail I just left Melissa, challenging her to get Barack to show up at a yard sale. Because that’s the kind of friend I am.)

I mean, sure, even if we had decided to go, it would have been before 9:30 By 9:30, I was already deep into a meeting. But I can still complain about it, right? Why not last week, Barack? I was there! I was buying tomatoes and supporting local farmers! Why not Saturday, Barack? I’ll be there then!

For the record, I sometimes play a little game at the Farmers’ Market called, “How many people are wearing Obama t-shirts?” In the parking lot, I play another game called, “How many Obama bumper stickers do I see?” Your spot, sir, was well-chosen.

Political figures I have met: John Edwards (who is not very tall) and Elizabeth Dole (who looked different than I expected). I met John Edwards at the Greensboro Public Library not long after he announced his first presidential candidacy. I tried to hide behind a pole, but I ended up shaking his hand on the local news. I met Elizabeth Dole when I was hanging out with THE KING. Apparently they are friends.

My cold (for which I finally went to the doctor today, and, hooray, it’s a sinus infection!) (um, sorry people I have been around - I really thought I was getting better), Mike’s cold, the last few things that didn’t get done in our house because of the cold, the fact that I haven’t been able to run because of the cold, and the expected end-of-summer blues have really got me down the past week or so.

I struggle with contentment at the best of times. I think I make trouble for myself sometimes, finding things to be upset about. I lived for a long time in a state of righteous indignation, and it’s hard not to revert to that. Especially in situations where righteous indignation is appropriate, or at least would be understood. I have been in some situations lately where righteous indignation was called for, and I certainly talked Mike’s ear off about my feelings, but I managed not to run it past as many people as I normally do. I managed to shake it off a little better than normal. I don’t know if I was too sick/blue to deal with it or if I have turned a bit of a corner in that area. I hope it was the latter. I know that there were some things I chose not to talk about, that I chose to let go. And it felt good. It’s not a decision I am very familiar with, to be honest.

Tomorrow it is back to the routine, back to school. I have been there for the past few days, getting things together. I have been dreading it. I am nervous about starting the school year (something I have never done before) and taking two classes. Being off has made me long to be independently wealthy so that I could stay home all the time, running and cooking and traveling and writing and keeping the house clean (well, if I was independently wealthy, perhaps I could hire someone else to clean the house for me. If we’re going to dream, we might as well dream big), just like I did this summer. But being back at school has been good, too. I missed my school friends, and there are already plans to go out together, to see movies, to do lunch. I have some new projects this year at school that are both exciting and intimidating. I don’t want to go back, not really. But I also know I wasn’t made to lounge around all the time, and I (hope I) am up for the new challenges I will face this year.

Mike caught my cold. Except that his version is some kind of bronchial infection, complete with a fever of 103. And much being pathetic and watching the Olympics. I have provided him with homemade soup, macaroni and tomatoes (tomatoes I canned with my own hands, people), toast, and tea. And still, he keeps telling me that he needs a bell.

Being at the beach with my family made me reminisce about the many times we have stayed in that house. Early in my teenage years, I went to the beach house with one friend and then spent the next week with another friend. What I remember from those trips is an overwhelming sense of my own awkwardness, that these girls were so advanced compared to me. They knew things about the way that the world works (that is, boys and hair and clothes) that I had not yet been able to figure out. They were my age, but emotionally, they were way ahead of where I was.

Of course, the idea that the people around me know the rules and I don’t is something that I worry about all the time, even now. I touched on that earlier this week in a conversation I had with Melissa (though I can’t remember if I specifically mentioned the beach in the conversation or if I was just thinking about it at the time), talking about how other people are always so much cooler than I am. Still. “When do I get to be cool?” I asked her. (You can see why I fit in so well at a middle school. Hey, at least I am cooler than they are.) (Well, sadly, not all of them.)

One of the defining moments (for me, anyway) of my friendship with Melissa was a moment when we were decidedly uncool. We were basically in charge of a retreat and had decided to do something nice for all the girls who were there, so we went to the store to buy the stuff to bake brownies. When we got back, we realized that the place we were staying had no pans and nowhere to bake the brownies, so we had to go back and buy microwave brownies. This is the type of thing that makes me feel deeply incompetent, and Melissa and I bonded over our shared feelings of incompetence compared to the people around us, who undoubtedly would have bought the right brownies in the first place. Because they know how the world works. I did not know it at the time, but now it seems as if that drive back to the store down those winding roads in the dark changed something for me. I realized that other people feel the same way I do, even if (like Melissa) they seem more competent than I could ever hope to be.

This is the way that the world works for me: I screw things up. A lot. At least I have pretty awesome people who screw things up along with me.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

I hate to post poems or song lyrics without any commentary. But I really like this poem. Enjoy.

Look what I did today!

I went to my grandma’s house and canned 24 pints of tomatoes! Want to hear about it?

After I read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, one of my goals for this summer was to learn how to can things. (One of my other goals was to read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, so at least one of my goals was accomplished.) A few years ago, Grandma taught me how to make tomato juice, but we use a lot of canned tomatoes, and I thought it would be useful to learn how to can them myself, using local tomatoes. Plus, quality Grandma time. Win-win-win.

This morning I went to Food Lion to buy lids for the jars. I love doing things like that. It makes me feel like I am part of the cool club that knows how to can things. Except for the part where I had to ask where they were. They weren’t with the jam making things, which I think is kind of weird. That’s weird, right? Please agree with me. Also, while I was there, I managed to make the bagboy uncomfortable. He has been the same bagboy the past two times I have been there! Also, he has had a little difficulty with the concept of me bringing my own bags. I said, “You are here every time I come here.” He just looked at me. I considered telling him that I was stalking him, but I kind of don’t want to go to jail. So I just left. I thought that would be best.

(Other than the Super G Mart, there are two regular grocery store options really close to our house: Food Lion and Harris Teeter. When we moved in, Mike said he didn’t want to shop at Food Lion because the service is not as good. But I asked him to try it, and we have actually had pretty good service there overall. We haven’t had to wait like we have at other Food Lions. I think it is our grocery store. Also, I bought some Pirate’s Booty for Alisa for $2.29. That is a good price for Booty. It costs like $5.00 at Harris Teeter. Which brings me to the point of this aside: as I told Alisa, I know Harris Teeter is nicer. But every time I shop there, the food tastes like guilt. Plus, soon this bagboy and I will have worked out our canvas bag issues, and everything will be grand! Either that or he will be so creeped out by me that he will quit. Whichever. I’m not picky.)

Back to the story! From Food Lion, I traveled to the Farmer’s Market, where I made a man from Dodge Lodge Farm very happy by buying a peck of tomatoes. My grandma had some, and my Uncle Buddy had some, but Grandma said we needed a few more, so she told me to get a peck. Or 1/4 bushel. Which is around 13 pounds. The guy who was helping the Dodge Lodge Farmer said, “You should come back every week and buy 13 pounds of tomatoes!” Mr. Dodge Lodge Farm said, “She does come here all the time.” Which is true. And awesome. I’m a regular! (For the record, 13 pounds of fresh tomatoes every week is my idea of what heaven will be like.) Also, I made another vendor jealous. She wanted to know how Mr. Dodge Lodge Farm was able to get this large sale. I did not mean to cause strife at the Farmer’s Market. But I do like being fought over.

I also bought two yellow tomatoes because I could not pass them up. Scott, do I need to take a picture of them for you?

And then I went to Grandma’s house, and she taught me how to can tomatoes! Which you can look up on the internet, so I am not going to tell you about them. Suffice it to say that I was having the best day ever, what with the massive amounts of tomatoes and the domesticity and the productivity and the hanging out at Grandma’s house! And we were going to have dinner with Brian and Sarah! But the plumber was late and we didn’t get to have dinner with Brian and Sarah. So it is no longer the best day ever, just a really good day up until about 5:30.

Hey, um, let’s look at that picture again.

What’s going on there? Are those . . . new countertops I see? Is that a yellow wall back there? What is going on?! Well, consider this a tiny preview. We are still working on things. But I thought maybe this picture might tide you over for now.

I made a “Back to School” playlist today that includes some albums that I have been wanting to listen to (The Hold Steady, Jack Johnson, Elliot Smith, Emmylou Harris) and some back to school songs. There are not a whole lot of back to school songs that aren’t, you know, the Beach Boys singing about being true to your school. Mike suggested “We’re Going to Be Friends” by the White Stripes, and I thought of “This Year” by The Mountain Goats.

(Tangent: “This Year” by The Mountain Goats is an excellent song, and I am always happy to have an excuse to put it into a playlist. I didn’t have an alcoholic stepfather, but I was a teenager who was unhappy where she was, and this song describes those feelings perfectly. The last line, “There will be feasting and dancing in Jerusalem next year,” catapults it from a good song to a great song. Check out The Mountain Goats. The Sunset Tree is a great album. Especially if you work with teenagers. End of tangent.)

I also did some songs that are, in truth, New Year’s songs, but it is my playlist and a new school year counts as far as I am concerned. So, thank you, Death Cab, and welcome to my back to school playlist. But, even with the stretching of the definition of back to school, I am in the market for some more non-cheesy back to school songs. What songs remind you of bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils? If there is a story attached, please share it!

This morning, Mike was in the front yard and someone pulled up. He introduced himself and said that he was the son-in-law of the woman who lived here for a long time. He and Mike made some small talk about the house and some of the improvements we have done. At the end of the conversation, he said that if we had any questions about the house, we could feel free to let him know and he would be glad to help us out if he could.

How long before we can ask the following questions:

1. What is UP with the wallpaper?
2. What was UP with the brick/paneling combination in the sunroom?
3. Seriously, what is UP with the kitchen/den combo and the godawful carpet?
4. Can someone please explain the light fixture that looked like a UFO?
5. Why would anyone cover perfectly nice hardwood floors in some boring beige carpet?
6. Why would anyone pair boring beige carpet with cream colored walls and trim?
7. How old, exactly, was the fixture on the fan in the sunroom?
8. Who painted the cabinets white? With yellow accents? And why?
9. Please explain the pink sponge painting in the middle bedroom.
10. Baby blue for a master bedroom? Really?
11. And, finally, why does the sunroom have eight doors that lead nowhere? WHAT IS UP WITH THE INVISIBLE DECK?

Those are . . . just off the top of my head. I am betting I could come up with more. Oh, wait! One more!

12. How come we have so many light switches that don’t do ANYTHING?

My favorite part is that the guy saw the cabinets on the outside of the house and said, “Wow, you weren’t kidding about redoing the kitchen. You must be loaded.” It was probably not in the best of taste for him to say that, but Mike said he seemed like a nice guy, a good old boy who didn’t mean it in an offensive way. So he said the only thing he could possibly say. “Well. We don’t have kids.”

Today is a sick day. I woke up in the middle of the night with a really sore throat. My throat is feeling better now, but I have had a headache all day, even after taking Advil. Mike, however, painted (most of) our kitchen a nice cheerful yellow. (Kitchen update: We still have to scrape and sand the parts of the kitchen where there was wallpaper, and we have to touch up the fireplace where it got some cement on it. The floor needs to be sealed and the countertops will hopefully be installed this week.) And that reminds me of some advice I have been wanting to give my single readers, because all summer long, Mike has been on top of things. He organized the move, he took care of the mortgage paperwork, he stayed on the phone with the people who were building our cabinets, he has talked to lawyers and realtors and contractors and he is awesome. I was basically dead weight, is what I am telling you. I did some painting and some unpacking and some taking down of wallpaper. He was the one with the vision. I was the one with the lists. He was the one with the positivity that everything was going to come together. I was the one who, at times, just wanted to curl up in the fetal position and escape from the massive amount of work to be done. He was the one with endless energy. Sometimes I was a little bit lazy. He kept us organized and sane. And he stayed on top of meals. And you know how important meals are to me. My contribution was basically staying on top of the laundry. Which is important when you are painting, because suddenly all the rags you own are covered in paint.

So, single readers, here is some serious advice. If you, like me, get overwhelmed at large projects, marry someone like Mike, who has those gifts that I do not. And then make him lots of pie to keep him cheerful. And make sure he has clean socks. You guys will be the perfect team!

But you can’t have him. You have to get your own Mike. I still have some things around the house that I need this Mike to do.

Dear House,

Hi! It’s been nice to get to know you the past few weeks. I hope you are happy with everything we have been doing. We’ve been trying to update your look. I think the makeover shows always use phrases like “update your look.” You will find out soon enough that I don’t really know anything about updating any look. But I hope you like your new cabinets and your new tile floor.

Here’s what I don’t understand, House. We’ve been doing all these nice things for you. So why have you made my brown belt disappear? Where is my brown belt? I know I had it when we moved in. But I can’t find it anywhere. Where have you hidden it? And when are you going to return it?

We can be friends, or we can be enemies. But either way, I want my belt.

I will retaliate if necessary,
Kari

—

Dear Jewelry Store That Must Not Be Named,

Do you know how many times we have been to you, jewelry store? To pick up my engagement ring that broke back in May? Five. Five times. Do I have my ring yet, jewelry store? I do not. You told me today that my ring should be in on Monday. Jewelry store, if my ring is not in on Monday, I may lose my mind and start screaming in front of all the pretty sparkly things. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to upset the pretty sparkly things. I just want my ring back, jewelry store. And I want it to look like it did when Mike gave it to me. Almost ten years ago. Is that so much to ask?

Ten years? That makes me feel kind of old,
Kari

—

Dear Family Members Who Have Fed Us and Done Our Laundry This Week,

Thank you. You saved our lives. And saved us from having to eat out again. And from having smelly clothes.

Want to help us unpack the kitchen . . . why are you walking away?
-Kari

—

Dear Big Bunny,

I know you have been in your cage for weeks and weeks now. I know. But we didn’t have a safe place in the house for you to jump around. And we’re sorry about the noise. It’s been noisy. You are a total trooper. We are going to let you jump around for a solid week to make up for it. (We know you will not actually jump around. You will probably sit in front of the TV and watch the swimming. Admit it.)

Also, we thought you would like that cabbage. Sorry it gave you so much gas.

You were kind of stinky,
Mama

PS: Have you seen my brown belt?

I am sorry, I do not have anything interesting to tell you today. I am too busy hanging out with delicious babies. Well, just one delicious baby. My cousin and his wife are here with their delicious baby in particular.

(We should have used the flash. But don’t worry, we will have the opportunity to try again.)

Today’s post is from Amelia Atwater-Rhodes, and is about something I’ve been pondering this summer, too: the balance between work and life. Like Amelia, I find that I am more productive when I have more to do. The first part of this summer was a little bit unproductive for me for that very reason, but I like to think that the second half of the summer was better, what with the painting, wallpaper stripping, and general mayhem of the house. This is the end of Amelia’s blog tour - the other posts are listed at the bottom!

—

I am often asked how I am able to juggle being a full-time writer, a full-time student, and a full-time human being with a social life. The truth is, that’s what I’ve always done—what I don’t know how to handle is too much free time. I always write more when I’m overscheduled and would swear I have no time at all than I ever do when I’m on vacation and have plenty of free hours. I wrote 300,000 word high-fantasy trilogy over my last two years of college, during which time I also went on exchange to Texas, directed two plays, edited Wyvernhail and Persistence of Memory (coming out this winter) for publication, applied to graduate school, studied for and took a major state exam for teacher licensure, and moved in with my significant other. (By the way, I’m now a college graduate, BA in English and Psychology, magna cum laude, and certified to teach English in Massachusetts to grades 5-8 and 8-12.)

So far this summer, since all that has been over? I think I’ve written four chapters, total, since June 1. I haven’t had enough to do to motivate me to fill every possible moment with something either useful or fun (or both). For NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), in November- one of the busiest months of the year for me- I’m capable of writing 50,000 words in a month, but I think if someone told me I had eternity to write and nothing else I needed to get done, I would never write another word, since I would always know I still had plenty of time.

Thankfully, in the next month, I have the next book to edit, a trip to Alaska to see a good friend who is also the heart of my writing group, and a trip to Maryland to see family, so I should have some anti-time in which to get some good work done.

—

You can find the rest of Amelia’s blog tour at the following sites:

July 22nd: Bildungsroman
July 24th: Cheryl Rainfield
July 25th: BookLoons
July 28th: Mrs. Magoo Reads
July 30th: Teen Book Review
July 31st: Making Stuff Up for a Living
August 4th: Bookwyrm Chrysalis
August 5th: The Reading Zone

One time, Mike and I were on an evening walk and we crashed Emily’s house. Because we live in her neighborhood and we can do that. Also, our house was probably a disaster at that point. (Who am I kidding, our house is a disaster at THIS point.) So we were running away to where people had things other than boxes to decorate their homes. We were sitting in this room and we discussed the question of whether they should have gas logs installed. And I didn’t really want to say anything, because I knew the commenters on that post were all, “Gas logs are of the devil!” But Mike and I really like having gas logs. I like being able to flip a switch and have a fire, especially on a cold winter Saturday morning. Now that our fireplace is in the kitchen, we will probably use it in a really different way, but I am still happy not to have to build a fire in order to get the benefits of a fire. I am a philistine. And happy to be so, if I get fire on demand. This is, I believe, very similar to my use of a plastic tree at Christmas. You can extol the virtues of a real tree, and I hear you. I understand what you are saying. But it still seems like too much work. My plastic tree can go up the day after Thanksgiving and stay there until New Year’s Day. My fake fire comes on when I feel a chill. I am okay with these choices.

I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you, then, that we basically scorn grilling on charcoal. Philistines that we are, when the topic of charcoal grilling comes up, we have been known to say things like, “We would like to eat dinner at a reasonable hour, not four hours from now.” But, at the beach house, there is only one grill, and it is charcoal. And three nights in a row, we forced Mike to wrestle with charcoal, lighter fluid, and . . . whatever else it is you need. I have only ever used a gas grill. I am the wrong person to ask. After those experiences, how does he feel about charcoal? He is resoundingly not in favor of it. As you can see in this picture. And also you can see how he looks at me when he cannot understand why I am taking his picture.

Luckily, his grilling skills are so advanced that everything was excellent, despite the tussle with charcoal. Added bonus: There was an excellent place for him to rest up after all that hard work.

When Mike and I went to New York, we had the kind of vacation where you run around and see things all day long. And also you stop in Starbucks a lot to get cold beverages and check your email. This vacation, though, was the kind my family is really good at: the lay around and do nothing kind. I read five books. Mike didn’t wear shoes for five days. We ate a lot of food, lounged in the hammock, played Settlers of Catan, and I even managed to get a little sun. (You wouldn’t be able to tell, but I can.) My family has spent a lot of vacations in that beach house. Myrtle Beach may be too touristy for some people, but that house is one of my favorite places, and we honestly didn’t really leave. Except to go buy more food. Things my family is good at: lounging and eating. There really ought to be Olympics in those things.

We came home with some excitement and trepidation, for, you see, our kitchen floor and cabinets were to be installed while we were gone. And, lo, we arrived at the house and I ran past the kitchen to the bathroom (as I do after long trips), blocking my view so I didn’t get a sneak peek. After relieving my bladder, I went to see what had transpired in our kitchen while we were lounging. And. Oh, my. Such a difference. The flooring is about 75% done, and the cabinets are in. We need our hardware to be installed on the cabinets (they had to consult us before doing anything, which is nice except for the fact that I haven’t got an opinion on things like that, so they should have just done whatever is standard instead of opening up the possibility that I might screw things up) and people are coming to measure for our countertop TOMORROW. And we will probably paint this weekend. I know what you are going to say, and, yes we will have some pictures for you soon. I caved and took some “before” pics of that room at least. So you will be able to marvel at the transformation. Which is what I need to get back to doing right now. Oh, my goodness.

I have read several books while at the beach, including No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy, which was as wonderful (well, wonderful doesn’t seem quite the right word about a Cormac McCarthy book . . . how about wonderfully written) as the movie had led me to expect. Speaking of the movie: It was very faithful to the book and, I think, an excellent adaptation. The book gave us a little bit more of the sheriff’s story, and I enjoyed the depth that it gave his character. I did hear all of the sheriff’s words in the voice of Tommy Lee Jones, but that didn’t take away from the book at all. When I saw the movie, I thought a lot about good and evil and chance and violence and hope, and the book fleshes out some of those questions even more. If you liked the movie and haven’t read the book, definitely give it a shot. (Though now that I have read two Cormac McCarthy books, I am probably not going to do any more. They are pretty brutal.)

Cormac McCarthy is considered by some (including Mike) to be the greatest living American author. I moved from his book to Saturday by Ian McEwan, who is considered one of the greatest living British authors. (And before that I read a work by the author who comes in tops on that list. Wow!) It’s not going to replace Atonement as my favorite of his novels, but I love how he takes one day and uses it as a microcosm of one man’s life. His writing is so controlled, no words out of place as the story builds and builds to the breaking point. It’s an exercise in writing just to read his novels. And both of those books, together? Well, I am thankful to have the time to read them like that, back to back, on consecutive days. Such riches indeed.

(I like reading young adult novels, but it sure is nice to take a break from them, too.)

A few years ago, long before we knew the end of Harry Potter’s story, I was involved in a discussion in which I stated that J.K. Rowling is an excellent writer. Someone in the discussion felt differently, claiming that the “previously in Harry Potter” recaps at the beginning of the earlier books proved that she wasn’t a good author. I am kind of afraid of arguing with this person, to be honest, so I conceded the point, and we were able to agree that Rowling is an excellent storyteller. I have wondered, in the past year, how she feels about Rowling’s writing now, whether the detail and care that she brought to her tale (not to mention the fact that, once she had a little more clout with the publishers, the recaps stopped pretty abruptly) has changed her feelings about Rowling’s gifts as an author.

This summer, as we have been painting, I have been listening to Harry Potter on CD as read by Jim Dale (which makes us even more excited about Pushing Daisies coming back in the fall). This is my first time reading it now that I know the end, and it’s been interesting to watch it all come together. The Twilight saga, as I am sure you are aware, has been heralded as the next Harry Potter. In an interview with Entertainment Weekly (the issue with the revolting Twilight cover), Stephenie Meyer talked about her storytelling, and how she may not be the most gifted writer, but she can tell a story. But the simple truth is that people liked Harry Potter for more than just an entertaining story. We liked the world she created, we liked the characters, and, as the story continued, we liked the increasing depth of a story that was putting forth important ideas about friendship, loyalty, life, death, and love. Nothing in Stephenie Meyer’s books approaches that kind of depth. The Twilight saga, though deeply entertaining, is, in the end, nothing more than a series of vampire romance novels.

But, as I said, they are deeply entertaining. Exceptionally high on the unintentional comedy scale, no question, but the story itself was, for the most part, a page turner, even if the characters were not much more than empty shells that allowed readers to fill in the blanks with, well, themselves. (This does, after all, help explain much of the popularity of the books. What teenage girl would not want to fancy herself adored by two hot guys with special powers?) And so, on Saturday morning, Mike and I trekked to Wal-Mart so that I could purchase a copy of the final book in the saga, Breaking Dawn. Why did I buy it when I don’t have any of the others? Well, we were at the beach, and I thought, “Hey, I will just donate this book to my school when I am done.” I was a little ashamed to have it in my cart, but also a little excited to hear the end of the story. Six and a half hours later, I put the book down, a bit disappointed, relieved that it was finally over.

As Breaking Dawn begins, Bella’s wedding is in just a few days, and she continues to face the questions of whether sex with a vampire is going to be possible and also whether Edward will follow through with his promise to turn her into a vampire as well. I found the first half of the book to be as entertaining as the other parts of the series I had enjoyed, with twists and turns I hadn’t expected, not to mention the overly dramatic prose I have come to count on. (My family was quite entertained when I would read bits to them, things like Bella feeling that Edward is more angel than man.) By the second half, Stephenie Meyer herself seemed to lose interest in the story, and the climax toward which the story had been building sputtered out with a whimper rather than the bang of the Battle of Hogwarts. I think, in the end, maybe she should have kept the story to three books.

When I finished Breaking Dawn, I picked up Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, which I had gotten about halfway through. I finished it on Sunday morning, cried a little bit, and marveled at J.K. Rowling’s gifts, especially as compared to what I had just read in Breaking Dawn. If the Twilight stories are the new Harry Potter, you can keep them. I will stick with the old Harry Potter, thanks.

I am taking classes at UNCG again this fall, and the bill needed to be paid by August 1st. And so, on July 31st, Mike logged into my account to pay so that I can continue to take classes so that I can keep my job so that we can continue to eat. Simple enough, right?

We couldn’t find the button to pay, so, clever people that we are, we did a little search and found the area we needed and tried to pay. But our payment was rejected. I called the cashier’s office and the woman I spoke to said, oh, they have been trying to get that taken down from the website (well, it is down, unless you know how to search for it) and she informed me that you can no longer pay your bill with a credit card at UNCG. Unless you want to pay a 2.75% service fee. (In fact, you cannot pay with a credit card at all if you actually go to the cashier’s office. But that is another story.) (And, yes, it said that on the actual bill I got, but it didn’t say it in the emailed bill I got, which was what I paid attention to.)

Now, 2.75% is one thing when it’s, say, the tax on the food that I buy at the grocery store. UNCG tuition and fees are considerably more than what I spend at the grocery store, though. This 2.75% is, therefore, also more than a couple of dollars. On my bill, for example, we would have paid approximately $45 at that rate. Apparently the costs of processing credit card payments have become so great that UNCG has outsourced its credit card processing. Maybe that is so, maybe the costs of credit card processing are too much, but I can’t help but feel that UNCG has taken a step backward. If students must register online and can take classes online, surely they ought to be able to pay online in the standard way. That is, with a credit card. (You can pay online with a “web check.” Which just seems silly. Plus, it would have been nice to get the credit card points.)

I hope this, along with the requirement that students are insured, makes the university the money it has been losing on credit card bills. As for me, I would prefer that they take my athletics fee or the fee for the Rec Center (that I use only a handful of times per semester) or even perhaps the registration fee and apply it to credit card processing so that I can pay online with a credit card without a fee and without a hassle.

I am not exactly sure what this list is, but it has something to do with the National Endowment for the Arts’ Big Read program, though I couldn’t find this list on their website to verify that claim. I stole it from CJ. Apparently the NEA estimates that the average adult has only read six of these books. At least, that is the statistic that is bandied about the internet. So, basically, this is a random unverified list with a random unverified statistic attached to it. But let’s see how I do anyway, shall we? (Hint: more than six.)

Here’s how it works:

1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you intend to read.
3) Mark in red the books you LOVE.
4) Reprint this list in your blog

Oh, yeah, I am not so much for making things red. So we are ignoring that rule. But feel free to use it if you’d like.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen - My favorite book.
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien - In my top ten.
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte - I don’t love the Brontes like I love my Jane.
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling - You guys don’t need to hear me talk about this any more.
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee - I want to read this again by the end of this year.
6 The Bible - I haven’t read all of it, I admit.
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte - Hated it. Too overwrought.
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman - I haven’t read all of them, but I have read The Golden Compass
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens - I believe this was the first Dickens I read.

11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy - A Prayer for Owen Meany makes me want to read this one
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare - I have no plans to read the complete works, no.
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger - I haven’t read it since high school.
19 The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger -Why is this book on this list? The modern novels on this list are . . . interesting.
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot - Checked it out one time, never got around to reading it.

21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell - I read this in middle school, believe it or not.
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens - I am happy with the Dickens I have read, and have no desire to read more.
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy - I want to do all those big fat Russian novels someday.
25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams - I like this book, but, again, why?
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh - A few years ago. Can’t wait to see the movie.
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck - Haven’t read it, don’t plan on it.
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame

31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy - But I want to reread it. I read it in 8th grade. NERD.
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen - I would like to revisit this one now that I am older.
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis - Why is this on here if the Chronicles are also on here?
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne

41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meany - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins - I went through a Wilkie Collins phase.
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy - I have read some Hardy. The Mayor of Casterbridge. This guy I was dating loved that book, so I read it. Why isn’t that one on the list?
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding - Somehow I never did this one in school.
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan - My favorite book from last year.

51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons - I am not sure if I have read this one. I might actually have read it.
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck - I don’t know how I got through school without reading this. But I’m not going to do it now.
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt - I will probably read this soon, actually. It’s been on my list for a while.
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold - Seriously?
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac - Started it, hated it.
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville

71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker - Brian kept telling me to read this. I might someday.
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath - This year, actually. I finally read it.
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray - I have started it a few times. Maybe I should watch the movie first, to get me ready.
80 Possession - AS Byatt

81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - I don’t even know what that IS.

91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo - I tried one time. But maybe one day.

Looks like a total of 50. Not bad. (I love lists like this, because I love marking things off lists. hehehe.)

I played poker with some friends from church last night. Our husbands play poker together from time to time, and we decided that girls can play poker, too. I know how to play poker, but I had some good hands early on, when we were being more conservative, and by the time we were getting more serious, well, I was tied for being the first one out. I said that when I went all in, I was going to stand up and pace, just like they do on TV. Unfortunately, no one really knew what I was talking about.

Next time, I’m wearing a visor. And some sunglasses. (As if that would help.)