Through a Glass, Darkly

In honor of both Halloween and 30 Rock being back (yay!), I present you with this clip:

And I present the full song for your listening pleasure:

Once a year, I have to go to the eye doctor to see how my eyes are doing. The doctor has a really bad habit of saying that everything is perfect. Multiple times. So, I am happy to report to you that my eyes are, well, perfect. Perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect.

I had my eye surgery at the Duke Eye Center. There are always eye doctors in training who would like to take a look at the lenses. The doctors-in-training at Duke are always a certain type. They are slim. Cute. With dark hair. Not especially tall. Think Chris Collins.

Monday’s Chris Collins was very nice. We made small talk, he checked the pressure in my eyes. And then. Then he strapped on this giant weird headlamp thing in order to “look at the back of [my] eyes.”

Okay. I am, unfortunately, the kind of guy who laughs at a funeral. So when the eye doctor randomly and without warning straps on a giant headlamp and is looking directly at my face, I. Have. A. Problem. A serious problem. I cannot look away. I cannot hide my face. I cannot do anything except giggle uncontrollably. Which makes me giggle more uncontrollably. This is just a guess, but I think that Chris Collins is maybe not the hugest fan of me. I did not respect the headlamp.

So, it’s a good thing that I don’t have to go back for a year. At which time there will be a new Chris Collins for me to get to know. Perhaps I will be better behaved. At least I will be better prepared.

(You can’t just grab a giant headlamp out of the corner, strap it on your head, and pretend that is normal. Okay? I would think that was a basic rule. Of etiquette. Check with Emily Post, I am sure she agrees.)

(I really really wanted to say, “Are we going on The Amazing Race?” I hope you are impressed with my self-control.)

Nan wrote yesterday about passion and how she has a hard time knowing what she is passionate about. I know the feeling, because the things I get excited about don’t necessarily seem interesting to other people. I geek out about good literature, I find politics fascinating, I am an economist. I also really like food.

Which brings us to today’s post. Food! Yay! Yesterday I came home and, with Mike’s help, I created this Butternut Squash and Caramelized Onion Galette. Remember when I didn’t even know what a galette was? Those days are over!

The thing you need to know is that it was freaking amazing. (Chef’s note: We used Gouda because that was what was available to us. It was great. I am sure it’s good with Fontina, too.) No kidding. I had the rest of it for lunch today and sent Mike an email that said, essentially, “MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.” (He sent me one back that said, “Braggart.”) Don’t be intimidated by the idea of a galette. It took time to get it all together, but it was really not very hard! The dough was delicious and tender and flaky and the filling was awesome. We declared this recipe to be a keeper. And we’re on the hunt for more excellent galette recipes. If you’ve got one, hook us up. We are ready. Except that the crust is kind of fattening, so hold off until we can work off these calories first.

When I put it all together and slid it in the oven, I was like, “Wow, I made that!” That is why I like cooking. I made that! It looked pretty good! And tasted awesome! I have said this before, but for me, food is really a part of my love language. In a healthy way, I think - not that I use food to fill my needs, but that I like cooking for people and I like it when people cook for me (or give me fresh vegetables). When I make something, it comes from my heart. It’s probably not the prettiest, but I have done my best to make sure it tastes good. And I have said this before, too, but I am thankful that Mike loves food the same way I do. Because if I made a galette and he was like, “Eh,” then we would have to RUMBLE, is what I am saying.

Speaking of Smitten Kitchen recipes, I made these Pumpkin Swirl Brownies on Saturday afternoon, and they were awesome, too! I doubled the recipe and put it in a 9×13 pan, which was not quite big enough. The middle bits didn’t quite get done. I ate them anyway, but I did not serve them to my guests. (Note to guests: I was trying to save you from salmonella. Also, the mushy middle parts were awesome. You’re welcome.)

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffins are still my favorite fall treat. Because they are slightly easier to make. And also they are perfect in every way. These brownies aren’t too hard, though, and you should totally make them. And bring me one.

(Thank you for your kind words about the emotional processing I did on Monday. I promise not to blog about blogging for at least another year or so.)

I’ve been reading Acedia & Me by Kathleen Norris, which is very good. Acedia is a sort of listlessness and despair. It was originally one of the “eight bad thoughts” but never made it onto the list of “seven deadly sins.” One of the points that she makes that I need to ponder is that we as a society have bought into the idea that in order to make good art, it ought to come out of some kind of melancholy. We talk about tortured artists, and I have heard people say that the best art comes from some kind of depression. It’s part of a much larger problem that I will talk about when I write about the book, but I will just say now that it is certainly an enlightening read. I know that I buy into that idea at least a little bit. Maybe even more than a little bit. I tend to think that the things I write here are better when I am melancholy. It’s hard work to be down all the time. It’s not healthy, and sometimes I feel as if I have to create drama in order to create better art or to be more interesting, as if that makes sense at all.

Lately I haven’t felt very creative or interesting. I see people around me who are “light and bright and sparkling,” and I don’t feel anything but flat. I have met some new people lately, and I felt as if I made a horrible first impression. Why should anyone be attracted to someone as blah as I am feeling? I have been so busy that I barely have time for my friends. I have been sick twice this school year, so I’m feeling pretty run down as it is. And taking two graduate level classes on top of working is, honestly, a little bit too much. We did fun things this weekend: a cooking class, The Great Pumpkin Party, The Duchess. But I still don’t feel like myself. I felt a bit as if I was watching everyone else have fun from the outside. I took the weekend off from homework, and it was the right thing to do. But it wasn’t enough.

Last week, Emily asked why it is that people write online. I don’t want this to turn into blogging about blogging, but I write because I think the discipline of crafting something is important. Not that I always take the time to craft something, but when I do, it feels good. One paragraph leading into another until I have said what it is that I wanted to say. Pushing the “post” button makes me feel as if I have accomplished something, and that’s why I have continued. When Emily was at my house on Saturday, we talked briefly about a conversation that was an offshoot of that one, a conversation in which I had offered some advice but then said, “Of course, you probably shouldn’t take my advice since I only have about 12 readers.” I like all 12 of you a whole lot, and I am thankful and humbled that you care about what I have to say. At the same time, I struggle a lot with wanting to be liked. So it’s hard not to feel as if it would be nice to be liked and understood by lots of people. I don’t see that happening any time soon, so it’s not something I worry about a whole lot. I don’t have the time or the energy (especially right now) to do anything about it. At the same time, it seems a symptom of a larger problem – my flatness, my inability to commit to my friends, my escapism and despair. Perhaps you could call it acedia. Whatever it is, I am not sure that I would hang around me, either.

I think, though, that worrying so much about approval is not being faithful to the writing itself. Mike keeps trying to tell me this, but I can be a little hardheaded about this sort of thing. I might never write a great novel, or even a mediocre novel. But I still learn through what I write, even if it’s just throwing it up on the internet and seeing if anything comes out of it. Writing things in a funny way has taught me to laugh at myself. Taking the time to think through my indignation sometimes gives me more compassion. And writing through melancholy has shown me that I want more than hollow introspection for myself. Even if I don’t write for connection, I worry that stopping would leave me even more disconnected than I already feel. I don’t have time for my friends as it is. At least this way they know if I saw a funny yard sign while I was out. (Today I saw a sign that said “Tina Fey 2008.” LOVE.)

I don’t know what I have to offer the world, especially the internet world. I am not a mom, and I don’t make crafts. I’m not into decorating my house, and I don’t even own a hot glue gun. (God help Mike if I did – I would undoubtedly hurt both myself and our house.) I’m not into fashion or art or photography. I don’t really like to shop. I’m a reader, and that’s not exactly the most dynamic hobby that there is. But as part of my battle against my own acedia, I am trying to reclaim a bit of who I am rather than trying to be something I am not. Kathleen Norris would say that choosing faith and life are the keys to fighting acedia. Engagement, then, is the key to fighting my listlessness. This is also at the heart of what Mike keeps trying to tell me when he tells me he wants me to keep writing. Sometimes I think that keeping my body healthy is enough – exercising, eating vegetables, taking vitamins – when it’s my soul that needs the cure. My soul feels a little battered this fall. Work has been hard. Things have happened at church that have left me in tears and needing a little time to recover. I haven’t figured out how to carve out time for my soul. I haven’t made time for my friends or read very many books or talked to my mom very much on the phone. The book I am reading, the conversations I am having, and the weekend I just had are good steps in that direction. Those small graces aren’t melancholy at all. The key is processing them in ways that I haven’t necessarily done before.

If acedia is a “bad thought,” then I suppose the key to overcoming it is “good thoughts.” Melissa tells me this a lot - it’s about believing truth rather than believing lies. I have never been very good at fighting lies with facts. Those lists of who God says that I am never seem to make a dent in the wrong things that I believe. Facts don’t really do it for me, because there’s a difference between facts and knowledge, much like the difference between facts and truth. I don’t know that I know what it looks like to be more engaged at this point, what it means to embrace truth and pursue good. But like Sara Zarr said, it’s so helpful to know that some of the ways that I have felt for years are real and have a name and that people have been writing about them for centuries.

(I still have more about the actual book, believe it or not, but I have to finish it first.)

Actually, Mike saw it, and he backed it up so I could see it because he was laughing so hard.

Go ahead and watch it before you read the rest of this post. I’ll wait.

Done? Okay.

“Sales . . . Income . . . Cars . . . Death . . . CANDY!”

I have watched it four additional times, and it’s still making me laugh. I can’t help it. Who puts candy after death? Who thought this was a good idea? NOT THE CANDY! DON’T TAX THE CANDY! How does candy fit into that list?

(Actually, it’s probably targeting issues people most care about. Give me candy or give me death!)

My grandmother had Alzheimer’s. I can’t find evidence that I have ever talked about it here, so you may or may not know that about me. She was a big part of my life when I was very small, but when she was getting sick, she cut our family off. That was very hard for me - I was around 10 or 11, and my grandmother suddenly didn’t want to see me, and I couldn’t understand why. Later on, when I was in high school, when she didn’t know who we were anymore, we were able to go and visit her. But I never knew what to say. I must confess that in some ways I still felt her rejection keenly. I knew in my head that it hadn’t been my grandmother who rejected me, that it was her disease, but at the same time I didn’t know my grandmother anymore. That person on the couch had her body but not her mind, and I wasn’t the same little girl she had known. When her body began to fail, I prayed that she would die, not because I didn’t care for her, but because she was just a shell of the person I had known, the good and the bad. Because no one ought to have to live like that.

My grandmother died while I was home for Thanksgiving weekend during my freshman year of college. I think the rest of my family went to the hospital on Thanksgiving Eve and said their goodbyes. She either passed away while they were there or early the next morning. I can’t remember right now exactly how it was. I just know that I wasn’t there. I don’t know why I didn’t go. I don’t think we knew that it was the final goodbye, for one thing. And, in many ways, I felt as if I had already said my goodbyes many years before when I dealt with her rejection of us. I have wondered if it hurt my dad’s feelings that I acted the way that I did. I just didn’t know how to deal with the situation. If you think I am a black-and-white person now, well, you should have known me when I was 18. I had decided that I was going to move on from the situation with my grandmother. Her mind had moved on, and I felt that I should move on as well. I had two grandparents who knew who I was, who had loved me through that hurt, and that was where I wanted to focus. I couldn’t handle looking back like that after I had dealt with the loss and rejection that I had felt previously.

And those experiences have a lot to do with why this book was not a home run for me. Alzheimer’s changed my grandmother, turned her into the kind of person who would cut off her grandchildren. My grandmother was eccentric, to be sure, but she loved me and my brother. I have so many memories from when we would stay at her house - the macaroni and tomatoes she would make, the way she would cut our ham into little squares, the records she had, her china, the games she kept for us, the books I read at her house, the way she would take us to Wendy’s to get frosties. Alzheimer’s took all of that away. It’s a black smear on top of those images. It took me many years to be able to separate the images from the blackness and the hurt.

The Pleasure Was Mine is the story of Alzheimer’s slowly chipping away at a long, loving relationship. The book does a lot of things very well. The character’s voice is strong and sympathetic, the question of putting a family member in a nursing home is dealt with honestly, and the family dynamics are realistic. The main character, Prate, has a dry, wry sense of humor that I appreciated. It was a sad, sweet, predictable book, but my own experiences with Alzheimer’s were so much less peaceful that I found it hard to relate. My book club read it as part of Greensboro’s One City, One Book project, a project that will always hold a special place in my heart because of the start it gave me in the library world. It’s moving and well-written, and I can see why it was chosen and why it has been so well reviewed. But I was hoping, as I read it, to see more of my own experiences in its pages, to see someone who understood what I had gone through. Perhaps my expectations were too high, but for me, I must confess, it was a bit of a letdown.

Mike and I just got back from a weekend away with some of our church friends. Four couples, two children, plenty of food, and one Wii Fit equal a fantastic time with what we like to call “our village.” On the way there, the ladies’ car (women in one car, men in the other - it was kind of like a college road trip) talked about how we do not take this for granted, these friendships, this camaraderie. This ability to be myself and have fun with these people.

But because of that, I don’t really have anything interesting to say to you. I ate a lot of food this weekend. And lounged around a whole lot. It would be very boring to go into more detail.

Instead, I would like to remind you that Kari and Mike’s Golden New York Weekend of Meeting J.K. Rowling at Carnegie Hall and Having an Awesome Time in Central Park and Brooklyn was one year ago. Can you believe it? Several times this year, Mike and I have looked at each other and said, “Can you believe we went to New York and saw J.K. Rowling? Remember what a great time we had?” It was so fun. I am going to cry right now just thinking about how awesome it all was.

This weekend was awesome, too, for very different reasons and in very different ways. I guess that’s what this particular weekend in October is reserved for. Maybe I should start planning for next year. (You can’t plan awesome weekends, though. I know that. The thing about awesome weekends is that they just seem to happen to you.)

Mike has decided to get healthy, so he’s been running. You would think I would be happy about this, right? Yay for healthy hearts and living longer! And I do like those things. But his legs are longer than mine. And thus, he is faster than me. After being a runner for approximately 27 seconds. (Or two weeks.) This is deeply deeply discouraging. I know, I shouldn’t make everything about me. I shouldn’t take everything so personally. But, dangit! I can’t keep up with him and his longer legs. It makes me feel kind of like a failure.

The thing about me and running is that I never really seem to get any better. I can’t find the motivation to push myself any faster. I feel like, you know, getting out there and running is good enough. I don’t have to push myself all that much. In other words: I am lazy. Can you exercise regularly and still be lazy? It kind of sounds like an oxymoron. But I think that describes me.

All right, sign counts! Mike’s faster running may drive me crazy, but I have ammunition! The sign count drives him crazy. This does not mean I stop the sign count. No, indeed. The sign count gives meaning and purpose to my running. And maybe even my life. As I told Andrea today, I am in total despair about my favorite house. The giant “Free Speech” sign is no longer there. The giant “A woman belongs in the house . . . THE WHITE HOUSE!” sign is no longer there. The “Another Family for McCain” sign is gone. They don’t even have a regular McCain/Palin sign anymore. And I noticed yesterday that the flags are gone! The flags! They are gone! (Well, actually, the flags are sitting in sad little piles by the front steps, which is WORSE!) What does this mean? Have they given up? Was it a bet or a dare? Did the neighbors turn on them? Someone tell me what this means!?! One of the best parts of my day is now missing. My life now seems void of purpose.

(In case you were wondering, the giant sign thanking our troops? Is still up. So I guess there is something.)

Sorry to get so worked up about that. I am just really disappointed. I was really hoping that house was going to bring some more awesome over the next two and a half weeks.

On Monday, Mike and I went running for about 2 miles. Here were the totals:

McCain: 5
Obama: 8

Tonight, we ran a different two miles:

McCain: 7
Obama: 6

I don’t know how to interpret these numbers. Tonight was the first night that McCain has been ahead since the first time I reported the sign count. Interesting, right?

North Carolinians: Early voting has begun! You can get your vote on! (I am going to wait until election day, myself.)

You know how sometimes there are people who are sarcastic and also kind of mean? And they don’t ever let up or give you a break? What are you supposed to do with those people? Especially when you have had a rough week and didn’t sleep well and came into work and cried a little bit? When it’s been a difficult fall?

I do not know what to do with those people. I don’t know if you have noticed, but I myself am a tiny bit sarcastic. But I do try to let people know that I am kidding and I try to let them off the hook when it’s getting out of hand. Sometimes I fail. But some people are mean all the time, and I hope no one would say that about me.

It boils down to this: Could my questions be answered directly? Could they be considered valid rather than mocked? I do not know if it is possible. But I am tired of it being this other way. I am weary in ways I haven’t felt in a long time. And I wish I wasn’t being metaphorically patted on the head and told to go away and be a good little girl. I might be short, but I am still a force to be reckoned with. And I will definitely reckon with you after I go have a good cry. Definitely. I’m fierce like that.

On a completely different note, I cackled when I saw this website with Obama-themed pumpkins. Please oh please, someone make this happen in my neighborhood. I would give a whole lot of money to see a McCain pumpkin and an Obama pumpkin facing off. It would be both awesome and creepy at once. MAKE IT SO.

Mike and I finally managed to find a Wii Fit. I spent one evening laughing hysterically as he tried skiing and hula hooping, and then on Sunday night it was my turn to be humiliated.

So here’s the thing about hula hooping on the Wii Fit. As we all know, I am excellent at hula hooping. But hula hooping on the Wii is a totally different story. I could not get the hang of it. To prove to Mike that I was not doing it wrong, I got out my actual hula hoop, stood on the balance beam, and used my actual hula hooping skills, which the Wii Fit did not recognize. And so I had to continue flailing about on the balance beam until I figured out what the motion was that they wanted.

Here were some helpful comments that Mike made:

“Why . . . are your arms flailing about? Put them down!”

“Why . . . are you moving like that? Move in a circle!”

“You look ridiculous.”

And also he cackled a lot. (Which is fine. I cackled when he was hula hooping, too.)

I am happy to report to you that I started with a Wii Fit age of 30, which is only one year more than my actual age. Yay!

We are also happy to report that we had blinds installed in our house last night, so the neighbors can no longer point and laugh as we perfect our hula hooping skills. (I still say my hula hooping skills were plenty good enough to begin with. But, you know, whatever.)

This year, the deacons all had to read Prayer by Philip Yancey. I read it early last year and really enjoyed it, but was happy to revisit it. We had a good discussion about prayer, what stuck out to us in the book, and how we experience prayer.

These days I do find it difficult to know what to pray. Things in our lives are good - we have jobs and a nice house and our health. We’re busy but happy. We have great friends and a good support system. We are active at our church and learn a lot from our participation there. All of that is true. But I also struggle with feeling overwhelmed, feeling like I don’t have time for my friends and family. There are a lot of problems in the world and in our country. I pray The Divine Hours, and I pray for people who have asked me for prayer, but I do not know what to pray for myself. I believe that prayer makes a difference. At least 80% of me believes that. Most of the time. I believe that the process of taking something to God, the creator of the universe, changes things, though I can’t tell you exactly what that looks like. I think he cares, and I think that the process of prayer can give me compassion and spur me to action, take me out of my feelings of being overwhelmed and my selfishness. I think that being in communication with God is important.

But I can’t say that I always believe that praying for myself makes any difference. I still struggle with bitterness and resentment, just like I did in high school. I still try to please people too much, just like I did in college. I am still too impatient, just like I was in the early days of our marriage. I think I am a little bit softer than I was in high school or college. But it doesn’t seem like quite enough.

Lately I haven’t had words to tell my friends and family about my life. I don’t want to always be griping about the classes that I am taking, so I don’t say anything, and the frustration builds up. There has been some extra stress in one particular area the past few weeks, and I haven’t been able to talk about it or explain myself. We’ve been especially busy, with Mike getting the hang of teaching this first year. I don’t know how to carve out time to do the things that help me feel better, like spending time with my friends and baking. And I haven’t known what to say to God, either. I know he’s there, but I still have so many questions about prayer and faith that I haven’t been able to figure out what to say.

Part of it is that I miss my dad. I understand, on one hand, that we live in a broken world and that we have poisoned our bodies with many of the wrong things. And I don’t blame God for that. But I also really feel like, you know, I wish my daddy was still here. I think all of us are more used to how things are now, but it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt. It also doesn’t mean that I don’t have questions about why God tells us we ought to pray for physical healing when it so rarely happens.

Philip Yancey devotes a chapter to the idea of physical healing, and he emphasizes the importance of a humble, expectant faith mingled with the possibility/probability that healing may not take place. He also reminds us that God is “the God of all comfort.” But he admits that he himself struggles with the dilemma of prayer and physical healing. One of the reasons I appreciate Philip Yancey so much is that he doesn’t offer pat answers to these questions. He points out what the Bible says and offers his own beliefs and opinions, but he also allows space for the tension of struggle that exists on these sorts of issues. Reading that chapter, I was reminded that the healing that God offers is for more than just our physical selves. As much as I wished that my dad could be healed from pancreatic cancer, I am thankful that he has now experienced a greater sort of healing and completeness.

Perhaps what I should be praying for is for my own healing from this pain. I don’t know what that would mean, exactly, because I know I am going to keep on missing my dad and being sad that he’s not here. I am going to keep on having questions. If there is one main point to this book, it’s that it’s important to keep talking with God about the things in your life, even the things you have questions about. God desires a relationship with us, and we can believe that even if we don’t get our answers. We can also believe that one day understanding will come. Yancey sums all of that up in the book’s final paragraph:

Sometimes I think about my first face-to-face conversation with God. I have so many unresolved questions, so many laments and regrets. Where should I begin? Various openings play out in my mind, until I remember with a start whom in fact I will be talking to, the One who spun out galaxies and created all that exists. Objections fade away, doubts dissolve, and I imagine myself falling back on words akin to Job’s: “Oh, now I get it.” And then the conversation resumes.

My dad did not want to leave us. But I believe he has already had the chance to take the question of why he cannot be here directly to his creator. And I trust that now he gets it, even if I do not.

On Saturday I went running, and I don’t know exactly how far I went, because I ran all through the interior of our neighborhood looking for signs to report to you all. There are definitely more signs than there were a couple of weeks ago. And we all know how I feel about that.

Have I mentioned to you how I keep the sign count when I am running? I don’t think I have, because I didn’t tell Mike until Saturday afternoon. I keep the Obama count on my left hand and the McCain count on my right hand. Also, I find myself hilarious and laugh at all my own jokes. Let me pause right now to laugh at that. Okay, I’m back. I didn’t plan on doing it that way, but the first time I started counting signs, my first sighting was McCain, and I’m right handed. And then I realized how appropriate it was, so I have kept it that way ever since.

Saturday’s run yielded the following results:

Obama signs: 9
McCain signs: 7

Interesting to note: There was one house that had both an Obama sign and a McCain sign. Which is awesome. I really liked that house.

Now, I should say that when I was doing some walking, there was a lady who came out of the park and ended up walking close to me. We made a little conversation, and I told her that I was counting signs. She asked me what the tally for the neighborhood was, and I told her that at that point it was 3-2 in favor of Obama. When we got to her house, she said goodbye, and as she was heading up the driveway she said, “You can count this house for Obama.” But she didn’t have a sign, so it’s not included in the official tally. The unofficial tally would then be:

Obama signs: 9
Obama supporters without signs: 1
McCain signs: 7

(Of course this ruins my whole theory that people without signs are undecided voters. WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO? PUT UP SIGNS, PEOPLE! I NEED SIGNS TO COUNT! And if you’re going to tell a complete stranger who you’re voting for, you might as well put up a sign, I think.)

(Not that I have a sign. I just want other people to have signs.)

Anyway, on Saturday there were 16 signs! I can’t wait to see how many there are in the next few weeks!

I’m not even a dog person, but this had me tearing up. It’s a video of a soldier seeing his dogs after returning from being in Iraq for 14 months. (He notes that it was prearranged . . . which is kind of obvious, because it’s not like the dogs were running the camera. hehe.)

I have to admit, this is an area where dogs beat Big Bunny. She’s only excited to see me when I am eating crackers or popcorn. Because she wants me to share.

HT: The Daily Dish

Everyone at my school is reading Twilight. Students, of course. Middle school students were born to read this series. And the teachers? Many teachers have found that, like me, they cannot turn away from the drama. And the principal? Is also addicted. You guys, I am so sad about this. Because everyone is reading them now. And I read them a year ago (well, except for Breaking Dawn, but . . . let me whisper this so I don’t get beaten up by hordes of angry middle schoolers . . . I didn’t really like Breaking Dawn). I was entertained, but I did not love them. And I don’t really want to go see the movie, because it looks so bad. That first trailer was like a terrible Lifetime movie. At least the story is a page-turner. The movie doesn’t even look like it has that going for it. I see pictures of Richard Pattinson, and I think, “How can people not know he’s a vampire? He looks undead!”

But anyway, back to the books. It’s not just my school! The general blogosphere is now reading them now. I am feeling kind of left out of that, too. Emily and I talked about it yesterday and discussed my feelings of left-outedness. And then we talked about things that are spoilers from Breaking Dawn that I will not mention here. Are you finished yet, Emily? Because I would kind of like to discuss the end with you.

I am already left out enough by the fact that . . . I’d better whisper this, too . . . I like Jacob so much more than Edward. Shhhhhhh! Most of the other teachers seem to feel the same way, and we keep talking about how we would like to make all the girls who are reading the books come to a big meeting so we can tell them, Look, it seems romantic that Edward is so into Bella, and at first that might seem really great and all, but if you think about it, their relationship is really codependent. He’s kind of creepy. And controlling. Breaking her car to keep her from seeing her friends is not cool. And also he sneaks into her room to watch her sleep. Sure, he’s good-looking and perfect and all, but WE WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT IT’S NOT ALL THAT ROMANTIC FOR A GUY TO SNEAK INTO YOUR HOUSE AT NIGHT. There’s more to relationships than lust, girls. We want more than that for you. Think about it.

(We know they would not listen, but we would just like to say it.)

(Also, Bella is always talking bad about herself, how clumsy she is and how she’s not worthy of Edward, and that drives me freaking crazy. Could we make our protagonist a little bit stronger, please, since all these girls are wanting to be like her? STEPHENIE MEYER: DO IT FOR THE LIBRARIAN.)

Tonight we went and saw Dracula at Triad Stage. They have a new area upstairs that’s a little more informal, with tables. I told Mike and Brian and Sarah that if Dracula came anywhere near our table, that I would be out of there. And he didn’t exactly come near our table, but he was only about two tables away. I am a big chicken, and I got chills in my spine. I do not like scary things. It was more creepy than flat-out scary, but there were vampires eating babies and this one guy ate a rat. And the sound effects were freaky howling and screaming. I was not a fan of the creepiness. (I did, however, enjoy the play.)

So I have to thank Dracula, because he did something that I didn’t think was possible: He made me miss Edward Cullen. Even though Edward is so revoltingly dazzling, etc. Edward might give Bella chills in her spine (of a very different sort, obviously), but he, thankfully, leaves my spine alone.

Overall, I am feeling a lot better than I did, say, two weeks ago at this time. I think my class assignments (for the classes I am taking) are spacing out a little bit better, and we got some good news tonight about not having to keep our online journals quite as much. Hooray!

Other good things this week:

-We are having dinner with my friend Kim tomorrow.

-We will be having dinner and seeing a play with Brian and Sarah on Friday.

-My students acted like angels when my professor came to observe my class. (ANGELS. WHO ARE THESE STUDENTS, AND WHERE IS MY ACTUAL CLASS?) (Actually, scratch that. I don’t want to know where my actual class is. Because they are probably up to some shenanigans. I’ll keep this one, thanks.)

-Speaking of which . . . The Amazing Library Race that I created actually worked! They did it! And they liked it! Yay!

-Mike made pumpkin pie.

-Our neighbor’s birthday was Saturday and we went to his birthday party. And stayed until 11:00 pm.

-When my back was hurting yesterday, Mike bought us a new heating pad. He is totally my favorite.

-I have been reading more this week. (My totals for this year are woefully bad. My brain, it is rotting.)

-I made an individual pizza for dinner.

-I bought new clothes on Sunday!

-That house with all the awesome signage now has a new sign! And it’s another homemade one! Are you ready for it? I don’t have a picture, but it says, “A woman belongs in the house . . . THE WHITE HOUSE!” And it has another giant picture of Sarah Palin. I don’t know about you, but I am somehow getting the impression that these are Palin voters, not McCain voters. They really like some giant Sarah Palin at that house.

-The fact that the house with all the awesome signage doesn’t have the signs up when I am driving to work, but they do when I come home. I assume they take their signs down at night so they won’t get stolen. May I just say . . . driving by in the afternoons is one of the best parts of my day. I am always excited to see what will happen there next.

Simple pleasures, gentle readers. Life is all about simple pleasures.

This morning, as I was sitting at my desk, drinking my coffee and working on some important library things, I began hearing . . . a noise. A noise coming from the trashcan. I tried to ignore it. I thought, “Surely there is nothing in the trashcan. La la la la la. Nothing in the trashcan.”

And then I looked down at the trashcan and I saw something move. I went out into the library and proceeded to freak out in front of my assistant, a parent, and a student. (I later offered the student a bribe so that he would never tell anyone what he had seen.)

My assistant, who is nicest person at my school and awesome in every way, took charge. She put a board over the top of my trashcan and went to the office to get someone to page the janitor. Then she came back and talked me down. When the janitor came in the library, I went out. Because I DID NOT WANT TO SEE WHAT CAME OUT OF THE TRASHCAN. I went to the front office, where they made fun of me and also commiserated with me about the freakishness of it all. The janitor proceeded to take care of the situation. I saw him in the hall and he said that everything was taken care of. And then he walked away in his cowboy boots. It was like a scene in a movie. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly right there in my school.

So, do you want to know what was in my trashcan? A SPIDER. A GIANT SPIDER GIANT ENOUGH TO MAKE RUSTLING NOISES IN A TRASHCAN. In a lot of ways, that seems worse than a mouse. At least mice are supposed to rustle. SPIDERS SHOULD NOT BE LARGE ENOUGH TO RUSTLE PAPERS. My assistant and the janitor made shapes that indicated that the spider was as large as my hand. And also they told me that other spiders have been sighted in the school. Giant spiders. Taking over my school. You can imagine how happy this makes me. If you don’t hear from me again, it’s because giant spiders ate my face.

Hey, um, if you are kind of terrified of spiders, I would definitely not click on this link. Because it is almost as horrifying as my story. You’re welcome.

This morning, three of my friends and I participated in the Women’s Only 5K Walk and Run. Two of us ran and two of us walked. I ran almost the entire thing. Almost! Except for this one thing that happened at the end. Which I am going to tell you about.

At the very end, we were approaching the finish line, and I was like, “Yay, I made it!” And then I realized it was a fake-out, and we were going to have to climb a hill, turn the corner, and come back around to the other side of the road for the actual finish line. NOT. COOL. I had to walk for about 30 seconds. I was so sad. I was so close to running the whole thing, but I had put my last burst of energy into making it to where I thought the finish line was. It was nice having the finish line be at the bottom of a hill, though. I will say that.

Also, apparently someone passed out or got hurt or something, and when the paramedics on bicycles were trying to get to her, one of them hit me. That was right at the end as well. So let’s just claim that I had to walk because A GUY ON A BICYCLE HIT ME. That is a better story anyway. (He did seem genuinely sorry. I forgive you, paramedic guy, and I hope you made it to the other person in time.)

Our time wasn’t as good as either of our previous two races, but this was a really really crowded race. There were a few bottlenecks, especially at the beginning. And then over this one really narrow bridge. So I am satisfied with my race, even if it wasn’t my best time. At one point, my friend said, “People who are really concerned with times aren’t going to be happy.” I am not really concerned about my time, and I think it would have been at least a little bit better if not for the bridge and the really slow start.

Special thanks to Meredith Brooks for her song “Bitch” that came on just as I was climbing one hill. Yeah! I kicked that hill’s butt, thanks to her! Also, special thanks to Kanye West for his song “Stronger” that come on when I was on that other hill. I don’t think I would have made it without you, Kanye.

The overall feel of the race was very cool. When I went to pick up my packet last night, I stood in a long line with a bunch of other women and I was surprised at how, “WOOO! Girl power!” it made me feel. It was nice to feel like we as women were doing something that could really help other women. I like to do my part to help kick cancer’s butt.

There were lots of supporters along the race. The supporters really do give me a burst of energy, and I appreciate them being willing to stay out there and cheer us on. But my favorite supporter was a guy with a giant bra stapled to a poster. That guy really wanted us to fight breast cancer.

This afternoon, I dropped off my carpool buddy and drove home. And then I saw a thing of beauty and a joy forever, something that made me turn my car around so I could drive by again. It was just that awesome.

In case you can’t read it, it says, “Obama supporters can steal our signs but not our right to free speech.” As you can see, I made Mike go back with me so I could take a picture of it. I asked him if he thought that it was some kind of official sign these people would have gotten from the McCain offices. Maybe something they printed due to rampant stealing. Mike pointed out that an official campaign poster wouldn’t make Palin look like a giant compared to McCain. Which is true. I hadn’t really considered that. It does make her look freakishly tall. And, if this comment is from the same guy, it does appear he had it made himself.

For the record, even though it should go without saying, I don’t support stealing signs. Stealing signs is lame. People should be able to put whatever signs they want in their yards. Also, if the signs get stolen, what will I count? But I have to confess that I kind of want to go steal that sign so I can hang it over my couch. Look at it. It’s awesome. And it’s not the only sign in the yard!

That one reads: “Thank you American Soldiers. 50,000,000 free Iraq/Afghanistan.” When I saw it this afternoon, I thought it said “50,000 free Iraq/Afghanistan” and I couldn’t figure out what the 50,000 free would be. This makes much more sense.

Looking at the signs and the flags and the general splendor, well, I have a theory. The people stealing the signs? Could just be the neighbors.

Official sign count for the day:

McCain: AWESOME.
Obama: Just some regular yard signs, aka WEAKSAUCE.

(I hope you are impressed with the drive-by photography. The flash kind of broke while I was trying to take the picture, so I’m pretty sure we were spotted. Because we were sitting there for much longer than we intended. Probably we should consider careers as private investigators.)

This evening I went for one last run before the race I am running on Saturday.

(Aside: This race raises money for free mammograms for women who can’t afford them. Here is an actual conversation about that I participated in today.

OTHER TEACHER: So, what is this race all about?

KARI: It raises money for free mammograms for women who can’t afford them.

OTHER TEACHER: . . . How did you get involved with that?

KARI: I heard that this race has the best goody bags.

That’s right! I’m classy like that. I want some free stuff!)

As I was running, three teenaged “gentlemen” in a white car with Florida license plates drove by me and yelled, “Sexy!” To those gentlemen, I would just like to say, “The only reason I didn’t flip you the bird is because I was too busy keeping the McCain/Obama sign count on my fingers.” I am deeply dedicated to the sign count.

I have an interesting thing to report to you! Recent polls I have seen have put North Carolina in “too close to call” territory. (Oh, Dan Rather, what will we do on election night without you to talk about states being too close to call? And going on and on about how Florida is a hot tamale? Or was it Texas? No, I think Texas was a big taco. Those were the days.) Today’s run of 3.25 miles yielded the following results:

McCain signs: 5
Obama signs: 5

My neighborhood is also too close to call! Somebody get Dan Rather down here to talk about frogs with handguns.

I ran a route that I’ve never run before, but close to my house I did notice signs in yards that had not previously had signs. Most of the run was free of signs. Lush green yards uninterrupted by political signage. McCain pulled way ahead, and then, at the end, I had three Obama signs that tied things back up.

So that’s the end of the political content of this post. Except that I do want to say that we considered creating a drinking game for the VP debate that we are about to watch. Each of us could have one red cup and one blue cup. Whenever one of them said something stupid, we’d drink from the appropriately colored cup. Let’s face it, with the two of them, chances are high that something crazy will be said. But we are too lazy to actually organize things, so we’ll probably just sit and watch and drink something boring like water. It’s a school night, okay?

I actually think the chances are higher that Biden is going to say something crazy, because I don’t think there are going to be follow-up questions, and where Palin seems to make the statements that seem the craziest to me are when someone tries to pin her down. I’m not sure that’s going to happen, so she should be able to just stick to her talking points. Biden and his diarrhea of the mouth could make this one memorable. I love the debates. You just never know what’s going to happen.

Go ahead and say it: Kari is a NERD. It’s true. I can’t help it.

I babysat our neighbors’ son a couple of weeks ago so that they could go to an open house at their daughter’s school (which is also Mike’s school). He did not so much like being left behind. But he likes me, so I think he was a little bit conflicted. “I like Kari, but I don’t want Mommy and Daddy to leave! What will I do?” Well, what he did was hold on to me. And he got a little bit too heavy for me, to be honest, so I sat down with him in the chair and rubbed his head for a while. And then he fell asleep.

Now, I am the least maternal person I know. I don’t have a particular desire to have kids of my own, though we might, someday. But even my grinchy heart was touched when this sweet little boy fell asleep on me. (I did not tell his parents that he had a power nap on my watch. I am not that stupid. I want them to let me keep hanging out with their kids.) It wasn’t a feeling like, “Oh, I want one of these.” Just, “I can see why people do want these.” That’s as far as I can go, okay?

And then he woke up. Now, I am not a parent. But things like this make me think that there is no way I could ever BE a parent. I watched this little guy for an hour. And we did a new activity approximately every 30 seconds. That is 120 activities! I needed a nap when I got home.

He handled the whole thing really well, though. Whenever he asked where his Mommy and Daddy were, I would say, “They are just across the street! And so is Mike! While they are there, you and I get to hang out!” And then we would high five. And start a new and different activity. We had a good time. We read books and played trucks and he showed me his room and he put on a hat and I taught him some new songs. (He’s only 2, so he doesn’t know how bad my singing is.) But, you know, even after all that, I think that he still likes Mike the best.

(Next time, I’m bringing popsicles.)