Speaking of the Farmer’s Market, we are probably going to go ahead and join the CSA that we were thinking about joining. We spoke to Mr. Dodge Lodge Farm about it this morning, and we are going to get a half share starting next week. It seems like it might be more vegetables than we need, but we’ll try it and see how it goes. One thing I like is that we get to go and pick out what we want, rather than just being assigned a bag. It’s very flexible.

Anyway, McDonald’s was packed out and also the sun was beating down in the front windows making the room approximately 150 degrees. And I didn’t know anyone but our neighbors and one of the 4th grade teachers, and I am so awkward in those situations. So while Mike was chatting, I got in the huge long line so that I could buy our sundaes with extra fudge. (Dessert first, then dinner.) And that ended up being a mistake, too, because all the people were there for his school and they all knew each other and I just stood there like a lump. I am so awkward in situations like that. I am sure that in the future, more people will know who I am, but Mike is new, so they don’t even know who he is yet. And then I spilled my water on the floor, and seriously, you just can’t take me anywhere.

Here is a list of interesting/amusing things that happened at McDonald’s Night:

1. I got to talk to our neighbors in a different environment. Their son had never been to McDonald’s before. He was all about the french fries. And when I came back with our sundaes, he was enraptured.

2. Our neighbors were taking their daughter out of school on Friday in order to take a trip away for the weekend. The mom was not completely happy about this, as she was apparently someone who had really good attendance. She didn’t know if it was setting a bad precedent or sending a bad message to the people at the school. I said, “I never had perfect attendance, and I was the valedictorian of my high school. Not that that has ever gotten me anything, but at least I get to say it.” hehehe. (She said, “Well, that’s a good point. What have my good grades gotten me? I spend my days doing laundry and picking up the house.”)

3. We got away from the windows and hung out with a family from our church for a while. The daughter (who is in Mike’s class) wanted some food, and her dad gave her the credit card and sent her up to get some. She looked unsure about it, so I said I would show her how to swipe the credit card. After I taught her how to use it, I asked her to take me shoe shopping. Later, when I saw her mom, I told her that I taught her daughter how easy it is to use a credit card. She was really happy about that, as you can imagine.

4. One of the other teachers said that Mike and I look like brother and sister. Is this cute, creepy, or a legitimate example of couples starting to look like each other over time?

Mike promised that this was the last one of these I had to go to. For which I am grateful. I feel like I cramp his style because I don’t know anyone. It was probably good that I had the neighbors to talk to while he was making the rounds. But I do like watching him with the students and the parents. He is so good with them, so sure of himself and his own abilities. I like seeing that side of him as it has grown over the past few years. I will probably pass on future McDonald’s nights, but it was good to see him in his element, to see that all his hard work is really paying off.

This time, though? FAIL. I haven’t even bought a binder yet. I keep carrying around these huge piles of the articles I have printed off. The papers for my two classes are mixed together. It is an abomination. And I can’t seem to find the desire to do something about it. (I imagine I will find that desire right about the time I realize something is due and I had no idea about it. It would probably be good to find it before then if I can manage it.)

I am feeling better about my classes this week. Last week, what with the tornadoes and the rain and the being late, I left class and cried and cried. I told Mike I couldn’t do it. I really meant it, too. I don’t really say things like that, especially when it comes to school. But I did not believe I could do it. I considered dropping one of my classes. But I didn’t. I think I made the right decision. Last night as I was walking back to my car, I was relieved to feel much more like myself, the person who is not afraid to look these sorts of challenges in the face. Creating videos? I scoff at creating videos. Papers on asinine topics? Bring them on! I can do those with my eyes closed. Wasting my time? Well, I don’t love that so much. But I can deal with it.

As I was walking on the sidewalk on UNCG’s campus, a car going in the same direction stopped at a stoplight and began blasting the song “Bye Bye Bye.” On both sides of the street, spontaneous dancing broke out. People were reenacting the video and singing along. An ‘N Sync party! Right there on the street! (If we guess that these were 18-20 year olds, well, they were 10-12 when the song came out. I imagine many of them practiced those dance steps in their living rooms. Not that I have any experience in that sort of thing.) I may or may not have learned anything in my class, but I learned something there on the sidewalk: I need more spontaneous dancing in my life.

We second-guessed that decision once, about two weeks into this whole process when our house was a disaster and we had spent about 300 hours painting the sunroom. Mike said, “If we’d picked the other house, we would be completely unpacked by now.” But since that moment of weakness, we haven’t looked back. (We definitely wouldn’t have finished the kitchen without help, but that is beside the point. We were both on antibiotics, for one.)

Remember our neighbors who brought us cookies? We’ve been getting to know them. We went and wished their daughter luck before her first day of kindergarten (at Mike’s school), we chat with them in the yard all the time, and we let their kids play with Big Bunny. (Big Bunny is less impressed by this gesture.) This morning, their son was at Mike’s school (he’s still in preschool, so he was there with his mom) and he saw Mike and went over and pulled on Mike’s pants leg to say hi. Stuff like that? Makes us pretty sure we made the right decision.

May I just ask the blogosphere/universe why it is, exactly, that the children of the world love Mike? At church, at school, at random family gatherings, children love him. So much. Me, not as much. Mike says I try too hard. Apparently I am Pam and he is Jim. Help me not try so hard, internet. I just want to be loved by children like Mike is. What am I doing wrong? I play and talk! Should I weave flowers in my hair? Refuse to leave the house without a cloud of beautiful butterflies surrounding me? (Those things are totally normal and not trying too hard at all. Don’t you wear flowers in your hair all the time? Or just when you are surrounded by clouds of butterflies?)

(Mike is refusing to watch it with me. I think this is because he has slowly been sucked in to Gossip Girl and the greatness of Chuck Bass and he knows he must stand firm on the 90210 issue or it will suck him in as well. However, that did not keep him from being excited for me when Kelly and Brenda were on the cover of this week’s Entertainment Weekly.)

(And I am not even going to tell you about how Alisa let us borrow season 1 of Dawson’s Creek, which has been taking me back to my freshman year of college. Emily and I were in a Bible study then, and I remember that my hall mates and I were always trying to get Bible study to wrap up so that we could go watch the saga of Dawson and Joey. And, of course, Pacey. Am I digging myself into a hole here or what?)

Yesterday Mike and I were looking for olive oil from Greece. My mom brought Mike some olive oil from Greece when she went back in the spring. We thought the fancy Harris Teeter might have some, so we went by there. They have a big section of olive oil, and we spent a while looking at it. Until I said, “You realize that we just spent like five minutes examining the olive oil, right? I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of yuppie.” (Then we left and went to The Fresh Market, where they had the same olive oil from Greece for four dollars less. Four dollars! How can it be cheaper at The Fresh Market!?)

Kelly “I choose me!” Taylor is on the screen!

This is the part of the blog entry where I should defend myself by pointing out that I listen to NPR and watch intelligent shows like 30 Rock and The Office and that I carried my apple core home today so that I could compost it instead of throwing it out at school. But I already told you the olive oil thing, so, between that and 90210, I am pretty sure that you have lost all respect for me at this point. Unless, of course, you are watching, too. Anyone?

On Saturday morning, we went to the Farmer’s Market. As we do from time to time. Maybe I have mentioned it once or twice. When I went last week, I saw Mr. Dodge Lodge Farm and told him that the tomatoes came out great. He said I should bring him some. So this week, I did! Also, he waved at me before I pulled them out, proving once and for all that he does actually know who I am. Except he doesn’t know my name, because I’ve never told him. But that doesn’t matter, because he said that from now on he is going to call me Good Cook. Or something like that. It gets kind of loud at the Farmer’s Market. Maybe he said something more eloquent than Good Cook. The point is, he liked the tomatoes. He hid them under the table so that no one would ask to buy them. I have no idea whether anyone would actually try to buy them, but it was nice of him to go on and on about them. (It worked - we bought our vegetables from him.) (But not any tomatoes. Though he did ask.) They have a CSA program that we are probably going to look into. He might possibly know my name after that.

We also bought something we hadn’t bought before - milk. We switched to organic milk a while back, and a this summer we talked about switching to local milk with no added hormones. But then we never could time it so that we were running out of milk at the right time, so we kept having to get grocery store milk as a stopgap measure. But it finally worked out this weekend that we could buy milk from Homeland Creamery. (Melissa went a couple of weeks ago with her kids, and you can see the pictures here!) You can also get it at some local stores, but not the ones where we usually shop. And, anyway, it’s a tiny bit cheaper to get it at the Farmer’s Market. May I just say, looking at their website really made me want to go and visit the cows.

Mike and I did a lot of unpacking this weekend. We unpacked the teapots, which I cleaned and put on top of the cabinets. He got a lot of pictures out and hung one or two. Some of our rooms are starting to look more homey. But now I need to go and finish putting away the laundry and sweeping the floor so I can cross those things off my list. The only thing I didn’t get to on my list was finishing The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. Which I am not so much enjoying. Anybody read it? Am I going to change my mind about it?

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.

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.)

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.

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 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.”