the high holy days

Y'all. Christmas is 10 days away. Holy schnikies. It's just too soon. Miracle upon miracles, I've actually finished all my shopping. But I also came up with the brilliant idea to actually make some stuff for presents this year... and you know what you need in order to be able to do that? Time. Yeah. Time. So between working like a crazy person, running around like a crazy person, and trying to actually keep from being a crazy person like a crazy person... well, I don't have a lot of that precious resource. But I'm going to do it. I will win.

I have a thing for holiday/seasonal wreaths. Not gonna lie. But not the ugly old lady kind that your grandma has (no offense to your grandma, natch) or the incredibly make-a-me-wanna-barf overworked bedazzled crapola hanging all over the walls at your local craft store. Nosiree. My favorites look like this pretty little thing with all these dried flowers and raffia and funsies.

Or this one with its old silver and simple ribbon feel.

And of course, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a little bit in love with idea of making something completely out of old sheet music.

My favorite Christmas-looking stuff usually involves a combination of homemade natural kinds of things with unexpected bits of color or a slightly more modern take on an old design. I've made several wreaths for my mom (since our tradition is doing a new holiday theme each year, and you just can't hack that with the same boring wreath year after year) and some other parental types. Something about the process is both fun and calming in the midst of hectic holiday madness. I haven't felt the creative vibe in awhile, so I'm actually kind of looking forward to just channeling my zen or whatever and making something pretty. If I remember, maybe I'll share the final results. I'm bad about that though.

I've done some fun things over the past few months... stuff that felt blog-worthy even in the moments it was happening. I've probably started 4 or 5 different blogs in my head, only to skip past them and move on to whatever felt more pressing at the time. Maybe I'll do a little of that over the holiday break. I want to talk about the ocean and my trip to Notre Dame and maybe a few other things too. We'll see. Until then, I'm just trying to keep my wits about me as I get ready for gifting and driving and all that fun stuff.

It's funny how your attitude changes as you get older. I guess when you're a kid you reap all the benefits of the holidays without really having to do the work. Of course, I always got dragged around over the eastern half of the country for several days, which was never fun, but I just went where I was told. I wasn't the one doing the telling. Now I have to buy the stuff, wrap the stuff (which, frankly, is my favorite part of the whole thing. I LOVE buying and wrapping presents, even if I don't so much love spending money.), plan when I can be where, get myself there, and try to be charming and not act like I'm tired and stressed out. Over the past few years, it has felt more like a chore than a time of celebration and excitement. It does feel a little different this year though. Maybe it's the cold weather. There is something inspirational about being cold. I've been trying to make a point of embracing the traditions that I always loved as a kid too: watching the Macy's parade and eating cinnamon rolls on Thanksgiving morning, Black Friday shopping with my mom, childhood Christmas favorites from Disney and the Peanuts and those people who do the stop-animation stuff, cold nights and hot chocolate and flannel pajamas, and seeing my grandmother's perfect Christmas tree that has looked the same since my dad was a kid. There are some things that feel "right" no matter what else is going on in life, and those are the things that I've been trying to focus on most when I feel frustrated about the production of the holidays. Those are the things that help me remember what it's all about anyway. (I guarantee you Jesus had something to do with hot chocolate.)

I hope everyone can take the time to tap into their creative centers and/or find some time to recreate the stuff that was fun as a kid, without getting bogged down in the "have to" that always comes with this time of year. It really should be fun. And it's just hard not to smile when you've got pretty stuff and fun people around you.

politics, hold the mayo

I'm not a political person. I don't enjoy the process or the endless cycle of agenda-driven decision making. I rarely engage in discussion about it, because I generally don't believe most people, myself included in many cases, know enough to speak intelligently on most matters. I also generally don't trust the public as a whole to make informed decisions. I stay away from political facebook and twitter posts, especially links to inflammatory articles, because no matter the subject, I usually find myself getting angry with the false logic used to support any given stance. I don't want to participate in a back-and-forth comment war on something that only serves to waste my time, because in the end, I realize my opinion in a given social media market is really not important. But this is my blog, and I started it because I felt that I wanted a place to say some of the things I want to say.

Today is a mid-term election day. For the first time since I turned 18, I didn't vote. And here's why: I don't believe any of my choices are the best person for the job. I believe that I would have, as I have so many times previously, voted for a candidate I felt was the lesser of two evils. I don't believe in the notion of voting along party lines - party alignment and greedy agendas have gotten us into this mess to begin with, and they're not magically going to get us out of it. Every 8-10 years, the political climate shifts from one extreme to the other, as people vote based on reactions to perceived negative issues from the previous administrations. None is any better than the other as far as I can tell, and each has left us with some kind of mess on our hands, whether that be in wars that should or shouldn't be fought, in money that should or shouldn't be spent or redistributed, in jobs that shouldn't be lost or gained, in general frustrations with the state of the nation and our future as a civilization. In the end, someone is going to get screwed over - either the person who has worked hard for his wealth and shouldn't have it taken away, or the person who can't seem to get ahead despite his best intentions and genuinely needs resources to right his path. It seems to me that the current system allows for no real winner. This is like asking me to choose mayonnaise or mustard on my sandwich. I hate mustard slightly less than I hate mayonnaise, but I don't WANT either of them.

I'm tired of Christians using the Bible to defend their stances against gay marriage and abortion, while simultaneously ignoring all of the passages where Jesus commanded his disciples to share their riches with those less fortunate. I'm tired of non-Christians taking away the fundamental rights of others in the name of political correctness when it's really just a trend toward anti-Christianity. I'm tired of mudslinging and smear campaigns put out by people who preach family values, and I'm equally tired of those same campaigns put out by people who do it only because they have no other way to defend themselves after failing miserably at the jobs we've elected them to complete. I'm tired of all of it. Is voting really the best way to fix it?

People tell me that voting is my constitutional obligation, that voting is my way to elicit change, that voting is my opportunity to have my voice heard. But I'm not so sure that choosing between two things I don't want is really doing any of those things. I don't want to have to elect someone who doesn't represent what I believe is most important in life. I want to vote for someone whom I passionately believe is the best person for the job. And today, I wonder how many people really got that opportunity. How many people out there can truly say they voted for policies and people that they seriously researched and felt were the best possible options for the future of our country, for our children and grandchildren? Because if you can't say that you voted for something you ardently believe in and support, and not just the lesser of two evils, then it seems to me that you have done a disservice to yourself and your future by propagating a system that is clearly flawed in its current state. To me, the greater statement of upholding my constitution, eliciting change, and having my voice heard is by remaining silent until there is something worthy of me speaking out. And if more people reacted this way - if voter turnout reached an all-time low with the knowledge that no one was going to elect officials they don't believe in - perhaps the system could actually change for the better. All I want is a condiment-free sandwich. I don't think that's too much to ask.

nostalgia.

It's officially fall. Fall is, almost by default, my favorite time of year. I don't like being hot. I don't like being cold. I like being comfortable. And I am most comfortable somewhere between 55 and 75 degrees, give or take 5 for a perfect chilly morning/night or a beautiful afternoon in the sun. Fall weather. Spring weather. It's really a toss-up. But fall gets the edge for having football, for leading to evenings spent next to campfires with a warm scarf and hot chocolate in hand, and for not typically being home to the sinus infections of spring when everything starts blooming again. Fall is wonderful.

Not only do I appreciate the weather and the snuggliness inherent to fall, but I also find a great sense of nostalgia with the start of school and a sense of "new beginnings." As I may have said before, I feel like I have lived my life on the school calendar. So while a new year technically begins in January for most people, it's always been in the middle for me, while September signals the start of something new. Maybe it's a strange juxtaposition... seeing new beginnings during the time of year when leaves turn vibrant shades and slowly wither off the trees, preparing for the cold and gray of winter. But to me it's perfect. Looking back over my life, fall has always been the most exciting time for me. I loved school growing up, and I looked forward with anticipation to that sense of excitement in buying new pens and paper (and post-it notes and notebooks and day planners, oh my!) and shopping for back-to-school clothes paired with the full fall sensory experience - the temperatures, the textures, the colors, the smells, the sounds. It all makes me feel at home somehow... there's a sense of comfort and sameness while also knowing that something new and unexpected is just around the corner. And I guess to me that's what life is about.

This year, it seems I'm feeling these things more than normal. I've been waiting with even greater anticipation for new scarves and sweaters, for great football games, for s'mores and hot cider, for time with people I love. And maybe that's the kicker. I had lunch with a high school friend a few weeks ago. It was great just to spend time with her, this person I spent so much time with as a teenager, full of hopes and dreams of what we'd be like in ten years. Now more than ten years later, at almost 30 years of age, we know the answer. We reminisced about our days in high school and some of the choices we've made, and it made me wonder what my life would be like if I had done A instead of B, if I had chosen to remain close to this person instead of that person, if I had gone there instead of here. Neither of us is where we thought we'd be or with the people we thought we'd be with, but we know that we're probably the best versions of ourselves now. And there was a great sense of peace in knowing that we still have a friendship and a comfort level together, despite many years spent growing and evolving into very different people than we were in high school.

I've been thinking about my grandparents a lot lately. My grandmother died in October 2005 after living and surviving many years with Alzheimer's. She - her wit, her personality, and probably even a bit of her spirit - was gone long before her body left us, but there was still a sense of finality when she did finally pass away.  She was an incredible woman, full of life and feisty energy and grace far beyond someone from such a humble beginning. It had been so many years since she'd even been able to speak or interact with us, and I still felt that even though "she" wasn't with us, she must still have known that things weren't right. I can't imagine what it must be like to know that you're losing your mind, in the truest sense, especially for someone who was so alive and amazing. It was hard to watch her lose herself, the mother and Nana we all knew and loved. I had a hard time, even as an adult, seeing the degeneration, almost to the point that I couldn't be in the room with her after she was mostly unaware and bedridden. It just wasn't her anymore, and I struggled for a really long time to reach a point where I felt any sense of peace in the presence of what felt like her empty shell.

One day toward the end, my family, who cared for her at home until the day she died, asked me to stay with her. I made it my mission that day to try to resolve all the feelings of sadness and discomfort that I felt around her. I sat and watched her, taking in the contours of her face - still almost perfect and line-free even at 83 years of age - studying the exact shades of shiny gray and crisp white in her hair, marveling at the brilliant blue of her eyes, and finding some semblance of the person I grew up loving so much. My nana loved hymns. And, more than almost anything, she loved to hear me sing. It was one of those things I resented as a kid and teenager - being asked to stand on a stool and serenade my family at every holiday gathering - but as I watched her there in her living room-turned-hospital, I just felt like she needed to hear me again.  One of her favorite hymns was His Eye is on the Sparrow, and I remembered her teaching it to me when I was young. So I sang to her. And even though I'm not sure she knew who I was or was even fully aware of what was happening, I could see the faintest hint of a smile on her sleeping face. And I finally found the peace I'd been so desperately hoping to find. So when she died, it wasn't sadness that I felt... it was relief and almost joy, like a darkness had lifted. I felt such comfort knowing that her physical earthly struggle was over and she was whole again. The day she died, I had made plans to go to a Nickel Creek concert with some friends. In light of the circumstances, I offered to go be with my family right away, but my mom encouraged me to go to the concert. She said there was nothing I could do at home on a Friday night, and my grandmother would have loved their music. So I went to the show, with two of my best friends, the perfect people to be with in a time like that. And we watched, listened, sang along. I will never forget the feelings of quiet wonder, the complete perfection of sound and song, the absolute peace that washed over me again in those moments. It was the same peace I felt when I sang to her, connecting across illness and time and space through something we both loved so much.

My grandfather died about 18 months after my grandmother. He had long been in poor physical health, but his mind was strong... and I think his will to outlive my grandmother (and make sure she was properly cared for until the end) was probably what kept him going. He was pretty amazing that way. There were a lot of things in life that he just willed himself to do. After fighting in World War II, he married my grandmother, and they moved from small town Georgia to the big city of Detroit, MI. The American car industry was just taking off, and that was the easiest place to find work, especially for someone who already had machine skills. He worked for Chrysler as a machinist through many years, two children, and a move to Indianapolis. He sometimes worked 2 or 3 jobs at a time to help the family stay out of debt. His will prevented him from buying things on credit and made him a pretty wealthy man by the end of his life. His will also meant that he wasn't always the easiest person to be around. He and my grandmother were physical opposites - he being about 6'5" and a very sturdy 300 pounds, and she being somewhere around 5' tall and 120 on a "fat day." He was often harsh, outspoken, and difficult, while she was nurturing, calm, and sweet most of the time. But it wasn't that he was a mean person. In fact, he had a pretty keen sense of what was really right and wrong when it came down to it. Despite growing up in the deep south during the Depression years, when it was common to call black people "colored" or the N-word, he formed great friendships with several black families. He shared everything he had with people in the area who were less fortunate, though he always did it quietly and without a show. When he was in the Navy, he stood up for a fellow soldier who was being mistreated by the officers, almost to his own detriment. He was always willing to do anything he could for his family, and he kept us from struggling after my parents' divorce. He really treated me like a third daughter, with the exception that I could usually win him over in any argument and get my way just by smiling at him and telling him I loved him. This imposing force let me fix his hair and put makeup on him. And he would crawl around on the ground and let me ride on his back because I wanted a pony. Looking back, I was probably simultaneously frightened and in awe of him for most of my life, but I also knew he was a big softie at heart. And I think that's probably what made him so remarkable.

His own sheer determination kept him alive a lot longer than most people would have imagined... someone of his stature, with two hip replacements, a quadruple bypass, diabetes, a pacemaker... he made himself survive. The last several years of his life were filled with physical pain and worry about our family. He always told me, "I hope I see you graduate from high school. I might not make it that long." When those years came and went, he hoped he'd see me graduate from college - and I wanted that for him, because he's really the person who drove me to choose my college, and he helped pay for a lot of it. When I chose grad school, he helped fund that, too, hoping that he'd live to see me make it out of there, and that it would take me back to work at my college (only 45 minutes from home) someday. I thought, "No way. I'll never end up back there." After I finished grad school, I applied for jobs all across the country. I interviewed for a job at a college in California and fell in love with it. We didn't tell him that I was interviewing out there, mostly because we knew he'd worry himself to death if he knew I was that far away or was even considering moving that far away.

He died the morning after I returned from California. It wasn't sudden in the sense that it was completely unexpected - he was 82 years old after all. But it wasn't something we were actively anticipating, and in that sense, it was a little shocking. I was pretty certain that I would be offered that job in California. And at first, I felt like his death and the subsequent release from that pressure to come back home were a sign that it was okay for me to move on. But as things progressed, I knew that my mom and aunt, who were in a sense still recovering from my grandmother's illness and death, couldn't take care of everything on their own as they'd always done and deal with me moving across the country at the same time. It just didn't feel right to me for some reason. So I removed myself from consideration for the job and opted to move back home to help out. One month later, I saw a job opening at my college and applied for it. I got the job and started 3 weeks later, and I've been here ever since. Even in his death, my grandfather still managed to make things go his way. I can't help but think how happy he'd be that I'm close to home and in a place he so wanted me to be. Part of me wishes he'd have lived to see it... but if he had lived, I'm not so sure I would have ended up here. When he died, there was some sense of relief, just like with my grandmother - mostly because we knew he was not doing well physically, and he was just fighting to keep going. It felt like the fight was finally over. And it has taken a long time for me to realize that he's really gone. He always said, "One day I'm not going to be here anymore, and you're going to miss me." He always said this when I was mad at him... which happened quite a bit, truth be told. I loved him and respected him, but man, he frustrated the absolute hell out of me sometimes.  Some days I miss him so much I can't stand it, but I can't help but smile when I think he's probably sitting up there saying, "I told her that would happen." It has taken me until now to realize that the old man was right.

football. as in, are you ready for some?

I think it's time to deviate from introspection and thoughtfulness for awhile and talk about something I love as much as any of the other hobbies, work, or other bizarro crap I seem to use to fill my time. Imma talk about some football. Specifically, college football. Now, granted, I appreciate the NFL for starting preseason games well before college football begins and holding playoffs and the SuperBowl long after the last college bowl game has been played... but I'm really not going to lose any sleep over it. College football on the other hand... well, I might not lose any sleep over it either. I mean, let's be honest, I don't really lose sleep over anything other than my job. And that's because they pay me not to screw stuff up. But I digress. College football makes-a-me-giddy. And there's almost nothing better than that feeling.

I have a favorite team. You all (three) probably hate them. I don't care. I'm not a bandwagon Notre Dame fan. I don't like them just because we're all Catholic (which I'm not). I don't like them just because they're the Fighting Irish (which I am). I don't like them because of Rudy (though I love that movie and cry every blessed time I watch it. But that's true of, well, every single football movie ever made.) I didn't even start liking them because of the delicious specimen of man that is Brady Quinn. (He's had a less-than-stellar NFL career, but that doesn't detract from his hotness. Really. The man is a marble statue who belongs in some big fancy place with vaulted mural-ed ceilings. REALLY.) I became a Notre Dame fan as a kid, back when they were pretty consistently good, because of my dad, because we're from Indiana. He's much more into college basketball than he is football, but any time a team from Indiana that isn't Purdue makes it to the big time in any sport, he gets pretty excited. (Has Purdue ever made it to the big time? I don't know.) So I vaguely remember the 1988 championship, even though I was only 7 years old. And I definitely distinctly remember listening to the 1993 game ON THE RADIO when ND stomped all over Florida State and really should have won the title as a result, but that one loss to Boston College - stupid Fredo - ruined it all. Anyway. I've known and rooted for Notre Dame for a long time... through good seasons and through historically terrible seasons. My cousin is married to a former ND offensive lineman, so it's in the family now for real.

I had the chance to go to my first ND home game a couple years ago. It had snowed 12 inches the day before we arrived in the 'Bend. This was the weekend before Thanksgiving, so it felt all pretty and holiday-ish with the blanket of white covering everything. Game day started a little gray but turned out sunny and beautiful. The atmosphere at ND is unlike any other college game experience I've ever had. (A couple of Georgia games and one at GaTech.) It just feels different. Beautiful stately stone halls. Green common areas. Brilliant autumn leaves. A couple of lakes with a random rowing team. People wearing striped scarves in school colors. It's actually very much like my non-football alma mater. It feels like college is *supposed* to feel in my mind... a place that makes you instantly smarter just because you've stepped foot on campus. Fall makes me very nostalgic for idealized academia and school supplies and letter sweaters. It's that long exhaling "ahh" feeling like you get from a perfect song that just makes it seem as though the stars have aligned and absolutely everything is right in the world.

Moving on. It was approximately 27 degrees at kickoff (2:30pm) and was well below freezing balls by the time the game ended around 6:15. I've never been that cold for that long. In fact, we had to sit in the car until the feeling in my feet came back so that I could feel the pedals to drive back to the hotel. Oh, and Notre Dame lost. To SYRACUSE of all people. The same Syracuse who had fired their head coach the week before because they were something like 1-37 for the year, despite only having played 10 regular season games. Yeah. It was ugly. And yet, it's probably the most fun I've ever had with football in my entire life, because it just felt like college football is supposed to feel.

My love of college football isn't confined to Notre Dame... while they're the team I root for openly and follow on an almost daily basis throughout the year, I love college football in general. I love the teams with a great football history, even though some of them are most hated rivals of my own team. I don't really want to cheer for USC or Michigan out of principal, but it's good for college football when the traditional powers are playing well. But it's not just about the "usual suspects." There's something to be said for the underdog story... teams like BYU and Boise State who have come from relative obscurity to be consistent top 10 teams. I hate their blue turf, but I like seeing them run around like crazy people on it. There's just something about the college game in general that sets it apart from the NFL. It isn't totally free from the greed and seediness found on the professional level (see: Bush, Reggie), but it feels more honest and wholesome. Like apple pie or something. Maybe it's the marching band.

I was always intrigued by football, but I didn't really start 'getting it' until I joined the marching band in high school. I had friends who played legit instruments and did the Friday night game thing all the time. I was a chorus kid, and we always sang the national anthem and then left to go do something else. Even though we were friends with band kids (because we were all in the smart kid classes together and studying music DOES make you smarter as long as you try not to act like an idiot about it), it was pretty uncommon to have crossover between chorus and band. Most people didn't sing and play a band instrument. I personally didn't play an instrument, but my band friends convinced me to try out for color guard mostly so I could hang out with them on the away game road trips. I'm not the least bit athletic, but years of Show Choir meant I knew how to find and move to a beat - the actual beat, not just the one playing in my head. And I was surprisingly pretty good at throwing that flag around. They even made me a captain my senior year. There was lots of drama on the guard - that many girls are bound to get on one another's nerves - so I broke tradition and spent my band time with my actual band friends. Some of them were true band geeks who thought most of the guard girls were pretty ridiculous. I still consider myself only a pseudo-band geek... I mean, I love marching competitions and I get a little excited when that first breeze of fall afternoon weather comes rushing in because I can still hear the quad drums in my head. But I wasn't all like "into band" or anything. I was still cool. Relatively speaking. Anyway. After about 5 games of not knowing what was really going on out there and cheering only when everyone else did, I decided to start paying attention and asking questions. I learned the value of a 1st down. I learned the difference between "safety" the position and "safety" the thing where you score 2 points for the other team. Oopsies. I learned to say "tight end" without giggling. hehehe. Okay, no I didn't. But I know what purpose he serves on the team. As I've gotten older, I've learned more about actual plays and formations, and there's something very exciting about the academic side of football - probably the strategy and organization of it all. I may not be a geek, but I am a nerd... :)

So it's pretty safe to say I'm super excited about this football season. It's approximately 2 days and 23 hours until the Golden Domers kick off for the first time under new head coach Brian Kelly. I'm so looking forward to seeing his high-paced spread offense running around under the watchful eye of Touchdown Jesus. I'm looking forward to yelling at the TV until I lose my voice. (I know, vocalists everywhere are cringing at the thought of that. Oh well.) I'm looking forward to terrible-for-you sports food like wings and nachos and beer. Oh, the beer. And I'm especially looking forward to making another 11 hour drive to beautiful South Bend, Indiana to cheer on the blue and gold in person again in just a few weeks. This time we'll be hoping for less bitter cold (it won't be the end of November this time), spending more time on campus (we're heading up on Thursday so we can hang out on Friday, maybe even get to walk out of the tunnel), and hopefully witnessing an exciting win. eeek. Can't wait. Can.not.wait. Oh, and praise Touchdown Jesus.

at home in indiana

I love the idea of feeling at home in places you don't actually live. Sometimes it's the love of people surrounding you, sometimes it's the comfort of seeing something in a foreign land that reminds you of home, sometimes it's just the feeling of awe you get when you experience something completely new. There are a lot of places that feel like home to me. Some are just places I've visited but felt right... places that felt like some element of "me" was present everywhere - San Francisco with its combination of trendy art galleries, hippies, and gay men (because I'm pretty sure there's only one thing separating me from the gays... I'll leave that to your imagination); Chicago with its skyscrapers, toughness, lake effect weather, fabulous shopping, midwestern values, and rough history; the New England coast with its quaint seaside villages, hydrangeas so vibrant and colorful that they make me want to cry, and seafood that literally just leaps out of the ocean and onto your plate; Wells, England, a glorious little city with a perfect 12th century Anglican cathedral and home to some of my best musical memories as well as a number of late nights stumbling down cobblestone streets after closing down the local pub with my college friends; and Paris in general - so full of life and art and movement and culture, and so beautiful in black and white pictures. In an ideal world, I'd have a place to live in each of these places.

But then there's the world of places I've actually lived, even if only for a short time. My parents both grew up in Indiana. I was born there, but even though we only lived there until I was about 6 months old when we relocated (first to Arizona for 3 years and then to Atlanta) for my dad's job, it still feels like a place I belong. My dad's family still lives there, so a fair portion of my life has been dedicated to time in the car road tripping between Georgia and Indiana for weeks spent with grandparents during summer vacation and whirlwind family Christmas tours. When I was a kid, Indiana seemed far away and a little foreign - and I felt a little exotic being from somewhere else, being well-traveled even as a young kid, when almost everyone I knew in my small southern town was related to other people in that small southern town and had spent their entire lives there. My great friend and former teacher still tells a story about taking a group of us to elementary school honors chorus in another city involving an overnight stay, and I was the only kid who knew how to operate the key-card system to get into our hotel room. She thought that was so cool. I can thank Indiana for that. Something about Indiana was cool. As an adult, I realize that Indiana isn't exactly the most mindblowing or innovative of places, but there's something wholesome about miles of farmland dotted with silos and old slatted barns. There's something comforting about kids playing basketball until the street lights come on and main street areas that still maintain their historic movie theatres. Someone said to me that Indiana is really good at living life exactly 30 years behind the rest of the world. But I think that's exactly what makes Indiana feel like Home with a capital H to me.

I took a trip to hang out with my grandparents in July. My previous visit was almost two years ago for a (freezing, holy crap I may never feel my face again cold) Notre Dame football game accompanied by a quick 2 days in good ol' southern Indiana with my grandparents. I've missed the past two Christmases due to a set of unfortunate circumstances, so this summer was definitely time for a visit. My favorite thing about going to Indiana when it isn't holiday time is that I get unfiltered access to my grandparents. I love my whole family, no question, but I love having the opportunity to just sit and talk with my grandparents, when my grandmother doesn't feel the pressure of cooking a meal to feed all the kids and grandkids and great-grandkids. I just love hearing their perspectives, and I love that every time I spend time talking with them, I learn something new about them when they were young, something ridiculous my dad may have done as a kid, or an opinion or worldview that surprises me. It's good stuff. I also love how far removed I feel from the pressures of the real world when I'm there... surrounded by acres of corn and soybeans, watching the fog settled at the back of the fields in the early mornings, and actually seeing the stars and fireflies come out on warm summer nights. My grandparents definitely live in what feels like the middle of nowhere, but they also live close to a really cool historic town, Madison.

In the spirit of multi-dimensional blogging, I'd like to share some pictures I took on my recent trip. I should also throw this disclaimer out there: I love love LOVE taking pictures. I don't have any claims to "real photography," but I like exploring and trying to capture just a little bit of what I feel when I'm looking at something through a different perspective. To quote Woody Allen, "I have no idea what I'm doing. But incompetence has never prevented me from plunging in with enthusiasm." That being said, let's commence with the pictures.

This is the field behind my grandparents' house.

The neighbors' pond:

This one-eared Mickey Mouse has been at a house down the road for as long as I can remember:

More fields.

A super cool old barn. I think it's an actual "historic place." 

Historic Downtown Madison: 

The Ohio Theatre, built in 1938. 

Record store. I know, right? 

Mundt's Chocolatier. Featured on the Food Network. :) 

Hinkle's. Since 1933.

hear me roar

They say we're all products of our upbringings - good or bad, those moments in time combine to turn us into some final version of ourselves, and as we grow up and move forward, everything that happens seems to create another layer. It sounds a little cheesy, but I see it almost like a working collage - pulling some pieces away, adding others, and continuously shaping that Total Self. I'm a visual person. When I talk abstract concepts, I always have some vision to go along with it. If I created a collage that visually embodied me, it would probably consist of scraps of sheet music and chord charts, vintage art nouveau posters, Van Gogh paintings, a Notre Dame football game ticket stub, Jane Austen novels, black and white photographs, and Pottery Barn catalogues, draped in watery hues of coastal blues and sunwashed grays. These things pretty well define me on an aesthetic level, and if I dig deep enough, I could probably find some layers that mean a whole lot more on a values level... things like simplistic beauty, a healthy level of witty sarcasm, a melody that makes you smile and ache at the same time... compassion, humor, intelligence, and grace. It's all there, and I'll probably cover all of that here in this blog in some way. But today, I think it's time to talk about strength.

I just spent five days hanging out with my mom. It was the first time in two years that we've really gotten to just hang out for more than a day or two, and it was really great. I've written about her before - and the two or three of you reading this probably know me well enough to know that I think she's pretty spectacular. There are many awesome things about her, but at the core of her collage would be the notion of strength - it's something that was ingrained in her from an early age, and it's something that she's taught me my entire life. And like the greatest teachers, she not only explained it and encouraged it, she also modeled it through her own behavior. And even though I'm far from perfect at embodying that quality all the time, it's something I've come to value about myself - the knowledge that a combination of experiences and abilities (and having great people around me) makes it possible for me to tackle just about anything without too much fear.

The idea that a woman can do things on her own, without "need" of a man, can be a little intimidating - even foreign - to some people. A few weeks ago, I set out to do a little home improvement. I wanted a back yard that felt relaxing and inspirational, like watching the sunset over a New England harbor or walking down a British street lined with flower-adorned shops or listening to the gentle humming and clanking in a French cafe at night. When you rent, you can't do a lot structurally... and when you have a very meager budget, you have to get creative. But I've always said creativity is one of my strong points. So I trotted a little bit of it out. I bought some pretty hanging baskets and pots, and I filled them with colorful flowers. I did a lot of weeding and a bit of mulching. And I found Adirondack chairs on sale for about $30 apiece. If you've ever bought a real Adirondack chair, you know the really good ones will run you upwards of $150. The catch to the $30 version? The wood is unfinished, and it comes in a box that isn't shaped remotely like a chair, like this:

Now despite my upbringing to be a fearless independent female just like my mommy, I try pretty hard not to be one of those scary feminists that gets offended by every little comment that would in some way imply that women and men are different - I mean, after all, women and men ARE different. It's genetic. Men are inherently better at some things (though not nearly as many as they'd like us to believe). Some women do need to stay at home and raise their families. It's not like I think role reversal is completely in order here. But I do have a tendency to get a little peeved by the implication that someone is incapable of doing something because of gender or age. And I know the little man at the hardware store didn't mean to offend me when he said, "Make sure you give these instructions to the person who puts this together for you," but he did. He couldn't have known that almost every major piece of furniture in my house came in a flat box from IKEA and that I'm like the best instruction-follower and furniture-putter-together-er in the history of the world. But he shouldn't have made the assumption that because I'm a girl and I look like a college sophomore, I was probably clueless and had no idea what he was talking about. If there's anything that makes me perform, it's the notion that I can't do something. So, with a chip on my shoulder, I came home and knocked these bad boys out in just a couple of hours. ALL BY MYSELF. 

So there, Mr. Underestimating-Hardware-Store-Man! I guess I showed you! There is real value in being able to accomplish something on your own, and I've learned to take a certain amount of pride in my abilities to do that. There's something freeing about being comfortable enough with yourself that you don't "need" other people around all the time... knowing that you can make it on your own talents, abilities, and will. But I do realize that this notion of independence and strength isn't without its flaws. There are times when you do actually need someone else - that's where those great people come in. (Even with a project like putting together furniture, sometimes you just need another arm or two to hold stuff). And I think that's what true strength is all about. It's not just being fiercely independent - it's also recognizing that there are times when you could use an extra hand, knowing that a bottle of wine is more fun with a witty friend, or understanding that sometimes God puts people in your life not because you are incapable of doing something on your own but because the end result will be so much sweeter thanks to that collaboration. I don't know if I'll ever have that kind of strength... but until then, let me know if you need help putting some furniture together. :)

So it isn't Boston, London, or Paris, but it makes me happy...

slightly overwhelmed by technology

I have a routine when I first get to work each morning. It starts with entering the office quietly, turning on the harsh fluorescent lights (ouch), and looking for the red light on my office phone that indicates voice mails awaiting (this usually involves some silent prayers that the red light is either dim or that the voices on the other end are just calling to tell me to have a great day instead of asking for things I can't do at the moment). I check my work email, my personal email, my facebook (because some people don't use real email anymore - the horror), and sometimes twitter. Then I usually jot down a list of things I need to accomplish, or I add to the list that I started yesterday or a week ago and haven't yet finished. I emerge about 30 minutes later ready to say actual words to my co-workers and face the working world for the day. And if that fails, I fake it. :)

Today, I checked twitter. And I saw someone's tweet with a link to a tumblr account. I saw a tweet to a loopt (?) account. I saw a tweet that was the exact replica of a facebook status. And for a moment, I thought, "Maybe it would be fun to have a tumblr [despite my obvious issues with the intentional misspelling]." Or maybe it would be festive to link all of my life together so that at once touch of a button, you (all two-ish of you who read this) will know where I am, what I'm doing, and what I'm thinking all at the same time. But frankly, that's just scary as hell to me. I actually miss the days before I had a cell phone... Gasp! Yes, I remember that time. It was called high school. And somehow we made it out okay and turned into mostly decent people. It was nice to have the home phone ring and just choose not to answer it if you were busy. Now that everyone has caller ID, you can't reject a call or ignore it because everyone will assume that it's because you didn't want to talk to them specifically. And while I appreciate the ease of texting, there are times when, really, couldn't we have just had this conversation using our voices? My home computer, an Apple iBook G4, was like the coolest thing in the world 5 years ago. And now, despite no obvious flaws in general performance and no indication that it plans to die anytime soon, its technology is almost completely obsolete, to the point where certain technologies on ye olde interweb simply refuse to function with it. But if my computer won't do something for me, my phone almost always will. I can even read books, whole entire books, on it.

This all feels a little Fahrenheit 451 to me, and it seems like a little bit of insanity. We are so connected, and yet it feels like I don't really know what's going on in anyone's life. Sure, I see the tweets, the photos they've uploaded to facebook, and maybe even a random thought or two if they have a blog. But how real can it be when when it's all through a computer? I mean, if you take a real emotion, type it into a machine, let it compute and pixelate around before displaying out to your own digital world, how real is it - really - by the time it reaches your intended audience? Seems to me like it works the same way as making a copy of a copy - slowly distorting and watering down until it is only a faded version of itself in the end. Sometimes that's a good thing... I'm personally pretty glad I don't have to be there in person for a lot of the ridiculous rants I read on facebook. But sometimes I wish I could hear the excitement in someone's voice or see them shed a happy tear when they tell me they're finally graduating from college or expecting their first child, instead of just reading a lot of exclamation points at the end of a tweet and assuming they mean what I think they mean. I really hope we aren't just creating watered down digital versions of ourselves and evolving into beings incapable of functioning on a real human level, face to face.

I realize a lot of these thoughts are hypocritical, as I write this blog from my computer and share it with you on the internet, via a link from my twitter account. (I could write it from my phone if I really wanted.) I say all of this not to proclaim a personal stance against technology or as a call to return to archaic practices. We do have to live in the world as it exists, after all. There are times when it is easier to observe life from afar, but how much do you really feel and experience - and therefore, how much do you really learn - from those things if you don't literally touch the hurt and pain and joy and exhilaration of those moments? I'm not sure I know the meaning of life... but I am almost positive that point of it all isn't to have the latest and best technology and to "learn" without truly understanding. I say this simply to remind myself not to get so caught up in the digital display of the lives of those around me that I forget to participate in the real flesh and bone moments.

i'll take the nachos with extra commentary, please

For some reason, I always start craving chips and salsa as summer approaches. Maybe it's the sudden awakening of color all around me that inspires a desire for fresh spicy food and cold beverages. (My new favorite non-alcoholic drink is half sweet/half unsweet tea with lots of ice and fresh lemon and lime, by the way. Complicated, I know.) When the weather is nice, there is nothing better than sitting outside on the patio with the warm sun, a cool breeze, and good music. As an only child (and grandchild on my mom's side of the fam), I spent a lot of time by myself growing up. Therefore, I spent a lot of time thinking, analyzing, and creating fantastical stories in my head.  I especially enjoy the occasional lunch to myself just to have time to ponder, clear my head, or just have a good laugh. So I'd like to share a small chronicle of today's adventure in solitude.

Needing a break from my windowless office, I decided to go to Moe's - they have chips and salsa, patio, breeze, and cold beverages. They also have good music. All performed by dead people. It even says so on their website. I love this little fact - after all, it means my outdoor patio lunches are always accompanied by the likes of Frank Sinatra, Bob Marley, The Beatles (I think bands only require one dead member to qualify), and Ella Fitzgerald, with an occasional smattering of Queen or Janis Joplin. (I also think there must be a loophole for music written by dead people but performed by people who are still alive. I swear I heard Diana Krall in there a few weeks ago. I digress.) But I always feel really weird when I hear the dulcet tones of newly deceased musicians ringing across the patio. About 2 weeks after Michael Jackson died, I was eating at Moe's with my boss when I heard the opening chords of Human Nature. And I had a really odd moment of "Aww, yay. Wait. Oh, noooo." And I couldn't help but think how some stuffy corporate tie-bearing suited executive must be sitting up in his Moe's tower keeping watch on music news and waiting for the good ones to kick off, opening a new catalogue of music for the Moe's clientele to appreciate during their dining experience. And that just makes me sad. But maybe, just maybe, the guy in charge of Moe's music selection is secretly an old hippie (complete with a Dead shirt hidden under that suit and a Volkswagen van in the parking lot). And that makes me smile.

Part of the pondering and analysis that happens in my head involves watching people. Not in a creepy way. Okay, maybe a little. But more in the sense of just enjoying seeing their processes. It's kind of like geometric proofs - I like understanding the beginning and end point of a set of actions. I realize I have just admitted to being a big dork, but I can't help it. It is especially interesting to me to see people prepare for and eat a meal. Does he put a napkin in his lap? Does she move her food around to opposite sides of the plate? Is she going to cut that burger in half first? (Someone once told me that there are two kinds of people in the world: those who cut their burgers and those who don't. I don't know what that really means, but I like it.) Will he organize his food into categories and systematically eat it one item at a time? Is that guy ever going to wipe his mouth and hands? I love it. Anyway. Today, I saw a man sit down and get back up to get stuff three times before finally settling in to eat. And I just had to wonder why he didn't think about all the stuff he wanted before he got up. Or why didn't he get all of it on his little Moe's tray before sitting down? But then I realized that I do that all the time. No throwing stones here.

Sitting on the patio, I overheard a mom and her little boy, about 4 years old, walking out to their car. They were having a cute little conversation, and the boy says, "You are cool. I love you, Mommy." And she replies, "I love YOU." And he says, "No, I love you more." And she says, "No, I love YOU more." And they sort of went on like that 3 or 4 times until they got in the vehicle. My mom and I used to have that very conversation all the time when I was that age, probably up until I reached the "my-mom-is-the-lamest-person-ever" eye-rolling teenage years. It was an unending battle to try to out-love her. And no matter how many times I said it, or how much I told her I loved her - "THIIIIIIIIIS much!" with arms stretched as far apart as they'd reach - she, with arm- and attention-span greater than mine, would always win. When I was a kid, I hated that I couldn't win the "I love you" game. As an adult, I realize I'll never win it.  No matter how much I love my mom, she will always love me more. Not because I don't try, but because of the ownership she must feel, having created at least one half of me physically (and helping to shape a whole lot more of me mentally, emotionally, and spiritually). And while it is a little scary, it is also extremely comforting. I think that's the way it should be. I can only hope that one day I'll be able to love anyone as much as that little kid's mom loves him and my mom loves me.

windows to the soul

They - those mythical people who beguile and confuse us with countless declarations of fact and advice - say that the eyes are the true windows to the soul. Perhaps this was true fifty years ago, when people wrote  letters with pens on paper (and real, full-length sentences), had actual physical conversations, and played outside in the dirt. But in a modern world of emails, texts, and tweets all done away from the elements, I'm starting to wonder if perhaps there aren't some other opportunities for external soul voyaging (or voyeuring)...

Legs. I work in an office with no windows. We spend at least 40 hours a week in that space, wearing conservative business-appropriate attire and having polite business-appropriate conversation. Last week, we had a picnic. Outside. In the sun. In 90-degree humid Georgia weather. My boss suggested we dress down. A couple people wore shorts. They were business-appropriate shorts, but they were still shorts. Leg-exposing, humanizing shorts. In that moment, I realized something: I spend at least 40 hours a week with these people, and I still only know a fraction of who they really are. Even though we talk a lot and get along surprisingly well, I only really know the business-appropriate side of them. The side that is covered in pants and dress shirts and probably doesn't always say what it really feels. These are real people. With white pasty legs that haven't seen the sun in a long time. These are real people. With vulnerabilities and struggles and emotions and sometimes business-inappropriate senses of humor. These are real people. And I love them.

Music. I think you can tell a lot about a person by the kind of music they profess to love. I think that's an important distinction - professing to love and truly loving mean two very different things. Professing is all about designing your own public perception, marketing your personal brand. Truly loving is more of an intimate internal experience. And while both will certainly tell you a lot about the listener (and you can make the argument that the truly loved bit could be the more 'real' version of them), I think the professed love shows you more about their insecurities, thereby giving you a more complete picture of the real version of them.

Exhibit A: Those who claim love only for the most important classical works. They could easily be struggling to fit what is a perceived mold of intellectual perfection. You must drink wine in the swirl and sniff way. You must love stinky cheeses and hard bread. You must discuss literary magazines and important current events as though you truly care. You must reference obscure poets and scientific research in daily conversation. I'm not saying any of those things are so bad. But come on. Live a little. Be in the now a little. Understand that at least a few good things have come out of the common folks of the past 200 years. I know intellectuals, and I know musical snobbery at its finest (I have a degree in it, after all), and I can guarantee you that those people rock out to Zeppelin and Hendrix just as hard as they would Saint-Saens or Stravinsky.

Exhibit B: Those hipster kids who profess appreciation only for bands/artists no one's ever heard of and get pissed when other people discover them, thereby allowing the band to make money and stop starving, and automatically label said band a "sell out." Well, obviously, those kiddos are struggling so hard to be different that they don't realize they're all ending up exactly the same. I feel sad for them. I understand that whole 'damn the man' thing. I fully appreciate the idea of independent thinking and bolstering those artists who are making great music without the support of a label. I just wish those guys would lighten up a little bit. I wish they'd throw on some Justin Timberlake (who, despite all evidence of being a complete corporate fabrication, is actually incredibly talented and creative) and dance around their living room like the white dorks that they are. They would feel better. They might even smile. God knows they'd at least stop taking themselves so damn seriously.

Exhibit C: Those trend-a-minute folks who can only share knowledge of the most current 'music sensations.' These are the folks who are struggling so hard to be 'with it' that they latch on to what is popular not because they really put thought into it, but simply to avoid being left behind. Miley Cyrus. High School Musical. Taylor Swift. Most hip-hop. Are these things completely without merit? Of course not. After all, Madonna couldn't have been more trendy in the 80s, and I'll be damned if she's not still just as cool almost 30 years later. Miley might surprise me one day. High School Musical is generally crap to me, but I can't help but love Zac Efron's dimples. Taylor Swift can't sing worth a damn, but her songs are embarrassingly catchy. (I can't get that Romeo and Juliet one out of my head.) I never loved Beyonce until I saw that one scene in Dreamgirls where, through an amazing string of vocal pyrotechnics, she tells Jamie Foxx to kiss her ass. But to feel that these are the only things you can claim to love... to feel that you are somehow above the music of artists like Dionne Warwick, Phil Collins, The Platters, or even Elton John... well, that's just sad. There's a whole world of musicians out there whose 'cool date' may have long since expired, but whose music is enduring and timeless and really freaking fun.

My point? Don't just claim to love what you think you 'should' for whatever reason. Claim to love what you DO love. And try to love outside the box. Variety is the spice of life. You just might be surprised.

Facebook pages. I may have been doing a little light facebook stalking when I stumbled upon someone who had become a member of a "page." Their profile said : "______ likes 'Not Giving a F*ck.'" First of all, doesn't liking that page automatically negate the idea behind it? I mean really... liking something means you're actively expending energy on it, thereby actually giving a f*ck after all. But I digress.

A 16-year-old boy, with his whole life in front of him, thinks it's cool not to give a f*ck about anything. How incredibly sad is that? Without offering a dissertation-length social commentary, I have to say that this seems to be a growing epidemic among today's youth. Where, oh God, WHERE, are the young people who still give a f*ck? I understand that being a teenager with a life full of decisions ahead can be absolutely overwhelming. And in a world where we coddle, shelter, and - dare I say - disadvantage our youth by creating an environment of endless possibilities and choices for them (everyone gets a trophy just for playing, you can be absolutely anything, and mommy will take care of all the bad stuff for you), I can see how it would be even more overwhelming for a teenager right now. I can see how just not caring could in many ways be easier. At the risk of sounding like a cynical old hag, isn't it our job as adults to help kids understand that not everyone wins, not everyone gets to do what they want, and not everyone can live a life free of unpleasantness? They're so used to having everything just work out for them that they don't understand the value of effort anymore. They don't understand that working hard, making difficult choices and sacrifices, and experiencing a little bit of difficulty makes the end result seem that much sweeter. There is no motivation - intrinsic or extrinsic - because there is no real reward to them. (Or is it the other way around?) Life just happens to them, for them, and they just take it for what it is... because the cool thing to do is not give a f*ck. While I'd love to shake every single 12 to 24 year old out there until they understand that it isn't, or shouldn't be, that simple, I think the responsibility lies more with the adults who have allowed this to happen. I'm sure it's innocent - stemming from the yuppie idea of wanting your kids to have it easier, better, than you had it. I agree with that. No one should have to do it completely alone. They can't learn how to do it right if no one ever shows them or helps them along the way. But maybe, just maybe, they should lose, get their knees scraped, and generally let life kick them in the ass just a couple of times so that they appreciate the amazing opportunity they have to live in a world where you can communicate literally at the touch of a button almost instantaneously and where you truly can be anything you want as long as you actually DO give a f*ck.

hiatus

I made a promise when I started this blog: I won't write unless I have something interesting to say. I'm not really sure what's been happening in my life since November to prevent new interesting content from emerging, but it's pretty safe to say that I've kept my promise. Or at least, that's what I'm going to hide behind instead of owning up to my own pure forgetfulness or laziness about keeping up with this blog. It isn't so much that I haven't wanted to say anything, it's more that what I may have had to say was probably better kept to myself. Not that so many multitudes of people are reading this thing... but still. I do have a filter, despite some evidence to the contrary.

Anyway, with that being said, I'm going to try to make this a more regular part of my life again. I may not have a crazy husband or words of financial/political wisdom or funny baby stories to share, but I do have observations about the world that are worth putting down in print, even if I'm the only person who ever reads them.

In the true spirit of procrastination, I'll start tomorrow. :)