Stress and Stars

Wordless Wednesday: Afternoon Sky

2013-05-22T06:00:00.000-04:00

Be OK

2013-05-21T17:58:00.001-04:00

There's a joke, that people who survive a tornado always come out saying, "It sounded like a freight train" when a reporter sticks a microphone in their face.

The reason they say that is because that is exactly what they sound like, or as near as to make no difference. The roar even almost sounds like train cars rattling across tracks.

Almost always, the tornado siren at the local fire station is blaring alongside it, adding a discordant, horrible up-and-down-and-up wail on top of the wind trying to flatten the world. If you're in it, you are deaf to each other until the noise dies down.

The mercy of tornadoes, what little mercy there is, is that they don't last very long.

Except that sometimes, they do.

We get flippant about tornadoes in the Midwest. They occur so often that they become something we are mostly cautious about, but discount their destructive potential. People stand outside with cameras and cell phones while a funnel cloud bears down on them, or drive out on country roads to get just the right shot. There's a video circulating on youtube right now that a man took while driving his SUV around a parking lot, with the massive Oklahoma tornado heading right at him before it changes direction. That he walked out of it uninjured was nothing short of sheer dumb luck.

It's a risk we take because fatality counts from tornadoes tend to be so low that we forget what a tornado can do when given flat land and plenty of time.

My thoughts are with people in the Midwest today, but most especially with those affected by the huge EF4 (news has just reported that they are officially declaring it was an EF5) just outside Oklahoma City, in the little town of Moore, a town most assuredly devoid of fortune; they were decimated in 1999 by a tornado with the highest wind speeds ever recorded.

As always, the stories that come out of storms like these are stories about the best that people have in them; neighbors helping dig out a man's canine best friend, teachers throwing themselves on top of as many students as possible to shield them from debris, people showing up to help rescuers dig to find those trapped in their own storm cellars, men and women carrying injured children out of a ruined school, citizens declaring over and over again, "We will rebuild."

Because that's what people do. It's what we're best at; adapting to each disaster in order to make ourselves less likely to be as badly affected by the next one.

Living where I do now, in Upstate South Carolina, I don't have to think about tornadoes in the same way I did back in Illinois. I no longer listen for the telltale siren every time there's a thunderstorm that fits the pattern, and I don't check for watches and warnings on the news the way I used to.

We discount the danger of tornadoes in the Midwest because we see them so often, the warnings and watches are very nearly part of the routine of spring and early summer. Maybe an occasional few houses get flattened, but it doesn't seem that bad from the outside. We drive under green skies now and then or find our cars dented from hail, but for the most part, we don't see much more than an EF1.

It's the risk Midwesterners take to live in what I personally think is one of the most beautiful places in the country.

But oh, what a risk it seems, when we see something like this.

My thoughts are with Moore and with those who lost family members and friends. My heart is with the mayor declaring they will rebuild.

Of course they will.

It's what people do.

We take the blow and stagger, then get back up and rebuild.

here's a link to a small USA Today article on how to help

Not Quite Zen

2013-05-18T19:54:00.000-04:00

I went and sat on our back porch and everything smelled like honeysuckle.

The sounds were all calling frogs and birds and the dog rolling around in the grass. The sky is a little gray with clouds and it's humid, but it just seems to make the noise seem even closer and clearer.

For a moment, I was content with the sheer perfect serenity of the moment.

I was one with the universe, et cetera and so forth.

Then I sneezed six times in a row, suddenly couldn't breathe, and had to come inside.

Stupid nature.

Berries & Grins

2013-05-17T18:30:00.003-04:00

Our first strawberries, fresh and warm from the sun, ready to pick.

A happy dog, just finished rolling until he coats himself entirely in clover.

Two ways to make your May evening just that much brighter.

Even if just going outside to take the photos made me sweaty. Stupid humidity.

Every spring since we moved here I consider moving to Canada. Every winter I remember why I don't.

Like Sunday Morning

2013-05-13T12:03:00.001-04:00

It was a good weekend.

Saturday we hit up a friend's birthday party, where I ate entirely too much spicy guacamole and regret nothing. Also we watched a six-year-old run around wearing the remains of the Snow White pinata as a hat, which is its own kind of joy.

Artisphere happened this last weekend, and while that whole adult-with-a-job-every-Saturday thing meant I had to miss Friday and Saturday's festivities, we were still able to make it up there Sunday morning. The events downtown are one of the reasons we love Greenville so much, and Artisphere is one of the best. Artists apply for booths to run up and down Main Street, which is shut down for the most part to handle the pedestrian traffic.

There's a lot of pedestrian traffic, you see.

The booths are great; there's a really good mix of photography, painting, other 2D options as well as jewelry, metalworking, woodworking, ceramics and tons of 3D work as well. Jason and I hit up nearly every booth for a while, really taking a good look.

Then we realized we had begun to skip booths simply because we were hungry, and wandered back up Main Street to try a new place I'd seen in the news; Sully's Steamers.

Sully's is a steamed-bagel-sandwiches kind of place. I had an idea of what I was in for the minute I realized how large the menu was. We were greeted almost immediately by the friendly people working there and decided to eat our sandwiches outside since it was so nice and there is some seating out there in the sunshine.

I couldn't decide what I even wanted (there were simply too many delicious-sounding things), so I ordered a "wild card", which is basically telling a bunch of strangers behind a counter "I trust you with my taste buds; do whatever." I told them I have no allergies and I like everything, so make me something cool.

I got a Sinful Steamer on a jalapeno bagel.

To say it was good is... somewhat of an understatement.

It was awesome. Cheese, barbecue sauce, meatballs, bacon... it was all there on a slightly-spicy, chewing, crispy-outside bagel sandwich. Jason got something called "Ted Wins", but I honestly have no idea what that was because I hardly looked at his sandwich; I was way too focused on my own.

Definitely a place we're going back to, especially on days when we head downtown and really walk all over the place and work up an appetite.

After lunch, we were right back into the crowd so we could check out the booths we had been missing. I ended up picking up a bracelet from Nicole Wayne, this awesome very simple bright summer green;

I am currently making eyes at the turquoise and burnt orange iterations as well. Longing, hopeful eyes.

We had to head back so we could get ready for Mother's Day dinner over at my in-laws' house, which was a great time... except for the part where our dog chased their cat up a tree because he wants to be friends so badly and cats tend to mistake that eager speed for hunting. That was sort of mortifying.

He did love all the open space in their yard to run in and all the new people to slobber all over. He's actually pretty chill today; I guess his weekend wore him out as much as it did us.

Today is less fun; errands, mostly, and a long-overdue dental appointment that I can't say I'm particularly excited about. It was interesting to talk to the receptionist who answered the phone and hear her sort of amused resignation when I told her how long it had been since I'd gone to a dentist, though. I'm guessing she gets that a lot, especially since so many people lost insurance during the recession and so many people my age never really could afford it in the first place.

So, basically, today is brought to you by the magic of benefits.

Favorite booths at Artisphere; obviously Nicole Wayne, Sandi Garris, Marie-Helene Grabman, William Baker, Donald Boudreau, Amy and Jeff Dallas, and Vincent van Gourd.

Stay Out

2013-05-08T13:26:00.000-04:00

So yesterday, I received a packet from Montana in the mail.

Yes, the state.

No, I have no idea why Montana is sending me packets. It was sent to my name and address, though, so clearly Montana is interested in knowing things about me.

Anyway, I look at the plastic bag it came in, and this is the first thing I see:

Stay out of Montana...?

That's kind of rude. How could they know to ban me from the state yet, I've never even been there!

I mean, at least give me a chance to prove I'm only going to make a spectacle of myself first!

... and why would you send a highway map along with your "KEEP OUT" packet? What kind of people are running their visitors' bureau exactly? "Here is all our natural beauty that you will never experience, bwa hahahahahaha!"

Rude, right?

Then I opened said packet, and this is what it actually says:

Step out of bounds.

Oh.

Well, that's much nicer.

That explains everything, right?

Except for how exactly they got my name and address and why they want me to come and visit when I'll only give them cause to regret it.

Although I guess they don't know that yet.

Ssshhh.

Don't tell Montana about me, okay?

I want them to be surprised.

Is... Is That Blue Sky?

2013-05-06T15:57:00.001-04:00

YES.

YES IT IS BLUE SKY.

Divine, amazing, sacred sunshine-y awesome not-raining blue sky!

So of course I dragged the dog out for a freakishly long walk to enjoy it.

The trail was a little worse for wear after three straight days of downpour with occasional wind-gusts (we met the clean-up crew on our way back, clearing away the debris), but that didn't stop me and my intrepid canine companion. We laugh in the face of damp!

6 and a quarter miles later, we finally decided to be tired and crawled back in the car to come home. He started running circles in the yard an hour later. It's taking me... somewhat longer to get my energy back.

Today I've managed to make a cajun chicken salad for Jason and I to eat for lunch at work, started on tonight's dinner (sort of; I washed some of the greens that will make up the salad because why not?), have had about enough coffee, working on the second load of laundry, and I'm cleaning the bedroom. One could almost feel accomplished if one could not turn around and see what a mess the living room is.

That's why I just don't turn around.

5 Things: Upon a Rainy Day

2013-05-04T17:03:00.000-04:00

The Upstate's in a cold, wet place right now. It's been rainy off and on, and never really sunny enough to dry things up. Tonight we're supposed to receive a few inches of rain, which means there are flash flood warnings all over the Upstate, North Carolina, and even northern Georgia right now. (Obviously, people in Illinois and the Midwest in general are rolling their eyes at this already; they've been dealing with floods for what feels like a couple of weeks now).

I worked today, but I think everyone's ideal cold rainy day is a day at home staying warm and dry, right?

I let myself day-dream last night and kind of put together a wishlist of rainy day things; what I'd like to be wearing, what I'd like to be drinking, reading, the blanket I want to snuggle under... anything I could think of. Just dreaming about taking the chill off.

Also, to be writing the word 'chill' in May in Upstate South Carolina is deeply amusing to me.

1. The Book I'd Be Reading

Superman: The Unauthorized Biography by Glen Weldon

Most of the people in my life know that I've got a soft spot for the Man of Steel. People think he's boring, and it's a point to them that he really is often written in a way that is deeply boring. He's just... Superman. He wears a suit, he saves the day. Recent versions have turned him into an even more obvious allegory for Jesus Christ; a Savior who comes to Earth to save us from ourselves and even dies and then returns later.

Superman, though, can be an intriguingly complex character.

We're talking about a man whose entire sense of identity is built around a kind of abandonment complex. The core of him is that he deeply wants to be human; he looks like us when he wants to, he talks and acts and thinks like a human being in many ways. In the end though, he's not human. He's Kryptonian, the last son of a dead society (until, of course, comic writers wanted badly to introduce more superheroes like him... then we get SuperGirl and all sorts of chaos in the mythology). He wants to be one of us, but inevitably he is constantly reminded that he is not.

What does that do to a person? There aren't a ton of Superman comics that really get into that in a way that feels serious. Kingdom Come is one of my favorite books of all time; it's a generation-gap story at its essence, about old-school Superman and the way the world essentially disowned him by moving on. Superman is hiding out in Kansas, back to living the simple farm life he grew up with, after becoming increasingly disaffected by the growing violence of a new generation of superheroes who apply power without a sense of responsibility. It's a love letter to the old-school DC heroes like Superman and Wonder Woman, and a kind of cautionary story about the true result of the newer generation of superheroes, who are more about what their powers get them and what they can do as opposed to who they could do it for.

He's graying around the temples but still a huge and powerful man, angry and righteous while still, in the end, good. The effect of who he is trying to live in the world and the toll it takes on him is made clear. He's not exactly a nice person; how could he be, when he has spent his life being underestimated, overestimated, and forced to walk among people inherently inferior to him?

Weldon's book starts at the beginning and traces Superman's life, who he has been and how he's been used as generations change and the beliefs and values and things of importance change with us. I deeply want to curl up with this book on a cold afternoon, just me and a blanket and maybe a snuggly dog, and dive in. Weldon is a certified Superman Fan, which bodes well, and I've read some good reviews from other critics who like Superman.

Maybe it says something about me that my two favorite superheroes are the two most often consigned to the one-dimensional claptrap bin; Superman and Captain America. I like these genuine good guys, trying as hard as they can to work in a world that isn't quite the one they thought they knew or the one they really belong in. They can be complex, but are often underwritten and painted in broad strokes, used poor or not used at all in favor of superheroes that can be more easily made gritty and dark, or witty and irreverent, without sacrificing a huge core part of their character.

Actually, now that I've written this I think Jason and I will hit up the bookstore here in a little bit. Hm.

2. The Outfit I'd Be Wearing:

Sweater Shirt Pants Slippers Socks

Look, I can be a huge comic book fan and also want to wear pretty things, okay?

I love me some teal. Love love love. This nice open-weave sweater can work during the summer on warmer days (IE, almost every day) with a tank top, but for this rainy-day imagining I'm doing, a nice long-sleeved shirt underneath helps you keep warm. The idea here is basically one step above pajamas, but nice enough that if I have to leave the house for some Godforsaken reason, I don't have to do anything more than switch up shoes.

I own this Land's End shirt, which was a Christmas gift, and it's incredibly soft. A little short, though, for those of us with a tall person's waist and tree stump legs, so I mostly layer it under things.

Skinny jeans, SmartWool socks (do I ever wear any other kind?), and black slipper-moccasins with fleece on the inside keep me warm while I sit and read, even without taking into account...

3. The Blanket I'd Be Snuggled Under:

Vintage Striped Wool Blanket by CharmHouseVintage over on etsy.

I just love this blanket. I think it's even shown up on an earlier 5 things. I love stripes and sort of deep forest colors. I go look at this on etsy every once in a while, but I'm a bit loathe to spend $65 on something I'm just going to cover myself with while I'm sitting on the couch.

Oh well.

Nothing wrong with day-dreaming, right?

4. The Tea I'd Be Drinking:

Vanilla Chai by Amanzitea

Cold days call for chai, in my opinion, and maybe a little caffeine to combat how warm clothes and blankets and dim light can make you sleepy. Amanzitea is near to us, so it's the tea place we've been visiting most often, so I'm thinking this awesome chai is basically what I'm looking for. A little honey and a little warmed milk (or almond milk, which is what we have in our fridge right now) and basically I'm set for the afternoon.

We've talked about how much I love tea, right?

Right. Of course we have.

5. Who I'd Spend the Day With:

You knew who this would be.

Oh, what. Did you seriously think I wouldn't take this opportunity to be sappy and annoyingly cutesy? That's what bloggers do, right?

But hey, there isn't any ideal day where Who I'd Spend the Day With isn't half the reason it would be ideal.

And other sappy shnoogy-woogums type of stuff can be imagined here; I won't make you all hate me by continuing any further with it.

In other news, a friend of mine just had a baby, who I've already had the good fortune to meet when she was only a day old. It is always a surprise how very very tiny newborn babies are. They seem like the smallest and warmest of little bird-bone fragile things, and I find myself holding them like they will somehow spontaneously combust. Nonetheless, she opened her little eyes and looked at me. Well, she opened her little eye. She is not yet fond of opening both at the same time.

Babies, you guys.

Babies.

Baby Got a Brand New Bag

2013-05-03T20:40:00.001-04:00

I has a new bag!

I ordered it from Monday Morning Studios over on etsy. It takes her about two weeks to make the bag to order, and then she sends it out. I received it last weekend and have been carting it around essentially nonstop since.

The fabric is really thick and strong, the inside is lime green which is one of my favorite colors (the other is that turquoise blue on my shirt up there), the print is super cute, the colors basically go with every single thing I own. The leather strap is cut to order and adjustable, so I can wear it as a tote bag or the way I am up there, as a messenger bag.

Basically, this person? This person is my purse person now. Forever.

It comes with a pretty, helpful tag and a note thanking you for your order.

Also the colors?

The colors are perfect.

Even the dog likes it.

I will pretty much be wearing this all summer, I can already tell.

And, y'know, into fall.

Maybe in winter, too.

Sorry things have mostly been radio silence this week; I haven't been feeling great, so I haven't been up to much, which means my life doesn't exactly make for interesting stories.

Unless you really enjoy stories about me drinking tea, because I am doing that like a boss.

What Happens When I Try to Take Pictures of Flowers

2013-04-29T13:13:00.000-04:00

This seemed like something everyone here might enjoy.

Rainy Day(s), Wish I Had...

2013-04-28T20:49:00.000-04:00

It is raining. It rained yesterday. It started raining the day before that. It's going to continue to rain until probably Tuesday. This makes for a moody time... or it would, except that I spent most of my day busy giggling over brunch with friends at Southern Culture.

Which makes for an awesome happy day that even sad gray clouds cannot penetrate. Take that, sad gray clouds.

I met up with several of my female friends; most of them had the bottomless mimosas, we nearly ALL had coffee, and I had a crack at their Bloody Mary bar, which was wonderful. Except I really would have liked some pickled shrimp or something. On the other hand, I got to put a stick of freaking bacon in my drink, which goes a long way towards making up for the lack of shrimp.

One black bean burger and stack of fried green tomatoes and a whole lot of coffee (and mimosas, for the others) later, we did some splitting apart and a few of us went to my friend Sarah's house. And then there were cookies. Because Sarah makes us lattes and cookies and then we will follow her everywhere forever. Like caffeinated drunk puppies.

So this rainy day has nothin' on me. Can't crack my shine. So there.

On the other hand, rainy days do make me think about useful clothing items I inexplicably don't have, like, y'know... rain boots... or... a rain coat... or an umbrella...

Boots, Chooka off of Zappos

Coat, Volcom also off of Zappos

Umbrella, Target

Even my ideal outfits full of things I want but don't have are... colorful.

I tend to look like a box of Crayons threw up on me, and I like it that way.

Whatever, I do what I want.

Can't crack my shine.

Certainty

2013-04-26T17:36:00.000-04:00

When I was 11, or maybe 12, my mother and I went to a bookstore.

It's not exactly a notable beginning for anyone who knows us in real life; my mother and I always go to bookstores. Always.

Barnes & Noble is the place we inevitably find ourselves at the end of the day that we go into town when I am visiting Illinois or they are visiting here, and for most of my childhood a visit to the bookstore was a sign that my mother and I had gone out to get the groceries alone. It was our final stop; the groceries in the car gave us a time limit on how long we could stay, something we desperately needed, as otherwise we could easily lose an hour in there.

In this particular story, however, we went shopping in Champaign; I don't remember why. This was before the days of my obsession with Hot Topic (at the time of my teenagehood, the closest one was in the Champaign mall, roughly 1 hour and 10 minutes from our doorstep - not that I counted) and we didn't go to Champaign all that often.

This day, for whatever reason, we did.

There wasn't a Barnes & Noble there that I remember, but there was a Waldenbooks inside the mall. Generally, there was a rule to these things; we went to a bookstore, I always got a book. Maybe not always always, but Mom and I are Book People. She is where I learned that you never have enough books until you don't actually know how many are on your shelves.

From the moment I learned to read, I would usually prefer books to anything else we might buy anyway. Except for toy horses. But that's another story and shall be told another time.

(Name that reference, get imaginary internet prizes!)

In any case, we hit up Waldenbooks before we left the mall. Waldenbooks were small places, crammed floor-to-ceiling, which I kind of liked; I've always liked the way books smell, and picking through a haphazard pile only to find the perfect book I didn't know I was looking for is one of the great Zen moments of my life. There is a victory to be had in rumpled messy bookstores. Although that's not really how I would have put it at the time.

Keep in mind that in this story, I am 11 or 12 years old.

Mom said for me to pick out one book for myself. I lost myself in looking around; by this point I mostly bypassed kids' or what passed for young adults' books entirely. Young Adult sections at bookstores are huge now, but at the time you might find a shelf or two, with a few Francesca Lia Block books, maybe some Lois Lowry or Cynthia Voight. Beyond that, I either had to make do with kids' books, which didn't interest me any more, or try and convince my mother that whatever book I picked up didn't have anything in it I probably wasn't old enough to read.

In one of the nonfiction sections, I came across a book that I was interested in. I spent some time flipping through it, then took it up to my mother as she looked at magazines waiting for me, and told her this was the one I wanted.

She looked at it; a trade paperback with a white cover, with How to Write & Publish Your First Novel scrawled across the front. To her credit, all she responded with was, "Are you sure?"

I told her I was, and that was that; we purchased the book (along with a couple of other books for Mom and a magazine maybe) and left. I didn't wait until we made it home. I pulled the book out of its bag right away and started flipping through it as soon as the van was headed back.

"So you want to be a writer?" Mom, navigating a couple of intersections to get us back on the Interstate, headed towards home.

I nodded, skimming a section on genres. Sci-fi/fantasy looked right, I thought; it matched the stories my best friend Rikki and I had often told each other, it matched the kind of stories I made up on my own, and the books I liked best.

"What do you want to write?" Mom asked, and we started to talk while we drove home.

She never said 'no' to the book, or that it wasn't a responsible purchase. My mother's reply was not to tell me that she didn't think an 11 or 12 year old needed this adult reference book, or to start telling me about all the hardships and reasons I shouldn't want to write books. She didn't try to talk me out of it, never made me feel for a second as if it might have been the wrong choice to buy it.

Instead, she asked me about being a writer, and we talked about it for most of the ride home.

It's my mother's birthday today, and I've spent about a month going back and forth on a story that might explain what my mothe is to me.

What I've come up with is more than a little bit inadequate, but it is this; when I told her I wanted to be a writer, her response never even hinted that she didn't believe I could. In the same fashion, when I told her I wanted to go to art school, she never said that wasn't an option. Although she may have hinted at more practical Bachelor's Degree pursuits now and then. When I got on a plane by myself for the first time at 19 years old to go spend two weeks with a family in upstate South Carolina and she had only met their son that I was dating, she saw me off to the airport, hugged me goodbye, and I didn't realize she worried about me until long after I got back in Illinois safe and sound.

Besides, it was a book. Your children can never read too much, or have too many books. Which is another thing she taught me, one among the thousands of lessons I've learned from her.

Happy birthday, Mom.

P.S. does it count as being a writer if I just write stuff for free on the internet?

Because It's Just That Sort of Day

2013-04-25T08:59:00.001-04:00

Have a fish with a cactus growing out of its head.

Sometimes, They Have an Adventure

2013-04-24T18:54:00.002-04:00

Dog ownership is like a fairy-tale. Only instead of giants and ogres or princesses you have an eternal toddler who WILL NOT STOP CHEWING ON THE SQUEAKY THING which, granted, you yourself bought him. Also there aren't any swords. So really it's not like a fairy-tale at all.

Except that our neighbor dog today managed an incredible feat of daring and escape - right into our backyard.

I've mentioned before, although maybe not here, that Indy made a couple of trips into the neighbor's yard (and one, memorable, heart-attack inducing trip into our back neighbor's unfenced off-highway yard where I found him, I kid you not, smelling dandelions) until we figured out the spots where the previous homeowner's dog made holes Indy was small enough to wiggle under. At this point, he's mostly big enough that he can't get through the smaller holes and we've blocked up the big ones.

Our neighbors have three dogs; a roly-poly bark-machine Dachsund who would seriously be my favorite neighbor-dog ever if he wasn't so bite-y, a little fuzzy sort of ankle-height dog whose breed I am uncertain of, and a big furry black Lab who wants to be my friend SO BADLY. There is also another dog that lives two doors down who is the size of my left hand who comes over to hang out, but again, it is the size of my left hand. So usually it doesn't stay long.

So I was working on dinner, kind of humming something to myself. The dog was out back, and the cat WAS but because she is a cat, she only ever wants to be wherever she currently isn't. Which ended up being a huge stroke of luck, because she had just come inside.

I realized the dog-bark tenor of the little Dachsund had changed; this is usually our signal that Indy has gotten over there. I put on my best mad-owner face and stepped out my back door...

... to be greeted by a surprisingly huge, happy-to-see-me ball of black fur chasing Indy all over my backyard. Which he, by the way, was totally cool with. So they are rough-housing and all over the place. I stood there, just... staring at them, trying to decide what to do, when I see the neighbor lady over at her fence.

We looked at each other with nearly identical expressions of confusion and exasperation. The Dachsund, I would get. There are holes he could get through. Little teacup puppies? Sure. But the biggest dog they have?

"I'm sorry," The neighbor lady says, with an oddly plaintive note to her voice. "I don't know how she got over there."

We pause for a moment longer, watching the black dog briefly pin Indy, at which point they resume racing frantic circles around the yard.

The neighbor hands me the Lab's leash over the fence, and I manage to clip it on her. Indy, however, has other plans and is currently involved in trying to re-start the wrestling game he loved so much. The Black Lab, who is not enjoying the wrestling game when her leash is on her and I'm trying to hold her down, twisted her head right out of her slightly-loose collar and away they went.

The neighbor lady comes around to my carport, where the gate to my yard is, and we stared at each other once again.

"I really don't know how she did it," She says, if possible sounding even more plaintive. I reassured her that we would hold no ill-will, considering we have found our dog in her yard something like four times in two months when we first got him.

I managed to tear them away from each other, shove Indy inside the house (with the yowling, unhappy cat, who wanted to go outside. She should be grateful I didn't just toss her out there and leave her to fend for herself with the Black Lab of Friendliness), and headed back to try again.

This time, I got the collar back on her. The Black Lab, scenting defeat, calmed down and happily trotted over to her owner as if nothing had ever happened. They headed back to their place.

I aimlessly wander the fence, unable to really even see where she might have got under. Indy has been back out since she took her dogs in, and is terribly disappointed.

It occurred to me, as I stood there contemplating the chain-link fence between our yards, that she might have jumped over.

Further, it occurred to me Indy might have seen her jump over and therefore realized he could do that himself.

With a sense of horror-movie level foreboding, I headed back into the house to make dinner.

So dog ownership is a little bit like a fairy-tale after all, I guess, in that sometimes dogs have adventures, and all we can do is try not to get new white hairs out of the experience.

Still, I'm holding out for some treasure next time.

In Which I Wound Myself

2013-04-23T18:00:00.000-04:00

This is what I did to myself today.

This morning, while cutting up an apple to put in my oatmeal (welcome to my exciting daily breakfast routine; oatmeal with an apple, some raisins, almond pieces, and cinnamon. Every day. And it's never any less delicious), the knife, which is somewhat dull, sort of skipped off the apple piece and... well.

I stabbed myself in the hand. Well, I didn't stab so much as I attempted to turn my own skin into a part of my breakfast, which my skin disagreed with, but apparently the knife was totally up for that.

Specifically, I managed to slice off part of the top of my middle finger, just above where my fingernail would be if I didn't bite my nails as part of my amazing and varied plethora of nervous habits.

Whenever I hurt myself, no matter how minor or major the wound is, I respond exactly the same way, with a huge, loud inhaled surprised gasp of air, a moment's pause, and then "OW OW OW OW OW" or "GUUUUUHHHHH" when the pain kicks in. I gasp when I stub my toe or hit my nose on something (like, memorably, Jason's forehead. More than once, even), I gasp when I trip and twist my ankle, I gasp when when I cut my hand and I'm bleeding all over the place. So every time it happens, Jason immediately goes into SERIOUS HUSBAND RESCUE TIME mode. Which is going to be super handy when something serious actually happens.

To be honest I wasn't sure what part of my finger I had even injured until I was on bandage #3, other than 'the part covered in blood'. When Jason asked if I needed stitches, I said no reflexively.

It bled so much that it went through the first bandage in roughly twenty minutes, before I even left the house. While I am not an overly squeamish person (it's hard to be squeamish when your favorite book genre is serious horror and you spend years cultivating a frankly worrisome knowledge of Romero zombie movies), I have a hard time looking at my own skin just sort of hanging around in the breeze. So I... didn't.

In retrospect, though, before I tell Jason I don't need stitches I should probably actually verify. Or, y'know, at least look directly at the wound.

Nope. That's not how we do things 'round these parts.

I bled through bandage number 2 within an hour of being at work. This was definitely progress in the 'how long it takes to go through my bandage' department, but I still had to dig around for another one. This time, I decided to be a grown-up and see how bad it was.

I inspected the problem, decided I probably didn't need the top of my finger anyway, and wrapped it up in bandage number 3.

Which didn't stick, because it was a small bandage and the part that is injured is the very top... ie, the Bane of all Band-Aids. So I wrapped Bandage 4 on top, and that didn't stick either, because it was in a terribly awkward position.

On top of that, I couldn't find any duct tape and I was beginning to worry about leaving a trail behind myself if I went looking. And not a trail of breadcrumbs, either.

So I taped the stupid thing down with Scotch tape.

Now I feel like my own hand is flipping me off all the time, but hey, at least I'm pretty sure it stopped bleeding. Granted, there are so many layers of bandage and tape at this point that I'm also pretty sure that if I am still bleeding, I won't notice unless the whole hand goes.

But what's important here is that I solved my Band-Aid conundrum.

Never let it be said that I am not a resourceful woman.

We Are

2013-04-19T18:00:00.000-04:00

For those who may be unsettled by the content, this is a poem regarding the Boston Marathon, so read at your own risk. When I wrote the first half Monday night and the second Tuesday morning I didn't realize we would know the identity of the pustules that set these bombs so quickly.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Show me a death toll,
I will show you the living
running right back in

regardless of fear.
They dodge shrapnel, they fight smoke.
The living do not

wait, don't hesitate.
Panic, after all, just noise.
They'll think about it

then, not now; now is
cradling children, carrying
wounded out. Boston

is bigger than you.

Now is microphones
shoved in unwilling faces
and willing ones, too;

analysis, no
end to who what where when how
no end to asking

why. For now we ask
in an endless rhythm, Why?
Like your answer could

ever satisfy us.
Now we watch the living, mourn
our loss. Boston is

better than you.

Wave your casualties
as the only hint of a
cause you might kill for.

Hide; your kind always
do. Hide from us, though it won't
last. It never lasts.

It is a wound, true,
but we've been wounded before.
You are not special.

You are tiny men;
you always are, with tiny
dreams. But we are

better than you.

Cry out your death toll
I will name you a failure.
You will always fail.

We are not your kind.
The living turn back, running
to rescue those hurt.

We cradle children,
carry the wounded as far
as our legs will hold.

That first moment of
smoke gave us away, told you
who we are. We are

bigger than you.

From a safe distance
murderers watch a bomb, and
call it victory.

We rush in, this time
no different than the last
or the time before.

Fear is for later,
for then; this is now, and now
they race back in, once

again. The living
defy your death toll, deny
you your moment. The

living turn to face
your bombs head on; uncertain
but needing to help.

You can hide; we'll find
you sooner or later, we
always do. Meanwhile

we help each other.
We grieve for the lost. Still, we
know the truth; that we

will always be

bigger than you.

Bonding, Sort Of

2013-04-18T10:04:00.001-04:00

This is as close as they'll ever get, although the dog steadfastly maintains otherwise and insists on following the cat around the house. He seems to think her yowls and hisses are just her way of saying I love you.

He's an optimist, that puppy. Although I think all puppies are optimists by definition.

In the background is my Young Adult library (L'Engle, Lois Lowry, Neil Gaiman, Ellen Wittlinger, Phillip Pullman, etc and so forth), Carl Sandburg poetry books, Penny Arcade's collected comics, the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Kate's Beaton's Hark! A Vagrant collection, a book on aromatherapy someone gave me (Shelly? I think?), The World Made Straight by local author Ron Rash, and the Chronicles of Narnia.

And that's only the top shelf.

Someday I will tell you how many books we own... just as soon as I know the answer to that question.

ALSO:

Go over to the Noisy Plume and read her poem today, written after Boston but I think with the recent factory explosion in West, Texas it's just incredibly applicable to this whole week.

"this will only go so far, and then it too shall pass."

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: Luck

2013-04-17T07:42:00.000-04:00

This is an old photo of mine, but I don't have a good one for today and I feel like this little guy doesn't get out enough.

I caught this moth trying to cool off on a branch during an incredibly hot Southern Illinois summer the year we moved.

I feel his pain.

Weekend Snippets

2013-04-14T19:09:00.001-04:00

--------------------

There is a certain place where Haywood and Pelham meet at a stoplight. You drive slightly upwards to this light, crest a hill through it, and then begin a long downward slope as you head towards the next intersection with East North Street. The first part of this slope opens up not just roads and buildings but a perfect view of mountains, clear as bells some days and nearly ringing with green, other days invisible behind filmy clouds you are only barely aware of. You only get this view for a few seconds as you head downhill, and people are flying past you looking at their cell phones or the person in the passenger seat or digging for a water bottle behind themselves.

I am looking just slightly up, until the trees and the buildings once again shield them from view.

Every time I start that downward slope I look first for the mountains.

Every time.

--------------------

I arrive at my friend Sarah's mother's house at 9 AM, as requested, to help set up for Sarah's baby shower. In one hand I've my own latte from a quick trip to Starbucks on the way, in the other a chai latte Linda told me to grab for her a few days ago when we chatted quickly on Facebook to make the plans.

I walk in the door and am greeted by Linda's harried shout of welcome, a list complete with little ticky-boxes for her to check off as things get finished, a woman I've never met before peeling oranges (her name is Amber and she is lovely, by the way), and Sarah's father doing his best not to be in Linda's direct line of sight.

I am given a moment to eat my breakfast sandwich.

Then I am handed a knife, a cutting board, a pile of tomatoes, some olives, a baggie of cheese squares, two cucumbers, and a box of special toothpicks with flowers on the end.

I start chopping cucumbers.

--------------------

I am sitting in a chair next to Sarah while she opens presents, frantically writing down names and items and occasionally guessing, in a series of panic-riddled scribble-scratches, at how to spell things. I spell Kristi and Kari wrong, I am almost certain.

Some of the items that come out of the boxes are hard for me to describe, until someone leans over and tells me what they are. Most of the time, knowing what the strange contraptions do does not actually endear me towards the idea of having children.

The tiny T-shirts and tiny shoes and tiny tiny things, however, make up for it.

We are told to "make a baby"; this is not as inappropriate as it sounds. Everyone gets a ball of homemade play-doh and a plate. You make the best little play-doh baby you can. My friends Jessi and James make a small dinosaur surrounded by piles of awful. They even spelled the word 'poop' out with play-doh.

My friend Tyler just makes a giant head and a spray of silly-string coming out from its mouth.

--------------------

No one lets Sarah carry anything, and I mean anything, the whole day. When I see her holding a bag that maybe weighs five pounds, I offer to carry it for her.

Sarah threatens to hit me with it.

I take the bag anyway.

Then I realize I have no idea where to take the bag, and Sarah has to show me, but I am still carrying the bag therefore I win.

--------------------

I sit next to Jason on the couch, exhausted, reading a magazine Saturday night while he plays video games. The dog sleeps between us, wrapped up in his blanket, completely worn out from his exciting day of playing in Linda's backyard with her two dogs.

Occasionally, I tell Jason how much the items in Marie Claire cost.

He expresses sort of a resigned lack of surprise, as I've been doing this for the better part of a year. I explain to him in entirely too much detail exactly why I don't want those items.

He blinks at me.

--------------------

I go to pick up Sarah for our plans for the day. We move to unload her car; all the baby shower stuff was still inside. She picks up a bag.

I offer to carry it for her, because she shouldn't be carrying things.

She offers to hit me with it.

This time, I do not win. I carry a different bag.

--------------------

Sarah, Amber, and I meet Lauren at ShalomFest, as a local Reform Jewish temple. The pastry tent is outside, before you even get to where you can buy tickets. It occurs to me that this seems a cruel method of taunting us with tiny baked delicious things we cannot yet have.

Inside, I have a pastrami sandwich on rye, stuffed full of sauerkraut, completely un-sweet, perfectly sharp. Matzoh ball soup on the side is absolute paradise. Music plays on speakers, just loud enough to have to pitch my voice higher to be heard. Booths ring the edges of the food court, and shiny things continually catch my eye.

I nearly trip over my own feet four times while looking at stuff from the gift shop booths.

Hopefully, nobody notices.

--------------------

Liz (who should update her blog, ahem no pressure) comes, and we listen to a short lecture about the Angel of Death, the Golem, and Lilith; monsters of a sort (although not really) in Jewish tradition. The speaker is engaging, fun to listen to, educational. When he asks who has read Frankenstein, I am surprised to see so few hands in the air when I raise my own.

Then I remember how tough getting through the first half of that book is, and all makes sense again.

During the Q&A, a random man in the audience starts asking questions about Jesus. I find myself deeply disappointed there are so few questions about the Golem or the Angel of Death or, really, even much of Lilith. I am part of the problem; I do not ask my questions. I make a note to write an e-mail and see if I can't ask the speaker about recommended books on his actual topic.

--------------------

The Rabbi's wife explains the Torah to us in a room specially set up as an exhibit. I take too many pictures of the Torah. It is huge and the cover for it is absolutely beautiful.

She is explaining something, stops to take a drink of water. Loses her train of thought. Waves her hand in the air and says, "eh, nevermind, who cares on that."

I like this woman already.

I flip through some pages of a Women's Commentary edition. I take too many pictures of the Hebrew inside.

I resolve to visit my local library.

--------------------

I want to buy a hamsa. I walk out with two. I also walk out with a pastry box full of sweets, a new book, and a pile of things I want to do research on. I wish I had seen more of the lectures.

We firmly decide we will visit as many lectures as we are physically capable of attending next year.

We briefly convene at Starbucks and then Liz and her boyfriend split off on their own continuing adventure while the rest of us head back to Sarah's house.

We watch the new My Little Pony show. There is much inappropriate laughter.

--------------------

I realize I am going to fall asleep if I stay much longer. I pick up Everyday Organic on the way back to eat for supper, chattering to Jason on the phone about everything I've seen today.

I drive along a road where Paris Mountain rises up so close it's only a couple turns of the road to get there, humming to myself even though there isn't a song playing on the radio. I take the long way home, so I can enjoy the view.

My eyes are always slightly up, where the mountains ring the city.

They are slightly hazy with cloud cover, as rain starts to fall in fits and spurts.

My eyes see the road, but I'm still watching the mountains. I always look a little bit upwards.

Every time.

Have Some Art

2013-04-12T07:00:00.000-04:00

Sorry. It's been a busy week. I have no Five Things, I have no interesting tales to tell. Instead, have some artowrk by Ellis Nadler. His sketchbook blog is one of my favorite places to stop by daily to see if there's anythng new.

I like Barking Mad and Barking Mad II the best, though. I think I just like dogs and woodcut prints.

They're from his Four Letter Words series. Go check them out!

I'll be back... at some point.

This weekend is going to be insanely busy.

Buh.

Wordless Wednesday: Ice Cream Home

2013-04-10T17:47:00.003-04:00

Even My Dog is a Southern Gentleman

2013-04-08T19:50:00.002-04:00

He asks ever so nicely to go outside.

Did a nice long 7-mile walk with the dog all over the Swamp Rabbit Trail earlier today. I was trying to beat previous not-paying-attention-times (which I absolutely did) and we were both pretty worn out by the time we finished. Usually it doesn't wear him out, but we've done three walks in three days. We're already over fifteen miles so far this week. He's spent most of the afternoon either playing with his new toys or conked out on the couch.

Or trying valiantly to do both.

I made this spinach, chicken, mushroom and wild rice casserole tonight. It was good! But I switched up a few things and I have a sneaking suspicion my switch-outs made for a meal meant for six turning into a meal meant for twelve. Oh, well. That just means we get delicious food for days.

Seriously, I won't even need to adjust when I start having kids to cook for. I'm already cooking for a family of five when there's only two of us.

Tomboy Style, of a Sort; Hardly a Sweater at All

2013-04-07T14:41:00.000-04:00

It was seriously too nice to stay home yesterday when I got out of work, or today when we woke up. Which means I have walked something like 9.5 miles in less than 24 hours, which is cool. Exhausting, but cool.

Last night, we did our usual walk by Furman University with the puppy, up to where you just hit Travelers' Rest, and then turned back around and came back just as the sun was setting.

Never let it be said that I only take flattering photos of myself for this blog. Sometimes, I wait until we are at the very tail end of a slightly sweaty 7 mile walk before I even pull out the camera.

This morning, we drove down to the Swamp Rabbit Cafe & Grocery, since it's on a part of the trail we hadn't walked Indy on yet. We had originally planned to have breakfast and then walk, but discovered we had showed up almost an hour before they opened. So... walk first.

Very, very hungry walk first.

Once we wandered back, it was sandwiches and chips and iced coffee and delight. And then a cookie.

Jason had turkey & provolone, I had the veggie & hummus up there. We split our bags of chips that came with so we had half-regular chips, half-spicy habanero chips. Which were exactly as amazingly delicious as that sounds.

It started out a little chilly when we left, but it warmed up fast, which made me glad I was wearing a sweater that frankly is only a sweater is name.

It is also one of my favorite sweaters, because it is teal and ridiculously soft.

Seriously. I started out the walk wearing this and an orange hoodie over it, and ended the walk 45 minutes later wishing I'd maybe worn a T-shirt instead, since we were directly underneath the sun the whole time.

After breakfast... or brunch... or lunch... or whatever you want to call it, we went over to Home Depot and grabbed a new mower, since our lawn mower decided to unceremoniously die on us just as the weather started to get beautiful enough for the wild onions that grow alongside the grass in our yard to start sprouting up like crazy. We had some time to look over the herbs and plants and decide what exactly we're going to do with the little brick-bordered pseudo-garden along our front walkway.

Because it's our house and we can plant what we want to.

Boo-yah.

Since we've come back, Jason worked on unclogging a drain in our master bathroom that he described as "something women and children may want to avert their eyes from" once he got a good look at it. Then he took it outside and I have no idea what happened after that.

Frankly, I don't want to know.

Now we're working on a late lunch, we'll probably grab groceries, I'm working on laundry and this is going to be the most accomplished Sunday ever.

Go Team Faulk.

Sweater from aerie, tank top from... I don't know, maybe Walmart? It's ancient. Necklace from our local Fiore Boutique, jeans from Old Navy, purse is JCPenney, shoes are ridiculously old Skechers.

One Question

2013-04-05T18:15:00.002-04:00

A single thought I have for you today:

When I die, hopefully when I am one hundred and fifty years old and all my great-grandchildren think I am some kind of wrinkled immortal vampire, God will raise me up to heaven and He will tell me, "Katie, my child, you may ask me any question. Only one, but no matter what the question is, I will answer you."

I will answer, "Just one?"

He will reply, "Yes, my daughter. One question. You may ask any question in the universe. I will answer."

I will ponder this for a while. There are so many questions, after all, so many that are important, so many I will never find out on my own.

Then I will look Him in the eye, assuming of course God has eyes I can look into, and I will ask, "God, how is it that so much pet hair can get on kitchen counters the pets themselves have never so much as touched?"

And He will know the answer.

And I will be at peace.

Wordless Wednesday: I Has a Stick

2013-04-03T07:35:00.000-04:00

Alternatively titled, "Now why do I buy him toys again?"