Mid-December

The snow piles outside have all grown gray and gross. My front porch steps have iced over. So Naomi & her grandparents kicked this cold climate to the curb and flew off to Florida.

With finals complete I packed her up for Florida last night and they flew out this morning. As I pulled out of the airport I realized I still have a tree to trim, presents to wrap, a holiday letter to (hopefully) pen. The holidays have a lot of accouterments. Some I appreciate. Some not so much. The bright spot on the horizon, though, is to consider my weekend calendar which filled with friends I don’t have the occasion to see often.

It’s a nice time of year to live in my hometown. I enjoy the spillover effect of seeing friends and families as they are in town over the holidays. I like having a wide sense of people we’ve grown into, the lives we lead.

The occasional coffee or late night conversation with some of my familiars makes it less difficult to embrace the trimmings and cold weather that come with the season. My hope is that your calendar is similarly filled with those you love.

Like A Star

The Majority

The other night we had a difficult conversation at our dinner table. Not what one would consider a fight. No raised voices or anything. Just a genuine topic of disagreement between the three of us.

I try to be mindful that Naomi is still a newcomer to these disagreements. Especially with those we love. The next day I thought I'd check in with her about it. See how the events had sorted out in her mind.

Me: So last night we had a difficult talk at the dinner table didn't we?

N: Yep. (pause) There for a minute I thought I was going to have to eat in the kitchen.

Me: Eat in the kitchen?

N: Yep.
Me: Naomi, nobody was in trouble last night. We just disagreed. Being sent from the table only happens when we're not respectful of each other. There's a big difference between disagreeing with someone and being ugly or disrespectful to them.

N: I know. I didn't think I was in trouble.

Me: Whew, ok, that's a relief.

N: I thought I'd eat in the kitchen because I was in the depths of despair.

Me: Really?

N: Yep.

Me: The depths of despair?

N: Yep.
Me: Woah.
N: But then I remembered the cats were probably on my side. So I felt a little better.

Double Knots

I have a test this week as part of my degree program. The exam schedule has preoccupied my brain. I've spent several late nights studying, nursed large cups of coffee all day long. Eraser dregs litter the surface of every shirt I've worn in the last three days.

Yesterday morning, though, N and I were sitting on the steps. One of those mornings where I was slow to move but getting there. N checked her lunchbox, I was putting VISINE drops into my bloodshot eyes. I sniffed and blinked back the VISINE as N put her hand on my knee. She had double-knotted my shoelaces so I wouldn't trip and fall.

And, I'll be darned if, those double-knots didn't stay in all day. I didn't trip once.

At The End of All Our Wanderings

"At the end of all our wanderings, we return to the place of our very beginning, and see it, as if for the first time." T.S. Eliot

Each year I put together an Annual Summary document for work. It's a justification of my job, and proof I earn my keep. My supervisor then uses this Annual Summary as part of a performance evaluation. The write up is a lengthy undertaking, but one I don't mind. It helps me focus less on what I haven't accomplished and take a moment to appreciate what I have.

The write up landing on my supervisor's desk this morning was seventeen pages long. All in all, it has been a big year. Not just at work. Without deciding to I took up the habit of pushing against the edges of the comfortable skin I've occupied.

Did I tell you I took a personal finance course this spring? My checkbook is in no better shape but it seriously broadened my grasp investments and banking vocabulary. I kicked my running pace up a notch, and took a six-week progressive yoga class. I started this wacky on-line engineering program. Made a habit of reading more, listening to my kid more often than advising her, and casting around for new recipe ideas.

I'd call it a transformational year. One in which, my husband could attest, I've been moody and cranky most of the time. The learning curve comes more slowly than I'd like. Any sensation of progress or forward motion is fleeting. And, let's face it, I'm a bit of a drama queen to begin with...so you can imagine.

It isn't that I've morphed into someone else, cured my long laundry list of flaws, or mastered a new field of study. It's that I decided to be unafraid and un-embarrassed by my shortcomings. I dug into a fresh landscape of study. Found new slants on my familiars. Piped up when I struggled, had questions or didn't understand something.

It's the undercurrent of these events I like so much. Not the struggle or the slow progress, but, the sense that my life and mind are not so rigid that I couldn't still become someone. It's an optimistic lens on the familiar landscape of my life. I welcome this new sense that I am still growing into the person I had once hoped or intended to be.

Just Another Friday Night...

Naomi allows me to refer to our Friday Night line up as slumber-party-palooza. Though she did clip my ambition to title this picture: Slumber-Partying Like We're Rockstars.

We got to hang out with the Tucker-Donaldson crew and had a great time. We went swimming, ate pizza, played UNO, watched movies and read books. I've heard rumors of some secret handshake coined during the evening, though, I can neither confirm or deny those reports. It's too secret to even talk about.

Bringing My Work Home With Me

Naomi accompanied me to my calculus tutor’s house on Sunday. Generally my daughter opts to stay with my mom while I’m studying with Lucinda. Last Sunday, however, my mom was otherwise occupied and my appointment with Lucinda was right after Naomi’s Chinese language lesson.

So Naomi had her Chinese workbooks, I had my graphing calculator, we both sported backpacks and rang Luncinda’s doorbell. Once situated with a juice-box Naomi sat down on the sofa. Lucinda has a daughter, Sonja, close to Naomi’s age with similar interests. While Sonja was not home, Naomi welcomed Lucinda’s invitation to play with any available toys or books.

After about thirty minutes of number crunching with my textbook Lucinda and I walk into the living room to check on Naomi. My girl was pleased to showcase her latest Keva plank creation.

Naomi so admired a tower Sonja built out of planks she had spent her time building a railroad system for “coal trains” to serve the structure's occupants. The nearby green and black marbles served as the coal pieces loaded into rail-cars which ran straight into the basement of Sonja’s tower.

“That’s so the coal can make electricity or else, you know, Sonja can just burn it in an oven to keep warm,” Naomi said.

Live Honestly, Eat Slowly...

My Grandmother Gracele McPherson turns ninety years old today. I woke up this morning and considered this picture of Gracele at sixteen. I wondered how unfamiliar the world would seem to that sixteen year old girl now. A world with indoor plumbing, penicillin, rural electrification, ATM machines, microwave ovens, integrated schools, television, Lazy Boy recliners, and air conditioning.

In the wake of World War I Gracele grew up not only in a post-war era, but a post-war-to-end-all-wars era. She was born the same year Congress passed the Eighteenth Amendment prohibiting the sale of "intoxicating liquors" and the Nineteenth Amendment which, at long last, granted women the right to vote.

I found a quote by Lucille Ball today, and figured my grandmother lived by her advice when told "[t]he secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age." Please join me in wishing my Grandmother a Happy Birthday.

Mass Transit

I was a StarTran kid. The Havelock bus route was my summertime staple. It ran right past my house, made a tight loop around a two block radius before heading back downtown. The first squeal of the disc brakes was my ten minute warning signal. It gave me time to grab bus fare, scribble mom a note about where I was headed and when I'd be back, and bolt toward the bus stop.

As a parent I never wondered whether Naomi would learn to ride the bus. It was a given. We started fostering the habit late this summer. Saturday morning she dreams up a local destination like the library, the swimming pool, or Grandma Mel's house. We check the StarTran maps and head out the door.

Don't get me wrong, StarTran isn't the end all be all of mass transit systems. The schedules and routes are often inconvenient. But it's a manageable and relatively kid-friendly. It gives her a good primer on how to get around though Naomi has yet to take a trip solo. Probably sometime after she turns eight, we've agreed.

In the mean time, I rather enjoy teaching her how it works. We read books and make up word puzzles as we wait at the curb. Sometimes we'll daydream outloud. Naomi quickly tired of my Havelock bus stories. She's more curious about the buses serving Edinburgh. She likes the thought of the red double-decker bus. The luxury liner I took from Mexico City to Oaxaca de Juarez also sounds interesting since it screened a Jim Carey movie enroute. She thinks the campus shuttles sound less exotic but more functional.

Mobility is pretty potent and powerful stuff when you get right down to it. And to a seven-year-old getting her feet wet with this StarTran system well, it just opens up a whole world of possibilities now doesn't it?

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Currently Reading : Bright-Sided: How The Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Undermined America by Barbara Ehrenreich
Reading with Naomi: Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis
Personal Soundtrack: Hat Full of Stars by Cyndi Lauper
Dinner Line Up: Thai curry, spinach/cream cheese rangoon & steamed rice.

Biking Home

Me: So, N rode her bike home from school again today.
McK: Yeh, how'd that go?
Me: Pretty well. She was scared at the start. It's been a while since she was on the bike and she was convinced this couldn't possibly go well.
McK: Did you tell her not to worry...
Me: Yeh.
McK: ...that it's just like riding a bike?

Colorado Trip Random Observations

1. I am a glutton for free wi-fi.

2. It never fails: walking by the bottle of Avian water in the hotel room I feel suddenly parched. Then convince myself not to drink it by muttering some choice words over the insane, INSANE price tag.

3. Occasionally I will speak up in a large group of my utility-enviro peers and I won't sound as dumb as I feel. Sometimes I'll even speak in complete sentences. Yay, me!

4.Whenever asked to orient myself amidst the Denver Metro area, dance clubs serve as my primary landmarks.

6. Awkward and clumsy as I am I can't stand to impose upon my cab driver to schlep around my luggage.

7. My friend, Ashlee, has a 13 month old girl who bites, kicks, and tackles kids twice her size. As a (formerly) small kid myself it was all I could do not to high-five her with congratulations.

8. Anytime I gaze upon a bed that's made, or a hotel room that's suddenly tidied I consider my lucky and glamorous life.

9. The sight of the Colorado sky-line still takes my breath away.

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Brush with Greatness: As many of you know I have a clutch of Colorado girlfriends. Whenever I travel to Denver they are gracious enough to make the time to see me. On this latest trip my friend Lisa mentioned her brother (A.J.) won the 2008 Popular Science Best of What's New Award. He invented a "smart-fabric" for self-heating gloves. No joke! How cool is that? Though, personally, I'm holding out for the self-heating socks.

The Gross Part

Driving in the car and listening to this song by Tristan Prettyman.

Naomi: What does she mean when she sings that?
Me: Sings what?
Naomi: Madly, madly, madly...
Me: Oh, she's singing about being both madly in love with someone and mad at them too.
Naomi: Like when you're mad at Dad but you still love him?
Me: Yep. And also loving someone so much it makes you silly and crazy.
Naomi: Because, you're mad at Dad sometimes.
Me: I am mad at Dad sometimes.
Naomi: I know.
Me: I also love him so much it makes me silly.
Naomi: Uh-huh (pause) that part's just a little gross though.
_________________

An Unlikely Coupling

My car radio dial landed on KZUM this noon and found the weekly polka show in full swing. Living so close to the Czech capital of Nebraska, I'm quick to identify a good polka riff when I hear it. If pressed I could even dance the polka. Don't press me on this, because I won't actually do it I'm just saying I could.

I was about to switch the dial, this noon, to another station when I recognized the polka tune. Deep In the Heart of Texas. Want to, or not, you know some version of this song "...the stars and night...are big and bright...deep in the heart of Texas..."

The juxtaposition made me laugh out loud. When I think of polka music it's a thought unrelated to Texas. When considering Texas my mind doesn't wander off to polka. Playing musical matchmaker, I considered the musical genre and tune a sort of an odd coupling. Kind of like a blind date. One that doesn't work out that well.

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Currently Watching: This American Life (Season 2)
Shameless Plug: A Novel Idea Bookstore has agreed to donate a percentage of the Oct. 2nd sales receipts to Naomi's Prescott School. This is my favorite used bookstore in town, run by some of my favorite people on the planet, so I need no excuse to browse their collection. Save the date: Oct. 2nd. Buy books. 'Nuff said.

My Inner Ethel

I've enrolled in a six-week series called Progressive Yoga through the downtown Y. A small class of six. The instructor spends most of her time coming around to help correct your position in the various poses. We got started this past Saturday.

In one session I learned how to better manage my elbows. Being double jointed, those elbows can twist or tug me off course. And I found out that my body favors its left-hand side. The left leg in particular.

I've been a closet yoga practitioner for years. I'm not particularly skilled but I stick to it and advance in small steps. I'm bendy enough and all. The struggle is finding that peaceful mind or bodily space that gives rise to yoga practice. I'm a loud, chatty sort of person. The sort of yoga-faker who lays still, breathes deeply during the relaxation session all the while making a mental list of ingredients for Bombay Potatoes, because I'm in an Indian Food mood. I'll consider whether or not to swing by the store for some ingredients. I like to put it this way: if yoga is the cool, melodious sound of Billie Holiday then I'm Ethel Merman at heart. Always have been.

This class was quite nice. A collection of people interested, for whatever reason, in advancing their practice. As far as classroom settings go, I liked it. Incense, moody music. I walked into a room completely washed in earth tones and had to chuckle at my Ethel sense of sporting a vibrant-lime-green. Next time I'll opt for OSHA safety orange, I think.

Math Tutor

Naomi: How come Granddave tucks me in tonight?
Me: Because it's a school night and you need to sleep in your own bed.
Naomi: Dad's at work?
Me: Dad's at work.
Naomi: Where are you going?
Me: I'm getting together with a person named Lucinda. She's helping me with my calculus homework.
Naomi: You get together and do hard math problems, then?
Me: Yep.
Naomi: So it's like a math date?
Me: Kind of.

Naomi stares at me, here, for a long time. Finally she sighs, and rolls her eyes with envy.

Naomi: Lucky.
__________
Recent Mistake: The color of hair dye I selected from Walgreens. It looked so flattering on the box, but, oy!
Daily Soundtrack: Crazy by Nelly Furtado
Quote of My Day: "You've just got to put it into perspective. Calculus never did anything useful like mow the lawn or anything."

Summertime Blues

My daughter, the second grader, started back to school this week. This picture is from that first day of school. She's waiting while I scrambled up the eggs for breakfast.

Note to Self

When suffering from insomnia, find a more enjoyable way to pass the time than washing the shelves of your refrigerator.

Rhapsody in Blue

I was in the middle of a perfectly mediocre book. Nice characters. Small story. Page-long moments describing the cakes this narrator liked to bake. The text cursorily touched on the issues of any inter-generational household, but the main attraction was the cakes. The book wasn't bad, it wasn't great. Just right for curling up with in bed each night as my brain circles the idea of sleep.

But I hit a moment about half-way through the text that has stuck with me. An eighty-something year old grandmother, life-long elementary school accompanist, sits down to the piano to settle a good-natured bet with her ex-husband. The ex-husband has placed some wager that the woman cannot play without sheet music. She dusts off the piano bench and plays an expressive, tumbling, sultry, jazzy rendition of Rhapsody in Blue that leaves the whole family gobsmacked.

The characters are no strangers to the sight of the woman's knobby hands at the piano. But her playing was always in the context of private piano lessons or accompanying the fourth grade chorus. Her posture impeccable, her sheet music neatly organized, and the music was always supportive and efficient. The depths of her talent and passion as a musician had eluded them. By the end of the chapter I felt a little drunk with a sense of glee.

It's one of those moments I deeply hope for. Late in my life to still be a bit of a mystery, hear someone utter the phrase "I never knew you had it in you..." at least once. To inspire a sense of surprise, no matter how small or fleeting, in myself or a room of my familiars. Hoping I won't grow brittle inside my own skin with age. Some part of my brain, or spirit, or living would still be malleable.

If I could walk away twenty bucks richer from the wager we had riding on it...well...all the better.

___________________________
Reading with Naomi: Flush by Carl Hiaasen
Currently Listening To: Feminism and The Future of Women by Estelle Freedman
Potential Overshare: I got a promotion at work and was overcome by a Sally Fields moment where I felt valued and well liked. Good stuff.

Acceptance Ltr

A college acceptance letter landed in my mailbox yesterday. Seeing the University of North Dakota letterhead, scanning the congratulatory text, my eyes dropped to the bottom of the page and I felt little woozy with the sudden rise of panic.

Some people hyperventilate with fear and, in all seriousness, I envy such composure. Because I’m a plop-down-on-the-floor-can’t -catch-my-breath nervous crier.

UND sent the one-page letter of congratulations and attached the civil engineering degree requirements. That was the kicker: the degree requirements. I scanned the list which included three semesters of calculus, fluid mechanics, a course in reinforced concrete. The class titles hit the back of my brain and crumpled me up with a feeling of dread. Given the drama of falling to the floor to cry, I can’t say this was a small moment exactly. I felt wildly ill-prepared, and was gonna’ need a minute here...you know...on the floor. Maybe two.

I sat there wondering what could possibly compel me to do this sort of thing? Suddenly lurch toward aspects of this world, fields of study, I know so little of. Embrace the likelihood of failure on my part, for what? Why, on earth, would University of North Dakota look at my application, my academic history, and then say "OK"? Who reads these applications anyway?

I tried to quell my woozy brain with phrases like earning potential, and career advancement. But the words just flopped down on the floor next to me. It takes a minute, or two, before I can remember . It has to do with seeing more of the world around me. The quiet sense of surprise that comes along for the academic ride. Being introduced to new ideas and thoughts I haven’t considered before. Reading a textbook or scribbling notes during a lecture and thinking: huh, is that right?

Eventually the screen door closed itself. I quit crying. Remembered to breathe then chuckled at the irony of falling to the floor to cry over being accepted to the degree program. Dusted my butt as I got up off the floor and went into the kitchen to get dinner ready.

It’s hard to mention that moment in my entry way and in the next breath say I’m excited. Brace your neck for whiplash, though, because I am. I’m excited. My academic adviser calls sometime next week, and classes start at the end of this month. I have a lot to learn.

Driveway Discussion

N: I really like the summertime.
Me: I'm glad.
N: How come you're glad?
M: I'm glad you're the sort of person who finds a lot of things to enjoy. Not everybody finds such joy in this world.
N: Maybe those people are waiting for us to live on Mars.
M: Maybe.

Her Girlz

We have the final gathering of Naomi's American Girl book club tonight at the Public Library. Yes, I'm that mom. The one who organizes the group photo and shows up to the last gathering with copies for everyone. But it's a sweet group, and my camera-happy habit can't come as that big of a surprise.

Burning Question

We've all fielded some version of the burning building question, right? Let's assume your house is on fire. What do you grab as you rush away from the flames? Naomi's book club was posed this question by their instructor last night. One by one the kids listed the thing they would grab and transport to safety.

The list was your usual suspects: the Hannah Montana movie, various Nintendo Wii games, a baby blanket, a beloved book, the Barbie deluxe dream house, Hot Wheels, etc.

We circle around the table finally arriving at Naomi's turn. Loud and clear my girl pipes up, "I would grab my mom and dad, because, the rest of it is just stuff."

Kinetic Energy

This morning I rolled out of bed and laced up my running shoes. It was a gorgeous, gorgeous morning for a lap around my neighborhood. Clear sky. The laundromat vented a hot smell of dyer sheets. Somebody's sprinkler-system kicked on -- the cold water nipped at my legs.

I'm an incurable morning-person. This has always been true. If there is a moment I'll feel peaceful, or well-assembled during any day it occurs before 9AM. I like being part of the hush of each morning as it falls, slowly, to the noise of moving things.

Years ago I studied poetry. Took a class where the instructor challenged us to understand the silence that preceded the text. The idea being that words rise out of some moment of acute pain, ecstasy, awe, anger, desire...without the acute sensation, the author has no reason to speak or write.

We used the same tools any poetry class would: scrutinizing the rhyme scheme, assonance, and imagery but for a completely different end-goal.

I was embarrassingly clumsy with the setting. Ask me (at nineteen) to kick into intellectual one-ups-man-ship and I was good to go. Similarly, I circular loop poetry to other poetry with the best of a freshman class. This professor, though, made a compelling case that the essential task of studying words is to understand the silence that precedes them. The notion blew my mind. It still does.

As I hit my stride this morning, I thought of that college classroom. My life now. How seldom I try to connect any past or present versions of myself. I smiled, thinking, the connection is murky water to explain without a significant re-write. Just then the sprinkler kicked on and I gasped at the sting of cold water.

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Personal Soundtrack: So Pure (Alanis Morisette)
Dinner Line-Up:Lemon-Garlic Risotto with Parmesean, Mushrooms, Pine Nuts, & Black Pepper

Introduction

Naomi attends a book club every Thursday evening. It's a group of second graders that sit around talking about books. Pretty cool.

Last night, we had introductions and each kid was asked to list five things about themselves. Here was Naomi's list:

1. My name is Naomi.
2. I don't have any brothers.
3. I don't have any sisters.
4. I don't even have any pets.
5. I have to clean my own room.

Invention-Suggestion Box

I must not have been looking when the summer weather toggled with its master on-off switch.

Spending the majority of my life in the Midwest, I'm no stranger to humidity. Since turning thirty I have also resolved to generally complain less about my life and circumstance. I'm hoping to mature into one of those suffer-in-silence types of people.

Trouble is, when you're good at silencing complaints nobody seems to recognize you're suffering. Overall the martyr role has only worked out marginally well for me thus far. I'll have to refine the long-suffering sigh to prompt respectful praise for my "silence." In the meantime I let out an involuntary groan as I read today's forecasted heat index of 114 degrees.

It's one of those summer days I fight the urge to crawl into my refrigerator's icebox and stay there until October. So, allow me to couch my gripes in the form of a money-making-invention-idea.

Might I suggest someone out there, somebody a whole lot handier than myself, invent an icebox big enough for a person to camp out in during days like this? The bare-box would be good and I'd be willing to pay for little extras like a computer, i-Pod, or pillowy cot so I could actually grab some restful sleep.

Just a thought.







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Currently Reading: Blessed Are the Cheesemakers by Sarah-Kate Lynch
Currently Watching: Original Star Trek Episodes
Recently Enjoyed: The Visitor (2007)
Anxiously Awaiting: Eureka (Season 3.5, I think)

Barbie Campaign

Years ago I remember Naomi’s voice from the backseat of my car. She wondered out loud whether we might purchase a Barbie doll? An innocent enough question. Naomi was, maybe, two or three years old. Somebody at daycare played Barbie a lot. Sooner or later I had assumed I’d face the Barbie question so I was ready. Nope, no Barbies at our house.

Why? Naomi asked.

Again, I was ready with a response: I don’t like Barbie. My mental road-map of this conversation, however, stopped there. I hadn’t anticipated the follow-up “Why?”

To put it bluntly, I choked on the question…then I lied. Like a Persian rug I lied. Made up the “Barbie isn’t very nice” argument on the fly. I told the most salacious series of mean-Barbie stories I could conjure. She doesn’t let other people drive her T-bird. She built the Barbie pool such that there is only room for one. Does Barbie have a job? How did she get that big, Barbie-dream-house if she doesn’t have a job? I hear she’s selfish. She screams and cries when opening birthday she dislikes.

I got on such a roll that Naomi chimed-in. She fabricated stories of Barbie pushing and shoving her friends, not sharing well with Ken or Skipper…I patted myself on the back. I thought of the future body-image issues we avoided by quashing my daughter’s desire to own a Barbie doll. And, after that moment in the car, I didn't think much about it.

Weeks later, though, the lead teacher at daycare pulled me into the hallway. She was concerned that Naomi had some unusual narratives regarding the other girl’s Barbie dolls. I blinked up my doe-eyes and mmm-hmmmed my way through these concerns. Thanked her for mentioning it. Then proceeded to high-five my kid on the way home. Promptly, though, I dialed back the Barbie smear campaign. Obviously, I had made my point.

Barbie still comes up in conversation around our house from time-to-time. Friends or playmates will still occasionally play with Barbie dolls. If asked Naomi joins in. Five years since muzzling my Barbie-slam-fest, however, my girl makes sure each Barbie character is gainfully employed and quite generous with sharing her things.

All-Access Bracelet

Four days into Summer Vacation. Naomi has hit the pool every single day. Sporting goggles, beach towels, and a ridiculously ambitious level of SPF protection we were among the mass of families attending the Cooper Y’s Outdoor Water World Grand Opening Pool Party.

Naomi marched right over to the teeny-bopper lifeguard, insisted on taking the swim test and was promptly awarded a red bracelet which serves as an all-access pass. It enables her to swim anywhere in the pool, and to utilize the water-slide at the deep end.

Poolside social dynamics, I was surprised to realize, are relatively intact from the days my brother and I would ride dirt-bikes over to Ballard Pool.

A gang of pretty girls sprawled on beach towels appearing unimpressed by everything. Underwater hand-stands were met by gasps and squeals of praise. A pair of teen-aged boys made terrific use of their snorkeling set. I think some narrative about submarines was at work there, but I’m not sure, they spent a lot of time sub-surface. Life-guards twirled their whistle strings. The war-paint white nose was missing. Maybe it’s too early in the year, maybe there are better sun screen products now.

Safety Check was met, universally, by kids groaning about the injustice of it all as they clamored out of the water. Naomi told me I could swim laps (I was “big enough”). She gangled over to spend Safety Check with some of her friends. Hadn't seen them since school let out last Thursday, you know. One of the girls noticed Naomi’s red bracelet.

"Oh, yeah, that." Naomi shrugged and held out her wrist, "You know, there's a lot that's happened this summer."

Speak Tiger

"Mommy, wouldn't it be cool if we lived in the jungle? And we were rich somehow so we could have all the stuff we get at home; like, you know, chocolate milk and stuff. I could make a bunk-bed out of sticks so my friends could visit and sleep over. We could climb trees and dry out the leaves for paper. We could go swimming in the water. Paint our faces with mud. Dad could bring his telescope. It would have to be a pretend jungle not a real one so we could speak tiger and monkey languages. Make friends with the birds and bugs. That way they could help us out, you know, and teach us about jungle stuff. Wouldn't that be cool? Shouldn't we do that sometime?"

-Naomi

Inclusive Nature

Naomi: You want to come play magic fairies?
Me: Hmmmm, I’m not sure.
Naomi: Are you a little nervous?
Me: Nervous?
Naomi: We’re nice fairies.
Me: I don’t doubt it. You’re a nice kid too.
Naomi: Yeh, we even say it’s ok to let grownups into our forest.
Me: How gracious.
Naomi: I know.

Merely A Flesh Wound

Finishing up my morning run early I showered-up, got dressed, and pushed through the heavy glass door of the gym onto the sidewalk. I’d love to brag about suddenly morphing into wicked fast runner. I can’t even type that phrase without laughing. Nope. My half-marathon training crested this past week, so the daily running regimen is pretty relaxed from now until race day. With this relaxed routine, I finished up early.

I pushed outside, turned toward my parked car, and took up a clip to my stride, mentally ticked with the day’s to-do list: switch the laundry, wake up Naomi, start the coffee pot, pack my lunch…and…for an instant I breathed “thank-you” to no one in particular.

I fell last week. Carrying a heavy box of file folders to my car. Missed the curb, twisted my ankle. No big deal, but, because I was carrying this box I didn’t have my arms to counter-balance my clumsiness and took a face-plant into the pavement. File folders flew everywhere. The dry wind kicked up. I crawled around on my skinned up my knees to re-assemble the papers before they blew away. The bodily injuries while ugly to look are nothing severe. A day or two of ice-packs. Slacked off with the running routine to make sure everything was a-okay.

I was glad to realize I’d be able to still run the half-marathon. Resumed my running habits on Sunday. This morning, walking along 11^th St, pre-occupied with my to-do list I thought of the capable, if breakable, body that indulges my half-marathon ambitions. The physics of mobility the possibility of motion seeming effortless.

Thank-you, I breathed.
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Currently Reading: The Woman Behind the New Deal by Kristin Downey
Dinner Line Up: Southwestern Corn & Pepper Pot, Tortilla Chips, Guacamole
Weekend Soundtrack: Freedom Sessions by Sarah McLaughlin (Mmm-hmmm, it was a moody weekend)
Naomi’s Latest Offering: I’ve recently asserted that Sunday is family cleaning day. My daughter observes that hard labor helps her imagine being an orphan.

It's a Girl

The newest member of the Landis family arrived at 2:59 this morning. Sofia Grace was welcomed into this world by her loving parents Jen and Matt Landis.

Impatient for Spring

I'm just so done with the cold, gray sky. If only the chilly wind would return the favor, and be done with me, we could all move on along here. Shesh! In my zeal for Spring I raked up the oak leaves from our yard last week. Aerated the ground, and stopped to stare, expectantly, at the bare earth.

The tulips, garlic and parsley shoots took pity on me and sprouted. Tiny wisps of green. A hint, a hope of more to come.

Naomi has been on Spring Break all week. Freed from her classroom my girl trekked out to the Pioneer Park Nature Center everyday. She scrambled into my back seat each day with mud caked shoes and socks, pink cheeks and an excited chatter.

Exciting as it is to spend time outside, under any conditions, we are aching for the ground to open up its box of colors.

C'mon, I'd shout out to Spring if I thought it would help. Get a move on. We're waiting already!

Some Assembly Required

Every year Lincoln Electric System (LES) pulls together a glossy Annual Report which essentially is a brag book about our programs and accomplishments. It’s a document LES circulates to bond agencies, board members, and customer-owners. I’m low enough on the totem pole that I’ve never had a hand in authoring the report, but have been pleased to read it when my copy arrives in the mail.

This year the Annual Report is profiling specific areas and people within the company. Somebody, somewhere plucked me out of the LES landscape as a person to profile.

I had lunch with someone from Corporate Communications. Jimmy John’s sandwich bribery was in full swing. I tried not to speak with my mouthful while we gabbed. She took notes. In case I said something printable I’ll be some blurb in the Annual Report. The part of this profiling gig nobody mentioned at the get-go was the photo shoot.

I show up, yesterday morning, having done my best to look presentable. I had double-brushed my teeth, slapped on what make up I could locate, and skipped my morning coffee because I’m a notorious coffee-slosher.

I stood outside the brightly-lit photo room and gave myself a little pep talk like I do before getting a flu shot. It won’t be so bad. Twenty minutes and it’s all over. Checking my sweater one, last time, for toothpaste or globs of food I walked into the room.

Get this: somebody hired a stylist.

I fidgeted nervously under her fixed gaze. This wasn't much like a flu shot. It was different somehow. We talked about her career. How high-definition imagery has changed make up in the stylist industry. With one last brush of the powder puff, the stylist said all done. She handed over a mirror. I didn’t look like Cleopatra or anything. It was just me. A better assembled version of me anyway. Sans the shiny forehead, and sporting a more flattering lip gloss. But still me.

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Currently Watching: 30 Rock (Season 1)
Currently Reading: 1215: The Year of the Magna Carta by D. Danziger & J. Gillingham
Recently Enjoyed: Reprise (2006)
Daily Soundtrack: That Time (Regina Spektor)
Early Morning Treadmill-Television Habit: Charlie Rose on PBS

But Don't Tell Anybody

It's coooooool being seven!
- Naomi

Naomi: So, mom, do I get a cake?
Me: Today?
Naomi: Yeh. A birthday cake.
Me: Oh....ummm.....maybe. You'll, for sure, have one at your party on Saturday.
Naomi: But my birthday is today.
Me: I know your birthday is today. I just didn't know you wanted a cake today.
Naomi: Well I do.
Me: Well, OK. I'll see if I can't make that happen.
Naomi: With candles.
Me: If the "maybe" cake gets baked today, it will have candles.
Naomi: When I was a kid I used to wish I could fly.
Me: You'd wish that on your birthday candles?
Naomi: Yeh.
Me: But you don't wish that anymore?
Naomi: Well...sometimes...but don't tell anybody. I'm seven now and that kid stuff, well, it's kind of embarrassing.

Storybook Parade

N recently participated in the Storybook Parade at school. She was dressed as Cindy Loo Who from The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. Prescott's Media Specialist (Denise Ebeler) pulled the event together and I took time off from work to attend and take photos for the website. While my Cindy Loo was a show stopper in the heart and mind of her mother, I have to say the whole parade was just a hoot.

Considering This A Moral Victory

I have a cold and woke up this morning with no urge to go running. I went running anyway.

Six miles today. Actually, I felt a lot better having sweated it out. I squeegeed my treadmill with antibacterial spray, mopped the sweat from my face, and walked into the bathroom to find this sign at the sink:




The sign reads "Please remember to turn off the faucet."

I Spy

My friend, Colleen (& Naomi who wants in on the action), dares me to do the following:

Find the directory on your computer that stores your pictures.
Select the fourth folder in the directory.
Select the fourth image in the folder.
Post it to your blog and describe it.

Description:
Each year I scan some of Naomi's artwork and create brag books for her grandparents. The books sport pictures of Naomi and pictures by her. The attached image is a 2008 Naomi original. I believe it is a self-portrait, composed after watching the Nancy Drew movie. Naomi is peering through a magnifying glass.

One Word Answers ...To Life's Persistent Questions

1. Where is your cell phone? Atlanta
2. Your significant other? Brainy
3. Your hair? Disappointing
4. Your mother? Steady
5. Your father? Open
6. Your favorite thing? Naomi
7. Your dream last night? Silly
8. Your favorite drink? Cocoa
9. Your dream/goal? Purpose
10. What room you are in? Office
11. Your hobby? Jogging
12. Your fear? Cruelty
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Quiet
14. Where were you last night? PTO
16. Muffins? Pumpkin
17. Wish list item? Bat-free
18. Where you grew up? Havelock
19. Last thing you did? Reboot
20. What are you wearing? Soft
21. Your TV? Big
22. Your pets? Dead
23. Friends? AWESOME
24. Your life? Delicious
25. Your mood? Edgy
26. Missing someone? Nope
27. Car? Eco-fabulous
28. Something you're not wearing? Sunglasses
29. Your favorite store? Coop
30. Your favorite color? Green
33. When is the last time you laughed? Today
34. Last time you cried? Bedtime
35. Who will resend this? Dunno
36. One place that you go to over and over? Safari
37. One person who emails you regularly? Mom
38. Favorite place to eat? Chipotle
39. Why you participated in this survey? Curiosity
40. What are you doing tonight? Movie

(Thanks, Maija, for the prompt to complete this list)

A Summary Of The Affair

N and I were watching part of You've Got Mail with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. Having to leave before the movie ended, I made a quick summary of the plot as we buttoned up coats and climbed into the car. The sun low in the sky, and both of us a little dusty and tired Naomi fought off the urge to nap.

A low, constant mumble came from the backseat. The theory is: so long as she's talking, she's still awake. But at one point my girl gave up the mumbled Cliff's Notes of her take on love and marriage.

"First comes friends...then comes dates...with love and kissing...and...stuff. And along comes marriage. And after that (long, pensive pause) divorce sometimes."

Travel Plans

Next week I’ll reside in an Atlanta,Georgia hotel room and attend a conference on Fossil Fuel Power Generation. As the consummate homebody, I feel fortunate to have landed a job that doesn’t require extensive travel.

That's not to say I mind traveling, really. And Naomi relishes these brief business excursions of mine. She delights in her father’s undivided attention. Their a day or two of their laid back routines.

On my end: the distant city brings some conciliatory offerings. While the food is generally bland, it’s cooked for and presented to me. The plate is similarly cleared and cleaned without asking me to lift a finger. I polish off whole chapters of whatever book I’m reading in a single sitting, meet interesting people, and own control over the television remote.

At the end of each conference my luggage is improved by a large, three-ring binder of learning materials, and a trinket (usually a multi-tool or Swiss-Army knife) sporting the vendor's logo.

Whenever my plane lands in Lincoln's dinky Airport I am reminded of a conversation my dad had with his twenty-something daughter (me) about the word domicile. Under the law, it's essentially it’s your legal residence, but on our front porch dad called it a place to which you plan to return. It marks the endpoint of your travels.

I don’t mind a business trip here and there. However I always sigh with relief at the end of my journey. There isn’t a lot that can top the struggle of getting Naomi dressed and ready for school each morning. The trick of pulling that off AND arriving at work on time. Cooking my own spicy dinner in an awkward and small kitchen. Starting and stopping my book mid-sentence. At times I am grateful that the sweetness is loosely tied to the struggle of this life.

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Currently Listening To: Ladies of Liberty by Cokie Roberts
Naomi’s Latest Undertaking: Proliferating Her Repertoire of Knock-Knock Jokes
Dinner Line-Up: Carrot and Cashew Curry
Recent Personal Mantra: You're not paranoid if they really are out to get you.

Problem Shower-Heads

The average American uses 159 gallons of water every day,
while more than half the world's population uses 25 gallons.

I walked into the gym locker room this noon. Being the beginning of the year, and with lousy weather outside the gym was unusually crowded. I lugged my gym bag on my shoulder, excuse-me 'd my way through the room, and found dry space on the floor to set down my stuff.

My problem isn't the newbies to the gym, or the crowded locker room...it was realizing that a room crowded with people (moms, kids, professionals, seniors) was content to ignore the sound of three unoccupied, but still running, shower-heads.

I know, I know water is a preoccupation of mine. I’m an avid swimmer—a Pisces, no less—a gardener, and an environmentalist stranded in the prairie desert. To say water is a big deal to me is an understatement. I can’t stand the absent, lonely sound of dripping water.

But this locker-room shower-head experience wasn’t a drip-drip-drop annoyance; it was a constant stream gushing out of, not one but, three separate showers. Aghast I fought the urge to shriek or cry.

I took my bad mood out on the lap pool. Being upset can inspire a heck of a work out.

After a lap swim I showered, left behind a non-dripping shower-head in my wake and used the contents of my gym bag to put myself back together. But even in the reassembly, I feel crumpled up inside.

Four Minutes

Tonight I made McKibbin venture out to Pioneer's Park with me. We had an outside chance of spying the International Space Station.

I spent the fifteen minute drive from our house to Pioneer's Park gate listing the reasons this purposeful excursion couldn't possibly work. Seeing the Space Station was, at best, a long-shot. I didn't have a telescope. I probably wrote it down wrong or jumbled up the details. I didn't have binoculars with me. I can work up a pretty negative outlook when I get going. I parked the car, probably muttering, and in a doozy of a foul temper.

McKibbin suggested we climb the stairs of the sledding drop. It was the highest point around and probably the best place for staring at the night sky. Rumor had it the Space Station would be in the western sky. Visible at 6:41 pm, traveling north, and it should disappear from view at 6:45 pm. We spent a couple of minutes pointing at various airplanes: is that it? what about that one? don't you think?

There. McKibbin pointed at an orange dot low on the horizon.

When he's certain of something, there is a particular quality to my husband's voice. I'd call it a tone to his voice but that makes it sound arrogant or annoying; neither of which is accurate. He just sounds solid. I know it when I hear it. My eyes locked on to the orange dot McKibbin found.

You're seeing the sun's reflection off the solar panels, he explained. That's why it's orange.

We watched the Space Station arc up the sky, and disappear.
Four minutes.
Sometimes words fail me.


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Currently Listening To: The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama
Still Chuckling About: Burn After Reading
Early Morning Indulgence: Chewing Mint Gum On My Way To the Gym
(Mmmmmm, Arctic Ice)
Dinner Line-Up: Spinach Salad, Eggplant Parmesan

In the Unlikely Story That Is America

The Campaign Trailhead

Naomi and I had the following conversation, this morning, as I brushed her hair...

Naomi: Where’s dad?
Me: Downstairs.
Naomi: What’s he doing?
Me: I don’t know. He’s downstairs.
Naomi: Dad should be Mayor.
Me: He'd have my vote.
Naomi: Yeh, he’s smart…
Me: He is smart.
Naomi: …he's a good speller...
Me: Mmm-hmmm.
Naomi: …and he makes peanut butter cookies.