Book Worm...

I LOVE to read. Love it. It's literally one of my very very favorite things to do. When I was little, I really loved the Critter book series. I could identify with the well-meaning yet oft-destructive escapades of the little Critter. He was also the oldest of the Critters and as such suffered arduous burdens of simultaneous blame and expectation. I felt vindicated and validated reading how Critter was able to overcome his trials...inspiring, truly.

After Critter and I parted ways, I moved on to Laura Ingles. That girl rocked. She was brave and curious, also well-meaning and yet she often found herself entangled in some kind of mess too! She was pretty good at getting out of her messes though. And learning some great lesson in the process. I also loved imagining the rugged landscape and terrain that the Wilder's had to conquer. Somehow it was infinitely more interesting that our backyard and sandbox.

I will also admit that I went through the Babysitter's Club phase. I hate to confess that I was part of a fad, but, alas, it's true. Really though, who can blame a girl? The clubbers were motivated, independent, spunky, responsible and fun. I mean, a girl could do worse. I did break the mold though by reading the books in a random pattern. Meaning, I didn't just follow the Claudia series or the Stacey series or the Dawn series. I mixed it up. I was a trendsetter. :) I lived for the Super Series editions. They involved some type of adventure outside of Stonybrook. My favorite was when the clubbers went on a school trip to a skiing lodge. There was a talent show, a ghost, cute French boy skiiers, etc. At this point, rather that judging me for my less than intellectually stimulating choices, you should realize that any reading was helpful at this stage in my development...

A seminal moment in my reading history was in eighth grade. We were required to read a book called Cold Sassy Tree. It's set in Cold Sassy, Georgia at the turn of the 20th century. Will Tweedy, a twelve year old boy, is the main character. And, as you may have guessed, Will often finds himself in a self-induced pickle. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a kindred spirit. Anyway, I've read this book about 14 times. It's my security blanket. If I'm in a funk, I read Cold Sassy and it sets me straight.

All of these books are responsible for my present reading quirks. I ONLY read books (for pleasure) of the historical fiction genre. And by historical, I mean if it has so much as a telephone in it (switchboards count), I'm not picking it up. No Chic Lit for me. I read books to escape, not to remind myself of how ridiculously materialistic and fake my life is. Sigh. Anyway, I received several cool books for Christmas that I haven't had a chance to read yet. Now that my 2 week break from school has started, I promptly started reading the most interesting looking one Friday. It was 696 pages long. I finished last night at about 2am. The book was set in London in the 1850s. There was murder, betrayal, mystery, vendetta, etc. The last hundred pages were really intense. A couple of murders. Each involving a long butcher knife.

So...of course, Tie and I have to be at church early this morning to drive the bus to pick up some kiddos. I have to get up at 5:45 to get a shower. My hair badly needs washing. Not because it's dirty but because there are massive knots in it (I have curly hair; Mom refers to the knots as "rats' nests") I set 2 alarms. I wake up at 6:34. WHAT! We have to leave in 26 minutes. No time to shower. Hair is ridiculous. But...I know why I overslept. I was dreaming about playing a live version of the Clue game. In my dream, everyone that was playing had to actually act out a scenario they had randomly drawn: Miss Scarlett in the Kitchen with the Revolver. Yes, act it out, like shoot the other people playing the game. And, you played the game in the dark. So, at this point in the dream, I was protesting heavily. I was Colonel Mustard, in the Dining Room with the knife (but, it was a butcher knife like the one I had just been reading about). I really didn't think i could stab someone in the dark. I was overruled, the lights were turned out and the game began. I immediately ran into a chair around the dining room table and stabbed myself. And then I woke up. Great dream. Brought on of course by my reading obsession. Well worth it though!

London Calling...

Yesterday afternoon, I took Scout on a walk through the park across from our house.


I had the iPod on and my favorite mellow mix lulling in my ears. We'd been walking for about 10 minutes and about that time, the views in the park, the smells of outside and the weather all conjured up strong memories of my favorite park in London...Hampstead Heath.

I did a semester abroad in London in the Spring of 2003. It was amazing. Even though my snot was black from all the pollution and my feet were swollen to abnormal proportions from all the walking and the exchange rate was terrible, I still loved it. Even though the kitchen in our flat wasn't big enough to sit down in Indian-style and be able to stand up quickly, I loved it. Even though Tube rides were constantly interrupted by ridiculous strikes and it was instantly dark and terrifying on a train with 300 strangers, I still loved it.

I loved it because of the readily available Cadbury Carmel bars (a true delicacy). I loved it because there was ALWAYS something to see/do/smell/touch. I loved it because I had to figure out everything on my own (a close second for favorite thing about the trip) but most of all, I loved it for the parks. There are parks everywhere. Big and small. Dirty and clean. Trendy and urbane. Right next to our flat, there was a tiny park with statues of Ghandi. It was called Peace Park. There was a dirt path around the perimeter of the park. If you walked the path 10 times, it was a mile (VERY SMALL park). But, between the path and the fence for the park, there were tons of wild lilac bushes. Every week I would walk down there with scissors and bring back fresh lilac for our flat. Every time I smell it, my sensory time travel machine teleports me back.

But, my favourite park of all was Hampstead Heath. I had to ride the double decker to get there. I think it was because the bus stop was at the end of the road the park was on and that was closer than the closest Tube stop. Anyway, the park is huge. Several large ponds. Several big hills, one of which looks over the actual city. The first time I went, it was leisurely. The second time and every time thereafter, I had school work to do. So, I packed my huge camping/hiking pack to the gills with blanket, pillow, snacks, music, water, snacks, school stuff, maps, hand sanitizer, journal, snacks and a pen. Literally. The pack probably weighed 50 pounds. Despite the multitude of snacks, I would stop on the way into the park at the Starbucks on the road. So then I had pack and Starbucks.

When I got to the park, I would unload everything and get it all sat out around me and then promptly being studying. RIIIIGHHT. I NEVER got one iota of work done when I went. I would always people watch for literally 4-5 hours. It was ridiculous. You think I would've stopped taking the ginormous bag with me but, it helped me justify the excursion. If I had work with me, then I might do it. Thus, 4-5 hours at a park was a legitimate use of my time.

I can't wait to get back to London. I know Tie and I will be there eventually. I don't know in what capacity. But, item #1 on the agenda (after we unpack and get a Cadbury Carmel bar) will be a trip to the Heath. You must go if you're there. My words don't do it justice.

Ode to Shawn...

I just had a gut check. It wasn't pleasant but I definitely needed it.

I have had a long day, I feel terrible and I still have a lot of work to do tonight. Sigh. Feeling completely sorry for myself, I detoured on the way home to Kroger to get some soup for dinner. Of course, at 5:45, the parking lot is packed, as is the store.

I head in. I'm going through the produce aisle and I'm blocked in every direction either by some old person or someone with 16 kids running around their legs. I engage in an epic eye roll, an audible sigh and then proceed to act like I'm moving a boulder in trying to find a path around all of the obstacles.

I finally get the soup and I'm trying to make my way up to checkout when I spot Shawn. He's worked at our Kroger for a couple of years I think. He has some sort of mental disability and some visible physical abnormalities as well. He was trying to get the door to a freezer case to stay closed (somehow I found myself in the ice cream aisle...). Anyway, I watched him and he got it shut. He then turned around and flashed a big smile to no one in particular and went on his way.

My eyes instantly filled up with tears. I am looking up at the ceiling and now making a beeline for the checkout (hard to walk fast and look at the ceiling at the same time). I find the shortest line and take a deep breath so I can stop tunneling the tears to my side eyeballs (whatever the scientific name for that area is). The tears slow down and I can look straight ahead now. So...directly in front of me in line is a lady using food stamps to purchase her groceries. I watch her as she carefully checks what she's chosen against whatever the papers tell her she can buy. She tries to do this discretely but it's obviously somewhat difficult to do so.

Signal more tears. Looking up at the ceiling again. Pay for the groceries. Of course, Shawn in now bagging my stuff. Go figure. After I pay I practically run to my car and then as soon as the door is closed, I promptly lose it.

I was so mad at myself for feeling sorry for myself for not feeling good and having a long day. Look at Shawn. He lives in a world that isn't made for him to succeed. He gets made fun of (I've seen this happen at the store before). I wonder if someone loves him, if someone encourages him. I wonder if the woman with the food stamps has family that she can count on to help her or if she struggles alone. I have all of these things and so much more and I'm sad because I might have a fever. I'm sad because I have a couple of hours of work to do.

Hence the gut check. I have so many things to be thankful for. Really, every time I think of something that bugs me, I could probably think of 10 blessings to cancel that one irritation out. I hope each of you feel blessed. I really think everyone is blessed, at least to someone less fortunate than you are. Next time I feel like my life stinks for some stupid trivial reason, I hope I think of Shawn. Of how hard he works bagging my groceries. Of how much he probably needs encouragement and love on many hard days. Love and encouragement that I have in abundance. I'm so thankful for these things. I'll always have them, no matter how crummy I feel or how much work I have to do. :)

What's in a Laugh?

For a long time, Tie and I were completely opposite in every way you can imagine.The more time that goes by, the more we kinda meet in the middle. I'm calmer, saner and more redneck now (thanks to his penchant for Alabama football). He's crazier, louder and cooler now. It works nicely for the both of us.

The one area where we still find little common ground is humor. He thinks I'm funny (of course, why wouldn't he) and I think he's funny (obligatory). But, as for what we think is funny from outside sources, well, that's where it gets dicey. Right this very minute, he's reading someone else's blog about dog poop. That's right, he's blog cheating on me. I hear his ridiculously unique laugh...imagine holding your breath and then quick, sudden bursts escaping either in freakishly girly sounding mini-hoots or low rumbling growls to offset the girly hoots. Yes, thus are the magically humorous side-effects of dog poop.

I think animals are funny. He thinks animals on fire are funny (not intentionally set ablaze, only accidentally). I think kids saying dumb things are funny. He thinks kids screaming expletives are funny (think Pearl...the landlord). I think British humor is funny. He thinks Sasha Baren Cohen is British humor. He thinks Jim Carey is funny (sooooo 90s). He thinks farts are funny. Especially if they result in poop (accidental or intentional). Sigh...

And since his ridiculous competitiveness has rubbed off on me, apparently we need to determine who likes the "right" funny stuff. So, here's a sampling of his and my humor. Which do you think is funnier?

Tie's humor:




My humor: