2013 in Books

What I Did in 2013

I read 65 books.

I completed Nanowrimo.

I wrote halves of two other books.

I drastically reduced the size of my wardrobe. I still have too many clothes.

I distributed clothes I didn't wear anymore among my sisters. The clothes I gave away look much better on them than they ever did on me. I love it.

I dreamed and planned and talked of sewing my own clothes but didn't make a single thing.

There was a dearth of baked deliciousness. For reasons unknown I did very little treat making.

I filled up a journal and half-filled another one.

I got skinnier without really trying. Not knowing exactly what I weighed at the beginning of the year and having no idea what I weigh now, I can't quantify the difference. I can say that my clothes fit funny but I'm doing my absolute best to make them work. I do not like pants shopping.

I took an article of clothing to the tailor for the first time ever. I'm a fan of tailors.

I reduced my spending by focusing on necessities rather than wants.

Just as I was considering easing up on my year of no spending, my parents began their own year of no spending. Together, we're doing very little money spending. Ma has taken to keeping boxes of crackers in her car so she's not tempted to stop for a snack while out and about. I'm super proud of her.

I worked on mastering the art of singing. I still have a long way to go but can now with hardly a thought talk up in my face instead of down in my throat. Trust me—that means progress.

I played with each of my four new nephews, even the ones that live faraway. I'm seriously in love.

I worked a second job for the sole benefit of attending barre workout classes for free.

I taught myself how to make friendship bracelets. Don't ask me how I missed that pre-teen train but I can say with confidence that was not a part of my childhood.

I tried eating like a vegan for two months. It was delicious and not as hard as I thought it would be. I missed butter and baking with eggs like crazy. I also missed cheese. My mother believes the government shut down was the catalyst for my eating experiment. I don't know if she's right though her logic is sound.

I chopped off nearly a foot and a half of hair. I'm just beginning to have some length again and it is delightful.

I currently have the most adorable, short ponytail.

I was offered a temporary, 10-month position in Paris. I turned it down.

I tried three kinds of apples I'd never had before: Opal, Black Arkansas, and Pinata.

I nearly completed a patchwork quilt top. It's only missing a second border.

I kept my plant alive.

I purchased my first pair of skinny jeans. And then three more. None of them really fit anymore.

I visited

• Las Vegas
• Upstate New York
• New York City
• Vermont
• Donner Lake
• Sacramento
• Portland
• Park City
• Grace, Idaho
• Grand Canyon
• Bryce Canyon
• Zion's

This is the fist time in half a dozen years that Iowa hasn't figured in my travels.

I gained friends and lost friends.

I picked up knitting again after 15 years. Fingerless gloves, half a pair of socks, and the beginnings of a blanket have been added to the hall of things Megan has knitted. Previously, the sole occupant was a scarf I knitted for my American girl doll at the age of 12.

I gave myself a Nook for my birthday. I travel too often and read too much to rely on physical books.

I did not make significant progress in French though I do think I am slightly better off than I was a year ago.

I ate more chocolate chocolate doughnuts, frozen yogurt, ice cream, and bags of chocolate chips and marshmallows than any one person should lay claim to. Just the thought of all that deliciousness makes my heart happy.

I worked on paying attention to my body and how it was feeling. It was all part of an effort to take better care of it. This led to several things:

• I can no longer overeat. If I do overeat, my body reacts violently and I have to concentrate hard on not being sick.
• I'm still running. I don't push my body to go farther or faster than it is capable of. Because of this, I no longer despise running like I used to. When I like running better, then I can push myself.
• I don't worry about an exercise schedule. I exercise when I feel up to it. I don't when I don't.
• I discovered I'm the biggest stress ball that ever there was. My parents and siblings also live their lives as stress balls. We are a family of stress balls.
• I also discovered that I am very, very bad at relaxing. I knew this, but I didn't realize I was as bad as I am. I am working on it. I often stop, take a big breath, smile in an I'm trying to relax sort of way, and then carry on with less stress and muscle clenching.
• I've gone through bottles and bottles of lotion. My skin is happier. I am not. Boo to slimy lotion.
• I started washing my face with honey in the morning and olive oil at night. It's super weird but I love it. My face has never been so moisturized.

I turned 27. It's encouraging to think I've come so far.

December Books

I began the month by reading A Constellation of Vital Phenomena by Anthony Marra. It was one of the best written books I've read this year. It was also heart-rending. I loved the idea that our lives are in large measure what people all around us, that we know and that we will never know, do. Each moment is a constellation of future and past events and therein lies the true beauty of living.

Next I read Tinkers by Paul Harding. It was also well done but I didn't love it like I thought I would. It was interesting and it won the Pulitzer a few years back, a good reason in itself to read it.

The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis was one of my favorite books as a child. I love the Chronicles of Narnia but The Horse and His Boy was my clear favorite and I read it over and over again. It was delightful to take a step back into childhood.

Next was Book of Ages: The Life and Opinions of Jane Franklin by Jill Lepore. I used this book to put my mother to sleep on our drive to Portland. it was amazing how quickly she was out. I found the content interesting. The prose was a little difficult for me to get through. I suspect the author is much more experienced in presenting material than writing about it. I also had hoped there would be a greater analysis of the actual letters and their content rather than a study of the differences between Jane's and Franklin's lives.

I read the first two book sin the Inkheart trilogy years ago. I decided it was time I read Inkdeath by Cornelia Funke. Also, it was sitting on my shelf and I am trying to move through all the books on my shelves that I haven't read yet. I remember that I really like the first one. I think the third one was better than the second, but I hardly remember the second book at all so that might not be accurate. As a child I would have found the entire trilogy magical and would have loved every minute of it.

And finally, I read The Hobbit or There and Back Again by J.R.R. Tolkien. I saw the second movie in theaters and I couldn't believe my eyes. Either my memory was far worse than I suspected it was, or the movie makers took a lot of liberties. I discovered, much to my satisfaction, that it was latter. I'm not upset by this. They are doing a great job with the movies and it's likely a movie made to follow the book exactly would be quite boring. The book has exciting parts but mostly it's traveling and talking. That being said, I would have liked to see The Hobbit made into one, really well done movie.

Saturday Morning

Saturday I spent the entire morning in bed. I ignored the world and everything in it until early afternoon.

I was reading.

Once upon a time I used to spend many a leisurely Saturday morning in such a fashion. Then I grew up.

I have come to a determination. It is high time to grown back down again.

In honor of this determination, I've painted my fingernails blue.

There was a beautiful bottle of blue nail polish in my stocking along with the usual stuffers. Ma's stocking included a bottle of beautiful brown. Even Santa knows I need to grow back down again.

I feel deliciously happy each time I see my new, blue polish, even when I've only just caught a hint of it out of the corner of my eye. Since I see my fingernails quite a lot in the course of a regular day, I've spent most of the past two days feeling deliciously happy.

This is why the world is full of colors. Colors = happiness.

I feel quite pleased with the progress I've made growing down. To ensure no backsliding into adulthood I believe I must spend the coming Saturday morning lost in a book.

Yes, I think that would be just the thing.

Christmas

What did you get for Christmas?

I got a pot. I purple, cast iron, enameled pot. My mother picked it out for me and I love it. It's frivolous enough that I wouldn't have gotten it for myself, but it's purposeful enough that I'll be able to use it for years to come. In no time at all I will be a maestro with enameled, cast iron pots. Particularly the purple ones.

I also got a calendar from my brother's family. It's beautiful. Prettier than I knew a calendar could be.

Other than that there were only the basic things in the stocking. The peanuts and orange, the toothbrush and nail clippers. A simple Christmas with nothing more than what I can love.

Oh. And I gave myself a book. It is important to have new reading material on Christmas day because there's nothing better on Christmas than curling up with a blanket next to the fireplace and reading a new book while you sip wassail.

I didn't read my book yesterday. I was too busy with family and food to bother with reading, a Christmas first. That says better than I can how perfect a Christmas it was. I felt loved and spent time with the people I love. There's nothing better than that.

November Books

I enjoyed reading Surprised By Joy (by C.S. Lewis) but not in the way I've loved Lewis' other books. But then, I rather suspect his purpose in writing it was not to provide his reader with enjoyment.

I loved The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (by Mary Ann Shaffer). I'd heard mixed things about it, most particularly that it wasn't as good as everyone said it was. I loved it, despite not generally being a fan of novels written through epistles.

I wasn't impressed with Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe (by Fannie Flagg). I wondered what the hype was about back when it was made into a movie. Now I know.

IT Guys

Sometimes you have IT issues that nobody can fix except one particular person who happens to be out of the office for an entire week but only after the IT guys who can't fix it spend two weeks telling you there's a problem because of how you're trying to log in so you have to wait for the IT guy that can fix it to come back from being out of the office after you've jumped up and down and done cartwheels and stood on your left foot for three hours at a time to prove to the not helpful IT guys that you are not the originator of the issue.

Of course, in an instance like this the issue happens to be one that makes your job uber difficult and you need it fixed right away because your coworkers are getting tired of you coming to them begging for help because they aren't having the same issue.

Then the IT guy that can fix it comes back and does his IT magic and suddenly your IT issue is gone as if it never happened and your world is filled with rainbows that drop tootsie rolls and muddy buddies and gummy watermelons which are all far superior to skittles and nobody really wants a skittles rainbow anyway.

Your message of thanks because everybody deserves a message of thanks when they are the catalyst for non-skittle dropping, life rainbows.

Dear IT Guy,

It works! Thank you.

Sending you hugs and kisses, but only the chocolate kind cause otherwise that would be weird.

Thank you so much!

Me

Some time later you go into your work email. (It's sometime later because now that your IT issue is no longer an issue you're busy trying to take care of all the things you've put off so you're focused and haven't noticed your email.) The IT Guy's response.

Phfsh! Whichever is more convenient for you . . .  ;)

And then you just kind of feel weird about the whole thing.

Except I don't actually feel weird about the whole thing because that's the response I'd expect from an anonymous IT guy that I will likely never meet and will probably not communicate with again who just happens to be the only IT guy employed by my place of work that can fix my IT issue and with whom a rapport was established through the scanty back and forth communications about my IT issue consisting of such things as 'Could you check to see if you're still having issues?' and 'Yes, I'm getting the same error message I was before,' and 'Lemme check things out and I'll get right back to you,' so instead of feeling weird I just smile at my computer like an idiot because that's why I love IT guys.

And then I worry that I maybe should feel weird about the whole thing. I mean, the IT guy just gave me permission to hug and kiss him. Shouldn't I be worried about this? Nope! I leave the feeling weird to you and will continue to crush on my IT guys.

My Life (which apparently consists of nothing but food and books)

Brown butter pear upside down cake for breakfast. Two slices. I love my life.

Ma used this recipe to make it. It's delicious but not amazing. We will be playing with it to make it amazing because I know this cake can be incredible.

Sunday Ma and I used six heads of romaine lettuce and and two heads of iceberg lettuce to feed roughly sixty young adults a main dish salad. We came home with probably half a head of lettuce, just enough for Ma and I to have salads. Monday we used three heads of romaine lettuce and half a head of iceberg lettuce to feed five family members (including ourselves) a main dish salad. Nothing was left.

I spent two hours browsing the nonfiction section at the library yesterday. I barely made it down one row of books. They are long rows, but not that long.

I didn't check out any books.

One of the books I flipped through was a guide to getting a good night's rest. This one, I think. It had a variety of suggestions with a two to three page explanation for each. I only read a couple of the suggestions but I put one into practice last night. I did a slow dance with myself before climbing into bed. I felt like a champion when I yawned the first time. Then the yawns came faster and I ended my dance by curling up on the floor because I was just so ready to sleep. I hardly had to lie awake before falling asleep last night. It was pretty much amazing. Also, super weird. Loved it.

I have 13,000 Nanowrimo words left to write. I could have been finished already but I only sat down to write once in the past week and a half.

Ma declared months ago that since there was only the three of us (Ma, Pa, and me) that we would not be cooking Thanksgiving dinner. I'm proud of her for making such a declaration.

In two days we will be having a giant dinner with turkey and mashed potatoes and stuffing and roasted vegetables and sweet potatoes and rolls and three different kinds of pie.

My Thanksgiving weekend reading list:

• Book of Ages
• Tinkers
• Rump
• A Constellation of Vital Phenomena
• Love and Freindship

Winter's Here

The horizon is hidden by thick layers of clouds and the air is dotted with bits of falling snow.

I'm wrapped in a blanket near the fire with my laptop, ready to write another 4000 nano words.

My world is filled with softness, quietness, loveliness.

You will never succeed in making me believe that winter is not the most perfect season.

PS I started my nano novel with some minor plot holes; they are now the size of a cruise liner.

PPS I'm considering doing something like this. Anybody want in? We can have a weekly group study. . . . What do you mean that wouldn't be any fun?

Halfway There

I'm participating in Nanowrimo again. I took a break last year so I could focus on getting my master's degree finished up. I've participated a few times before that but I have yet to win.

Nanowrimo win = writing 50,000 novel words during the month of November

This year, I'm going to be a winner.

I have 26,000 nanowrimo words. That's over three times more words than I've done before. I'm totally rocking it.

Nanowrimo.org is kind enough to keep track of how many words you have written on each day throughout the month.

My word count graph shows what I've always known about myself but haven't had concrete evidence of.

They say the only way to get somewhere is to take the first step and then keep walking.

If I set my mind to doing something I'll get there, never you fear, and the end result will be admirable. The journey, though, will be rife with stops and turns and twists and doubling back. It will be filled with butterfly chasing and cloud watching and circle skipping.

Writing 50,000 words in 30 days I can do. Will I take the full 30 days? Maybe. Will I sit down every one of those 30 days to write just 1667 words? Never. I write and then I don't write. I put down a few words and then a lot of words and then no words.

This is how I live my life, jumping and skipping and laughing my way from point to point choosing for myself where and when and how. I thrive on inconsistency. My resolve perishes under given timelines and self-imposed schedules.

It may take me longer to get where I'm going, but then it may not. And that's half the fun of it.

Pillowcase Capes

As a child I was sure I could fly. I knew I couldn't actually fly but that was only because I hadn't yet found out the secret. I wasn't daunted. I knew someday I would learn the secret to flying. Maybe when I grew up a little bit and turned six.

In anticipation of such a day my brothers (one year and two years older) and I would practice flying. They would tie on their shiny, shimmery, dress up capes that were blue on one side and red on the other.

I would tie on my trusty pillowcase.

We took turns (very courteously; I don't recall ever being pushed or shoved by my brothers insisting that they get more turns than I) clambering onto the couch, standing on the arm, and jumping off. It was delightful to watch each other's capes fly out. It was even more delightful to feel the air rush past as we fell to the floor.

You may think it sad that I only got a pillowcase while they got real capes. I didn't mind. They might have had shiny, shimmery capes, but I was sure my pillowcase would get the job done faster and better.

Pillowcases also had the advantage of doubling as a snack pack for unexpected emergencies. It was also a good place to store books, though I couldn't wear the cape while I was carrying around books.

I never did learn to fly. Not even when I turned six. The part of my heart that belongs to whimsy is still sure that someday it will happen.

I suddenly have the greatest urge to tie on a pillowcase cape and jump off the end of the slide. I will then commence running up and down the length of my backyard to make my cape sail out behind me, just as if I were flying.

The Airport

I picked up Ma and Pa from the airport yesterday. They were gadding about the country visiting uncles and aunts and children and grandchildren.

I was stuck at home but I didn't mind. Mostly.

I believe very firmly in meeting people when they come off of planes. Particularly when they are flying with a three-month old grandchild in tow. The first thing Ma did when she saw me was pass him off. He yawned luxuriously, stretched his tiny arms above his head, and opened his eyes to blink at me. He grinned and gabbed a few baby words before yawning again and tucking his head into my shoulder. You understand why I insist on meeting people in the airport?

Before I met them, but after I parked the car, I had the pleasure of walking into the airport. There's almost nothing I love more than walking into an airport. Even if I'm not going anywhere, like yesterday, my heart starts to beat a little faster, my step turns jaunty, and I can't help but smile. Airports are the place of beginnings and endings, the place of change and the place of returning to sameness. I may have just been picking up my parents, but I was surrounded by people who were off on adventures, even if they didn't know it, and my heart was filled with happy anticipation for them.

I found myself wishing, just the tiniest bit, that I was about to go off on my own adventure.

Until I saw my parents. Then I was very happy that their latest adventure was coming to an end and that I was there to end it with them.

The Best Cookies Ever

On Sunday I was asked to make cookies for a church activity. I readily agreed and a few minutes later, when the activity was announced, informed a large group of my peers that I was making cookies and that I make the best cookies ever and so they should come.

The next day and a half I spent worrying that my best cookies ever would actually turn out to be the worst cookies ever. Or maybe even just mediocre which would have been even sadder.

Never fear. Everybody loved them.

As I was contemplating on this series of events I realized that if I stopped telling people I made the best cookies ever I wouldn't have anxiety every time I needed to live up to the claim even though I've so far never failed.

And then I thought that was really just a terrible idea.

Guys, I make the best cookies ever.

October Books

Unbeknownst to me, I did buckets reading this month. I didn't realize until I tried to list all books I read and had to appeal to goodreads for a complete list.

My absolute favorite read of the month was A Tangle of Knots. I also thoroughly enjoyed The School for Good and Evil, The Planets, and The Pickwick Papers. Nearly half of the books I read this month were debut novels. Weird.

I began the month by finishing The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens. Dickens is an old favorite and I haven't read anything by him I didn't like. I did most of my reading for this book in September, which is very good excuse for why I did so little reading that month.

My book club read for October was Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs. We wanted to read something seasonally appropriate that would still allow us to go to bed at night checking for ghouls or ghosties. We failed. This book was not spooky, creepy, or Halloween strange in the least. Ah well. I was slightly disturbed when I got to the end and realized there was going to be a sequel. Maybe not a complete fail?

I've been hearing about Edenbrooke (by Julianne Donaldson) for months now. I didn't intend to seek it out but took the opportunity to borrow it when it was offered. It was exactly what I supposed it would be: a lighthearted romance entirely devoid of any substance, the perfect candy book for an evening's reading.

I read two non-fiction books: The Planets by Dava Sobel and Whole: Rethinking the Science of Nutrition by Colin T. Campbell. While I found Whole to be interesting, The Planets I loved and I plan to seek out and read other books by Sobel.

I read two YA books: The Moon and More by Sarah Dessen and How to Save a Life by Sara Zarr. Both well-written and in keeping with each author's particular style.

I loaded up on the middle reader books. I read A Tangle of Knots by Lisa Graff, The School for Good and Evil by Soman Chainani, The Strange Case of the Origami Yoda by Tom Angleberger, Chains by Laurie Halse Anderson, and Crispin: The Cross of Lead by Avi. Each of these books is the beginning of a series excepting A Tangle of Knots. Is series a middle reader thing I just never happened to notice before now? I'm vaguely interested in seeing where Anderson takes her series, and not much interested in where Angleberger and Avi take theirs. I'm sure as a child I would have pursued all three of them avidly. I do intend to read the second and third installments of The School for Good and Evil when they become available.

I've already got a stack of books I hope to get to during November, which may or may not include all seven of the Harry Potter books.

And now it's off to my Saturday. I've got laundry and dishes and cleaning and bags of garden produce to do and all I want to do is curl up with a book and my favorite chocolate chips, taking breaks here and there to crunch through the leaves.

NaNoWriMo 2013

Yes, it is happening. I've already put in my first day's writing. I've got a good 2,208 words written of the 50,000 I need to win. According to Nanowrimo.org, if I continue writing at a rate of 2,208 words per day I will finish on November 23. Being ahead of schedule is precisely where I want to be so I can miss several days of writing. I'm not planning to miss days of writing, but somehow I always do.

Not to worry. Even with missed days of writing, I've got this one in the bag. I owe it to Siegfred. He's been banging around in my head for a few years now. It's time I sent him on his adventure.

This year, I will be a winner.

Once upon an All Hallows Eve, Dr. Just was on a journey. Though Dr. Just was a man of prestige and importance, he preferred traveling by foot. It was the most perfect form of exercise and afforded him the very great pleasure of meeting with all types of human condition from which to study and learn, thereby profiting his medical brethren. Dr. Just ever lived to serve.

On this occasion, Dr. Just was traveling to the renowned medical symposium held in honor of the late Dr. Malform, a celebrated pioneer in the field of medical oddities. Being an expert on Dr. Malform’s philosophies and methods, Dr. Just had been invited to give a lecture, an unprecedented honor which he attributed to his regular presence at the symposium. Dr. Just made it a particular point to attend no matter what he must leave behind in order to do so.

Being an avid follower of Dr. Malform in both life and death, Dr. Just had taken it upon himself to follow the route of Dr. Malform’s final journey. Though there was no specific information about the great doctor’s death, nor even his precise location when that event stole upon him that eventually steals upon us all, Dr. Malform’s intended route was known. He had believed in keeping copious notes to act in his stead at that unlooked for time when he himself would no longer be among the people he so diligently served. Dr. Just considered it his duty, as he was soon to lecture to Dr. Malform’s most ardent followers, to trod this weary road. And what a good idea it had been! With every step, Dr. Just felt positively filled with the excellent spirit of the great Dr. Malform.

Unfortunately, just now the feeling of being imbibed with Dr. Malform’s spirit was growing thin. The sun was weary and so was Dr. Just, eliminating any possible positive effect from walking in Dr. Malform’s ghostly footsteps. Dr. Just considered it prudent to find a place to rest for the night and was greatly pleased when he topped a rise and saw below him a small sort of hamlet basking by the sea. It seemed to him as he stood atop the rise looking down upon the brilliant blue sea and the winging birds that the afternoon sun warmed his very soul. It was all so picturesque, Dr. Just felt sure of a pleasant stay. It took no more than a moment for Dr. Just to identify the small inn from his vantage point. It looked both clean and comfortable, the perfect sort of place to put up his feet and drink a pint or two of cider to the health of Dr. Malform. He rubbed his hands together briskly at the thought of it and started down the hill.

In barely half an hour Dr. Just had entered the town. The townspeople paid him no mind, a rather impressive feat. Dr. Just was a gangly man with hands and feet and face too big for the rest of him. While attention was generally arrested by these blaring features, it was maintained by the self-possession and poise so pervasive in Dr. Just’s demeanor that those around him could not help but stop to tip their hats in deference at the admirable man before them. Though this was so, the townspeople paid him no mind. They were, instead, running hither and thither as if there was something afoot.

Dr. Just did not notice exactly that nobody was paying him any mind. Truly great men had no need to notice the people about them noticing. He detected only a certain something amiss. He decided, in fact, that on close inspection the town did not seem nearly so pleasant as it had from the top of the hill.

It did not take long for Dr. Just to make his way to the inn. He was approaching the door when a rather rotund woman with a bustling sort of air stepped out and shut it up tight. She turned around and gave a great start. “A stranger! On a night like this!” She did not look happy.

“Is this the inn, ma’am?” Dr. Just’s cheeks warmed for he felt a fool; the inn sign was creaking merrily in the breeze from the sea even as he asked it.

“Aye, ‘tis indeed. You’ll find no comfort here tonight.”

It was a small town, to be sure, but the inn did not have the air of one so frequented that there was no room left for him. “Are the rooms full, ma’am?”

“Not just yet, sir, but they will be. They will be.” She tapped the side of her nose. “I cannot let you just hang about. Not on a night like this. And the sun nearly set! You must take yourself off to Mosey’s. Walk down this street ‘til you come to the corner with five streets ‘stead o’ four. Turn right. It will be the blue door.” With that the woman took herself down the street opposite to where she had pointed Dr. Just.

Dr. Just was very confused. All he wanted was a place to sleep for the night, a good meal, and a warm pint of cider. Instead he was dismissed by a small sort of woman with hardly a thought. He gave a great harrumph and thought about walking into the inn to see if someone a little more welcoming was about. He had determined that this was indeed the course of action he ought to follow when the bustling woman turned around and shouted.

“Quickly, now. The sun is nearly set!”

Dr. Just, we must frankly admit, jumped quite high. He stood with his mouth slightly open for several moments before he remembered himself. He looked toward the sun and saw that it was indeed nearly set. And on such a night as this! He ought not to be about if the rather rotund woman were to be believed; she did not seem one in whom Dr. Just could place unwavering confidence. Still, he was tired and needed a bed and it did not appear he would find one here.

Dr. Just tipped his hat at the corner where the woman had disappeared (it would not be said of Dr. Just at any time that he was lacking in manners) before turning on his heel and walking briskly in the direction the woman had indicated. He had gone only a few steps when he stopped in surprise. The streets, before so filled with people hurrying every which way, were now devoid of life. The only sound was the creaking of the inn sign behind him. Dr. Just gave a great shiver and hurried his pace.

He found the corner with five streets instead of four. There were two streets to his right. He barely paused before hurrying up the nearer of the two. He passed three doors before seeing one that might once have been blue. It took only a couple of great, lanky steps to make it up the front stoop where he knocked loudly and rather more urgently than he was used to do.

It seemed to take a long time for the door to open. Dr. Just found himself shifting from one foot to the other. He deliberately planted his weight on both feet, resisting at the same time the urge to tap his fingers on his leg.

At long last, the door was opened by what he could only assume was the lady of the house. She looked distressed and impatient and as unhappy as the innkeeper had been. “Yes, what is it?”

Dr. Just swept his hat off his balding head and bowed deeply. “I’m sorry to disturb you ma’am, but I was directed here by a portly woman down by the inn. She said something about a Mosey?”

The woman’s hand darted out and pulled him inside by the front of his coat. She pushed him behind her, shutting the door rather too enthusiastically, Dr. Just felt, and throwing the bolt.

Dr. Just was not used to being handled so roughly. “Ma’am—” Dr. Just began, but the woman turned around with a smile so big and a face so warm that he faltered.

“Now then, come in. We were just about to sit down to dinner. I don’t suppose you are hungry?”

Dr. Just stammered that he was indeed hungry and he may have also stammered something akin to a thank you. The woman, talking all the time, led Dr. Just upstairs to a small room. It was sparsely furnished but looked comfortable enough with a small bed, an over-stuffed chair and footrest, and a corner table with a washing basin. It even smacked of coziness when you considered the wide fireplace and large stack of wood and kindling.

Dr. Just set his small pack down by the corner table before walking to the three-sided window that jutted out over the street below. He lifted the rough curtains and looked to the sky. It was golden all over with a hint of the faintest pinks. Nearly sunset indeed.

Dr. Just may have inadvertently stumbled on quite a find. While Dr. Malform focused primarily on odd maladies of the physical body, Dr. Just had chosen to follow Dr. Malform’s studious example when it came to inexplicable maladies of the brain. It seemed from those whom Dr. Just could claim a limited acquaintance with that there were many cases in this small town worthy of study. He had not yet had the pleasure of meeting any of the men, but the women certainly seemed to be afflicted.

He couldn’t help but smile as he imagined the wealth of celebrated papers he could write with the information he was sure to gather in this town. Why, he could even mention that the maladies of the brain were so pervasive that upon entering the town he had noticed that the air itself was unrestive and perhaps even temporarily harmful to those possessed of whole faculties. Yes, indeed, a lovely town.

He dropped the curtain and rubbed his hands together as he turned around. He was surprised to find the room looking quite dim. The sun seemed to set rather quickly, which might just explain the strange preoccupation with it. Perhaps the unhealthy air of the town was beginning to affect him, too, that he noticed or cared about such a thing. Something he would need to remember to include in his studies.

Dr. Just sighed and stretched and dug in his small bag for his house slippers. He poured cool water into the basin and washed his hands and face. He reverently placed the tome containing all of Dr. Malform’s greatest work on the right armrest of the over-stuffed chair. Satisfied that all was in order, Dr. Just checked that his house slippers were securely on his feet and walked out the door.

Though dinner was plain, mutton stew with potatoes and green beans, it was serviceable enough and Dr. Just enjoyed it immensely. This was likely due to the strong apple cider that Mr. Mosey had put up himself.

Dr. Just was working his way through his third helping (Mr. and Mrs. Mosey and their small grandson had finished their own meals some time ago and were watching Dr. Just in a state of astonishment) when Mr. Mosey began a subject that Dr. Just was always pleased to discuss. “You seem to be a clever sort of gentleman.”

Dr. Just puffed out his chest and painfully swallowed the large piece of potato posing an obstruction to his speech. “I see you have a discerning eye, sir.” Dr. Just lifted his cider to Mr. Mosey and took several large swallows.

Mr. Mosey, despite his statement, did not seem impressed. “What was a clever man like you doing out near sunset?”

The fire at Dr. Just’s back seemed to grow warmer. He did not like Mr. Mosey’s tone and did not at all like his implication. Dr. Just put his spoon down slowly, reminding himself that he was not yet sure of the particular brain malady that Mr. Mosey was suffering from. “I have not been afraid of the dark for many long years.” Dr. Just’s tone was infused with the perfect amount of self-possession and censure, letting the man know precisely where he stood in relation to Dr. Just. That was key in helping those with severe brain maladies.

Mr. Mosey’s eyes seemed to sink deeper into his face and his voice was solemn. “This night will teach you to be scared of the dark.”

Dr. Just assumed a soothing voice. “Tell me, Mr. Mosey, what is it about the night that you and the others of this town seem to find so troubling? Perhaps I can be of some help.”

“Help!” Mr. Mosey scoffed.

“Why, it’s All Hallows Eve!” Mrs. Mosey exclaimed. The play of shadows from the fire gave her frightened face a rather frightful appearance.

Dr. Just cleared his throat. “That it is, ma’am. Just as I am not afraid of the dark, I am no longer troubled by imaginative visions of spooks and haunts. I do not fear traveling on this night nor any other.”

Dr. Just took a deep drink of his cider. When he put his cup down he was alarmed to see the boy staring gravely at him from across the table. “He doesn’t know, grandfather. You had better tell him.” The boy said this without a waver in his voice or a blink in his eye.

Dr. Just was beginning to be quite alarmed by the depth of their varied conditions. When he returned, he must bring some of his excellent colleagues. He slid his chair back quickly, jumping at the sudden noise the wooden legs made scraping against the rough floor. “I am afraid I must excuse myself. I have some reading to do to prepare for my lecture.”

Mr. Mosey placed a hand on Dr. Just’s shoulder. Dr. Just was alarmed to see that his sunken eyes had completely lost themselves in shadows. “Stay. You must understand.”

Dr. Just felt extremely uncomfortable and entirely unable to move. “Well, then.” He cleared his throat loudly. “I suppose you had better tell me.” As soon as the words were said Dr. Just regretted them. Looking into Mr. Mosey’s eyes and with Mr. Mosey’s hand on his shoulder he simply fancied he couldn’t move. Ridiculous as he was quite capable of movement and it would have been a thing of a moment to leave the room. However, Dr. Just was a man of his word so stay he must.

Mr. Mosey nodded once and settled into his chair.

“Tonight is All Hallows Eve.”

Stating what had already been stated by more than one in the present company. Dr. Just tried not to fidget.

“Men watch over the day as surely as the sun rises. At night, well, at night the world is ruled differently. There are many nights when man’s hold on the world is all but lost. This night, from sunset to sunrise, the world belongs to others.”

“Skeletons!” The boy was excited beyond reason. Sad to see the young so afflicted.

“Yes, my boy.” Mr. Mosey smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Skeletons as well as other spooks and haunts.” At those last words, Mr. Mosey slanted his eyes over to Dr. Just.

Dr. Just cleared his throat. Anywhere else and he would have made it clear, once again, that he did not believe in spooks and haunts as any intelligent man would not. Being a man of manners, he didn’t feel he could interrupt Mr. Mosey.

“Now, do not worry.” Mr. Mosey’s tone was reassuring. “While this night belongs to others of the dark world, here we are disturbed only by skeletons.” Mr. Mosey nodded his head at his grandson, who grinned so large Dr. Just nearly mistook it for a grimace.

“What’s more,” Mr. Mosey continued, “Our skeletons don’t seem to be holding any grudges. You see, each All Hallows Eve the skeletons crawl up from whatever place they’ve been hiding and--”

“Where do they hide?” Dr. Just found he sounded rather rushed and breathless. He gulped some cider.

“Oh, the sea or the caves or deep hallows. Anywheres they suppose we can’t get at ‘em.”

“Oh, my.” The brain maladies of these people really were far beyond what Dr. Just had seen before.

Mr. Mosey leaned toward Dr. Just and seemed almost happy. “You will never guess what it is these skeletons do, sir. Never.” Mr. Mosey leaned the slightest bit closer and tapped the side of his nose. “When all the skeletons get together, they dance.”

“They . . . dance.”

“Yes, sir, they dance. And a great, galloping, good time they have, too. They dance in the streets, they dance in the public houses, they dance in the dance hall and at the lighthouse. Anything as could be considered a public sort of place is filled with skeletons dancing.” Mr. Mosey tapped the side of his nose again. “And do you know what happens to any living, human creature they find in those places?”

Dr. Just discovered he was holding his breath and let it out all at once. “I am afraid I cannot imagine.”

Mr. Mosey grinned and sat back, spreading his hands wide. “Why, they make them dance right along with ‘em.”

Dr. Just nearly smiled. How quaint these people were. “I am sincerely grateful to you, Mr. Mosey, for saving me from the terrible fate of dancing with skeletons. I am sure I can never repay your kindness. But I shall try, Mr. Mosey. I shall try.” Dr. Just tapped the side of his nose back at Mr. Mosey.

Mr. Mosey looked at Dr. Just as if he wasn’t quite right in the mind. Dr. Just puffed out his chest and prepared to leave the table.

“Now,” Mr. Mosey paused looking hard at Dr. Just with his sunken eyes. Dr. Just settled back into his chair. “Now, it wouldn’t be a terrible fate to dance the night away with skeletons. You are right about that, sir. The problem comes when the night is over. There is no way to dance with skeletons without becoming a skeleton yourself, see. The prevailing feeling is that the skeletons aren’t malicious at heart, so to speak, but that they are having such a great, galloping, good time that they want all they meet to join in the fun. Fun it may be to spend a night rioting around town without any of your skin or hair or other vestments of that sort, but fun it is not to spend the rest of the year as a pile of bones deep in the sea.”

“Ah, no, I don’t believe it would be. I quite agree with you there.” Dr. Just again prepared to leave the table but sighed and stayed when Mr. Mosey began again.

“Now, a great clever man like yourself might wonder why we don’t do something about the dancing skeletons.”

“We built a bone mill!” the boy offered excitedly.

“That’s right, my boy.” Mr. Mosey slapped his knee, fairly beaming. Dr. Just sifted in his chair. “And what do we do with the bone mill?”

“We crush any skeletons we find, man or beast.”

“Right again, my boy, right again!”

A slight pause allowed Dr. Just to insert himself. “Do you crush skeletons wearing their, ah, other vestments?”

Mr. Mosey turned his sunken eyes back to Dr. Just. “There’s no reason to be doing that. It mucks up the mill, see. If we find a skeleton wearing his vestments we burn away the excess before crushing the bones.”

“How, er, intelligent of you.” Dr. Just’s voice was rather faint. He cleared his throat and tried to look dignified.

“That it is, sir. If you crush the bones they cannot come dancing during All Hallows Eve. But the bone mill is no good for the bones beyond our reach, so to speak. All them bones in the sea and the bones in the caves and hollows and wherever else bones is hidden. Them we cannot get to.”

“So we stole their feet!” the boy shouted.

“That’s right, my boy, we stole their feet.” Mr. Mosey ruffled the boy’s hair proudly.

Dr. Just lifted his cup to take a drink of his cider only to find it empty. A pity. Dr. Just was sure he was about to hear how they stole the feet from dancing skeletons. Such stories undoubtedly required reinforcements. Dr. Just shivered and scooted his chair a fraction closer to the fire.

“Now, sir.” Mr. Mosey’s sunken eyes were rather alarming in his state of excitement. “How would an intelligent man such as yourself go about stealing the feet off dancing skeletons?”

Dr. Just pulled in a small breath but hesitated to respond. He wanted very much to justify the man in calling him intelligent. However, the question posed to him was of such an absurd nature that Dr. Just thought he would appear more a fool for considering the question. He sighed tiredly. “I’m not quite sure.”

Mr. Mosey’s face fell in disappointment. Dr. Just felt his cheeks warm.

“Well, sir, just before the sun set on All Hallows Eve, we spread a great number of boards with pitch and laid them out in the streets for the skeletons. The next morning you couldn’t see the boards for all skeleton feet. But there wasn’t any other sign of the skeletons. Except of course that the families living in the houses closest to each of the pitch boards went missing. The best we can figure is that the skeletons enjoyed so much swaying about that they couldn’t stand not sharing the fun. The next year we made a great pile of all the skeleton feet we had collected. All Hallows morning dawned and that great pile of skeleton feet were nearly all gone, only three or so left behind. Skeletons swaying about on their shin bones, see. That was the last time we tried anything where the dancing skeletons were concerned. Wasn’t worth the risk. We leave the public places to the skeletons, lock our doors and windows, and wait for their dancing to be done. It doesn’t harm us any. Poor things deserve a night of fun here and there, I reckon.”

It was clear from the way Mr. Mosey was contemplating the fire that he was done with his tales. The small boy looked satisfied and Mrs. Mosey’s eyes were closed, her hand to her heart.

Dr. Just stood up to retire for the evening. Mrs. Mosey’s eyes popped open. “Now you make sure your windows are locked up tight and keep your curtains drawn. No peeking! Stay safe, sir. Stay safe.”

Dr. Just thanked her for her thoughtfulness and generosity and said he would do as well as he could to stay safe. He was not overly worried as he had never found staying safe from skeletons troubling in the least.

It wasn’t until after Dr. Just had closed the bedroom door safely behind him that he remembered needing candles to read by. Unfortunate but not worth reentering the presence of his excellent hosts. He built up the fire and settled into the chair, angling Dr. Malform’s book toward the light.

The tome fell open to his favorite case in which Dr. Malform treated a young girl with twelve toes. He fed her evaporated salt water, hung her upside down from a tree, and then wrapped her feet for a night in a salve made of old tea leaves and potato broth. The girl woke to ten beautiful toes. The miracle of science. When Dr. Just read the account his own toes would tingle as if to say that yes, a salve of old tea leaves and potato broth was precisely how toes ought to be dealt with.

Coming to the part where his toes would begin to tingle, Dr. Just put his hands together to rub them briskly in anticipation when he became aware of a noise outside. It was a strange sort of noise. Something like a clatter, something like a chatter. It was too soft to be the sound of a carriage on the cobblestones, too numerous and repetitious to be a single, random incident. Dr. Just cocked his head, listening intently. He could not begin to guess what it might be.

And then Dr. Just remembered the skeletons. He smiled humorlessly. The locals took their lore quite seriously. They were determined to make him believe their wild stories. An effect of the brain malady?

Dr. Just tried valiantly to ignore them. He might have succeeded had the noise not grown steadily louder and more cacophonous. It was not disturbingly loud; had Dr. Just already been sleeping he was sure he would have slept through it. But it was persistent. It came in between he and his pages, determined that he not go back to his reading, that he not ignore this paltry attempt at making him a believer in ghosts and ghouls. He shut his book and steepled his fingers wondering how long they would continue this charade. He sat there long enough for the fire to grow low and its light to dim. The noise did not end. A brain malady indeed.

As Dr. Just sat in his chair he became curious. The noise was unlike any he had heard before. Of course, it would be essential for the townspeople to create a noise that newcomers would not recognize; otherwise, their story would be easily dismissed and their fun undone.

Dr. Just stood up abruptly. The large tome fell to the floor with a muted thump. He stared at, momentarily stunned into stillness. He picked it up slowly, cradling it in his arms.

The smallest lift of the curtain enabled him to barely peek outside; he musn’t alert the locals to his watching. His eyes widened in surprise. Full-bodied suits made to look like skeletons. Dr. Just began to grow angry. An entire town preying on the fears of innocent travelers was unconscionable. He let the curtain fall from his fingers. He would not validate such madness by watching its gross display.

He wanted very much to go back to his reading but something was not quite right. How oddly the people had moved and how very much like old, dusty skeletons they had looked. He knew what they were about but it was important he fixed in his mind exactly what was going on down below. It would aid him as he sought an appropriate treatment.

Ever so slowly he lifted the curtain just enough for one eye to look out. He watched as below him a host of skeletons danced. They waved their hands and linked their arms and jumped up and down to music only they could hear, chattering their jawbones and weaving in and out of each other. Some seemed to have seaweed wrapped through empty rib cages. One in particular grasped its seaweed trappings and waved them about in the absurd imitation of a skirt.

Dr. Just’s eye traveled up the street. Innumerable skeletons everywhere. With mounting horror, Dr. Just began following the movements of a particular large-boned skeleton. It had a sense of poise and balance that were quite admirable. Had the skeleton been blessed with its other vestments, Dr. Just was sure he would have complimented its dancing skills. The skeleton gracefully moved from one side of the street to the other gadding about as if all the world were made for its pleasure. Until, of course, its bony face turned up to Dr. Just. It is impossible to know precisely where the skeleton was looking as it didn’t have eyes, but Dr. Just felt with terrifying assurance that the skeleton was looking directly at him.

Dr. Just dropped the curtain and jerked down. His breathing was heavy, his mind paralyzed. Skeletons. Dancing skeletons.

But he was safe, yes? He was in a private residence, not a public place. There were doors and walls between him and the skeletons.

He sat down hard beneath the windows and clutched Dr. Malform’s book of medical oddities tight to his chest. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, attempting to calm his pounding heart. He had always found the silence of the night comforting.

Dr. Just’s eyes opened wide. Silence. No more could he hear the sound of skeletons cavorting. Dr. Just didn’t move, didn’t think, didn’t breathe.

Out of the silence came the smallest of scratching noises on the window directly above his head. Dr. Just nearly leaped out of his skin.

He remembered now the woman advising him to check his windows. Had he? He couldn’t remember. But, of course, it would have been absolutely ridiculous not to check his windows in a town afflicted with such brain maladies. He breathed easier. He had checked, he was sure of it.

The Moseys sat around their breakfast table not moving, not eating, just listening. They tried not to look at each other but couldn’t look away.

It is unknown how long they sat in this attitude before Mr. Mosey pushed back his chair. “Well, my dear?”

Mrs. Mosey gave the tiniest of nods and stood. “Before I lose my courage.”

The Moseys walked slowly up the stairs, making as much noise as possible along the way, hoping Dr. Just would throw open his door all afire with dignity and annoyance. They paused on the landing.

Nothing.

As one, they crept forward. The door creaked slightly as Mr. Mosey pushed it open. There was the bed not slept in. There the remnants of a large fire. There, beneath the open windows, a pair of house slippers.

Mrs. Mosey gasped and put her hand to her heart. Mr. Mosey moved grimly to the windows and shut them quickly, covering them with the heavy curtains. The grandson whooped and ran down the stairs, hollering that he had met a dancing skeleton.

Your Space

The days are cool, the air sharp and crisp. There is just enough tilt left for afternoons to be passingly warm. A few days ago, I enjoyed the bright colors from the curb in front of my house, a habit developed in childhood that adulthood hasn't yet bested.

It is strange to consider how my neighborhood has changed. A decade and a half ago I would sit on the curb reading the book currently serving as my constant companion while all around me I could hear the screams and laughter of children playing. The older kids playing street hockey, the younger ones tumbling around in front yards and back yards, playing with sidewalk chalk and bubbles and popsicle stick swords. Now my neighborhood is old, the children grown with children and lives of their own.

A young family recently moved in right next door. As I sat on the curb (bookless), reveling in the warmth of the weak sun, a small neighbor child ran around the fence dividing our yards. He was headed to my backyard to retrieve a lost ball, something I did countless times as a child. Each time I would carefully knock on the neighbor's front door and ask politely if I could retrieve the lost ball from their backyard. I was stunned and dismayed when the lady of the house once again gave me permission to retrieve my lost ball and then fairly begged me to stop knocking on her door. I was welcome to retrieve my ball anytime. She would make a point of leaving the gate to her backyard unlocked.

My siblings soon learned that sending me for the lost ball was hopeless. That didn't help me when I played by myself. As soon as I realized my ball was headed for the dreaded backyard my stomach would flip over and my chest would hurt. I would walk slowly, resolutely to the neighbor's front yard, determined to do what was necessary. Despite my determination, my courage always failed me. I would stand in front of the backyard gate and dither. She said it was okay. But I don't want to just walk into their backyard for my ball. What if I'm interrupting something? But she does not want me to come back to the door just to ask if I can get my ball. I should get it. But what if they are back there? What if they see me through the window? They'll think I'm a sneak! But I can't leave my ball. That would be rude. But I can't go get it and I can't go to the door either. What should I do? What should I do? What should I do?

It was heart rending. As I would stand there, hands sweating, jaw clenched, tears gathering in my eyes, I would curse myself with all my childish heart. Why hadn't I yet learned how to keep my play things to myself!?

Sitting on the curb, I could see my small self standing in front of the neighbor's backyard gate. I couldn't help smiling, remembering that lost, little person. I envied the easy swagger of the neighborhood child as he nonchalantly jogged into my backyard to retrieve his ball.

I still struggle. I cannot interrupt others' space without an inner dialogue of encouragement and positive affirmations. There is nothing more difficult for me than convincing myself that I have it within my heart to be a space disturber.

This is why my greatest ambition is to become an independently wealthy hermit. Space disturbing would belong to my past and never again would I be the small child gathering every shred of my courage to open the gate into your space.

Paul Harding

Paul Harding, the author of the 2010 Pulitzer Prize winning novel Tinkers, spoke at OPL last night. Tinkers was the pick for this years Orem Reads. I had intended to go to the kickoff event, pick up my copy of Tinkers, read it during my lovely vacation, and then listen to Harding speak. I didn't go to the kickoff event, I didn't get a copy of the novel, and I didn't go on vacation. I decided I wasn't going to be a participant at all in this year's Orem Reads and deliberately stopped remembering when various events were being held, including Harding's visit.

My life very courteously arranged itself in such a way as to allow me to attend without reminding me that I had an event to attend. Had I been reminded I'm sure I would have decided it was too cold and rainy to go and I hadn't read the book anyway, so why?

Intending only to drop a book off in the drive through book drop, I drove to the library. The rain stopped just enough for me to feel I could dash inside to grab a new opera to listen to while I worked. I walked into the library, noticed the posters advertising Harding's reading, checked my phone to see I had eight minutes to spare, snagged a book from the staff recommendations to keep me company while I waited, and headed back to the storytelling wing.

Harding was delightful. His reading made the words so much more enjoyable, he answered questions with far too many words and tangents (something which I excel at), and I'm pretty sure I would enjoy being friends with him immensely. He also put words to why I love to write fiction so much; the subject of fiction is the human heart.

I can't wait to get started on Tinkers, which, thanks to the generous sponsors of Orem Reads, I now have a copy of.

I love my library.

The Best Kind of Vacation

The plan was for me, at this very moment, to be inside Mesa Verde National Park enjoying its wondrous beauty. Unfortunately our not so wondrous national government decided to shut down. Not impressed government, not impressed.

The only way to get into Mesa Verde was to become a national trespasser. Sounds kind of fun, huh? Too bad I lack national trespassing skills.

So, I'm doing the next best thing.

Staycation!

PS I finally finished The Pickwick Papers. It took me about seven weeks to read it. I love Dickens. Why does it take me so long to read anything by him? He mucks up the works every time leaving me with a massive backlog of books. I had to return a pile of about half a dozen books to the library because Dickens refused to let me get to them.

2013 National Book Award Nominees

Here are the National Book Award Nominees for 2013.

Have any of y'all read any of them?

Thoughts?

I'm Moving!

At least my blog is.

I have a friend who has called me the serial blogger. I make blogs and delete them. Blogging seems like a good idea until I start doing it and can't figure out why I thought it might be a good idea and so delete my blog of the moment.

Raspberry Mousse has stuck around a lot longer than I thought it would. Unfortunate because I despise having a hyphen in my blog name. I didn't mind it when I began because I didn't think I'd still be here. But some of you seem to enjoy reading what I have to say. Consider my mind boggled.

I appreciate the opportunity to write and the positive feedback and encouragement I get from you. But I do not appreciate that hyphen.

So I'm moving.

Don't worry. You guys can come with me. You can find me over here at www.sweetlemonpie.com.

I know, I know, why would I give up Raspberry Mousse? Because I'd pick sweet lemon pie over raspberry mousse just about any day.

Twelth Night

I pulled out one of my cold weather coats and a warm pair of gloves last night. I spent two hours sitting in a park and it got cold. I knew as I was pulling out my coat that I would be one of the few dressed so warmly. (And by the few what I really mean is I was the only one dressed so warmly.) I may have gotten a glance or two at the beginning of the evening. Really? You're wearing that? As the evening progressed, more and more people huddled closer to themselves, pulling clothing tight over any possible warm air escapes. They all understood why I had brought my heavy coat with the warm, lined hood. Even with my coat and gloves I found myself wishing I had worn a nice tall pair of boots with some warm, knit leg warmers inside. A thermos full of hot chocolate would also have been lovely.

There are few things in life that I consider worth being cold for. I do not like being cold. However, a free performance of low-budget Shakespeare will almost always make the list.

Besides, it warms my heart to pull out my coats and gloves. Warm winter clothing? Yes, please!

PS Do you think that Shakespeare used twin brothers to play the parts of Sebastian and Viola? Pretty sure that would have been awesome.

PPS Utah Shakespeare in the Park is performing Twelth Night for two more nights. Make this happen.

MLT

Last night we made dinner. At home. It was amazing.

We had to buy some basic cooking utensils and a frying pan as our cabinets are not quite usable yet and everything is still packed away.

We used plump garden tomatoes and high quality bacon and put together some stellar BLTs. We also used one of our new ovens to bake up some sweet potato fries. I'm pretty sure nothing has ever tasted quite so delicious.

I've always been fond of BLTs. As a child it was one of my most ordered items at restaurants. Of course, back then my family liked to tease me (led by my father; why is it always the father?) and say I was ordering an MLT: mayonnaise, lettuce, and tomato. Apparently a BLT without bacon isn't actually a BLT.

I do miss seeing the stupefied faces of our waiters. My parents believed in teaching us how to function in the world, thus we were responsible for our own ordering. The waiters would slant their eyes over to my mother. Are you okay with me feeding your child a BLT without the B? Of course she was, and of course that is what I wanted. Really, there is almost nothing better than a nice MLT and a pile of fries.

I still don't eat bacon as a general rule. On a BLT I'll allow it. Unless it's soggy and been too enthusiastically spread over a poor showing of vegetables. Then it's back to the traditional, childhood favorite, MLT.

Now that we've got dinner making out of the way, it's time to move on to things of greater importance. BLTs are well enough, but I need to make me some cookies. If the mixing bowls and cookie ingredients aren't unearthed in the next couple of days, I might be lost to cookie insanity. It's a thing.

It's hard to imagine my bedtime could be any earlier than it already was.

But it is.

I went to bed last night just before nine.

It was lovely.

Order and Chaos

At times I feel my life is devolving into chaos. Other times I feel I am only a few steps away from perfect order. My life never falls completely to pieces nor is it ever perfectly orderly.

I find it humorous, in a grim sort of way, that part of me strives for order and peace and routine in my life. Control. Yet when we write stories of people who live lives of perfect contentment and order we set them forth on adventures that will make them unfit for their former way of living. They are forever changed for the better, we feel.

I have never met a person that lived a life of contentment and perfect pleasure. It is a pervasive illusion that we daily sell to ourselves. This is what I am striving for. This is what I will become.

Lives of perfect order do not exist. But I need not fear my life will ever become pure chaos.

There is no point of perfect order to strive for, to seek in the future somewhere. My life is what it will be and will be what it is.

Each day I step forward into a future that is equal parts chaos and order. My orderly life would be incomplete without the chaos and the chaos would be unlivable without the order.

Things

Some old geezer somewhere has spent the last 20 some-odd years sitting in a wheelchair because when I was born I stole his back. It's a family tradition. My older sister and older brother also have old man backs. We have been justly punished. "My back!" Yeah, that happens in my life.

To counter my old man back problems, I've done some research and now have a routine of back exercises and stretches that I do in the morning. The idea is to do them at night, too, but, "My back!" Let this be a warning to you: don't steal old man backs.

Because I've been focusing on strengthening my back, I've stopped running and strength training. My back is a little sensitive these days and can't take such rigorous activities.

I ate banana cream pudding and zucchini bread for breakfast. It was a mistake. I really should have stuck with vanilla pudding.

I am the worst plant owner ever.

I have five folders on my desktop with pictures from my New York trip. That one that happened a few months ago. It will be documented. Who thinks I'll get to it by Thanksgiving?

I have an old hotmail account. Gmail prompted me to confirm that my hotmail account was a good location to send forgotten information. I thought it would be prudent to ensure I could get in to my hotmail account before confirming. It took me four tries. There were nearly 2000 emails in the inbox. ANXIETY! I spent the next couple of days clearing out my inbox in such a way as to keep it from filling up again. I've been logging in every other day or so to make sure it stays cleaned up. In the past two weeks, three emails have showed up. They won't show up again. I've also been going through the folders and deleting, reorganizing, and refiling. Why does my hotmail account that I haven't used in years need to be reorganized? It's mine and it will be tidy and uncluttered.

My hotmail account is not the only virtual organization I've been engaged in. I'm currently reorganizing my pinterest boards because I pin too many recipes and I want them organized in such a way that they are easy to find.

Our garden is full of delicious vegetables and we don't have a kitchen to cook them up in. Tragic.

Beautiful Idaho

These lovely ladies and I have been buds for about two decades now. They've been a significant presence in nearly every part of my life. We've gone through elementary-age, parent-supervised sleepovers, to walking 'off-campus' (across the street) for lunch in Junior High cause we were just that cool, to boys and dates in high school, through college and classes and degrees, to grown-up things like jobs, marriage, and home-buying.

It was about 1:00am on the last night of the weekend that we were spending together. We were sprawled across the couch and the floor and were talking about everything and nothing as if we hadn't just spent the past 36 hours talking at each other with hardly a break. It occurred to me then that these ladies and I are tied together for life, mostly because that's what we've chosen for each other.

And then I felt really lucky.

Live Brilliantly

July was official breakdown month of 2013. Literally, the whole month I was cranky, crabby, headachey, and pretty much unable to deal with my life.

The first weekend in August I took off to spend some time with my besties from public school. It was a perfect weekend. We did nothing but hang out, watch movies, eat food, and talk until the wee hours of the next morning. I came home feeling rejuvenated and ready to take on August. August was going to be perfect. Less than six hours after I got home, July was back. Except in August. I spent the next two days feeling overwhelmed and overdrawn and completely unable to deal.

Well, I'm over it. I woke up this morning and decided enough is enough. Official breakdown month 2013 is over and done with.

I have a whiteboard in my room. In high school I worked out my calculus problems before copying them onto paper. In college it served as a scheduler and a means to keep important life things from getting lost. After college it collected magnets from my travels. Now, it's more a reflection of my state of personal growth. I use it to remind myself of things that are important, my goals, my intentions, the things that are going to help me to be a better me.

As of this morning I have a new reminder to myself. Live Brilliantly. It's written in eye-catching purple. It's placed so I can't help but notice it as I walk out of my room. Each time I see it out of the corner of my eye I smile. Yes, thank you, I think I will live brilliantly.

I've got this.

Reading in French

Reading in French is tedious. I don't actually know French, which necessitates frequent word look ups. It takes a very, very long time.

I've come up with a new strategy which probably actually isn't new and I ought to have realized it was a thing and implemented it a long time ago. I'm reading the French version with the English version right beside it. Brilliant, I know. And now you all know why after 10 years of semi-consistent (read: not consistent at all) study of French, I still haven't mastered it. I'm a little slow.

I'm currently making my way through Harry Potter. Next up, Chronicles of Narnia. For reals. Also, I like to read it out loud so I can practice making the sounds. This probably means I'm practicing poor pronunciation. (Wait! I can solve this problem! I think this might be a necessity in my life.)

Someday I'll graduate to reading actual French works in French, like The Hunchback of Notre Dame or The Three Musketeers. I might even make it to Les Miserables. Or not.

I may have started wishing I could read classical works in their original language, which means knowing Greek and Latin. I swear, going kitchen crazy does not bode well for my life.

A Visit to the Library

I visited the library on my lunch break. It totally counts as my first visit this week since for my not-real, first visit the library was closed and I was returning materials through the book slot. So technically it was my first visit of the week.

Some time ago I told myself that I couldn't leave the library with more than two books at a time. Today I came home with four. One of them is for my book club so that one doesn't count. The other extra one I've no excuse for.

I feel good about my selection which gives me good reason to not feel bad about breaking the rule.

This post probably should have been called "The Ways in Which I rationalize My Book Habit."

Black Cherry Milk

Seriously, this happens in my life. It's pretty much the best thing that's happened to me since, well, since my doctor told me all those headaches I was getting were actually atypical migraines and that caffeine would help.

Have I mentioned how much I despise milk? Unless of course you hand me an ooey-gooey brownie. Caramel swirls optional.

But black cherry milk? It's creamy, delicious, full-up with protein, and caffeinated.

Pink perfection in a paper cup.

Things Are Getting Desperate

I've been without a kitchen for a week and a half and things are not going well. The kitchen is coming along just fine. I am not going well. I am seriously getting desperate. I need a peanut butter pie. It's practically a health food with all that protein in it. And I believe in being healthy. So I need one.

Yesterday, I visited the home of a sweet friend and I swear if I had brought my purse I would have stolen her lemons. They were so pretty and yellow and, oh my goodness, these lemon meringue pie bars? I must make them. I must!

I'm turning into a crazy person here.

Must.bake.something.delicious.

Only three more weeks to go.

Do you think reading cookbooks will help or hurt? I'm on the fence.

Reasons to Live with Your Parents #62

You can enlist the help of your pa when a wasp attempts to shower with you.

PS I definitely did not have a hard time closing my eyes and putting my head under the water because of visions of the shower curtain exploding into a thousand angry wasps coordinating their efforts to avenge their fallen friend whose swift execution I had unflinchingly ordered. That would never happen.

Romantic Interludes Over Oatmeal

This is what the parents kitchen currently looks like. It's going to be beautiful when it's done. Until then, eating is a rather difficult proposition. The parents are taking it in a stride. Mostly they just don't eat.

I thought it was pretty humorous a few years ago when McDonald's started serving oatmeal for breakfast. I've since decided it's pretty much the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Since Monday, I've started each morning by heading down to my local McD's and ordering myself some delicious oatmeal. The same curly-headed order taker has been there every day but one. This morning they were slow with the person's order two cars ahead of me. Curly-headed order taker decided to be friendly. He leaned out the window and started flirting.

Ah!

I probably should have been rude and rolled up my window, but I'm not very good at that sort of thing. Happily, the electrician ought to be done in the kitchen today; the power can come back on and I can start microwaving my own oatmeal. Microwave oatmeal is a serious step down from McDonald's oatmeal (I'm a stove top kind of girl), but it doesn't come with any flirting. Just my style.

Investments

I've been working on becoming more fiscally responsible. Yawn.

But not really. I kind of love being able to read the finance section of the newspaper and understand what it's talking about. More than that, I love feeling good about the financial decisions I'm making in my life.

The crazy thing about learning about any subject is that all the sudden everything seems to make more sense.

I've been reading an embarrassing number of financial books and it's got me thinking about investments. Nearly every book I've read proposes a different strategy for how you invest your money. I don't think that any one strategy is the right one and all the others are wrong. In fact, I don't believe I've followed any particular strategy as I've worked on restructuring my finances and living a fiscally responsible life.

My thinking recently has been pretty stuck on financial principles, and I've found myself applying those ideas to other areas of my life. Specifically, I've been thinking a lot about time investments. Time and money are kind of similar. You only have so much of it (for most of us) and it's pretty uncertain how much you actually have. You can make projections and estimations, but really none of us knows exactly how much we'll have of either of them. To have a healthy retirement portfolio it's crucial to make the right investments now. It's hard to see how a small money investment in the right place makes a difference, but if you make that same investment paycheck after paycheck it's amazing how it adds up.

Time is finite for each of us, but that's not really important. What is important is that you have this moment right now.

I've decided recently that I need to invest more of my time in me. It's a shift in focus. I don't go to the gym because I should but ugh it's awful. I go to the gym because I'm worth the time investment. It's not always the easiest decision to make, but each time I make it I've taken another small step toward a happy, healthy, hopefully long life. (Also, it was fabulous at a recent work conference to be able to run up the stairs when most of my colleagues were huffing and heaving up the stairs.) It's the same with everything I want to do and everything I want to become. A small time investment will reap big results.

I truly believe that the possibilities are endless and most of our limitations are self-imposed. We are what we choose to become and that largely comes down to our time investment.

So how are you investing your time?

I'm investing my time in me.

Southern Utah and Arizona

This is how I spent last week.

Don't worry. I didn't fall in.

I went with my parents,

my very pregnant sister,

the Big Brother and his two oldest girls,

the Middle Brother and his two oldest girls,

my cousin and his cute wife,

and my uncle.

We went to Zions, the Grand Canyon, and Bryce Canyon. It was a lovely four days of family and fun. Seeing some of the beautiful wonders offered by our country was the perfect way to spend Independence Day.

Also, I kind of loved that I didn't have cell service most of the time. Cut off from the world? Yes, please!