Yesterday.

Yesterday was not a good day. I had been feeling a little strained this week anyway. I leave for Charleston tomorrow and will be gone for ten days. So excited. But I've got work pouring out of my ears, and only one coworker with as much work to do as I have to pick up the slack when I leave and I need to get my prospectus finished for my master's thesis in hopes that when I get back from Charleston I can hit it hard and get it finished up. Which means I've been putting extra hours in at work, taking a half hour break or so, and then it's right back to the computer for school work.

Yesterday, traffic was heavier and more parking lottish than usual. I didn't mind too much. The commute to work is kind of restful in a way. I can't do anything. Literally. All I can do is drive. It gives me time to think and reassert my emotional balance. I was in the process of doing so very successfully when I got banged up from behind. Luckily, nobody was moving quickly on the freeway. Things could have turned out a lot worse. Particularly when you compare the size of his GMC Sierra to my little civic. His car looked fine. My back bumper did manage to bend his front license plate in half (yeah, civic!). My car didn't fair quite as well.

I climbed out of my car, expecting the big man in the big car to take charge or be mad or something. But nothing. He just looked at me with his sad, little eyes and said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He clearly had no idea what to do.

I have been in a car accident before as the driver. Somebody ran a red light and I t-ed him. Also a big truck. That time, though, I was smart and had my parent's, massive van. Take that, red light runner. I was just 16 and was an emotional wreck. My experience there was no help yesterday.

I pulled my frazzled mind together, asked for his insurance and contact information, didn't take a picture of our cars (as I realized I should have after I got to work and sat down and had time to think a little bit), and didn't write down his license plate number (also as I should have). We did not file an accident report with the police. I was fine, he was fine, both our cars still worked, and didn't even look too banged up. I needed to get to work (remember impending vacation strain?), and I was struggling to function. I still feel good about that decision, but I should have gotten that picture.

Ah well. I filed a claim with his insurance yesterday and so far things seem like they will work out well. Fingers crossed he'll cooperate with the insurance when they verify the accident with him.

In the end. I'm grateful. For a lot of things. I'm grateful the big truck didn't smash into my car and bust up the trunk and push me into the car in front of me. I'm grateful the big truck didn't crush me, like it could have. I'm grateful that even if the insurance falls through and I have to pay for the damages myself, my car maintenance fund can handle the cost of the repairs with money to spare. But what I'm most grateful for is the experience. Yup, I said it. I'm glad someone ran into me on the freeway yesterday, and that I was already feeling strained and that it nearly put me over the edge. Someday, somebody is going to run into me again. Having dealt with it on frazzle brain with a driver who had no idea what to do or how to take care of it but could only say over and over again, "I'm sorry," will make it so much easier for me to deal with it later when maybe the other guy isn't so nice or the accident is a lot worse. I've done it once; dealt with it all on my own and did okay. I can do it again. Next time, I'll even do it better.

I rode home in a mountain of tissues.

Which might not have been so bad if they were new, soft, cushy tissues. They weren't. They were slightly damp and sticky, used tissues. I dislodged my mountain at every stop for food or gas or a stretch of the legs, but it took nearly no time at all for the mountain to grow again. Luckily the Ma and Kelly Belly mostly stayed in the front of the car while I and my mountain of tissues stayed in the back.

The Ma also made sure I was well drugged, particularly at night. When you share a hotel room with someone who is hacking and coughing and sneezing you only sleep as much as they do.

I think I picked something up from Uncle Sam. The poor man couldn't stop himself from sneezing. I don't blame him. He's old and frail and each time I see him he seems to have collapsed in on himself a little bit more. One of these days a strong Iowa wind will pick him up and gust him away.

Mountains of tissues aside, I always look forward to Iowa at Powwow time.

This is my cousin Jaron, the one in blue. He dances at every Powwow. He's really very good. Also, I think he looks fantastic in his dance garb.

I spent the days in Iowa working, but Kelly Belly went to the Powwow grounds in the morning and helped braid all the little cousin heads so they would be ready to dance.

I love watching the dances at Powwow while chomping down on hot, crisp, chewy frybread. More than the dances, I love the music. Groups of men sit around a single massive drum, each with their own drumstick. Together they beat on the drum and sing. It's beautiful.

The Ma has come home once again determined to make piles of frybread. Frybread is easy (flour, baking powder, salt, and water, and lard for frying), but it's difficult to get it just right. You need a good, hot fire. We don't have a fire pit. The Ma is contemplating squatting in the currently vacant garden and building a fire there. If I suddenly gain twenty pounds you'll know she's succeeded. I could eat piles of frybread for days and not grow sick of it.

It is good to be home. It is much better to be droopy and sore-nosed in your own bed than an indifferent, hotel bed. I've pulled a steak out of the freezer and intend to make about a gallon of beef barley soup with oodles of delicious vegetables. I'm also contemplating hot apple cider to soothe my achy throat.

4 hours 58 minutes

That's how long it would take me to get to Chicago.

Did I mention that I love Chicago?

Don't get me wrong. I love Iowa (kind of) and I really love my family (definitely), but sometimes I want to just throw Grandma in the car and hit the road. What I would do with Grandma once I got to Chicago, that I don't know. But it wouldn't matter! I'd be in Chicago.

I know that Chicago and I have only the most fleeting of acquaintances, but we were meant to be together.

How I Fared in Portland

I've discovered something about myself recently. I am exhausting to go on vacation with. I exhaust even myself. I pack more into two and a half days than most people get done on a week of vacation. And mostly it's all food.

I flew to Portland with my father for the weekend. Flew in Friday night, late late late; flew out Monday evening, not so late. I've been to Portland a few times. My aunt has lived there with her family for as long as I can remember. But visiting Portland for family reasons is not anything at all like visiting Portland. This time around, Pa and I were playing tourists.

Saturday we got up early enough to enjoy the Hillsboro Saturday Market. It was packed with deliciousness. My aunt and uncle had a booth where my cousin was selling bread. We didn't buy anything (I don't know that my aunt would have let us) but we stopped in and picked up a sample of blueberry lemon bread. It was moist and lemony and bursting with blueberries.

Oregon is mostly rural and the market showed it. Booths and booths stocked with the most delicious looking farm fresh vegetables,  fruits, and berries. I wanted to grab it by the armful. I didn't. It would have been impractical, being on vacation and all. And I like to pretend that I'm a practical sort of person. I did eagerly try any sample that was handed to me. I also purchased and shared a number of market goodies with my father, aunt, and cousins. We bought pita and hummus, a lemon white chocolate chip cookie as big as my face (so good!), a raspberry peach pie, a bumbleberry pie, and some potato salad.

We said goodbye to our poor cousin manning the bread booth and headed toward downtown Portland. We stopped in at Pittock mansion for the view and smelled the roses in the rose test garden at Washington Park. Then it was off into the heart of Portland for more food. Our first stop was a food cart for lunch. Food carts are all the rage in Portland. Pa was brave and tried a Korean food cart with me. The food was fresh and delicious and perfect for sharing. After the food cart we hit up Voodoo Doughnut. No, I didn't try the maple bacon donut, but I did sample a variety of others. Voodoo cooks up some super delicious donuts. I wouldn't wait in that line for them again, but I wasn't disappointed that I had. Also, carrying around a pink Voodoo donut box makes you an instant celebrity. "Hey, where is that place?"

After Voodoo donuts we wandered through the Portland Saturday market. It was big and loud and crowded and full of people showing off the stuff they can do. Pa and I shared a cherry lime sno cone and watched boats go by on the Willamette River.

After downtown Portland we headed home to pick up my cousin from the bread booth. He was done for the day, and it was nearing dinner time. We went to the part of Portland that used to be downtown but isn't anymore. We stopped in at the Salt and Straw first. Ice cream is far more important than dinner, as anybody ought to know. I had a blueberry lavender sorbet in a freshly made waffle cone. It was heaven. I savored it while we walked up and down both sides of the street, looking in the cute shops. I couldn't resist stepping into Moonstruck Chocolate. I limited myself to four: huckleberry truffle, lemon truffle, milk chocolate, salted caramel in milk chocolate. Some of the best chocolates I've ever had. Then it was time for dinner. We went to Pastini Pastorina, a local pasta restaurant for dinner. It was delicious. Pa and I shared, of course, leaving just enough room for us to share a tiny caramel steamer at Powell's Books after dinner, perfect for keeping you company while you walk up and down the endless aisles filled to the brim with well-loved books.

Sunday was far less intense. We didn't do much and ate even less (hard to believe I know). Before church we took a jaunt in the car up to Vancouver and drove along the Columbia. After church we headed to the Multnomah Falls. They were gorgeous and it was fun to climb to the top with my cousins, even though they though I was slow. I wasn't slow. I was enjoying the moment.

Monday, we started out early in the morning. We stopped for breakfast at Camp 18 on our way to the coast. Breakfast fit for Lumber Jack's. We shared a cinnamon roll as big as my face (really, it was that big) and each ate eggs and potatoes and biscuits on top of that. Also, the hot chocolate was delicious.

The Oregon coast is beautiful. When my aunt first suggested the beach I was not interested. I was thinking beachy beach. The Oregon coast is not beach. It's beautiful and rugged and gloomy. I fell in love.

We stopped in at Seaside, walked around the touristy shops, and grabbed a bag of sea salt taffy made in Seaside to munch on. Then we sat down to share a couple bowls of seafood chowder and a big platter of fish and chips. On our way out of town my Pa grabbed some peanut butter fudge. By that time I was all eaten out. Bet you didn't think it could happen, did ya? But I was, and I didn't have a single bit of that peanut butter fudge.

After Seaside we had just enough time to stop in at my aunt's house, gather up our stuff, and head to the airport to catch our plane.

I wasn't there nearly long enough. Portland is beautiful and delicious and I can't wait to go back.

PS I wore my pedometer the whole time I was there. Portland Vacation step count: 36,000. Not bad considering I spent hours sitting around while we traveled by car and plane.

The France Plan

I have a plan. It's my France plan.

I'm going to live in France. Don't know when (in the next couple of years I hope) or for how long (probably just a few months), but it is going to happen.

In preparation for my France plan I'm taking a French class.

This is not my first encounter with French lessons. My long and rather windy path to French began when I signed up for and then dropped French in ninth grade. I signed up for and actually took French the next year and then the year after that. I learned nothing (except the word for cheese). I took another two years as an undergrad, starting from the very beginning. I learned only a little more.

French is my brick wall. School was easy. Math, Science, History. All of it was easy peasy. But French, French was hard.

I don't know when it was I decided that I would be fluent in French, but somewhere between flashcards, and vocab lists, and solid B work, I realized that I would never give up on French.

Yesterday was the first session of my Beginning French 2 class. I should probably be in the intermediate class (yay!), but I'm sticking with beginning 2. It's an accelerated class that will only last a month and I feel good about shoring up my French foundation.

In no time at all I'll speaking French with the best of them. And by that I mean to say this time I'm seeing it through to the end. I will study French diligently (mostly) until I am fluent, which may very well mean I am studying diligently (mostly) for the rest of forever.

Le chemin est difficile mais je peux vaincre.

Don't worry, I'm not sure what it means either.

Wil and Lexi

I was listening to the radio on my way to work. The morning DJs were playing a game with a listener: "Are you smarter than Lexi?" A man called in. His name was Wil.

The first question neither Wil nor Lexi knew the answer to (Where are the 2012 Olympics being held? Answer: London). Wil, being at a loss, attempted to google the answer. You could hear him typing. Lexi told him off for trying to cheat. The next question (What state is the Grand Canyon primarily in? Answer: Arizona) took Lexi a little bit of time, but she got it in the end. Of course, before she figured it out she had to tell Wil off again for trying to google the answer.

After Lexi answered the question, Lexi told Wil he needed to up his game on the next question if he wanted the tickets. Wil didn't answer. He had hung up.

Poor guy, he never saw it coming. See, Wil is smart. He knows where to find anything he needs to. A few seconds with an information processing device and Wil can tell you just about anything. That, dear people, is amazing.

The problem is, Wil can't come up with the information on his own. Once upon a time people stored information. These days, mostly we just process information. Chances are pretty good at some point Wil came across the information that the 2012 Olympics were in London or that the Grand Canyon was mostly in Arizona. At the time, Wil didn't need the information. He processed the information as "not important" and moved on.

I recently read The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing Our Brains  by Nicholas Carr. This book talks all about why Wil is the way he is. It's the internet. It's done it to all of us. You may think that's a hasty generalization, but I'm pretty confident in my assessment, seeing as you are currently reading this post. You = internet user. Apparently it only takes about five hours of internet time to significantly rewire the brain. Imagine what your brain must look like.

But that's okay, right? Nothing wrong with being adept at information processing. The thing with the brain is when you begin to do one thing intensely, the connections in the brain involved in that process grow stronger. It works the other way around, too. The less you do something, the weaker those connections become.

The internet helps us with our decision-making (click on that link or pass it by? pay attention to that ad or ignore it?) and with information processing, but it does not help us practice our focus. The less time we spend focusing on a single task (watching tv, browsing the internet, and carrying on three different chats all at once doesn't cut it), the less able we are to focus on a single task. This means that less deep thinking is going on, which in turn means there's less imagination and creativity. Kind of a scary thought.

Good news is, the fact that I was able to read that book in two days means I am still fully capable of focusing.

I may be a champion information processor, but I won't go down without a fight. I exercise my concentration and deep thinking skills quite regularly. I also have a deep dislike for smart phones and intend to not have one for as long as possible. And you better believe someday when I'm filthy rich and don't have to work anymore I'll spend significantly less time practicing my information processing skills.

P.S. I am definitely smarter than Lexi. Who doesn't know where the Olympics are this year? Or where the Grand Canyon is?

Roasted Butternut Squash Soup

If you frequent a Smith's or a Kroger, you may have noticed the little orange stickers that pop up occasionally. They say 'Manager's Special' in big bold letters and display the new, discounted price. Items go on manager's special for lots of different reasons: clearance, new packaging, the product is no longer carried. The most frequent reason, it seems, is that the item is getting near its expiration date.

The Ma loves the thrill of the shopping hunt, rooting around til she finds a good deal, getting something that everybody else would pass over for an amazing price and turning it into something spectacular. She's out of her mind in love with manager's specials. They've done all the hard work for her. All the best deals are clearly marked with a big, orange, easily identifiable sticker. Ma quite often makes dinners with nothing but manger's specials.

The other day she came home proudly bearing manager's special, chunked butternut squash. Our favorite way to eat butternut squash is roasted with butter and brown sugar, but she wanted to do something funky with it. Like make soup.

While the Ma has been feeling brave recently and has found herself a few recipes all on her lonesome, she still prefers giving that task to me. "Find me a recipe containing these three ingredients that can be done in less than an hour and will fulfill this delicious meal idea!" Luckily, on this particular trip she found so many manager's specials she didn't have time to think about the butternut squash for at least two more dinners (a little nervous making when you consider that it was on manager's special because it was nearly too old to be eaten, but none of us have died yet from eating it so I think it turned out okay). That gave me the time I needed to hunt for oodles of recipes, compare them with one another, and then pick and choose the parts of the recipes I liked, leaving behind those I didn't.

I was disappointed at first in my search for butternut squash soup. Butternut is a winter squash which apparently means that when turned into soup it ought to taste like Christmas. I love Christmas as much as the next girl, but I've never been a fan of the traditional Christmas flavors: nutmeg and cinnamon and allspice all rolled together so everything tastes like a pumpkin pie. Not to be swayed by the early signs of defeat, I dug til I found some different spice combinations I thought would be delicious.

Best. Soup. Ever.

Really. At least the best creamy, winter squash soup that has ever come out of this kitchen. Plus, it is easy peasy. This is becoming a staple on my fall menu. No longer will I suffer from having more butternut squash in the garden than a girl knows what do do with.

And who knows. This might just be enough to keep me from shaking my head the next time the Ma sets out with a happy giggle to hunt down some manager's specials.


Roasted Butternut Squash Soup

5 cups chunked butternut squash
1/2 medium onion, rough chopped in large pieces (I cut mine into six pieces)
2-3 tbsp olive oil
1 8oz package of cream cheese
3 cups water
4 cubes bouillon
1/4 tsp dried marjoram
1/4 tsp ground black pepper
1/8 tsp ground cayenne pepper

1. Preheat oven to 350*. Dump squash and onion chunks in an oven safe sauce pan and drizzle with olive oil. Stir to coat each piece. Roast in the oven for about 45 minutes. Squash should be cooked through. You can check doneness  by inserting a knife. If the squash is cooked, a butter knife will slip easily into the squash flesh.

2. Puree Squash and onions in a blender (I suppose you could use a food processor for this but I think those things are a booger to clean) til all the chunks are gone. Add the cream cheese and puree until it takes on a smooth, even consistency. Return to the sauce pan.

3. Dissolve bouillon in hot water. Add bouillon water, marjoram, black pepper, and cayenne pepper to the squash mixture in the sauce pan. Warm over medium heat. Do not boil.

4. Bust out the previously purchased, crusty bread and delicious sweet cream butter. Dig in.

PS I only used chunked butternut squash because it was on manager special. The easiest way to roast butternut squash is to cut it in half from top to bottom, scoop out the seeds, and throw that puppy in the oven. No chunking, just halving. Coat the onions with olive oil and drizzle olive oil on top of the squash halves. Scoop it out of the skin and into the blender for pureeing.