wats ^? sunny n warm hre. lol :)

Photo from this website

I have sat down several times in the past week to write something insightful and witty on my blog, but the well seems to be dry.

That's not quite true. The well is just full of baby, and I'm trying draw from other sources. It turns out everything I do is dominated by this baby. Just yesterday I walked into a cracker display at the grocery store because I was looking down admiring Genghis rather than watching my steps. That's actually the reason they always say that rear facing car seats are safer - it reduces parents distracted by cooing.

The frustrating thing is that a few weeks ago I thought of something really great to blog about. I forgot and then remembered earlier this week. But now I've forgotten again. So instead of pursuing fresh material I am consumed by trying to remember my awesome idea. Eventually I'll remember and realize that it wasn't really a great idea to begin with. It will feel the same as when you wake up from a dream in which you've had a brilliant idea and as you start to write it down you realize that recycling all of the dirty diapers in the world to use as home insulation probably won't sell after all.

I once had a dream that we could harness the power of new web 2.0 social networking technology to have people across the world report the temperature and precipitation. By uploading all of this data and analyzing it over time we could create a system for tracking and predicting outside conditions. And then I realized that we already have that system - they are called weathermen.

doing strange things

Abe and I have found ourselves engaged in strange behaviors since Genghis came into the world.

I composed this blog post entirely in my head at 3:30 am while nursing. At the time, I thought it was good practice in the event that I am ever kidnapped. While nursing earlier the day before, I listened to a "This American Life" episode about hostages, during which a kidnapping survival expert offered the following advice to victims:

1) bring along or ask for a book so you have something to stave off boredom - if in Central or South America, request a Bible because they'll sympathize with your religious fervor
2) don't try to bargain for yourself because it only increases expectations for the eventual payout later on
3) find ways to exercise your mind and body rather than falling into a lethargic daytime routine

Memorizing this blog post while nursing was practice in #3. Although, now that I think about it, all three tips seem applicable to surviving nursing a baby. I've kept Jeff Shaara's Gods & Generals propped up on the zebra next to the rocking chair (on page 300-something). Genghis is thus far unresponsive to my incentive structures for him to stay awake through his feeding or sleeping longer in between. And lethargic doesn't begin to describe how I spend my waking moments.

But Genghis holds Abe and I hostage not just in body but also in mind.

Three scenarios from the past 2 weeks.

First, Genghis wakes in the middle of the night. He is performing his "freak out" cry, as we have called it, in the other room. Abe sits bolt upright in bed, eyes closed, completely asleep, and loudly goes "Shhhhhuuuuuushhhh!" I gently pat Abe's arm and tell him that Mom is already tending to Genghis and that his well-meaning shush-ing probably isn't doing much good anyway.

Second, I wake up in the early morning hours groping my pillow, convinced that I can feel Genghis's chubby legs in there. He is trapped, and I have been sleeping on him for the last 2 hours. I scare myself into consciousness and do the only reasonable thing, which is to stick my arm down my pillow case and feel around in all the corners just to make sure there isn't really a baby hidden inside.

Third, Genghis starts crying again in the middle of the night. Abe and I both start to stir. Abe slides one hand under my neck and lays the other across my stomach and starts rocking me gently back and forth. I'm pretty sure he is also shush-ing. I turn to him and say, "I'm not the baby", to which he responds, "Oh, well, where's the baby?" I tell him to go back to sleep and I go console Genghis in the other room.

After reflecting on these events, I'm not sure if cosleeping would be a better or worse option for our family life.

too cool for drool

I've mentioned my No Bodily Fluids rule before. And, technically, this post breaks it, but I think with one of the least harmful of fluids.

Saliva.

I produce a lot of saliva. It's one of the reasons I don't like going to the dentist - we have to spend a lot of time with the suction tool. After one particularly long and noisy sucking session, the hygienist informed me that I have very viscous saliva. This amazing saliva make-up protects my teeth against cavities, with the small downside of creating more plaque.

The problem with my overactive viscous saliva is my unrelated problem of not being able to breath well through my nose. So, when I sleep, I am a mouth breather. Combine this with the zealous saliva glands and ... well, nights get soggy.

When I was in sixth grade, I got new green flannel sheets. I was so excited that I used them before washing them. One day I got to school and one of my friends said, "Why do you have green stuff on your cheek?" What? Huh? Green? Sure enough, there were a few green smudges on my cheek and the corners of my mouth. I washed it off and thought nothing more of it. The next day it happened again. When someone else pointed it out to me, I realized my drool-seeped green pillow was rubbing off on me.

Jump to today. We got new sheets a few weeks ago. And I've now noticed that my pillow has bleach splotches all over the corners. You know, the corners where my head usually rests at night. I don't have experimental proof, but I'm pretty sure that the drool that protects me against cavities is also combining with toothpaste residue in my mouth at night and bleaching my pillow out.

I suppose I'd better rinse better.

snowperson*

Snowperson update: We had a stint of warm weather. Now the snowperson is a small ball (base) sitting next to an even smaller ball (head), on the dead-green grass. Watching the snowperson's progression through January has been a poetic journey for me.

Which has me thinking about the last 3 snow creatures I have made.

#1: Energizer Bunny.
Last winter, Abe & I picked an evening after work to play in the snow. I remember this because it was about the only time we played in the snow all winter. Why is it so much more appealing when you are 10?

We borrowed sleds from our neighbors and tromped over to a nearby park. The snow was sticky, deep, and relatively untouched: perfect modeling conditions. We rolled a large ball for the base of the snowperson (let's be honest, though, the "ball" always looks like a re-wound roll of toilet paper), and a smaller ball for the head. At this point we decided the snowperson had distinctly bunny-esque features. Add dramatic floppy ears, fluffy white tail, and Thumper hind legs. Pleased, we ran up the nearby hill to take a few runs on the sleds. When we got to the top, we realized that the bulging, cylidrical base of the bunny looked much more like a base drum than a cute fuzzy belly. The Energizer was also appropriately framed by the vast expanse of the open field and a setting sun in the distance.

#2: Big.
A few years ago, we had a big winter storm on New Year's Eve. Warmed by the spirits of sparkling white grape juice after midnight, Abe & I frolicked in the piles of snow around our house. In drunken delight, we decided to roll the biggest snowball ever. Knowing we would need all the snow in the open area behind our apartment building, we rolled the ball back and forth in even rows, like a lawnmower. Once the ball got to about waist height, we gave up on the rows and rolled it in whatever direction its momentum seemed to take it. We wound around to our neighbor's and left the snowball, shoulder height, just to the right of their front door. It was the most prank-like thing I'd done for several years and awoke on New Year's morning with the guilty regret of a bad hangover.

#3: Gryffin-saur
While in Utah for Christmas several years ago, we spent one evening with my sister and her family. Cue snowstorm. After making an assortment of our family's traditional Christmas cookies, Abe & I went outside with the kids to make a snowperson. Abe has a talent for rallying children to "break" the rules of whatever game they may be playing. Want to play 20 questions? Okay, but you only get points for style (instead of "Is it bigger than a breadbox?", ask, "Would Genghis Kahn appreciate it as a gift?"). Hide-and-go-seek? Fine, but expect to find Abe clinging to the eaves of a building.

So instead of a snowperson, we decided to build a Griffin. It helped that my nephew was into Harry Potter. We had a stately lion base going, along with tail. But as Abe & my nephew worked on the ferocious fowl head, my niece (who also has a penchant for doing things her own way) started placing small triangles along the creature's tail and spine, stegosaurus style. In the end, it was more of an impression of Griffin ferocity, with the scales and inevitable drop in enthusiasm as the snow numbs fingers and the smell of cookies draws everyone back inside. But it was majestic in the moonlight and falling snow.

*In an effort to rid this post of gender bias, I have chosen to use the term snowperson in place of snowman. In future posts, I may employ the use of "co" as a gender-neutral pronoun: see this website which explains co's use in the alternative living community of Twin Oaks, Virginia -- hammocks and soy products for all!

a commitment to taking more walks

I have been on many pleasant walks. So many, in fact, that I was resolved at the beginning of fall to take more walks.

Two Sundays ago, Abe & I took a mid-afternoon stroll around the neighborhood. I was fascinated with taking pictures of the beautiful scenery.


Abe was talking on the phone with his father.


Meanwhile, the sky looked like this.


We decided we'd better return before the clouds got angrier. The sprinkles started as we were walking down a dirt path back home. Abe was still talking to his dad.

The sprinkles got heavier. We started to jog. Abe was still on the phone ("Uh huh. ... Yeah, that sounds good, dad. ... Sure. ...").

Now it was pouring. And I had taken a wrong turn on the path so we were headed back the long way. Abe was still on the phone, but managed a graceful exit ("Actually, we're running through a rain storm right now - can I call you back in a minute?").

Did I mention that I was in a skirt and sandals this whole time?


The photo doesn't do our sopping selves justice.

Garden Variety

Last night we had a delicious Spinach Basil Pesto, made with basil from our garden. It turned out much better than some other basil dishes we had earlier in the year. That's because earlier this year I was actually cutting Impatiens from our garden, not basil.

Story:

This summer was my first attempt at a garden. We planted several pots of herbs, and, because we had leftover soil and pots, also planted a few flowers. Everything was from seed, so I was excited to see what the plants would look like as they grew. The basil was doing well, and so were my flowers.

After a few weeks, the basil looked old enough to cut, as a garnish for our pizza or spaghetti. It didn't add very much flavor, though. I was disappointed.

Time passed.

I noticed that my flowers were looking more and more like my basil. In fact, basil seemed to be springing up in all of my pots. Then I noticed that there were 2 subtly different looking plants growing in my basil pot.

And that's when I knew: some of these plants were not basil. And I was pretty sure whatever wasn't basil was Impatiens. Finally, turning on my Cub Scout Commissioner/Forestry Merit Badge Counselor skills, I noted that one of the plants had "opposite" growing leaves and the other had "alternate" growing leaves - one of the basic traits to look for in plant identification. A few Google searches confirmed that we had been eating our Impatiens as garnish.

So last night, I was confident that it was basil I snipped and put into this lovely recipe.

Spinach Pesto

Ingredients:
10 ounces torn spinach leaves
2 garlic cloves, halved
3 tablespoons pine nuts (I didn't used these)
3 bunches fresh basil
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/8 tsp. salt
hot, cooked linguini

Preparation:
Place a few spinach leaves, garlic, pine nuts, basil and a little oil in blender or food processor container. Cover and puree until leaves begin to look crushed. Continue adding spinach leaves a few at a time with small amounts of oil to blender, using a rubber spatula to help to combine pureed mixture. Add Parmesan cheese and 1/8 tsp. salt. Cover and process until spinach pesto mixture is smooth.

Meanwhile, cook pasta according to package directions; drain in colander. Serve with the spinach pesto sauce.

I also added sauteed mushrooms.

Where the fishermen meet!

In my family, Saturdays always meant day trips in the family van. Which was no small thing (the van, I mean. We sported a 12-passenger Ford Club Wagon, like this one but baby blue and with curtains made of PVC piping and canvas).

One memorable trip was down the Lake Michigan coast of Wisconsin. Actually, I remember nothing about the trip, except that we stopped in Two Rivers, Wisconsin, for dinner. Mom really wanted a Saturday night fish boil, with fresh fish from the Great Lakes. Of course, none of us children remotely comprehended why this would be a better option than, say, McDonalds. But to a fresh fish boil we went.

And ended up at M&Ms, or perhaps MOMs -- the restaurant's logo was ambiguous, so we were never quite sure. Maybe we should have left when they sat us at a table that still had the previous diners' trash on and under it. But we didn't leave. After all, fish boil.

Mom ordered her fish and we all got something with fries. But even the fries weren't a safe bet. They had a distinct yeasty taste. Being in Wisconsin, there was a strong possibility that they were deep fried in beer. We added more ketchup, but the yeast taste got worse. Then we realized the ketchup bottle was marked with an expiration that pre-dated my birth.

It didn't help that I had ordered a kiddie-sized milkshake (we're a "I'll just start with a water" family, so I knew Mom and Dad wouldn't take a full shake well). The shake came in a shot glass-size paper cup that I managed to stretch out to 2 spoon fulls.

M&Ms/MOMs has always been something of a joke to us since. My family moved away from Wisconsin about 13 years ago, and (to their surprise and ours) my parents moved back about 2 years. In between, Dad was on a business trip there and ended up in Two Rivers. He bought a black logo truckers hat from M&Ms/MOMs for me.

And this weekend, I finally found the perfect venue to wear it at.

Demolition Derby! The Michigan state championship, no less, held at the Saline Fair. My friend Elizabeth invited us, and, as she says, if you haven't gone, you should go because "it's a lot more fun than it should be".

Some footage:


Generally, what happens at a demolition derby.


Note the dirt flying at us.


Captioning: "He's got the rear end shoved up in the sheet metal." And just which one of these cars might you be talking about, sir?


They also had a truck heat.


In my M&Ms/MOMs hat.

p.s. I actually found M&Ms/MOMs website, and confirmed the name. M&Ms Lunch and Catering. Catering?! Their slogan: "Come and eat where the fishermen meet!"

Sketch to the Finish Line

I came across a wonderfully fun web application called Odosketch.

It simulates using a sketch pad, and is really quite realistic. You can choose from a palette of colors, and the speed of your sketching determines how rough/fine the lines come out (took me a while to figure that out...).

I did this sketch using the mouse pad on my laptop (not recommended). It's a rough representation of me (the maroon blob) streaking through the finish line of the 5K race I ran this morning.


Visit this link for a larger image.

Yes, I did say 5K. No, I do not run. I have not run for several years. Abe & I decided to do this race purely because of peer pressure.

We went on a 2-ish mile practice run Monday night. Neither of us was seriously injured (although the next day we both came down with bad colds from which we are still recovering - I blame the run), so we went through with the race today. Again, no injuries, though I am moving quite sluggishly now. In fact, I am not moving at all, right now.

Encouraged by my fellow racers and Abe yelling for me to "Bid! Bid!" at the finish line (bidding is diving in Ultimate), I came in a few seconds over 25 minutes.

Summer-ography continued

We've been disc golfing 3 times since purchasing our set of discs. This is at a local course (24 holes!) about a week and a half ago.


We started off eating delicious grilled vegetable and mozzarella paninis (highly recommend).


This is part of the course. Michigan is beautiful!


This is where my discs often ended up.


Yes, that is the launching pad in the immediate background. Sometimes my throws have quite a slice to the left.


Note the mosquito-infested bog behind me. The bright orange disc is obscured by the mud.

Hammocks and Impuse Shopping - An American Tradition

Any trip to the store - grocery, convenience, Big Box - I go armed with a shopping list. Still, one or two impulse buys usually fills my cart. Especially when Abe comes with me. Either because the ensuing discussion (justification) makes me take more notice or because Abe is particularly averse to shopping, and a bonus gift or two soothes his nerves.

When we were first married, he convinced me to buy a small "camp mirror" for its versatile features, such as a reflective surface, wall-hanging device, and trifold stand. It slices! It dices! It sat comfortably in the bathroom cupboard for several years, and still does.

Another early purchase was a 50-pack of cable ties (small plastic bands that wrap around cords to keep them in place - think heavy duty bag ties). I remember playing with a few of them to figure out how they worked. At one point I think we used one to actually tie up a cable.

A few months ago we got a small tub of colored foam shapes. Abe wanted to use them for game pieces (he is a board game hobbyist). We sat on the living room floor one night and sorted them by shape and color. I made geometric designs on the floor, and then we put them into the box, layered in rainbow fashion.

Impulse buys have unexpected staying power. The cable ties? Still in the original package. I just counted - there are 32 left. Even things we've never used, we tend to hang on to longer than things we've never used but deliberately bought. A few years ago we bought a hammock on a whim in Mexico. $10. Unfortunately, we couldn't find a place to hang it in our basement apartment, or in our 2nd story apartment after that, or the apartment after that.

Yesterday, while cleaning out the closet, I pulled out the hammock and brought it out to our screened-in porch. Abe and I hemmed and hawed about how to string it from the rafters, came up with a viable plan, realized we didn't have any rope, went to the store and bought rope, came home to discover there was no way to hang the rope from the rafters, and tucked the hammock back in the closet.

Maybe in 5 more years we'll find 2 trees.

The hammock will still be around. Probably the rope, too.

Lost & Found

My dad has a saying for times when you are searching for lost items: "It's always in the last place you look."

Today I met up with Abe for lunch on campus. At work we usually do the crossword puzzle during lunch, so I brought a copy with me. Which means I also brought my glasses, so I could read the clues without squinting.

The walk to campus was sunny and nice - certainly not weather for wearing glasses. I tucked them into my shirt collar. I remember them getting tangled with my ipod's earbud cords.

When I saw Abe on the lawn outside of the art museum, I ducked underneath the chain ropes to the lawn and met him there. We sat down (me in dappled shade, him in complete shade) and I commented on how this felt just like our lunch dates at college when we were first together.

We opened up the crossword and I reached for my glasses. Which were, of course, no longer there.

Thinking they must have dropped when I bent under the ropes, we searched back and forth along their length, and in the grass between. No luck.

Later, when I got back to work, I couldn't focus my eyes on the screen or papers in front of me. I'd basically given up on being able to find the glasses, so I got a recommendation from a co-worker for a cheap place for an exam and new glasses.

I walked to the bus stop, ready to go home, grab the car, and go get new glasses. At the stop, I called Abe, who said the only problem was that he had the car on campus, and needed it soon. So I changed directions to go meet Abe, get the car, drop him off, and then go get my new glasses.

It happened that Abe was in the building right next to the art museum. He needed a few minutes to wrap up his work, so I walked the length of the roped side walk - one last time.

And there, bright red frames against the green grass, were my glasses. In the last place I looked.

Incidentally, in my utter joy and astonishment, when I picked them up I immediately dropped them again. They skidded along the concrete sidewalk and now have a visible scratch in the center of the right lens. I'll try to think of it as a permanent reminder of good fortune.

Aa-choo! Could you pass me a blanket?

My pink baby blanket was my greatest childhood defense against unreasonable and upsetting parents. Suggestions from Mom and Dad to turn off the TV after 4 straight hours of cartoons or clean up the kitchen after my attempt to create the ultimate chocolate chip cornbread cookie loaf (failed, need I say) sometimes offended my 7-year-old pride.

Times like these, I ran screaming upstairs to my bedroom and closed the door. Then I remembered that a good, hard slam is usually more effective, so I opened it and gave it a yank closed that left my ears ringing. I was still screaming, though, so I didn't notice too much.

Next in the routine was to lay down on my back on the bed and pound the wall with my feet in blue lace-trimmed socks. This angry perpendicular march pounded into my head just how mad I was. And when that wore off I got even more mad that no one answered my pounding and I had to keep going even though my hamstrings were getting tight.

Once I convinced myself that the soles of my feet were developing blisters, I performed a graceful decrescendo in my foot parade with all the dignity I could muster. It was part of the plan. Silence, I told myself, would speak more loudly to my parents, who would worry they had driven me to some unheard terror.

Eventually I heard dinner plates being set at the table, casseroles being pulled from the oven, and - most insulting - my siblings laughing at some joke they shared without me. Did they not understand the complete injustice committed against me? Wouldn't they be having more fun if I were down there with them? ... and wouldn't I?

I wanted to be down at dinner, like none of this had ever happened, but I wanted my family to feel guilty and amend their wrongs. In short, I had put myself in a fix. With an ingenuity attesting to my mental development at the time, I found the perfect solution. I would pull my pink baby blanket over my head, Cousin It style, and go downstairs. The blanket would be a strong visual signal to them that apologies were in order. But I would still get to eat dinner.

I don't know how many times I went through this routine before growing out of it, but even now there are times I wonder if I'm still wearing my pink baby blanket.

This afternoon I called Abe after work to see what he wanted to do tonight. After a brief conversation that led to no real conclusion, he suddenly seemed to get very short with me.

I immediately went on the defensive: "Great. I just call him to see how his day was, to show that I'm so excited to spend the evening together, to give him cheerful ending to his workday, and here he has the nerve to get upset because I'm interrupting his work or being indecisive about what to do tonight. It's not I knew he'd be in the middle of something. He didn't have to answer the phone. Maybe I wanted to decide what to do together, be considerate of his feelings and mood."

Of course, that was all a mental note. My actual conversation went something like. "Okay. ... Well. ... Yeah. ... Bye." (click).

Which was also what I said an hour later when Abe called to say that he was on his way home. Except maybe without the "Bye" on my end. After all, the nerve of him.

When he got home I was out on the front lawn reading a book. I was laying on a blanket, but I may as well have had it over my head. After a minute Abe said, "So, I think you may have thought I was mad at you earlier on the phone."

I looked up, somewhat surprised. He wasn't even going to give me a chance to pound my feet against the wall?

He continued, "You see, I was about to sneeze, so ... you know how it gets. My words, my breath, got really short. But I was just trying not to sneeze."

Hm.

That's why we could never do a long-distance relationship. He just doesn't do well over the phone.

after writing this blog post, i think i should have taken my 15-minute reading break instead

Or, what my life experience has taught me about living life, and how I don't actually do it very well.

For the 2 weeks, I've been reading the latest Amelia Peabody book (by latest I mean the one the library happened to have stocked when I rampaged through their shelves searching for my favorite Egyptological detectival series). From the first chapter, I knew this book was below par for the series, but I'd enjoy it anyway.

Then a strange thing happened.

Every day, when thinking through my list of things to do (yoga, study scriptures, go to work, make dinner, play Ultimate, clean the house, etc, etc), I would identify every possible downtime or in-between time I could use for reading. And every day, when that time came, I thought of something else on my to-do list other than read Amelia Peabody. And I would do it. Even though it wasn't absolutely necessary. And even though I most obviously wanted, above all else, to settle into the sofa for a 10-page stint.

I think this is how I got through high school, college, and most of a master's program before I finally got my first grade below A-.

For the moment, let's set aside the psychological analysis of my masochistic behavior. The reason I got to thinking about this is because of a blog post from my friend. She was talking about how she gets stuck thinking about how much she dislikes where she is now and how much she wishes she were somewhere else.

I see 2 worlds in which this thinking exists.

In the first world, I have my Amelia Peabody book. I know what I want, I know it's on my bookshelf for the taking. But I find consistently find reason for delay. Some of those reasons are legitimate. Exercise and religious worship are both high priorities for me - that's why I do them when I first wake up. I like my job, and I want to keep it, so going to work is also important. But some reasons are more habit than personal preference. For example, making dinner as soon as I get home from work. I definitely need to make dinner. But does it have to be as soon as I get home? If I'm not too hungry, and if there's no where pressing to go in the evening, couldn't I take 15 minutes to relax with my novel. Where did I get the idea that for me to be the best Erin I can be, I have to make dinner right away?

I'm not sure, but I know a lot of these "necessities" float around in my head. Folding dish towels is another good example. Why do I fold my dish towels? Do they work better when folded? Do they really fit better in the drawer? Is there something inherently satisfying about neat, cornered stacks?

For me, the answer to dish towels is no for the first and last question, and yes for the middle question. So I keep folding my dish towels. But dish cloths are a totally different story. Trying to fold a dish cloth is like trying to pick up the last grains of rice in your teriyaki bowl with chopsticks. Slim pickings for the amount of physical dexterity it requires.

So in the first world, where there's a will there's a way, as long as the unnecessaries don't get in the way.

In the second world, Amelia Peabody isn't stocked at the library when I went to check it out to begin with. In this world, the things we want the most are the things we can't control. This is a harder world to deal with, because it often requires us changing the goal. Or at least coming up with a "meantime" goal. Sticking with the library analogy, I could check out the DVD options or maybe a nonfiction read to keep my mind sharp.

Unfortunately, on most days, I would probably search through the mystery section for a third or fourth time, hoping the book was mis-shelved.

the hello sandwich

Saying hello has never been instinctual for me. One of my goals when I started my job in February was to always greet my coworkers when I passed by their office or saw them in the hall. Still, 50% of the time I regress to the turtle smile - a flicker of eye contact while the corners of my mouth draw straight back to my ears and my lips press together tightly. The veins in my neck probably bulge a little, too, but I refuse to check that in a mirror. Either way, the turtle smile is not exactly a "top of the morning to you".

Sometimes saying hello is genuinely difficult. Two of my sisters and I discovered this while hiking at Zion's National Park a few years back. As the three of us marched single file down the one-way trail, passing or being passed by another hiker, the first person could say hello just fine. As could the last. But the middle one was stuck in the "hello sandwich". They couldn't greet right after the first person because it didn't give the other party a chance to reciprocate, but if they waited an appropriate space of time, they were cut off by the third person.

Solution? Turtle smile. And if the veins didn't bulge before, imagine what happens when you're huffing and puffing along the trail. No wonder so many people would ask just how much longer did they have to go?

You can see how all of this gets complicated when the other party has 3 people in it, too. It's like a Big Mac - the third bun wedged in the middle makes an already uncomfortable experience downright disastrous.

Another problematic greeting situation is the post-appropriate hello. Where you really should have said hello much sooner and are now in the awkward position of either ignoring someone indefinitely or admitting outright to your hello shyness.

Example.

I was at my bus stop near work the other day and saw someone I was sure I knew. But I couldn't for the life of my figure out how I knew this person, and I convinced myself that however I knew them, it was some very awkward context - like someone I had been in a group with in school but didn't get along with. We kept catching each other sneaking sideways glances, until the bus came. Saved!

Imagine my despair when he was at my stop again a few weeks later.

(conversation inside Erin's head)
Just say hello. Do it now, before it gets awkward. You can still say it, there's still time. If you don't do it now, you'll regret it. Just ... Oh, well. Now the greeting stage of social norms is over. You'll have to get his attention first if you want to say anything. Don't look now unless you're going to. You're looking! ...where's the bus?...

Eventually I decided to say hello. Just as I did, I suddenly remembered where I knew this person from, remembered his name, and realized that there wasn't anything awkward about how we knew each other. After I blurted out his name in a rush of desperate enthusiasm, the result was a good conversation, and vastly improved future encounters.

Which is what I told myself this morning, when I finally said hello to the person I've been standing next to at the bus stop near my house for the last 4 months. And which turned out to be true.

pull the plug!

A few months, my computer got its life sentence. It took the form of a small pop-up bubble that comes on every time the computer starts up, saying "Java Update Available". Nothing against Java. But the pop-up bubble - the one at the bottom right of the computer screen - you know the one I'm talking about...



That bubble is a sign of impending digital death, or at least significant slow-down. Our circa 2003 laptop (Jurassic Period) has about 5 of these pop-up bubbles now. When I turn on my laptop, I can watch them come on one-by-one while eating a delicious breakfast omelet, because it takes about the same time to start up the laptop as it does to make a delicious omelet.

The point being, as soon as I fire up a new computer, it begins a slow death via an endless queue of updates, packages, etc. that sometimes manifest themselves as cute pop-up bubbles. I'm pretty sure most of these updates are excuses to make my computer run slower and slower until I give up and buy a new one with more processing power.

There's even a word for it.

"Planned obsolescence is the process of a product becoming obsolete and/or non-functional after a certain period or amount of use in a way that is planned or designed by the manufacturer." - wikipedia

How sinister!

Thank goodness for the "Remind me Later" button. The perfect passive aggressive tool against the sleazy manufacturers of planned obsolescence.

motion for a 30-hour work week

All in favor?

I thought so.

Still, somewhere in the 8 hrs I have left after sleeping and working Mondays-Fridays, I have managed to squeeze in a well-balanced life. Despite my lack of posts in the last 2 weeks.

Monday: While everyone watched in despair and maybe horror as the snow accumulated throughout the day, I was anxiously awaiting 5:15, when I would bus home, grab the neighbors' sleds and Abe, and make our way to a local park. Between sickness and negative temperatures, I never went sledding this season.

There is a small but very steep hill close to our house that we scoped out in the fall. It did not disappoint. With the sun setting on our snowman bunny (we were coming up on Easter, after all), Abe and I stood at the top of the hill, daring each other to be the first to attempt descent. After I watched Abe careen to the bottom, I made my way to a side hill. We both ended up taking about 3 runs from the summit. We quit while we were ahead and went home to chili and hot chocolate.

Tuesday: Racquetball and weight lifting at the gym. Good stress reliever. Followed by freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and an episode from Season 2 of the original Star Trek series.

Wednesday: Dinner for a sick friend and entertaining her wonderfully fun children for an hour.

Thursday: Drawing a blank. Perhaps more Star Trek?

Friday: Burnt chicken, coloring Easter Eggs, special feature: Inner Space. Looking for a 1980s Martin Short movie co-starring Meg Ryan and directed by Steven Spielberg? I thought so.

perky polly picked a peck of potent peppers

but puddly paula poked a pack of porous potatoes



This is discouraging. I may have to start wearing make up on a regular basis. I didn't think my world would ever come to this. But several times in the last few weeks, when I went in to work, my coworkers look at me with concern and ask how I'm doing. One of them went so far as to call me "peaked" (merriam-webster's definition - being pale and wan or emaciated: sickly). This, for the girl who was recognized by her 11th grade cross-country coach for being "most enthusiastic" runner. Because what else do you call a girl who finishes the 5k in 45 minutes and smiling. Still, me and "peaked" didn't even use to share a room.

Alternative remedies to make-up to counteract my pale and sickly demeanor:
- Wear a high pony tail tied with ribbons. Think high school cheer captain.
- Dress in pastels.
- Dark sunglasses, or those creepy glasses with the open eyes painted on the lenses.
- Do vigorous push-ups in my office whenever people walk by.
- Sit with my cheeks resting on my hands, so they're bright red whenever I look up.
- Spread Vaseline on my teeth for a more dazzling smile.
- Sit on an exercise ball instead of my office chair.
- Wear sneakers.
- Close my office door.
- Walk in singing a show tune. "Oooooklahoma!"

Maybe I'll just go to bed earlier.

i'll have the chicken, please

Several years ago, when traveling to my old roommate's wedding, Abe & I decided to listen to Spanish language tapes on the way (yes, I said tapes). The the only tape we could find at the library was an intermediate level. We went for it anyway, with the unfortunate result that the only Spanish Abe knew was "Hay dos pollos", or, "There are two chickens".

We were at the wedding dinner later that weekend, where they were serving a choice of chicken or beef. In passing, we overheard one hispanic waiter say to another - refering to a table's order - "Hay dos pollos".

That has very little to do with the subject of this post, which has nothing to do with the title of this post. The subject being, we just got back from our trip to Mexico!

Trip highlights:
- Successfully getting across the border, and back again.
- Being with all 16 members of my family.
- Seeing old sites and friends in Arizona before going to Mexico.
- Surviving various calamities (dad vs pneumonia, sister vs stingray, brother-in-law vs mexican "police", 4-car caravan vs 4 GPS devices)
- Wearing shorts
- Not putting on shoes for 3 days, but being outside almost the whole time
- Eating avocados

Some photos.


Cute nieces.


Cute nephew


Nephew and me with large white sunglasses & double chin.


Classic Erin/Abe shot.


What Abe did most of the time.