Lonely is healing if you make it.

Here is a lovely video featuring a poem by an artist I mentioned a few times this summer, Tanya Davis. You should watch it.

“How to Be Alone” by Tanya Davis

If you are at first lonely, be patient.

If you’ve not been alone much, or if when you were, you weren’t okay with it, then just wait. You’ll find it’s fine to be alone once you’re embracing it.

We can start with the acceptable places, the bathroom, the coffee shop, the library, where you can stall and read the paper, where you can get your caffeine fix and sit and stay there. Where you can browse the stacks and smell the books; you’re not supposed to talk much anyway so it’s safe there.

There is also the gym, if you’re shy, you can hang out with yourself and mirrors, you can put headphones in.

Then there’s public transportation, because we all gotta go places.

And there’s prayer and mediation, no one will think less if your hanging with your breath seeking peace and salvation.

Start simple. Things you may have previously avoided based on your avoid being alone principles.

The lunch counter, where you will be surrounded by “chow downers”, employees who only have an hour and their spouses work across town, and they, like you, will be alone.

Resist the urge to hang out with your cell phone.

When you are comfortable with “eat lunch and run”, take yourself out for dinner; a restaurant with linen and Silverware. You’re no less an intriguing a person when you are eating solo desert and cleaning the whip cream from the dish with your finger. In fact, some people at full tables will wish they were where you were.

Go to the movies. Where it’s dark and soothing, alone in your seat amidst a fleeting community.

And then take yourself out dancing, to a club where no one knows you, stand on the outside of the floor until the lights convince you more and more and the music shows you. Dance like no one’s watching because they’re probably not. And if they are, assume it is with best human intentions. The way bodies move genuinely to beats, is after-all, gorgeous and affecting. Dance until you’re sweating. And beads of perspiration remind you of life’s best things. Down your back, like a book of blessings.

Go to the woods alone, and the trees and squirrels will watch for you. Go to an unfamiliar city, roam the streets, they are always statues to talk to, and benches made for sitting gives strangers a shared existence if only for a minute, and these moments can be so uplifting and the conversation you get in by sitting alone on benches, might of never happened had you not been there by yourself.

Society is afraid of alone though. Like lonely hearts are wasting away in basements. Like people must have problems if after awhile nobody is dating them.

But lonely is a freedom that breathes easy and weightless, and lonely is healing if you make it.

You can stand swathed by groups and mobs or hands with your partner, look both further and farther in the endless quest for company.

But no one is in your head. And by the time you translate your thoughts an essence of them maybe lost or perhaps it is just kept. Perhaps in the interest of loving oneself, perhaps all those “sappy slogans” from pre-school over to high school groaning, we’re tokens for holding the lonely at bay.

Cause if you’re happy in your head, then solitude is blessed, and alone is okay.

It’s okay if no one believes like you, all experiences unique, no one has the same synapses, can’t think like you, for this be relived, keeps things interesting, life’s magic things in reach, and it doesn’t mean you aren’t connected, and the community is not present, just take the perspective you get from being one person in one head and feel the effects of it.

Take silence and respect it.

If you have an art that needs a practice, stop neglecting it, if your family doesn’t get you or a religious sect is not meant for you, don’t obsess about it.

You could be in an instant surrounded if you need it.

If your heart is bleeding, make the best of it.

There is heat in freezing, be a testament.

Good things in August.

August flew by, and it didn’t really feel like summer. I was having training the first week, and then school started the third week. But I am thankful to be back in our routine, or at least getting there.

As always, post your own good things in the comments! Good things are exponentially better when we share them.

At Victoria Park

August 1 – Had a nice nap with Mike before flying to Michigan (I did not actually get to my destination before midnight, sadly).
August 2 – I went to bed really early and slept all night (after having not slept the night before).
August 3 – Good day of workshops and training. And Mike bought a crib!
August 4 – People were super nice to me after I got sick on a bus.
August 5 – I had a fantastic hamburger with some new work friends.
August 6 – My mom picked me up from the airport and we went straight to the beach.
August 7 – Wonderful decompression day at the beach. With shrimp and grits at the end of the day.
August 8 – Shopping with my mom at the outlets.
August 9 – Crab cakes!
August 10 – Driving home and listening to Harry Potter. Also, so wonderful to be home.
August 11 – Got keys to my new job and started figuring out where things are.
August 12 – We found out we are having a boy and he looks healthy.
August 13 – Lunch with Alisa and then a much-needed haircut. And then Emily and her family came over for dinner.
August 14 – Movies with Mike and then some relaxation time with girls from church.
August 15 – Lunch with friends after church.
August 16 – First official day of work. We went on a scavenger hunt that ended at Chuck E. Cheese and I played skee ball. My job is better than yours.
August 17 – Super long day, but Mike made my dinner and we watched The Proposal and ate ice cream afterwards.
August 18 – Had meetings at school, but they were generally useful. Trust me, I do not discount the importance of generally useful meetings.
August 19 – First day of school went smoothly. And then. We went and saw Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade at a local movie theater. I feel sorry for you if you were not there, because it was awesome.
August 20 – Was greeted by a kindergartener as, “Hello, Library Girl!”
August 21 – Lunch with Katey and Hannah and Alisa and Trader Joe’s time with Alisa.
August 22 – Mike and I ran many useful errands for the baby’s room. And I reread The Hunger Games.
August 23 – I reread Catching Fire. And helped Mike at his open house.
August 24 – One word: Mockingjay.
August 25 – Visited with my 2nd grade neighbor after her first day of school. And made a delicious chicken pie.
August 26 – Nice walk with Emily after work.
August 27 – The pizza we made for dinner was, for serious, awesome. Yay for Friday Night Pizza, my favorite tradition during the school year!
August 28 – Read almost an entire book at the pool. Probably for the last time this summer (and for a while, actually).
August 29 – Got lots of house cleaning done and made one of Mike’s favorite dinners.
August 30 – Natalie Merchant concert and Mike let me sleep on the way home.
August 31 – Fantastic dinner: chicken riesling. A nice new way to eat chicken thighs.

Ought to be.

Pretty churches

I am no brown-skinned sun-worshiper, but I do miss the sun in the winter. My new library has a window, which I hope will assist me in fighting off those winter blues. Despite my love of the sun on my skin, I think the time that I feel most lethargic and uninteresting might actually be right about now. The weather is hot, summer is over, and school is always so incredibly busy at the beginning. Additionally, this is the time of the year when my dad was so sick, and though he is gone, that bleak feeling remains.

We are more used to the rhythm of life without my dad, more used to our holidays and birthdays without his shenanigans. I was prepared for the idea of having a baby without him, but knowing now that our boy will never meet his granddad has not sat extremely well with me. It both helps and makes it harder that Atticus will be carrying my dad’s name. I have thought about my dad a lot since we found out we were having a baby, especially when I was having some problems in the first trimester. One of my aunts always says that she knows that her grandmother (my great-grandmother) is praying for us in heaven. When things with Atticus were not looking so good, I hoped that everyone I know in heaven was putting in a good word for us. I imagine that both Great Grandma and Dad are quite skilled at letting God know how they think things should be for our family.

Because of that, I was interested by a post that came across a library listserv last week, one that was asking what to read to a friend who has pancreatic cancer–the kind of cancer my dad had–and very little time to live. It’s a big question, what I would want someone to read to me if I knew I the end was near. I wouldn’t want to pick a short book, because I’d want to hang on as long as I possibly could, to let the story finish. But cancer is no respecter of people, let alone plot or story, so maybe something shorter would be better. Mike offered Tuck Everlasting as one of his favorite comfort books, one that is about embracing death rather than running from it. He also threw out the idea of Charlotte’s Web, which I like. Charlotte is an old friend, one I remember reading on our old orange patterned couch. It came in the mail from my Great-Aunt Margaret, who lived in New York, which seemed impossibly far away.

I think I might want To Kill a Mockingbird, a book about human dignity in many forms (including as one is dying). Or maybe something from the Harry Potter series, which has a lot to say about not fearing death. And even though I always call foul on people who claim that their favorite book is the Bible, I would probably want someone to read to me from the Bible. I would want to hear those sad and funny stories that teach us what it means to be human and to embrace the divine. Jonah, who tried to run away. David, who made mistakes and wrote all those beautiful psalms. Moses, who never got to enter the land that was promised. Abraham, who would count me as one of his descendants. And Jesus, who came to change the way we think things ought to be.

There are a lot of things in life that don’t live up to the way I think they ought to be. August is a time when those things seem to pile up around me. Sadly, that often means I don’t do as much of the things that make me feel healthy as I should. I have let several books languish unread this summer, getting halfway through before returning them to the library in a big pile. I have not seen as much of my friends as I would like, mostly because of traveling and being generally busy.

Sometimes it seems as if followers of Christ have to force themselves to be happy with the way things are, rather than accepting that they fall short and that those are the places where God can meet us. What I hope to teach Atticus is not to make everything pretty, but to let God in to those places where we see the mess. Sharing stories is the best way that I know to see the truth of what that redemption and courage can look like.

What book would you want read to you if you were dying, or would you choose to read to someone who did not have much longer to live?

Beginning again.

School

What is this old familiar feeling of fatigue? As if I worked out? Possibly ran a marathon? Why am I falling asleep at 8:00 on a Friday night? Oh, that’s right! The first week of school!

I am at a new school this year, so I have been busy learning the ropes. There are new names to learn, new car rider routines, new grades to teach, a new space to decorate and arrange. It’s a lot, but it was a good first week of school.

As I stood in the car rider line on the first day of school, directing kids to safety, I was struck by how the entire staff appears to be focused on going On Beyond Zebra, as I talked about after the first day of school last year. My own personal commitment from last year, to greet students and make them feel welcome, is one of the school’s philosophies as well, and that shared vision has given me the sense of feeling welcome and appreciated. As if I have a place.

I struggle with investing myself outside of my own home and family, but I have tried to pour myself into my new school already, giving the best of what I can do. As I opened those car doors and helped first graders get safely to the front door, I thought about what I wrote last year, about the cycle of learning and changing and returning to the beginning, ready to learn some more. As I return to school, I find that, though it happened gradually, quietly, I have not returned to school unchanged.

The picture is from Mike’s old high school. Kindergarteners don’t have lockers. They have cubbies.

Notes from 20 weeks.

IMG_6968

I go back to work today. The summer is over. I have actually been going in to my new space for the past week or so, getting things organized and assessing the situation, but I could leave after a couple of hours or so. Now the real deal starts. This was a different sort of summer than we had last year, more peaceful in a lot of ways, despite all of our traveling. I am in a better place emotionally than I was last year at this time. And, for once, I am looking forward to the start of school. I am not sure that has ever happened in recorded history. I’ve got new clipboards and binders and a label maker, and I am busy organizing to my heart’s content.

This summer, we spent a lot of time putting together the baby’s room. I had a to-do list that I worked my way through relentlessly. I bought a rug and a bookcase and a dresser and made curtains with my mom. And Mike and my intrepid aunt got us the crib. (In case it sounds as if Mike is not pulling his weight, I should point out that he also put together the bookcase during a particularly exciting World Cup game and went and got the dresser with me after I found it on Craigslist.) Things are mostly together, which was what these two schoolteachers were hoping for before school started. Now we just get to work on details. And we should register, which I am hoping does not cause a recurrence of the Great Wedding Registry Incident in Target back in 2000. For the record, we never actually registered at Target for our wedding. We were too ashamed to go back in there.

Everyone (you know, the mysterious everyone) says that a baby’s movements first feel like a butterfly inside of you. Like many of life’s experiences, though, I found it to be more painful than advertised: not the softness of a butterfly’s wings, but more of a twinge. Like a mostly-healed ankle when you step on it in not quite the right way. It was so different than what everyone said that at first I was sure it was something else: my body stretching in some way, a new kind of hunger pains, or dinner disagreeing with me. I suppose that I should have expected growing pains.

Although everyone said it would change, I find that I am still remarkably unsentimental about things like sonograms. I am happy that the baby is doing okay and measuring normally, but it still looks pretty much like an alien to me most of the time. It feels a bit like a scam: “These are the baby’s kidneys!” Sure they are, lady. Sure they are. The sonogram technician offered irrefutable evidence that this baby is a boy. I was certain in my heart that it was a girl, so I was surprised. Not disappointed, not in the least. Just surprised. Which is, obviously, a silly thing to say given that 50/50 shot we had, but it is the truth. Mike and I had agreed easily on a girls’ name a couple of years ago, but our boy name took us longer. It is probably a good thing that we have had all this time to think about it, to solidify the message that we want to send our child with his name.

That has been a big part of our journey to parenthood, the idea of letting our child know who he or she could be, where he or she belongs. Both Mike and I have had experiences that have led us to think very carefully about how we want to communicate to our child (and any possible future children) who he is and who his family is. After a lot of discussion, we settled on the idea of giving our son my maiden name (which I still carry as my middle name) as his last name. Though it is not our last name, it is the name of his grandfather (who would very much have liked to meet him), his grandmother, and his Uncle Joseph. It is both a way to honor my dad by carrying on his name and a way to let our son know that he has a tribe. We also decided to give our son my dad’s first name as his middle name.

We had all of that settled for a while, but the first name took us a little bit longer. There were things we liked that didn’t go with the last name, and things one of us liked and the other didn’t. And then one day Mike turned to me and gave me the name that I knew was the exact right one. I am happy to announce that we are naming our son after the greatest hero in American literature, someone who stood up for what was right even when it seemed hopeless, who was wise and kind and the best shot in Maycomb County. Our son’s name is Atticus. His mom is a librarian and his dad teaches reading. What else could his name be, really?

In case I haven’t communicated it quite enough, this whole thing has been full of surprises for me, especially. I’m glad that we’re only halfway done, that we still have a little more time to get ready for Atticus to move in. Despite my lack of sentimentality, I did start to cry when we finally began to tell people his name. I guess I just feel so incredibly lucky that we can choose to name him after two men (one is fictional, it’s true) we respect and who stood for things we believe in, that we hope Atticus believes in one day, too.

(I’m not posting Atticus’s full name here because I have decided not to make him Google-able in utero. Though you may be able to deduce his last name if you are very very clever.)

Grits are good for you.

Hominy Grill

When I was in Michigan last week, the company provided us with these buttons that they called flair. You know, flair. It was not ironic flair, but many of the freshly graduated teachers were probably too young to know why it should be ironic anyway. (I spent a whole week feeling pretty old. In the mom role, helping them navigate the airports and the hotel and the restaurants. They were so young.) I didn’t get all the flair, but I decided that it didn’t serve anyone if I refused to play along even a little bit. So I grabbed an “avid reader” button and a “North Carolina” button and I checked every morning to see what else was available. One morning, they had one that said “foodie” and though I am not sure I am cool enough to be a foodie, I happily pinned it on to my lanyard. What Mike and I realized on PEI was that we care a lot about food. I have always liked to eat, but now we care about good food, about the flavors we can taste in locally grown things, about restaurants and friends who take the time to consider their ingredients and come up with something special.

For our first anniversary, back when we still felt a lot of pressure to make our anniversaries big and special, we went to Charleston. Charleston is a lovely place, full of history and food and beautiful places, but I do not recommend visiting it in July. My Long Island-born husband practically melted. He’s been here in the south for over two decades, but I don’t think he will ever adjust to the humidity. Which is okay. My hair was born here, and it still hasn’t adjusted, either.

We were still learning what it meant to be married, to travel together. Our roles have congealed a little bit more now: Mike as the planner, Kari as the navigator. There are so many wonderful restaurants in Charleston that we both needed to use our gifts in order to make the right decisions about where to go. One evening we ended up at a restaurant around the corner from our bed and breakfast: Hominy Grill. This was in 2001, when it had only been written up in the New York Times once. Before it had been written up in Gourmet and featured on the Food Network. You could tell that pretty much everyone there was local. I chose shrimp and grits. Whatever Mike chose has been lost to history, because, well, his was fine, good even, but the shrimp and grits were basically fantastic.

I did not grow up eating shrimp and grits. It’s true. I had had it, and I knew I liked it, but it wasn’t a regular meal for me. I didn’t eat a ton of grits growing up, actually. We just didn’t really eat them at home. We ate a lot of oatmeal. Now that I have my own house, we eat grits more than we eat oatmeal. Because when you are on your own, you get to make that sort of decision. I kind of hope I never have to eat oatmeal again. I don’t know whether to admit this or not, but I had been married to Mike for a year at that point and he turned up his nose when I ordered shrimp and grits. He had never heard of it, never tried it, and wasn’t interested. Somehow, I had failed him. Since that day, though, he has never looked back. And I think of that day as a turning point for us in some ways: I gained confidence in my ability to spot something good on the menu, something I had to have. And Mike got a little bit more adventurous with his palate. It was the first step in a new relationship with food. If it wasn’t for that night, I might not have even considered the “foodie” button. (I still would have taken the “chocoholic” one, though. No question about that.)

We put ourselves on the Hominy Grill mailing list, and that fall they sent us a postcard. With their recipe for shrimp and grits on it. We literally danced in our kitchen when we saw it, and we’ve been making it this way ever since. I noticed that when you Google the recipe, Southern Living has a slightly different variation posted. But this is what they sent, and this is how we make it. Enjoy.

Hominy Grill’s Shrimp and Grits

Cheese grits
3 slices of bacon, chopped
1 lb. shrimp, peeled and deveined
2 T. flour
2 T. peanut oil
1 1/4 c. sliced mushrooms
1 large clove of garlic
Tabasco sauce
2 t. fresh lemon juice
1/2 c. thinly sliced green onions

Fry bacon until crisp, remove from pan and reserve. Pour off all but 1 T. of bacon fat. Gently toss shrimp with flour until lightly coated; remove excess flour. Add peanut oil to pan with bacon fat and heat over medium high heat. Add shrimp and sauté until half cooked. Add mushrooms and toss. When they begin to cook, stir in reserved bacon. Add garlic with a press but do not let brown. Quickly stir in lemon juice and Tabasco. Cook until shrimp are pink on both sides and mushrooms are golden brown. Season with salt and add green onions and remove from heat. Spoon over grits.

We usually make our cheese grits using some variation of Lucky 32‘s recipe. Here is a copy of their recipe. You should use grits from the Old Mill if you possibly can. Using milk or cream instead of just water is crucial to good grits.

1 ½ cups cream
3 cups chicken broth
6 tablespoons butter
1/3 teaspoon salt
1/3 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons grits
½ cup shredded cheddar cheese

Bring cream, chicken broth, butter, salt, and pepper to a boil in a medium saucepan. Reduce heat to a simmer and stir in grits. Cook for about 3 minutes stirring constantly to prevent lumps. Continue cooking for another 12 minutes on medium-low heat. Remove from heat and stir in cheddar cheese. Keep grits warm for serving.

Notes: We usually add the green onions a little bit earlier and let them get soft. The grits are also good with some parmesan added. Makes 2 generous portions. (Last week we doubled the recipe and served five people with no leftovers. But be sure you have a big pan to cook the shrimp.)

(The picture at the top is from when we went back to Hominy Grill in 2007. I had the shrimp and grits. Why mess with a good thing?)

I am assured that peace will come to me.

Porch

Mike was gone the last week of July, helping our youth group as they served people in West Virginia. He came back and then I left the next day, to train for my new job. We were apart for twelve out of those thirteen nights, a record in our relationship. One I hope is never broken.

When he was gone, I cleaned things and bought maternity clothes that I don’t quite need (though I do love the stretchy waistbands) and dined a lot with my friends. I finally got over that mysterious second-trimester nausea I’d been dealing with. I lounged by the pool, read some wonderful books, and tried to enjoy my time alone. Seven nights by myself, though, was more than enough, and five nights the next week sharing a hotel room with a future coworker had me completely worn out by the end. My training was surprisingly good, the hotel was nice, and the food was much better than average, but I ached to be home. It’s possible that I am not the world’s biggest homebody, but I would like to think I’m in the running for that prize. More than my house, I wanted to be with the person who makes me laugh with his terrible jokes, who finishes my sentences, who makes a mean batch of shrimp and grits. Now that I have had a couple of days of decompression in one of my favorite places in the world with Mike and my mom and some new-ish friends, I am feeling a little bit more like myself. As an introvert, I need to be with the people who are my solace and my home. I felt far away for a couple of weeks, but I am finding my way back.

I should confess that I have been having a little bit of an identity crisis. I am sure that a lot of women experience that during pregnancy, the question of who you are and who you are going to be. I am also changing jobs, and you can tell me that my identity shouldn’t be in what I do until you are blue in the face, but the truth is that what I do is important to me, and having a different job affects a few things about the way I see myself. Being away from Mike made me feel some of that even more acutely. It also helped to know that he has been pondering some of the same things.

I am assured, yes, I am assured, yes
I am assured that peace will come to me
A peace that can, yes, surpass the speed, yes
Of my understanding and my need
-Josh Ritter

Claire, Kelly, and Sarah have got me thinking about solace this week. Though the views from this porch are incomparable, a true picture of solace will have to wait until I get home, as I find myself without a camera this week.

Linking up to this week’s Wedded Wednesday.

Good things in July

My summer is essentially over. I go back a week earlier this year, and I am currently in workshops. So my days of lounging by the pool are gone. I’m okay with that, though. It’s been a good summer, and I think there are some good things ahead. Be sure and post your good things in the comments to share with us all!

East Point lighthouse

July 1 – Starbucks Hot Chocolate Ice Cream. Thanks to my wonderful husband.
July 2 – Took awesome naps during the World Cup and watched Friday Night Lights.
July 3 – Cookout at the pool with some people we are getting to know.
July 4 – A fun day full of food and friends.
July 5 – Shopping with Mike and dinner with my family for my birthday.
July 6 – Good doctor’s appointment and then everyone was so nice when we posted our news.
July 7 – Made curtains for the new person’s room with my mom.
July 8 – Had cake with Kendra.
July 9 – The internet participated in Mike’s radio show, making it the best radio show he’s ever had. Thanks, y’all.
July 10 – Fun friends over for dinner.
July 11 – I bought a rug for the new person’s room (Do you see how efficient I am about getting this done?)
July 12 – Dinner with Melissa and Emily for my birthday (really spreading it out this year).
July 13 – Hmmm. This was a rotten day of travel, but the Air Canada people were wonderful to us. Unlike US Air. Ahem. And the Old Spice guy was really funny. Can he be my good thing?
July 14 – Had a fantastic dinner at The Landmark Cafe and thoroughly enjoyed The New New Potato-Time Review.
July 15 – Beautiful afternoon on the beach celebrating our tenth anniversary.
July 16 – Fun day of sightseeing and desperately looking for bathrooms after riding on bumpy dirt roads.
July 17 – National Park Day didn’t work out like we’d expected, but we had a beautiful afternoon in Cavendish Grove reading in the shade.
July 18 – French fries for lunch.
July 19 – A gorgeous day on the Island.
July 20 – We got to watch my favorite episode of Glee on the Air Canada flight from Montreal to New York. I love you, Air Canada.
July 21 – Dinner (for my birthday, still) with Andrea and Alisa included tiny food! My favorite.
July 22 – Nice afternoon at the pool with Emily.
July 23 – Super productive day – bought chairs for the sunroom, put down the rug in the new person’s room, hung pictures on the wall (I directed, Mike hung them, AND we did not argue), organized the gift-wrap materials in their new closet location.
July 24 – Hung out with my mom in the afternoon. It was too hot to do anything else.
July 25 – Slept until 10am and then had a productive day that included cleaning and ice cream.
July 26 – Lunch with my aunt and then frozen yogurt with a work friend in the afternoon.
July 27 – Coffee with Melissa in the morning. Impromptu dinner with some work friends turned into an extremely fun evening.
July 28 – I made pizza for dinner and it was very good.
July 29 – Lovely hour at the pool and then goodbye dinner with Andrea.
July 30 – Went to visit my old job at the public library and then had a fantastic afternoon at the pool.
July 31 – Mike came home! I missed him and I was bored without him.

You have to stay in a place through all the seasons to appreciate everything that it is.

I have never been to Texas, so pretty much everything I know about it comes from watching Friday Night Lights. In short: it seems like a nice place with some pretty cute boys. Does that about cover it? There are a lot of jokes about how seriously people from Texas take being from Texas, but I have to admit to you that I am pretty serious about being from North Carolina. You can ask some of my friends who moved away whether I still give them a hard time about abandoning our fair state, and they will tell you that the answer is yes. (Susan? Can I get an amen?) I got this from my mom, who was also raised in this land of tobacco, red clay, and college basketball. Most of what my brother and I did as children centered around our extended family, and what I learned from them was to love God and love the land and people around us. There was something beautiful about every season: the fireworks of leaves in the fall, the mild winters and wonder of occasional snow days, the daffodils and dogwoods in springtime. But summer is when I really learned what it means to love North Carolina. Our hot summer days fade into muggy nights as the edge of the yard is dotted with fireflies. We drink sweet tea in mason jars and pick corn in grandma’s garden, shucking it on the back porch. We snap beans in front of the TV, lounge inside reading novels in front of the air conditioner, and beg to go to the pool. There is a chance of thunderstorms every day, but it hardly ever happens. And we eat tomatoes fresh from the garden, anyone’s garden, because everyone has extras.

It is hard to narrow it down, but tomatoes might just be my favorite part of summer. I refuse to eat those ugly pale ones that are all you can get in the grocery store in the winter. Tomatoes mean BLTs and canning and fat slices on hamburgers. They taste like heat and sunshine and afternoons at grandma’s house.

When Tanya Davis opened the show we saw on PEI, her first song was focused on the beauty she sees and loves around the Island. The line I quoted in the title of this post stood out to me: You have to stay in a place through all the seasons to appreciate everything that it is. I think PEI is a wonderful place to visit, but she is right: I only know a part of it. On the way back to our B&B, I told Mike, “The way that she feels about PEI is how I feel about North Carolina.” Perhaps it was one reason I loved her songs so much: I recognize myself in those words, in that rootedness. I love all four seasons here, even the things that seem to drive other people crazy. It is where I am from and it is a part of me as much as my family. It took me a long time to realize that everyone doesn’t feel this way.

On Prince Edward Island, I noticed that the tomatoes on our salads were, frankly, not very good. Possibly it is not quite tomato season there yet. Or maybe it doesn’t ever get hot enough for them to have a real tomato season, not like we do. It was disappointing. They had many other delicious foods, but I thought from time to time about all those tomatoes that I was missing back home, the juice running down your arm as you take a bite of your sandwich. I saw my mom on Saturday, and she brought me a bag of tomatoes from my grandma’s garden (and some from my great-uncle as well). I realized how glad I am to be home.

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Title quote from “Potatoes” by Tanya Davis. Click here to listen to it.

Thanks to Claire, Kelly, and Sarah for inspiring me to think about home.

She was so happy that she almost felt frightened.

Cavendish Grove

It is no secret that I am a half-empty sort of person. The word pessimist doesn’t even begin to cover it. Sometimes it comes across worse than I intended, simply because I prefer to think things through, to consider possible consequences. Sometimes I drown myself in those what-ifs, overwhelmed to the point of being paralyzed.

So I have been surprised lately to realize that I am feeling – it’s hard for me to even say it, for fear that I might jinx it – content. I know, I know, you think it’s because of the baby. But I have some witnesses who could tell you otherwise. The baby is still exciting and terrifying me in equal measures. It’s not just the baby that’s a good thing in our lives, though. There have been several things this summer that have made me realize what a good place we are in, with our beautiful house, our great jobs, and the time we have spent together. I feel – and, again, I don’t want to jinx it – as if I have begun to learn how to choose to be a better version of myself.

It’s frightening to admit to being happy, even to myself. It’s hard to keep from believing that it’s the calm before the next storm or that something terrifying might be coming. And maybe that’s true. That is how it seems to work. That’s my usual mode of operation. Maybe I will look back and laugh at these feelings of contentment.

But maybe not. Maybe some of the things that have happened in recent years have taught me something about growing. Right now I feel as if I am not just growing a baby, but that I am growing into myself.

As I was writing this, I knew that it echoed something I had read many times. I finally realized that it was my old friend Anne Shirley, which was appropriate since we just visited her Island. Even hopelessly optimistic Anne worried about happiness from time to time. I am comfortable being in such good company.

As for Anne herself, she was so happy that she almost felt frightened. The gods, so says the old superstition, do not like to behold too happy mortals. It is certain, at least, that some human beings do not. -Anne’s House of Dreams by L.M. Montgomery

Where the ocean meets the greenery.

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When you visit a place year after year, you don’t necessarily notice as it changes. The little things slip by until, after several years, you look around you and see how different the world looks. When you visit a place and then revisit ten years later, what becomes obvious is not just how much a place has changed, but how much you have changed. Prince Edward Island was mostly the same. Oh, sure, there were places that seemed more touristy and there’s even a Starbucks on the Island now (just one), but it looked and felt much the same as it did on our honeymoon ten years ago. Mike and I were surprised to see how much we have changed. We have grown up in the past ten years. I am no longer the 21-year-old girl I was then. I have a stronger sense of who I am. More than that, Mike and I have a stronger sense of who we are together, having spent the past ten years figuring that out, challenging and supporting each other. We have different tastes in food and drink than we did ten years ago. We no longer feel that there is a right or wrong way to vacation, and we are comfortable instead doing things our way. Our way involves a lot of reading and beautiful scenery and eating, because we’re not really the go-go-go type.

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On our first evening in PEI (it wasn’t supposed to be our first evening there; it was supposed to be our second. Thanks, US Air!), we went to see The New New Potato-Time Review in Victoria-by-the-Sea. We laughed at Patrick Ledwell‘s Island humor (a few of the jokes went over our heads, but the locals seemed to appreciate them) and cried (just a little bit) as Tanya Davis sang some of her beautiful songs. Especially poignant for us was the last song, “Where the Ocean Meets the Greenery.”

i’ll meet you in the highlands
leave your boat at the bottom and climb the rocks
and we can roam around the island
and when we’re ready to go, we’ll both set off

i’ll come dressed for the weather
and i’ll bring some extra clothes for you
and if we get cold we’ll squeeze together
i’ll sing a song you could fall asleep to

you bring a really good story to read
and we’ll take turns saying it aloud
when we reach the climax we’ll both be intrigued
and when it is over we’ll both come down

i usually feel empty when a good book is through
but i don’t feel empty if i’m with you
we’ll talk about the plot and i’ll tell you what i thought
and this will end between us when it is time to

we’ll both start the fires and we’ll both keep ‘em going
the wind will blow up to our cliffs so high
and i would like to listen while you play a woodwind instrument
and it’s okay if you make me cry

off in the distance big ships and little boats
in the swell of the waves off the coast
they watch for sea monsters, they rock upon the waters
and watch for the light to guide ‘em home

people will tell you it’s a far-fetched dream
and it is best if you just stay away from me
what if i told them i would give you anything
real as well as make believe

this is my daydream and i’m sharing it with you
’cause it is lovely and you are too
and if you want to meet me where the ocean meets the greenery
i’ll go there and wait for you

Ten years ago, we visited PEI and brought with us a brand-new marriage, a brand-new Harry Potter book, and a lot of ideas of what our lives were going to look like. We have read a lot of stories since then, and our lives have told a different story than we expected. Isn’t that how it goes, though? Wouldn’t it be boring the other way?

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We brought a Harry Potter book with us again this time, the last one. Mike read it to me while I fought off morning sickness with orange soda and sea air. We listened as we drove by fields and cliffs and oceans. (Incidentally, I got to see much more of the Island this time, as I was not charged with reading while we were driving. Thanks, Jim Dale!) As the book unfolded, I was reminded that this, more than all the others, is Harry’s story of growing up and coming into his own.

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I have given up on trying to guess what the future holds. I want to bend and change with what comes rather than looking too far ahead. I am thankful to have Mike to grow with me as we write the next part of our story together. Who knows what book we might be reading ten years from now? Maybe it will be the perfect chance to introduce our nine-year-old child to Harry Potter.

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If you would like to hear “Where the Ocean Meets the Greenery” by Tanya Davis, just click here.

Linking up with this week’s Wedded Wednesday.

Many waters.

Who let those babies get married?

When love has got you in its throes
Even the summer’s heat just freezes your soul
And the sweetest song
It just clanks along
And the morning dew just says goodnight
And leaves your heart undone
It doesn’t do to try and understand
Nothin’ that’s as good as love ever made a lot of sense
Like how the eagles fly
And how the rattlers slide
And what it is that comes to bind a woman and her man

Love’s as strong as death my love
Unyielding as the grave
Relentless as the desert sun
And rivers cannot wash my love away
Lord, I won’t let it wash away
And many waters cannot quench love

There ain’t nothing left to soothe you with
Love has marked your soul the way the sun has marked your skin
And there ain’t no way to find no shade
When your soul’s the very thing
That feeds the blaze that burns within you
It just makes your cold heart melt
The flames that burn as white as the very flames of hell
So just hold on tight
‘Cause it’s a long, wild ride
When you finally find the grace to love another as yourself -Rich Mullins

Ten years ago today, Mike and I got married. There are things I remember: walking down the aisle, being so blissfully happy to say hello to each other after communion, what the above song sounded like as our friend played it on the piano, that perfect Coke at the reception. And there are things that have faded away, things that seemed important at the time but that are now lost to history. There are things I would do differently now, but mostly I am very very grateful that we pulled it off, from Mike’s sister who made her two-year-old practice practice practice walking down the aisle to my mom’s friend who made the cake. And everything in between.

A few weeks ago, Mike and I were at a wedding, and the scripture that the Rich Mullins song is based on was read. I thought about the past ten years: naps on the couch, reading Harry Potter at two in the morning, getting lost in Central Park, diplomas and disappointment and even death. There are a lot of wonderful memories, some terrible ones, and so many everyday things that are lost to the passage of time. As our pastor was reading those verses, all I wanted to do was hold Mike’s hand and remember.

We were young when we got married, and it has taken ten years of growing up, grace, laughter, and forgiveness to get here. Time and commitment have worked together to smooth some of our roughest edges, like stones worn smooth by a flowing river. Not all our rough edges are gone, but some.

There are rainy days when we curl up on the couch with a good book, and rainy days when all our plans are ruined. There are beautiful days spent on the lake with friends. There are days when life is pounding like the waves of the ocean. There are days we treasure in our minds until the memories are as smooth as those cool river stones. There are days when tension is rising like flood waters. There are even days when it looks like all the good things in life are heading down the toilet. But ten years ago, we made our promise: Many waters cannot quench love.

Guest post by Sarah Mlynowski, author of Gimme a Call

A few months ago, I read Gimme a Call by Sarah Mlynowski, and I liked it so much that Random House asked if I would like to be part of a blog tour. Here is a post by Sarah about five of her favorite books.

Five Books that Changed my Life

RAMONA AND HER FATHER
The first chapter book I ever read on my own was Ramona and Her Father, by Beverly Cleary. I remember being extremely proud of myself. I also remember being extremely disappointed that there weren’t balloons and smiley faces when I got to page 100. I mean, hello? Page 100? That’s cause for celebration.

THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING AT MACDONALD HALL
In the fourth grade, I laughed out loud when I read the first book in Gordon Korman’s Macdonald Hall series. A few months later, the author came to speak to my class. I found out that one, he from Montreal, same as me, two, he gone to the same elementary school as I had, and three, he had written his first book when he was 12 years old. TWELVE. I was incredibly inspired, and decided then that if he could do it, so could I.

THE HANDMAID’S TALE
I read Margaret Atwood’s brilliant and terrifying book about ten times in high school. Then I read it about ten more times. Then I decided to major in English lit at college.

BRIDGET JONES’S DIARY
The Helen Fielding novel introduced me to the Chick lit genre. I fell in love. The humor! The romance! The single girl’s story! I knew that this was the kind of book I wanted to write, and I began writing my first novel, Milkrun.

SLOPPY FIRSTS
By the time I read Megan Mccafferty’s hilarious novel, I already had two published adult novels under my best. But as I read the first book in the Jessica Darling series, I remembered how intense and hilarious the teen years were and decided that it was time to get started on my first YA novel, Bras & Broomsticks.

Have you read any of these? I have read three of them! I especially enjoyed the Jessica Darling series and recommend it for high school and college students. If you look in the “books” category here, I have talked about a lot of the books that have been important to me over the years. I will name a few of them for you: The Beekeeper’s Apprentice by Laurie R. King, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott, and Many Waters by Madeleine L’Engle. (All familiar titles if you have been reading here for a while.) But what I would really like to know (and I am sure Sarah would, too) are what some of your choices would be. What are a few books that have changed your life?

Sarah recently posted at Bookloons and will be at Beatrice and Random Acts of Reading tomorrow! You can also follow her on Facebook. Thanks for stopping by, Sarah!

a graceful clearing.

profound mystery

Sometimes our life reminds me
of a forest in which there is a graceful clearing
and in that opening a house,
an orchard and garden,
comfortable shades, and flowers
red and yellow in the sun, a pattern
made in the light for the light to return to.
The forest is mostly dark, its ways
to be made anew day after day, the dark
richer than the light and more blessed,
provided we stay brave
enough to keep on going in. -from “The Country of Marriage” by Wendell Berry

Mike and I are gearing up to celebrate our anniversary, and one of the ways we will be celebrating is by taking some time away from the internet. Because one way to stay brave enough to face those dark, challenging, and rewarding places is to take some time to remember what has been, to plan for what is coming, and to simply live.

window cleaning.

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He sat hunched up on a low, yellow, wooden bench, holding the tip of his nose between two curved fingers in a way that he had. His blond hair was a little too shaggy, and a lock fell across his forehead and over one eye. “I’m a window cleaner,” he said.

“A window cleaner and a musician?”

“No ‘and.’ Music is my window cleaning. If I weren’t so sick of it, I’d quote the Bible. You know that bit. Through a glass darkly. That’s how people see. It’s as though nobody was out in the world. You know what I mean? We’re all shut up in rooms. Everybody. And nobody can ever get in to anybody else’s room. That’s because we’ve got bodies. And the only way we can have contact with other people is through the windows in our rooms. You get what I mean? And some people have more windows than others. And everybody’s windows are dirty. So there have to be window cleaners. I’m one. At least maybe I will be one someday. That’s what I want to be.”

“Oh.”

“The trouble is that my own windows need cleaning.”

“Do they?”

“Sometimes I read things and I can see out better. Usually it’s music (you must play for me). Or a great actress. Or a painting. Usually I just get drunk, so I can forget I’m locked up all by myself in a room and it’s foggy outside . . .” -Madeleine L’Engle, The Small Rain

The summer races by, already the first week of July. Full of, mostly, nothing. I have read and napped, watched soccer and Friday Night Lights, waged war against fruit flies and made chicken salad. Already I have wasted too much time on things that might have been or things that might come to pass instead of focusing on what it means to be here and now.

I am a list-maker, a recipe-follower. I like clean, straight lines and well-defined boundaries. But those are not necessarily things that help me include other people in my life, not if they aren’t on my list of things to do: return the email, make the telephone call, take the time. It is hard to remember this when work is stressful or I’m not sleeping well or it’s just plain cold and rainy outside, but the phone calls and the coffee and the actual conversations are things that make the here and now better. I am comfortable getting lost in a book or a great song. It is easier to hide behind the pages of a novel or notes of music. It is especially easy to hide behind written words that I can control.

I think I need help seeing answers, why things work out the way that they do. So that I can tally up all the columns and make it all turn out right. But I should know better: Sometimes we get answers, sometimes things make sense, sometimes we learn from our experiences. But often, we are simply left with our questions, to decide whether we really mean what we say about faith being the evidence of things unseen.

I would do better to spend my time seeing other people, letting them be complicated and laughing with them. To get lost in a rambling conversation over dinner and maybe a glass of wine.

What do you do to keep your windows clean?

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender

If you could taste Mike’s emotions in his food, his creme brulee would not just taste smooth and creamy, it would also taste unconcerned. His lasagna would have an easygoing flavor. And his burgers would taste kind. He is a peaceful person, someone who is generally not bothered by the world around him. His food would taste content. My own food, I am sorry to say, would be more anxious, more cynical, and, Mike would like me to add, more focused and single-minded. The more you think about it, the easier it is to identify: the relative whose food would taste happy but tired, the friend whose food would taste harried and overcompensating, the coworker whose food would have a bitter aftertaste.

On her ninth birthday, Rose discovers that she can taste her mother’s feelings in the lemon cake her mother has spent the afternoon making. While her mother’s food has unknowingly communicated longing and discontent, Rose can taste other flavors as well: the anger of a local baker she senses in his cookies, the contentment of a friend’s parents as communicated through lunchtime sandwiches. As Rose gets older, she copes with these feelings by eating a lot of processed food, but as she matures, she learns how to appreciate the people who love working with food, no matter what their emotions. She also learns to identify organic meat, the plants where different foods are processed, and can even tell where something was grown. By the end of the book, she is learning to make her gift (or curse, depending how you look at it) serve her, rather than the other way around.

This is a book about family secrets and coping mechanisms, though the extent to which it is about those things is not evident right away. As someone who loves food, I was fascinated by Rose’s strong connections to the food around her and how hard it was for her to take in other people’s emotions. I also enjoyed her journey from first discovering her skill to taking charge of it. It’s a sad book, too, as Rose’s family misses connecting with each other. It was different than what I expected, but I enjoyed it a lot.

Disclaimer: I was on hold for this book at the library for a while. The library called me, mispronounced my middle name as usual, and told me it had come in. But before I could get there to pick it up, a copy of this book appeared on my doorstep, compliments of DoubleDay. I was excited, to put it mildly. Despite the fact that they provided the book for me, I assure you that the thoughts on it are my own and were not influenced by DoubleDay or Random House. For the record, I still checked the book out of the library and then returned it immediately. Just to give them the circulation statistic. That’s how I roll.

What wonder.

My darling, what wonder have we wrought here?
It’s weird and it’s wonderful, dear

You know the story: boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love and get married, boy and girl wait ten years to even think about having children. So long that people have given up on them. So long that people completely freak out when they tell them (or text them) and say things like, “Two lines, two lines!” There has been a lot of crying since those pink lines appeared, and only some of it was mine. (Dollar Tree tests are awesome, you guys. I got a positive answer freakishly early.)

An ankle, an earlobe, an elbow bone
It’s weird how it wonderful grows
And it was only me and you
That made this three come out of two

I knew even before I knew, like a secret buzzing inside of me. That was before I started to feel so tired all the time. Everything seemed supercharged. Which surprised me. It hasn’t been a secret that I wasn’t sure whether I really wanted to do this whole parenting thing. And if my child is reading this one day in the future, I want to be clear: It’s not that I didn’t want you. In fact, you can be assured, we did want you, very much. We made a conscious decision to want you. It freaked me the crap out to head down the path towards you. But I knew then and I know now that you will be someone I wanted to meet and know.

My darling, what wonder have we wrought here?
It’s weird and it’s wonderful, dear

I have never in my life experienced baby fever. I am not the kind of person who wants to hold other people’s babies. I have never touched a pregnant belly. I don’t think of myself as particularly maternal. I am, in short, not the prime candidate for this motherhood thing. We thought a lot about whether we wanted to do it, and what I ultimately realized is that my faith in God was leading me to believe that this was the right thing to do. I like what Colin Meloy says in the song I am quoting throughout this post, that “it was only me and you who made this three come out of two,” and in one sense, yes, this baby belongs only to me and Mike. But in the other sense, the part where I believe that God allows us to work with him to create new and beautiful things, God was there, too, creating a person with us. Madeleine L’Engle says: “The important thing is that creation is God’s, and that we are part of it, and being part of creation is for us to be co-creators with [God] in the continuing joy of new creation.” She talks about the idea of being co-creators with God a lot in her book on the arts, Walking on Water. But since my doodles during the sermon and even my bowls aren’t exactly art, I realized that one of the ways that I could step out in faith and ask God to let me be his vessel for creation was to actually make my body a vessel. I came to believe that, even though I think my life was great beforehand, that there was part of this whole journey with God that I would be missing if I closed myself off to that part of the world.

A’tumblin’ in Dublin and next thing you know
A weird and a wonderful show
All tendons and ribcabe and beating heart
A weird and a wonderful start

Each week, we had a new name for the baby based on its size. When it was the size of a prune, we called it Prudence and sang Beatles songs to it. When it was the size of a lime, we finally were able to use a boy’s name: Liam. And when it was the size of a lemon, we called it Liz. (Yes, we’re big 30 Rock fans, why do you ask?) About eight weeks in, we had a big scare, enough to warrant an early ultrasound. Through the haze of fear and pain, I was relieved to hear the heartbeat, to see the little one curled up snugly. We prayed that everything would be okay. And it was.


(Baby is on the right at 8 weeks and on the left at 10.)

And it was only me and you
That made this three come out of two
My darling, what wonder have we wrought here?
It’s weird and it’s wonderful, dear
It’s weird, but mostly wonderful, dear

I guess there are more romantic songs than this one about babies, but I’m not very romantic and, let’s face it, “weird but mostly wonderful” probably suits our personalities a little bit better anyway. We’re doing our best to get the baby’s room (and our lives) ready, but I have to tell you that I am still hyperventilating at the idea of having to buy a crib. I bought a bookcase, though. The baby needs a place to put his or her books more than he or she needs a place to sleep, right? We’ve still got some time to work on that crib thing. We just wanted to let you know our news: two are in the process of becoming three. The arrival of number three is expected at the beginning of January. We’ll keep you posted.

When you get born here.

Hope you and your family had a lovely 4th of July. Here are some scenes from our day.

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We had a day full of the pool, food (so much food), friends, more food, and then fireworks. Mike and I closed the day out by listening to one of my favorite songs about America, one that wasn’t played at the pool (please note: Celine Dion singing “God Bless America” is not an appropriate song for the pool. Neither is “America” by Simon and Garfunkel. Just because it has the word America in the title does not mean it’s an appropriate choice): “Land of My Sojourn” by Rich Mullins. He gets it right, that love of what we have and the longing for what is yet to come.

Nobody tells you when you get born here
How much you’ll come to love it
And how you’ll never belong here
So I call you my country
And I’ll be lonely for my home
And I wish that I could take you there with me
-Rich Mullins

On changing your mind.

Evening Soccer

Photo by Katie Brady, shared under a Creative Commons license.

I spent time last Tuesday evening explaining to several of my friends exactly why I have not been watching the World Cup. Soccer is boring, for one thing. They can play the whole game and end in a tie. I don’t understand the rules. The field is too big. It’s just not my thing. Most of my complaints are contrasts to basketball: lower scoring, less actual “possession” of the ball. And then I spent the next morning planted on the couch watching that Algeria game. Because I enjoy being a part of something bigger than myself. Because I thought I should give it a chance. And because I thought it would be a great opportunity to make jokes about golden snitches and Viktor Krum. Also sea salt and French mustard. Mike was unconvinced, so I watched by myself.

And I had fun. (I am probably the only person who is not bothered by the vuvuzelas. I think they are charming.) Finally all that nonsense I kept seeing on Twitter had some context. Finally I had some idea of what my friends were talking about. And finally I understood at least a couple of rules. And then, maybe you heard, there was that whole thing in the 91st minute and Twitter broke and Mike and I high-fived (he came back for the end, after I had done all the sweating it out) and it was awesome to be an American.

I can’t say that I have completely changed my mind, but I do think that Bill Simmons is right: It might actually be time for soccer to make some inroads in America. They got me to watch, not just that one game, but several of the games since. My mom and I had a conversation about soccer, something we have never done before.

I am fairly stubborn, but sometimes I change my mind. I eat eggs now, if they are over easy. I have been known to yell at the TV on Sunday afternoons at the fall, even though Mike had to talk me into the whole football thing. I drink Diet Coke and listen to the Decemberists. (I do not, however, listen to Joanna Newsom. Or wear leggings.) I changed my mind. Well played, soccer. Well played. I’ll see you again. Later today.

Good things in June.

I’ve got four or five drafts that have been percolating but just aren’t ready yet. The week got away from me, this last week of June. I was doing too much waiting and not enough living. Except for the part where we went to see Eclipse at midnight. Just because we could. You’re not really living until you see werewolves and vampires fighting. At two in the morning. What I’m saying is, I should be back to posting more regularly next week, and thanks to those of you who checked up on me.

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As always, link your good things in the comments so that they can go forth and multiply.

June 1 – Chocolate cake at school.
June 2 – Patty Griffin and Buddy Miller. Outside under the stars.
June 3 – I found out that I was named Media Specialist of the Year for my school system.
June 4 – We had another couple over for dinner. Ate grilled pizza and watched the National Spelling Bee.
June 5 – Many flowers were delivered to my house.
June 6 – I went to brunch at Print Works Bistro and ate delicious food. I love brunch. More brunch, please!
June 7 – My yard was flamingoed.
June 8 – Spent some surprise time with my Aunt Nancy.
June 9 – Mike and I went to Five Guys and it was delicious.
June 10 – Last day of school! Fun times at Natty Greene’s afterwards with some teacher friends.
June 11 – Afternoon at the pool after our first workday.
June 12 – Risotto for dinner after a long lovely day.
June 13 – Wedding at church.
June 14 – I made four plates at pottery. Four plates! In one night! And used up most of the rest of my clay.
June 15 – I began the week of decompression (it usually takes about a week to get over the end of school).
June 16 – Pool and Lucky 32 for dinner.
June 17 – Pool and a nap (at the pool).
June 18 – Pool and Tim Riggins. (See how the decompression works?)
June 19 – Ran errands and then hung out with friends at the pool.
June 20 – Ikea with my mom. I bought a bookcase. One can never have too many bookcases.
June 21 – Did many productive things and got a lot of problems solved. Also, my last pottery class. I learned some of the dangers of glazing.
June 22 – Dinner at Bianca’s with several of my friends to celebrate my big win.
June 23 – I watched an entire soccer game, which the US won in the 91st minute.
June 24 – The Princess Bride and craisin cookies.
June 25 – Lunch with my longest friend and her husband. And then we bought a dresser on Craigslist. And then float night! A good day.
June 26 – I watched another soccer game, which we did not win. But! I at least am improving myself. And then we went to a surprise party and there was night swimming.
June 27 – Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves with my friend who had never seen it before. Great fun times quoting the lines obnoxiously.
June 28 – Lunch with an old friend. At Zaytoon’s.
June 29 – Lunch and shopping and frozen yogurt with my Aunt Nancy. And then I finished The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest and then we went to the midnight showing of Eclipse with some friends.
June 30 – We ordered Chinese food, finished season two of Friday Night Lights, and went to bed early because of the previous night’s escapades.