Did you ever have a crush on a lifeguard? It’s a big theme in books for teenage girls, but it’s a rite of passage I missed somehow. The beach by my aunt and uncle’s beach house (aka one of my favorite places on the planet, see above) doesn’t have the lifeguards in chairs that I always imagined when reading The Baby-Sitters’ Club. Until last year, I had never spent a lot of time at the pool. The only interaction with a lifeguard that I can remember came at the city pool when I was in 4th or 5th grade. I had gone off the diving board and one of the lifeguards approached me and asked me if I could go off again in a few minutes and pretend to be drowning so that one of the newer lifeguards could “save” me. And then I could get $5 of snacks at the snack bar. You know how I love snacks. So I, of course, said yes.

Now that I think about it, I am fairly certain that my terrible terrible swimming skills are the reason that I was asked to pretend to drown. Let’s just say it wasn’t too difficult for me to fake it. (Also, is this actually standard procedure? Do lifeguards generally pay people to pretend to drown?) Sadly, I cannot remember what the snacks that I purchased at the snack bar were. I hope I got nachos.

Mike and I generally sit under one of the umbrellas by the high dive. There are zones where people sit, you see. The families with small children sit on the other end, by the baby pool and the shallow end. We prefer not to take space down there from people who actually need it. Plus, I enjoy watching the antics on the high dive. I have noticed that the lifeguards, in general, are long-suffering. They have to enforce the rules: swim to the ladder, stay off the rope, only one bounce, no running, no back flips. They have to deal with teenagers who are there without their parents, children who are there with babysitters (who would rather be on the phone and let the lifeguards babysit), and people like me who can’t actually swim and have no business being in the pool.

But I have noticed something else. There are a lot of things that the lifeguards aren’t in charge of that perhaps they should be. Inappropriate things happen at the pool, and there is no one to take care of them. I believe that we should give the lifeguards even more power to regulate these issues, for the good of humanity.

1. “Excessive flirting by the snack bar.” Look, we all remember what it feels like to have a summer crush. But when you can’t keep your hands off each other, well, it’s clear that someone needs to intervene. And Mike says I’m not allowed to. So I need the lifeguards to do something.

2. “Your bathing suit is see-through.” Please don’t buy a white bathing suit. It’s not worth the risk. Please don’t buy your son swimming trunks with white on the top. I have already been embarrassed by that at the pool this year. The little boy would have been embarrassed if he had realized it. Also, please don’t let your daughter wear a bathing suit for three or four years in a row. If it’s getting threadbare, it’s probably going to look bare when she gets it wet.

3. “You have no business wearing that.” I’m looking at you, lady with the side boob hanging out. Also you, fat guy in the Speedo. Actually, let’s just put a ban on Speedos. They make everyone uncomfortable. Since we’re talking about wardrobe choices, young man, please tie your pants. You’re mooning the entire pool every time you get out of the water. And, on a personal level: lady in the baby pool with a toddler and a completely flat stomach, go put on something other than a string bikini. You’re awesome. We all get it.

4. Similarly: “Should you really be eating that?” Our pool has an fantastic snack bar, but everyone around you is aware that, no, you should really not be eating those fries. Have a salad instead. Also, please buy a bathing suit that fits.

5. “Careful there, cougar.” Okay, I think it’s gross to call women cougars. It’s not my favorite term. But when groups of women are loudly and obviously ogling the . . . younger men, well, I don’t want to spoil their fun, but I do think something should be done about it. This is a family pool. (This relates to the ban on Speedos above.)

Other than Christmas, I am most vulnerable to nostalgia in the summer. Perhaps you feel that way, too, remembering long summer days spent outside, sweating it out during fireworks displays, bodysurfing in the ocean. Writing this made me surprisingly nostalgic for those days, especially the ones spent at the pool. In college, I had a friend who spent the summers being a lifeguard, and though our friendship has long since run its course, I miss what college represented to the two of us: all those days and possibilities ahead. Based on her reports at the end of the summer, I think she would have appreciated my suggestions here.

What social situations need to be regulated at your pool?

It’s called sunscreen. Please look into it. Your skin is frightening me. Also maybe you should stop drinking beer and put on a shirt. I have nothing against beer. I just think you should not get any more sun. Your “friend” sitting next to you cannot possibly be an actual friend because there is no way that a friend would not force you into the shade. So what I am saying is that you might need to reevaluate your entire life.

I don’t even know you, but I am deeply concerned,
Kari

—

Dear Man With the Tattooed Arms at the Patty Griffin/Buddy Miller Concert,

Your arm is covered in a tattoo of a skull. Shooting lasers out of its eyes. At a pair of dice. Over the word “Blessed.” What. Does. This. Mean. And may I just say, it is simply . . . stunning. I, for one, cannot stop looking at it.

You, apparently, cannot stop talking through EVERY SINGLE SONG. And I just love how the more wine you drink, the more you make out with your lady friend. So thanks for being here to ruin this beautiful evening.

At least you and your lady friend left during a couple of my favorites,
Kari

P.S. No, I don’t really want to know what you were doing while you were gone.

—

Dear People at the Pool Who Make Up Fake Names for the Snack Bar to Call Out,

While it is totally and completely juvenile of you to make the snack bar man say things like, “Big Bird, your order is ready,” I think it is funny every single time. Also, I am excited to know that Willie Nelson goes to our pool. I haven’t seen him yet, but maybe I was still looking for his longer hair. I got new sunglasses in case Edward Cullen shows up this year. My eyes couldn’t take all the dazzling when he went off the high dive.

I can’t wait to tell Matt Damon how funny he was on the finale of 30 Rock,
Kari

—

Dear Grilled Pizza,

You are a lot of work and maybe not the most efficient way to make pizza. But you are also fun and delicious. So we’ll maybe see you this same time next year. Once a year is probably all we can manage.

I am always afraid Mike is going to say we need another grill, or a bigger one, just to make grilling pizza easier,
Kari

—

Dear Adriene, Andrea, Brandi, Dawn, and Susan,

When a girl wins the Media Specialist of the Year award for her county’s school system, it is a pretty awesome thing. But it is made even more awesome when her wonderful friends decide to send her the greatest flower arrangement of all time.

Feeling sorry for everyone whose friends aren’t as great as mine,
Kari

P.S. The glass is surprisingly heavy. It’s like my own personal trophy. I can’t wait to proudly display it next to Mike’s Best of Show trophy.

—

Dear World At Large,

If you are wanting to feel appreciated, I have some advice for you: Win an award. Family, friends, coworkers, former coworkers, church members, colleagues, friends of friends, and people I don’t even really know have showered me with kindness, chips and dip, and flowers. No, seriously: look at some more of my flowers.

Overwhelmed and humbled,
Kari

A few years ago, Mike and I had a weekend in Asheville. We had planned on going to the Biltmore, but ended up just hanging out in the downtown area, shopping and visiting some art galleries. Now, when it comes to art, Mike and I will be the first to admit that we are not the most knowledgeable individuals. I wouldn’t say we’re Philistines, though. Except maybe when it comes to modern art. When we went to the MOMA last fall, there was an unfortunate giggling incident when it came to some artwork that featured a dead rabbit. (That’s not our photo. And I can’t find what that art is called. But you see the dead rabbit there, right? Big Bunny was most seriously displeased.) Sometimes modern art is just a little bit too much for us.

When we were in Asheville, one of the pieces of art that we found particularly memorable was a birdcage filled with paper airplanes. Now, I know it’s terrible to say, “I could make that myself,” but, y’all. I could totally fill a birdcage with paper airplanes. It might not have meaning or purpose, but I could do it. Ever since then, every time we have seen a birdcage for sale or at someone’s house, Mike has leaned over and said, “That would look better if it had some paper airplanes in it.” Let’s just say we had an unfortunate giggling incident that day as well. (This is why we cannot go to nice places or have nice things. We are terrible disrespectful people who don’t understand art.)

We have some new shelves in our kitchen, and I have been trying to find things to fill them. I went to Marshall’s and bought a little lantern that I thought would look nice. Mike also liked it, but he pointed out that it would be better (and more like art) if I took the glass out and filled it with paper airplanes.

So on Saturday, I did.

If you are interested in my lantern/airplane art, I would be happy to discuss pricing with you. Please keep in mind, though, that something this meaningful would be worth every penny.

Previous Male Bakeoff Entries: 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008 and last year’s Best of Show.

Have I ever talked about our slight obsession with Sky Mall? Mike and I are fascinated by Sky Mall. Who needs to shop in the air? Why are their products so weird? Where can we put this globe that would secretly open to reveal our liquor stash?

To be fair, I did order part of Mike’s birthday present from Sky Mall. It was this awesome chair. It flips over! And turns into a step stool! I highly recommend it. However, you should know that the instructions leave out some things. I tried to put it together myself, but lo, that did not happen.

Anyway. When Mike and I flew to New York back in October, we of course looked at the Sky Mall magazine. We laughed at the globe (our favorite Sky Mall item) and Mike happened to see this giant cupcake pan. When we got home, he said, “I am going to order that pan and use it for the Male Bakeoff.” And thus, a theme was born. (Full disclosure: he ordered it from Amazon instead because it was cheaper. Sorry, Sky Mall.)

So over the past week, Mike made ten of these.

That’s right. Ten. Because we are known here for subtlety and restraint.

But, no, that was not enough. He also had a plate. And some giant tortilla chips. He took his own tablecloth and “fork” and “napkin” and (giant) “glass” (which was really a vase). With his ten giant cupcakes, all those things, his own table, and a Happy Birthday sign, he managed to piss off the decorating committee and create his very own birthday party. For, of course, Goliath. Happy first birthday, buddy.

You can see some of the other fabulous entries here (this year’s theme was Mardi Gras), but I wanted to highlight a few of my favorites.

Our neighbor’s Super Bowl trophy (Rice Krispie Treats plus fondant):

The Gingerbread Bible (please notice GingerJesus on the cross – this year’s Most Biblical winner):

Fancypants Super Bowl stadium:

And this was the table with the trophies.

You may remember a few years ago when the table was simply titled “Booty!” This year we have “Booty-ism.” Let me explain. A few months ago, during a sermon, our pastor meant to say “Buddhism” and actually said “Booty-ism.” Because the other 30-somethings I sit with are as mature as I am, we giggled a lot and have not let him live it down, suggesting songs such as “Baby Got Back” for the offertory and “Bootylicious” for the anthem. And so, rather than simply “Booty,’ this year our prizes reflect the Booty-ism that we have come to value so much. (Also, please notice that the trophies have been redesigned this year.)

This year, Mike walked home with Most Creative, which is a worthy prize for his effort. As he was setting up, one of our friends wanted to make sure he knew that there was no cash prize to help offset the cost of all that cake. I assured her that this is not about cash. It is about REPUTATION. Luckily his is safe for another year.

And now, to start scheming for next year.

MIKE: Aw! He’s making himself a family!

KARI: Or cleaning up the scene of a murder.

That . . . pretty much sums up our personalities. In two sentences. (Come on, you have to admit, if I was shoveling body parts and blood, it wouldn’t be charming.) (Also, the actual snowman at the Farmer’s Market was much cuter, but since I had just insulted the snowman with the darkness of my thoughts, Mike was decidedly unwilling to get out his phone to take a picture. This is the best I could find.)

For the past several years, one of our church’s traditions has been to set up a nativity on a large table either in the front of the church or in the back. Every person in the church was then invited to bring a figurine to symbolize themselves there at the nativity, for all of us to come and witness and be present to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Every year, to get us started, our pastor brought his Reverend Lovejoy figure. There were Transformers and Polly Pockets and Legos and Precious Moments and, oh, almost everything you can imagine. It reminded me a bit of The Twenty-Four Days Before Christmas by Madeleine L’Engle, in which all manner of animals attended the birth of Christ. Except that this was about the people, how Jesus came for all of us. It is silly, to be sure, but it always seemed like an act of faith to me, to place yourself there, to stake a claim that you believed that it was all for you, too. I never managed to bring something in to symbolize me. This is partly because of my fear of joining things, and partly because it is so much easier to say that Jesus came for the world than it is to say that he came because of my sin and sadness, to melt my dark of doubt away.

I thought about this earlier this week when I saw the post Emily’s sister wrote about the wise men playing with Barbie dolls. I realized that we weren’t doing it this year at church, which is probably, after all, a good thing. You don’t want to wear out your traditions, after all. You want to keep them fresh and new, to change them up from time to time. I hope we bring it back, though. I have been thinking a lot lately about what it means to do more than just show up for the party, what it means to be present and to celebrate. I feel like I am almost ready to take my Nancy Pearl action figure and place her on the table there among my friends who love me. I am almost ready to believe that there is not only a spot for Optimus Prime and Mr. Potato Head, but there is also a spot for me.

(First person to make a joke about libraries and silent nights will feel my wrath. Also, I don’t really wear sensible shoes.)

It was so fun for me to put myself in the nativity scene that I wondered if other people might join me. Find something to represent you and take a picture of it there with the sheep and the shepherds and Mary and Joseph. (And little tiny Baby Jesus if you happen to have one quite as small as we do.) Put your link in the comments so the rest of us can see it, too. Say it bold, that the birth of Christ is for all of us, no matter how we see ourselves.

Do I need to write an obligatory wedding post? You can read what Brandi said to know how Thursday and Friday morning went. You can get Jeff’s perspective here. And Scott’s here. Andrea even talked about it a little bit here. There are pictures all over Facebook (and a few on Flickr). Do I need to contribute to the madness?

Of course I do. Sorry that mine is so long. I was in the middle of a lot of different things. And I still left tons out.

Right before we lined up to go upstairs, I told Alisa that I think that Holly is wrong. I remember my wedding. In fact, it was what I was referring to in this post – the pastor thanked me for being “very present” during the ceremony. (I have no idea why I referred to it as “a conversation” in that post. I am sure there was a reason.) And I did feel very present. This weekend, Brandi and I talked about how it all faded away during our own ceremonies, that we couldn’t remember anything but ourselves, our respective men, and the pastor. I know there were some people on the stage with me, but I don’t remember them at all. I remember what I said, how I was trying so hard to listen because I knew that it was a holy sacred thing I was doing and I wanted to take in every single word of it. I remember how happy and excited my dad was that day. I remember the way that I refused to look at Mike as we moved to the unity candle so that I wouldn’t laugh. I remember how we took communion and then we were able to finally say hi to each other for the first time that day. I remember the music, how awesome our friend Tim sounded. I remember the Coke that Mike brought me during the reception. It went by fast, but I made every effort to take it in, and I knew Alisa could do the same.

The whole weekend went by really fast, actually. On Thursday afternoon, I picked up cupcakes from Spring Garden Bakery for the bachelorette evening and then it was all insanity from there. After we had our nails done on Friday morning, Brandi went and picked up Scott from the airport. When I saw Scott, that was the thing that made it all real, that it was all really happening. Scott was here! For the wedding! We’d been talking about it for months, and he was finally here! He was very nice when I attacked him with a hug. Also, he told the story about the pilot who said, “Watch this happen.” I hope I will be using this phrase for the rest of my life.

So I will tell you the things that I remember about the wedding weekend, the things I want to keep on remembering. It’s going to be a long list. I hope you’re ready.

1. At the bachelorette evening, Alisa requested that we choose a fictional character to represent ourselves so that we could all get to know each other a little bit. I chose Elizabeth Bennet. Because I would love to be her. She is so smart and sassy. But I have decided that if I had to choose a TV character, I totally want to be Veronica Mars. Also, Brandi told a story about braiding that always makes me laugh.

2. When we were getting our nails done, we tried to explain to Alisa’s friend Sarah that it is totally normal that Alisa, Brandi, Carla Jean, and I know each other from the internet. A few minutes later, the lady who was doing my nails leaned in and said, “So, you know a lot of people from the internet?” I think we freaked her out.

3. Scott helped us find safety pins at Target. I promised him that if we used them, I would give him a shout-out in my Best Girl speech (this is important later).

4. I helped Carla Jean buy a flask. Oh, yes I did. Later, we filled it with scotch.

5. When we went home to change for the rehearsal, the first thing Alisa did was ask me for some safety pins. I cannot figure out how this happened. Two things: I am an excellent Best Girl, because I had them. And Scott was the hero of the day.

6. I got all teary when Alisa practiced walking down the aisle, which surprised me. Again – it’s here! Alisa is getting married! We have been thinking about it for so long!

7. At the bachelorette evening, I told the following story. Our vows contained the line, “All that I have and all that I am I give to you for Christ’s sake.” Mike went first and said the vows. Then I said my vows. He constantly tells me that first he gave me everything but then I gave it back so everything we own is his. And then he laughs. During the rehearsal, there was some discussion about who would say their vows first. I lobbied really hard for Alisa to go first so that she would be the one who owns everything. I was overruled. But at least I tried.

8. In the morning, I made Alisa eat grapes and drink ginger ale before her hair appointment. This was very difficult. But I managed it. One day I might actually be able to be a parent. I was very firm with her.

9. Sarah, Carla Jean, Brandi, and Susan (and eventually Alisa, her mom, and Emily) came over to do hair and makeup before the wedding. Mike put on inspirational hairstyling music and made pesto. And that is why I love him.

10. I lugged my Giant Box of Best Girl Things the Bride Could Possibly Need to the church with us. We got settled in. We changed into our dresses. It was so cold. So, so cold. When we were taking pictures, Carla’s legs turned blue.

11. I continued to try to make Alisa eat things. We fed her grapes and cheese and peanut butter crackers. We used more safety pins.

12. When we were lined up on the stairs, Jason’s band played Alisa’s favorite song of theirs. I am glad I was there for that moment. She was very excited.

13. I remember smiling a lot when the ceremony started and I walked down the aisle. I laughed at the flower girl and ring bearer. And then Alisa came in. And then I got teary again! And Alisa was crying! And I was crying! And her parents were crying! Also, Alisa started crying again during the charge. I had a tissue in the POCKET OF MY DRESS (so awesome) that I gave her. Then she gave it back. I might need a ruling on this – is the Best Girl really responsible for the bride’s snotty tissue?

14. During communion, the bridesmaids didn’t know what to do with our communion cups. I almost put mine in the pocket of my dress. (See above.) But then I realized that we were all passing them to the bridesmaid on the end. I wish she had put them on the piano. Which would have been awesome.

15. At the end of the wedding, when Jason’s brother and I were supposed to walk out, he waited for me to step down first. Because he’s twice as tall as I am. And a super nice guy.

16. The guys all gave us their coats when we went outside. Did I mention that it was horribly cold?

17. After the pictures, it was finally time to go to the reception and for me to give my speech. I started thinking about my speech the day I was named Best Girl. Do you want to read it? Good, because I am posting it. Before I gave this speech, I gave Scott the shout-out he deserved. I am a woman of my word.

Alisa has been living at our house since January, a little experiment I sometimes called, “There are three adults living in our house, so why am I still the only one who sweeps the kitchen floor?” We had some adventures, including the best snow day in years, pumpkin whiskey cake, bug killing, and sneaking her into our neighborhood pool. Over the past ten months, I have learned a thing or two about living with Alisa. As Jason embarks on this grand adventure with his new wife, I have a little bit of advice to offer him. Alisa and I both love lists. So here’s a list of five things I have learned from living with Alisa.

1. Alisa leaves the lights on. Sometimes I came into the house and she’d be sitting in the kitchen with her bedroom light on, the hall light on, and her bathroom light on. There are two ways to handle this. The first is to handle it like Mike did, which is to speak with her directly about it. The second is to handle it like I did, which was to follow her around and turn the lights off. Both of them have their own advantages and disadvantages. I recommend the one that doesn’t have you sneaking down the hall to turn off the lights.

2. Alisa does not feel that it is necessary to lift the flag on the mailbox. This is fine if you don’t actually want your mail to, you know, be mailed. There are two ways to handle this situation. The first is to do what I did and to speak with her directly about it. The second is to be like Mike and to follow her around and lift the flag to make sure her mail goes out. A sidenote here: As Alisa was living with us, I learned that Mike and I are inconsistent about being confrontational. My advice for you is to remember that you guys have enough bad luck with the post office as it is, and it might be good to just go along with their rules.

3. When Alisa has a bad day, she wants to talk to you about it. It does not matter if you had something else planned. It does not matter if you just came to the kitchen to get a drink of water before getting back to your homework or your book or your movie. You will sit and listen while she gets it out of her system. The good news is that when you have a bad day, she will also listen to you. She will let you vent and complain until you feel better. And you will feel better. So my advice is to stop what you are doing and let her talk, because you guys will be on the same team, and she will always support you.

4. Alisa loves to give gifts. I know you know this, but I just wanted to point out that since she has moved in, we have been given things like Diet Coke pencils, a book on Michelle Obama, Great Pumpkin stickers, copious amounts of coffee, and a cheese grater. I am not so good with the gifts, but I have made an effort, too. And just making an effort has made me a more thoughtful and considerate person. I encourage you to make the effort to think of her and to show it in small meaningful ways. Also, please get her flowers from time to time. I hear she deserves them.

5. The fifth and final thing that I learned from living with Alisa came clear to me on that evening in June when Jason’s house was broken into. For those who don’t know, Jason stayed at his house that night to make sure that his things would be okay in case anyone came back for more of his stuff. That night I saw Alisa sick with worry about him. What I learned about her that night is that, Jason, she really really loves you. She was desperate to know that you were okay. I have known her for a while, but I had never seen her upset in quite that way. My advice to you is to remember that you are no longer just making decisions for yourself, but for the two of you. You are no longer individuals, but a team, working together. It’s not an easy adjustment, but, in my experience, what you give up is nothing compared to what you gain by sharing your life with another person in this way.

Let’s raise our glasses to the happy couple – Jason and Alisa, may you never stop learning about each other.

18. Here’s the problem with my speech. I totally screwed up point number two. I said that Mike spoke with her directly about it. So then I had to just go with it and say that I snuck behind her and lifted the flag on the mailbox. This makes me seem somewhat passive-aggressive. The truth is funnier. And less damaging to my reputation. Oh, well. I screwed it up partly because I was cold and partly because I was nervous and partly because I had made sure Alisa had had eaten, but I was kind of hungry myself. C’est la vie.

19. I stalked old friends, took part in recreating famous pictures, and helped get the bride out the door. I also ate one cookie. Then I loaded my car and went home for the after party. When I got there, Mike made everyone put their shoes back on and unload my car. It took an hour to load it (up and down the stairs in my leopard print shoes) and 30 seconds to unload it. And someone handed me a margarita. Are these the best friends in the world or what?

20. We after partied until about 11. We ate pizza, drank margaritas, had a Target/Sprint run, told old stories that still make us laugh, watched Facebook on the ceiling, and generally enjoyed each other. Maybe it is crazy to meet people on the internet like my nail lady thought, but these people have blessed and enriched my life and I am so thankful to have them. I am thankful Alisa has them, too, and thankful for the many ways I saw them love and care about her this weekend, even if they didn’t actually get to see her. We are all able to get together so rarely. I wanted the night to last forever.

21. Which is probably why the after after party lasted until FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING.

22. And then we had breakfast at 9:00 am. That is not much time for sleeping. At least we had biscuits the size of our faces. That was our condolence prize. Trey and Brian told more stories. We made it last as long as we possibly could. And then it was over. And I came home. And realized my new fate as an empty nester. Now I will have to take up hobbies and find interests.

Thank you for reading this. And thanks to all the wonderful friends I got to see this weekend for making me laugh and for caring about Alisa and Jason (and me, a little bit, too). Like everyone else, I wish them the best. Marriage is hard. Putting someone else first is hard. But it’s totally and completely worth it. And that’s what we celebrated this weekend.

This school year, one of my favorite games to play with the band and orchestra teacher was to mention something pretentious Mike and I had done and then look at her to watch her roll her eyes.

“When Mike and I were at the Farmer’s Market this weekend . . . ”

“While we were in Chapel Hill to see Slumdog Millionaire, we stopped by Trader Joe’s and picked up some goat cheese. ”

Now, the band and orchestra teacher would want me to tell you that she recycles and she is for saving the planet. She just likes to make fun of me. She loves to give me a hard time about the Farmer’s Market and the lack of summer blockbusters in my life. And I like her so much that I encourage it. During the last week of school, I happened to see her in the hall as I was eating an apple, and I waved the core at her and said, “Just want you to know, I am taking this home to compost it!” She laughed and asked if that was true. “No. I’m taking it home to Big Bunny. But we compost her litter, so it’s kind of true.” (She rolled her eyes.) (Which, unquestionably, I deserved.)

Since it’s summertime, I kind of miss our interactions. I haven’t done very many pretentious things this summer. So far. Before I tell you about my latest and greatest pretentious move, let’s talk about olive oil. My mom went on a Mediterranean cruise and she brought Mike back some olive oil from Greece. This was The Greatest Olive Oil Of All Time and with it he made excellent hummus. After that, he declared that we must use olive oil from Greece. And we spent some time at the Teeter looking at their giant wall of olive oil. Which was, as I remarked upon at the time, incredibly ridiculous. No one needs that many choices when it comes to olive oil. I just want one from Greece.

Now we know it’s cheaper at Fresh Market, so I went there the other day specifically to pick up olive oil (who runs out of olive oil?). While I was standing in front of their slightly smaller shelf of exotic varieties of olive oil, I had a brain fart about whether we wanted Italian olive oil or Grecian olive oil. I considered calling Mike. I imagined the conversation that my fellow shoppers would overhear. “Dear, do we want olive oil from Greece or Italy?” It sort of made me sick. I looked back at the selection of many different olive oils, and I called anyway. He didn’t answer. After a minute, I managed to remember which one we needed, so I bought it – I had my own bag – and headed out to my car. At which time I called the band and orchestra teacher to tell her the tale. She was appropriately horrified. Here is a snippet from the end of our conversation.

KARI: When I was at the checkout, the cashier said, “I buy my olive oil in a big jug at Costco.”

B & O TEACHER: You know you are pretentious when the cashier at Fresh Market thinks you are pretentious.

KARI: I know. There is pretty much no hope for me at this point.

(I might have needed a break from school, but I kind of miss the other teachers.)

“Edward Cullen, please bring Bella her sunglasses.”

Right, like Edward would be at the pool. His sunbathing would be just a little bit too dazzling.

“Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota” by James Wright

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year’s horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.

When I was little, we gave my dad a hammock. I am guessing it was for Father’s Day. I remember piling into it with him, and my impression has always been that he really liked it. When we moved, we didn’t have a place for it. Although there were plans to get it set up, first at one house and then another, my dad never got around to doing that. There were no trees, and there was no hammock stand, so it spent a great deal of time in the garage. And when Mike made some noise about wanting a hammock last year, my mom let him have my dad’s old one. Which makes me very happy.

Apparently, Mike’s natural habitat is the hammock. He spends every possible minute there. That is not just a thing that a wife would say, either. I have witnesses: The neighbors often ask me how much hammock time Mike is planning on for a weekend. With the implicit assumption that he’ll be spending quite a bit of time there. And, obviously, I have spent some time there myself. I do not deny it. I have no wish to deny it. I do, however, enjoy looking at Mike in the hammock and accusing him of wasting his life. Sometimes I read the entire poem to him. Or . . . AT him. Accusingly.

Today we watched the son of some of our friends, and he and I had some hammock time, too.

If this is wasting my life, well, sign me up.

(P.S. I do know that the poem is about “wasting your life” by not enjoying the beauty around you. It’s just fun to give Mike a hard time.)