Feeling the burn (or Day 5)

It's day five and things are getting tough. I had created a stash of partially written entries and ideas but now I've culled the "good" ones and have been sitting here for half an hour, reading anything within grabbing distance and not getting anywhere.

Any requests?

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One of the authors of a blog I read occasionally does this thing she calls an Uberlist -- or a giant to-do list sorted by categories (on the link, scroll to Aug. 23). Inspired by her brilliance and my own love of lists, I expanded and consolidated various jotted lists to start on my own Uberlist. As I'm still working on it, I won't post it all, but I will post the 3 things I can already check off!

Cooking: Learn to bake hearty wheat bread (accomplished today, hurrah!)
Knitting: Knit something this fall (started purple hat last night)
Writing: Challenge self to blog every day for two weeks (in progress)

There's nothing like fall for getting things done.

Well, off to cook some fantastic sounding split pea soup to go with the bread.

Gold standard

When I was in high school one of the guides that led the canoe trips I went on got married. Everyone said what a great couple they were, and that they must have so much fun together that they could hardly fall asleep at night.

Since then that has defined and symbolized everything I've ever wanted in a relationship -- someone whose company I enjoy so much that I can hardly bear to stop spending time with them and fall asleep.

I won't pretend that after four years of marriage every night is laugh riot (although Tacohead was certainly born of one such night of silliness) Indeed, before bed is not usually our fun jokey time. We're both typically pretty mellow, engrossed in books.

But we've certainly had and do have our times of side-splitting laughter, of uncontrollable giggles that deter us from whatever we're trying to do (I'll let you use your imagination here).

But I value the times of silence, of understanding, where words and jokes aren't necessary, as much as the fun.

And I also value a good night's sleep.

No excuses

It all started with the ponytail.

Whap. Whap. Whap. With every step my mean-spirited ponytail slapped against my head. Why is it that some days your ponytail hangs meekly, and other days it turns evil?

Then, as we started running, I realized I had to pee. Too bad! I'd just have to hold it for an hour of bouncing up and down.

Then I was thirsty. Oops! Too late!

Then the combination of yogurt and chips and salsa that I'd eaten made my stomach ache. (Dairy before jalapeno, muy no bueno).

And damn, when did it get so humid?

Sometimes it seems like everything conspires against your best efforts to exercise. But today I had no excuses, since before we'd left we had a lecture about the psychology of running. The speaker, a gold-medal winning speed walker, was energetic and spirited, with a body type often called "Mediterranean" or "curvy." The thought of her breezing by all her opponents who underestimated her endurance made me smile.

Just two weeks ago, she'd had major surgery - a complete hysterectomy. And tonight she was running.

After that, there was no way I was letting a petulant ponytail get me down. And sure enough, like she promised, by mile 3 all my woes were forgotten.

Achilles heel

Outside of random taunts from boys and stray whispers from snobby girls, I was fortunate to escape significant childhood torment. I was not the girl shunned in sixth grade who eventually transferred to a private school. No one ever tried to give me a "breezer," (i.e., to pull down my pants from behind). Although part of me wants to give myself credit for this, I know it has a lot to do with luck.

Because at age four, I was unlucky.

I spent my afternoons then playing with neighborhood pals Peter and Michelle. Usually Peter and I would cut through the hole in my hedge, passing by the lilac bush area that we called The Yoda Zone, and cross the street to Michie's house (We called her Michie-Mushy when we were feeling mean). I don't remember anything about those afternoons except for their favorite game, the one they played over and over: hide my boot in the freezer.

For some reason, this would make me cry. My boot... in the freezer.

They'd taunt me with it, not giving it back, watching me get frustrated and teary-eyed.

One day I'd had enough. Wearing my one boot, I hobbled home through the slushy snow. I'm not sure what happened, but Michie and Peter and I went on to spend many years playing happily together, and they never played tricks on me again.

...Maybe what happened was us meeting Jordan, the neighborhood kid several years our junior who kicked his own butt when he ran and whose mom called out "Yoo-hoo, Jordie" when it was time to come in.

For him, we invented a new game. Whenever he came to play, we'd yell "Jordan alert! Jordan alert!" as we ran away and hid.

But hey, at least he got to keep his shoes.

Friendship tests (or Day 1)

In appreciation of those bloggers who write daily or near daily and to personally stretch myself, I am embarking on the 2006 StolenBike Blog Challenge! That is, I am challenging myself to write everyday for two weeks. I don't promise to be thrilling, but I do promise to be there. Want to join me? Take the challenge!

So my friend, Kloumr, to be precise, asked me many weeks ago who I considered to be my closest friend, and I was oddly taken back. Not that I don't have friends, but like people who begin speeches by defining basic terms, I got hung up on the definition.

So I came up with the following definitions:
- The person with whom you share your problems
- The person you like to spend your time with, i.e. hang out weekly
- The person you depend on in times of need, the one who will always be there

But then things got complicated. Isn't hanging out with someone a lot as important as confiding in someone? Both are crucial needs. And aren't the three mutually exclusive in a way, i.e. the one you depend on in times of need isn't usually the one you hang out with a lot, because you need an outside perspective. And you sometimes don't talk about all your problems with people you see a lot because they're too close or involved in things.

I suppose, if I gave in to my love of spreadsheets and formulas, I could arrive at an answer by weighing each criteria equally and assigning candidates a score on a scale of one to ten.
But that would defeat the purpose.

Would you be friends with someone who ranked you on a preference indicator?

Haute couture and death cookies

Ohmygoodness it's been forever. I sort of, um... forgot... about this. I was so enjoying reading other blogs (new secret fantasy wish: starting a craft blog. But really, when do I craft?) that I forgot all about my little effort.

But I have been doing some quality things with my time. Like vacation! Husband and I celebrated (gasp!) four years by backpacking on the North Shore of Lake Superior. Then we ventured into the BWCA for a few days with friends (highlights: the biggest eruption of rain I've seen in awhile, a gorgeous wispy early morning, vole crawling down Husband's pants). Then some good ol' time in Ely, reading, running, and visiting the local spa. Only in Ely can you get away with accidentally scheduling a spa visit that includes a scalp treatment (i.e. head coated in hot oil) before going to a nice dinner and get away with it. Being is greaseball is de rigeur in the city where North Face is haute couture.

Secret fantasy #2: I recently admitted to Husband that after reading books like The Undomestic Goddess, there's a small part of me that wishes professional housekeeping was prestigious and well-paid, because having it be your job to make a house pristine and gorgeous and having all damn day to do it sounds a bit nice. It's not like it's without it's mental challenges -- there's a lot of planning and smarts that goes into home upkeep.

Read [Only the good stuff this time]
For a fun quick read, Lost and Found by Carolyn Parkhurst. Engrossing read about a group of contestants in a reality TV travel show, of all things.
For excellent essays on topics such as why American harass runners and bikers, parasites the author has known, "unspeakable rituals and outlandish beliefs" of other cultures, German humor, and travel of all kinds, Fresh Air Fiend by Paul Theroux. Highlights: In an essay about kayaking to Nantucket, Theroux writes that in his younger days he traveled to unusual places by usual methods. Now, as he's older, he travels to usual places by unusual methods. Also, new favorite term: death cookie, for the patch of ice that intersects a cross country ski trail.

July, July

I have not made a difference in the world, in July.

July has been about ice cream. Softball. Weeknight gatherings with friends. Running. Reading. Planning trips. Salads.

I've made plans to leave the world better than I found it, in September. Seeking out a new volunteer opportunity -- fall. Learning how to sew -- fall. Resuming my bread-baking education -- fall.

July has been too damn hot to change the world.

But, as a small token of redemption, as the last hours of July tick away, I offer you what I've learned this month.

New author: Elizabeth Gilbert. Her three books are completely diverse (travel/personal discovery memoir Eat, Pray, Love, Maine lobster island fiction Stern Men, true story of a real wilderness man The Last American Man) but equally good. Other fun books: nonfiction What the World Eats, rainy day comfort reading/my favorite young adult series, the Alice McKinley books by Phyllis Naylor.

Ice cream: Mix 2 cups superfine sugar, 1 quart buttermilk, 1/8 tsp salt, 1/2 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice, 2 T lemon zest. Chill. Put in ice cream maker. Unbelievably fabulous. Much greater than the sum of its parts.

Running: Much as I many years ago finally discovered the Golden Mean in carrying a canoe (i.e. that precise balanced angle that makes the canoe not hurt), I'm beginning to discover the Golden Mean in running (i.e. as I increase mileage I can still pretty much run at the same pace throughout, and the middle mile is always the hardest). Plus I have new muscles in my legs and butt (which is a little disturbing, I have to say... having your butt feel different. But alas, it looks the same.)

A day of firsts

Today, for the first time in my life, I called in sick.

I've certainly left early feeling unwell, heck, I've even puked in my office trash can on more than one occasion.* But on a typical morning I spring out of bed, trip lightly down the hall, and greet the day with good cheer.

But this headache insisted, demanded that I stay put. Just try to drive to work, it taunted.

Feeling guilty, I showered and tried to convince myself that I was better. But finally I gave up, called into work, and settled my be-robed and wet-headed self on the couch with the cats. Three hours later I woke up. Vindicated, I thought, I'm really sick! I deserved to stay home!

Another nap later and I was better. That left plenty of time to run errands with Husband and have another first: my first Chipotle. My long standing hatred of the place was worn down by apathy and a craving for beans. Damn them.

All this leads me to wonder...
What magic adventures will tomorrow bring?

*Given a really empty stomach, citrus + yogurt = a fine substitute for ipecac.

Life lines

It occurred me today, after reading in the excellent book Eat, Pray, Love how the author had her palm read extremely accurately by a man in Indonesia, to read my own palm. I've only had this done once, in a train hurling across the Saskatchewan prairie, by a boy with a pack of tarot cards and a bag of CoffeeGo. After reading my friend's palms, I offered him my own, and watched as I sucked away at the coffee candy. He opened his mouth to speak and then shoved my hand away, saying that he wouldn't read it. I gathered that there was something inauspicious about my hand, but didn't ask. Instead, I asked for a tarot reading, and learned that blond haired man would soon enter my life. Sadly, he was wrong.

A little searching around on the Internet confirmed what I suspected: I have a short, or broken, life line. Serious illness or calamity was headed my way.

I thought about this for awhile, then searched again, hitting upon Wikipedia. Surely a reliable source in this unreliable field, it dispelled any myths about early deaths.

So thus, I will not die soon. Good to know.

4th it up, baby

I'm eating a big slimy pile of beet greens. Freshly steamed they might have been yummy, but overnighting in Tupperware is not advised. I nearly spit out the first bite several times, then remembered how good they are for you and piled a bunch of salt on the rest.

Hmm. They're a bit.. gritty.. too.

Well it's Patriotic Holiday Weekend, and my bags are packed. In splitting up the provisions for transport up to the cabin, my car was designated as the Boozemobile. (It seems that although my brother has a spacious Tahoe, there was some question of inventory control in his car). If anyone's curious, 1 Mini trunk = 15 bottles of hard liquor.

Oops. I'm slacking off on greens consumption. There we go... a big slimy bite.

I went to my first reunion of any kind this week — a grad school get-together. My enthusiasm for reunions declines from grad school to college, plummeting at high school, which I doubt I will ever attend, then picks up again at the thought of an elementary school or Kindergarten reunion (as I've heard they have in Japan). How sweet would a Kindergarten reunion be? Maybe we could make gingerbread houses again. I have fond memories of applying the frosting to my tongue instead of the graham cracker roof.

Well, time to hit the road. I have audiobook Goodnight, Nobody by Jennifer Weiner to pass the time, and surely, a well deserved stop at the Dairy Queen.

Island time

Like most people, I resist labels. I recoil at being called shy. I bristle when called a leader. I even dislike being called a vegetarian.

Yet one adjective that I fully own up to is restlessness. It is an everpresent companion, the force that makes me fidget, fret, and pursue mischief.

So when I started feeling shackled by routine and enslaved by mundane chores, I knew that I needed to get out of town.

Husband and I hastily asked our bosses for Friday off, threw our camping gear into the car, and set off for Madeline Island. There I rediscovered the unbelievable iciness of Lake Superior. The joy of lying on warm sand. The release of giving in to rain and becoming completely soaked. The coziness of falling asleep to the sound of rain, safe and dry in the tent.

How refreshing it is to simply gaze upon an unfamiliar horizon.

And being away for even two days makes coming home a novelty, piles of laundry and to-do lists and all. And as cozy as a tent is, it has nothing on a real bed.

Steamy

There's some nights when there is nothing else to do but take a hot bath. Nevermind that it's in the low eighties outside. Nevermind that I bathed this morning. Sometimes you just need to gather all your favorite bath toys (Lush's Mask of Magnaminty, Body Shop's Spa Wisdom, Origin's True Grit) and hop in the tub.
It helps when Husband comes home mid-bath and immediately serves you a drink (a vodka tonic with pineapple juice, or a Kealakehe, as we've come to call it, for lack of a real name).
This will have to do until we build our wood-fired sauna. And accompanying icy plunge pool.
One day, I may have to move to the country.

Inquiry

Although I think I pretty much worked the nose cast thing to the hilt, I received a request for additional info from someone who's never seen in nose cast in real life, and I felt a personal responsibility to oblige.

How does it affix to your nose?
How does it, indeed. By some miracle of sticky-doublesided-adhesiveness, most likely developed by 3M. It does not, as my Maine-dwelling friend inquired, adhere to the nose via an elastic band that goes around the head. The horror of that is too much to contemplate... so much so that I certainly would have passed out post-breakage.

So you couldn't wash your nose for one week? Gross!
Yes--this was the grossness that contributed to the other half of my post-breakage tears. But amazingly the nose was quite normal, making me theorize that exposure to polluted air is somehow related to oil production. Or maybe it's more 3M miracle.

What was your favorite part about wearing the mask?
Having every interaction go like this:
OtherPerson: Oh! Your nose!
StolenBike: Yeah. Softball injury. Makes face.
OtherPerson: Yeah, I broke my nose once... [insert gruesome story].
StolenBike: Really, you'd never know. It looks great now. Lies.
OR
OtherPerson: Yeah, once when I was playing softball, I took a hard one right in the [insert body part].
StolenBike: Turns green.

Why tacohead

Tacohead is what happens when I'm lying on my side chatting away in bed and Husband takes my pillow and pulls the ends toward him, wrapping my head in pillow, and yells triumpantly, "Tacohead!"

Provisions

My desk is shockingly well stocked with dried fruit. Bananas (both chipped and whole), strawberries, apricots, blueberries, cherries, raisins, pineapple... I'm ready for a hike at a moment's notice! I also have one of those many-tooled knives. But no matches. On my impromptu camping trip, I'll have to invite BizFerret so he can bring his lighter.

Other things in my desk drawer that reveal myself as a very odd girl: Stuffed panda, ACT, booze chocolates (Malibu and Cuervo), a two-sided handled mirror, a box of PG Tips, morning glory seeds, and a rubber snake.

Grab bag

SHH
Feeling displeased with my deodorant, I did an experiment and swiped some of Husband's today. Result? I smell manly. That's really it. It must not be Ph balanced for a woman. But my hair smells minty clean, thanks to Origins mint shampoo and conditioner.

THE BEST OF

Choose Your Own Adventure books are back! I loved how you couldn't really outsmart them... even if you took the sensible path the murderer/sandstorm/abominable snowman eventually got you. Just like real life. Wired has a fun little article on the series done in CYOA style.

Also on Wired: a research lab devoted entirely to cream cheese. Shockingly, it's located in Wisconsin.

Feeling quizzy? Find our your secret sleep position and what it means about you.

BOOKSHELF
My currently reading list is a little sad: egg cookbooks and fix-it guides. So I'll share a list of my all-time favorite authors! They are: Junichiro Tanizaki, Margaret Atwood, Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf, Haruki Murakami, and Kazuo Ishiguro.

HOBBY LOBBY

New venture--orienteering! Want to try with me? I'm ordering maps for nearby city park.

If I had a hammer

Is there anything more rude, more cruel than the Tuesday morning after a holiday weekend?
It's not as if you want more weekend. You're ready to go back to normal life. You just don't want normal life to feel this bad.

But I aced their damn gum test

What is it about going to the dentist that makes you feel like a little kid? Sitting in that chair at the mercy of the hygenist, you find yourself inquiring about the flavor options for the polish and angling for the cool toothbrush. And you'd never ask for it, but you long for one of those tooth stickers. So it should be no surprise that when the dentist tells you that you have a cavity,* you instantly feel shamed. You adopt a concerned, puzzled expression, but inside you feel as if she wrote your name on the board.

And then they slap you with the bill! What, fillings aren't free? But I wanted that $62 for shoes!

*OK, cavities.

Biological clock on snooze

Signs that I am not ready to have children:
1. Can't bear to give up the guest room or office for a nursery.
2. When asked if I want to hold co-worker's new baby, say no.
3. Haven't made sufficient progress on learn-to-eat-fish plan.
4. Can't imagine using formula, can't imagine having thing feed off my boob.
5. Stretch marks don't seem worth it.
6. Feel tired enough as it is.
7. Worry that I would neglect cats.
8. At baby shower, don't feel need to rub baby clothes on my cheek like others do.
9. Always ready to wave "bye-bye!" after an hour.
10. Have yet to change a diaper and want to keep that record going.

Nose, cast

Well my worst fears are realized--I have the nose cast--and of course it's really not that bad. Kind of reassuring, actually, to have some hard plastic separating my tender nose from the world. (Take-home instructions this time include the helpful "Do not bump nose.") And before I know it (Monday) it will be gone. Hurrah. And I will dispose of it properly, not leave it around the house for people to step on.

And what a bully day to be off from work! Gorgeous sun to take a walk in like a woman of leisure, sipping iced latte and browsing at the garden market. Soft breezes to sleep on the porch in, flanked by snoozing cats.

Just mind the sun. A nose cast suntan would not be hot.