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.

Hello?

Remember when you were a kid, and your teacher would call your house? And it would seem so weird... your teacher, on your phone.

I remembered that tonight when my doctor called.

8:55 p.m.
Stolenbike: Hello?
Dr. Brown: Hi. This is Dr. Brown. I was just going over my notes tonight, and realized that missed something. Your deviated septum...was that to the right or left?
Stolenbike: Umm... right?
Dr. Brown: Which nostril is it more difficult to breathe out of?
Stolenbike: Inhale, exhale... Umm.... right?
Dr. Brown: OK. Thanks.

The best part is that Dr. Brown has a CD of my CT scan...he's just too computer illiterate to view it.
Earlier today:
Nurse: Umm... Doctor... you just need to scroll up on the mouse, not hit the button.
Dr. Brown: Click. click click click. It's not working.
Nurse: OK... just... use the scroll.

Nose, broken

4 super things about breaking your nose:
1. Husband gets dirty looks when we go out in public
2. Having both a doctor and a nurse tell me, "Do not pick your nose."
3. Leaving messages for friends saying, "For the first time in 26 years, I broke a bone. If you want to find out what one, give me a call."
4. When I told my dad I had some bad news and he said, "Whadja break?" getting to reply, "nose" and hearing that moment of shock over having called his bluff.

Look!

It's my wallet!
The one stolen nearly a year ago!




















We knew where it was (between barrier wall and highway) but couldn't find it, despite some scary night searching.

It found its way back to my house... credit cards, driver's license, frequent coffee drinker's card, and all. Well, except for the money, of course.

It looks like it's been through hell (or a Midwestern winter).

Damn, if we only knew someone who read books

I often wish I had useful skills to share with others. Carpentry, gardening, sewing, Spanish expertise, and the like.

The only skill I can think of is that I'd be damn good at editing family Christmas letters. I'd also kick butt as an island vacation advisor. But alas, neither are in high demand.

Except... I do read more than the average person. But for a reader I suck at recommendations. It's like someone asking you, "You eat food? Really! I always mean to eat more food. What food would you recommend?" And I'm like, "Umm... do you like dairy?"

So I've decided to start sharing an occasional list of much liked books in various genres.

Today I bring you TRAVEL WRITING.

Note: I strove for diversity of location and experience in this list; it's not necessary my best-of. It's also limited by my poor memory of what I've read.

A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle
This book makes Husband and I nearly pee our pants. Every year or so we check the audiobook version out of the library and spend a drive up to the cabin delighting in Mayle's crazy friend Monsieur Menicucci, salivating at the descriptions of fabulous food, and crying with laughter at Mayle's dry deadpan delivery. For books about France, I also like Almost French by Sarah Turnbull (for glamorous-Paris-life-type book, and to understand why the French are the way they are) and On Rue Tatin by Susan Loomis (for the good French cooking-type book).

Sex Lives of Cannibals by Maarten Troost
This is for people who fantasize about going to those little specks on the map (in this case, a tiny island in the South Pacific). Or for people who enjoy reading accounts of hellish living (beaches doubling as toilets, spoiled cans of chicken curry for dinner) without having to suffer through the heat or hepatitis A, B, or C themselves. The other thing that fascinates me about this book is that Maarten and his wife are much like you and me; they finally leave Kiribati to go back to high-paced D.C. lives. I also discussed this book here.

Catfish and Mandala by Andrew Pham
More than any other travel book, this one left me feeling as if I'd really visited the country. Pham visits Vietnam in the way that one really should--traveling around by bicycle by himself, far removed from the tourist groups. Off-the-beaten-track Vietnam isn't very uplifting (their view of Americans, for example, isn't surprising, but it still depressing) and is often dangerous, so if you want to get a glimpse into real life Vietnam without, say, getting beat up, then this book is for you.

Beauty Tips from Moose Jaw by Will Ferguson
Who can help but be fascinated by Canada, which is so like us, but so different? It's a country that doesn't take itself too seriously and clearly has more fun that we do. My favorite parts of this book are the irreverent (Ferguson's bad kid days in Moose Jaw, his tourist trip to the Arctic Circle) and the educational (the part of Ontario that was settled by those who made it to the Underground Railroad's last stop). If you like Ferguson, his Hokkaido Highway Blues about hitchhiking around Japan is also good.

In a Sunburned Country by Bill Bryson
Bryson's arrogance tainted most of his travel books for me (although strangely, it didn't prevent me from reading all of them). But he does well in this one. Riddled with fascinating info and full of bumbling travel misadventures, my favorite parts were the numerous ways in which Bryson nearly dies. For those seeking an Aussie fix, I also really like My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin and the film Rabbit-proof Fence.

Boys

Cause it's been awhile.

Good friends

A good friend knows how to work the adjective.

For example, 10 minutes ago:

Ring ring.
Me: This is StolenBike.
GF: Hey, it's Good Friend. ... Are you OK?
GF: Because you seem ... soft-spoken... today.

Damn that's smooth. Men, take note.