Take a cup o' kindness yet

I am a medium-superstitious person, and that kicks into high gear this time of year. Luckily, I tend to use my superstitions for good, not ill; I'm fine with black cats and such, but I'll wear the occasional lucky garment when it seems warranted.
So, this new year I am:

• eating long noodles
• eating black-eyed peas
• eating greens
• washing my hands in the new soap I got for Christmas, made to bring abundance to my life
• making sure my cupboards are stocked
• greeting a tall, dark-haired man as the first person to enter the household

What am I missing? What do you do for good luck in the new year?

Let it slow

There's a lull between two snowstorms up here right now. It is a perfect day to snuggle under blankets, to sit beside a fire, to drink from the oversized mugs bzh gave me when I moved here three years ago, to put both giant Crock Pots to work and freeze the leftovers.

Round One of Crock Pottery will be recipes from friends who responded to the call on Facebook.

Round Two will be from you. So, share. What are your favorite slow-cooker recipes?

A Prayer

A Prayer for Owen Meany is one of my favorite books, ever. John Irving is not one of my favorite authors overall; I find him pretty hit-or-miss. But even his worst books (158-Pound Marriage, I'm looking at you) often strike a chord with me; they often take place in New Hampshire, in and around worlds I know well.

I bought Cider House Rules when I was home here for my grandfather's funeral, late one year in the early 1990s, and read it as my main escape that weekend. And when I got back to school, I missed it, and bought Owen Meany, which was even better. It's a sentimental thing for me, but it's also just a beautifully crafted book, which I very much recommend.

I loaned my copy out to a good friend who was having a hard time a few years ago, and was pleased that she liked it enough to read it — that it resonated with her, too. I don't see her a lot any more, but the last time I saw her, this fall, she asked if I wanted it back, and I was surprised to find that I didn't. That is, I love the book, and want to have a copy, but I wanted her to have that copy. I loved that it was doing someone else some good.

Flash forward to a few weeks ago, when an on-campus group was having a book sale for a good cause, and the first book my eye lit on was a copy of Owen Meany, tattered in almost exactly the way mine was. I handed over my fifty cents and was happy to have it, but didn't look inside.

Until this week, that is. I was in a nostalgic mood, and there are a couple of eerie, sweet, Christmasy chapters that bring me back to late one year in the early 1990s, so I skimmed them.

And then I flipped to the end — no reason not to, because I know how it ends.

And this is what I found there:


I don't know what "better" means in this context, so I can't agree with it, quite. But it made me smile.

How that party went

First things first: I went with black pants, a shiny green shirt, and heels I could take off when I got there with bare feet (since I got a pedicure on Saturday)

I left my town at about 5:45 and arrived around 6:15, planning to only stay an hour, and carpooled with a friend who wanted to get home in time to tuck her kids in. Perfect, right?

My hostess's husband was there, rearranging and moving cars, and offered to move mine.

Since I hadn't taken my coat off yet, I offered to do it myself.

He said he'd do it, that I should go in and enjoy the party. And you know, my car's really old. It's not like it'd be a huge big deal if he scratched it or something.

So I gave him my keys and headed in to talk to the five people I knew (because really, I seem outgoing, but my M.O. at parties is pretty much to corner people I know or people who look like they know even fewer people than I do and talk with them, one-on-one, until they wander off).

By about 6:45, I had talked with everyone I know, but it was obviously still too soon to leave. My hostess came over to say hello, and we talked for a bit about how beautiful her house is and what she'll do with the room we're standing in. And then she says, "[bzzzzgrrrl], I have a huge dilemma."

People who understand my neuroses better than I can figure out why my first thought was that I was about to be fired from a direct-sales job at a holiday party, but anyway, I just said, "O.K."

And then she was full of apologies, and handed me the pieces of my keys. Bear in mind, my car is old, and my hostess's husband is approximately the same age as said car. He has probably never had to open a car door with a key in his short life. He certainly has probably never seen a car where the ignition key and the door lock key are different. And so he put the ignition key into the door lock and gave it a good twist in the bitter, metal-freezing cold, and snapped it.

Also bear in mind, this party was about half an hour away from my house, and I didn't (and don't) know where my spare key is anyway. Shuttling around to get it is not an option.

Luckily, I have AAA. AAA Plus, in fact, which is totally worth it (and would be a fine last-minute Christmas gift for practically anyone, except someone who already has it). So I called AAA and tried to enjoy the rest of the party, which was lovely (though I was a little worried about my carpool buddy who now can't leave and won't get home to tuck the kids in).

What time would you guess AAA got there?

I mean, you know I'm in the middle of nowhere, so would you guess 45 minutes after I called?

An hour?

Maybe you'd guess, correctly, that they'd call back after an hour and a half to see how everything was going, and then would be surprised to learn the tow truck hadn't gotten there yet, and then would call back to say it'd be another twenty minutes. Yup.

This party, mind you, was supposed to end at 8:30. Luckily, I am not the only one who doesn't know how to leave a party, and so I was not quite the last guest in the house when the truck finally got there at 9, two hours after I initially called for it, in pretty, swirly, only-slightly-scary snow. My carpool buddy had managed to hitch a ride with someone else about five minutes before that, well after her kids' 8:00 bedtime.

You will be glad to know the couple who drove the tow truck were very nice and really interesting, and I now know a lot about their kids and also what it's like to tow drunk drivers.

I think I might send them a note.

They towed me home, and gave me a ride.

And then the fun began.

Because it took several hours the next morning to figure out how to get a replacement key for a 20-year-old car, without the use of said car.

I called the GM dealership (because there are no Oldsmobile dealerships anymore, because they don't make Oldsmobiles anymore) and asked if they could make me a replacement key.

The guy on the phone explained that GM says it doesn't do keys older than 14 years old, but sometimes he gets lucky, but before he can even search on it, he'd need my license and registration.

When I suggested that I might not want to walk three miles round-trip in the incredibly freezing cold on the off chance he could make a copy of my key, he said I could fax that info to him.

I told him I didn't have a fax machine at home. I did not say, "A fax? Are you kidding? What is this, 1992?" I asked if I could scan and e-mail that info to him instead.

He thought that would be a fine idea, and gave me his e-mail address, which was in the format [creative spelling of diminutive of masculine first name][two-digit number]@yahoo.com. I did not say, "Yahoo? What is this, 1995? You don't have a work account?"

I did (probably unwisely) e-mail those scans and wait a bit, and then called back. I got a different guy on the phone, and had this conversation.

Me: Hi, I called earlier to see if you could make a key for my 20-year-old car, and I just wanted to make sure you all had gotten my e-mail with my license and registration.
Him: We can't make a key that old.
Me: I know, I already talked to someone, he said that sometimes you can make keys older than 14 years. I just wanted to see if he'd gotten my e-mail.
Him: We can't make keys that old.
Me: I already talked to someone who said he'd see if he could.
Him: We can only go back to 1990.
Me: Excellent. My car is a 1990. [But note to self: Get one million copies of this key.]
Him: Oh, yeah, then, we can do that. We'll need your license and registration.
Me: I know. I e-mailed them to the guy I talked to before.
Him: Oh! Yeah, I'll ask [diminutive of masculine first name] if he got that. What's your phone number?

A few minutes later, the phone rang, and it was the second guy I'd talked to.

Him: I don't see that fax.
Me: I didn't send a fax. I e-mailed it.
Him: Oh! OK, I'll see if [diminutive of masculine first name] got that.

A few minutes later, the phone rang again, and it was the first guy I'd talked to.

Him: Yeah, we'll be able to make that key, no problem. But you should know, with a car that old, there's only a 50-50 chance it'll work.
Me: What?
Him: Yeah, if it's ever been broken into, or if they've ever had to replace the ignition tumbler, the key we're making won't work in it.
Me: Oh, good. I'm only the second owner, and the first owner was my grandmother, and I'm almost certain the ignition has never been replaced.

My kindhearted neighbor gave me a lift to pick it up. And it worked.

So, how's your week going?

Worn out

I have an amusing post for you soon, maybe even later today, but for now, I need fashion advice.

I'm going to a party tonight.

What should I wear?

Possibly mitigating factors:

• The party is 6-8:30 p.m.
• My hostess is 21 years old, married, and has a new house, with new hardwood floors.
• We've been told to feel free to bring our fave slippers or socks, because her house is a "slipper/sock only zone."
• The dress code has been expressed as "wear anything you like... BUT I would love for it to be a fun cocktail party attire (and even cooler to wear cocktail attire with slippers!!!"
• She is expecting 50 people in a house that is big enough to hold us, but it'll be cozy (and therefore warm).
• The weather forecast this evening is for temps in the low to mid twenties, with possible flurries.
• I do not own (or wear) slippers or cute socks, but I am willing to buy some if you think it's necessary.
• I am willing to be barefoot, and have recently had a pedicure.

I am out of my depth on this one. If you are suggesting a dress, please address how you would deal with the hosiery/footwear issue.

Fun new game: Cute or Creepy?

We'll see if this catches on before I commit to it as a regular thing, but I'm interested in your feedback. I'll tell you about a thing, and you'll tell me whether it's cute or creepy. (Or other, obviously.) Once I get a few responses, I'll chime in in the comments.

I have a Facebook friend who is pregnant and understandably very excited.

She's found a FB app that will keep us all updated on how the fetus is doing.

Like:

[Friend] is 28 weeks along in her pregnancy
[Friend]'s baby is about 14 inches long and weighs 2 pounds.

and

[Friend] is 28 weeks along in her pregnancy
[Friend]'s baby's skeleton is hardening and requires about 200 milligrams of calcium every day.

and

[Friend] is 28 weeks along in her pregnancy
[Friend]'s baby's skull bones are growing rapidly to accommodate its growing brain.

and

[Friend] is 27 weeks along in her pregnancy
[Friend]'s baby will suck on anything that can reach his or her mouth: hands, umbilical cord, toes or knees. Sucking provides vital neural connections in baby's brain.

So...
What do you think?

Spirit Guide

I know this guy, and he's considering becoming a priest.

Part of the process, in the Episcopal Church, is the assembly of a "discernment committee," which meets regularly to support and talk to him, to figure out why (and if) this is really what he wants to do.

I am on that committee.

And as part of that process, we've agreed to spend part of our second meeting (on Wednesday) sharing our "spiritual autobiographies."

Which brings to mind a few questions:

• Would it be, like, really bad if I paid someone else to come up with my spiritual autobiography?
• Is it just me, or is it kind of cool that I have reason to write a spiritual autobiography — and share it with near-strangers — every eight years or so?
• Is it bad that I still have the last two spiritual autobiographies I had to do, and that one of them is in board-game form?
• Is it bad or a sign of growth that they are pretty much useless to me developing a current relevant spiritual autobiography?
• Would it be at all funny or instructive if I did it in haiku or six-word form?

and, of course:

• Would you please post your own six-word or haiku-form spiritual autobiography in the comments?

Better belated than never

A while ago, I said I'd get back to friends.

Today's the big day.

(Belated) Day 30 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful to have the greatest friends in the world, in so many ways and for so many reasons. I am grateful for the folks who are there with just the right answer (or just the right question) when I need it most. For the people who've known me forever, for whom history becomes a language. For the people who come into my life new and immediately become important. For the people who brighten my day, for the people who ask me if I want to grab a drink or go for a walk, for the people who know that they are important to me as I am to them, for the people who give better than they get, for the people who give advice and the ones who ask for it. Seriously. Greatest friends in the world.

Not my father's

I drive a 1990 Oldsmobile.

Here's why: It was my grandmother's.

She died in 2004, nearly 101 years old. I loved her very, very much. I do not think my love for her is why I got the car.

I think I got that enormous, heavy, super-reliable, nearly-antique car because my aunt and mother were worried about me. I was living in D.C. without one, you see, having sold my old car when I left the country.

And I was doing fine, but then I suddenly had a car. An awesome car, of which I am weirdly proud, since I have nothing whatever to do with its awesomeness. I had cousins who perhaps needed it more, but suddenly, it was my car, and I was in love.

I never get into that car without thinking of Granny. A couple of times, that has made me cry. Mostly, though, it just makes me grin.

(Belated) Day 29 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for my 1990 Oldsmobile and all it represents: Reliable transportation, connection to my grandmother, and the sweet thoughtfulness of my mother and aunt.

Fairy tale

Not quite three weeks ago, the following exchange happened on my Facebook page:

[bzzzzgrrrl] loves it when she comes home to find the sweater fairy has been to call!

• [Friend1] I want a sweater fairy!
• [Friend2] sweater fairy?
• [Friend3] Is THAT what they call those moths!?!
• [bzzzzgrrrl] Ha!
  No, [Friend3] and [Friend2], the sweater fairy is a magical creature that leaves nice sweaters between the storm door and the regular door of all the good little boys and girls who are lucky enough to live next door to people who are losing weight and whose old size is similar to said boys' and girls' current size.
  I believe her to be related to the beet fairy, which is a magical creature that leaves beets (and sometimes other produce) for all the good little boys and girls who are lucky enough to live next door to people who have a CSA share but also a houseful of mildly picky eaters.
• [Friend3] Ah, I seeeeeee. I wonder if I can find a $100 bill fairy??
• [Cousin Mouse] oh, at first I read that as "the swearer fairy"

Well the sweater fairy has struck again, and this time, she's left not only sweaters but also shirts and pants and shorts and a vest, and she had to leave them in the garage because there were way too many to leave between the regular door and the storm door. I will not need to shop again for a year.

Day 28 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the generosity of the people around me, particularly of my kind and loving neighbor. I aspire to that level of thoughtfulness.

Chocolatey goodness

I'm running the Hot Chocolate Run next weekend — a 5K for Safe Passage, an organization that provides services for women and children who've experienced domestic violence. It's a good organization that does good work and if I'm going to run in New England in December, I'm glad to be running for them.

Plus, hot chocolate.

Day 27 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for whichever of you has already anonymously sponsored me. If you'd like to do just like that donor did, go to PledgeReg and look up my name. If you don't know my name, consider donating to Safe Passage directly.

Mmm mm good

You know how there are foods you love, that other people don't get, or dislike, or assume they'd dislike without trying it? I had a friend in college whose favorite was "special spaghetti," which was spaghetti with ketchup and Velveeta.

Day 26 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for anchovy pizza with tomatoes. And orange sherbet with hot fudge.

Yankee Doodle

There's an old thing people say up here (what do you call it if it's too long to be a saying and not funny enough to be a joke?):

• Non-Americans know any American is a Yankee.
• But Southerners know the real Yankees are from the Northeast.
• But other North Easterners know the real Yankees are from New England.
• But other New Englanders know the real Yankees are from New Hampshire.
• And other folks from New Hampshire know the real Yankees are the ones who eat apple pie for breakfast.

Day 25 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for pie for breakfast. The amazing feast I had today is not yet digested, but I am already looking forward to having pie for breakfast tomorrow. It might be my favorite Thanksgiving-related food tradition.

Listen up

A lot of the drive from Lake Placid back home is through Vermont. And in a lot of Vermont, the only radio option is NPR.

You know what NPR loooooves? Storycorps's National Day of Listening. And that love proves to be contagious. You spend all day listening to good stories told by good storytellers on the radio, and you start thinking of the storytellers in your own life. And you think about the amazing stories that are so far unrecorded. And you wind up at Walmart on the second Thanksgiving Day in a row, this time buying a digital recorder and batteries (OK, and pajamas, because you forgot those, but whatever).

And you bring the voice recorder to Thanksgiving, and you're delighted by the fact that your family stories include the Vichy government and arguments about Inuit women chewing shoe leather and what it feels like to remove a brain from a cadaver and the fact that a five-year-old can spell her friend's name (which is more impressive because that friend is named "Ellerbe"). And you suddenly stop being able to think about talking with your family without a recorder running, though you will probably be able to do it some time.

Day 24 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for stories and storytelling traditions that I get to be part of, including but not limited to my family's dinner table and spending some part of every Thanksgiving scanning the radio for Arlo Guthrie — found him this year. If you can find a link to the excellent interview I heard on NPR, you should send it to me. But meanwhile, here's what I thought I was looking for until I found the excellent interview and all the talk about the National Day of Listening.

Whimsical

Sometimes, I am reading a blog, and the blogger has written a long list of things she's thankful for. I mean, a long list. So I might be maybe a little hoping she'll give me ideas I can steal for my month of gratitude series, and then all of a sudden I'm in her blog as a thing she is thankful for.

Whoa.

That's, like:

• so meta
• so sweet
• so cool
• so weird

I should say a little about Whimsy (the aforementioned blogger). I don't know her. Never met her. The things I know about her are what she writes on her blog, so, mostly about her daughter and her husband and her deep friendships and some travel stuff. Her blog landed in my reader initially because she was funny and smart, and though that is still true, I read a lot of funny smart stuff, and a lot of funny smart stuff has been streamlined out of my reader. She stays there because her blog exudes this amazing, consuming love — in addition to the smart and funny. I like having that kind of love in my day.

It's Thanksgiving Day, and I'm also one post behind, so you'll likely be getting another post from me. But I also have to drive several hundred miles, and maybe go for a run, and enjoy a big meal with some of the people who've known me longest and best and who love me much (as I do them), so, you know, maybe there won't be a lot of time for posting. Whatever you do with your day today, I hope that you are happy and safe and well-loved, and that someone lets you know you are cared for.

Day 23 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for people who make the internet not only funnier and smarter, but also warmer. I am thankful for people who let me into their lives and then make me glad of it.

Amazing

Those of you who know me in person know I can be kind of a jackass. So can most of us, I assume/hope; it'd be awful to be the only jackass around here.

And being an occasional jackass, it has happened more than once this month that I've thought about posting "gratitudes" that do not come from a place of grace, but from a place of, um, meanness. There have been days I've wanted to post to highlight my superiority over someone else, days I've wanted to post about how I, unlike some people, am capable of whatever it is.

Now there's a weird observation to get to make about yourself, right?

That even the most basically good small thing I can think to do should be examined for perversion?

But examine it I do, and I won't lie, there have been days on which I can think of nothing new and non-mean to post. Not today, mind you, but some days.

Day 22 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for those small better impulses I do have, which don't always let me get away with being a jackass. I am thankful for grace.

Plame game

Today at lunch, an 11-year-old engaged me in a detailed conversation about whether 9/11 was an inside job (we think not) and whether it was a flimsy excuse for a war (we think so). He then listened with rapt attention as I explained the Valerie Plame/Joe Wilson situation, to the point where, when we were interrupted by something more important, he demanded that I continue to tell him the story later.

I liked it.

You know what I also like? The glee on my 17-month-old niece's face when she sees I'm wearing a necklace suitable for tugging, or when she manages to grab the glasses off my face (and then attempts to mash them back on).

Day 21 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful to have children in my life, in meaningful and less meaningful ways. And I am grateful for the one who's coming soon — a new niece or nephew at the end of June. Awesome, and many congratulations to my sister and her husband.

Morning glory

I woke up this morning in a round room with windows along about one side. There's new snow on the ground and the Adirondacks are my view.

I got up and added to a room-sized compost pile, which involves chopping compost and shoveling wood chips and quick walks on snow-covered ice.

Day 20 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the newness of mornings, and the new things each one brings.

Remote control

One of the best vacations I ever had was with my parents and sister on the island of Iona.

If you haven't been, you should totally go. Here's how:

• Fly to London
• Connect to Glasgow
• Take a train to Oban
• Take a ferry to Mull
• Take a bus across Mull
• Take another ferry to Iona

As my mother says, you really feel like you've gotten away.

And I know my city friends think I have moved to nowhere, but I am in a city of 23,000 people, on a campus of 5,000 people, with neighbors I can see from my windows in all directions.

I've been spending some time hanging out in a much smaller town lately, and I'm headed to North Country School in Lake Placid next week. I love, love, love, the quietness of not having cell phone reception all the time.

Day 19 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for remoteness, for places without a lot of people, for opportunities to feel like I have really gotten away.

Fashion, forward

My friend Genny posted this style q-and-a to her blog nearly a month ago.

Thanks to the magic of procrastination, you get mine now. Fun, right?

(Note: If you actually go back and read Genny's responses, you'll see she included some questions I skipped. I only answered the fashion and style ones; if you want to be sure to answer all the questions, you should copy from her, not me. And either way, you should post to your own blog and link here, or do your answers in the comments.)

My biggest influence when dressing: Mood. And what's clean. Not necessarily in that order.

My signature scent: Most days, I just wear deodorant. So, daily, Tom's of Maine Long-Lasting Lemongrass. For special occasions (which can mean, "occasions on which I happened to notice the bottle"), I wear Ma Griffe by Carven.

My Go-To Flower: Peonies. I am not sure I understand what go-to means in this context, but I love peonies.

Style Icons: I have so many, most of them people I know (including Genny herself). Among the famous people I emulate when I'm thinking about it: Katharine Hepburn, Mary Tyler Moore, and, if I ever have the arms for it, Michelle Obama. OK, yes, and probably still the cast of Friends. Shut up.

What should every woman have in her wardrobe? Something that feels like her. Nothing is simultaneously sexier and easier to be around than a woman who is totally at home with herself, in her skin, in her gender, in her outfit.

What do you splurge on? Almost nothing. I buy things as inexpensively as I can. I have taken to wearing more expensive, designery jeans lately, but I buy them on the cheap (usually second-hand).

Every woman should own: Didn't we cover this already? Anyway, more specifically, underwear she feels good in, whatever that means for her.

I can't live without: Well, that's dramatic. But a good pair of black heels.

What's not worth the investment? Practically everything, fashion-wise. But especially: fancy layering Ts or tank tops. You can get them at Target (or your inexpensive store of choice), and as long as you try on to get a good fit, they'll look as good and last as (not very) long as more expensive ones.

Favorite Eyewear: I rarely wear sunglasses. But I am in love with my day-to-day glasses right now, and almost every frame made by Kliik.

Worst Current Trend: Understand that my idea of "current" is slightly warped by living where I live, but when can Uggs be over?

Best Current Trend: Same caveat as above, but layering saves my life and ability to get dressed every day.

Things I Buy in Bulk: Any staples I find cheap. Great bras on clearance at TJ Maxx? I buy every one in my size. A tank top that fits just right? I buy one in each color (and probably more than one in white).

What's the secret to looking polished? If I knew, would I look like this? I feel like the devil's in the details. For me, I gesture differently and fidget less if my nails are done. That's gotta help somewhat, right?

Movies that have inspired my fashion: You don't want to hear any more about my good fashion choices. You want to hear about the bad ones, that are (one hopes) behind me now. Breakfast Club. Thelma and Louise. Cinderella (luckily, that only inspired one nightgown decision, and I was six). The Bad News Bears. Singles.

What's the secret to making yourself stand out? In my experience, weirdness. Sometimes that works out well, sometimes less well, but it always stands out. Think Lady Gaga's meat dress. Or Madonna's cone bras. Or me in high school wearing a tie a few times a week.

Must-have clothing: Jeans.

My Go-To Accessory: Hoop earrings.

What are your favorite jeans? Right now, a thrift-store pair of Luckys. Do people say "Luckys"?

Day 18 of my month of gratitude: I'm grateful for fashion, for the funness of playing and reinvention and chances to look better — or just different.

The Judy Blume Award for Awkward Puberty

Watch the full episode. See more Mark Twain Prize.

Day 17 of my month of gratitude: I cannot help but feel grateful that I put a bag of pretzels in my purse. And also, for humor. I pretty much never watch awards shows, but someone said I needed to see the uncut version of this thank you speech, and she was right. If that one's too long for you, the two-minute version is here.

Deep breaths

Some days you get cute stories, some days you get maddeningly vague gratitude with explanations to come later — maybe much later. This is one of the latter days, though I ain't no saint.

Day 16 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for terrifying change, and the opportunities it presents.

Three tomatoes are walking down the street*

I do not thrive on pressure, quite. I do not function super-well under stress, necessarily, although I do OK with it. But something about that stress and pressure must serve me somehow, because I've been creating it since I was a kid.

If I had to guess, and I'm sure this is an oversimplification, I'd guess that I do it in order to have the sweet release that happens when you're finally not stressed, when everything that should be completed is completed, when you can finally heave that sigh of relief.

Day 15 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful to be caught up. Not on everything, of course, but on a few pretty important things. Now to tackle the rest.

*Here's video, for those of you who didn't get the reference in the title.

He's not heavy; he's my brother-in-law

I mentioned my brother-in-law's birthday earlier.

Naturally, there was a party. It was a family party, and it was just. So. Fun.

In attendance were:

• My brother-in-law
• My sister
• Their daughter (16.5 months)
• His mother
• His sister
• Her husband
• Their kids (4 and 6)
• My brother-in-law's cousin
• His girlfriend
• My parents
• Me

Apologies to anyone who had a hard time figuring out the pronouns and antecedents up there.

Anyway, the party was a blast. There was karaoke and chess and meatballs and hot dogs and hamburgers and noodles and two kinds of cake. There was the cool older cousin having a good time with the kids, and the grownups rocking out to 80s music. It was just really, really delightful.

Day 14 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful to have family around — that I like. Truly, I don't have the one aunt everyone hates or those awful bratty cousins no one can stand. I am so blessed to have so much family that I really enjoy spending time with.

The mourning, after

It's taken me a little while to write about the election, because, well, it's hard for me to find a lot of gratitude there.

But Thursday, I was in town, buying a birthday present for my brother-in-law, and ran into a woman I know not-as-well-as-I'd-like. She's one of those activists I'd like to think I could be — but am not. She practices what she preaches, and she works very, very hard, for causes like health care, living wages, affordable housing, and sound energy policy. She runs a non-profit toward that end. She's one of my local heroes, and she knows everyone in town, and she's everyone's local hero.

I didn't see her at first, but she saw me, and greeted me cheerily. And I asked how she was, and she said, "I'm good. I'm done with mourning, and ready to start fighting again. How are you?"

To which I replied, honestly, though I hadn't been thinking about it at all when I asked how she was, "Not done mourning, but working on it."

And actually, probably, a lot of the difference between us is that, pre-election, she worked really, really hard. She gave everything she could, left nothing on the field. And me? I am left wondering if what I could have done — but didn't — might have made a difference.

She was absolutely ready to keep going. I just hope I can gear up to get started.

Day 13 of my month of gratitude: I am so thankful for people who work hard to ensure this world is as good a place as it can be.

Try to remember the kind of November

Fifteen years ago, I was working for a woman whose daughter was about my age. The daughter lived in California, and we struck up an occasional correspondence.

She wrote me a note around this time of year, asking about the weather in New Hampshire. She loved November in New England, she said — "it's so grey and skeletal." I loved that phrase — enough that I've retained it for 15 years.

November is just starting to get skeletal this year, but it is not yet at all gray. The weather's been gorgeous, with blue blue skies. And as much as I miss the incredible reds and oranges of a few weeks ago, I love the views that their absence affords. And in a few weeks, I'll be very ready to cover those views with snow.

When I lived in D.C. and came home, it was often the weather that would make me homesick (sorry, family).

Day 12 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for changing seasons, and for the nostalgia I get out of every fluctuation in the temperature, every new bud and falling leaf and too-deep slush puddle.

Happy Veterans Day

I am not sure I have ever expressed to anyone who reads this blog the complicated nature of my relationship with the military.

I have:

• gotten recruiting calls from West Point (for no good reason; seriously, my grades in high school were terrible and my SATs were very good, but not amazing)
• been a pacifist
• considered joining the Reserve
• dated someone whose father was a retired two-star general
• numbered soldiers and Marines among some of my closest friends
• been scared to death on and after September 11
• lived very close to the Pentagon
• been simultaneously horrified and delighted by the weekly Twilight Tattoos on the National Mall
• opposed every war the U.S. has entered in my lifetime

So, yeah, it's a little complicated.

But you know what?

Until my adult self is ready to be the kind of unambivalent pacifist my 15-year-old self was, and is willing to deal with the consequences of what it would mean if my nation suddenly gave up its military, I have no business being anything but undyingly grateful to the men and women who serve our country in all of the jobs our military takes care of.

I am deeply proud of my friends in uniform, and I am honored that they serve to protect me and my freedoms.

Day 11 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for people who do the work I can't do. Happy Veterans Day.

Lord, beer me strength

The day this post should have been posted, I ran 2 miles and lost at arm wrestling before 8 in the morning.
Possibly relevant extra facts:

• I hadn't run in a month before that.
• The woman I lost at arm wrestling to is 18 years older than I am.

Possibly relevant extra extra facts:

• She's in really good shape, seriously, and her profession requires a certain amount of upper-body strength.

So, you know, mixed bag.

And on the day I'm actually writing this? I went for a three-mile walk first thing in the morning, went for a hike with my dad, and am headed to the gym for a session with my trainer.

Day 10 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for my temporarily able body. Let's all hope that it carries me into the week after the month of gratitude, when I'm theoretically running this 5K. Because, you know, hot chocolate.

Good food

When I was in high school, I had a Jewish best friend whose mom was a phenomenal cook.

From him, I learned to make good matzoh ball soup.

I probably make better matzoh ball soup than any goy you know.

Here's how:

• water
• cooked chicken
• celery
• carrots
• salt
• pepper
• onions
• garlic

Those are essential.
To that, add:

• all the fresh, frozen, or canned veggies you have around
• whatever herbs and spices you want, probably including some random condiments
• matzoh balls made according to the directions on the matzoh meal box

Day 9 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for soup, especially in the fall. Seriously, so, so good.

Boozy business

I went to a lia sophia meeting the other night, at which I was handed a check for $50 and a margarita to drink right there.

I can say without reservation that that has never happened to me at a work meeting before, ever.

Day 8 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the cash, jewelry, and fun that lia sophia has added to my life. When does it ever happen that you get to have two good jobs at once? Hey, also, who wants to have a lia sophia party with me?

Plus, you know, all the keggers

In the last few weeks, I've gone to:

• a lecture on emerging adulthood
• a workshop on rank and class in the workplace
• a dialogue with the legendary Vincent Harding
• a discussion on Native American mascots
• a discussion on how environmental disasters disproportionately impact the already underprivileged
• a health screening that checked my BMI, cholesterol, glucose, and blood pressure
• a lecture by Naomi Tutu (daughter of Desmond) on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission
• a discussion on bullying and GLBTQ youth isolation
• a whole bunch of free meals

...all at my job. You?

Day 7 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful to work on a college campus — and in a college town.

Wonder full

Is there anything better than finding the new thing that goes in the "Funny ha ha" folder in your reader?

You know you may get bored with it in a few days, but right now, it's the funniest thing you've ever seen.

My two most recent:

• Damn You, Auto Correct!
• Our Valued Customers

Yours?

Day 6 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for the magic of new discoveries on the internets. God bless faddish snark.

My best pun was about a horse and carriage, and I couldn't pull it off

Sometimes, when I have a hard time thinking of what I'm thankful for, I ask a friend.

I know where you think I'm going. Yeah, yeah, friends are great, but we'll save that for another post.

Twice, my friend said "handsome butches."

And it was probably just because she is a handsome butch, but she's not wrong.

Side note: The only other suggestion she gave twice was "otters," but she was wrong there.

Day 5 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for handsome butches and other gender outlaws, both those who enrich my life personally and those who just make the world better for all of us.

Protecting anonymity

Hey, Anonymous commenter on my last post.

I'm apparently bad at this.

But I know how it is. You know me in person and you're concerned, or you stumbled here from somewhere else and really hoped I'd keep it going, and then? Disappointment.

Thanks for keeping me honest.

Day 4 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for the folks who keep me honest, even when they don't want me to know who they are. This post is for you, as are the next six.

The cop-out post, already

As I mentioned in my last post, I missed Day 2. So today, you get a bonus to keep me on track.

Bonus Day of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for mulligans, for all those second chances I get without thinking about them.

Video killed the broken heart

The irony of my missing my second day of a month of gratitude is that I actually have a few post ideas stockpiled so I won't have any trouble doing one a day. Stockpile does not help with the remembering to just do it, though.

A friend of mine from college and so many experiences beyond college I don't know where he's a friend from anymore used to say that most of what people talk about is other people they know and television. We discussed why that was a lot, but the idea is, we're all looking for discussion topics in common, and if you don't have friends in common, you probably have TV people. Luckily, he and I had (and have) lots of people in common.

And then a podcast I listened to after my last difficult breakup — on the subject of handling breakups — suggested the TV series on DVDs as a strategy. The idea there is, you always have people you know waiting for you at home that way. You can watch Mary and Lou and Rhoda, or hang with Chandler and Monica and Joey and Rachel, or whatever. I took that to heart at the time, and it worked. In fact, in retrospect, TV series in syndication got me through every rough part of my childhood and adolescence — and although many people had much worse childhoods and adolescences than I did, I needed those friends from M*A*S*H and Welcome Back, Kotter and Happy Days. I really do gravitate to shows about circles of friends, not because I didn't (or don't) have friends of my own, but because there is comfort about a circle, a group, that you can call on when you want them. TV gets a lot of blame, and it probably deserves it, but we watch it for lots of reasons, and there's one of them.

Oh in case you were concerned, I just finished watching all of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. That's what brings this to mind, rather than any fresh wounds. Don't worry.

Day 3 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for TV. Blessed, blessed TV. Any suggestions for what I should be watching next?

k thx

It's not that I don't like blogging, you know. I love it. I love it more when you read what I write and tell me how funny and smart and awesome I am.

But sometimes, in life and on the blog, I get distracted, overwhelmed, unmotivated, for about a million reasons, almost none of them interesting. And then I don't do anything well.

But the cool kids are doing this month-of-gratitude thing. And I'm hoping that, if I post my gratitudes here, every day for a month, I will:

• Get back into the swing of blogging
• Get more motivated generally
• Get happier generally
• Be more deliberate about what I do and engage with
• Reengage you people, who I miss, a lot

Now, it's still me. I'm not sure I'm capable of a month of mushiness, even if it is warranted. So, with a little luck, I'll be able to be a little creative in the ways I express my thanks. Maybe there'll be:

• Photos, or bad drawings
• Funny stories at my expense
• Funny stories at others' expense
• Religion
• Politics
• Sex (OK, probably not.)
• Links to other places on the internet that are even more interesting than this one.
• Bulleted lists

I don't know. But I'm ready to give it a shot.

Day 1 of my month of gratitude: I'm grateful that I have this space, and that you — yes, you — are reading. And will be extra-grateful if you'll tell me what kind of stuff you want to read, this month and all the time.

In case we're not Facebook friends...

[bzzzzgrrrl] is spending this National Coming Out Day all the way out and happily queer, and encourages her LGBTQ friends to do the same. Straight allies, I will accept cocktails, dinner, and/or cash. (Or, you know, Flattrs.)

Life in a cliched hypothetical situation

Sometimes, in the mornings, I like to go for a walk or a run.

Sunday morning, I was out for a walk, and I found a wallet on the ground.

In it was:

• A barely-expired non-driver ID
• A bank card
• A little loose change

Since I live in a small town and had her address, it was easy to find the young woman who'd lost the wallet on Facebook. In fact, we have one mutual friend. I sent her a message:

[Name]-
I was walking on [my street] in [my town] this morning and found a wallet with your ID and bank card in it. How can I get it back to you?
Best,
[bzzzzgrrrl]

Three days later, she responded:

my phone # is [phone number] and i had $98 in there too. thank you so much, you're a life saver.

Followed semi-quickly by another message:

ive been struggling without my wallet and i assume someone took the money right? not you but some1 who saw it took the $ then ditched on [my street] i bet. That was all the $ i had until the 21st. and i jst learned that im pregnet so the timing sux but im greatful you at least found it. thank you from the bottom of my heart. i can meet you in keene, jst txt cuz i dont have $ for anymore mins. k hun thanx once again!!!!

So.

Obviously, I would have mentioned that there was cash if I'd found cash. I didn't.

Four things:

1. What kind of jackass takes $98 but leaves the wallet on the ground? Stupid litterers.
2. Should I be worried that she's going to assume I took the money, because, see #1 above?
3. What are the odds this is a scam of some kind, because, see #1 and #2 above?
4. Is it ridiculously cynical of me to even think of #3?
   

An epidemic

I haven't posted to Facebook yet about how my people die a lot lately, because I don't know how to do that in that few words. If you don't know what I'm talking about, Sinclair's post is an excellent place to start (Warning: the post is great, but the site and its advertising are NSFW).
If you don't want to click through after that warning: five boys in twenty days killed themselves after being bullied about being gay (which, as anyone who's been in a middle school or high school in the last forty years knows, may or may not mean they were actually gay).

I can't say much that others haven't said, but I also know that not all of my readers spend a whole lot of time reading the brilliant words of other GLBT folks online. You come here for the funny stories about your ordinary (if exceptionally clever and good-looking) friend's stories of life in the country. So I'm writing about this in case it means people will see it who wouldn't have otherwise.
Here's what I feel:

• So, so, so much sadness. So much grief, not just for five teenagers who have died in twenty days (as if that's not enough), but for the loss to my communities: for the shining lights they were while they lived and the brilliant suns they could have become: People who could have helped others survive torment, people who could have raised families, run for office, been extraordinary friends and activists and artists and scientists and clergy and and teachers and businesspeople and citizens and lovers. And hell, maybe they would have become horrible people. They still would have deserved to live.
  
• And all of the above? I also feel or so many other people who have died for the same reason whose deaths haven't made the news. People who were so scared of what could happen that death seemed better.

There are many solutions, and we should do them all.
Here's mine: Expose children to queers.
Openly.
All the kids need this: Potential bullies, potential targets, potential bystanders.

• Queers, we need to get over the fear of how society will react to our reaching out to kids, specifically. We need to be out, and we need to get to know as many kids as we can. We need to expose them to our lives and our friends' lives. We need to show them that we live lives both ordinary and radical, sometimes at the same time, and also sometimes not.
• Non-queers, you need to do all you can to ensure that children see that bullying is not acceptable, and that queerness is. I'll be your token, but I am not enough. Exposure to me is the barest tip of the iceberg. Also: Stop worrying about "how you'll explain." No one's asking you to teach a five-year-old about anal sex (though you'll probably want to do that around the same time you explain vaginal sex, incidentally, if you're serious about this normalizing, because to do otherwise suggests that you assume she or he will encounter straight sex before or to the exclusion of gay sex).
• Everyone, make sure the books and movies you choose for children incorporate a range of experiences. Let them fall in love with the gayest characters. Buy this stuff and ask that your library do the same. Money talks. If you buy it, they'll make more.
  

Dan Savage's It Gets Better project is a great place to start. Ellen Degeneres's video is a great start. But if the famous people are going to promise children that it will get better, all the rest of us need to make sure that it does.

UPDATE 10/1 at 4:22 p.m.: Six. I am trying not to cry at my desk at work.

In which the jaded spinster discusses marriage

So, you know, I'm single. And open to dating, if you know anyone.

But when it (infrequently) occurs to me to wish I were married, it is usually for one of the following two reasons (in order of how often it occurs to me):

1. I wish I had someone to help me move this heavy thing, or
2. I wish there were two incomes to cover these utilities.

Are there other advantages to marriage, you married people? Single people, are there other reasons you wish you were married?

I ask because the internet asked me...

OK, not the whole internet. Just Kristy. And now that I reread her post, she didn't even ask. But whatever. The post is written now.

What's in your purse?

My answer comes in two parts, because I don't carry a purse.

Part One: I do have a work bag that does double-duty as my gym bag, and it contains:

• Sweat shorts I've owned for one million years
• New long sports bra
• Sneakers
• Socks (white sport)
• Socks (black dress)
• Armadillo's burrito bonus card
• Mederma for the giant scar on my leg
• Cell phone charger
• Pencil (yellow, pink eraser)
• Trish reversible necklace
• Oz pendant slide
• Duchess ring
• Moonwalk ring
• Zen bracelet
• A toothbrush
• A San Francisco bike map and walking guide that I must have stolen from my cousin Laura in January and didn't know it until now — sorry, Laura.
• The program to Katya's Holiday Spectacular!, a drag show I attended in January
  
• A $50 voucher from Southwest
• Two jalapeños in a zippered baggie
• One quarter
• Two dimes
• One nickel
• Four pennies
• Keys to my office and house, on a whistle/compass/magnifying glass/thermometer keychain
• Business cards (lia sophia) in an elegant business card holder
• A to-do list from over a month ago
  
• My kitchen timer

Part Two: My rock-star friend and I were just discussing the other day what I'd do if I won the lottery, and what would be in my purse under those circumstances.

me: first i would buy all the jewelry in the whole catalog, even the stuff i didn't like, so people could see it
rock star: heh
me: i get a 70% discount, so that would come to about $6,000, i think
rock star: that'd be like the change in the bottom of your bag... dude
me: yup
if i had a bag
which i would, if i won the lottery
because $6000 wouldn't fit well in my jeans pocket
the way my current change does
rock star: or you'd have to get a really really tight belt to hold your pants up
me: unless i had it in $1000 bills
in which case it would take up the same space as the $6 i have there now
but cumberland farms would hassle me when i went to buy a diet coke
so, yeah
when i win the lottery, i'll get a purse and all the lia sophia jewelry
rock star: good plan

So, now I'm asking. What's in your purse or equivalent?

Flattry will get you everywhere

So, this Flattr thing.

Have you heard about it?

If not, and you're interested in a very cool, passionate explanation, with video, my friend Mike has that covered over here.

If you're just interested in a short explanation, it's a way for you to support the people who are responsible for the good stuff on the internet — without it costing you too much. And if you're one of the people who creates that good stuff on the internet, it's a way for you to start getting that support.

I think it's a good idea. I hope you'll join, so I can give you money when I like what you're doing, and other people can, too.

And obviously, if you like what I'm doing, I hope you'll hit my handy new Flattr button over there on the right.

Aw, hell. Now I need to write stuff people will like or find interesting. Soooooo out of practice.

What, you DON'T come here for the nail polish stories?

I had a pedicure yesterday. It was a fine pedicure, mostly, except that I kind of hate the color I chose. So, now what?


None of the options seems like something I would do, but I have to do one of 'em. Majority rules. If you have other suggestions, I will entertain them in the comments.

UPDATE 8/4/10: Someone got in just under the wire! When I checked yesterday, minutes before the poll closed, it was a three-way tie, so I went to get a polish change and planned an update about how you people were no help at all. Now I see that a late voter broke the tie for me. In the interest of keeping both the majority-rules spirit and the new color on my toenails, I have removed the polish from my fingernails and am letting them go naked.

Um, before I tell everybody what the big surprise is, would you like to tell me what you think the big surprise is?

Remember way back, when I told you the hilarious story of my rock star friend?

Well, she's back. And she is not the rock star of this story (OK, there is no rock star of this story), but it was too hilarious not to share with you, nonetheless. I heard it yesterday, and am still laughing about it 24 hours later.

me: tuesdays tend to be big meeting days
just got out of my fourth and last of the day
RS: ugh. that is a lot of meetings. we just had a weird forced surprise birthday celebration for 25 people. it's really ridiculous to try to surprise 25 people at the same time
me: ha!
yes
is that everyone who has a birthday in the summer?
RS: june and july
me: ah
RS: but it was totally silly. because several of us were told we had to some how get our boss, plus 5 colleagues up to a conference room 4 floors up on a floor we never go to
me: heh
how did you do it?
RS: we just told them what was happening and to pretend to be surprised. because we could NOT figure out how to do it and also it was a rescheduled surprise party from last month that they all knew about the first time
me: hee
RS: when we all got upstairs, the "surprisees" were herded into one room (with no explanation) while the surprisers went into another room. and then the surprisees filed in sloooowly about 3 minutes later as we said surprise 25 times.
me: omg
wowsa
RS: yes. it was like an episode of the office.

Train the trainer

I've been working out a little more lately. Yeah, I'm pretty awesome.

I started running about 6 weeks ago, and recently decided I needed to add some strength training to that. I am very gym-phobic, which is bad for someone who wants to add strength training. But I work at a college, which is good for the gym-phobic, because personal trainers cost $40 a semester.

My trainer is adorable. She's young and tiny. She dots her i's with circles. She wears sweatpants with things written on the butt. I try to get past these things, really, I do, because I know my dismissiveness is both harmful to the trainer-client relationship, and is also just a sign that the patriarchy is leaving its mark on me.

And yesterday, at our second session, I had gotten over them. We'd had a great workout; she's fun but also on top of things.

And she works in the evenings, which at a college gym in the summer is a boring time. Since she was bored, and since I irrationally love fitness tests, we decided to do a bunch of them yesterday. Including a skin-caliper test, which she was very excited about, because most people don't want to do them.

Afterward, we chatted about my body-fat percentage, and what a healthy percentage would be (25%), and what a really fit percentage would be, if I wanted to be more serious about my running (21-22%).

"But you don't want to go below 20%," she said. And I could hear her gearing up for the anorexia talk, which I was very pleased to hear her do, because I think that's just good responsible training. "Once you get to around 17%," she said, "you stop —"

And then she paused.

"I would normally talk about losing your period when your body fat gets too low," she said. "But at your age, I know, menopause..."

People?

I am 38 years old.

And yes, that makes me twice her age, literally. But come on.

The first MOREning,* in longhand notes, text messages, and random recollections

Yeah, I know it's Wednesday and the conference is over. I'll be on my way home before you know it. But I finally have a minute while my roommate gets dressed before we go out to the post office (and to stock up on cheese and beer) to type up my impressions of Monday morning.

Written in my notebook at the time:

Maybe a lot of conferences are like this.

If so, I don't go to them.

It is 8:25 in the morning and the environment is basically indistinguishable from a rock concert. People are excited, hollering at each other fromacross the stadium — did I say stadium? Yes, I did. We're in the US Cellular Arena.Music is blaring, wchich obviously means people are dancing.Chairs are filling in with 5,000 lia sophia advisors and managers (and a handful of guests). It is a frickin' party up in here.

Of course, it's not exactly like a rock concert.

Departures from the theme:

• Virtually the whole crowd is women, all ages, 18 to very old.
• If an outsider observed the scene, she or she might reasonably assume we are seated by outfit. We are actually sitting pretty much by management unit, and some units are very excited to dress alike, in rhinestoned jean jackets or t-shirts that say "Bling It On" or flashing pink glasses.

At some point, I put down the notebook and started texting a friend.

Me, 8:48: My new goal in life is to get you selling lia sophia so you can come to this conference. I don't know how to explain, but these are our people.
She, 8:51: I was JUST thinking about what it's like and envisioning you there.
Me, 8:54: It's 845 here and it is a f*cking rock concert. Loud music, dancing, screaming. We are waiting for the recognition part to begin.
Me, 8:55: And a lot of matching t-shirts. Working on the blog post already.
She, 8:55: Cheer camp flashback
Me, 8:56: If your cheer camp had 5000 people at it.
Me, 9:04: I will stop texting in a sec, but it has turned into a literal rock concert now. With a band.
Me, 11:06: The queen of advisor sales just got a cape, sash, and tiara. That should be you.

A couple random things I meant to include that somehow made it into none of the above:

• We also had, both mornings, "butterfly stories." These are women who come up and explain how lia sophia has entirely turned their lives around. As far as I can tell, they're supposed to make you cry. I did at the second, not at the first.
• The band in question was Maske electric string trio. They were terrific. There were pyrotechnics. Ooooooh, work conference.
• When my manager was named #2 in the country for recruiting (woo-hoo!), she did a cartwheel on stage. People thought that was awesome, but not weird. And that is a difference between this conference and most of the ones I go to.

*That's a little joke. MORE is the theme of conference, as in, "Motivation, Opportunity, Recognition, and Education." See how cute?

Just checking in

This day has been pretty much indescribable. Nonetheless, I do have a lengthy description written of at least our morning session. But I am tired and wounded (explanation also to come, if I'm not too embarrassed for it). So instead, you get this brief thought:

I would not have thought that all those lesbian dances would leave me so well-prepared for a lia sophia conference. But as it happens, I was the life of tonight's particular essentially all-women dance party, probably because I have been to a few and am unafraid to be one of the first on the floor.

Side note:

I do not believe I have mentioned here before one of my favorite hobbies. I love, love, love to be in the background of other people's photos. I have this secret hope that people will recognize me in the background of their friends' pictures.

I am never obtrusive, never ruin a picture. But if someone is taking a picture in a crowded public place, where there will already be people in the background, I will do my damnedest to be one of them.

One year, I went to Disney World and the Olympics, while living in the D.C. area. I was in heaven.

This conference should provide me some better than average opportunities.

Oh, like you don't have any little games you play through your life. I saw you, not stepping on the cracks. Tell us about it in the comments.

My new secret club

(I actually wrote this yesterday midday, but I'm trying to spread out the posting.)

I left home at 4:50 a.m.-ish, which was later than I'd hoped, but still, as it turned out, enough time for me to speed the Oldsmobile to the Manchester, NH, airport. And immediately, I started spotting women wearing the same jewelry I was wearing, the same jewelry I had in my bag, and the jewelry I had been dying to see in person but didn't own yet. Some of them were louder than others, making a big thing of it. I preferred the women like me, who smiled shyly in acknowledgment, but spoke only if we happened to be right next to each other in line. Manchester is not a large airport. It is, in fact, tiny, which is most of why it's desirable to me. And still, there were easily a dozen of us, heading from that airport to the lia sophia conference in Milwaukee.

I didn't sit with the other lia women on the plane.

And then, we got to Baltimore.

I am writing this on the plane from Baltimore to Milwaukee, and probably a quarter of my fellow passengers are fellow lia sophia advisors. That means there's more acknowledgment. At BWI, One woman rounded up as many of us as she could spot in lia sophia jewelry for a picture. I will be on some stranger's Facebook page tomorrow.

Seriously, it is like belonging to a gang with a secret sign. The closest I have ever come to vaguely bonding with so many strangers was when I was in Rotary (there's a story I should tell) and wore my lapel pin around. That would get me, usually, about one nod a day out of the thousands of strangers I'd walk past. I still have a Rotary credit card, and that sometimes gets me a "Really? You too?" from dinner companions I don't know well. But this? This quarter-planeful of new pals? This is brand new, and I'm barely out of Baltimore.

In which they finally get me

I realize I've been hinting about the awesomeness of my part-time job for a while now. The thing is this: I don't know how to write it so it's not just gushy, or self-promotional.

But I'll share the basics:

I wanted more money, so I started selling lia sophia jewelry. If you don't already know lia sophia, it's a direct sales company. So I'm doing what you may know better as Tupperware parties, but I sell jewelry.

The child who is now my very excellent manager (side note: I have often had two jobs at a time, but I have NEVER had two good bosses at a time. This is like a little miracle) tried to recruit me for a while before I caved. Selling jewelry just didn't seem like a thing my cynical dyke patriarchy-fighting sometimes-Commmunist self would do, you know? But, um. Neither did working for a business newspaper. Neither did taking the plunge into marketing. I got into the business newspaper because I liked the people, and grew to really believe in the company. I got into the marketing because I believed in the organization, and grew to really like the people. I started lia sophia liking the people and the product, both, a lot.

So. Now, I go to parties, I meet new interesting people, I put my own cynical dyke patriarchy-fighting sometimes-Communist spin on things, as appropriate. I make a lot of jokes and am very honest about when the jewelry doesn't look as good as it does in the catalog. and the results are these:

1. I'm making money
2. I'm having a ball
3. I'm thinking about marketing in new ways, so it's helping my day job
4. I, who do not at all believe in the myth of the meritocracy, am finding for the first time in my life that working hard actually does get me further than not working hard
5. I am shocked to find that I want to have much more time to work harder at it. See 1, 2, and 4.

Yeah, see how that was all gushy and self-promoting? Sorry. I won't do a lot more of that. But it felt like necessary backstory to my next several posts, which will feel more like I wrote them. I am on my way to a conference of lia sophia advisors in Milwaukee. And holy cow, it is nuts already and I've barely left Baltimore.

Obviously, if you would like to buy jewelry, or host a really fun party with me to get a ton of free jewelry, or ask questions about selling jewelry, let me know in the comments. I can hook you up.

Remind me why

A good friend of mine is going through a hard time right now.

OK, a couple of them are, but this is only about the one.

And she sent me an e-mail today, with subject line: "Remind me why I should have self esteem?"

And I sent back a very honest, very sincere, but pretty long list of all of what's so great about her. Because, seriously, she's amazing. Like, just incredible, in so many ways.

I felt it would be inappropriate to make her crisis of self-doubt about me (or anyone else) in our e-mail exchange, but, well, this is my blog. It's already about me, and all of you.

I am not in crisis, I just like to say and be told nice things.

So, two assignments for the comments:

1. Remind me why I should have self-esteem. As always, comment anonymously if you must to prevent your spouses from knowing you're secretly in love with me.
2. Post the same question to your own electronic corner of the world (blog, Facebook, whatever) and give the link, so we (I) can go respond. If you're worried it looks like you're fishing for compliments, tell them bzzzzgrrrl made you do it.
   

When lady tennis-player jokes were still lady-German-swimmer jokes

I've been watching a lot of Mary Tyler Moore on DVD lately. It's a great show, and it holds up really amazingly well.

The one thing that often strikes me is the dated pop culture references. There's at least one reference per episode I have to look up. Recent examples include (how many do you know?):

• Eric Sevaride
• Chad Everett
• Dave Garroway
• Euell Gibbons
• Kathryn Kuhlman
• Veal Prince Orloff
• Baked Pears Alicia (and this one's not fair, because it appears to have been made up. I don't have time to look up imaginary food. Well, OK, yes, I do. But I can at least save you the trouble.)
  

But then, sometimes, there's a reference so dated it's hilarious — even though I don't have to look anything up. This was the best exchange of this evening:

Lou: What would happen if Billie Jean King married Bobby Riggs?
Mary: What?
Lou: Her husband would be very upset.
(Big laugh from Lou, little chuckle from Mary)
Lou: See? That was a joke that we could both enjoy. It had women's lib in it for you and sports in it for me.

What friendship looks like

Last weekend, friend and frequent* commenter Kay Bailey and I went to get manicures and pedicures. We don't see each other a lot, because I live 500 miles away, but we make up for it when we do see each other. I have been dieting and exercising (and losing weight) for a couple of months now, and therefore have gotten some nice compliments, which some would suggest I should be writing down as motivation when I want to throw in the towel. I am bad at that kind of journalling, but this is one I wanted to save for the ages.

As I was drying my nails, she poked at my upper arm and said, "Muscle tone!" And then she looked at me and said, "And hey, where's the rest of your arm?"



*OK, I just realized I had to go back to September to find a comment from her. But I can't really blame her; I did sort of fall off the blogging planet for a while there.

Country Mouse hits the city

I was back in D.C. this weekend. I had a blast. Such a blast that I should probably break the blastiness up into several posts, but will probably try to figure out how to cram it all in here.

Starting with this: I have been out of the D.C. area for two and a half years now, and people still ask me what I miss. At first, I didn't have great answers for that. I missed individual people: my friends, my colleagues, the D.C. branches of the family, friends' kids that I don't get to watch grow up. But there wasn't a lot else that I could think of (or admit).

This trip, I've been a little more reflective, and have come up with a few more things to miss about this particular big city:

• Freddie's.*
• Women's soccer.
• Not having to drive.**
• Steak salads at Rhodeside Grill.***
• Decent manicures and pedicures****
• Shoe repair places*****
  
• Mexican food

*It's a neighborhood bar. That's mixed (mostly GLB with a healthy dose of T and Q with some S). With karaoke. Plus, as my new friend (as of Friday night) pointed out, it's very clean. Someone really dusts in there. Highlights from this trip: The elderly gay man dancing his heart out to some lesbian singing "Don't Stop Believin';" a little internal fantasy of setting up a Craigslist Missed Connection romance between the two cutest women in the bar, one of whom was wearing a Red Sox cap and the other of whom was wearing a Yankees cap.
**Access to public transportation and taxis rules.
***So, so good. The keys are good meat and also having blue cheese crumbles but not blue cheese dressing. I should be able to do it at home. But I don't do it as well as Rhodeside does.
****Totally broke the old patterns this time: Black sparkly toenails! I am more attached to them than I would have expected.
*****I don't know why there are no cobblers in rural New England. Doesn't the very word, "cobbler," sound like the purview of small-town New England? The only one in town is known for taking literally months or years to do very simple repairs.

Confidence Rorschach test

So, over the last few years of singledom, I have put profiles up on a couple of dating sites. I'm not really using them lately, not really even checking them lately. But yesterday, I got this e-mail from one of them:

From: [Dating site] Summer Interns
Subject: [bzzzzgrrrl], we have data on your attractiveness


[image of me] = good-looking

[bzzzzgrrrl]:

We are very pleased to report that you are in the top half of [dating site]'s most attractive users. The scales recently tipped in your favor, and we thought you'd like to know.

How can we say this with confidence? We've tracked click-thrus on your photo and analyzed other people's reactions to you.

Your new elite status comes with one important privilege:
You will now see more attractive people in your match results.

This new status won't affect your actual match percentages, which are still based purely on your answers and desired match's answers. But the people we recommend will be more attractive. Also! You'll be shown to more attractive people in their match results.

Suddenly, the world is your oyster. Login now and reap the rewards. And, no, we didn't just send this email to everyone on [dating site]. Go ask an ugly friend and see.

So, if I'm reading this right, as of yesterday, based on my picture, I am just slightly more intriguing to other users than average.

Depending on the day, that could be really good news. Or, actually, not so much.

Question of the day

If you're single, what are your dealbreakers?

If you're not, you have a choice.

• What were your dealbreakers when you were single?
• Understanding that you are perfectly happy with your spouse/partner/significant other now, is there anything he or she does that would be a dealbreaker if you started dating someone now?

Comment anonymously if you must.

Rollin', rollin', rollin'

So, if I'm going to be blogging again, it seems like I should also update the ol' blogrolls.

And so I have.

If you read City Mouse Country at City Mouse Country, you've got these at your disposal already. But enough of you (especially you who've stuck around) read through readers that I thought I should post the list, too. If you have a blog you wish I'd add to the list, let me know in the comments.

Blogs I like, by people I know:

• Blog-O-Daria
• But I Digress...
• From Where I Sit
• Genny's Journal
• Go Baby Cafe Conversations
• Happy Living
• Hoefering
• Hopeful Pessimism
• I Peed on My Kid
• Locked out of the Teacher's Lounge
• MaternityLand
• Polka Dot Cottage
• Tran|Script

Blogs (etc.) I like, by people I don't (know, that is):

• 30 is the new 13
• Bitterly Books
• dooce
• Dorothy Surrenders
• Finally, A Feminism 101 Blog
• Five Star Friday
• Fugitivus
• Holy Prepuce!
• I Blame the Patriarchy
• Lifetime, Wow!
• Margaret and Helen
• Passive Aggressive Notes
• Promtacular!
• Regretsy
• She Just Walks Around With It
• Steam Me Up, Kid...
• The Creamery
• The Guild
• xkcd

Crises

I am not, myself, going through anything especially difficult right now.

But seemingly everyone else is.

Seriously, every conversation I have lately is about a personal catastrophe. And these are not people whining. These are big things: Surgeries, identity shifts, mystery ailments that require lots of tests, relationship trouble, hard parenting choices, loved ones' imminent deaths.

Not all of you pray, but some of you do. Would the ones who do be willing to lend a prayer, and the ones who don't be willing to lend a kind thought, for family and friends who need it right now?

If you're dealing with your own Big Bad right now, feel free to add it to the comments so we can think of you more specifically. Anonymity is OK by me; what else are the internets for?

Back to your regularly scheduled programming

So that's what me looking for joy for a week looks like. It was fun. I'll do it more often.

But, um.

This weekend, while I was out of town, my neighbors dug up some trees they assumed I would not want where they were.

They then took them away, as they were preparing to haul some brush themselves.

I had vague notions of transplanting said trees elsewhere.

I have never, ever, met these neighbors. Still.

What, if anything, would you do with this situation?

(For context, my history with these same neighbors here and here and here.)

Extracting joy, day 7 (Sunday): Thai(ish) turkey burgers

Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6
Whimsy's explanation

There are to many great things to cover about this day, including that it's the beginning of two days in Gloucester, MA, with a couple of high school pals and their families, that I'm at the ocean for the first time in ages, that there are moon snails to watch and holes to dig and views of Boston and glorious sunsets and kids' eyes to observe things through.

But for simple joys?

The turkey burgers we had for dinner were just amazing, thanks to one of the high school friends and his wife. Ground turkey, fresh ginger, fish sauce, and scallions, all made into patties and grilled, topped with siracha mayonnaise, cilantro (for those of us who don't hate it), crushed peanuts...

Oh. My. God.

I kind of don't want to eat anything else ever again.

Extracting joy, day 6 (Saturday): Private air shows

Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Whimsy's explanation

I've recently taken up running. Sometimes I say "again" when I say that, but actually, I've never really been a runner. I take it up every few years and give it up pretty quickly. That I've been doing it a week now is, if not unprecedented, at least unusual. I'm ramping up slowly, with a run-walk program that seems to be about right for my fitness level, and I'm doing it mostly with a friend (sometimes two), which keeps me accountable.

Saturday, though, I was on my own for running. I decided not to do the route I've been doing with my friend, and headed out to the airport, where there's a beautiful flat road that's closed to vehicle traffic during the weekends. It's a small airport, as you might expect, mostly for small planes. There aren't really gates, or the other stuff you expect at a commercial airport. There is, weirdly, an excellent Indian restaurant. And, next weekend, an air show.

As I ran, I was vaguely aware of a plane around, but I wasn't paying attention. Until I heard its engine cut out, and panicked. I scanned the sky and found the plane just as the engine noise restarted — it was a biplane, and it was doing tricks (practicing for next weekend, I assume). And it was AMAZING. Other people probably saw it, too, but I couldn't see them. The plane did swirly loops and twisty barrel rolls and scary freefalls, the whole time I ran and walked. When necessary, I turned around and walked backwards on the walking parts to watch better.

As I got closer to my car, I saw the only other person I saw the whole time. I stopped her on her walk to be sure she saw her own private airshow, too.

Extracting joy, day 5 (Friday): Great shoes

Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Whimsy's explanation

Way back last summer, I was working on questions and answers for, I will now admit, an internet dating site.

And one of my dearest friends, who I do not get to see in person very often anymore, but did used to see in person daily, suggested "I have nice legs and am not afraid to wear shoes that show them off" as an answer to one of the questions.

And I sighed heavily, because that used to be true, but when I moved to the country, I got a teensy bit of grief for my shoes and so gave up on cute shoes. But realizing that that was something people used to think about me was enough to inspire me to declare the period from my birthday in August 2009 to the same date 2010 "The Year of Great Shoes."

Now, there are shoe people who have a lot of shoes. I am not, usually, one of them. I generally have a few pairs of shoes I wear in heavy rotation. But this year, I've been committed to making those few pairs great shoes. And people have noticed. And I like that.

So.

Today (Friday), at lunchtime I went into the local consignment store to buy a pair of pants I saw last week and liked.

They didn't have them.

But they did have, in my size and at entirely unbelievable prices:

• Slightly worn Steve Madden wedges

• Brand-new Anne Klein wedges

• Brand-new Frye boots

• And brand-new Joan and David pumps

Three out of four of these shoes were less than $20. One was, in fact, less than $10. The remaining pair was less than half its retail price.

So I bought them all.