Life as Laurel

5 Reasons I'm Glad I Never Have to Date Again

2012-01-20T00:02:00.003-05:00

1. Restaurant food. There are only somany restaurants in a given area, and after a few years, you're sickof all of them. Most (especially early) dating includes restaurants.Restaurant portions and nutrition information also verge onterrifying.

2. Bad guys. You know, I didn't meet upwith a whole lot of creeps when I was single. Most guys were great.The two examples I have to pass down to...Malinda's daughter, maybe?Caitlin's? are 1. The guy who dropped me off by the side of the roadin the middle of the night after an argument. 2. The guy who wrote mea story type thing about him and me. A few months later, he gave thesame thing (with one sentence changed) to another girl.

3. First date questions. “What's doyou do?” “What's your major?” “Where are you from?”

4. Heels. When Ian and I go out, Idon't have to wear heels. I mean, we grocery shop together; I'mhardly breaking out any of my gorgeous shoes for that. Sure, for anice date, I'll pull out the lovely grey heels Jess gave me, but Inever HAVE to wear them—and risk looking like a baby fawn for theevening.

5. Breaking up. I HATE breaking up withpeople. It's uncomfortable. It's sad. It makes me feel like the worstperson in the world.

This list brought to you by myfriend who had a crappy first date tonight; her tale sent a wave ofthankfulness through me.

2011 in Pictures

2011-12-30T21:36:00.002-05:00

Double Rainbow!

Thanksgiving with lots of pie.

Someone in our building is apparently a newspaper thief.

Savings!

Boston Shell.

Post-Thanksgiving Monopoly.

So pretty.

HUGE pizzas.

Dad's on the dark side!

Dan made is back from China just in time for Malinda's wedding reception.

Everyone loves a photographer.

She didn't buy them.

Saddest. Expression. Ever. (Because the car was about to leave forever.)

When his hair was longer.

She put makeup on me and still managed to grin a saucy grin.

Malinda stirring up some trouble.

Mom giving us our Chateau Morrisette wine tasting. Yum!

Striding confidently toward graduation.

Even eating for two, she couldn't finish her portion.

Love him, even when I'm sleepy.

At the cabin in Vermont with Caitlin and a smiling duck.

Theo and Eureka.

Parking lots gatherings.

Fireworks show at Sunapee Harbor.

Equine Adventures.

Malinda and Nana at graduation.

So many samples available at Sugarbush Farms.

Gorgeous at the wedding reception.

As were the luminous bride and her groom.

2011

2011-12-30T21:13:00.000-05:00

2011 was the best year of my life.

When it winds down tomorrow and everything moves into 2012, nothing willchange. Not really. Time is a line, not a circle. One January isn’t the same asanother, even when it feels that way. But it’s the way we mark time and I likeit. I like having a time to reflect on a discrete period of my life.

I married my best friend and other half this year. Life with Ian has beenexciting and peaceful at the same time; every day I’m more amazed at how wellwe fit. Our wedding anniversary is only 12 days away, but it doesn’t seem likeit’s been a year. It feels like a week. A month. Some unit of timesignificantly shorter than an entire year.

--and yet. It seems like yesterday that he came toour apartment to pick me up and we drove to Manchester. It was snowing a littlewhen we left the courthouse, marriage certificates tucked under his jacket.

Later that night, leaving a restaurant, he grabbed my hand and led me over tolook at the river winding its way through the town where we lived. It was toocold, though, and we walked under a trellis of white lights to get back to ourcar.

Our marriage defines this year for me. We had our first apartment together. Wemoved to our second apartment in a bigger city. We bought our first furniture,our first television—and that was a treat, driving down to Massachusettstogether over poorly paved roads. We took our first road trip to watch my Momgraduate. We took our first spur of the moment trip to Boston and ateincredible Indian food. We saw our first movie together. We

But the firsts aren’t all there is. There’s the way he reaches for my hand whenwe watch Buffy (his first time with my favorite show, actually.) There’s theway he kisses me goodbye in the morning and calls me at lunch to say he missesme. There’s the way he looks at me and shakes his head, then hugs me when I’mbeing crazy. There’s the calm, rational, steady outlook that works so wellmeshed with mine, which is definitely more abstract. There are the longconversations about possibilities and realities and just everyting.

This year we started working on making more things from scratch. I’ve dabbledin homemade soaps—and hated them. I’ve enjoyed the homemade scrubs, though.Bread is way more delicious out of the oven and when you stuff it with nuts andberries, it’s a good way to eat a quick, satisfying lunch. Ian’s been on thewrong end of some of my culinary mistakes too; there was a soup water incidentone night when Caitlin and Brian were visiting that I’ll try to never repeat.

Ian also met my friends—and loves them, which is a very good thing.

Speaking of those friends, my best friend Malinda called me one morning to tellme she was pregnant. That’s another incredible thing that happened this year.Her daughter is only about two months away from being here. With her. And I’mso, so excited to meet her. Add in several other amazing people gettingpregnant and it looks like I’ll be spending a lot of next year holding babiesand buying tiny clothes.

(Actually, Ian asked me tonight if I wanted to have a baby soon while we weretalking about a recent pregnancy. I said no; I’m still not sure I want childrenat all. I said, “How about we do some more travelling first?” So don’t look forthat anytime soon.)

2011 was the year I got down on my knees and thanked every deity ever for awriting mentor I have who gave me the advice to never let one client be morethan 30 percent of my income. (Thank you, thank you, thank you.) It was thefirst year I did advertising work. It was the year I did my own taxes,regretted doing my own taxes (as a freelancer who itemizes, it’s not superduper easy) and then realized I had nothing to regret.

2011 is the year I spent writing, cooking, loving the person I married. I spentit chatting online with Kim, taking walks by the river in Manchester, cookingsoups from scratch. It was a year of neat electronics, Farkle wins, and commaconfusion. 2011 was Ian, our new place in the city, Malinda’s reception, Mom’sgraduation, a visit from Kim, four pregnancies that I’m excited about, mymother-in-law’s marriage, one (and a half!) new novels, countless hours ofclient writing, and curling up at the end of the day with the man I love.

I’ll miss writing 2011 down.

But 2012 is going to be awesome.

"Giving Up On You" and Self-Indulgence

2011-12-16T13:40:00.004-05:00

I wrote this poem when I still lived in Virginia, when my last name was Devoto and before I was a working writer. Someone was apparently looking for it via Google, so I thought I'd help out whoever it was by posting it. For the record, it was about a guy I met my first day of college who ended up being a very good friend (and is to this day. Yes, he's read it.)

I wrote it for a poetry class, I think.

It used to have quotes from people I was friends with in college before each section, but I removed them because I'm not friends with some of them anymore and I would feel bad using their words.

Giving Up On You

You were best surprise since Natasha rose

like an adolescent Venus de Milo from

the weather-stained cardboard box that we stole,

the greatest surprise, a thirteenth birthday present,

an old friend who I never saw again

after that last, perfect party.

I haven’t, will never see enough of you

to know if freckles make a map across your skin,

but the blowback punch of tumbledown love

I never expected to have for someone

who doesn’t crave the ocean, who makes me

imagine bright summer colors melted

to a grey, shapeless mush—but it’s already

like first kisses, slippery and sweet,

much too late to turn back and hope

for something like a moment where I take

your hand in mine and there’s no more

lemonade or Texas sunsets—

just simple days, easy as waves in the desert;

that kind of thing never happens here,

it just jumbles up and twists

until I don't have your hands or

your mouth or your rainwet hair

sliding around my fingers.

The best thing is how he surprises me;

I’ve been able to guess the climax

of most books since I was six and friends

have always given the same advice,

wrapped it up in a different colored bow

and called it new

but I’m never quite sure what words

will slip past his lips to make me laugh.

Once I could have waited for him,

like the first, how I spent years outside

his body, patient, hands clasped in my lap,

head bowed like a lady

or the year I spent with the second while he

hesitated on the last step to a life

I’ll never want

but things are more urgent now

and when you smile at me they

swell up under my skin, weave

through the veins and harden

like spun-sugar crystals that grow

on top of sticky red blood cells,

feed off the live, dark fluid that

rushes, open and fast

back up, up, up, wraps us in

nerves, exposed and hot as lightning

that twist and sparkle at the edges

until I can’t see the beauty in that either.

III

Nothing should end this way;

if I did touch you, I know it’d be emptier

than drywall, flatter than

all the hammered copper my grandmother weaved

to make necklaces when I was still young enough

to skip through her gardens and shiver

at the too-sweet smell of flowers.

I convince myself like this:

first law of physics is that

nothing can be created

nothing can be destroyed

because energy is a constant transfer

and if this fades it goes

down, down, down:

a memory, a dead memory, fish that float

in the Baltimore harbor, belly-up scales

whiter than your hands and if I see

your face in the gentle weave of

dead trout and trash then you’ll

finally understand how powerless I really am,

how you can sit there, say lovely, pointless things,

buy me chicken sandwiches and we’re still

going to die like fish or birds or little sisters

which is why sex was once like flying hot and

slick and hairpin turns that didn’t disguise

the six feet of dirt that waited at the end of the bed.

I’ve let my hair grow long again;

your eyes remind me of a nearly vanished forest

and at night I fall through the endless black sky,

never reach to catch myself in the

decayed branches that spiral up to kiss

the almost-burned out stars.

March 2008

I read through some of my old poetry when I retrieved this and I've come to a startling conclusion:

My poetry was TERRIBLE.

It's not that I ever thought I was amazing. I mean, I wasn't even close to being the best in any of my poetry classes--but I didn't realize just how insipid everything I wrote was. Embarrassing. It was more self-indulgent and sugary than all the forced similes in the world.

I loved writing it, though; it was so much fun. I loved going to class and hearing people read. It was hard for me to give feedback, because poetry seems like such a personal thing and who am I to say what's well done or not?

Poetry for me was self-centered. I always wrote about myself, my problems, my life. Working as a writer since leaving graduate school has taught me a lot about writing outside myself. Profiles, advertising and manual updates aren't interested in a boy I had feelings for when I was 19 or a walk I took. (If they are, then I'm doing it wrong.) I suspect that's why it's difficult for me to write poetry now. Novels are much easier because those aren't about me either. They're stories. They're other than me.

I'm not sure I know how to write poetry that isn't focused on my experience. Directly, expressly focused.

Plus, I'm so happy and well-adjusted now that it wouldn't really be the same anyway. Does anyone really want to read a poem about a girl who has the job she always wanted, is married to a man she loves absolutely, has the most incredible friends in the world (and a best friend who's pregnant with her first daughter!) and a family that really loves her? I suspect not.

Besides, that's something else I still haven't figured out how to write.

I'm okay with that.

Thankful

2011-11-24T10:47:00.001-05:00

I love lists. Really, really, really. Sometimes I'll write random lists to sort out my feelings, my day, my shopping or my conversations. One thing I get really excited about on Thanksgiving is the opportunity to write a list of the things I'm thankful for. I don't have a ton of time -- Ian volunteered to work until 6 in the morning and is getting a last few minutes of sleep. Once he gets up, I have to finish getting ready so we can go have Thanksgiving at my mother-in-law's place.

...but I definitely have time for a list.

10 Things I'm Thankful for in 2011

And he likes animals!

1. My husband
I love him. Every month is even better than the last as we learn to be a family together. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel safe. He's my best friend and I trust him completely. It feels like yesterday and so long ago that we got married on that cold January day. It was the best choice I've ever made.

2. Our friends and family

Always a good time.

We have amazing friends and family. His friends are funny and clever. My friends are amazing, as always -- he agrees, especially as he gets to know them more and find out more about them. We have a family that we can count on, too. We have my parents and his Mom and Alex. I'm so grateful for every family member I have. From my awesome cousins to my loving grandparents, I'm just really, really lucky to be a part of my family.

3. Our furniture
We just got a new bureau with two huge mirrors and I LOVE it. We have a new Plasma television and two nice LED televisions, too. It's weird because we don't watch that much tv, but one works great as a work computer monitor. Alex gave us this awesome coffee table with tons of storage. We also have three buttery recliners that are like sitting on clouds.

4. Three-Minute Miracle and Lubriderm Intense Skin Repair
If your hair and skin feel fried from swimming, sun time or winter's chill, try them. I use the lotion every day and the conditioner once every week.

The Gecko was a bonus.

Love!

She won't do this to her little girl.

5. Upcoming Babies
Two of my best friends are pregnant. Malinda has been my best friend since I was 11. She's the best person I've ever met -- and now she and her husband are going to have a little girl. I am so excited to meet this little person who is so lucky to have the parents she does.

6. Writing
It pays my student loans, lets me express myself and lets me reach people with my ideas.

7. Learning to Jog
I hated it at first, but it's getting better. The cold weather is even nice, as it puts a satisfying little burn in my throat. I'm definitely not getting major distance or speed yet, but I like feeling my muscles moving and tensing.

On the way to Roswell.

8. Travel
From short day trips to long trips, I'm grateful for all of it. I get to experience people and places that I'd never experience at home. Travel is always full of adventure, surprise and giggles. Last year when I drove to Vegas, I had adventures I never expected. I've stuck closer to home this year, but my husband and I are looking into a few international travel options next year. I've enjoyed local touring so much with him that I can't imagine how much fun we're going to have when we get out into the big wide world together.

Off the highway with Mom, Clever and Roary.

9. Change

Smile.

I am not the same person now I was three, six or ten years ago. I'm grateful for that change because I'm so happy with my life now. I'm so happy that I learned from that girl, who wasn't always optimistic but really did believe that things would work out one day. It's used to be hard to look at old pictures, with friends I've lost through inaction, good choices or bad choices -- but not anymore. Now I remember that we're not supposed to be the same all our lives. That I loved the people I loved. That I'm glad I have the memories.

10. Curiosity
Curiosity makes every day a little more interesting. Whether it's throwing a handful of cranberries into some bread dough or taking a new route on the way to the bank, curiosity keeps things interesting. It leads me off the path (sometimes for the best, other times it ends in lots of cuts and scrapes.) It makes me try something new. I never want to live a life where I'm not curious.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Wish my Mom and Dad could join us today!

Moving (Up)

2011-09-24T15:01:00.001-04:00

Two posts in one month? INCONCEIVABLE!

So we moved down one story (to a U-Haul) and then up to the third story of our new apartment in Manchester. It's pretty fabulous -- way bigger than our last place, with an updated kitchen and a lovely balcony. I'm drinking more tea than I ever have before just so I can sit out there and watch the trees sway.

Pretty much my standard lunch now -- balcony friendly.

Trees, as advertised.

Moving in wasn't an easy task. Though we've only been married (almost) nine months, we've accumulated a lot of stuff. My favorite things (recliners, 61-inch television and books) were easy to move (except for the books, which were a huge pain even after I donated hundreds). The miscellaneous items are always the biggest pain. Sure, I can pack up all the kitchen stuff in four huge plastic bins, but what about the items that float around, not yet packed? Still in use?

Ian was working almost constantly until the day we moved, and I was away for almost a week in Virginia. When I got back, nothing was in boxes and I only have four days before we had to load the U-Haul. (Ian made me a "You pack it up, I'll move it in" deal, since I hate loading and unloading boxes but enjoy putting stuff away.) He bought some big plastic bins and away I went, sorting, tossing, donating and packing.

He was so busy with work that week that he couldn't even pose for a pre-moving picture! See how bright and white his skin is? That's the flash I saw of him between work and sleep. (Actually this was taken on a winery tour my mom gave us at Chateau Morrisette.)

In any case, it got done. On the night we picked up the U-Haul, he had to go to orientation at his new job and we didn't get back until after dark. (I went along to do some last minute errands in the town where we live now.) We ordered pizza and prepared for the worst U-Haul packing experience possible. I'd told everyone we didn't need help loading it, because it seemed like it would be super easy. Standing there before the job, I realized how wrong I'd been.

Then -- like an amazing cavalry from a movie -- my mother-in-law and her fiance pulled up. They pretty much organized the entire U-Haul and made what would have been a miserable experience actually fun and far easier. Best moment of the night: dropping our bedframe from our old balcony to Alex and Oksana on the ground below us. I couldn't stop giggling.

A face I'll miss seeing on a regular basis.

We also played with these.

Our original plan was to crash on the mattress, load it up in the morning and meet them for the drive to the new place. Instead, we went back to Oksana's and slept there (after taking my favorite dog in the world on a stroll.) In the morning we were rested, refreshed and ready for the almost two hours of driving necessary.

Ian was pretty worried about me taking the U-Haul. He wouldn't let me drive ahead while he got gas; he didn't want to let me (in the huge, unwieldy truck) out of his sight. He actually stayed behind me for the entire drive, carefully protecting me from would-be tailgaters.

See? That's him in my rear view mirror. (I was paused when I took this, by the way.)

So we got there safely and did the whole thing in reverse. To be totally honest, I barely carried anything. The U-Haul metal walk thing slipped out of my hands and slammed into my knee. I actually had nasty bruises on it and on my upper leg all week; Ian kept asking me if they hurt, even after the tenderness was gone. Everything I did carry was light and easy to lift. Once all the items were in our apartment, we munched on some pizza, returned the U-Haul and said goodbye to Ian's mom and Alex. (They're getting married next month and I'm really, really excited for it.)

I should be including pictures of the apartment, but it doesn't look exactly the way I want yet. Ian has been working late nights almost every night (so we mostly get to spend time together when I drop him off, pick him up or late in the evening or early in the morning) and I don't want to hang the pictures myself. All the major stuff is put away, thrown away or in the attic storage space, though. Maybe in the next month I'll actually take some pictures. Until then, take my word for it: it's a bright space that's pretty large compared to our old one and I'm absolutely in love with it.

(There's also a clubhouse with a gym, a pool, pool tables, a movie room and ping pong!)

Though I'm very happy overall about the move, there is one important thing about our last town that I'm going to miss a lot. (Well, miss in the sense that I'm still planning to drive and see her at least twice every month.)

Marilyn is awesome; she's also from the south. She's been teaching me to cook yummy things! We have lunch and spend the afternoon together once every week.

Pop-Overs!

(One last apartment thing: why do people avoid moving to the top floor of a building? No one is galloping above you, the view is way better and climbing the stairs four or five times every day is good for my legs. It's great! Whenever I asked for a top floor, the apartment people would look surprised, then happy -- apparently it's harder to sign people for top-level apartments if there's no elevator.)

Reception Time, C'mon!

2011-09-21T13:26:00.000-04:00

The best part of heading south for the Malinda and Theo Reception? Seeing my best friends!

They were so excited to see me, too.

It was a LOOOONG drive; I mean, I know I live far away now, but nothing drives (haha) it home like a 13-hour highway trek that should have only taken ten except I had to drive to the town we're moving to first and then there was traffic on I-495 (of course). At one point I was stopped in the middle of the interstate talking to my husband for like an hour, just watching the world (not) go by.

There was a ton of reception stuff to do, including finding some shoes for Malinda to wear. Kim and I headed to Fair Oaks for the arduous tasks of chocolate truffle scouting and shoe shopping while Malinda worked. When Kim saw these silver beauties, we snapped a picture so Malinda could share in the awe.

Oddly, she did not choose to wear them at her wedding reception.

I also got a free makeover at Sephora. I look terrible with dark eye colors; it's just a fact of life. As much as they tried to deny it, there's nothing worse than my face with dark eyeshadow. People always look at me like I've been punched in the face when I try to rock it outside my own bedroom.

This is as dark as it gets for me -- and in dark lighting.

Kim, Malinda and Jess ready for the bridal shower.

After the gift boxes were made, tiny hearts were cut from red paper and I'd managed to put on clothes that were not gym clothes, it was time for the bridal shower. We painted the town red. And blue. Also yellow. Greens. Speckled paints. Mostly because we went to a paint-your-own-pottery place where we made Malinda a gift we all wrote notes on. Kim and I also made dog bowls for Lovey and Eureka.

At Paint This! in Alexandria. We were painting this. And that. Kim's art? Far superior to mine.

If you look closely, you can see Malinda NOT painting and instead looking at me with creepy intentions.

Malinda wore her tiara the whole night; it was awesome to see it on her in the pottery studio, on the street and in the restaurant. Was she a princess? A queen? A bride? A crazy person? Who knew?!

Dinner at the Melting Pot in Reston was delicious. That tofu was to die for -- except I just paid money for it instead of giving up my life.

The next day was the reception and it was really great. There was peking duck and assorted other Chinese favorites; everyone kind of harrassed me into trying the duck. I don't really like duck (or meat) but it was okay. All the other people LOOOOOOVED it. I capital-loved the egg rolls. And the wedding cake -- just saying. (This is why I have to go to the gym two times every day.)

The Happy Couple. Since the little girls had my camera for most of the reception, I'm not entirely sure who took this.

There was conversation. Laughter. Dancing. Picture-taking. More laughter. Frantic under-the-table text messages. Tessica and Kim both trying desperately not to laugh at a situation both hilarious and unexpected. Dan's return from China and gorgeous black dragon jacket. Yes, my friends, it was pretty much perfect -- except that my husband had to work (because of the transfer) and wasn't there. (I video'ed him in briefly.)

Seriously beautiful -- and all growing up way too fast.

Few things are better than watching Tess and Aubs dance.

Malinda was an excellent hostess.

The next day we ran some errands, Theo fixed up my car and I packed to leave. After a last IKEA-adventure with Kim and Dan, I hit the road to my Dad's.

Theo, Malinda and I went to the scrapyard to find another piece for my beloved Passport.

I could only stay one night because of the upcoming move, but we had a great time anyway. Dad, my stepmom and I played Farkle (and I won -- until Dad won one (one won!) and deemed the game over.) I really miss them, so it was worth a bit of extra driving to stop by, spend time together and spend the night there before returning to New Hampshire in the morning.

We know which side Dad's on.

Positive People and Negative People

2011-07-02T11:43:00.006-04:00

I know a lot of people.

No, seriously. Way more than just one person and a duck.

Today I got to thinking about my happiest acquaintances and my least happy acquaintances. Life seems skewed in favor of my happiest ones -- they have large groups of friends, satisfying lives and careers they enjoy, even if they aren't in the job that they'll have for the rest of their lives. They seem comfortable in each moment, walk three miles to the hotel if there aren't any cabs and spend most Saturday afternoons doing something fun.

Dark days are things that pass, not things that linger.

Whether it's dancing in the streets or working on a puzzle.

My less than happy acquaintances are another story. They have trouble at work, where every coworker is either out to get them or not so bright. Loneliness is a common companion on Friday nights. Everything is less bright, less fun and simply less than they expected. They are frequently bored. A lack of cabs ruins an entire trip and there is never anything fun to do on Saturday afternoons.

Dark days linger; they don't pass.

Okay, so it's staged and we're actually both happy -- in life and in the picture. In my defense, it's REALLY hard to find unhappy people on my hard drive.

Earlier I was thinking about one of the happiest, most centered people I've ever met -- my friend Chris. It's not like life hasn't thrown him a few hard knocks, but he takes them, shines them up and turns them into lemonade, friends or lessons. I wondered, at first, if maybe his religion is what makes him so positive. While I don't doubt it has something to do with it, that couldn't be the entire answer. I know plenty of religious people whose lives aren't as full, satisfying and positive.

Finally it hit me. He's positive. The bad things in life are things that can be attacked or defeated -- he's like a ninja who kicks the butt of troubles and sorrows. I believe that Chris believes things will work out for the best, always. He believes the best in people, always has something nice to say and finds adventure in every situation. He's funny, kind and everyone knows him. No one has anything negative to say, either. It's all plus, plus, plus.

The more I think about it, the more I realize the people who look at life with rose-colored glasses, the people who expect to find good in things, to find adventure on a mundane Saturday, are the happy ones. They're the ones content with their lives while they push ahead to something even better. They smile wider in photos, have satisfying personal relationships and will say that they live good lives if you ask them.

People who expect to see negative things do see negative things. That expectation makes everything more difficult, including relationships, careers and vacations. Nothing is as good as it could have been. Everyone has ulterior motives and is potentially untrustworthy. Life is boring and they're stuck in a life they didn't expect.

That's not to say that positive people can't take a bad turn. They have bad moments, days, weeks or months -- but in the end, I think they come out of it better than they started. They do their best to not hurt others and, in fact, go out of their way to aid someone in need. I suspect even the bad moments are a little easier, because they don't expect an ultimately negative outcome. They remember that sunshine usually follows the rain (and accept that rain comes back and is necessary for life.)

It makes me wonder how much difference a smile really can make.

Or a well-timed jump over the coffee table. Either works for boosting spirits -- though this one actually struck some fear into my heart, too.

Challenge

2011-05-23T07:48:00.002-04:00

It's a real challenge for me not to just write "I love my husband; he's so great and this is why" in every blog I do lately.

Maybe that's why I'm not writing as much?

All a Misunderstanding

2011-05-04T11:36:00.000-04:00

Silsbee High School in Texas recently won a court case. The defendant -- a former student -- and her family must pay $45,000 since the school had to defend itself against a frivolous lawsuit.

The case? Silsbee High School kicked the student off the cheerleading squad when she refused to cheer for her rapist by name.

The school’s defense is that Rakheem Bolton wasn’t a convicted rapist at the time of the game. No, it took three court cases for him and his compatriot, Christian Rountree, to be convicted.

After all, as Bolton said, “It was a misunderstanding.” He doesn’t bear any hard feelings toward the girl.

Except my misunderstandings don’t usually end with me climbing out a window. People don’t bang on the door to get in and -- when they do -- I don’t run away from what I’ve done.

(That’s because my misunderstandings aren’t rape.)

Silsbee High School, its officials and the courts are in the wrong -- as are many students who went to that school.

When the student returned to school, she was told to stay away from Rakheem Bolton and Christian Rountree. When she was mocked in the cafeteria, they told her to stay out of the cafeteria.

(Great compassion there, Silsbee students. The kids at this party found the girl under a table, with many clothes removed, while she sobbed.)

This is not a frivolous case. The student deserves an apology and it is disgusting that the Supreme Court decided not to hear the case. I went to the Supreme Court once and listened to the justices hear a case. They spent 30 minutes arguing about whether a piece of machinery was what it was purported to be. It was a case about the wetlands.

…but they can’t hear about someone being FORCED to cheer out the name of the man who RAPED HER. At a party. With his friend. While she screamed loud enough to get other partygoers to bang on the door.

It should be a first amendment rights case. Sure, a cheerleader is a person who cheers for the team. And yes, he wasn’t convicted yet. But perhaps the environment at the school would have been a little more friendly if Bolton hadn’t been a star athlete. Perhaps the students would have been nicer to the girl who was raped. Maybe a girl shouldn’t have to cheer out the name of a man who she says has raped her, even if the courts haven’t found him guilty yet.

Many rapes go unreported -- this is why.

Many rape cases are lost, despite overwhelming evidence -- especially when alcohol is involved.

I’m disgusted with Silsbee High School, every court that has heard this case and the Supreme Court for refusing to hear an appeal.

People will argue that the boy was expelled after his indictment, that she was allowed to try out for the cheerleading team again -- but this is after being berated by school officials because she wouldn’t CHEER for her RAPIST.

(And the people who did the rape kit said it would take a year for it to be processed because of too many cases ahead of it. WHAT?)

The victim shouldn’t have to avoid school rooms or activities. No one should have to cheer the name of another person who they’ve accused of rape.

You’re disgusting Silsbee High School. Almost as disgusting as Rakheem Bolton and Christian Rountree.

Day at the Park

2011-04-18T19:32:00.003-04:00

New Hampshire is a lot prettier especially now that the snow's melted. I've found several places within walking distance of my house where I can sit and read when I'm done with work for the day. One of them involves sliding down a loose dirt hill and hoping not to fall, but I can live with that.

My husband took me to a park the other day. It's not a park in the way I'm used to -- I mean, there's a playground, but then there's a shortish walk through the park, up a hill and to a stone pavilion in the middle of a field.

There's some graffiti in there that Ian said didn't used to be there, but it's a really nice place. (Also, we saw a computer tower-shaped rock and Ian said, "Look, a computer from the stone age.") We sat up there for awhile playing with Odie. I wanted to stay all afternoon, but it was cold and we had things to do.

I'm not entirely sure Odie wanted to leave either. But then, he always seems super happy.

See what I mean?

Donkey Basketball

2011-03-31T09:23:00.004-04:00

My Dad had talked Donkey Basketball up so much that I almost believed it existed. Of course, it was a game for a simpler time when donkeys happily roamed the earth, spinning balls and slamming dunks.

Or so I believed until I looked up and saw a sign on the way home from grabbing sparkling water and tomatoes at the grocery store.

The next day, I walked into my husband's old high school, settled down in the stands and wondered how they'd get those donkeys to dribble.

Of course, that isn't how the game is played. What was it? 90 minutes of people attempting to mount donkeys. In the process, they were thrown off, kicked and generally abused by the eight donkeys. The crowd laughed; the whole place smelled like stale popcorn.

I'm not sure who won. I'm pretty sure it was me. After all, I happened to be filming at just the right time to catch a kid learning why you shouldn't walk behind a donkey. Need more information? The video is here: Donkey Basketball. Watch at least the first 45 seconds.

Tomato/Spinach Smoothie

2011-03-24T13:53:00.003-04:00

I've been not eating the greatest -- though I haven't gained weight, thank god -- since I got married. I'm not thrilled with how we've been eating, but it's so much easier to grab a pizza and spend the evening together than to spend an hour cooking before we eat. (It's also been difficult because I don't have most of my usual cooking tools anymore.)

Well, game over on that one. My face looks super bloated and I'm tired a lot more than I used to be. Add getting a cold this week? Something is up and it's a lack of healthy eating.

Earlier this week, we bought a Ninja -- it's a blender/food chopper/processor thing and I'm in love with it. We've been having smoothies (healthy ones, not the sugary kind) every night and I've been eating a lot more vegetarian food now that I have the processor. I think we're going to cook together more so that it becomes something fun, rather than something we do because we have to.

Anyway, today Ian went into work for a bit and I decided, while he was gone, that I wanted to munch on some veggies. After dishes, I'd changed my mind. I didn't want a salad with feta and vinaigrette. No, no. I wanted a smoothie.

A savory smoothie.

I'm still drinking it as I write this. It's not something you gulp -- maybe I should have processed the veggies first. Didn't, and it's not completely a liquid. I CAN swallow it without chewing, but the parsley really shines when I chew a bit.

Anyway, I took pictures. As long as we're trying out new things, I figured I'd post some on my blog, since I haven't been much for writing other stuff lately.

Why I love talking to my friends

2011-03-21T15:47:00.000-04:00

Kim: I still say there should be a big party for the 2012 supposed apocalypse haha

Laurel: Hmmmm, I have to agree. Maybe it would be a good time for that vacation we’ve been talking about. Where is a good place to die in agony?

Kim: I don't think there is a good place to die in agony... I'm all for the quick relatively painless deaths

Laurel: Maybe Incan ruins? No, Isla Mona. We could start a new society.

Kim: haha I suppose we could but we're missing some key components to a new society

Laurel: Just a nice, quiet place to live out our lives. Surely there is delicious, delicious food waiting for us in the sea. We’ll adapt -- everything does.

Kim: or they die painfully haha

Laurel: Well…yeah.

5 Reasons My Husband is Awesome

2011-02-21T02:19:00.002-05:00

1. He held my hand under the table tonight at the dinner party we attended. It was a joint birthday dinner for Ian and I with my mother-in-law and a few of her friends. It was a lot of fun--great conversation and food. Makes me miss dinner parties with my friends.

2. He automatically takes all the heavy things out of my hands before we go up the stairs to our second floor apartment. (He also always takes out the trash.)

3. He makes me laugh even when I'm upset or worried. Really laugh, too. The kind of laughs that make my ribs ache.

4. He always tries to offer me the last of anything before finishing it. He always makes sure we don't run out of milk.

5. He can fall asleep at the drop of a hat and doesn't wake when a. I can't sleep and b. I use my smart phone to try to tire myself by writing a top five list. (Though, to be fair, we stayed up about four hours more than I'd hoped because we started talking. That can be 5 and 1/2: he's great to talk with and always plays devil's advocate or offers me unique perspectives on things.)

This isn't a top five of all time list. Just a top five of today list. All time would require more thought than I want to put into it this late at night.

Concord

2011-02-14T11:50:00.005-05:00

Margaritas isn’t just a series of drinks -- in Concord, it’s a popular Mexican restaurant situated in an old jail cell. Ian and I, out of things we wanted or needed to do (that were open at the right time) after a trip to an aerospace museum and the Mall of New Hampshire, went over to the restaurant to park and watch “Criminal Minds” on our laptop.

Our plan was to meet Caitlin, her fiance Brian, her mother and four other couples for an informal engagement party. (For the uninformed, Caitlin and I met in college when she dated someone I was friends with at the time. They split and, as she always says, she got to keep me in the breakup.) Searching for a parking space, we noticed a large crowd gathering outside the restaurant.

Lightbulb moment -- I could CALL AHEAD for a RESERVATION. (These aren’t things that always occur to me outside of work where I feel like I have to control every variable.) Checked with Cait to make sure it was okay, then dialed the restaurant to request a table for 13 at 8 -- about an hour ahead. They were, the hostess informed me, on a 90 minute wait.

Call Caitlin. Call the restaurant. Ask if it’s okay to come and put our names down, get the buzzer and leave to sit in our car. (“Criminal Minds” just isn’t as good in the noisy waiting room of a restaurant.) So we walked across the (chilly, kind of icy) space between the parking garage and Margaritas to pick up the buzzer. I suspect I looked a bit like an antelope on my heels, trying to avoid falling on the ice.

After an episode (where they caught the bad guy! -- shock), Ian and I decided to go wait in the vestibule. While we waited -- until 9, when we actually got a table -- we got to know Caitlin’s brother and his girlfriend. Charlie, her brother, works for a business that competes with Ian’s, so that was kind of funny. Ian and I also went downstairs and looked at the jail cells where more intimate parties are seated. (Surprisingly, the people who designed the jail didn’t account for groups of 13 looking to enjoy Mexican food. Such an oversight.)

When Caitlin got there, she hurtled over to me and threw herself into my arms for a hug that almost knocked me down. She looked absolutely beautiful in her fluttery polka dot dress -- just glowing with happiness, which makes me so grateful for her fiance.

Dinner was great, even if my meal was less than amazing. (Ian’s was better, so I think I just made a fail choice.) Our party ended up being seated at two tables next to each other; it was easy to communicate, though, and we all moved around some to talk to different people. Even though we were eating for about two hours, it felt like a very short get-together.

After dinner, we decided to go back to the hotel with the other couples. There was a champagne toast, a ton of laughter and talking. Ian and I stayed after everyone else had left so that we could spend some time with just Caitlin and Brian. (I’m going to be a bridesmaid in the wedding.) We perched on the hotel furniture and laughed, made plans and talked about the wedding.

Ian and I left after midnight -- Caitlin asked us to stay so she could say “Happy birthday” in person. We took the interstate to the back roads to home. Ian drove while we talked and listened to music. Once we were home, we fell asleep almost right away. Despite loving our overnight in Concord -- the hotel, the restaurants, the pool, the museum, the shopping -- I was glad to be back home.

Sinister Moose

2011-02-10T09:48:00.005-05:00

In 2008 and 2009, I taught “Into the Wild” by Jon Krakauer to a group of 18-year old students who, by and large, were not readers. That was fine -- I knew when I started teaching that not every student in my classroom would love reading the way I did. And, for the most part, students did their work well and turned it in on time. I had a great group each time I taught, I guess.

One day in 2009, I was reviewing assignments in my office. One of the things they had to do on a particular homework assignment was find a picture of a moose -- it makes sense if you’ve read “Into the Wild” -- and attach it to the answered questions. It was just on the cusp of spring, but Tessica and I had a basement office like all the Graduate Teaching Fellows, so there wasn’t a ton of sunlight or fresh air. Nonetheless, we opened the windows to the concrete, in-ground area and had a fan going. It always smelled like coffee and people came in and out, full of stories, jokes and questions.

Good office.

Chuckling a bit at the first moose, I commented on how sinister an animal -- who was probably more confused by the photographer than anything else -- can look. Then I turned to the next one. And the next one. Before I was done, I had 35 copies of that sinister moose on my desk staring at me. It was like a horror movie -- or something a little less dramatic. Only four students chose a different moose (and one student didn’t turn in his assignment at all.)

Confused, I tried to find an explanation. Did all the students do their work together? Had I insisted that the moose look scary and just couldn’t remember that off-the-cuff instruction? Was there a moose-finding seminar in another class that required that exact moose so the students took out two assignments with one print out?

“Laurel,” Tessica said, amused. “Just check Google.”

…and the moose was the first image result.

(More than a year later, it’s the second.)

Constantly Too Tired or Busy to Update

2010-12-18T22:14:00.000-05:00

Today I checked into the Luxor Hotel and Casino in Vegas. After I stood at my window for awhile, looking out into the rainy Vegas afternoon and dreaming about Egypt, I wandered around the hotel. It’s a marvel of sideways elevators, bright neon colors, frozen alcoholic beverages and, of course, the casino. I gambled – for about five minutes – but I suspect I’m not a casino kind of girl. It felt like wasting money and everything smelled like cigarettes.

I wandered back up to my room, talked to my boyfriend for about 15 minutes and then fell asleep. When I woke up – hungry and completely thirsty – I searched for some mineral water, checked work and decided to write in here a bit before I again surrender to sleep.

It’s a nice surrender.

Driving across country was…well, it was exhausting. I should have left sooner, but I had other things to do (like have my debit card go active and get all my paperwork set up with my new client so I could get reimbursed for some of the travel) so I left on a Sunday morning and got here on a Friday afternoon. I took breaks for an entire day in Dallas and Albuquerque. Given the relatively short drive I made the first day, I’ve realized that I could, solo, drive from one coast to the other in four days if I had to.

12-hour days in the car are hard, though. Even with frequent, interesting stops.

The first day I made the mistake of rushing. Partially because I was tired and partially because I was stressed about my GPS not working – well, actually, it was my cigarette lighter not working. Luckily for me, Ian had gotten me an Evo and added me to his cell plan the day before I left, so I was able to use my phone as a GPS.

It snowed the first day. And rained. I didn’t stop except for gas.

At the hotel, I worked and ate dinner. Then I slept, because I knew I was going to leave super early.

The next day – from Birmingham to Dallas – was a lot more exciting.

But that’s a story for another day. I was going to try to write it all up today but, as it turns out, I’m even more tired than I thought I was. Staying awake for another hour? Not so much going to happen.

Dallas: Night One

2010-12-14T01:00:00.002-05:00

I'm in a room that -- unexpectedly -- has a view of the beautiful Dallas skyline. Unlike New York (which is beautiful in a way that buildings are beautiful), Dallas's seems created to dazzle. From the sphere of lights that is Reunion Tower to the unidentified building covered with neon green, it screams "I'm here! Look at me!" as soon as you get close enough to see it.

I don't remember it being that bright. I was here in 2003, but I was very different then. Maybe it was too.

I'm writing this at a desk in a hotel room that is so nice that I just want to bask in it. I'm talking on the phone with my boyfriend, who just finished work and got home. I wish he was here, though I don't think he'd enjoy the driving as much as I do. It's snowing where he is. It's chilly here, but I went out without a coat tonight (I know, I know) and didn't freeze.

I've learned one lesson -- and I'll go into greater detail later -- that I want to share before I get into bed and talk to Ian until we fall asleep. Don't rush. Yes, I am driving to Vegas in less than a week. Yes, that does make me feel a little rushed. But the truth is, I'll get there one way or another. It's more fun -- and I'm happier -- when I take it slow. When I don't cut conversations short or skip the interesting side road. I forgot that the first day.

I won't again. Today was too amazing.

And I'll write about it tomorrow. For now, the most comfortable bed I've ever had the pleasure of crawling into is gently whispering my name.

Vegas, baby!

2010-12-11T13:48:00.002-05:00

I'm leaving for the west coast -- and Las Vegas -- tomorrow morning. There, I will visit old haunts, spend time with my family and take a ton of pictures (which will get posted on my photo blog.)

Expected highlights:

1. Standing on the corner of Winslow, Arizona (such a fine sight to see.)

2. Laurel tries gambling, fails terribly.

3. Picking Mom up from the airport with Nana and -- if we're lucky -- Uncle Matt.

4. Aveda facials. Yes, I am particularly excited about this.

5. One night at Mandalay Bay.

6. Actual Christmas Day, just relaxing with the family.

7. Grand Canyon with Mom. I'm also wrangling to stop by some Indian ruins.

8. Roswell -- think we'll meet an alien?

9. I've heard a rumor that we might just get tickets to Cirque de Soleil.

10. New Orleans New Years!

I'm leaving from Florence tomorrow. My first stop is in Birmingham, Alabama. Other stops? Not so much determined yet. I'm relying on the large number of hotels in the world -- along with Priceline and Hotwire -- to support me even if I don't make a choice until the night before. I'm thinking about stopping in Dallas. I like Dallas.

It also fits with my "southern route to avoid snow" plan.

Today I'm spending time with Kim and Dan. Also with Ian, though remotely. Also with packing my suitcase and getting my car ready to go. It should be quite an adventure, one way or another.

Post-trip plans? New Hampshire. We'll get to that, though. For today, I'm gonna focus on the long, long road ahead -- and the cool things I'm likely to see while I'm driving down that road.

This Isn't What You Think

2010-09-25T02:36:00.000-04:00

I suppose there are lots of things I want to learn in my life.

I'd like to know how to make Baked Alaska. I'd like to be able to change my own brakes. I'd really love to be able to make skirts the way Malinda does or to fashion my own book wreath like Tessica. If I could, I'd learn how to paint realistic scenes and then recreate the best moments of my life when I didn't have a camera.

Most of them, I mean. Some of them didn't lend themselves to recreation.

I'd learn to go to sleep earlier. I'd learn to appreciate mornings. I'd learn to balance my calories, say no to soda, and use Apple products with some degree of comfort. I'd learn to build a sleeping platform--actually, I am going to learn that one this summer. I'd teach myself metalwork and make jewelry. I'd learn every language I could, improve the French I already have, and understand etymology better just for the hell of it.

I want to know how to grow herbs and how to manage emotional conversations without crying.

I want to learn to express my anger in healthy ways.

I want to learn the words to "The Day the Music Died."

I want to learn to arrange flowers and make a good gin and tonic and paint my nails without smudging the paint so that it dries in a funny way. I want to learn CPR and basic negotiation skills and how to survive a shark attack. I want to be able to put up my own tent, start my own fire, and can peaches so they last for years.

I want to learn so many things. I want to be able to do so many things.

But I'd give those all up--forever--if I could just learn to say goodbye to you and mean it.

The only problem is, you can't say goodbye to a ghost. And if you ever existed at all, you're long, long dead. Sometimes it scares me to see this zombie ambling around in your skin, speaking words and making plans. But then I just remind myself that there aren't any real zombies and the mythology had to come from somewhere. I guess the originator just knew someone like you.

Sally Annnnnnn

2010-09-24T01:13:00.000-04:00

I hadn’t been to The Cellar in awhile. Life happened, as it tends to do, and my Thursdays were strangely bereft of bluegrass music, wooden floors and two-stepping. Last fall I was there every week with my dancing shoes on, but this summer has been long and hot and, for the most part, I’ve been content to spend time with my friends at home.

But fall is here.

Some friends and I headed for downtown Blacksburg. Our goal was Gillies, where a lone acoustic guitarist sang songs with lyrics I couldn’t discern at open mic night. Laughing and discussing the events of the day, we dug into our (vegetarian, since we were at Gillies) food. Tessica and I both tried Seitan for the first time. Our reviews tended toward the delicious; we both liked it better than tofu.

Later we ambled down the street. It was already 9, but the harvest moon was up, reflecting light down on us. Someone had set up a table in the middle of the road; five friends gathered around it, gesturing whenever their hands weren’t full of burrito or chips. It made me smile, especially when we caught the crosswalk at the right time and left them to their conversation.

Walking into The Cellar on the first night of fall was, in some ways, like taking a step back into the girl I was then. We slid into one of the window booths while the band set up, and I managed to collect myself while Tessica snapped pictures of everyone. I liked that last fall Laurel, with all her anxious hopefulness and uncertainty and knowledge that everything wasn’t going to last forever, but I’d never, never want to be her again. My life was on a precipice, one made entirely of crumbling shale, and the fall wasn’t worth the view.

Now I’m stronger.

So when the band started playing and I was feeling effervescent and alive and hopeful in a completely secure way, it was natural to join in when Shannon headed to the dance floor and Tessica extended her hand to bring me with them. We spun in circles, our feet flying under us. My hands fisted in my skirt to swing it as I threw back my head and let the music sweep me away. It’s all impressions then: Shannon’s feet kicking, Tessica’s smile, the flash of silver earrings or the cool air sweeping over us whenever someone opened the door.

Soon enough the song was over and we were left panting, grinning. Outside we sat against the window on a planter, legs drawn up from the sidewalk, and Tessica told people how much she liked their clothes as they went by. It made me laugh how the boy in the argyle sweater and the boy in the cardigan said they’d gotten flack for their wardrobe choices, but Tessica just grinned and assured them that their choices were the right ones. Shannon talked to the band—she knows them, having gone regularly for a year, and even went to a party at one of their homes—and I just smiled. Sat back and enjoyed Blacksburg—where I lived for two years in college—and the kids walking back to campus.

Back inside, we got a pitcher of water and talked more. One last dance—to Sally Ann, while Tessica twirled me and Shannon around and we laughed and laughed—then it was time to leave. I gathered my things from the seat, slipped some money into the band’s tip bucket, and said goodbye. Outside the stars were bright, I knew, but the light of the city made only the brightest appear. We walked down the uneven sidewalk toward the car and Tessica told me something I hope I remember for the rest of my life.

“My Daddy once told me,” she said, turning her head toward me, “that singing a song was like praying twice. Well, I think dancing is like praying four times.”

Best Parts of Today

2010-09-16T00:11:00.000-04:00

-Met a cool person at the bookstore and exchanged email addresses. I now get to be the first person to read my new friend's novel!

-Bought a book I've been considering for months.

-Bought an INCREDIBLY AWESOME skirt that I have nowhere to wear.

-Realized I only have one day of work left this week and then I have my first well-deserved weekend in months.

-Decided that on Tuesday, when I get paid again, I'm going to buy something I've been coveting for two years.

-Cuddled with not one but TWO awesome dogs.

-Ate some granola and strawberries.

-Came up with a list of things I need to mod on my vehicle before I leave for California.

-Tried on some really cute shoes.

-Drank a ton of water.

-Got Malinda to agree that we could maybe, possibly sing "The Day the Music Died" at karaoke tomorrow.

Aaaand, I'm currently wearing soft pajama pants while curling up in my bed with my laptop, the aforementioned book, and my stuffed lion. I barely slept last night, so I am anticipating an excellent night of sleep.

Even Though October is Usually Strange...

2010-09-05T23:00:00.000-04:00

Two times of the year, I dream of magic.

The first, not surprisingly, is the spring. It’s renewal and everything is green and black and wet. Those times call to mind glistening leaves, the last chill winds of winter, unfurling buds, delicate flowers. The earth almost seems to be giving birth to itself again during those months and, back when I was in college, I’d walk home from parties and look at the stars and breathe in the smell of freshly turned earth and be amazed by just everything.

Then there’s the fall, with all its transition and mystery. Bright oranges, crackling browns, reds like the last breath of a sunset. The scent is like burning leaves and apples, so strong that I want to lick my lips to get that last taste of cider. Everything is falling down—corn husks litter the fields farmers cut into mazes and if I walk under trees, every step is dampened by wet leaves that will be part of the earth when spring comes back again.

Nights like these are my favorites. Just friends—the kind of people I’m completely comfortable with—and dinner outside, watching the day turn to night while we talk, laugh, and enjoy our meals. The corn on the cob at dinner had just the right amount of sweetness and after the sun was completely gone, I tried to teach Vanessa how to roll down the hill in the backyard.

The candles—there were 30, I think—melted their holders and caused a bright flash of flame before we managed to put it out.

Every year, when summer finally gets ready to circle and fade, I have nights like this that remind me that, once again, it’s my favorite time of the year. I believe in cycles—that we’re all linked to one and that the world never stops spinning—and it makes me happy to see it all come back again. Leaves that fade to brown or burn with oranges, yellows, and reds are just another reminder to me that life is sometimes beautiful. That we all have purposes, even if they aren’t apparent quite yet.

When I was a little girl, I’d collect leaves and jump into them once I had a pile almost as tall as I was. I’d jump again and again and again, laughing, while the leaves folded under me or danced into the air and settled back down. Once I was flushed, at the moment when I couldn’t laugh or jump anymore, I’d just lie there quietly, my hair mixing with the fall leaves, and breathe in that scent while my yard or the woods continued around me with the sounds of insects and small animals moving out of my line of sight.

That was magic, to me. And I think this fall I will go to a corn field maze and maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll also manage to make another pile of crunchy, crackling leaves.

A Pattern of Sorts

2010-09-04T01:08:00.000-04:00

When I start to get confused about my next step, I tend to stay up later. Maybe it's an unwitting attempt to delay the part of the night where I lie in bed and wonder if I'm making any choice that even resembles a right choice. Stuff in my life is very strange lately and, while I'm okay with that, I'm not so great at the planning my future.

Job? Oh yeah, I have one of those. As a matter of fact, I'm writing an article on how to tell when a girl wants to break up tomorrow.

Friends? Supportive, kind, and--this is one I used to not care about but I care about more as I get older--great to everyone I bring around.

Boyfriend? Check. He's very sweet to me. I'm not overly concerned about the future right now because it'll work out one way or another.

Cross-country adventure? Also a go. Leaving in early spring instead of in the fall because of 1) money 2) weather (mostly an issue because I can't drive in anything resembling inclement) and 3) the super-exciting possible addition of my British friend Andrew.

Clothing? Warm and colorful.

Hair? On my head.

Stuffed lion? Duh.

Impulse

2010-08-16T02:16:00.003-04:00

Sometimes I think my life is a series of attempting to either satisfy or control my impulses. And I'm one impulsive redhead.

The most impulsive choice I've ever made was to sign a lease on a townhouse in Blacksburg when my college was four hours away. Without getting an acceptance into a college in or around Blacksburg. I signed the lease in December. I hadn't even applied to another college yet.

Yeah.

And it worked out for the best. I got everything: the house, the roommate, the Thanksgiving, Radford and everything that happened there, good and bad.

What I'm saying is that sometimes my impulsive decisions are my best ones. I end up messing things up when I think them through; when I follow my instincts, I tend to come out golden.

But what do you do when that impulsive nature is telling you to go for something that you know is crazy, mixed up, and generally inadvisable?

I guess we'll find out in the next two months.

PS. I'm in a relationship with someone now and have been for awhile. His name is Ian. He's amazing!

PYHO: What do you want from life?

2010-08-04T03:00:00.000-04:00

Recently the question of what I want out of life has been posed to me by several people. I’ve spent the last few days thinking about rivers and clean sheets and empty notebooks and that’s all well and good, but it occurred to me tonight that there is something more important to me.

I think I want to love.

Not just have love. I don’t want to collect love, to store it up selfishly like a hoarder who is scared that it’s going to disappear. I want to actively love—to show my love for people through my words and actions.

To do that, though, I also have to remember to love myself. That’s where the question gets interesting for me because, as a woman who does love herself, there are certain wishes I have for both the person I am and to fulfill the dreams of all the girls I’ve been before today. So maybe those wishes—and the end result of working toward them—are what I want from the time I have.

So what do I dream for myself?

I want to drink hot cocoa in the winter and apple cider in the fall. I want to learn to make the wassail that Mom and I drink every year at the Madrigal Dinner and I want to share that with my family every Christmas Eve. I want to share long dinners in the waning light of evening with the kind of people who make me laugh and make me think but mostly make me smile. I want to always remember to give food to grieving friends and to make desserts to celebrate special occasions. I want a fridge filled with fresh fruits and vegetables. I want to learn to duplicate Kim’s amazing tilapia marinade. I want to one day be able to say that I don’t have any issues with food, to just enjoy eating without feeling stress or anxiety over the act. I want to roll my eyes when I accidentally cut my finger while slicing a lemon; I want to learn to make flaky, perfect pie crusts.

I want to be inspired. I never want to lose the driving need to write things down, whether it’s as a novel, as a poem, as a personal essay, or as a blog. I want all those empty notebooks in my life to be filled with clear, coherent thoughts interrupted by crazy rambles I’ve scrawled down in a diner at three in the morning. I want to write on napkins, on desks, on my own skin, on the skin of a lover. I want to write on the walls, on my computer, in the margins of books. I want to use up packs of pens every month and always, always have another ready to go.

I want a car that I know will start in the morning. I want to have enough money that I don’t have to worry about the unexpected—especially when the unexpected is a small thing like a flat tire. I want health insurance so that I can see a doctor when I’m not feeling well, and so that I won’t be anxious about small things for months. I want a warm jacket that isn’t the one my Nana bought me in high school: fake fur and three buttons.

I want a house with big windows; I want a yard full of trees. I’d like to live near a stream, a river, an ocean, or a lake. I want summers that don’t make me melt and winters that don’t stand me at home for months. I want trees colored like fire in the fall, with bright reds, golds and oranges. I want a house that is comfortably clean: not so clean it’s a show home and not so messy that it’s a sty. I want dog-eared books on shelves and a window seat that looks out on the yard so I can watch the snow fall. I want a copper kettle and a deep bathtub and a rain shower. I want to have bath oils and soaps in glass jars on the counter.

I want to share my life with my friends. I want to be surrounded by people who choose not to do chemical drugs because they don’t need the buffer between their brain and the world. I want people who are passionate, questing, silly, serious, and settled all at once. I want to be one of those people. I want people to know, without question, that I love them. I want to wrap their presents in silly wrapping paper and give them gifts in person as often as possible. I want to enjoy spending time with their children and, as we get older, I want to see new places with them that we’ve never explored before.

I want to be in a relationship that lasts for a long time with someone who isn’t scared by what I am and someone who doesn’t seek to suppress who I am. I want to be with someone who feel free to be completely himself in front of me, because I don’t think a relationship can be healthy if either partner feels they have to hide who they are. I would like to love a man who I don’t need to financially support and who doesn’t feel the need to financially support me, but we share what we have and work together to build the kind of future we both want. I want to go to sleep most nights knowing that he’s near and to talk softly before we fall asleep about our days, the color of the sky that night, or a recent vaccine and whether it should be given to children. Eventually, when we’re ready, I’d like to build a home with that man where his desires for life mix with mine so that it reflects the two of us, not just him or me.

I’d like to sometimes dance a bit while I wash dishes, listening to the radio playing softly.

I’d like to see movies that make me laugh or cry or jump or think.

I’d like to continue learning things for the rest of my life, whether that means taking classes, reading books, or exploring museums.

I’d like to get to know places in the world that I’ve never been to before. I’d like to see things that I’ve only ever seen in books and on the internet, but in person so I can know what they feel like and how they smell and so that I can see the other people who have gathered to see them.

I’d like to find a place that I can call home—not a large city, but not in the middle of nowhere, either—somewhere big enough to have museums and libraries and theaters but small enough to have a community.

I want to take walks in the evening, hand in hand with someone I love, and enjoy the feel of the air on my skin.

I want to sometimes sing karaoke just because I can.

I want to laugh until my stomach hurts.

I want to talk to someone until dawn starts to streak across the sky, just because I can, just because they’re interesting and the conversation is worth missing some sleep.

(And I want sheets with a high thread count and soft, warm blankets all mussed on a super-comfortable bed. Also air-conditioning. And many colors of nail polish.)

So I suppose that’s what I want out of life. Though, let’s face it, my ideas, desires, and goals all change as I change and maybe in a year I’ll want something different.

Except that I think I’ll always want to love.

If you don’t, what’s the point?

"This is Not a Love Poem"

2010-07-30T00:57:00.000-04:00

September looms large,
though once it seemed to matter
not at all.

There’s the slightest shift on the map,
a rising of lines or highways,

all those stretched out,
bright-sun days
that lead me to you

and I am not afraid.

Your fingers, longer than any
I’ve twined with my own,
dance over my knuckles
to make me laugh and you never
once hesitate to touch me.

“The past is a lion,” you said.
“You can keep it in a cage and see
it at night or you can let it go free
and never see it again."

I explained about empty pitchers
and the sound of open screen doors,
but you just laughed and I said
I could spend
the rest of my life
watching you laugh at
things that scare me

as if they’re nothing more
than nightmares.

“Well,” you murmured, turning
to watch me apply chapstick
in your bathroom mirror.

“Are they?”

Then you wrapped your arms tight,
until I could feel your watch against my ribs,
and just held on.

July 2010

PYHO: Friends and Conversations

2010-07-27T01:05:00.000-04:00

I’ve met some people in the past year who don’t have close, long-term groups of friends and I’m always surprised by the revelation. I’ve never not had a best friend, and have had the same best friends (minus, in one case, a period of estrangement) for years. I’ve had groups of friends—people who were there for me, for each other, who you can call at 5 in the morning after having the worst kind of night and they not only answer the phone, but also listen to you cry or complain and don’t hold it over you later.

More than that, though, we do things together. We take trips and vacations (now, thanks to Tessica, I differentiate between the two), we watch movies, we cook, swim, laugh, read, and paint out nails. They’ve shared their homes, their food, their families, and their friends with me. I’m lucky. Really lucky. There’s one aspect of that I want to talk about a bit this week and that’s the honesty my friends display when I’m making dumb choices.

So I’ve displayed some really poor judgment in one particular situation this year. I’m not going to go into detail but I was into a guy, then I wasn't, then I REALLY wasn't, then I decided to act insane to annoy him in an attempt to make him think about how he treats women--which meant I still had to talk to him.

Kim, more than anyone, has gotten the brunt of (first) my misery over this.

She’s always there. She took calls in the middle of the night when my stomach was so knotted I couldn’t sleep and signs on to AIM when I text her, knowing full well that we’re going to have to go over it again. Though she could definitely tell me to stop talking, to get over it, she listens because she knows that I’m the kind of person who has to study and catalogue before I can put things away.

Tonight was a night when we had to discuss things. I was a bit—disgusted, maybe—by something, I guess, and so I messaged her and we talked. Some of the things she said that I thought deserved to be repeated:

-“it's not crap and of course I'm always happy to listen”

-“You can liken it to it's not the destination, it's the journey. Who you end up being at the end of your life doesn't matter as much as the journey you took to get there. he was just part of your journey”

-“I know! and it pisses me off that he's so mean to you”

-“I mean think of it this way, if I were in your exact situation what would you be telling me? still I don't think you'd be too keen on supporting the odd relationship... and while it really shouldn't matter to you whether I approve of a guy as your friend or hate every breath he takes... I can't help but give my opinion anyways”

That last one was the important one. I like that my friends are honest with me. I like that they tell me what they think—and not what they think I want to hear. They call me on it when they think I’m making a mistake, but then they’re still there for me when it blows up in my face. I like that she tells me she doesn’t approve, that she explains why, that she doesn’t make me feel like an idiot for making my own choices.

Toxic friendships—rare among the good friendships I have—may hurt, but at least I have amazing friends at the end of the day. I have good, strong, moral people who love me and who have loved me for years and who will continue to love me.

Kim isn’t the only one who hates that I’m involved in this friendship. Tessica, Malinda, Alyssa, Jess, Caitlin and Alicia all tell me on a regular basis to abandon ship and set fire to the decks as I go. I won’t—at least not yet—but I like that they don’t hide their opinion of the situation. They see it in a way I don’t, or can’t, and it reminds me not to invest myself in the friendship and to take everything involved therein with a grain of salt.

Alyssa, in a weird coincidence, messaged me today and actually asked about the friend Kim and I were talking about. I told her how he was doing and she said:

-“::kick to his face::”-“i REALLY dont like this guy”

I don't either. But I do enjoy making him think I'm completely insane.

I Take It All Back

2010-06-22T00:47:00.000-04:00

I’ve always believed, deep down, that I had to be alone if I wanted to be safe and whole. That alone was the right way to do everything. Sure, I had amazing, deep friendships with people who accepted me for exactly what I am, people who stuck by me in the worst of times, people who made my heart light, who made me smile, who let me into their lives, but I convinced myself that I could walk away from it at any time without regrets.

After all, to love someone so much that you can’t walk away easily is to give them power. I’m uncomfortable with the idea of other people having power over me.

Needing someone is even worse. If you need them, and they leave, then what do you do?

So I’ve always said that I could walk away from anyone and anything in two seconds flat if I wanted to. If I had to.

I take it back.

I take it all back.

Sometimes love means having to take a risk. Sometimes it means admitting that you need someone. It always means opening yourself to them and trusting them.

I love my friends. I love my family. They’re one and the same in both directions.

I look at other families where the people never talk and think about how lucky I am to have parents who want me to call. I see people without many friends and think how lucky I am to have so many people that love me. So many people that GET me.

There are people I can’t walk away from without heaps of difficulty and regret. There are people that I need in my life because they, to me, are like oxygen. They help me find beauty in my life, help me to find what it is that makes me alive instead of just not dead.

I wrote the week before last about being angry and needing to do something about it. I take that back, too. Being happy might mean letting go of wrongs that have been done to me without taking action. It might mean just that—being happy. Not being sad. Accepting that something bad happened and then releasing it to the world.

Tonight I took a nap and then I watched District 9 with Malinda, Theo, Matt, Bill, Heather, Stu, and Michelle, turning my face away as people exploded. We ordered pizza and I had a creepy adventure when I went to pick it up. Everyone made me laugh and we played Apples to Apples before enjoying Eureka’s never-ending urge to pulla pulla. I remembered to lock the front door and blow out the candle in the basement before I wrote this. My hair smells like lilacs. I have a fabulous book waiting for me in bed.

I love my life. I love the people in my life.

Being this happy would be scary if I weren’t so darn happy. If it weren’t such a calm, collected, steady happiness.

But I am.

And it is.

Someone told me the other day that she loves me no matter what I choose to do with my life. And she does.

And I do. Love her. And me.

PINT: What Luck!

2010-06-15T01:04:00.006-04:00

First Post-It Note Tuesday (For Me, I Mean)

2010-05-18T00:47:00.004-04:00

Tessica told me to do this awhile back, I think, so I'm hopping on the bandwagon!

Construction Trucks and Stars

2010-05-09T02:43:00.000-04:00

On the way back from seeing Shutter Island in Fairfax tonight, Jason took the Capital Beltway instead of the route he usually takes because, he said, he remembers how much I like construction. It's true--I love huge cranes and blasted holes in the road. I love the way at night the light messes with your perception and you can feel your pupils dilating and constricting. I love how all the traffic slows, then bursts back into the opened lanes at top speed. We went under overpasses that had cranes so tall they seemed to span the entire thing and it was beautiful.

(Jason, for the uninformed, is a friend of mine.)

We got back to his place so I could get my car; he offered to give me a lift home and bring me back for the car tomorrow, but I felt okay to drive. On the way home I had to shift my car to the left by a lane and then accelerate quickly to catch up to the traffic in that lane and I love the way the car feels as the RPMs go up and everything tenses and winds. I love the way it feels when it releases and the car settles, seems to sigh and let go. I love the way the air rushes through the open windows, how the music on the stereo doesn't quite blank out the sound of the tires turning relentlessly over the ground. I love it all.

I could see the stars when I got home and I took the dogs on a short walk. When I wasn't wrestling them into submission, I was looking up at the sky and being grateful that I can see the stars this close to DC. They dotted the sky and it's not like in the country when you can see a ton, so I reminded myself to be thankful for every dot of light. The air was cool on my skin and the dogs were so happy to see me. They ran around my legs, tangling me in the leashes, and when we came in I spent a few moments petting them and praising them.

There's a lot to be thankful for. Right now I'm laying on my bed with one knee propped over the other and listening to a song Kim posted on my Facebook. I had a great conversation with Tessica tonight on the phone and my family and friends love me all the time, when I'm up or down or completely, totally dumb. It's really nice, actually. Really, really nice.

Animals

2010-05-05T22:08:00.003-04:00

I'm not the best at taking care of things though I once saved a child from choking (even preempted the terrible event itself) by cutting her pizza into ludicrously small pieces.

Part of it is that I don't notice things. Once, when I was alone with the cats, I forgot to feed them for three days until I walked out of my room and they were all gathered at my door, meowing. That reminded me--after about 20 minutes of them following me around. I'm pretty sure they were thrilled when Malinda got home from wherever she was. I was not an adequate substitute.

This week Malinda and Theo are going to Seattle and I am going to take care of the two dogs, Lovey and Eureka, and the three cats, Diesel, Simon, and Armani. Simon has been having allergy problems--shhh, he's my favorite--and the vet taped his feet today with the sticky side on his fur. Ian, Theo, and Malinda pulled it off later, but he wasn't very happy. Now he's napping at my feet, his big, blue cone cradling his head.

I do like animals, though. I think they're cute. I think they're funny. I'm fascinated by the wide variety of toys available to them; I liked giving the dogs steak and turkey when I cleaned out the refrigerator. I liked finding out that cats and dogs shouldn't be eating food that has grain as the first ingredient. Who knew? Not me...until Malinda, Theo, Kim and Dan found out and told me. But I like playing with the dogs and, the other night, they managed to locate a frog and almost killed me trying to chase it down and eat it for dinner.

Luckily they didn't. Poor frog.

I have no idea why I wrote this.

Montana Dreams

2010-04-27T11:49:00.001-04:00

I stayed in a hostel in New York with Malinda in December and met girls from all over the world who were exploring America. It reminded me of how much I want to go out and fall in love with this country. I’ve forever been fascinated by travel, exploration and always kept my eyes trained firmly outward, convinced that nothing close could be as good as what was far away. Last year when I was sitting by a waterfall in West Virginia, completely alone with a book and a bottle of lemonade, I realized that there is beauty and adventure here; a change of language or culture doesn’t signify a better adventure. Rather I need to learn my land before I can branch out and learn the lands of others. I couldn’t even pinpoint Missouri on a map without looking it up.

I have this dream where I’m sitting on the trunk of a car in Montana with my hair in two braids. I’m eating a sandwich and watching traffic go by and looking at the mountains and my jeans are rolled up at the hem. Everything is beautiful and the road goes in both directions without discernable end; I have nothing but choices. Sometimes when I dream it he (the boy I’ve dreamed of on and off since I was 18, usually referred to as Dream boy) is sitting with me and I’m leaning against him and we’re not talking, just enjoying the silence. I still can’t see his face but I am content with that. I like those dreams the best. Dream boy would like Montana, I think. At the very least he wouldn’t get irritated when I left my hair in braids and wouldn’t be snobby about sandwiches on the side of the road.

I want that. For every day to spread out like a bright blanket at a picnic, to recline into the road until I cannot tell one day from another unless I’m counting in highways and sunsets. I think I’d be happy living that way for awhile. The girls in the hostel who just traveled and worked and traveled seemed content. They seemed independent. Maybe one day I’ll find that kind of strength inside myself and, like these girls, go out alone to explore and discover. I’m always so hesitant to go on excursions alone, always wait for a friend--but my friends have lives that don’t include chasing roads and it has occurred to me that they can not always be there to find the next great adventure with me because they have adventures of their own to pursue.

And what if I find a life that I want in just one place? Well then I’ll be happy to stay and only go out on big adventures from time to time. Real life has strong compensations, like friends and family and a home. Those could, at a later time and when I am ready, outweigh the aimless beauty and miles of walking with no real destination, just people and rush and lights and wind. Those people that make me value my real life now? They beat the unknown every single time--but there’s no reason I can’t have both.

Chase City

2010-04-26T23:47:00.004-04:00

This weekend I went with Malinda, Theo, and Matt to Chase City. It's a very, very small town out in the middle of nowhere--though I don't really understand what qualifies a place as somewhere versus nowhere, and I guess it doesn't matter much--where Theo and his Mom own this absolutely beautiful blue house that contains peace, quiet, extremely comfortable mattresses, and--most importantly for me--a lack of internet or cell phone reception.

Malinda and I drove down with Eureka and Lovey, their dogs. We stopped by Panera and I was extremely satisfied with my lemonade green tea. Delicious! Ask for half of each if you ever go to Panera--you won't be disappointed. It was a fairly uneventful drive, if you don't count the first hour or so of traffic on I-95. If you're familiar with the HOV heading south toward Richmond, then you might laugh when I tell you that a man got out of a truck and repositioned the trash cans to block HOV access. A minute later, another man got out, removed the cans, and drove into the HOV lanes.

Eureka gets car sick and has to be lying down so she doesn't vomit. As I drove, Malinda napped a bit, and I made her jolt awake when I ordered the dog to lie down. Malinda made such a shocked face that I was preoccupied looking at her for a moment and swerved into the left lane. Lucky for us, no one was occupying that piece of the road. She gave me a not cool card, but we did make it down without any other accidents. The last twenty miles were a country highway. I like that kind of driving.

We honestly mostly relaxed over the weekend. We did go out to some property Theo owns and ramble through the woods to the lake, where the dogs played and we enjoyed the rain. We grilled burgers, made s'mores with butter cookies, and had fondue. There was much conversation, two excellent movies, and I slept in far too late. We did take a few pictures and I'll post two of my favorites below. In the next day or so, I'm going to put up some on my photo blog or Facebook. I have a huge backlog of photo blog stuff to post. Maybe I'll start work on it now.

There was also a lot of time to think while we were away. I tend to distract myself with the internet or my phone and those distractions were absent in Chase City. I'm not entirely sure where these thoughts are going yet, but I'll likely write about them tomorrow. Right now I'm talking to my friend Jonas and listening to some music, so I can tell that I'm home again--what with the computer being on and my phone slowly losing battery life.

I'm listening to a cover of "Leaving on a Jet Plane" done by a female vocalist. Once upon a time this song made me cry but now I can just smile, listen, and hit "Publish Post."

Malinda had shrimp leftovers that I was not allowed to touch; Theo illustrated the box to be sure I remembered. I almost reached for Mal's drink after she started eating her meal, but did not consume any. Whoops!

I thought it was adorable that she was in the driver's seat. Her expression is hilarious.

Stars, Cycles, and Game Over: Continue?

2010-04-09T23:35:00.004-04:00

Several months ago, I went outside with a blanket and a pillow and lay down on the back patio to watch the Leonoid meteor shower. Proving, once again, that I am not the tastiest cookie in the value pack, I wore a yellow sundress with a cream colored sweater and put my hair up with a yellow flower attached to a yellow band. (This is not the ideal meteor shower outfit and was, likely, the reason I was so cold. That did not occur to me.) I laid there alone for two hours writing until the shower hit its peak.

Alone in the dark, I thought about how many lifetimes have passed since the people who saw the original comet pass by in the 1400s lived and loved and died. They could have been under me in the ground--god knows how deep--and I wouldn’t have known. Though I suppose the boxes would have eroded by now and whatever it is they were or are or could be is once again given back to the earth. I’m not sure how the people who were here then prepared their dead, though now that I’ve thought of it I’m going to have to go to the library and find out.

I wonder if a girl who was a little lonely and a lot disconnected lay down by herself behind her house all those hundreds of years ago and stared up at the sky and felt better. Even if we are completely alone in the universe--and how could we be, given the sheer size of everything--I am never alone. Not really. There are always wonderful people who are only foot steps or phone calls away.

I also wondered if that girl made wishes. What she wished for. I’ve wished for things I don’t think are going to come true but isn’t that the beauty of wishes? If I make a wish for the entire world to turn purple and for my hands to stop getting cold in the winter, who’s to say that’s a waste of a wish? Maybe four days later someone will put a purple scarf over my eyes and give me mittens. Most wish fulfillment, I think, is in how you look at things. I wonder how she looked at things. I wonder if her wishes came true.

I wonder how she died.

I wonder how I’ll die.

I talked to my English penpal for awhile on AIM today and he told me that his sister-in-law is pregnant; it made me think of cycles because his father died fairly recently. One person takes a bow and another is moved up from the chorus. Is that an entirely morbid way of looking at things? Maybe but, then, I think the way we handle death now is kind of morbid, too.

Embalm doesn’t just mean to hoover out someone’s insides and fill them up again with chemicals. It can also mean “to give a scent to” or “to protect from change or oblivion” as if I need to see people I love laid out in a dress or suit they never wore in life to remember them. At a classmate’s viewing when I was fifteen, I touched his hand so I wouldn’t have nightmares and it took everything in me not to hold on tight once his cool skin made contact with mine because when I let go, then he was alone and would be alone forever until he was nothing but chemicals and bones in a glossy box. When I visit him--and I do, when I‘m home and alone--I think about him there, six feet under me and always 15.

I don’t want him protected from change. I don’t want to be protected from change; cycles are such an important part of life. I am not supposed to be 7 or 13 or 25 or 88 forever. Perfection isn’t something I’m trying to achieve with my life, not really. When it comes down to it, I am not the rouge they’d have to pack onto my cheeks to give me color or the mascara someone would think to paint across my eyelashes. I’m just me. I’m everything under that and I’m more because I change moment to moment.

So do we all.

It’s morbid, to me, to try and fix a person like a dead butterfly with a pin on corkboard. It’d be better for the planet, if not for the brains of the people we leave behind, to just open up a chunk of earth and throw us in so that we can give back and cycle through again. (Of course, even Whitman was buried in a concrete vault and he’s the one who said he existed in the grass and that surely he’d lived and died one hundred times before. I wonder what position they had him in before the formaldehyde poured through his tissues and trapped his body in one pose forever. I have to stretch after sitting Indian style for more than twenty minutes.)

The few stars that streaked across the sky were faint and far away but I felt faint and far away then, so it was okay with me. I stayed there, looking into the sky that would soon be swept with light from another new day and didn’t think of dead people or cycles or wishes or chemicals or my complete inability to take control of my life. I just thought about the beauty of the sky and the rich smell of the dirt and the softness of my sweater and when I went in to my bed, it was soft and warm and smelled like cotton. I’m half-asleep writing this but I want to remember that night so I’m writing it now, before I close my eyes and this day becomes just one more thing I can’t ever have again.

Ouch

2010-03-14T01:40:00.001-05:00

"He treats you like a couch he can replace on craigslist."

Possibly the most alarming and important statement I'll hear this year.

Caravelle

2010-03-12T00:25:00.003-05:00

Once upon a time I drove this car.

My Caravelle was the almost-twin of a friend's Relient. It lacked air-conditioning but did have a stereo and I'd rather have the windows down most days anyway. Caravelle took me to Northern Virginia, to North Carolina, to West Virginia. It took me to Harrisonburg many times. Once, memorably, we traveled more than 100 miles on I-81 creeping along together at 30mph. She hit a slick and ice-hydroplaned but I managed to pull her (and myself) out of the slope and back onto the road. I cried a lot after. I usually do when it comes to car accidents. The adrenaline backs off and the tear ducts open.

I've often wondered why someone in a parking lot would steal a car that looked due for being crushed into a cube but I've never had much insight into larceny. I worried about it sometimes with my Caravelle because I loved it so much. Too much, considering it was inanimate. But it was my car, in a way no other car has ever been. There was a white lab coat from work almost always in the back, as well as a pair of sparkly heels so I could go from what I used to call Day-Laurel to Night-Laurel in three seconds.

When Caravelle started slipping gears, I knew the end was nigh. Still, for months we went from Blacksburg to Radford together. I was still taking a biology class then and spent a lot of time in Curie. Usually finding a space was difficult and I had to slam on the gas, then break quickly to get it into first. Not a treat. I still loved the old girl though. Once, on the big hill, she slipped backwards into a truck. He let me go without any trouble, as he said his car was old too and no damage was done. A few days later, as I drove down 460 to work, she went into death throes. I had to stop at the light in front of Virginia Tech and she wouldn't shift above second when the road opened up again. I had to pull off. I sat there for almost an hour without trying to get home--just called Mom and talked to her because I couldn't stand the idea of retiring Caravelle.

Our last ride together, from 460-East to 460-West Business to Patrick Henry where I lived was memorable. I popped her down hills and made sure I had momentum to travel up them. On the last crest before my house, she died. Just groaned and refused to gear at all. I coasted her into my parking lot, where she stayed until someone reported her as abandoned and had her towed away. It was December. I couldn't get to work. I cried for an hour, then made toast and tea, the way I sometimes do. I lost my lab coat when that car was towed, but never did attempt to find out where she ended up. I didn't want her carcass.

She was gone. I've had other cars since then, will soon own another and hope to live, more or less, drivingly ever after.

That's how all good fairy tales end.

Etchings

2010-03-07T21:59:00.006-05:00

Yesterday Malinda, Matt, Theo and I walked down the beach, idly winding our way through the warm sand and frigid surf while we waited to check into the hotel. Usually I write words in the sand--I prefer names or something like "Always" which, along with the phrase "Close Your Eyes" absolutely fascinates me for no reason I can explain.

But the beach was covered with words yesterday. Things like "I love you" or "I love (insert name)" or just names, which I get; that appeals to me, too. The best part, though, is watching the water eat away at my name, drawing it back into the ocean.

As we got closer to the pier, I saw more of the same. I wanted to see something strange in the sand--something that would make me stop. But there were only usual sand-scribblings, shells, and driftwood.

So I called for everyone to stop, explained that I wanted to write "Someday you will die" in the sand. I needed, I insisted, to find a stick. Malinda suggested just using our feet. So we carved "Someday you will die" into the sand and then had Matt snap a photo while we grinned madly.

Turning, we found that Theo had written "Let's just be friends" in the sand a bit farther down the beach. After we got a picture of him and Malinda with his sign, Matt wrote "It's not yours" between the two phrases we already had.

We stood there considering it and realized that the three etchings, taken together, told some kind of story. I don't remember anyone agreeing on what it was exactly, but I preferred to think you'd start at Theo's, move to Matt's, then end with mine.

We watched a couple walk by it, read the words, and continue, unimpressed. Then we walked back toward the hotel, leaving the words in the sand for more passersby to find.

Murder in South Carolina

2010-02-20T22:30:00.000-05:00

Kim and Dan went to Wal-Mart tonight while I took care of a few things I needed to do, then curled up with my sick Turnip darling (that’d be the cat who was diagnosed with leukemia and diabetes this week) and read. When they got back, they had a tale: many police and emergency vehicles were gathered around one of the houses in our subdivision. It’s essentially 3-5 houses from ours, but not on the same street, if that makes sense.

We decided to do a bit of amateur sleuthing (which is my nice way of saying pseudo-ambulance chasing) and bundled up for a night walk in the cool South Carolina air. It really was beautiful, reminded me of when Malinda, Mary Jo, Natasha and I would go outside at night in Harrisonburg when we were kids. The stars were bright and the air was so crisp that my cheeks felt sore with the cold.

When we’d reached the scene, there were people standing out in front of their homes, watching the many police cars that were bright in the dark night, lighting up the surrounding homes with red and blue. A reporter was taping footage of the police going in and out of the house; I asked if she knew what had happened and she had me wait while she talked on the phone.

She said something about a homicide while Kim, Dan, and I looked at each other in disbelief. We live in a very safe, nice neighborhood--you don’t picture this kind of thing happening here. Dan had mentioned that there was a cop on that street--and when the reporter shut off her phone to talk to us, she said she’d heard there’d been a shooting in the cop’s house.

A police contact of hers came over, so we walked away while they talked. There was nothing to see--and the whole thing is just so sad--but we stayed there for awhile talking before we strolled back to our house. Kim checked the news online and we saw that the police officer who lived in that house had been murdered.

Such a strange, unexpected kind of thing to happen on a Friday evening. I’m glad to be home safe in my tightly locked room with my nice warm bed. I feel bad for the man who was killed and for his family. Sometimes things happen that you don’t expect; sometimes they’re very bad things. I hope they find the person who did it soon--or that they already have them in custody.

Team Kickass: This Dates Back to October, When I Was in Radford

2010-02-03T00:15:00.001-05:00

*Sarah receives a package of yarn. The return address is one Laurel Murphy.*

Two pictures of the shipping receipt. One is Sarah's name minus the H. The other is the seal statement.

Laurel: It obviously contains a message from me. From the future.
Sarah: When you're married to Cillian Murphy?
Laurel: And am, for some reason, living in Maryland.
Sarah: Maybe it's your vacation home!
Laurel: There's a packing slip!
Sarah: We need to decode the message future-you is sending us.
Laurel: Future me--who is obviously not that dumb--left the H off your name.
Sarah: So H is obviously an important clue.
Laurel: It says here that if we want to leave feedback, we have to click the seal...
Sarah: There are seals involved?
Laurel: Obviously seals who are planning to drop Hydrogen bombs.
Sarah: No! Why?
Laurel: We can't know for sure. The only thing we can know is that we have to stop it.
Sarah: Log onto the website for more clues!
Laurel: They're away at a conference in Hartford, CT.
Sarah: Obviously where they intend to drop the H-bombs.
Laurel: And she's going on and on about some book by Jane Slicer-Smith. That sounds...
Sarah: Evil. Like a villian. Like she gew up in a family of villans and then fell in love with some guy named Smith.
Laurel: Who was a SEAL trainer!
Sarah: Yes!
Laurel: She tried to reform but her evil roots took over and she convinced her husband to train his seals for destruction.
Sarah: In Hartford, CT!
Laurel: But how do we stop this?
Sarah: You have to click the seal!
Laurel: I can't FIND the seal.
Sarah: Is it time to assemble Team Kickass?
Laurel: Do you think this warrants it?
Sarah:This is very serious.
Laurel: We need badges.
Sarah: We need a seal.
*Heaps of Laughter*
Sarah: I didn't mean that kind!
Laurel: That was too much.
Sarah: He can have a "Mom" tattoo and under it we'll write "Team Kickass"!

The team Kickass logo and a representation of our happy seal, designed by Sarah.

After Retelling the story to the rest of team kickass
Noah: It might not be Cillian Murphy.
Sarah: It HAS to be.
Laurel: It OBVIOUSLY is.
Noah: The guy who did the music in 28 Days Later was named John Murphy.
Sarah: Unacceptable!

After explaining it to Sidra, post-shower
Sidra: What...?

Later
Sarah: We need our own seal. A real seal.
Laurel: A good seal.
Sarah: What should we name him?
Noah: Schlep!
Sarah: What would he do?
Sidra: Clap! Whenever we did something good.
*Noah starts clapping and saying, "way to go, guys!"*

Then, once I'd logged onto the review site that the seals led me to, I decided that I had to ask the representative how to save the world from the H-bomb seals.

I don't know if you can swim/Or if the sea has any draw for you

2010-01-28T02:04:00.004-05:00

When I was a sophomore in college, I heard good things about a series of books on some internet forums I used to frequent. The novels--a series of about 14 at that point, I think--were futuristic police romances that centered on one couple who met in the first book and married in the third. Then, as now, I’m game to read almost anything, but I wasn’t particularly impressed by the description. It was a slow winter, though, and I wasn’t entirely happy, so I ended up spending something like $25 and ordering a box from eBay with all of the book in the series--worn, dog-eared copies with names like “Naked in Death” and “Betrayal in Death.”

And I fell in love.

I remember sitting on that hard green sofa Malinda and I had in the living room--it was old-fashioned and pretty, but not that comfortable--and devouring those books one-by-one. At night I’d go to my room, curl on my chaise, and lose myself in Eve Dallas’s world again. I cared about her and her husband, their friends, the victims. The mix of sappy and sweet, funny and sarcastic, was perfect. Dead on.

I still read that series--two books are put out every year and I look forward to them with the eagerness of a child waiting for a present. They’re some of the only books I buy in hardback. Three years ago, I bought one and saved it for a series of long, painful days while I waited to go to Florida, just so I could have the pleasure of reading it on the beach.

Except that I didn’t buy the most recent one. They’re almost $20 a pop, even at discount stores, and I just couldn’t justify spending that kind of money on something I’ll be done with (for a few months at least) in an hour or two. Even after reading the compelling teaser on the jacket, I put it back down and turned away.

Kim and I went to the library today.

I brought home five books--including “Kindred in Death,” the latest in the series. I’m about 100 pages in right now, and it’s good. Really good. Better than the last two, in my mind at least. We’ll see how it plays out, but it’s moving quickly and the case is interesting.

While I was browsing books in non-fiction, some guy started talking to me. He asked what I was going to check out, and I kind of angled my books at him. Young guy--maybe two years older than me, if that--and cute. Nice. But I was looking at a book about relationships that fail and my hair was a mess and I was wearing all black again and…I just didn’t feel like carrying on a discussion. I was nice and we did chat, but then I said I had to leave.

Kim and I talked about it on our way to the store. She said that he could have ended up being a really cool friend--and she’s right. But I’m just not feeling much like meeting people right now, even when they are cute and nice and at a library.

It makes me think of this book series. I didn’t really care for it at first, but now it’s one of my primary reads and I love it. I can associate it with specific moments in my life--Florida for one, California for another, reading it outside in the garden at my Gramps’ house, and sitting on the wall near the flower shop in Radford the first summer I moved there. It was hot--so hot--and my apartment wasn’t ready yet. Mom was camping all summer long, so I stayed at her vacant apartment for a few days. I was close to broke, would walk down to Annie Kay’s and buy “organic peaches” that were less than 40 cents each. Then I’d take one outside, sit on that wall, and read an “In Death” book in the sunshine while I devoured the fruit.

I wonder if people are like that. Some of the most important people to me weren’t people that I was extremely fond of--or people I really noticed at all--when I first met them. It’s kind of funny that you can never really know how someone will affect your life after that initial introduction. I thought about that tonight when I was reminiscing about the day I got that box of books, when I was on the precipice of starting that series, when all the books were still unread, unexplored. If I never take a risk and order the box, how will I know if the books were worth reading, if they merit shelf space?

I had a whole different topic planned tonight--wanted to write about memories and moments that were so neat, or fun, at the time but that have slipped deep into my memory and are rarely accessed--but then I started reading

(that was after Kim and Dan danced around the living room and after Dan chased me and Kim into my room and we attacked him with a shawl and after Kim made delicious tandori chicken and after we’d all watched television together and after lots of other things that I did today that are important but aren’t something I want to write about yet, if ever)

and this book made me think about the library, about people. So I wrote this instead. (See Laurel justify her blog topics.)

Missed Connections

2010-01-27T00:10:00.002-05:00

A missed connection in NYC that I read awhile back was titled “I miss you” and all it said inside was “Sleep well.”

I wonder what separated the poster from the intended recipient of the message. I wonder if they aren’t able to talk at all or if they are unable to visit or if one of them hates the other. I wonder how long it has been; I wonder if the person it’s for has read it or if he or she will.

Missed connections, to me, show the best and the worst of people. More than anything, though, it shows the cowardice. That section of craigslist explains just how much people don’t want to take a risk that might make their life better.

I’d rather tell an interesting coworker that I was intrigued by them any day of the week than spend the rest of my life wondering if he could have felt the same way. I’d rather live with rejection than regret.

I’m almost 25. I may well be 1/3 of the way for my life. I don’t have time to waste the next sections hoping for something and never taking steps to create it.

I have no memory of why I needed to know the average size of a cow.

Shopping and Dinosaurs

2010-01-22T01:22:00.000-05:00

I got on Etsy last night to look for my dishtowels with the parts of the body screened onto them. Unable to find them, I gave in to an urge I’ve harbored for awhile and bought a compass necklace.

Other than that, I've been browsing Netflix tonight. Haven't found anything that's really captured my interest, though. What I really want to watch is “To Catch a Thief” or "Jurassic Park." Briefly considered “An Affair to Remember” but honestly that movie always makes me a bit sad.

So I compromised with myself and am going to watch “The Lost World” which does have dinosaurs but was made in 1925. It’s a silent film, which I’m rarely in the mood for these days, despite a few cool, silent-movie-weeks during college. I doubt I’ll stay up for all of it tonight, but I do enjoy a good start.

The woman in the movie just said (on screen, of course), “I have a presentiment that you are going to propose, Ed. I do wish you wouldn’t, for things are so much nicer as they are.” After he asks why she can’t love him, she says, “I will only marry a man of great deeds and strange experiences--a man who can look death in the face without flinching.” I suppose that’s where the dinosaurs are going to come in.

Dinosaurs: a good way to look death in the face (if you can overcome that whole extinction thing.)

Ed just offered to go on a dinosaur expedition with Professor Challenger. This movie just keeps getting better. It’s time to post, curl up in bed with quilts and Roary, and enjoy sleep, though I am sad I couldn't find those dishtowels. I’ll leave you with one last quote from the movie: “My husband promised to raise funds for a rescue party--but instead of getting people to help him, he throws them out of windows and things!”

Positive Creation?

2010-01-20T00:40:00.000-05:00

There's a poetry graveyard on my computer.

No gravestones mark the deceased and no one mourns what can't be resurrected.

When I was still taking poetry classes, sometimes I'd go into the graveyard, find a corpse, and zombify it. That happens less now. I wrote a new poem the other day but the language is a little too explicit for me to be entirely comfortable sharing it. I guess that's another kind of poetry graveyard. Maybe a poetry convalescent home.

Looking for an article I'd saved tonight, I stumbled into my 2007 poetry graveyard. I thought maybe I'd post a few epitaphs for public consumption. They make me remember and they make me miss but mostly they make me smile. That matters, I think.

Most days are
like that now:
long stretches
of could-have-been
or would-have-if-not-for
while I lose the ability
to sleep at night
or smile when
he’s beautiful.
-April 2007 from "Today I wore a skirt because I thought you'd find it pretty."

My belief in god has become a habit
and everytime I remember sin,
it's like I've sinned anew.
-May 2007 from "Two for the price of one."

Now it’s all like winter
But I’m more content than
I’d ever expected to be,
As if I could slide into the air
And let the insistent rain
Spiral down
To puddle at my feet.
-February 2007 from "Happy Birthday."

Quiet my love,
because no words can
erase everything
we’ve drawn in this notebook
that I keep under my bed,
away from the people I love the most
because I don’t like
the way I bleed into
the margins.

And I hate the way
I’ve splashed you from front to back
but never wrote your name
on the cover.
-January 2007 from "I find myself unable to sleep again."

I wrote a lot in Tim's American Renaissance class that spring, sitting near Kristen and Meredith. It was a strange Spring and it ended in a fountain and at karaoke or maybe at graduation. Either way, I was more happy than I was sad. Plus, Meredith made some killer scones and I have to admit that our Moby Dick essays rocked the house.

I Guess It Kinda Hit Me Tonight

2010-01-16T23:58:00.000-05:00

I'm a freelance writer.

It's weird, because it's almost what I always wanted to be. I mean, I'm a writer. Sound the cannons! Uncork the champagne! Except that it's not novels. It's...other stuff. And I enjoy it. But it's still not novels.

In other news, Kim made homemade chicken noodle soup tonight that was delicious. It made my throat feel a little better. Then she sprayed Dan with a water bottle and that made my mood feel better. I'll leave you with an exchange we had:

Kim, while looking at my phone: Check your voicemail.
Laurel: I can't. They want something I won't deliver, like eating shrimp or emotional commitment.
Kim: ...at least you're up front about it.

PINT: Tales of a Clumsy Redhead

2009-06-02T22:34:00.000-04:00

Time for:

Today: Tales of a Clumsy Redhead