Failures of Kindness

In this season of graduation speeches and advice, I read this speech from George Saunders on the Times site. You should definitely read it in its entirety. It's filled with lovely sentiments and good advice, but the part that really punched me in the gut was this:

                   But here’s something I do regret:

                   In seventh grade, this new kid joined our class. In the interest of confidentiality, her Convocation Speech 

                   name will be “ELLEN.” ELLEN was small, shy. She wore these blue cat’s-eye glasses that, at the time, only 

                   old ladies wore. When nervous, which was pretty much always, she had a habit of taking a strand of hair into  

                   her mouth and chewing on it.

                   So she came to our school and our neighborhood, and was mostly ignored, occasionally teased (“Your hair 

                   taste good?” — that sort of thing). I could see this hurt her. I still remember the way she’d look after such 

                   an insult: eyes cast down, a little gut-kicked, as if, having just been reminded of her place in things, she was 

                   trying, as much as possible, to disappear. After awhile she’d drift away, hair-strand still in her mouth. At home, 

                   I imagined, after school, her mother would say, you know: “How was your day, sweetie?” and she’d say, “Oh, 

                  fine.” And her mother would say, “Making any friends?” and she’d go, “Sure, lots.”

                  Sometimes I’d see her hanging around alone in her front yard, as if afraid to leave it.

                  And then — they moved. That was it. No tragedy, no big final hazing.

                  One day she was there, next day she wasn’t.

                  End of story.

                  Now, why do I regret that? Why, forty-two years later, am I still thinking about it? Relative to most of the other 

                  kids, I was actually pretty nice to her. I never said an unkind word to her. In fact, I sometimes even 

                  (mildly) defended her.

                  But still. It bothers me.
                  So here’s something I know to be true, although it’s a little corny, and I don’t quite know what to do with it:

                  What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness.

                  Those moments when another human being was there, in front of me, suffering, and I responded . . . sensibly. 

                  Reservedly. Mildly.

It reminds me of one of those things that I can't let go of from middle school, that niggles at me to this day. There was a girl who was a bit slower. She didn't have the ease at making friends that so many others had, but she was genuine and would never have dreamed of anything hurtful to say to anyone. And one of the popular girls who was certainly capable of thinking and doing hurtful things toward other girls took notice of her one day in our gym locker room and told her she needed a makeover. 

This potential mean girl proceeded to outline her eyes with tons of liner and tell her how much better she looked. I didn't say a word; I just went home that night and cried because I didn't do anything for her. I didn't (and actually still don't) know if this was one of those rare times that the potential mean girl was being genuine. After all, it was her own eyeliner and it was a similar look to her own, so it was not obviously done to be funny or hurtful. I was afraid to speak up because I didn't want to hurt the shy girl finally getting attention from the popular girl. She practically beamed at herself in the mirror afterward. 

So why did it bother me so much and why does it continue to bother me? 

At the time I thought it was the uncertainty about the situation that bothered me so much, but now I suspect it's because I didn't go out of my way to be her friend. That memory just illustrates so vividly how badly she wanted a connection and how often we were all so indifferent to her. Perhaps that potential mean girl was actually nicer to her than I was. She paid attention and made a gesture, and I didn't. I wasn't mean, but I missed the opportunity to be kind.

Parenthood

It's a pretty heavy thing being wholly responsible for the life of a human being. You literally hold that little baby's life in your hands (and never do I feel that more than when I'm holding my slippery wet baby over our bathroom's marble floors-I can vividly picture the awfulness of dropping her there.)
  

At three in the morning I never disliked something as wholeheartedly as my crying baby...only to feel overwhelmed with such an intense love for her a mere three hours later. In the beginning, Nathan asked me a number of times why anyone would ever have a second child. "I will never forget this," he vowed, as she lay shrieking inconsolably in his lap. It's really hard to be a parent. No one tells you that until you're already knocked up; clearly it's a conspiracy.

But now she smiles at us. Big, wide gaping mouth smiles that make her already chubby cheeks puff out as she gurgles a hello to her daddy when he arrives home from work. And I can literally see him forgetting. Everyone tells us that as soon as we begin to feel like we have this parenting thing figured out, when we've developed a routine, that's when everything changes again, so we're just waiting for hell to break out again.

Now I count success as a day with only one incident of spit-up on my shirt, only one outfit change (hers or mine), and 2 hours of freedom while she naps. We're sleeping mostly through the night, breastfeeding is as easy as such an odd thing can be (I am attaching a human to my chest where she gets her entire nutrients from my nipples, a body part that until now has been basically decorative.), and she spends her waking moments staring, wide-eyed and awed, at everything around her.

She can almost hold herself in a seated position, nearly roll herself over, and almost laughs at peek-a-boo, and now I have to leave her. Someone expects me to be able to head back to work and actually work instead of wondering if she misses me as much as I miss her. Someone expects me to be okay with pumping milk into sterile bottles every weekday for the next 10 months instead of cuddling my snuggly daughter as she eats.

But, as awful as all that sounds, I'm actually looking forward to being back at work, to talking to adults other than my husband, to eating lunch with the use of both hands and no need to shovel everything in before my daughter starts to cry, and to being appreciated for my mind rather than feeling like I've lost it as I make up ridiculous words to "Splish Splash I was taking a bath."

It seems that ever since I went off to college, being an adult has meant being torn in half, never being entirely satisfied where I am. In college that meant that I was homesick at school and missing friends and my freedom when I was at home. After college, it meant the word "home" referred to my childhood home and to my apartment. And since having a baby, I look forward to returning to work nearly as much as I am dreading it.

Type A

I have this habit of tackling projects in a way that makes them somewhat less than relaxing for the average person. Case in point, at the after-Christmas fabric sales, I purchased enough 70% off Christmas fabric to make 60 napkins (no joke). I definitely got a little carried away.

Most people (and even myself sometimes) would put at least half of the fabric away to tackle at some point in the future, but not me, not this project. Last year I made about 12 napkins and cut out the fabric to make 6 more. Those six sat unhemmed for a whole year, so I knew (especially with baby on the way) that if I didn't cut and hem all of these napkins while I was in the napkin-making groove, they would never see the light of day.

Thus, I spent an entire weekend (and New Year's Day) pinning, hemming, and watching L&O marathons, while Nathan went running, swimming, and cleaned our bathroom so thoroughly he even took shelves out to wash them. He very sweetly never mentioned how ridiculous my endeavor was or how molded to my ass the couch cushion was becoming. Seriously, never. Not even once, though I'd be willing to place money on it that the thought crossed his mind a time or two.

I did take some cooking breaks and manage to put away the Christmas decorations as well, so it was not entirely a one project weekend. As silly as these napkins are, it feels pretty satisfying to see that tower of finished ones sitting in my sewing room (only 16 more to hem)!

Still, I probably should get around to sending out our holiday cards, which I usually tackle between Christmas and New Year's.

Happy 2013!

Then and Now in Florence

I first experienced Florence ten years ago as a junior in college. My apologies to Nathan and Dean because I might have mentioned that fact a time or two on the trip. Or twenty.

Over the course of this trip, I had the particularly funny thought of the two versions of me in Italy. College me stayed up 'til all hours, drank liters of wine, went to sketchy Euro-trash disco-techs, got kissed by a gypsy, and bought a shirt with only strings to hold it on my body. Grown-up me was 20 weeks pregnant, so fell asleep nearly every time I sat still for longer than 5 minutes, had exactly 3 sips of wine the entire trip, went to sketchy public restrooms, got kissed by my husband (if I forced him), and bought baby clothes.

Fiesole, 2002

Fiesole, 2012

I'm not sure college me would be impressed by grown-up me's Italy trip, but I'm still pretty satisfied with this version of Italy (and myself) anyway. And I'll tell you, a grown-up salary let me eat a hell of a lot better than my Writing Center income.

All the Livelong Day

We thrilled to hear his story about the time he had hiccups for four days straight. He tried everything to get rid of them, he said. Every suggestion people had. Eating cabbage, standing on his head, drinking water upside down, walking backwards on a railroad track, everything. Eventually, they went away. Now, he said, he drank pickle juice to keep them away. Eww, we squealed.

She would always let us pick what special dessert we wanted her to make. We always chose strawberry pie. She used huge strawberries whole, and her pie crusts were delicious.

His truck cab was filled with candy. Moderately disappointing to an 8-year-old, however, because every single kind was sugarless. Those pastel discs still remind me of climbing all over the front seat of his truck.

She kept the door to her bedroom closed tightly. The one place in the house we were not allowed to venture-it was a great mystery. When we eventually saw her room after she died, the stacks of organized excess that she kept hidden did not come close to measuring up to the explanations in our imaginations.

His prickly chin would press into your forehead as you hugged him goodnight. He seemed moved when we'd chorus, "Goodnight. I love you, grandpa."

She pulled out some of the old clothes she'd kept for us to dress up in. We put on her fancy hats and dresses from the 50's and 60's, and she'd give us accessories to match-gloves, purses, and jewelry. We'd ask if we look beautiful, and she'd assure us that we did.

He and my grandma had had separate bedrooms for ages. But why, we'd ask? I snore like a locomotive he'd say. His room smelled of shaving cream, cedar, and just a hint of smoke. His was a bit cluttered, and there were piles of letters requesting funds to fight cancer, help children with leukemia, take care of aging firemen, etc. He gave to every one.

In the big grassy lot next to the house, we'd run imaginary bases, creating ghost runners to take our place so we could have another kick or one more swing of the bat. With only two players, we bored of the games quickly. We spent more time making up rules and planning the newest game than we actually did playing it.

That same grassy lot eventually held a lifetime's belongings spread out for people to pick through and bid on next to the small house where my dad grew up. In that one weekend, my father let go of the flotsam and jetsam of his parents' lives, the path he walked to school, and the one he wore into the carpet of his childhood home. He had few strong ties to his hometown anymore and it was unlikely we'd ever be back again. He said goodbye, and he let go so gently and quietly that, as small children, we didn't realize the extent of that goodbye then.

Image Unknown

Don't Worry, I Washed Them

When I get new clothing, just like when I was little, I tend to wear it pretty often. I just realized today that I've worn the new pair of pants I have on today 4 times in the last 8 days! To think I wasn't sure if I would keep them because they're a lot more fitted than I normally wear.

Tippi Sweater in Linen, Deep Cinnamon, J.Crew
Waverly Chino, Midnight, J.Crew
Limousine Flat, Dark Pewter, American Eagle
Kinsey Necklace, HannaKinsey, Etsy
Earrings, Target, 5 years ago

Ingredients You Probably Don't Have in Your Kitchen But Should

Almonds
Not only are they great to snack on when you just need something crunchy, but they're a tasty addition to pretty much any baked good. Plus, sometimes you can even grind it up really well and add it to flour if you're running a little short for your recipe.

Capers
Capers come in a pickling solution, so they keep practically forever in the refrigerator. Do not make Chicken Picatta without them, and they add a great zing to pasta or potato salads.

Cream
Not only do you never know when you might need to whip up a chocolate ganache, but there's really no substitute for being able to add cream to pasta sauce for an amazing depth of flavor. An unopened carton can last a surprisingly long time (I've managed to keep it for a month at least before, though don't count on that during the summer.)

Dark Chocolate Chips
Like with the cream above, you never know when you might need to whip up a quick batch of ganache to use as frosting, cookie or ice cream topping, or truffle center, not to mention nothing is better in chocolate chip cookies than Ghiradelli's 60% cocoa chocolate chips. Nathan also eats these frozen by the handful, so I try to have them on hand for a quick chocolate fix.

Kosher Salt
Especially during grilling season, I prefer this to sprinkle on grilling meat or seafood because the bigger flakes adhere better and last through the whole cooking process better.

Lemongrass
You really can't make any sauces taste authentically Thai without lemongrass. It also adds a really nice flavor to stir fry, and don't even think about Tom Yum Soup without it. Usually you can find it in the produce section of the grocery store, but luckily we can get it already chopped and frozen from a local Asian grocery store.

Lemons/Limes
Fresh lemon or lime juice is much more flavorful than bottled. There are a ton of ways to use slices, zest, or the juice of lemon or lime. Just to name a few, we throw them in with fish and vegetables on the grill, add them to pitchers of water when we're sitting outside on a hot day, use lemons in Chicken Picatta, and limes with black beans or mango salsa. They keep very well in the fridge so you really just need to use them within a week or two of buying them. (I do have bottled juice as well, but only as a backup if I need more than I can get from the fresh lemons or limes I have on hand except when it comes to lemonade-just use bottled juice and throw in some lemon slices.)

Good Olive Oil
While it is not cheap, there are some things that justify using a really good olive oil. For one, any homemade salad dressing tastes much more amazing with good olive oil. My favorite is hojiblanca, which has a peppery bite to it. Yum!

Fresh Parsley
If you keep it either completely dry (wrapped in paper towels) or with the stems in water, parsley will stay fresh a few weeks. Fresh parsley really makes a difference in everything from lemon vinaigrette to pasta salads, chicken and fish dishes.

Pine nuts
Pine nuts can be pretty expensive, but you don't have to use a lot in any dish. One cup of pine nuts can go a very long way (I store unused pine nuts in the freezer). First of all, you absolutely cannot beat the taste of fresh pesto. There has never been a jar of pesto that tastes even half as good as homemade. It's really easy, and you can freeze it into multiple containers so you have enough for just one meal at a time. (Freezing the pesto doesn't change the taste at all.) Also, pine nuts are really great as a substitute for regular nuts in cookies or toasted and thrown in a salad.

Shallots
There are two dishes we make relatively often that require shallots. One I've mentioned recently, and the other is a citrus salad with a warm vinaigrette from the In the Kitchen with Rosie cookbook. Even if you don't have a go-to recipe that calls for shallots, however, I find myself using them when I make fish or even vegetables like spinach or green beans. They have a slightly sweeter, more delicate flavor than an onion. That difference is really noticable, which is why I don't just use onions instead every time.

Sparkling Water in cans
I've started drinking La Croix instead of soda for those times when I just really need the fizzy burn, and I've noticed how handy it is to have sparkling water on hand for other things. Flavored or unflavored, you can use it to make pretty much every mixed drink tastier. Plus it keeps for practically forever as long as it's unopened. Sometimes I substitute this in for the water in lemonade, and it's delicious. But best yet, Pimm's Cup is my current summer afternoon adult beverage of choice, and you can't make it without it.

Images (via flickr) from left to right, beginning in top left corner:

Roasted California Almonds; Capers; cream is good; Blueberry Papaya Cucumber Juice and Chocolate Cake with Ganache;
kosher salt; Olive oil, lemon, both Golden; Lemongrass Stalks; Olive Oil;
Parsley; Toasted Pine Nuts; Mixed Shallots; La Croix

Why I Should Never Have a Reality Television Show

I very rarely win my fights with Nathan. No one needs to see that. Least of all me.

I say horrifying things that would make my audience hate me. For example, when I was in college studying abroad in Italy, I was flashed by a man in an alley in Florence one night. I was (justifiably) disturbed. However, I ACTUALLY COMPARED HIS UNWANTED SEXUAL EXHIBITION TO RAPE. Out loud. Yes, I was that girl. I shudder every time I remember those words being let out into the world. Can you imagine if they were actually on tape? And you know they would use that in promos.

I eat entirely too much for television. Not only do I actually eat sandwiches and whole plates of pasta, but I have *gasp* dessert. Sometimes at both lunch and dinner. Not usually at breakfast though.

According to Nathan, I criticize him. All. The. Time. So apparently, I'd look like one of those harpy wives bossing him around and always rolling my eyes and being sarcastic to him. I like imagining that I'm the victim here. I don't need video proof that it's the other way around.

I have been known to smack my cat. But guys, he totally deserved it. He was meowing, and meowing, and meowing, and meowing, and meowing. Still, that would not go over well with PETA, I'm sure.

My sassy gay friends are all 40+ and wouldn't dream of getting into screaming fights with me. They'd rather sit around in the backyard drinking wine and talking about NATO (or DWTS).

I wouldn't dream of paying someone to be my fashion stylist, wig stylist, cat stylist, makeup artist, nanny, cat walker, housekeeper, chauffeur, psychic, pet interpreter, groundskeeper, or husband wrangler (well, I'd consider paying someone to do that last one).

I am a terrible actress. When I was in fourth grade I managed to say my lone line in the class play as "Fish fly in the sky, birds swim in the sea." If someone told me I needed to reenact a conversation I'd had so they could get it on tape, it would be awkward and wooden and...wait, I guess that's not really a deal-breaker for those reality TV shows. Never mind.

Things I Am Really Embarrassed to Admit

I ate 1/3 of a watermelon for lunch last Thursday.

Sometimes Nathan and I talk to our cat about his "mommy" or "daddy," and we are REFERRING TO EACH OTHER.

The other day I watched a homeless woman being evicted from the vestibule of the building across the road. An hour later I checked our vestibule to make sure she hadn't moved into ours.

Once I hit my head on the dryer door so hard that I had to lay down on the floor for awhile until I was sure I wasn't going to pass out.

In my fourth grade spelling bee, I got out in the first round because of the word barracks.

I am guilty of rage tweeting. Over a burrito. (Was going to link to them, but I'm pretty sure I deleted them out of shame.)

I was heckled by a small child hanging out the window of his apartment building during a recent tennis lesson. He was right, my swing did suck.

Once, on a day when I worked from home, I didn't brush my teeth until just before lunchtime.

I have used the phrase "kids today" to complain, in all seriousness, about an intern.

I spent a crazy long time trying to figure out what was wrong with our DVD player before finally realizing that I was trying to play a BluRay disc.

I am knowingly and voluntarily a part of a pyramid scheme.

Just a Minute: March Edition

exciting...What a great week this has been! Not only did I get to spend the early part of it with my sister in Savannah, but now we're expecting my sister-in-law, Jenny, who is coming to visit today!
  
loving…The Peasant Top Jersey Dress from Ann Taylor Loft. Too bad I didn't come across it while they still had my size, or any size, really, in stock.

reading…The Winter Sea, which appears to be somewhat of an historical romance. I am not sure how I feel about it right now, but it's set in Scotland, so I'm giving it a chance.
  
 
watching...I can't wait for the new season of Game of Thrones to start on Sunday! I am all caught up on last season (since I didn't start watching last year until halfway through), and now I'm anxiously awaiting Sunday night, especially since last Sunday night's long awaited show return (Mad Men) was a bit of a disappointment.

 
  
listening…the latest album from fun. Some Nights is amazing! It's so good, I actually paid for the whole CD. I honestly can't remember the last full CD I've bought, but this one is worth it.



 
making...I've been blowing eggs in preparation for some Easter Egg decorating. I am going to tackle some this weekend. Somehow I ended up getting a free subscription to Martha Stewart Living, and my first one is the Easter Egg decorating feature, so I may try a few of the ideas out.

baking…Made Black Magic cupcakes last night as a goodbye treat for a friend's last day of work today. It's a pretty great recipe for a moist rich chocolate cake/cupcake.

Rage Against the Mundane

from Hyperbole and a Half

I am having rage issues. They appeared this weekend, but I think it might last a few more days. Unfortunately they are over the kind of things that when I try to inspire Nathan to share my wrath he laughs. Loudly. For a long time. Surprisingly that laughter does not cause my rage to be redirected at him.

It stayed focused on the UPS who refused to deliver the two packages that I was expecting on Friday EVEN THOUGH I WAS HOME. Instead I was told that I could pick them up from the UPS package center on Saturday which is 40 minutes from my house. Incredible hulk-style FURY. Anyway, I was so angry I called Nathan at work so he could calm me down. He laughed at me. I remained unoffended, however, because I could tell it was a product of shock at the rage I was venting. It was pretty inexplicable.

Then last night, I was finally getting around to sewing one of the two baby presents I still have to make before the kid graduates. The "easy snaps" were not easy. I wrecked 8 snaps, and then damaged the fabric before I gave up, cursing heavily. I wrote an angry email to the company that makes the snaps, Dritz, and then proceeded to tell Nathan the problem as I stood, shaking with rage. Again with the laughter.

I also may or may not have gotten way angrier at some board games this weekend than was warranted. Luckily, Nathan is taking it in stride mostly because none of the anger has been directed at him (and probably also because the rage is rather entertaining). His laughing at me helps me put the anger in perspective a little, but it's not keeping the fury at bay when confronted with these minor things. I think my hives have sapped me of all my abilities not to overreact. I have nothing left for these other minor inconveniences.

I've decided it's not a problem because I keep it reined in and only unleash it at home. There's no possibility that it will result in road rage or shopping cart smack-downs, so I figure intervention is not yet required. As long as it's not hurting me or my relationships then my rage and I can coexist for a little longer. 

This is Typical: Diagram of a Disagreement

Nathan and I have entirely different communication styles. In fact, our brains are wired so differently that we, on an almost daily basis, have a discussion that seems straightforward and impossible to misconstrue only to realize later that we came away with wildly different understandings of the discussion. Usually this realization comes too late to do us any good.

Nathan's diagram of one such misunderstanding.

Back when I had my old phone, which was very limited in its capabilities, Nathan texted me while I was on a conference call asking me if I was on my way to pick him up as we headed out of town for the weekend. I texted him back a y which I meant as short for yes. He took that to mean "Why?" So he wrote back, "Can't you just answer," which I understood as "Can't you just answer my call?"  since he had tried to call me twice already (but actually he meant can't you just answer the question?) I was so frustrated that I had to exit my conference call (which wasn't over) to call him back just to tell him that "yes, I am here to pick you up" that by the time he finally got to the car I refused to talk because I knew we'd end up yelling at each other (never a good start to a 3 1/2 hour drive).

There's nothing more demoralizing to an English major than to feel like she cannot communicate clearly. I can't begin to list how many times this has happened. We used to get so exasperated with each other that we'd end up fuming. Because of one such conversation, I spent one Sunday morning sitting in a parked car next to the interstate halfway to Chicago while Nathan finished his golf game in Indianapolis. We have walked miles out of our way trying to "meet up" somewhere in our own neighborhood! Fights have begun only to turn out that we are actually arguing the same side.

 Luckily, at this point in our relationship we have begun to expect the miscommunications and nearly always find them funny. I now tend to err on the side of rephrasing something six times suspecting that he will probably still miss my point, while he just assumes I'm going to get lost on my way to meet him. And yes, even after eleven years together we still cannot communicate clearly enough to prove these assumptions wrong.

When It Turns On You

It's surprising how much your physical health impacts your overall outlook on life. My body feels like it is rebelling against me, and it is breaking me down emotionally. And this is only hives! This lingering trail of puffy and extremely itchy bumps from my palms and wrists onto my forearms and backs of my hands that I've had on and off since Thanksgiving has, in the last week, become impossible to get rid of. It is, apparently, a very visible sign of my lack of health that seems to give strangers an invitation to give me advice on nutrition, pet ownership, cleaning, my bathroom routine, etc., not to mention the street diagnoses. "It must be scabies. Look at those gross bumps. Definitely scabies." (It's not.) Strangers have actually shrunk away from my touch.

This gives me a glimmer of understanding of the depth and nuances of emotion that accompany a life altering diagnosis. I am so frustrated with my body for failing me on this very small issue, I can only imagine how much worse it is when the health issue is life threatening. I'm told my body is communicating something to me, and that I need to pay attention. Was this my fault in some way? This seems to have come out of nowhere, a response to some invisible change in my environment. Or worse, it may be a reaction to something that I've been in contact with for years that my body has suddenly decided it cannot tolerate.  

I am left to depend on a doctor who I will have just met who will spend an hour pricking me with needles and coating my body with substances to purposefully cause more hives (this time on my back, one of the few areas that currently doesn't already have them). This should magically tell me that I'm allergic to shellfish or mushrooms or my cat, instead of telling me (what I am afraid will happen) that I am allergic to absolutely every solution that touched me including the doctor's rubber gloves and the paper gown that I wore while getting the test done.

I will warn you now that I am a very physical person; I'm not going to do well in my own personal bubble!

In Which She Discusses Censorship

 (and Sex, but Only a Little Bit)

Untitled by yyellowbird via Flickr

 In a recent conversation, a friend* and I were discussing blogging. I think we were discussing diaries and blogging, etc. I mentioned that I tend not to write about some topics on my blog (probably most primarily sex) because my in-laws and parents, and even potentially my boss read it. I vaguely recollect a look of horror from the friend as she said something to the effect of I never censor myself.

I have been carrying this little moment around with me for awhile thinking of it in those spaces when your mind wanders off, and today I thought to actually address it out loud. It occurs to me that I held onto that line because I felt a little guilty for censoring myself. But as I muse over it, I think I'm prepared to whole-heartedly embrace self-censorship on my blog.

First of all, I'm one of the most open people you'll probably ever meet. I have, on more than one occasion, found myself telling virtual strangers more about myself, my relationship, my inner thoughts and workings, than my husband has probably even told me after a decade together. Admittedly, that wouldn't be much more personal than, "I prefer not to go by Nate," which, no exaggeration, took him a year to tell me and came out as I introduced him to my parents. But yeah,  I'm not great at censoring what comes out of my mouth. However, when it comes to putting my words on paper, or the web in this case, I've always been a bit more circumspect.

It boils down to two things. First, the fact that the web is a public space. My posts get cached. I may one day decide to stop blogging, but it is highly likely that what I have written will still be accessible in some way. It's important not to forget that the words you write or type have permanence. The second is that because you will have an audience, it's important to remember that your words, no matter how anonymous you may think they are now, have the potential to have an impact, whether it's on your life or someone else's. In the age of cyber bullying and cyber sex scandals, I think it's something too many people overlook.

That's not saying that the internet required me to change how I wrote. Chalk it up to my personal sense of grandeur, but even in my diary-writing days, I always wrote like I was addressing a crowd. I tried for that balance of humor in my I'm-so-depressed-that-no-boy-likes-me entries, so it wouldn't be a heavy read, and I wouldn't sound like a pathetic sad-sack. I added details that, as the person experiencing the event, I already knew just to give my reader context. I know, I know, right?

Obviously blogging was not a difficult leap for me. It will come as no surprise to you that I tell everyone the address of my blog, nonchalantly bringing it up in conversation and subtly posting it to my Facebook page hoping to gain more followers. But even if I wasn't happy to make my writing public, I would not, no, could not forget that no matter the code name I gave myself and my husband in my blog, no matter the anonymity I tried to retain even by choosing to write in a diary that I planned to later burn, the act of writing something down gives your words power that you have to be willing to own.

Someday I might have something interesting to add to the topic of sex; even then I'll be choosing my words carefully. Because they're a reflection of me even if they don't have my name attached. But let's be honest here, they'll surely have my name attached. We all know that I don't do anonymity well.
 
*I cannot remember who I am paraphrasing, so I apologize if it was you and more apologies if my memory of the conversation is wrong. Still, it's not really relevant to the story, so I suppose it's insubstantial to this post.

This Bright New Year

Cranes via WeHeartIt

It's likely that I didn't start my New Year particularly well. I didn't get much sleep, gossiped, didn't brush my teeth until noon, got in an argument with my husband, taught a 7-year-old a card game with an inappropriate name, and ate too much pie. And hell, those are just the bad beginnings I remember six days later.

Perhaps 2012 had inauspicious beginnings for me, but I'm determined to make a few changes this year. My New Year's resolutions are hopefully a little easier to stick to than losing 25 pounds or being sweet to my husband everyday (which probably should be my resolutions, but hey I don't want to set myself up for failure. I'm a girl who likes to eat and be sarcastic to her husband. Know thyself.)

My first goal is to be more positive, mostly about my job, but certainly I could stand to incorporate it into other facets of my life. It's been easy to focus on the frustrations, and I know those same frustrations probably won't go away anytime soon. My hope, however, is that if I willfully refuse to acknowledge them in the future, they will have less impact on my mood. It seems to be working so far, but that could also be the endorphins from a great vacation still leftover in my system.

My other goal is to, according to a note on my phone, "work on my abs." I'm not sure what caused me to believe that a mental note was not a concrete enough historical record and that I needed to actually start a note dedicated just to my reminder to do crunches. Indeed, as I sit typing this hunched on the couch trying not to disturb the muscles screaming all over my body, I realize "schedule massage" should have been the next note on that list ahead of "Take tennis lessons."

Well, I probably don't have to think about that much until about June when winter in Chicago finally (usually) ends. Though with the unseasonably warm weather here it's tempting to start now. I just know that if I do I will jinx us all causing a deluge of winter storms to zero in on my tennis-playing  joie de vivre. So I will wait. You're welcome, my fellow Chicagoans. When our winter weather remains mild I will require full credit.

My final goal is to improve my posture. I think this will likely happen somewhat organically as I improve my overall muscle definition. My days of indoor rock climbing gave me muscles that seem to cause me to naturally hunch a bit. You'd think that with my current lack of muscles the problem would be solved. However, a few recent pictures have led me to believe that my time at my desk has made me lazy posture-wise. I have no real plan at this time other than a heightened awareness of sitting and standing up straight. Hopefully that will be enough though I have considered incorporating some sort of harness. Decided that might be overkill though. 

Best of 2011

I love lists. Here are five celebrating 2011...

My Favorite Songs of 2011
 1. The Augustines-Chapel Song
 2. Bronze Radio Return-Wonder No More
 3. Hanni el Khatib-Come Alive
 4. The Civil Wars-Poison & Wine
 5. Fleet Foxes-Helplessness Blues*
 6. Aiden Hawken-Into the Sea 7. Florence + the Machine-Cosmic Love
 8. The Head and the Heart-Down in the Valley* Download here.
 9. Bon Iver-Calgary
10. Alexander Ebert-Truth
*These artists offer this song for free on their websites. Link provided above.

Favorite Books I read in 2011**
 1. Faithful Place by Tana French***
 2. Robopocalypse by Daniel H. Wilson
 3. Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson**
 4. The Tower, the Zoo, and the Tortoise by Julia Stuart**
 5. Just My Type: A Book About Fonts by Simon Garfield
 6. Ms. Peregrine's School for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs
 7. What is Left the Daughter by Howard Norman
 8. One of Our Thursdays is Missing by Jaspar Fforde***
 9. Before I Go to Sleep by S. J. Watson
10. State of Wonder by Ann Patchett
 **Some of which were published in late 2010.
***Not the first book in the series. Though it would still make sense if read out of order, I recommend reading the whole series.

Favorite Events of 2011
 1. My sister's wedding
 2. Trip to Korea with my in-laws
 3. Christmas in Savannah
 4. Robert Burns Supper
 5. San Francisco trip (specifically, wandering around downtown after dark with Dean and Colin)
 6. Anniversary dinner at North Pond
 7. Reenacting Plants v. Zombies with my sisters-in-law
 8. 3rd Annual Leisure Games
 9. Family visits to Chicago (Emily, Shirley & Ann, Dean, Jenny, Sus, etc.)

10. Going to the beach with Erin, Vinnie, and Quentin

Best Recipes of 2011
 1. Grilled Skirt Steak
 2. Goat Cheese, Pear, and Red Onion Pizza
 3. Zucchini Tortellini Soup
 4. Shrimp fra Diavolo
 5. Pork-Apple-Sage Pie
 6. Chocolate Ganache
 7. Jicama Avocado Salad
 8. English Toffee
 9. Cock-a-Leekie Soup
10. Cucumber Feta Rolls


                                                                                      Best Projects of 2011
1. Jessica's wedding (jewelry, napkins, monkey knots)
2. Jessica's wedding shower (banners, games, pom-poms, cupcakes)
3. Overnight bag
4. Chandelier Earrings
5. Getting the lamps hung and incorporating new furniture
6. Burns Night Supper
7. Raised flower bed
8. Bow tie/Necktie Onsies
9. T-Shirt Bibs
10. Pieced potholders

I Believe in Settling

Barricade by James Goodman via Flickr

 A few years ago I heard a This I Believe segment on NPR called, I think, A Marriage That's Good Enough. I remember being somewhat horrified at the time that the author of the essay so freely admitted that she had settled for her husband.

And yet. And yet.

Now I fully embrace that sentiment. Of course we settle. It's nothing so dramatic as settling for someone you don't love just because you don't want to be single anymore (which I certainly don't recommend because any "joy" in being paired up lessens dramatically when you're picking that partner's horrifyingly smelly sweaty clothes off of the floor or watching him clip his toenails near your pillow*).

Settling happens when you love a person who can't sit through a movie in the theater though you love going to movies. When you fully realize that there are quite a few guys out there who like hugging for more than 2 minutes before they go limp waiting for you to set them free from your embrace. Settling happens when he would like you run a marathon with him one day, and you guffaw in his face and say, "Not a chance in this lifetime, sucker!"

Sure, you could throw in the towel on your relationship and possibly find that guy or girl out there who matches your interests, personality, and all the rest so completely that he or she is your soulmate, but there's nothing to ensure that that person even exists. To be unwilling to settle for less than a perfect match means that you are also expecting that other person to be equally unwilling to settle, and, heads up, that may result in their being unwilling to settle for you.

So settling actually translates to being gentle to yourself. Realizing that you'll probably never again look like you did just out of college, figure out what career fulfills you, or run that marathon that you feel just a little guilty about not wanting anything to do with is okay when you embrace settling. You can settle for the imperfect and still be very very happy. And then you can grow to see those imperfections as reasons to love that person even more.

But not the toenail clippings. The toenail clippings will never ever ever ever be lovable. Ever.

*My own husband has not done this. To my knowledge.

How to Live: Lesson 5

Artwork by Emily, photo from her Instagram stream, EmilyHampton

 Beyond setting a fashion example, my little sister sets an example on how to follow your dreams. It's easy to stick to the job that pays the bills, especially when the alternative involves moving across the country to a state where you don't know a soul, taking on more debt, and starting over as a student again, but she rejected her comfortable routine and motivated herself to make a huge life change with the end goal of doing what she loves.

I know myself enough to realize that I will probably never decide to jettison my paycheck in order to start a new career. My interests are fluid enough that I'm not certain I'd be able to settle on a dream job if I tried; it's likely that I will always find parts of my job that fulfill me and hobbies to make me happy, but I will always look to my sister's example to inspire me to know myself and be willing to make the sacrifices it takes to ensure my own happiness.

How to Live: Lesson 4

Clearly their sense of style they learned from me. (It was Nerd Day.)

 My sisters have both taught me a variety of things about life. Because of them, I know how to bring up something in such a way as to make someone think it was their idea, I know how to leverage guilt, and I know just how hard to bite in order not to draw blood. However, I don't think these are lessons they've taught me so much as allowed me to perfect. (If I'm being honest, I'm pretty sure I've been the teacher in all those circumstances.)

They have continued to teach me as we've reached adulthood. One of my sisters had to deal with a devastating loss a lot earlier than most. When most people are only thinking of their futures, she had to confront creating whole new dreams for her future. Her strength and bravery in building a new life inspire me every day. She didn't let her grief define her; instead, she has opened her heart up to even more people and experiences.

How to Live: Lesson 3

Picture by Erin

 I have made a few mistakes that I deeply regret, and nearly all of them have been the couple poor choices that ended up hurting the feelings of friends. One of these mistakes was how I treated my best friend, Erin, our senior year of high school. She was going through some stuff, and instead of supporting her, I was sarcastic and made jokes and was just an awful friend. But we never talked about it; I'm sure my detachment hurt her, but she never said and we both just sort of ignored it and headed off to our respective colleges, continuing to stay in touch and visit.

When I we got home from college the next summer, our friendship resumed, but the way I had treated her a year earlier weighed on me. When I apologized, Erin just said, "We can forget it. Thanks for apologizing." And that was it. It has never affected our relationship since. She has always been an amazing friend, never once holding that mistake against me.

Any time I deal with someone who has hurt me, I think of Erin's reaction, and I try to be as strong as she was in just letting it all go.