This just in: an exclusive Christmas interview!

It's almost Christmas and I *know* what you've been wishing and hoping and thinking and praying for! So I thought I'd give it to you a bit early: an exclusive interview, Christmas edition, with everyone's *favorite* RI poster (the person, not the thing on your dorm room wall).

Okay, Sarah. When is the best time to open presents? Christmas morning. Presents, good and bad, are infinitely more enjoyable when you're groggy and wearing pajamas.

Have you been naughty or nice this year? I have been quite nice, by process of elimination, since I don't think "naughty" could really be used to describe me in any sense of the word. Maybe "anal" or "bitchy." But not "naughty."

Real tree or imitation tree? Well... I like the ambience of a real tree, and I grew up with real Christmas trees that we selected and cut from the Christmas tree farm. I'm sure this would have been even better if it snowed in Texas. You know, the real tree comes with the whole *experience*, a package deal. But since I've been married we've used a fake tree, which doesn't fill the house with piney fresh scent when you vacuum, but it's loads easier to set up and care for. It's practically brainless, which is what the holidays are all about.

Favorite Christmas cartoon character? That would have to be Hermey the elf, from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer: "Some day I'd like to be... a DENTIST!" (laughs)

Did you ever write Santa a letter? Yes, and he wrote me back, only it was really my dad. LIES! ALL LIES!!

Umm... Buy any Christmas presents online? As many as possible! No pushing, no snarling, no bloodshed--online Christmas shopping is brilliant!

Save the ribbon and paper or rip right through it? Sometimes I think about saving especially pretty paper and reusing it, but I realize how neurotic that actually is, and heaven knows I don't want people to think I'm neurotic. So after I've carefully removed the ribbons and paper, I crumple it all up and throw it away. Okay, wait--I throw away the paper and *wear* as many ribbons and bows as I can for as long as I can for the rest of the day.

Sharing Christmas with family this year? NO! I'm keeping it *ALL TO MYSELF*!

Ever ride in a one horse open sleigh? I've ridden in a two-horse open sleigh... in Canada...

Ever roast a chestnut on an open fire? No, but I've always wanted to try it--you know, just to do something *really* crazy and out of control. It'll make people talk.

Favorite Christmas pie? À la mode.

Favorite Christmas movie? Oohh--that's tough. I think it's a toss-up between Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer ("Bumbles bounce!"), The Muppet Christmas Carol ("Help! Help! We're being stolen!"), Mickey's Christmas Carol ("I smell. I mean, I smell--") and White Christmas ("Sisters, sisters...").

Favorite Christmas song? Personally, I'm a big fan of the "Carol of the Bells," which almost always sounds pretty. Although I also enjoy "It's a Marshmallow World" performed by Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra.

People on your Christmas list: more or less than ten? More--lucky 13, in fact, so I'll add myself and make it 14.

Will you have a white Christmas this year? HAAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA....

(5 minutes later) (wiping tears from eyes) (clutching at stitches in sides)

Seriously, when we were about to move to Maryland from Texas, I remember thinking "Oooohhh! North = Snow!" Only I did not realize at the time that Maryland is really neither North nor South as far as weather OR culture is concerned. In my thirteen years living here, however, I've realized that it's pretty much the armpit of the East Coast.

Do you believe in Santa Claus? LIES! ALL *LIES*!!!

What color best represents Christmas? Red: the color of love, the color of warmth, the color of blood in Aisle 12 after the Super Mondo Blinkity Blah restocking and subsequent stampede.

Your shopping: All done, half-way done, just started, not yet started? Well, let's see.... I guess I'm probably somewhere around, oh say, 92.308% done.

Who gives the best gifts? Easy, Jen A, hands down. Because she's always thoughtful and clever and we're so on the same brainwavelength. And I think she's the only person who will read this.

Do you own any Christmas music? *Do* I!

Do you send Christmas cards? I think about it every year but never manage to produce them in time (because of *course* I have to make my own). So this year the goal is to send out Happy Post-Holiday Doldrums cards sometime in January. But be on the lookout for *next* year: we've got big plans. BIG. Plans.

Tuesday

*RANDOMOCITY ALERT!*

I received a welcome surprise early last week:

which was, I am delighted to say, from Jen A. To let me know how--and I quote--"superwonderful" I am. So all last week the view from my desk looked like this:

and a strong scent of lilies lingered in the 20-foot radius around my desk (through walls and everything), drawing curious people to my creative lair like an olfactic tractor beam.

Last Thursday was our work Christmas party--ironically on the second day of Hanukkah--and I normally try not to write about work, but since this is about a social work event, I don't really care. Unsolicited Party Planning Advice Part 1: If 200 people are expected to come to said event, provide 201 chairs in a room big enough for people to STILL WALK AROUND. Last year there were enough chairs, but not enough space so everyone stood. This year, there was plenty of space, but not enough chairs. Maybe next year will be juuuuuust right. Unsolicited Party Planning Advice Part Deux: labels for the buffet.

Afterwards, Jen A and I went out shopping for supplies to create a Yeti Ice Lair in the area leading to our offices for the door decorating contest at work. On the way to the store, we saw this on the back of an SUV:

It should be noted that the vehicle had two of those nativity scene stickers (that you can see all but baby Jesus in, in the bottom middle-ish) stuck on its expansive green rear hatch, one next to each tail light. Because one should always be symmetrical with one's nativity scene stickers.

Anyway, the Jesus fish thing: I was taken aback, as I have never seen a Jesus fish sticker quite like this one, which I could not get a clear picture of and have skillfully recreated in Illustrator for you:

It took me a while to realize that it must be a cross stuck through the fish and not, in fact, a sword, but I still do not know why the cross is stuck through the fish's head. And I have not been able to figure out what the acronym A.C.T.S. means either, so I have settled for pretending that it stands for the Latin translation of the Greek translation of the Aramaic translation of the French for "Spear Fishing for Jesus."

Over the weekend, I walked a 5K with Jen A, whom I love ALL THE MORE DEARLY for it, made a batch of peppermint bark and the most delicious no-bake cookie EVER, whose name I cannot remember, but it's from Canada (imagine that!) and starts with an N. I also got most of my Christmas shopping done from my living room, because I would like to keep my memories of Christmas shopping being a pleasant and fun experience rather than anxiety-filled, with me getting pushed and shoved and run over and cussed out by strangers and their wild CHILdren before they hoist themselves back into their Spear Fishing for Jesus SUVs. Presumably this is because I do not practice any Christian religion and therefore do not have Jesus to give me the superhuman egocentric strength that is obviously required when out in public at Christmastime. And yesterday I burned my tongue on chicken soup.

Meanwhile I found this lovely and witty image on my computer, one of many by Susan Mrosek, available on PonderingPool.com. And with that, I wish you a Happy Tuesday. (Whew!)

Cinescope

I am the Loyal Warrior (who are you?)

Loyal Warriors are never as happy as when they are in the company of loved ones. Strong, loving and secure individuals, they care deeply for friends and family and aren't afraid to show it. Their value of teamwork and dedication make them fantastic leaders in casual and serious situations. They're social chameleons and can adapt easily to any place they find themselves. Loyal Warriors love movies about heroes who battle within a unit and ultimately, lead their team through struggle to great success.

Fennel deliciousness

I usually roast fennel with other vegetables to accompany chicken or turkey, but tried this the other night and it was delicious. The fennel retains more of its sharpness than with roasting or other longer cooking methods.

Ingredients:

Fennel bulbs, cut into wedges
Balsamic vinegar
Extra virgin olive oil
Kosher salt
Pepper

Directions:

1. Blanche the fennel wedges (Bring a pot of water to a rapid boil. Add the fennel wedges to the boiling water for 1 - 2 minutes; remove the fennel and place in a bowl of cold water to stop the cooking).



2. Place the fennel on a preheated grill for 2-3 minutes; turn wedges to grill all sides.



3. Remove fennel from the grill and arrange in a single layer on a dish or cookie sheet. Drizzle with balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

If you really like fennel, we've also tried it raw in an orange and fennel salad which was also quite delicious.

I always save and freeze the fennel tops (the green stalks in the top of the picture) to use in a bouquet garni for soups and stocks.

Ahhh crafts.

This may come as a shock to you, but I--yes, I--am the creator of the ugliest angel ornament *EVER*.

I discovered it in a box of Christmas tree ornaments at my parents' house, as if to remind me--before I embarked on a stack of sewing projects I've been planning--why I *DO NOT SEW*. See the fine craftsmanship? I especially love that the floral pattern is going sideways. The random sequin detail is also nice, as is the jingle bell belt accessory I've given her. And the gold rick-rack halo.

To underscore my absolute sewing genious, I also found this gorgeous miniature snowman pillow.

You will note the beautifully raw edge--on *top* mind you--which I clearly did not feel like stitching by hand.

Which is why I work with paper and glue.

Just call me Grace

Thanksgiving was fairly mundane, as expected. We ventured up the road to Crofton--where Keith's aunt (his mother's identical twin)lives with her family--to attend the traditional Thanksgiving all-you-can-eat buffet for 30, complete with monkey bread and turducken.

To balance things out, we had decided to spend Friday afternoon at my parents' house with my parents, my brother and the cats, Chrissy and Eeyore, to decorate for Christmas and enjoy a delicious turkey and roasted vegetable pot pie that I put together. All in all, Friday was great, particularly without all the small CHILdren swooping in on you from all angles.

The day was effectively punctuated when I slipped in my socks trying to walk down the wooden steps and fell on my butt some three steps below, seriously bruising my arm (of all things) and scaring the wits out of my parents' as-if-she-wasn't-skittish-enough cat, Chrissy, as I came flying down the steps toward her and landing with what I'm sure was a fairly loud *thud*. She now refuses to come near me.

All I recall is that one moment I was walking happily down the stairs eating a homemade cinnamon roll, and the next I was sitting on the landing, my cinnamon roll in three separate pieces on the floor and everything hurt. It must have been one of those scary/funny things to watch--Keith and Shawn saw the *whole* thing--when you want to laugh because watching people fall on their butts is pretty damn funny, but only if they aren't seriously hurt.

I managed to not break my tailbone, thanks to my amazing put-out-the-arm-to-bear-the-full-weight-of-my-falling-body reflex, as well as all that extra post-marital squishiness, which left me with a sore tailbone, a slightly bruised lower back and a massive contusion on the side of my forearm, just above my elbow.

Once I realized I was not broken, albeit effectively embarrassed, it was neccessary for me to communicate this with the rest of the family who waited in suspense for either screams of pain or hysterical laughter. All I could think of was to complain about the next worst thing: "Ohhh, I dropped my cinnamon roll."

I had a similar bruise earlier this year, after having driven the side of my leg just above my knee into the corner of the cedar hope chest that has always been at the end of the bed. I run into this hope chest quite often, and am accustomed to small bruises on the outside of either knee, however, that one time I managed to sort of really lean into it and ended up with a four inch wide black bruise on my leg. Sexy. So at least I knew what to expect this time around, and have carefully tracked the development of my latest giant bruise with a colorful diagram. Because I know you're just *dying* to know.

Purpose and purposelessness III

We're nearing the end of the calendar year for the umpteen-billionth time, which means it's time once again to think about the purpose and purposelessness of our lives. It's also time to start another blog. So I pulled out my current list of short-term life goals and began to evaluate which item to tackle next:

1. Run a marathon (26.2 miles), or be capable of it, by the time I reach the age of 26.2 on December 31, 2008
2. Get a little pineapple tattoo
3. PASS THE PRAXIS II

And I've decided on number 1: run a marathon by the end of next year. And to help me get there, I've started The Sarahthon, a blog that will essentially focus on how insane I must be.

You might be wondering why I don't just get the little pineapple tattoo and be done with it--that must have been the easiest thing on the list right?!?! However, the time and energy I must expend to convince my husband that it's a good idea makes marathon training look easy. Heck, it might even help. And then I can start biathlon training.

What makes me want to cry

I read this on the Nike Running blog:

"Thanksgiving dinner comes to 3358 calories. Run a marathon and burn about 3350 calories."

ARE YOU *KIDDING* ME?!!?

(DAAAGGHHH!) UNTITLED

I realized that I still have to decide what class(es) I'm going to take in the winter/spring. And I just don't know. Well shoot.

I also find myself wishing that Thanksgiving would just get over with already. This is perhaps because I find Thanksgiving to be at once both the most stressful and the most boring holiday of the year. Which itself perhaps has something to do with (a) having to decide how on earth we are going to see everyone on the planet, drive the length of the state four and a half times and eat three identical turkey dinners successively throughout the day, (b) that this decision-making process begins in September and (c) that Keith almost always leaves the decision up to my Libra self. You see, Libras are notoriously indecisive--because they are so fair and balanced and want to make everyone happy, and therefore are incapable of making decisions out of absolute fear that the wrong decision will create turmoil in their lives and possibly cause the Earth to explode. Personally, I find it quite difficult to register for classes or make solid Thanksgiving plans when the fate of the world is at stake.

I'm exaggerating slightly of course. But that's what it feels like, at least in anticipation. To which Curtis said, "That's why we'll be on our honeymoon for Thanksgiving," referring of course to his impending nuptials. To which I say Curtis wins the Smartest Man of the Month Award. And the sooner Thanksgiving is over, the sooner I can start going bananas over where to put the stupid Christmas tree because I did not take that into account when I rearranged the living room.

Anyway I've managed to come up with a graph of just how screwed up my mind has been over the last 3-1/2 years, because--you know--somehow plotting it out makes me feel *less* neurotic.

Hot chocolate & Pottery Barn

For me, the holiday season officially starts when Daylight Savings Time ends, ushering in the depressingness of spending every daylight hour locked in my office, trapped under cold fluorescent lighting, my retinas seared by the phosphorescent glow of my computer screens. I drive home with the headlights on, check the mailbox by what little bit of light is left as the sun dips below the horizon, go inside, turn on the heat and settle down in just the right spot on the couch with a fresh Pottery Barn catalog--the holiday issue--and a mug of hot chocolate. Ahhh. The greatest joys in life really are *that* simple. :)

Out

This post from True Office Confessions made my day:

10.23.07 2:04p

I wish I could use these out of office messages. It would make me happy:

1. I am currently out at a job interview and will reply to you if I fail to get the position. Be prepared for my mood.
   
2. You are receiving this automatic notification because I am out of the office. If I was in, chances are you wouldn't have received anything at all.
   
3. I will be unable to delete all the unread, worthless emails you send me until I return from holiday on 4 April. Please be patient and your mail will be deleted in the order it was received.
   
4. Thank you for your email. Your credit card has been charged $5.99 for the first ten words and $1.99 for each additional word in your message.
   
5. The e-mail server is unable to verify your server connection and is unable to deliver this message. Please restart your computer and try sending again. (The beauty of this is that when you return, you can see how many in-duh-viduals did this over and over).
   
6. Thank you for your message, which has been added to a queuing system. You are currently in 352nd place, and can expect to receive a reply in approximately 19 weeks.
   
7. I've run away to join a different circus.
   
8. I will be out of the office for the next 2 weeks for medical reasons. When I return, please refer to me as 'Margaret' instead of 'Steve'.

SUPAR

It's official: I am an ordained minister of the Universal Life Church.



I see the face you're making, the face that says, "Why, Sarah? What has compelled you--you who are not outwardly spiritual or at all religious--to become an ordained minister?" I'll tell you why: My roommate, fellow art major, and very close friend from college, Jen B, called me about a month ago to tell me that she had just gotten engaged to her boyfriend (and former biology TA), Dave. So, being her only married friend, and having more experience with wedding planning than anyone else she knew, she asked me what to do first. My advice: ENJOY BEING ENGAGED for a week or two, talk to Dave and get on the same page as far as *how* they wanted to do the deed.

So she did. And then a few days later, I had this e-mail message from her:

“Ok, so I have the most random of questions for you and I am just going to go ahead and ask…

Would you be up for getting ordained online so that you would be able to marry us?

We would like one of our friends to marry us, since, while we are very spiritual, we do not declare a certain church. When we came up with the idea of getting one of our friends ordained, I thought of you. Dave and I both agree that it would make for a
well-worded, light-hearted and non-dry ceremony… It’s just an idea and if you
don’t like it, just say so. We realize it’s a strange request, but interesting all the same. We just think you would be perfect!”

Once I realized she was completely serious, I was *LITERALLY* speechless at first and physically could not tell my husband or even move or make a face. Instead I made him read it for himself as I went to take a double shot of ice cream. He thinks I will giggle the whole way through. Jen A and I agree that I’d be very good once I’m up there and rehearsed. Unless I have to wear one of those robes with the giant puffy sleeves. Could you imagine me up there with giant puffy sleeves? Flapping my arms to make them flutter; pulling out a bouquet of flowers, a dove, a box of doughnuts, a cup of coffee.

Although I must say, despite the fact that I have given up trying to be religious, somehow the prospect of getting ordained makes me feel strangely immoral (yet delightfully free) where refusing to be Catholic, as I was raised, or Jewish or Buddhist or Zoroastrian does not. Perhaps it's simply due to the fact that this is something I never even in my MOST BIZARRE IMAGININGS imagined I would have considered or even thought to do.

So I did a bit of Googling before replying to her, and realized that getting ordained online is sort-of akin to becoming a notary public, although the process is shorter and easier and, well, free. You also get to choose your church title; I was fond of "Free Thinker," "Rationalist" and "The Very Esteemed," although Keith insists he would refuse to refer to me by such a title: "Yeah, Mom, me and The Very Esteemed Sarah are coming over for dinner." "Goddess" is pretty good too, although I could also be a "Martyr"--but that one really should be earned.

But I believe I have found *THE ONE* (ready?):

UNIVERSAL PHILOSOPHER OF ABSOLUTE REALITY

I think it's appropriate for an artist/teacher. And when you write it out like this:

Sarah, Universal Philosopher of Absolute Reality

it makes the acronym SUPAR. Which is SO going on my business cards.

A breather

Today I experienced the joy of doing NOTHING. Or, rather, not having to do anything, although I still did practically nothing. It was beautiful.

I did feel a bit guilty about not posting for a while--not even to celebrate MY QUARTER-CENTURY BIRTHDAY--and I have something to post, but I'm waiting until I'm back at work to adjust the image size for the Web.

So, since I was feeling a big linky today, I created a list (over there to your right) of some of my favorite blogs and Web sites--mainly so that I could get to them from anywhere without having to memorize the URLs, but also for you to enjoy. So enjoy. :)

We were here.

This past weekend, we traveled to Cumberland to attend the closing reception for a gallery show called "Fresh Produce." I submitted three works to the show (Sweet 100, Swiss Miss and Strata-licious), and all of them were accepted, while about 25% of entries were cut, which is pretty darned good if you ask me.

Anyway, since we were all the way up there, and since the cheaper hotels were out in Garrett County, and since we just bought a kick-ass new DSLR, we decided it would be a good idea to head out to Swallow Falls State Park on Sunday.

And while the woods and the mountain streams and rivers and waterfalls and fall colors are wonderful and beautiful, the thing that never fails to impress me is the human desire to have existed. I expect to find names carved into dead trees and benches and stairs and railings, but I can't quite figure out how they get their names into the rocks because I am guessing they don't bring lasers or sand blasters with them.

This time, we discovered Bob Maroney, 6-16-19:



I only wonder if Bob was really there on June 16, 1919, or 1819, or even 1719, or whether he was there on like June 16, 1983 and just ran out of time or got tired of carving into the rock, or perhaps an unexpected rush of water swept poor Bob over the edge and down the mountain. Or maybe he was eaten by a bear.

So, believing that Keith and I also deserve to have our names immortalized on the rock, I set out to do just that, only feet away from where Bob Maroney once sat, carve-carve-carving away so that even if he achieved nothing else, all who came to this spot on the edge of Muddy Creek Falls when the water was running low would know that Bob Maroney saw it too--long ago--that life is transient, fleeting, frivolous, while the rocks, the trees, the water--they keep the stories of our sacred selves forever.

Unfortunately I'd left the hydrocutter in the car.

Back to basics

*In a whisper*

At this very moment I am sitting in class. Education class. Technology for Instruction and Management, to be precise. A graduate level course.

We started by playing Solitaire (for real). And then, moving on to an activity slightly more complicated, we got into Paint. You know, because we are GRADUATE students.

And THEN--JUST when we thought it couldn't get any more difficult--we opened up Word, and were instructed to type our first names. Then align it to the center. Then flush right. Enter Enter.

So now I'm just killing time after finishing the Making Tables in Word activity. This one was complicated, as it involves MERGING and SPLITTING cells. *HOLY* CRAP!

I know what you're thinking: Sarah, why are you BLOGGING when you should be PAYING ATTENTION to the instructor?! You might be missing out on the learning of VERY IMPORTANT, GRADUATE-LEVEL skills like HOW TO CHANGE THE SIZE OF YOUR PAGE MARGINS.

At least I have a lovely document with my name in the center of the page set in 20-point Arial, bold and underlined, lovely green, surrounded by a decorative border of a repeating slice of cake with pink frosting, to show as a true example of my technological prowess. Gggrrrrroooowwwwww.

Swiss Miss

Sarah Schodroski Ehman
Swiss Miss: Friendship Liquefied and Piping Hot!
September 2007
Paper
7" x 5"

Sweet 100 - Part II

Sarah Schodroski Ehman
Sweet 100
September 2007
Paper
8" x 10"

Read about Sweet 100.

Survivor

Mom: Sarah, how would you answer this question we had for a team building exercise at work today: if you were stranded on a desert island, which 3 people would you like to have with you, and which 3 books would you want to have?

Me: Hmmmm... Well, ideally, I would like to have 3 friendly island natives there with me. But in case there are no people on the island already, I would need Keith there because he would be able to teach the rest of us how to build shelter out of grass and spit, how to build fire, how to catch fish with our teeth, and other essential survival skills. I would also like to have a medical doctor, preferably an experienced general practitioner, for obvious reasons.

And the third person I would like to have might be Martha Stewart, because if I'm going to be stranded indefinitely, at least between the two of us we'll be stranded in style.

As far as books... perhaps if there is a Desert Island for Dummies, that would be good. Or if not, then a field guide to equatorial plants and animals. Maybe a sketch book.

Mom: That's a good one--a lot of people said cookbooks and word search books.

Me: However, a cookbook is only good if you have pots and pans and an oven and a stove. And of course a set of spices.

A small farm.

Some livestock.

Mom: That's true--funny --they had them on Gilligan's Island--quit doing that--I can't type and laugh at the same time.

Me: Maybe a complete course in Italian or Polish or Russian or something. A word search would get boring after a while, and a crossword puzzle would just piss me off if I couldn't look stuff up on the Internet. So I figure I could learn another language.

Or if not a complete course in Italian, maybe a book on government so that I could establish my own system of government on the island and create a self-sustaining little country. Then, when we were finally discovered, as all self-sustaining little countries inevitably are, I would declare our sovereignty, bust out with the badass little military we've created for this sort of thing (if necessary), and become a member of the UN. Yeah-- scratch the complete course in Italian.

Mom: Sure, you could make up your own language.

Me: YEEESSSS! MAKE UP MY OWN LANGUAGE!

Mom: We also had to say what tool we would bring with us. Most people said a saw or matches.

Me: I agree with Keith that all you would need is a machete; that way you would have something for Keith or Martha to hunt with, something to carve wooden tools with, something for self-defense against crazy wild animals that want to gobble you up, something to crack open coconuts and other delicious fruits, a way to cut down trees, clear paths, etc.

Thank you, I feel very prepared now for when someone comes up to me and says, "you're about to be stranded on this desert island," I'll know who to call and what to buy before I go.

I didn't tell you Jen B asked if I would be willing to get ordained online so that I could marry her and Dave, did I?

Telepathic Nice-o-Gram

On the occasion that I witness an ordinary act of kindness, I often think “That was so very nice!” and wish that I could send a mental *HUG* to the Nice Person, and that they would sense the mental *HUG* and feel good knowing that a stranger they never saw or knew was watching, and will never cross paths with again, thinks that they are deserving of a mental *HUG* for niceness, or in technical terms, a Telepathic Nice-o-Gram.

And these go mainly for tiny, little, banal acts of kindness: for thinking of another’s feelings or comfort before one’s own. Like the drivers of big vehicles that don’t pull up all the way so that the driver of the little vehicle that was there first can see and turn out safely onto a busy road--or, as I have experienced, who realize they have blocked the little-car driver’s view and signal to them when the road is clear. Or those who, when stopped or nearly stopped, let another car turn out onto the road before them. Or tall people who notice a shorter person having trouble reaching an item at the back of a high shelf in the grocery store. Or the person that tells a joke or makes a funny comment or just gives a genuine smile and a sincere "Hi, how are you?" to the exhausted, frowny sales clerk. You've probably seen it too, or, if you are one of my friends, you've probably even done it. Things that generally go unnoticed, things that--to the Nice Person--just seem like a normal thing to do, think nothing of it. Well, take heart, Nice People, for I think very much of it.

Since we are plenty aware of not-niceness, and comment quite freely on what a nasty bitch that cashier was because she was unfriendly and didn't even say "hi" despite the fact that she's probably been standing on her feet for 8 hours listening to *boop!* *boop!* *boop!* so that she can pay for her 3-year-old son to eat every day on her minimum wage salary from a billion-dollar company that couldn't give a shit about her or her 3-year-old or even you the customer, as she deals with the People Who Believe Themselves To Be The Center Of The Universe racking up a bill totaling $178.24 even though all they went in for was gum and a bottle of shampoo, it hardly seems fair for genuine niceness to go unrewarded.

So to those Nice People who make room for amicability and thoughtfulness in their lives--which are just as busy and equally important as everyone else’s--I raise my glass overflowing with little joys to you and drink heartily in the humanity of your spirit. For you have just recieved a Telepathic Nice-o-Gram.

Everything you were just dying to know about me -- until NOW

I got this in my e-mail the other day from Jen A. I am one of the friends who never responds with my own answers, so today I thought, "I'll do it!" And it's all 100% true, of course, because this is serious business. No time for facetiousness.

Friends Survey

0. What time is it
16:25.

You might be wondering why this is numbered "0." When I received this e-mail survey, the first two items were numbered 1, and renumbering the first one 0 seemed far easier than renumbering the other 38. And that is why this is question number 0.

1. What's your full name
Sarah Christine Maria Consuela Katerina Sophia [Schodroski] Ehman

2. What is your favorite season
Fall, all two weeks of it. I also like winter up through New Year's. Then I'm ready for summer.

3. What is the most recent movie that you have seen in a Theater?
Because I went to the movie theater *SO* recently, I can't remember. I *believe* it was Harry Potter.

4. Place of birth
Virginia.

5. Favorite food
Food. And ice cream.

6. What's your natural hair color?
Shocking pink. I only color it brown because I want to be like everybody else.

7. Ever been to Alaska?
No. Ever been to Missouri?

8. Ever been toilet paper rolling?
If by "toilet paper rolling" one means when you go to take toilet paper off of the roll and accidentally pull too hard so that the roll goes spinning out of control right there on the wall and unrolls half of the toilet paper, and then you have to sit there and try to re-roll it, only it never goes on straight or as compact as it was originally--kind of like re-folding a map as you're driving, while on the phone getting directions from your brother, eating a taco, and changing lanes--then yes.

9. Love someone so much it made you cry?
Love someone so much that when he was a stupid jackass, HE made me cry? Or perhaps I cried over the realization that I loved a stupid jackass? Do you see why I never fill these out?

10. Been in a car accident
No. Thank you for making me keenly aware of this fact, JUST AS I'M ABOUT TO GET IN THE CAR.

11. Croutons or bacon bits
Croutons, especially if they're the herby-buttery kind.

12. Favorite day of the week
CWS Friday: because it acts like Saturday, but when it's over--SURPRISE!--you get to do Saturday all over again!

13. Favorite restaurant
Kramer's Deli, Frostburg. Best chicken salad sandwich I have ever had in my entire chicken salad sandwich lifetime. AND they *deliver*.

14. Favorite flower
Sunflowers! Great big bouquets of great big sunflowers!

15. Favorite sport to watch
Lime jello wrestling.

16. Favorite drink
Non-alcoholic? Hot chocolate. Alcoholic? Hot chocolate with Hot Damn! cinnamon schnapps. What the heck is a schnapp? Hang on, I'll Google it...

http://guntheranderson.com/liqueurs/schnapps.htm

Personally, I like the term eau de vie in reference to liqueur. Water of life. Bon vivant. Jovial fellow. Hm-hm-hm.

17. Favorite ice cream
Pumpkin. Tin roof. Peanut butter panic! Vanilla. Mint chocolate cookie. I LOVE THEM *ALL*!

18. Disney or Warner Brothers?
Kellogg or General Mills? Ben and Jerry or Häagen-Dazs? Little Debbie or Hostess? Hershey or Mars? Dominos or Pizza Hut? Lays or Pringles? Granny Smith or Red Delicious?

19. Ever been on a ship?
A real, operating ship as it sailed the open seas? Nay. ARRRRR!

20. What color is your bedroom carpet?
Beige. (It came with the house.)

21. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
ZERO! How many times did I fail the Praxis? ZERO (and a half)!

22. Before this one, from whom did you get your last e-mail?
My momma

23. What do you do when you are bored?
Creative people do not get bored. Neither do perfectionist neat freaks who live with not-quite-as-neat freaks.

24. Bedtime
When I am healthy and relaxed, meaning that I am not sick--in which case I will go to bed much sooner, or never leave it--and that I am not taking a class and stressed about homework or busy/stressed at work and the house is clean, therefore I am not stressed about cleaning, and I am not on the computer where I can get sucked into something like blogging until all hours of the night, and if I'm not watching TV, especially HGTV or Food Network, which also draw me in late at night with crafty shows like House Hunters (that Suzanne Wong...) and Good Eats (that Alton Brown...), respectively, I typically go to bed between 9:00 and midnight.

25. Who will respond to this e-mail the quickest probably?
26. Who is the person you sent this to that least likely to respond ?
27. Who is the person that you are most curious to see their responses?
N/A as I am rebelling and posting this in blog-o-world, rather than sending via e-mail. MWAHAHAHAHAHA!

28. Favorite TV show?
Colorsplash! on HGTV.

29. Last person you went to dinner with?
More than likely it was Keith.

30. What are you doing right now besides being on the computer?
How can I be doing something besides being on the computer if I'm on the computer? How much more do you expect me to do!? I'm sitting on my duff, answering silly questions.

32. What are your favorite colors?
ColorS? What happened to forcing us to pick just one? Is the alteration of this inquiry the result of widespread indecisiveness or the consumerist tendency to want more, more, more, more, more?

I love YELLOW. And YELLOW loves me. And ignore the fact that I have blatantly refused to choose a single favorite on almost every other "favorite" question.

33. How many tattoos do you have?
Well, counting the tiny, little, miniscule, microscopic pineapple on my hip--zero.

34. How many pets do you have?
We do not have any pets because Keith is allergic to all of the pets that he is allowed to have.

35. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
We don't do eggs. Keith is allergic. Just chicken.
If it still troubles you, please see the following: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chicken-and-egg_problem

36. What do you want to do before you die?
Train for a biathlon.

37. Have you ever been to Hawaii?
No, but I have been to Hawaii's website.

38. Have you been to countries outside the U.S.?
Canada. And Texas. I've also been to Scotland's website.

Pumpkin-Brownie Strata with Mascarpone Buttercream Frosting -- and wedding bells

This morning, as I was lounging around in my pajamas, enjoying the day off and busying my mind by thinking of all the things I should be doing--showering, eating, moving--I suddenly heard the joyful tune of "When the Saints"--buzzz, buzzz--"Go Marching In"--buzzz, buzzz--coming from my cell phone, which was also vibrating furiously across the coffee table. And I was delighted to discover that it was Jen B calling to tell me that SHE'S *ENGAGED*!

This made me so happy that I could not end the day without sharing this delightful dessert I created after I had an unexplainable but welcome craving for pumpkin and chocolate, which also inspired the work of art posted just before this--a little joy to celebrate a *VERY BIG JOY*! It takes two very individual and very special flavors, and combines them with a layer of what is mostly a combination of butter and sugar and a delicious Italian cheese. Which is not very unlike marriage. Except for mine, as my husband is allergic to dairy, and so our marriage is more like a combination of select brands of margarine and sugar and no cheese--not even the delicious Italian kind. But I'm sure it's healthier that way.

Pumpkin-Brownie Strata with Mascarpone Buttercream Frosting

PUMPKIN
1 C pumpkin puree
1 egg
2 C sugar
1 1/3 C flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp ginger
1/4 tsp cloves

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flower a 9 x 13" pan.
Combine pumpkin, egg and sugar in a large bowl. Sift together flower, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, ginger and cloves. Add flour mixture to pumpkin mixture and mix until combined. Spread evenly in pan.

Bake for 30 - 35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Allow to cool completely on a wire rack.

BROWNIE
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
2/3 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup boiling water
2 cups sugar
2 eggs
1 1/3 cups flour
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour a 9 x 13" pan.
Stir together the cocoa and baking soda in a large bowl. Add 1/3 cup vegetable oil and boiling water. Mix until well blended and thickened. Stir in the sugar, eggs, and remaining 1/3 cup oil. Add flour, vanilla and salt; mix just until all of the flour is absorbed. Spread evenly into the prepared pan.

Bake for 35 - 40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Allow to cool completely on a wire rack.

MASCARPONE BUTTERCREAM FROSTING
16 ounces mascarpone cheese*
1/2 C butter, softened
2 C confectioner's sugar, sifted
1 tsp vanilla extract

Cream together mascarpone and butter. Mix in vanilla. Gradually add sugar, combining thoroughly.

---

Spread a thinnish layer of frosting on top of the brownie layer--enough to use as a glue. Place the pumpkin layer on top of the brownie layer. This is easier said than done. Frost the pumpkin layer--and don't be stingy, either. Cut into squares or rectangles or stars and serve!

* You can use cream cheese if you can't find mascarpone (say it: mas-car-PONE-ay)--but it's not nearly as fancy-sounding (or tasting).

Strata-licious

Sarah Schodroski Ehman
Strata-licious (from the kitchen of Little Joys)
September 2007
Paper
7" x 5"

A very thin line. And a dot.

Call Julie.

An ordinary command--a statement instead of a request, as indicated by a period at the end, rather than a question mark--becomes elevated in importance with the simple, continuous application of the shift key:

CALL JULIE.

But with a line hovering over that period, the urgent all-caps statement seems not only more urgent, but friendlier too:

CALL JULIE!

as if what it's really telling us, in sideways Morse-code-like style, is that the inflection of the last syllable is not a commanding drop but a cheerful raise in pitch, followed by an innocent but knowing smile, and that behind that narrow facade is a big fat "This is of the utmost importance, but I know that implied cheeriness is more likely than actual bossiness to get you to actually do it right now (please)." It may also say "Whoops, I almost forgot to tell you this, and I cannot possibly hold back any longer for if I do, I shall either forget again or explode."

So, as you can see, there is a very thin line dividing [an ordinary statement.] from [an EXCLAMATION!].

Courrier electronique - part deux

From: Amber, Jennifer
Sent: Wednesday, September 19, 2007 15:41

You're bloggerific today! ;)

---

From: Schodroski, Sarah C
Sent: Wednesday, September 19, 2007 15:38

Does the candle just stay lit and drip wax all over the floor? Does the faucet keep running? Yeah, um, sorry, all of that at least better be cooking me breakfast too. Freaks.

---

From: Amber, Jennifer
Sent: Wednesday, September 19, 2007 15:27

OMG if I ever woke up to find that my roommate did this in my house, I think I'd freak! ;)

-----Original Message-----

This is a pretty good video. The guy who made it must have WAY too much time on his hands, but it's pretty entertaining. The mind of a bored engineer is a scary thing…
http://www.chilloutzone.de/files/player.swf?b=10&l=197&u=ILLUMllSOOAvIF//P_LxP92A42lCHCeeWCejXnHAS/c

For the love of plain text

Rich text editors have enabled the more animated percentage of the population--of which I am a member--to enliven their informal written communication with emboldened, italicized, colored and otherwise visually enhanced text. However, the loss of rich text editing in my work e-mail has allowed me to develop a true appreciation for the humble asterisk. Asterisks can be used in plain text editing to add emphasis to a word, *or* to communicate nonverbal indicators, i.e. *grin*, *sigh*, *hug*, *cough*. They also make my words look sparkly. And what is the point of writing if not to make words sparkle?

Courrier electronique

From: Schodroski, Sarah C
Sent: Wednesday, September 19, 2007 9:02

LOL- I'm signing into my account as we speak...

---

From: Amber, Jennifer
Sent: Wednesday, September 19, 2007 9:00

I think you have another blog entry! ;) hehehe along w/ the pumpkin brownie recipe!

---

From: Schodroski, Sarah C
Sent: Wednesday, September 19, 2007 8:59

I agree--I never have liked that word since it sounds so...biological. And epicurean sounds like a type of beautician. And foodie sounds a bit obsessive and *ahem* unsophisticated, like roadie or groupie (Duuuuuude! AWEsome pizza!). But I *am* partial to "bon vivant"! :)
...
I looked it up just to make sure, and it literally means "jovial fellow" in French! I like it even more!!

Sarah Schodroski Ehman, Bon Vivant :)

---

From: Amber, Jennifer
Sent: Wednesday, September 19, 2007 8:47

gastronome (noun) A connoisseur of good food and drink.
Synonyms: epicure, epicurean, foodie, gourmet, bon vivant
Usage: He was quite the gastronome, and restaurant chefs around the town knew it was important to impress him.

** somehow, I still wouldn't want someone to CALL ME THAT!! ;) LOL

*SIGH*

It must be the milder weather and messiness of my house. But lately (and by lately I mean today) I've found myself reminiscing about happier times--like last Christmas when the Ehman and Schodroski families came together in our new home to celebrate the holiday:

Hallway, Dining Room cleared at last
A Christmas miracle, some say
DECEMBER 26
DINING ROOM TABLE, Downstairs -- Maybe miracles really are really for real.

In an amazing turn of events, the once perma-cluttered Downstairs Hallway and Dining Room were cleared shortly before the Christmas holiday. The clearing reportedly took place as Keith and Sarah prepared for the temporary surge in the house population, which was to take place on Christmas Day.

“It was a critical measure, both for safety and sanity’s sake,” Sarah said in a statement issued early yesterday.

The number of people that typically inhabit the house was expected to increase by 550%.

The clearing comes after several months of maze-like living. The Dining Room was serving as a temporary shelter for homeless tools and miscellanea. The Hallway was host to a constantly changing array of things such as boxes, tools, recent purchases and laundry.

“It makes [the Downstairs] seem so much bigger,” Keith said of the newly emptied spaces, as Sarah danced happily around without stubbing her toes or bruising her shins. Or knees. Or thighs.

The Hallway experienced a brief relapse on Christmas Day, when Auntie Julie, Grandma and Grandpa Ehman arrived and filled both the Living Room and Hallway with presents. The fallback lasted only a few hours, however, and did not seem to hinder traffic or the Christmassy mood in any way. All rooms were clear again by the time the crowd dispersed, around 9 p.m.

Purpose and purposelessness II

And my other short-term life goals are few and simple:

1. Run a marathon (26.2 miles), or be capable of it, by the time I reach the age of 26.2 on December 31, 2008
2. Get a little pineapple tattoo
3. PASS THE PRAXIS II

Woohoo!

Where I have been during the last two weeks so that I have not written anything here

It all started when I was skydiving.

I was falling, gliding, floating, drifting peacefully above the Earth. I reveled in feeling the wind against my face, my feet completely free of a ground on which to stand. Right-side-up, upside-down, sideways, backwards--no matter: I was free. The world lay beneath me, unaware of me, uninterested in me, but it was mine to gaze upon--mile after mile after mile after mile. I could see more than any earth-bound human could dream of.

Then suddenly, it was gone. There was a horrible BOOOOM! and then darkness. I stretched my eyes wider, I squinted my eyes harder, searching desperately for some glimmer of light. But there was only blackness. I closed my eyes, because somehow, total darkness is easier to bear with eyes shut. And with my eyes shut, I began to feel nothing. Numbness.

Then I felt a heaviness. I was sitting, my feet planted firmly on a floor, my arms bent and resting on another hard surface, elbows at my sides, fingers fixed to some device. I opened my eyes again and blinked to adjust. There was light, but not the warm, blazing light of the sun. It was instead a cold, cruel, artificial light. I looked around and saw that I was trapped in a small, ugly, windowless room. I was seated in the most uncomfortable chair--my back and legs and shoulders ached from it. I tried to stand, but couldn’t, as I was trapped by a force far stronger than I.

I finally looked down at my hands and noticed that just in front of them, a tiny black rectangle was growing. Larger and larger it grew, as large as my fist, then as large as my head, then as large as my torso, and larger still, until it completely obstructed my view of the plain, ugly walls. All was deadly silent, except for the buzzing lights. I tried to scream, to yell, to cry out, but the heaviness of the ground, the chair, the lights, the air, was crushing my voice.

Twaaaannnngggg. And the rectangle began to glow--first from the center, the light spreading to its bounds and growing brighter and brighter--a phosphorescent glow that made my eyes feel as if they would shrivel up like raisins. I closed my eyes, but the light pierced through my eyelids. I tried to look away, but it was everywhere I turned my head. Again, I tried running away. Again, I was pulled back into the same contorted position.

Just as I had lost all hope of escape and resigned to my fate, trapped in a windowless room, forced to sit eternally and stare at this ever-imposing, glowing phosphorescent rectangle, there appeared upon the rectangle there in front of my eyes, in colossal, black letters

TO DO

It was then that I lost subconsciousness and became a zombie-like creature trapped in an artificial world with TO DO looming over my head.

I had been given a clock. But the clock kept its own slow, tedious time. Minutes that seemed like hours. Hours that seemed like days. Time that served only to prolong my agony. It was the clock that was cruelest of all the things in the terrible, windowless room. It was the clock that held me prisoner. It was the clock that would have kept me forever, if it could.

But when the clock ticked nine hours since I had opened my eyes to find myself there--nine terrible hours; five-hundred forty horrifying minutes; thirty two thousand four-hundred agonizing seconds--it stopped. Its power ceased. Its hold on me was over. The clock had expired before me. I was back in my own world once again, exhausted, defeated, compacted, but free.

Scientific method II

Observation: Since the first of the month, we’ve experienced something like 347% humidity, temperatures around 100 degrees Fahrenheit, the gloomiest week of the summer weather-wise, and my head has been in a funk such that I’ve thought it was Tuesday at least once every day this week so far, and I believe at this point I need either a fabulous year-long vacation, magical pills, or an infinite supply of dark chocolate (in any form: cake, cookies, hot chocolate, pudding, hand-rolled truffles) and coffee to get over it.

Hypothesis: August is the worst month of the year. It doesn’t even have any holidays.

Other possibilities: There are no holidays in March either, making it a close contender for worst month of the year. In March, it is neither winter nor spring, but a nasty mess of cold and wet. March is also mid-term, when the first round of big papers are due all at the same time and psychological conditions like Mid-Semester Stress Disorder and Spring Fever are nearing their peak.

Argument: However, March produces daffodils, crocus and tulips. August, on the other hand, produces mosquitoes.

Conclusion: August is undoubtedly the worst month of the year. Even the name is unpleasant.

Proposal for Action: I hereby propose that August is removed from the calendar--reassigning August birthdays to a more appropriate month, of course--so that we may skip directly from July to September without all this August nonsense.

Saturday Night Roasted Chicken & Vegetables

Vegetables:

1 bulb fennel (the white part—slice off the green stalks & save half for the chicken), cut into wedges
6 small potatoes, peeled (I made slits ½ inch apart in each, and stuck clumps of rosemary leaves and thyme into the slits)
3-5 carrots, peeled, quartered
1 large sweet onion, quartered
6-10 green onions, chopped (green & white parts)
6 cloves garlic, peeled & smashed

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In roasting pan, add 4 Tbsp olive oil & 4 Tbsp of butter (cut into chunks & softened).

Throw in the vegetables! Toss with oil & butter to coat. Sprinkle about 1 Tbsp of kosher salt & 1 Tbsp of black pepper evenly over vegetables.

Place roasting rack over top of vegetables.


Chicken rub:

3 Tbsp Dijon mustard
1 Tbsp fresh rosemary, chopped
1 Tbsp fresh thyme, chopped

Combine ingredients in small bowl. Rub on chicken & inside cavity with paper towel (or your hands if you’re inclined to do such things).

Place chicken on roasting rack, breast side up.

In cavity, insert: reserved fennel stalks, 2-3 sprigs fresh rosemary, 6-8 sprigs fresh thyme; tied together with a strip of cheesecloth or twine.

Tent chicken with aluminum foil. Roast chicken & vegetables for 2 - 3 hours until chicken is done, basting every 30 – 60 minutes. Remove foil towards end of roasting time, if necessary, to brown.

Remove pan from oven, tent chicken in foil & let rest 15 – 20 minutes before serving.

A Little Joy

Sarah Schodroski Ehman

Little Joys

August 2007

Paper

7" x 5"

Sweet 100

I hold a half-dozen in one hand--ethereal orbs of tomatoey goodness. Popping them into my mouth one at a time, I savor them like filled chocolates.

The skin is tight and smooth, still warm from the filtered sunlight. I bite into the flesh without reservation, unleashing a hot sweet explosion that tastes like robust red-orange with a surprising hint of delectable pink, finishing off smoothly with pure golden yellow.

Closing my eyes, I draw in a deep breath and smile as unfiltered delight travels through my arteries, delivering utopian intoxication to every cell. The flavor of sunshine lingers on my tongue, flirting with my taste buds, tantalizing, teasing, making them crave more.

"Yummmmmmm."

Scientific method

Observation: I have two Jennifers: Jen A. and Jen B. Each of my Jennifers happens to have at least two Sarahs. One might speculate that each of these Sarahs has another Jennifer, who has another Sarah, etc., and thus that every Jennifer has a Sarah and every Sarah, then, has a Jennifer.

Hypothesis: There is a metaphysical connection between girls of the name Jennifer and girls of the name Sarah. One cannot exist without the other. A Jennifer without a Sarah or a Sarah without a Jennifer is, therefore, an incomplete being: throwing the universe out of whack, and doomed to a life of emptiness and despair.

Other possibilities: It has occurred to me that the popularity of the names Jennifer and Sarah may be the cause of the Jennifer-Sarah link. The high occurrence of babies with these names in the early 1980s could thus indicate a high probability of a girl named Jennifer having a friend named Sarah and vice versa. As both names ranked in the top 5 for the decade (according to the Social Security Administration--they would know), this explanation seems feasible.

Argument: However, Jessica, Amanda and Ashley also ranked in the top 5. It would then seem statistically probable that every Sarah and/or Jennifer would have a Jessica, Amanda and Ashley too. Yet this is not necessarily the case.

Conclusion: I am right, as evidenced by Jen A's statement: “You are a shining example of intelligence wrapped up in pretty.” She also gave me peanut M&M’s. Metaphysical connection. Complete and fulfilled being.

Awakening

Why is it that Life wants to teach us lessons?

I started the day feeling emotionally raw, even a little sad, for no reason in specific--rather a whole bunch of little reasons building up on top of me to create a very great weight. I was thinking about my blog goal--to write something once a day--and of how I started the blog a week ago and have only managed three entries (now four). Sad.

So then I realized I am one of those people who has always been instantly successful at pretty much everything, and it must have become something I now expect: instant gratification. Thus, I am also one of those people who gets frustrated if I slip a little on the way to achieving my goals, like blogging every day, or going to the gym on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, or finishing my graduate programs according to my carefully planned timeline. A perfectionist. So I can be pretty hard on myself, too.

As a result, I've abandoned work to sulk around the house, moping, thinking about this ugly day, that it could only get better from here, and--SMACK!--I smash my funny bone on the edge of the kitchen counter.

Okay, okay. I’m awake. I’m writing.

Ode à la Feuille de Dessiccateur

A dryer sheet just fell out of my sweater and landed on my leg. Really, just now--like a mysterious artifact from the past, a witness to secrets and stories, history in the making. One can only imagine if it had fallen into anyone else’s lap: in as much time it would have ended up in the trash can. But it surreptitiously, serendipitously fell into MY lap! What providence! I understand your worth, O Dryer Sheet--I instantly realized your beauty. So I give you your rightful place of honor in the world of art and literature, my virtually static-free Muse, distinguished from all other dryer sheets with prose.

Your moonlight fibers are fragile as flakes of snow, yet woven together like breezy gossamer, the whole is strong enough to bear repeated exposure to water and heat and wind. It is soft as cotton, and wonderfully, beautifully, divinely clean. How long have you been clinging to the inside of my sweater, I wonder? To where have you traveled? What great adventures did you experience in the secret world between the inside of my sweater and the outside of the shirt underneath my sweater? O messenger between this world and that, where have my socks gone?

Alas, we shall never come to know the secrets of the Dryer Sheet, for it cannot talk or write or sing or even dance. It is too old, perhaps even dead. But it will live on through these words as a beacon of inspiration, a reminder of the meadowy freshness that hides away in places we never think to look, waiting to reveal itself when we need it most.

Purpose and purposlessness

I was thinking today about the purpose of blogging. I am fascinated lately with the blogosphere, like a whirlwind of simultaneous autobiographies happening in real-time: oooohhhh. Except I can’t help the feeling that I’m supposed to be blogging about something--that this blog* should have a “purpose” or some consistent thread of subject matter. Get over it, I tell myself. It’s mine, all mine, and I can do with it what I want. HAHAHA! Freedom borne out of constriction.

So today’s resplendent entry is about goals, because I am by my very nature a planner, a list-maker, a goal-setter.

My goal here is to post something at least once a day, with the goal of forcing myself to find something to write about at least once a day, with the umbrella goal of re-building my creative muscle and using it to make my mark and maybe even a living with writing and art. I believe I can do this (post once a day) because late last night while falling asleep at the computer and persistently exploring the world of iGoogle and Blogger, I discovered that making a post can be as easy as sending an e-mail. Brilliant.

{ASIDE}
iGoogle (How do you start a sentence with iGoogle? Should the “i” be capitalized? I would very much like for the iGoogle people to meet with the people in charge of the English language and provide clear stylistic guidelines on this matter.) is control-freak nirvana. I adore iGoogle. Thank you, Jen A, for opening up my iGoogle eyes.
{END ASIDE}

And my other short-term life goals are few and simple:

1. Run a marathon (26.2 miles), or be capable of it, by the time I reach the age of 26.2 on December 31, 2008
   
2. Get a little pineapple tattoo
   
3. PASS THE PRAXIS II

I am considering the addition of a fourth goal: to train for a biathlon but never compete. You may wonder, Why train for a biathlon without the intention of actually competing in a biathlon?

Truly, it’s because I’d like to be able to casually drop into conversation, “I’m training for a biathlon,” which sounds more enigmatic and exciting than, “I just got my ass crushed in a biathlon.” And anyway, I figure you must have to be pretty crazy to want to compete in a biathlon, but even crazier to want pretend to want to compete in a biathlon, and I think that added bit of craziness is just the thing I need in my life, short of a big bowl of ice cream and a Scotsman.
___________

* I do not especially like the word “blog” because it sounds made-up, and not a nice or funny kind of made-up (you know, because I never make words up), but rather like the name of cartoon alien vomit, so I will use it as little as possible, and just know that when I have no choice but to use it, I do so begrudgingly.

The joy of emptying boxes

In celebration of one year of moved-into-our-new-housedness, and because I'm too tired to come up with anything exciting for my numero uno blog post, here's a rediscovered bit of writing:

There are but a few things in life that fill one with absolute, untainted happiness. My latest joy: unpacking boxes.

I get chills as my scissors, splayed apart to make use of a single blade, slice through the packing tape with a satisfying rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiip. My heart beats with anticipation and then jubilation as I rediscover all of my things--books, linens, the soapstone carving I bought from the Kenyan guy at Disney World--and find a place for them in my new dwelling.

But nothing--NOTHING--equates to the ecstasy of looking into an empty box, flipping it over, scissors in hand, and slicing through the tape on the bottom--rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiip --reducing the box into nothing more than a flat piece of cardboard. I am beaming as a new space opens up in front of me. One less obstacle in the maze of boxes.

I take a deep breath and smile in accomplishment before I look around for the next box to empty. I don't have to look far.