Lee's Adventures in The Tar Heel State

Trees, Like Frozen Fireworks… Belated

2009-01-28T19:14:00.000-08:00

Perhaps in order to exculpate myself for the rather heavy-handed melodrama of “Free Fall,” I felt required to write a joyous and triumphant account of November in all its glory. I started one but it ended up fizzling into a rambling discourse on winter hibernation and the joys of simplicity. Feeling redundant and aimless I didn’t post it.

But I have been thinking recently about how enjoying the journey is more important than the destination. It’s something Dan has to remind me of all the time. Sometimes it is better to just do something than to achieve perfection, or get stalled along the way because perfection is So Much Work.

So I share this belated slice of my experience:

**************

Truly the first week of November was exultant: the fall colors that I had worried would not come finally peaked, the world watched the exciting outcome of the presidential election, and I passed the national certification examination, the final hurdle left before I could send in my state massage therapy license application.

Taking the exam was quite a dramatic experience in and of itself: the crying people I passed going into the testing site, the security (I was photographed and electronically fingerprinted repeatedly and could not even bring my own Kleenex into the testing room), the panic when I didn’t know a question, the constant chanting under my breath of, “I just have to pass. I just have to pass,” the adrenaline rush when I electronically submitted my test for scoring, and finally the relief of seeing my passing score and knowing it was all over…

Afterwards, the trees seemed like fireworks frozen at the height of their glory. It was as if the whole world was celebrating with me! And I was jubilant…

But the excitement was as bright and short lived as the fall foliage. With bad economic news pouring in every day, and the unavoidable wait for my application to be processed, it happiness was not to be found in grand, triumphant gestures but in little comforts and domestic projects. In peace and quiet and the first somewhat relaxed holiday season since… Well, I don’t remember the last one actually! It’s probably been since grade school.

There are tradeoffs financially to be sure, but it really is such a joy to put in a few hours at work then work out and still be able to make it home in time for dinner with Dan. After he leaves to teach or perform I have time to adventure in the kitchen, or read a book, or nap, or clean, or talk with friends… There is such a wonderful feeling of luxury, of indulgence, in having time to do just what I want to do. And I find that what I want to do these days is be a bit of a homebody.

I haven’t really described our new house because it’s not quite unpacked enough to post photos yet. It is small and homey. A bedroom filled almost completely by the queen-sized bed. A tiny bathroom. An odd shaped living room with only enough room around the furniture for one person to squeeze by. An office overfull with two desks, two chairs and a futon. A bright little kitchen and a reading nook that is currently full of stuff we are still unpacking. Because of its small scale it feels like an elaborate play house for two big children and I’ve come to think of it as our “fort.” A place where we can retreat from the slings and arrows of the world, snuggle under a blanket on the couch, and enjoy all the glories of the season.

**************

Since the holidays have passed, I’ve turned my attention from cookie baking to bread baking and have returned to my work getting my massage practice off of the ground. I received my license on December 3rd and am now completely official! Website design and marketing takes up a lot of my time but so do working out, and yoga, and reading, and catching up with friends, and spending time with my better half. We even had a snow day on inauguration day so we all could stay home and watch. It's been at least 5 years since that much snow fell here so it was something like an inauguration day miracle.

So far I’m enjoying the journey of 2009 quite a lot.

Southern Hospitality

2008-10-22T14:58:00.000-07:00

There is one thing that I've done in Durham that is undeniably, hands down, no doubt about it better than the same activity in Chicago, and that is the simple act of Voting. I've been twice now and it's just so lovely. The early voting option means that I can vote after work (or even on Saturday or Sunday!!!) instead of getting up Really early to vote and then standing in a long line of annoyed, sleepy, Freezing people that snakes down a depressing back hall in an elementary school and then out into the cold.

It's not just the convenient hours though, or the lack of lines. It's the people and the spirit that is shared there that makes it really special. Even two weeks before the election proper, there are copious volunteers and staff. They smile and usher you from place to place, assist with parking, make any changes necessary to your personal information, answer questions politely and really seem to appreciate you being there. There was even "curbside voting" available this time for people who couldn't get out of their cars easily or navigate the tight quarters between booths.

While I was actually in the voting booth someone loudly announced the presence of a New Voter and everyone in the room applauded! People are more than just polite and happy, they are bubbling over with optimism, and with the sense of being in this together. I come away feeling uplifted and hopeful and proud. Citizenship at its finest, Southern style.

Free Fall

2008-10-09T20:17:00.000-07:00

It’s fall. Neither summer, nor winter. Neither completely moved in, nor completely moved out. Neither student, nor professional. A time of change, of reflection, of transition, of being between, of liminality…

The liminal state is characterized by ambiguity, openness, and indeterminacy. One's sense of identity dissolves to some extent, bringing about disorientation. Liminality is a period of transition where normal limits to thought, self-understanding, and behavior are relaxed - a situation which can lead to new perspectives. (Taken from the Wikipedia article on “Liminality.”)

I do indeed feel a bit dissolved and disoriented. And it’s no wonder either: first graduation, then moving, and now trying to start a new career while the economy spins out of control… In the midst of this time of upheaval, I find both comfort and unease in the old adage, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” (Exhibit A: The Cubbies. Exhibit B: The sadly familiar, Chicago-apartmenty way I am currently sitting in my new home, listening to every word of my upstairs neighbor’s TV show and smelling her smoke wafting down the stairs.)

The ability of the universe to maintain equilibrium in the face of change seems to be especially powerful when it comes to unpacked boxes. No matter how many I unpack and break down there always seems to be a constant number impeding my progress around the apartment. As one yields to my efforts to find places to tuck its contents away, another sneaks up from the garage or out of a closet to take its place. I believe they have evolved the ability to reproduce...

What I’ve been tackling most recently are actually acquisitions from my parents’ attic. Boxes and boxes of college texts and class binders have appeared as if by magic and I find that I must finally cull them most dramatically. Reading these documents I hear ghosts from the past whispering to me of the meagerness of my successes and profundity of my failures. After skimming just a few of them, I already feel an overwhelming need to fall on my knees and say Mea Culpa! for all my grammatical sins. I want to plead forgiveness for never mastering the hyphen and for the hubris of such embarrassing essays from High School as “Malapropisms Happen (Even to Me!).”

Ridiculously bad as the High School writing samples are (and I’m pretty sure that they were kept as examples of the cream of the crop, which makes it worse), I find myself really ashamed as I read over the comments of dear Dr. Poole on my college music history papers and exams. The disappointment drips from notes chastising me over and over again for my inability to make my own analysis and take intellectual risks. “…Do you learn only what I tell you to?” (Well, I was carrying a 21 credit class load… so the answer probably was, “Yes?”)

I’m sure I bridled at such comments at the time, but now I know that she was only trying to give me the tools to be a scholar, tools I never mastered. I want to apologize for not living up to my potential, for playing it safe, for lacking the intellectual curiosity, capacity and fortitude she thought she could manifest in me. I recall her telling me just before I graduated that I had done something in my own “inimitable way.” In hindsight, her tone was a touch sardonic instead of complimentary.

And, oh yes, the more things change… Here I am again, brought as far by my excellent teachers as they could take me, and once again having to take the next steps on my own. Once again facing my inadequacies of courage and imagination. Seeing where I want to be, knowing how far from that I am, and simply unable to envision how I will ever get there. In this liminal place between school and licensure I am afraid. Afraid that even with all of the knowledge I worked so hard to obtain this past year I will be unable to find the spark of insight to apply it. That once again I will fall far short of expectation.

That must not happen! I can choose not to repeat my past mistakes, to be free of my self-imposed limitations. This time I must not fail to cross the threshold, to run the race to the end. This time I must see the stars below me and leap into the abyss anyway, knowing that there is not so much difference between flying and falling, that both will take me to new adventures, new perspectives.

This time I simply must not fail… to become.

In my own inimitable way.

Moving Surprises

2008-09-25T11:29:00.000-07:00

I loathe moving! But then so does almost everyone else, making what Dan and I are going through not particularly noteworthy.

I think, however, that reaching over my head last night while packing, grabbing a ceramic serving bowl stored on the kitchen cabinets and finding a Dead Bat inside might be a bit more unusual. And I believe I deserve a Congressional Medal of Honor for not dropping said bowl and smashing it in the process.

I didn't have the nerves required to get a picture though. You will simply have to imagine the poor little furry thing lying there.

The movers come early tomorrow morning!

Pomp and Circumstances

2008-09-01T08:51:00.000-07:00

And now it is September 1st and not even my dear sainted mummy is checking this blog for new posts anymore...

But I beg you to believe me when I say that the posts that I have Failed to post since March have been great works of art. The epics of wit and pathos that I have drafted in my mind while driving to and fro between work and school and externship and practice clients would have brought tears of joy and sorrow to the eyes of those with even the hardest of hearts. It's just that I have been a wee bit too swamped to um... actually write them down.

If you've been in contact with me since this last semester began you will probably already be aware of all the papers and tests and externships-Oh my!-that I have been complaining of most heartily for the last several months. About the middle of May I made a list of just the Big deadlines between then and August 2nd. It had 18 things on it! I immediately began to hyperventilate and only began to breath again when they handed me my diploma last Sunday.

Oh yes, I have Gradumatated!!! And although they did fail at graduation to blow trumpets when they called my name, or shower me with accolades, or fall at my feet lauding my surpassing brilliance and general studential excellence the likes of which they have never before seen and can not hope to see again... they did give me a diploma and a transcript with all "P's" (for Pass) on it... Sigh. I think my classmates who whipped off answers to homework assignments 15 minutes before class might have had the right idea after all!

Still, despite a general lack of recognition of my brilliance :) , graduation was a wonderful, bittersweet celebration of the last year and the closing of that chapter of our class's life. There was a lot of heartfelt sobbing involved... My class was very close and it was sad for us to leave as we had been through so much together (births and deaths and Anatomy exams!) and school was a life changing experience for all of us. I learned an enormous amount both about massage but also about myself.

Now (after a couple of tearful days recovering emotionally from being ripped untimely from the womb... so to speak) I am working diligently on the next steps to launching my career. I have a new business e-mail address and have ordered temporary business cards for marketing purposes. I'm mulling over questions about websites and financial software. I have sent off my application for the national certification examination and once I pass that I will be able to apply for state licensure. Once licensed I can actually begin to work professionally (i.e. take money!). Maybe as soon as November!

I promise, Promise to keep you posted this time. Really.

Surprising Lee

2008-03-15T09:53:00.000-07:00

I have finally been able to rescue this blog entry from my old computer. I wrote it way back in February just before the poor old thing died so I’m afraid it’s a bit dated... but what the heck:

North Carolina keeps on surprising me in ways that range from the tiny details of flora reproduction to major socioeconomic trends. I'm learning that some things just can’t truly be understood until you’ve been here for a while and experienced them firsthand.

Magnolias produce pinecone like things with bright scarlet seeds inside and the leaves stay green all winter.

A dead tobacco factory can completely dominate a whole downtown area.

There really are people here who won’t vote for Obama because they believe that the “races should be kept separate.”

It doesn’t really matter anyway because our primary is in MAY! Will there be any candidates left to vote for in May?! (I guess it’s possible at this rate.)

Nothing can rival the extreme decibel level achieved by a family of Tarheel fans watching a Duke/UNC game. (The stomping, the screaming, the throwing of the hats and the leaving of the room in disgust, the depths of despair and the heights of rapture… It’s a very loud and complicated cathartic ritual.)

The complete lack of winter...

Chicago folk simply would not believe it. “Balmy” and “February” have come into bizarre juxtaposition in my vocabulary. It feels a little wrong, a little like cheating. I’m Supposed to be more miserable at this time of year. Instead I can count on one hand the number of times that the full length “down comforter” winter coat has come out of the closet. It’s pretty amazing really and a bit scary, although I’ve been assured that this does Not necessarily mean we are headed for the hottest summer ever.

Yesterday (February 18, 2008), I took advantage of the sun and the warmth to go for a trek around the school fields while listening to Barbara Kingsolver’s book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. I’ve been enjoying this book very much for the past month or so as I work out. It’s part tragedy, part comedy, part drama, part self-help and part inspiration. The premise is this: huge, fossil fuel guzzling, environmentally unsound food production and consumption = BAD! Local, environmentally and socially responsible food production = GOOD!

The book is in turns infuriating and hopeful, challenging and exciting. It’s about remembering that creating healthy and sustainable food really should be at the top of our list of priorities, not at the bottom. A few of the things it’s gotten me excited about are: Making your own cheese, canning, freezing local produce (my kingdom for a chest freezer!), baking our own bread (I just pulled a loaf from the oven in fact), and starting a garden. In short, returning to my roots. My family used to do all of these things and brewed our own root beer to boot!

Of course, Dan and I already do some of this. We never purchase off-season tomatoes or ears of corn and we certainly heavily frequent our farmer’s markets in the summer. Last summer we even picked and froze an enormous number of strawberries from a local farm. But there are ways we could do more to take fossil fuels out of our food equation and I am inspired to try a few. Every little bit helps.

So as I was tramping around this beautiful school farm with news of a Huge beef recall ringing in my ears, I finally got to the portion of the book that deals with corporate farming of animals, feed lots and the like. The timing could not have been more appropriate. I was listening to words of warning about the need for inspections and better treatment of animals, for our own protection, just as the crisis was actually at hand.

And this leads me to yet another surprise that North Carolina has to offer: Part of the problem with mass produced livestock is that as farmers trend towards designer breeds we are losing varieties of livestock breeds in alarming numbers, and all the wonderful genetic diversity that goes with them. Many of these new breeds (turkeys for instance) are literally incapable of reproducing naturally. Imagine! Yet there is an organization that is working to preserve heritage breeds of livestock so that we will have access to them should the need arise. It is called The American Livestock Breeds Conservancy and lo and behold… It’s practically in my backyard. It’s located in the little town of Pittsboro North Carolina, just south a bit from Chapel Hill.

Since reading this book it seems that everywhere I look I see references to local foods. A friend of ours was interviewed about the subject recently for a local paper. The universities are bringing local foods into their dining halls in a major way and restaurants are proudly promoting their use of local meat and produce. There is a Durham Food Coop and a farmers market in every nearby town.

I guess it’s time I stop being so surprised about these things and just Enjoy them. It's a gorgeous day. I think I'll walk over to the farmer's market and get me some lovely local greens...

Bare to the Bone

2008-03-04T11:39:00.000-08:00

Last weekend was a momentous occasion for Class 51 at BTI.

Not only was it our class's first clinic working with a paying public (clients pay the school a token amount to cover costs), but it also was the first ever such event held at the school. We were breaking new ground, steaming into uncharted territory full speed ahead. I think each and every one of my classmates had at least one minor cardiac infarction at some point during our sessions but we all also really stepped up and it was a very successful event.

My five clients range from the "I'm not so sure about this getting undressed and being touched business" to the "I dare you to try to give me enough pressure... More! More, You Wuss!"

My biggest challenge though came with my second client who was perfectly comfortable and lovely and not demanding at all, BUT... To respect client therapist confidentiality I won't list all of the medical issues on their health history. Suffice it to say that I was under the impression that I was required to have serious advanced training before I would be able to work with at least a Couple of the things I saw there. I freaked... My teacher was totally cool about it. The client was totally cool about it. But I was thinking, "Are you Crazy? You are going to let me touch this person?! I'm not ready for this!!!" They couldn't lie on their stomach so I had to drape them in a side lying position, which I hadn't worked in before, and then completely improvise work on their back as our normal techniques were kind of out the window at that point.

I did my best to be calm and nurturing but I'm pretty sure my voice being two octaves higher and the way I started thrusting pillows here there and everywhere gave me away. I did my best and hoped it was a generally good, or at least not Terrible, experience.

And, of course, after doing the session and sending the client on their way, I thought, "That wasn't So bad..." And thus ends Part One of this story.

Part Two: That very same evening Dan and I got to see a concert by one of my favorite folk singers of all time: Carrie Newcomer. She just happened to be touring for a new album and had a small concert in the area. So exciting! What a perfect way to relax after a hard, though successful, day. So there I was, standing in line, waiting for the concert to start when a playbill was thrust into my hand and I looked up to see... my client from that afternoon. Clearly harried, things not going quite as expected with this concert they had arranged, they were too busy to recognize me but it was quite a moment for me nonetheless.

My day's work was that person's relaxation and vice versa. I had never imagined in that tense, stressful hour working with that client that they could possibly be giving something back to me of equal import. Certainly not that very same day! It was a tremendous lesson about respecting my clients and treating them as people first and foremost, not just seeing the conditions they might have.

I want to do that but I am not always the best at connecting with people. It's work. It's scary. And there is often rejection involved. What a gift then to be in a vocation that is at its very essence about connecting with people, about touching them with openness and kindness and meeting them where they are instead of where we think they should be. I don't have the luxury of hiding. My work challenges me to be the person I want to be.

After all of that internal drama it was still a lovely concert and the last song was one of my favorites. It's about the singer/songwriter life, but sitting there listening to it again, with my new insight about myself and this work that we are doing fresh in my mind, it brought tears to my eyes.

Here I am without a message
Here I stand with empty hands
Just a spirit tired of wandering
Like a stranger in this land

Walking wide eyed through this world
Is the only way I've known
Wrapped in hope and good intentions and
Bare to the bone

There is nothing I won't show you
There is nothing I can hide
I have risked it all and dreamt it all
And seldom questioned why.
You took me in when I was hungry
When my spirit ached and groaned
Laid wide open and defenseless
And bare to the bone

So when I rise I rise in glory
If I do I do by grace
Time will wash away these footprints
And we'll leave without a trace
Between here and now and forever
Is such precious little time
What we do in love and kindness
Is all we'll ever leave behind

When my eyes are slowly fading
When the light is softly waning
When the evening sun is setting
And the world is barely breathing
It is then your voice can call me
And your hand will lead me home
Like a newborn awed and naked
And bare to the bone

When I rise I rise in glory
If I do I do by grace
Time will wash away these footprints
And we'll leave without a trace
Between here, now and forever
Is such precious little time
And what we do in love and kindness
Is all we ever leave behind

Here I stand without a message
Here I am with empty hands
Just a spirit tired of wandering
Like a stranger in this land
Walking wide eyed through this world
Is the only way I've known
Wrapped in hope and good intentions and
Bare to the Bone

Lenten Lessons

2008-02-23T11:55:00.000-08:00

There are days... you know. Like "it's been one of Those Days" (with a capital D). When you are buried in schoolwork and your computer mysteriously goes kaput. And you get hit with several Large and Unexpected bills. And you go out on a limb to try this great bread recipe which is guaranteed to work except your boyfriend keeps telling you it isn't rising enough and despite your optimism he is Right and it's a complete failure. And it's Lent so you can't even eat chocolate to cheer yourself up and the failed bread is a poor substitute... And then you step in... well, you know, somewhere on your way to the gym to burn off the bread and have to scrape it off to the best of your ability in the Y bathroom...

On "Those Days" counting your blessings in the conventional sense simply is not enough and you have to pull out The Book.

You know? Ruth Werner's A Massage Therapist's Guide to Pathology, Third Edition? It works every time. All I need is to spend a few minutes leafing through that weighty tome, perusing the vivid full color pictures and reading descriptions including phrases like "This is an extraordinarily painful condition" or "itching gets continually worse and worse" or "crust forms once blisters have erupted" and I feel better right away.

I am then able to give thanks again. Thank you tubby little body for carrying me through the 34 years of my life without a single cold sore or genital herpes outbreak! No Shingles! No Scabies! No Fibromyalgia! No Rheumatoid Arthritis! Hallelujah and Amen!

That picture of Jock itch Really gives me the willies...

Milepebbles

2008-01-27T18:06:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's the fact that Lent is right around the corner, but I have such an urge to go stand on the roof and pronounce in stentorian tones, "It is Finished..."

Not that anything is actually really finished per se. Tomorrow I will get up at the regular time and go to work and then to school. I have a paper due and two exams this coming week to stress out over too...

But there have been a lot of what you might call "semi-endings" this week.

I went to the dentist, finally!, not once but twice this week. But that's not really over as I have to go back in four months, to suffer further indignities no doubt.

And then I had the very last of my twelve-series structural work sessions (the KMI sessions I've blogged about before). Since it was the Last session and I won't be working with that therapist ever again (Sniff!), I thought this too seemed rather final, until I was told that my body would continue integrating the changes for the next two months or so...

And then just today I had a practical exam in Swedish. And discovered that we were Finished with Swedish! We've now done full body sessions. That's it. The last 4 and a half months of my life came to fruition and I didn't even realize that it was happening until it was Over! Well, sort of over. We still have the clinic with the public and practice sessions to get ready for the clinic and of course we will be using these techniques in all of our work from here on out...

But I am claiming some semblance of achievement and closure. At least for tonight.

Ahem!

It Is--Sort Of, To Some Extent, In a Manner of Speaking, Partially--Finished!

My Favorite Day of the Whole Year!

2007-12-30T15:29:00.000-08:00

My favorite day of the whole year Used to be Christmas Day...

Christmas Eve was lots of work and lots of being at church and oyster stew (blech!) and--because you were dressed up all day between church services and therefore not bundled up as usual--it was also the Coldest day of the year. Now I rather like my dad's Christmas Eve service and as a child I thought it was the best church service of the whole year. But as I've gotten older and taken on more and more responsibilities, it has unfortunately lost some of its magic. Last year, for instance, I sang solos at all four services. I also helped set up for all four services. I did the children's sermon at the early morning service and spent the rest of the day passing out candles and stars, ringing bells, singing with the choir, cleaning up after services and turning off the lights for the candle lighting in the evening. It was, to say the least, a very full day.

In contrast, imagine the wondrous indolence of Christmas Day. With nowhere to go and nothing that has to be done, Christmas Day is traditionally the one day that my family is allowed to stay in our pajamas, bask in the warmth of a fire, open stockings and presents, eat all manner of Christmas goodies and play with our new toys.

And there were always toys to play with! Even once Kurt and I outgrew our Star Wars action figures (or, I should say, Mom and Dad stopped buying them for us... One is Never too old for Star Wars action figures!) there were always computer gadgets and games. Videos, books, and electronic bumblepuppies of all sorts. Lots of fun things to share.

But not this year... With the coming of in-laws and babies our traditions have perforce changed and as a result Kurt and I did not even get to Mom and Dad's until Christmas afternoon. Then there was much to do to have Christmas dinner and catch up and open stockings and presents and to prepare for the trip to see the extended family the next day. And actually, there was very little in the way of toys to play with anyway. In my old age I asked for practical gifts like extra sheets for my massage table and warm socks and anatomy flashcards for school... and that is exactly what I got...

So it was that this year Today, December 30, 2007, became my favorite day of the year.

Dan and I woke up this morning to the wonderful realization that it was a day when we didn't have anyone to visit, no presents to buy, no parties to attend, nothing to wrap or open, no school to go to, no classes to teach. Just a blissfully grey and rainy day with nothing to do but play. And, bless his heart, Dan Did get a toy for Christmas that he has been sharing with me.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I now know what my two degrees in classical voice were for. As Mom always says, "Nothing you learn is ever wasted." Those six years of higher education were for the sole purpose of preparing me for my newly found vocation. I have spent the whole day sitting on the couch in my pajamas, playing Guitar Hero II and becoming a rock goddess.

It's a tough job. Fortunately I have all day. And now I really must get back to it. I want to master Mötley Crüe's immortal classic "Shout at the Devil" at medium difficulty before Dan pulls an intervention, pries the little plastic guitar from my frozen fingers and hides it somewhere.

Frostalgia

2007-12-21T17:46:00.000-08:00

I've had a sentimental pang recently for the wonders of Christmas in Chicago…

The tree in the Sears Tower lobby, Kristkindl Market in Daley Plaza, the windows and Walnut Room at Marshall Field's (it will Always be Marshall Field's to me!) and the trees and bushes all up and down Lake Shore Drive outlined in gorgeous white lights… Going to The Music Box to see White Christmas and It’s a Wonderful Life and the Broadway Christmas concert and Heike's Cookie Exchange party and Zoo Lights. There were so many kitschy, cool things to do with my single friends.

The office where I worked was beautifully decorated and there were festive events and the big office holiday party… Then I would hop on a train after a crazy last day at work and chug through the snowy wonderland to my parent's place in Princeton. It was like taking the Hogwarts Express and I always saved a really good book for the trip, or napped. Napping was also a favorite train activity!

Down here it was in the high 70's all last week and there doesn't seem to be much in the way of decorating. There’s not even a Hint of snow. Even I, never without my down comforter coat, haven’t broken out a winter coat yet! (The King Singers are singing "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" as I write this!)

I haven't seen that many trees and lights up. Mostly what I see is the madness of over full parking lots and crazy traffic. We do have cards up in the office to decorate but one of my bosses started putting up the Sample cards way back in September when they first arrived so I've kind of learned to block them out which undermines their festive spirit.

So I've been thinking fondly of my Christmases in Chicago... And then a friend reminded me of the unpleasant reality of frozen boogers… and I snapped out of it! : )

I hope all of you, no matter where you might be when reading this, are having a Joyful and Blessed holiday season. Much love to you all.

Final Lee

2007-12-16T20:53:00.000-08:00

I made it! My last final of the semester was accomplished today. Whew! (So far the grades I've gotten back have been good too!)

You Know You're Old When...

2007-12-13T08:08:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it hits me at the strangest times. Like when I'm sitting on the couch at 10:30 after a long day and I just want to chat with a girlfriend and after waking up a couple of people I realize that there is No One that I can safely call at 10:30 to chat with anymore.

Move mountains to help me out of a crisis? Yes. Chat with me at 10:30 on a Wednesday night... No.

Bravo!

2007-12-08T14:41:00.000-08:00

I saw Dan's one man version of David Sedaris's The Santaland Diaries last night and I have to send some props out his way...

He was fantastic! The characters were hilarious and over the top. And his narrator was disarming and frank. The staging was smooth and he left us wanting more. There were a couple of moments where even I was eating out of the palm of his hand (and I've heard him running lines for weeks now so I wasn't expecting too many surprises.) The audience loved him!

And so do I.

Fallosity

2007-12-08T14:31:00.000-08:00

Last week I thought I had experienced the ultimate fallish experience that North Carolina had to offer...

It was one of those magical days when the clouds, instead of hanging sullenly in the sky, come down to earth and add an intimate magic and stillness to everything. The now ragged fall foliage was smoothed out and given fresh glamour, the flaws hidden and just the last colorful bits peeking through. Even the giant mulch piles in the road construction sites sent up mysterious wreaths of steam.

I got to school early as I usually do, and (after lamenting a tragic lack of camera in the face of the most beautiful mauve bush covered in perfect dew drops) decided to go on a walk and get a little exercise and studying in. I grabbed my dampish exam study guide and headed down the trail through the woods that is part of the school property. It was so still, just my feet crunching on the gravel path and the anxious lowing of cows at neighboring farms. Something about tromping through the misty fields and down the path felt so right to me on such a deep level. A very Galbreathy thing to do… And the smell! I couldn’t get enough of the dark, loamy, woodsy smell. I stopped several places just to breath in that air.

And then I came around a corner and there were four wild turkeys huddled just at the point on the path that students aren’t supposed to pass. They looked for all the world like they were secret agents planning some covert action that would take them into the no man zone. As soon as they heard me they fled in pairs to opposite sides of the road and simply disappeared.

It was a perfect fall day and I thought it might be impossible to top… until this week.

This week I was once again at school early but not at such a propitious time for a walk. It was much colder and the sun was very close to setting… It took some convincing to get me out for a walk but I wanted to go over my massage sequences again in my head before class so I headed out, just for a short time. This time I stuck to the fields and had already gotten pretty far from the class building when things started to look a little pink in the sky in front of me. I looked over my shoulder and the whole western horizon was the most vibrant crimson color with delicate rose further to the south. It was so pretty, I kept checking over my shoulder as I walked, not wanting to miss anything. I finally turned around to go back and just stopped dead in my tracks. The pinkish hues were gone and it now looked like a giant golden hand was reaching out of the sky toward me. The reflection on the pond before me was stunning and I stood there, motionless, drinking the moment in while the muskrats swam across the pond sending golden ripples across the water, listening to the last few dry leaves of a nearby tree rattle in the breeze.

As the gold turned again to rich pink and began to fade, one brave muskrat soul began to nibble in the pond just below me. As if this wasn't already a beautiful scene, I heard geese over my left shoulder and a dozen or so flew right by me, so low that I thought for sure they were heading for the pond at my feet. They ended up banking sharply and flew off in another direction instead of landing. Just as I turned to trudge back to school, feeling the nip of the night chill through my jacket, the lights on the school porch came on in a most inviting way.

Experiencing both the passing of the fall foliage and the short lived beauty of the sunset recently have caused me to reflect on the necessary fact that beauty is fleeting and cannot last forever. Which is good. If it did, I would still be holding my breath in that field...

Thanks Full

2007-11-20T11:30:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is This week?! But I was just wearing a T-shirt outside Last week! How can that be?!

I guess when your life centers around the age old question of “What’s due tomorrow?! Aaargh!” then it’s pretty easy for a holiday like Thanksgiving to sneak up on you. But as far as the sentiment behind it? I’m way ahead of you there…

This fall has been absolutely Gorgeous down here in North Carolina. I imagine the trees are actually just as pretty in Chicago, but there are so many More of them down here! My drive to school on the back roads is so stunning I have literally become a hazard to myself and others as I gape at the tongues of flaming reds and oranges and yellows licking out from between the evergreens. You can’t help but be thankful when surrounded by beauty like that.

Then there’s the little old miracle of life as embodied by my absolutely adorable new nephew, Ian Muir Galbreath. He was born on November 9th and weighed in at a whopping 10 lbs, 12 oz and 20 inches long! Reports are that the first thing he did after emerging was STRETCH! I’m just bursting all over with AuntLee excitement and pride. And very thankful that everything went okay with the birth.

And finally, I cannot say enough just how thankful I am to Dan for all of the support he has provided through these first few months of school, putting up with my crazy schedule, coddling me through nervous breakdowns and keeping the fridge stocked with food for me to take for my loooong days. He has been so thoughtful and funny and understanding and kind. Not to mention sexy. Thanks for everything, Baby.

Hope you all have just as much to be thanks full about as I do. Happy Thanksgiving!

A Most Amazing Story

2007-11-08T12:51:00.000-08:00

It’s 6:30 AM (a time that only happens to other people as far as I’m concerned) and I am sitting at my computer writing a blog entry… Has the world gone mad?!

Dan had to get up at 5:15 this morning to get to an early morning school gig. Now I was under the impression that 5:15 was one of those “imaginary numbers” that physicists like to bandy about to make us all feel stupid. I now have empirical evidence that an alarm clock set to 5:15 Will go off! Amazing!

Even more amazing is the fact that although I fully intended to roll over and go to sleep again, try as I might and despite Dan being as quiet as a mouse, I could not manage to regain the blissful state of slumberland. Instead I tossed and turned, my mind busy telling and retelling the following story, which I now will tell to you:

Once upon a time, a long time ago (yesterday at 3:45) in a land far, far away (Chatham County) I arrived at school for the first of the KMI sessions mentioned in the last installment of this blog. I was excited and nervous as I met my therapist at the door. He was obviously a bit excited and nervous too. A very nice young guy, bursting at the seams with the desire to do a good job and impress his teacher. We talked for a minute about my goals and then went inside to find my familiar classroom full of oddly short massage tables and people I did not know talking quietly in observational groups or working through various stages of their sessions.

I disrobed down to my underwear, was photographed in my underwear (my “before” shots), met Tom Myers (in my underwear!), and began the assessment process, which they called a “launch.” And here is where my story really begins.

I stood there calmly, trying to be a good piece of meat, as Tom and my young therapist discussed what they saw in my body. They bandied about a lot of language I don’t really remember and didn’t really understand anyway but I think the gist was that my hips and rib cage are thrust forward a bit more than they should be. In the middle of this my therapist mentioned that my breath did not move into my chest when I breathed… I couldn’t help but try to interject that this is because I am a singer and singers don’t breath with their chests! (We breathe from the diaphragm into the belly and back. A rising chest is a sign of a young, inexperienced, tense and gasping singer.) I was turned to the side so I couldn’t see his face but Tom’s reaction to this response was such a dismissive “yup” that I was mortified for saying anything. It wasn’t my place to say anything! I was just the Meat! I bit my lip, shut up, and tried to be as completely apologetic looking a piece of meat as possible.

And then they finished their physical analysis of me and Tom turned to me and very kindly asked what kind of singing I had done. I said that I had sung opera for years. “Was I singing now?” “Well, that’s a long story but, ‘No.’” And then he turned to my therapist and told him my life story: “It’s the same thing with all musicians. They practice alone for years and years with dreams of being a soloist but only a very thin slice actually make it because the competition is so fierce and then they end up in the orchestra trying to blend in and only noticed when they make a mistake. Now I want Lee to close her ears because I have a larger goal for you. I want you to help Lee find her voice again. It’s possible that Lee would be happy without singing but I don’t think so and she has a beautiful voice so we need to help her find a way to use it.”

I am not kidding or exaggerating. I might have forgotten a phrase or two and changed a word or two but that is what he said and it’s all true! I suppose it’s a rather common story. He must have heard it before. But I was astonished to hear it from someone who knows so little about me! Not to mention that I have recently come to the same conclusion myself, that I could not be a good therapist or a completely happy person with this part of myself locked away. That I needed to heal my relationship with my voice. But I had no idea how to go about it! And here was someone saying that they could help me do that very thing…

So my young therapist got excited with this new mission and we started our session while I tried to get over my shock. I think that perhaps it's not fair to ask a student to help me “find my voice again.” He is overwhelmed by just trying to remember what he’s supposed to do in each session and I don’t blame him at all because that’s Exactly how I feel right now in my training. Also completely changing my life is a lot to ask of anyone especially when I don’t know what it would take myself. But I will say that even after my first session I feel a change.

I’ve been experiencing discomfort and tightness when I breathe deeply for years now. I always assume it has to do with just needing to warm up, one reason I hate warming up. But I got off the table at the end of the session and felt a lot more ease in my breath. My student therapist didn’t understand the significance when I told him but that’s okay. I know what it means even if he does not. It’s the first baby step toward him achieving the goal his teacher gave him. And mine too.

2007-10-24T17:04:00.000-07:00

I’m sick and it’s storming outside. It’s like God and my body are performing a blog-ervention…

"Lee, you know we’ll always love you but you’re just not the same person anymore and we can’t watch you throw your blog down the drain without saying something. You’ve been staying up partying with your “textbooks” every night until the wee hours of the morning. You spend all weekend on the couch tripping out over your “A&P homework” and when you do leave the house it’s just to go fool around with another computer at that “job” or to go to “class” with your massage therapy friends. Either you sit down and write a blog entry right now or we are going to have to walk out of your life. We can’t sit here and watch you act like your blog isn’t important. Don’t do home work. Don’t run errands. Just sit at your computer long enough to catch all of your friends up on what’s going on with you lately…"

Or something like that. It’s hard to hear Exactly what they are saying over the coughing and the thunder…

So here I finally am again! Mostly what’s been happening with me lately consists of sitting at my desk or on the couch poring over books, with just a dash of classes, work, driving to and from said classes and work, and the occasional hour or two of sleeping thrown in for spice.

“Books?!” You say. “But I thought you were in a massage therapy program?” Yes that’s true, but you would not Believe how much bookwork there is for this very hands on craft. Just like singers learn languages and music theory as part of learning to perform, budding massage therapists have an overwhelming amount of anatomy and ethics and theory to learn. The anatomy is the biggest chunk by far. It is fascinating stuff and I do find myself often turning to Dan to say things like, “Did you know that connective tissue is thixotropic and piezoelectric?! Isn’t that fascinating?!” (Which is usually met with a blank stare…) But I really wish I had had an A&P class at some point in my higher education. I feel like I’m starting from scratch with a rather difficult subject. (Interesting point on how massage students study A&P: We do not dissect anything But we do “palpate” all manner of things on each other in class… For a grade… Ever palpated a classmate’s Ischial Tuberosity before? Yeah, I thought not… But I have!)

And then there is the carting of the table to practice client’s houses for practice sessions, at least two a week. I don’t think I mentioned that yet. They have already sent us out to lay our hands upon living, breathing people! The only concessions to our ignorant status being that we are asked to focus only on certain stroke that we have already seen in class and preferably work on healthy practice clients. It’s still pretty scary!

I cannot stress enough though just how wonderfully all my friends have risen to the challenge of being my guinea pigs! I am getting tons of practice, which is good as I have discovered a decided lack of coordination in the left hand. This greatly impairs my ability to Beat, Hack and Slap my clients in a rhythmically pleasing way. (I know you think I am kidding but these are actual names of actual techniques!)

The school itself is beautiful and I get there early each day, as I leave work between 3 and 4 and class starts at 6:45. It’s quite a treat to sit by the pond in the evening and watch the bumblebees and butterflies and birds and frogs and koi. Also I find it a great place to study and refocus after work.

The teachers are all very good and, other than a brief lecture on my deplorable handwriting, I have acquitted myself reasonably well so far I think. If not, it’s certainly not for lack of trying hard, as Dan can attest. (He is Very patient with me through all of this!) I feel very fortunate to be part of this program, which is clearly very well thought out and thorough in its preparation of budding massage therapists. Not only does it focus on understanding the body and the technical aspects of the work but it also attempts to address how to set up a successful practice and also how one makes the jump from just a good manipulator of tissues to understanding the work on a more intuitive level. It’s great to be held to such a high standard but I am still sort of scared that I’m not going to be able to successfully master the intuitive art part. I know I can learn the stuff from books but getting it in my body is hard for me. Still, I have at least another ten and a half months to try to figure it all out!

Another exciting massage related opportunity I’m going to have is that Thomas Myers--who studied with Drs. Ida Rolf (invented Rolfing), Moshe Feldenkrais (invented the Feldenkrais Method), and Buckminster Fuller (invented the “tensegrity model” among other things)--inventor of Kinesis Myofascial Integration (which I think is a fancy term for deep tissue work to improve posture and ease of movement) is teaching an advanced class at my school and I managed to get signed up as a “model” for one of his students! I’ll be receiving his entire program (albeit from a student) of 12 pretty intense sessions over the next few months. It seems like a perfect time to be taking part of something like that. I’m hoping to get a lot out of it both physically and educationally!

And, last but not least, I am Highly anticipating becoming an Aunt sometime very shortly. My sister-in-law Kim is due on the 28th!

So that’s the news from Lake Woebegone where the women are trying not to have a nervous breakdown, the men are patiently supportive and the public radio station is having the Longest Fall Fundraising Drive EVER! Ahem.

A Shocking Discovery

2007-08-27T19:08:00.001-07:00

I was washing dishes last night, an occupation generally free from flashes of deep personal insight, when I found myself singing a little ditty along the lines of, “I’m going to dry this dish and put it away.” Stunning lyric material, I know.

But when I realized what was happening I found that it was actually Jarring to hear my own voice. "Oh, right. I have a voice and that’s what it sounds like," I thought. And I realized that I haven’t actually sung in so long that I had actually forgotten somehow what my voice sounded like!

It wasn’t half bad. For a dish drying song.

Peace Baker

2007-08-26T13:48:00.000-07:00

Hear Ye! Hear Ye!

Let it be told throughout the land that I have achieved, yea verily, all by my little old lonesome, just this very afternoon in fact, a little something I like to call: World Peace! Not that I’m one to brag or anything… (Well actually they’re called World Peace Cookies. But there’s no need to quibble about semantics at a time like this. Don’t you agree?)

Okay, I know you are thinking, “Cookies? Whoop de diddly doo…” But you have not been listening to Dan sing their praises for the last two years. You were not there when his mom brought the book containing this very recipe to the beach in May. Pandora like, you did not taking a quick peek inside and find yourself instantly and hopelessly enthralled. But I did… hence the excitement.

The cookies in question are intensely chocolate on chocolate, slice-and-bake, sandy textured, slightly salty members of the “sablé” family. More importantly, they turned out on my very first try! (Do not be fooled by their rather humble appearance. They are delumptious I promise you.)

The book in question is: Baking: From My Home to Yours by Dorie Greenspan—co-author of Baking with Julia (as in Julia Child!). And what it contains is a comprehensive offering of Greenspan’s favorite tried and true recipes, everything from biscuits to fancy party cakes. These are not fantastical creations of a bored pastry chef, trying to come up with some never before seen confection. Oh, no. Fear not intrepid baker! These are Greenspan’s “All-American, All Delicious Apple Pie” and “Real Butterscotch Pudding” and “My Best Chocolate Chip Cookies.” Familiar, simple things that you really want to make anyway. Not only that, but Greenspan lovingly describes them all in such a delightful way that with each new recipe you feel you must a) call in sick immediately and b) spend all day baking so you can try This one without delay. Then you make the mistake of turning the page and… Better call in sick for the whole Week.

Just as all little girls have to go through their romantic horse stage as a precursor to real romance with the opposite sex, so too perhaps every young woman at some time or another must fall in love with a cookbook in preparation for more serious homemaking down the line. If so, this is mine. Just holding the book for the first time gave me the feeling that all I needed was my own copy and I could be an initiate of that mysterious adult fraternity of people who can actually put butter and flour and sugar and eggs together and come up with something delectable and not remotely hockey puckish. Greenspan makes it all seem so very possible. Her book promises that even I can have a chance at, maybe not domestic goddessness, but at least the ability to create something warm and comforting and sweet to enjoy and share and be proud of in the kitchen.

I don’t think it’s any great mystery why I am attracted to the notion of comfort baking at a time when the cars are both headed back to the shop yet again and neither Dan nor I are making much money. When the dream of a new home seems to be slipping farther away rather than coming closer and it seems that our temporary situation is most likely going to be our Permanent situation. Or when I’ve finally given up hope of figuring out what to do with all the boxes or trying to make the place a bit less of a jumble and am just trying to live with the mess as best I can.

When I was a very little child of three we moved from the only home I had ever known in Chicago to a new church and parsonage in Rockford. There was a lot of drama around the move and, according to my parents, I dealt with it all by wanting to hear the same story every single night until we were safely ensconced in the new house. It was called A Home for Tandy, about a little elf who could not find a place to stay for the winter and was bounced about until his woodland friends made him a home of his very own.

I think I shall get through the uncertain days ahead by returning again and again not to A Home for Tandy, which is out of print in any case, but to Baking: From My Home to Yours. There are so many things I can’t fix about our situation, so many luxuries I can’t afford. But, with Greenspan’s help, yummy baked goods I think I can manage.

Travel Journal Part 1 - Bathing Beauties

2007-08-22T16:23:00.000-07:00

So here I am a month after starting our travels Beginning my journal. Ah well, if can’t remember what we did I guess I’ll just make stuff up!

A flurry of throwing things in the car and Dan and I head out for the beach. It’s Saturday, July 21st just after Dan’s improv workshop. (Dan has instigated a weekly coming together of performers from various disciplines and points of view to explore new ideas and ways of performing, not necessarily ways to be funny but ways to explore relationships and develop character. It’s pretty cool stuff and he didn’t want to miss it.) We managed to forego a BBQ stop and ended up at John’s beach house shortly after every one else and in plenty of time for dinner.

Cold Pasta Sauce! My Favorite. It’s one of Dan’s family recipes and a major staple for us when tomatoes are in season. I was going to say that you could just ask if you wanted a copy but why not just share the love? It’s super easy and very tasty. Travels well, keeps forever in the fridge. Pretty healthy too.

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Sipp Cold Pasta Sauce

3 Tbls Fresh Basil, diced
3 Tbls Fresh Parsley, diced
3 whole Green Onions, chopped
¾ tsp Oregano, dried okay
4 cloves Garlic, minced
4 large Tomatoes, small chunks
1 tsp Salt
½ tsp Pepper
3 Tbls Balsamic Vinegar
3 Tbls Red Wine
½ cup Olive Oil

Fresh Mozzarella (which I like to add when serving so it doesn’t get hard in the sauce)
Feel free to play with this as you wish. Lots of people add Hot Peppers!

Heat olive oil slightly and remove from heat. Put in minced garlic to infuse. Make sure the oil does not brown the garlic but that the garlic just nicely bubbles a bit. I usually just heat up the oil and drop in a few test pieces to test the temperature. Set aside to infuse and cool while you chop up the herbs and tomatoes. Dan says you can do the chopping in a food processor but I always do it by hand. I also always do a double batch And it always takes me hours… Maybe I need to become friends with the food processor!

Next chop up the tomatoes and get them marinating with the vinegar and wine while you mince herbs. You will end up putting all the ingredients together in a nonreactive container and the order is not particularly important except for the following note: Alcohol in the wine activates flavors in the tomatoes and putting tomatoes in the fridge turns Off certain flavor potential in tomatoes. Therefore, I recommend letting the tomatoes and at least the wine marinate at room temperature for a while. Thence the order suggestion.

Once you have everything together you should marinate for at least 4 hours before serving (if you can wait that long! But I promise it gets better and better.). Then just serve over hot pasta with some fresh mozzarella.
***********************************

This beach trip was a little different as Dan’s brother Jerry had his daughter Sabrina with him. It’s always fun to spend time with Sabrina as she is an amusing, sweet and beautiful girl who hasn't quite yet decided to be mopey and unresponsive. She does have a tendency to wear one out though! Fortunately, the neighbor’s granddaughter is her age and the two girls come to the beach at the same time so they can exhaust each other instead of us creaky adults. Sabrina and I had a great time putting together a huge dollhouse we found in pieces and her uncle Dan teased her mercilessly when we went swimming, much to her delight.

Jerry’s best friend Dave and Dave’s mother “Dumplin” were also there and I was quite happy to meet them as I had heard so much about them over the years. Despite enjoying each other’s company, unsurprisingly very little of note happened. We played a lot of Yahtzee, went to the beach and sat around on the deck talking. We ate a lot of yummy food as always. Dumplin introduced us to Shrimp/Tofu Alexander Sunday night and Dave took us out for Calabash style seafood Monday night before we left. Sadly Dan and I had to leave much earlier than we would have liked to as we had to get back to get ready to fly out Wednesday. So with hugs all round, we said goodbye at the restaurant Monday night and continued on home.

Stay tuned for the next exciting installment. Travel Journal Part 2 - Westward Ho!

My Magic Camera

2007-08-19T16:32:00.000-07:00

You might remember that I had previously commented that I received a “magic camera” for my birthday. You might have dismissed this information, as perhaps you do not believe me that it is magic and suspect that I was, in fact, exaggerating a wee bit. I assure you, however, that there is no other explanation for all of the things that my camera can do But magic.

How else do you explain its ability to hold over 600 high resolution pictures at a time?! As a result of this astounding property, (I assume the result of a spell like Hermoine’s Undetectable Extension Charm) I returned home from my latest travels with almost 1300 pictures!

I am including here just a very few that best exemplify some of its other magical properties.

Freeze: I was standing on the dock talking when I saw Dan’s niece buzzing by out of the corner of my eye. I spun and fired off a shot hardly even taking time to aim let alone focus. Not only did I get the shot, but I also caught a preteen Smiling!

Fly: Mount Hood

True Colors: Carolina Blue, Cedar Point Orange and a wry impish smile. That’s my baby.
I also have at least 30 amazing shots from the Portland Inter-national Rose Test Garden.

Apparate to Exotic Foreign Places: San Fran’s China Town and Portland’s famous Japanese Garden

See in the Dark: I took these pictures without a flash in the Tuckaleechee Caverns near Townsend, Tennessee. You would not believe how slow the shutter speeds were. Sometimes I held my breath for what seemed like close to two seconds and they Still turned out in focus. Now That’s magic and no denying it…

Goodbye Old Friend

2007-08-17T18:20:00.000-07:00

I suffer from separation anxiety.

I still feel a little bit homesick each time I say goodbye to my parents. I cry every time the Fellowship of the Ring is broken, every time the wardrobe closes for the last time, every time Obi Wan Kenobi falls. I even got a little teary watching young Bush bravely bid farewell to a resigning Ro… (Sorry couldn’t keep a straight face.)

Seriously though, after four straight days of doing nothing much other than sitting on the couch reading and crying, I am finally having to say goodbye to my dear friend Harry Potter. I’m taking it pretty hard. Harry’s been a part of my life for a long time now, almost ten years. That’s longer than I’ve known Dan, longer than I worked for Neal, longer that I lived in Chicago, longer than I was in improv, longer than I took voice lessons even.

As far as I know, I was the first person in all my friends and family to hear of Harry Potter or read The Sorcerer’s Stone. Like all of Potter’s friends I received some ridicule for standing by him in the beginning. Various nameless parties (now fans themselves) were highly amused by my enthusiastic and voluble endorsement of that first book and excessively loud and rapturous anticipation of each following installment.

True to form, we also got into some mischief together. Who but Harry would tempt me to sneak off to the bathroom at work once or twice just to read a few more pages!? Or get my entire family to even think about standing in line at a bookstore at midnight in Alaska. Or talk me into singing opera in a store window as part of a “living picture” while teenagers mocked me loudly safe on the other side? Ah, good times…

Not that we didn’t have some falling-outs. Our relationship was strained a bit by his meteoric rise to stardom. I thought he was getting a bit full of himself as he became so enormously popular. But how could I stay mad with a guy who got little kids to carry around 900 page books?! Who almost single-handedly reenergized the young adult fantasy genre?

It’s true that we’ve grown apart a little as the years passed. I’ve changed. Harry’s changed… I spent a lot of time while reading The Deathly Hallows exasperatedly thinking, “She did what? Why wouldn’t they just…? But why not…? How could he think that? I can’t believe he…! That doesn’t make any sense! Don’t be so Stupid!!!”

But we have such a history… I can’t forget those giddy first days discovering together the enchanting new world of magic and both falling completely in love with it. Even now, after that first infatuation has long ago worn off, I keep coming back again and again in an attempt to relive those delightful times. Nostalgically sharing year after year set to the familiar and ever revolving backdrop of the Dursley’s, the Burrow, Diagon Alley, the Hogwarts Express, Hagrid, Chocolate Frogs, Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, classes, Quiddich, Snape, Malfoy, You Know Who.

Did we really need to revisit each and every character and place in each book? Probably not. But as both Harry and I got older and our lives got scarier and more unsure… I found it reassuring to check in with those old friends and familiar faces. Knowing what came next made me feel like an insider, a cool kid, a 7th year. And it made it all seem more real knowing all the common place minutia of buying books and getting to school, going through the sorting and taking tests and drinking pumpkin juice. And I Want it to be real!

For me Harry Potter was less about reading a great book and more about shrugging on the soft warm robe of that place, spending time with Dumbledore and stalking the wondrous halls of Hogwarts side by side with my faithful friends. With each book we got to live for a while longer in that charming world and, more than anything, that passport to such an inviting, seductive place is what I will miss most.

Goodbye Harry. Thanks for bringing a little magic into my life.

From Sea to Shining Sea

2007-08-09T16:51:00.000-07:00

As it has been nigh on a month since my last post, you might in all fairness be asking yourself, “Where has Lee been?” Quite honestly I hardly can keep track myself anymore!

Here is a quick overview of my last four weeks (witty commentary and pictures to follow in subsequent posts):

July 14th: I quietly turn 34. Spend most of the day traipsing around my neighborhood checking out landscaping and listening to my first Dorothy Sayers novel. Wait eagerly for news of Jenn’s new baby who was indeed born on the 14th despite being due on the 1st! Receive my B-Day presents which are mostly a new Nikon Digital SLR camera that is magic.

July 17th: Interview for low key, low stress, part time legal secretary position conveniently located on my way to school.

July 21st – 23rd: Trip to the North Carolina beach with Dan’s brother Jerry, niece Sabrina and Jerry’s good friends Dave and “Dumplin” Crane. Realize that in the same week we will go from one coast all the way to the other… Mind blown.

July 25th – 29th: In San Francisco with Dan’s group The Transactors for performances at the San Francisco Improv Festival and a visit with friends Nan, Ken and Maggie. Gain new appreciation of fog, traffic and hills. Decide that I never want to move to San Francisco.

July 29th-August 1st: Short vacation with Dan to explore Portland, Oregon. See real live drug deal. Eat best pancakes of my entire life.

July 31st: After hearing nothing for a week, I get a call at breakfast asking me to take the job and start immediately. It turns out the person in the position was suddenly leaving as of August 3rd.

August 2nd-3rd: Start new job! New low key, low stress boss announces that he is Swamped! Not as low stress as advertised. Not surprised. Get all of one and a half days training. Yikes! Also got to spend all evening on the 3rd in the Kroger parking lot waiting for not one but two AAA vehicles to come and rescue me after Samwise refused to start at all.

August 4th-8th: Rendezvous with Mom, Dad, Kurt, Kim and Gloin in a cabin in the Smoky Mountains. Battle fleas, heat and ugly American tourists in equal measure but still have good time. Arrive home to find record-breaking highs in the hundreds.

And I’m finally back. As much as I enjoyed everything I am exhausted and glad to have a rather sedentary weekend in front of me. Just me and my couch and the new Harry Potter!

Floral Sleuthing

2007-07-11T16:18:00.000-07:00

There is a new show in town. Everywhere you turn in Durham you see small trees/large shrubs bowing under the weight of vibrant, cone shaped clusters of flowers. They are white, lavender, and all shades of pink from the palest prissy rose to the most garish magenta. The first time I saw them my Midwestern heart leapt in recognition. Lilacs! We had lilacs at every parsonage we lived in when I was growing up. I rushed to the nearest branch ready to breath deeply of that familiar and comforting smell…

Only to discover that at close quarters it is abundantly clear that these are not lilacs at all. They don’t really smell for one thing. The leaves are all wrong too and the shape of the trees… Okay, they are nothing like lilacs. What looked at first like the little starry flowers of the lilac are actually the lacy petals of a much larger flower clustered around a star shaped center. What could it be? I was mystified and so, apparently was everyone I asked. I need a horticulturist friend!

Since I am lacking in that department just at the moment, I had to do a little detective work on my own. You might be surprised to find out that just putting “pink North Carolina flowering trees” into Google did Not instantly reveal the answer. After a number of tries and following some different leads, I finally turned up some pictures that matched what I had seen and discovered that what I was trying to identify was the crepe myrtle or crape myrtle which flourishes throughout the South. Lilacs, much to my chagrin, apparently do not.

Now the distance between Chicago and Durham is 850 miles (by Mapquest, not as the crow flies) and about 13.5 hours by car or 2 hours by plane. But because of the homogeneity of stores, restaurants, cultural experiences and, to some extent, flora and fauna too, I sometimes forget that 850 miles is actually a very long way geographically speaking. No matter how we shrink the world through instantaneous communications and almost instantaneous travel it is still a huge and wonderfully diverse place!

It’s funny how missing a flowering shrub from my childhood can suddenly remind me just how far from home I really am.

Sweet Home Chicago

2007-07-10T09:45:00.000-07:00

I miss Chicago. Pout.

It’s not my favorite people that I miss most. You’ve all been so great about keeping in touch that I’m not too homesick.

And it’s not our favorite restaurants. We’ve found a few new ones down here already and have more we want to try. Besides, between Dan’s cooking and my diet we don’t go out much anyway.

And I’m slowly figuring out those crucial things like: where to get a haircut or a cool birthday card or a gift for a friend and where to take the car for maintenance and how to get to the grocery store and back. So it’s not that.

Of course I miss all the fun stuff there is to do in Chicago over the summer but I spent the 4th at a super cool festival with great music and food and art and fun nature oriented activities. It was exactly my idea of a great festival: http://www.enoriver.org/festival/ So I’m not so sad to miss Taste of Chicago and Northalsted Market Days.

No… Way down deep, in the most dark and petty recesses of my heart, the thing I miss the most is…

Watching TV at the gym.

My old gym had TV screens at each and every treadmill and I Loved it. I found that watching Law and Order or back-to-back episodes of Scrubs or The Daily Show, or even reality trash like America’s Next Top Model, I was able to work out for unprecedented periods of time.

With a distracting plot and some eye candy I could do the elliptical trainer for an hour and a half! I could jog, with hills, for forty-five minutes. There were a few crazy Saturdays when I jogged an hour and a half! I was strong. I was fit. I imagined myself quite the runner.

And then the move came and I fell out of shape what with all the late nights at work and all the packing and painting and travel… and all the eating… But I was determined to get back in shape once I got here. Dan and I even went down to the YMCA soon after I arrived and got memberships.

Unfortunately I discovered too late that although they do have TVs at the Y they only show ESPN, a soap opera, CNN and Fox News. None of these things distract me enough to run! Dan has changed the music in my MP3 player to be a more engaging and upbeat running mix and that hasn’t helped. I can barely force myself to try thirty minutes on the treadmill and it’s so boring and painful that I have a terrible time talking myself into going to the gym more than a couple of times a week.

Sigh. I guess what I Really miss is the illusion that I am a fit and physically capable person, the belief that by working hard I might one day enjoy running, may even be able to keep up with Dan. Ha! I now see that this premise is fundamentally flawed and untrue. I miss that smug confidence and self-righteousness that comes from being able to casually say: “I went running today. Yeah, did five miles. No biggie.”

And yet, in my darkest hour I have discovered that I can Read on the elliptical trainer! I’ve never been able to read and work out before because of the bouncing. Much to my delight, young adult books with their reasonably easy to follow plots and large font texts are not distorted too much by the bouncing, panting and pain. They even have pictures! And if I only let myself read these books at the gym I find myself compelled to work out just so I can find out the exciting conclusion to the mystery in Chasing Vermeer or what lies at the end of The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane.

Today I did an Hour on the crossramp elliptical. AND I increased my resistance. Everyone knows that runners are just tearing up their knees anyway...

Smug? Who me?

Jammin’ on the Eno

2007-07-09T19:14:00.000-07:00

Oh what Fun I had at the Festival for the Eno! I went for several lovely hours on the 4th and then again all day yesterday (Sadly forgetting my camera… My birthday is soon upon me and clearly age is catching up with me!). Except for about an hour spent there with Dan’s mom and Mike on Wednesday, I could not interest any of my local friends into going so I had a little artist’s date and took it all in by myself. I’m sure glad I did!

The festival is in a wonderful park full of trees with the Eno River flowing through it. There are permanent buildings that are part of the park, houses and barns that are very nicely kept up with gardens and exhibits inside. In addition, each year five beautiful wooden stages with tin roofs and lovely silk-screened or painted backdrops are built by volunteers in various parts of the park. The well over 50 different bands and solo performers range from gospel to country to folk to bluegrass to indie rock. Many are local but there were also groups from as far away as Alaska. There are dancers as well and performances and activities just for the kids.

There are also dozens of different artists and craftspersons displaying and selling their work as well as organizations (mostly of an environmental bent) promoting their services and agendas. And there’s food! Along with the expected cotton candy, lemonade and turkey drumstick stands there are also some unexpected choices like curry, empanadas and crepes. And of course the ubiquitous siren song of the funnel cake… I barely escaped alive.

Logistically the festival is a wonder. Free parking is provided off site and comfy charter buses truck people to and from the festival grounds. Trash is all kept to a bare minimum and sorted aggressively by an army of volunteers so that everything that can possibly be recycled or biodegraded (even the forks from their food vendors are biodegradable!) is kept out of a landfill. Also, there is almost No trash on the fair grounds. It’s amazing.

But the big attraction for me was the music… This was not a collection of garage bands performing covers. Of course there was a wide range of talent but the vast majority of the performers I heard were very good indeed and most performing original material. Now I admit I am a sucker for folk music so I was definitely the right audience for this event. What amazed me though was how often I would go to one stage thinking I would love a certain group, get bored and hear something that would pull me Pied Piper like to another stage where I would absolutely fall in love with a band I had never thought I’d be interested in.

Of course with so many choices there was always the fear that I would miss something wonderful elsewhere and I probably did. Sacrifices did indeed have to be made but I caught as much as I possibly could, especially the best of the local musicians. There has always been quite the music scene in the Triangle and I wanted to expose myself to as much of it as possible.

The following were my very favorites. As you can see they are all over the map stylistically:

Big Fat Gap: Bluegrass just the way I like it. Good solid vocals and smoking solos. Fiddles! Banjos! Mandolins! Guitars! String Basses! And they look like they are having a really good time. Obviously all very talented.

Jonathan Byrd: Singer-songwriter with a heavily country sound influenced by a number of traditional folk styles. I think there’s a quite politically satirical subtext to a number of his songs but the words fly by so fast… Dan has even put his stamp of approval on the CD I brought home This is the New That. Favorite song title ever: “Jesus was a Bootlegger.”

The Never: This indie rock group has just put out their first album Antarctica which is a “storybook record.” It comes with a picture book including text and illustrations by one of the band members. I thought they were a little uneven at the festival but I was impressed by the fact that they had four typical young rockers backed up by the mandolin player from Big Fat Gap and a frumpy tuba and flute player. And the drummer dropped his sticks at one point to play a flute duet. You don’t see that much! I was also intrigued by the CD book so I picked up a copy. I’m quite taken with it and commend the band for trying something so ambitious! The story is sweet if far fetched and the illustrations are very well done. Unfortunately the text is in a loosely rhyming form that I found jarring and at times trite. The music though is right up my alley. It’s quirky and atmospheric with high production quality, good vocals and lots of fun instruments thrown in like mandolin, fiddle and saw.

John McCutcheon: “When pressed for the perfect example of a modern folk musician, it’s John McCutcheon’s name that comes to mind.” Sing Out! Magazine, Winter 2000 John McCutcheon has been a professional folk musician longer than I’ve been alive, which we all know is a very lengthy time indeed! Where other solo performers had trouble competing with the heat and background noise he had us eating out of the palm of his hand. A consummate storyteller and multi-talented performer, he has a wonderful voice as well as amazing skills on the banjo, guitar, hammer dulcimer, auto harp and keyboard. Plus 30 albums of wonderful material from which to draw. I only bought five.

For me the quintessential experience of the festival was sitting in the shade, watching the dragon and damselflies glisten the dusty air and the sun spangle the leaves above me while singing harmony to John McCutcheon’s “This Land is Your Land.” There were toddlers playing in front of the stage and I imagined myself as a toddler at just such an event right at the beginning of John McCutcheon’s career, 30 odd years ago. My mom in her waist length braid and paisley dress and my dad in his long seventies beard and plaid bell bottoms sitting in the shade singing that very same song as I played happily in the grass…

A Blessing in Disguise

2007-07-01T11:35:00.000-07:00

How boring it must be to stride through life shielded by rock solid confidence, ultimately poised and comfortable everywhere and with everyone. Never to taste the zesty tang of self-doubt or the earthier more full bodied bitterness of self-loathing? How dull! I am, most fortunately, not one of these sad, colorless people. I am a quintessential specimen of the other type. The never quite comfortable Anywhere type. A Paragon of Anxiety. An Unparalleled Champion of Second-Guessing. Trumpet Fanfare: It’s Worry Woman!

My old boss Neal is one of the confident people. He’s unshakably sure of every decision he makes and able to feel comfortable interacting with all manner of folks from corporate CEOs to rock band roadies. He can tell you one day that the sky is orange and the next that it’s purple without ever feeling the need to rationalize such a radical change or probably even registering that it Is a change. Poor guy… How on earth does he fill up the time he’s not spending rethinking everything he does?!

Now a life full of self-doubt… That’s exciting! A true pro like myself can wring drama out of the most innocuous of situations. Take this example: Recently I was amiably chatting with one of my dearest friends and she made a casual comment about my quirkiness. (Quirkiness? ME?!) It was actually meant as a compliment and a less talented neurotic wouldn’t have given it a second thought. Planted in the fertile ground of my neuroses, however, it lead me to think that she probably has just been putting up with me all these years and only asked me to stand up at her wedding out of sympathy and do you remember that embarrassing thing that happened during the reception? I bet she hates me for ruining her reception! How could I have not realized it before?! I probably should just not e-mail her or call ever again and save her the trouble of kicking me to the curb...

I know your might be skeptical that I am That good but I swear I actually thought all that before realizing that I was probably being a Wee bit ummm… What’s the word? Crazy? Yes, that’s it. Crazy. With a little Quirky thrown in for good measure.

If my best friends can cause me to despair in casual conversation, just imagine the majestic and craggy peaks of paranoia I ascended in preparation for the announcement that I was moving. Can you picture me walking quaking into Neal’s office to tell him that after 9 years I was going to be abandoning him? I was petrified! I had girded my proverbial loins for some sort of negative outburst, some painful interaction of some kind, only to be greeted by an exclamation of happiness and a hug! I could not have been more shocked. Then one by one I went to all my closest co-workers and everywhere I found the response was the same: Honest happiness for me mixed with an acknowledgement of sadness and loss for the office. It was a mind-blowing experience. Where was the anger? The incrimination?! Hello people, I’m abandoning you…

And all my friends at church were so kind. People I thought I barely knew invited me out to lunch to say goodbye. People refused in jest to acknowledge that I was leaving because they would miss me too much. Our pastor led an impromptu laying on of hands and sending forth by the entire congregation my last Sunday at church. Everywhere, everywhere so much love and happiness for me, excitement and sadness and support.

All this for Me? It made me nervous…

And it’s not over even though the move is now in the past. People are, much to my amazement, Keeping In Touch! There has also been a great outpouring of welcome from Dan’s friends and family here too. (And they never even mention what a bad person I am for having broken up with him!) I have been so unnerved and gratified by how excited they all have been for me to be down here. The offers to spend time together, the really great conversations and e-mails are all so affirming. I feel that they are all my friends now too, not just Dan’s friends and family humoring me.

This feeling of acceptance really hit home the other day when I was at a late night improv show of Dan’s. His teammate Jeffrey apologized that his boyfriend had been too tired to come. I laughed and said that I couldn’t imagine James would come all the way out to the show just to see Me. Jeffrey responded to my disbelief quite indignantly, “We Love you!” I was so touched…

I’m not sure that I’m ready to hang up Worry Woman’s lasso of “What did they mean by that?” or her bracelets of "Did I just totally put my foot in it?" just yet… but maybe it’s worth giving confidence a try. Just for a little while. I can always go back to my exciting life of doubt if things get too boring...

Sometimes, I guess, it takes turning your world on its ear and shaking it to see just how much you are loved. How many lives you have unwittingly touched. Thanks to each and every one of you for teaching me this humbling lesson. I hope I will take it to heart and remember it well the next time I decide that:

Nobody likes me, everybody hates me
I'm goin' down the garden to eat worms
Long thin slimy ones, short fat fuzzy ones
Ooey gooey, ooey gooey worms!

Silly me.

Summerland

2007-06-30T11:27:00.000-07:00

"A baseball game is nothing but a great slow contraption for getting you to pay attention to the cadence of a summer day.” Summerland by Michael Chabon

I’m afraid of summer. It’s true. To me hot weather means sleepless sticky nights listening to the roar of fans and oppressive days trying to move as little as possible and eating only cold food. While other people lament that it’s cold and rainy in June, I am thrilled and wish it could last through August. When I see 90’s in the upcoming forecast my heart turns, ironically, cold with dread.

In my experience, people who long for hot weather also have air-conditioning. And until now I have never had air-conditioning. Or, more accurately, never Used air-conditioning. Even in the parsonages that had it my parents would never turn it on. Air conditioning (along with heat, restaurants nicer than McDonalds and more than two pairs of shoes) fell into the category of “profligate” in my parent’s vocabulary.

So it was with great trepidation that I moved to North Carolina just in time for one of the awful summers that Dan has been describing to me in horrifying detail ever since we first met. My worst fears were confirmed when we had ninety-degree heat in April just shortly after I drove into town.

Fortunately for me, May relented and the weather was so gorgeous that my fear of the upcoming months imprisoned by the heat actually drove me out to explore my new world and have the small adventures I have previously documented before it was too late. Fear is a great motivator.

Now at the end of June, however, the heat is here to stay. (Although Dan is quick to remind me that it is still getting cooler at night so there is much worse to come.)

Indeed, after a sweltering trudge home from the gym Thursday afternoon, I wasn’t sure that I was up for an outdoor summery activity that evening. But Dan had already purchased tickets for the two of us and his dad to go to my first ever Durham Bulls baseball game and I wasn’t about to miss dollar hot dog night! (Hot dogs are also great motivators.) Both the team and the movie are a big deal down here and the old Durham Athletic Park, at which Bull Durham was filmed, is very close to our house and familiar to me. This was going to be my first time to the new Durham Athletic Park however and it turned out to be a very nice facility indeed.

By the time we got to the “DAP” the sun was already on it’s way down and I found it quite pleasant actually to sit there, watching the light in the sky fade into the romantic glow of the stadium lights. The team came out and warmed up and the grounds crew sprayed and raked in a most professional manner. The fans trickled in as the game got under way. All the while the temperature slowly dropped to around 82 degrees and there was a lovely breeze.

Our team was completely pathetic. The first conference on the mound was after the second pitch and we Almost had a grand slam in the first inning, which turned out to be very disappointing long pop fly and third out instead. After that things only got worse. Our starting pitcher was terrible and they didn’t take him out until the middle of the fourth. By that time he had already given up 9 runs and Rochester topped that off to an even dozen before the game was over. We answered with a resounding zero runs.

Still… I enjoyed it. In the midst of the hubbub of the restless crowd and the silly promotional games and announcements there was something so peaceful about sitting outside on a lovely summer evening, watching the slow, slow pace of the game, seeing every deliberate action of the players and officials, listening to the lilting song of the lemonade and snow cone and cotton candy vendors. I felt myself outside of it all observing and at the same time an active participant in the sprawling organism of the game. And my fearful heart began to thaw a bit.

It will be a long process I’m sure… but I think I might be beginning to make my peace with summer.

Have I mentioned that I have air-conditioning?

Glory Days

2007-06-28T22:15:00.000-07:00

All I thought this morning held in store for me was a haircut. I didn’t know that I was going to become a famous voice for truth and justice in the Durham area…

Strolling through downtown Durham with no higher aspirations than not being too late for my hair appointment, destiny ambushed me in the form of a news team looking for sound bites about the infamous District Attorney of Durham County, Mike Nifong. Nifong was recently disbarred due to misconduct in the even more infamous Duke Lacrosse Players Case. Apparently there is speculation that he is holding out his resignation until after a pay increase would go into effect on July 1st. Fortunately for ignorant me the friendly news crew explained it all to me so that I could share my articulate and spur of the moment pithy opinion with them on film.

Somewhat pleased with my actions as an heroic voice of the people, I jauntily continued to the salon where I was able to see myself in a mirror and notice for the first time that my T-shirt was still wet from where I goobered on myself that morning and tried to wash it off. Not only that but I became painfully aware that I had not put on any makeup as I was going to the gym next. The final lovely touch was that I hadn’t even really brushed my hair, just thrown on an ugly green headband since I was on my way to get a haircut. The headband had shifted as I walked and a big bunch of hair was sticking straight out of it on the top of my head looking ludicrous.

Horrified, I scanned the evening news and was relieved to find that I was cut in favor of murder and mayhem. I have never been so thankful for a little murder and mayhem! And then I realized I should check the website… Oh dear...

http://abclocal.go.com/wtvd/front

Under "Video On Demand" click on the “Nifong’s Pension” video clip. Fortunately for me and my destiny I have no idea how long this clip will be up… Tomorrow I should be old news.

Soooo Big!

2007-06-20T19:28:00.000-07:00

This is something that my dear friend Tina now says, in her best "new mom voice," to indicate that I might possibly be making a new step toward adulthood: “Hey Tina, I think we might be buying a house!" "Oooo, Soooo big!” It’s cute coming from her. It would earn Dan or my brother a hearty smack.

There have been many steps towards adulthood recently it feels like. Calls to mortgage lenders and frank and useful discussions about our financial situation, then recovering from the disappointment of figuring out that we just can’t feel comfortable buying a house right now—even a newly remodeled house in a great neighborhood and in our price range with all new appliances and a walk in closet bigger than my last apartment!!!

Just today I have chalked up a few more tentative baby steps on the road to independent adulthood. This morning we retrieved a newly re-timing belted and tuned up Samwise from the shop. Taking the car in for preventative maintenance, like voluntarily taking myself to the dentist or asking the doctor for a booster shot, always feels very grown up. (I Hate taking cars in to the shop. Even when the mechanics are really nice and it ends up costing less than half the quote because they decide not to do some work that they think might be unnecessary!)

And yesterday I changed Glorfindel's tail light (almost) all by myself!

Today I had the BTI contract notarized and sent it off so I should be officially on my way to school in the fall. I’ve also begun studying anatomy to give myself a leg up and can name a goodly number of the bones and processes and foramen and sutures in the skull already! Now I just have to figure out what they do…

Finally, we also got our new futon cover. In a fit of homemaking fervor I dug out, and figured out how to hang, my piece of stained glass to accompany it. Tada!

After all of that I Do feel a bit like a toddler wobbling back to Mom with some treasure outstretched, some feat accomplished.

“Oooo, Sooo big!”

Gains and Losses

2007-06-18T20:21:00.000-07:00

Two weeks into my diet. Didn’t eat any flex points at All last week. Eating my weight in vegetables every day. Weighed in up for the second day in a row. I now weigh more than I did last Tuesday. Stupid body.

Saw a great house today that Dan and I really thought we might be able to afford. Came home. Thought about it. Called friends. We can’t afford it… Stupid fiscal responsibility.

Nothing ventured. Something gained.

A Little Praise for my Sweetie

2007-06-14T21:12:00.000-07:00

I innocently commented to Dan this morning about how touchingly a friend referred to her hubby in her blog and for this I received a most pointed look…

It’s true that I have sorely neglected the subject of “Dan’s Awesomeness.” But it’s not because I was trying to avoid it! It’s just that I don’t know where to start. What anecdote about our life together would best capture how wonderfully funny, supportive and understanding he is?

Is it that he cooks me the most marvelous meals and always makes sure there are leftovers in the fridge for me if he is going to be gone?

Or the fact that he is taking my counting of points seriously and hasn’t made so much as a hint of a joke about the embarrassingly large selection of low fat/low carb/no sugar added ice cream bars in the freezer (I highly recommend Breyer’s over Eddy’s by the way.)

Or the cute way he teases me over silly things to make me laugh but never over serious things that might be hurtful.

How about how he brought me to tears laughing at the desperate little character voice he made up to try to convince me to buy the futon cover he really liked.

His world champion snuggling technique?

Then there’s his willingness to rescue me from the roaches on a regular basis and even taking two slugs out of the shower the other day without me so much as asking!

How he didn’t ridicule me when I asked if we could name the Camry and even came up the name Glorfindel all by himself.

Or how he calmly scooped me up out of my despair when a complete reorganization of my desk and search of the house did not unearth my brand new social security card (required for getting my driver’s license) and took me to the social security administration office where he waited with me to apply for a new, brand new social security card.

And just tonight he watched an episode of Veggie Tales with me just because he knows I like it…

I don’t know where to start. Or maybe I really don’t know where to end... Because there is no end to the constantly thoughtful, charming and hilarious things that Dan does every day to remind me just how lucky I am.

I love you Baby.

Happy B-Day Mom!

2007-06-13T16:28:00.000-07:00

I feel that I must point out that today is my Mom's B-Day. I won't say which one because that would be Rude but it is a big one... And I'm almost 34...

Anyway, just want to say Thanks for Everything Mom! And Happy B-Day! And to give her a shameless plug as she works very hard and gets very little recognition. Check her out at: http://www.bethgalbreath.com/

Futon Covers and Other Symptoms of Domestic Bliss

2007-06-13T15:54:00.000-07:00

Joyfully anticipating the delivery of a Brand New Futon Cover to replace the current fish sheet covering the even worse looking old futon cover.

Cozily sitting at my desk listening to Dan play Final Fantasy XII in the other room and to the thunder and rain outside.

Excitedly surveying my newly cleaned desk.

Satisfyingly glowing with the knowledge that I just got a new driver’s license with a decent picture and a perfect score on the written test.

Contentedly snuggling on the couch after eating and cleaning up Dan’s yummy dinner.

Relievedly watering our herb garden after finally getting some plants to survive our fumbling ministrations!

Proudly showing off my newly raked lawn and a much better looking compost pile.

Efficiently surprising Dan with a completely reorganized utility room.

Cleverly creating room for a new mosaics workstation.

Happily examining our freshly cleaned and mopped kitchen and bathroom.

Virtuously watching the rainwater bead up on the newly washed and waxed Samwise.

Profligately taking a nap on the futon in the afternoon…

I’ve been busy. I deserved it.

New Phone Number!

2007-06-07T12:03:00.001-07:00

Hey all, just an announcement that I have a new phone number. If you need it, shoot me an e-mail and I'll send it to you. Be sure to program it into your phones because I will never remember it myself... I miss my old, easy to remember number already! Pout.

To Do Lists

2007-06-06T20:52:00.000-07:00

I’m so sick of To Do Lists…

Well… That’s not really true. I actually like To Do Lists made up of things along the lines of: “Laundry,” “Groceries,” “Mom’s birthday card,” “Shower,” “New Blog Entry.” Manageable tasks that can be readily achieved and triumphantly stricken help me to feel that I am a productive member of society. But I'm really not partial to lists full of things like: “Chose a mover,” “Pack all your worldly possessions,” “Tell your boss you are leaving,” “Say good bye to your friends.”

From the very moment I decided there was a possibility I might move I have been living off of a series of ever growing and expanding To Do Lists. I put all sorts of nasty things on them and I aggressively tackled each and every uncomfortable task. I figured the more quickly I was able to cross things off my list the better as there would be much more to do coming up. Unfortunately… I am always right. (Staunchly ignore derisive snort of laughter from Dan.)

After months of these taxing chores, and less than a week away from the arrival of the movers, my parents and I were painting my lovely colorful apartment back to its original sad antique white state. I was commenting on how even with the move finally behind me I would still have to unpack and find a job and get a driver’s license and register the cars and get insurance… “It just never ends!” I exclaimed to my Dad in frustration. “Yeah.” Was all he said… But there was a definite hint of “duh!” in there and just a tang of “What do you expect?!” Sigh. He too is always right. The work never ends.

But blaming the To Do List for the work is sort of like blaming the messenger for the bad news. It is actually Thanks to those nerve-wracking lists that I made it through the move at all. Nothing motivates one like panic and nothing panics one like seeing in one fell swoop all the unpleasant things you have to do in the next few months.

So, rather than be resentful, if I am dissatisfied with Still having To Do Lists I should consider the nature of the lists that I myself am making. They are full of difficult things to do. If I just left those things Off the lists, life would be so much better. Right? To Do Lists don’t hurt people, people with to do lists hurt people… or something like that. For instance, the list currently on my desk includes the following:

Clean Gutters
Wash and wax Samwise and Glorfindel (Yes, we name our cars after Tolkien characters in my family…)
Wills etc.
Take pictures for insurance
Study for Drivers License Test
Get Drivers License
Register Samwise and Glorfindel

Is it any wonder that I am not excited about battling the North Carolina Department of Transportation not once but Three times, or musing upon the possibility of Dan’s untimely death, or documenting all of my worldly goods in case of their theft or destruction by fire? Was there ever a more morbid list? (Not to mention the unspoken but omnipresent To Do’s of “GET A JOB!” and the equally distasteful “Lose Weight!”)

Perhaps I just need to reclaim the power of the To Do List for the forces of good. I believe I shall write a new one:

Play your computer game (Currently enjoying Dreamfall, sequel to The Longest Journey)
Read a book
Eat some ice cream
Go for a nice evening walk
Get a Haircut
Get a Massage!
Buy Yourself New Clothes!
Go to Hawaii!!
Buy a New Car!!!

Oooo these are Good. I feel better already! Now let's see, what do I have to do before I... Oh rats… we are right back to Get a Job, Lose Weight and Battle with the DOT again. Sigh.

The Beach House Phenomenon

2007-06-02T15:29:00.000-07:00

There is something so odd about visiting a beach house, someone else’s beach house in particular. Not a rental but some else’s private and personal beach house…

Over the Memorial Day weekend Dan and I and Dan’s mother and father and their respective significant others all converged on Dan’s older brother’s beach house. Now let me be clear that it is a very kind and generous thing that Dan’s brother John and his wife Nancy allow us to stay at their very lovely beach house. I do not mean to disparage their home in any way. I just can’t help but comment on some of the oddities of the beach house experience in general… as exemplified by our time in their house.

For instance, Dan and I were the first ones to arrive this season and we spent a couple of hours cleaning the bathrooms, wiping mildew off of the walls, picking dead roaches up off the floor and chasing the live ones from their hidey holes. The lights didn’t work in much of the living room and kitchen area. Some questionable things were discovered in the fridge. And there was a pervasive clammy, mildewy feel to everything that took quite a while to dispel. I mean, here we were in a house Much nicer and more expensive than anything we will probably ever own and I had a strong desire not to touch anything because it was “icky.”

There’s also the fact that you are plopped right down in someone else’s home—cooking, cleaning, using things—and trying to make it looks as if you were never there! You want to follow the hosts’ rules but you never know when you might be crossing some invisible line you do not mean to cross. This makes you feel a bit like you are holding your breath the whole time. “I scrubbed the black, burned on stuff off of this pan… Maybe they Liked the burned on black stuff?!” “I think there was a towel hanging over that chair when we got here but we’ve washed all the towels. Does anyone remember which towel?!”

And then there’s the décor. Beach house décor is nothing like regular house décor. A certain amount of kitsch is expected even of the really expensive houses (and don’t kid yourself, they are All really expensive down here.) For instance, this manatee mailbox outside the giant Pink house (and a slew of very expensive cars including the mandatory Hummer) is directly across from a field that seems to be home to no one but King Manatee. A $500,000 lot to house their giant fiberglass manatee in a cape? That’s hard to top.

John and Nancy’s home is quite tame in contrast, decorated in classic beach house style complete with shells and stuffed fish and hurricane lamps and expensively distressed wood and nautically themed art. There’s the mandatory and very popular deck out back with a view of the sound and their very own little dock.

And there’s also this little guy. I suppose he is meant to scare away evil spirits? I think he’s cute but some people apparently think that makes my taste quite suspect… which probably means I could make a fortune in the beach house decorating business!

After all, it’s actually vital to the vacation experience that beach houses are a bit quirky. If they were just like home, what fun would that be?

The Allure of the Beach: An Enigma Wrapped in a Sandy Mystery

2007-05-30T19:22:00.000-07:00

Why are humans, and Dan in particular, drawn to the beach? You might believe that the answer is easy and obvious and has something to do with the joys of swimming in the ocean. My years of careful observation of the vacationing Sipp family suggest, however, that you would be wrong.

For one thing, the amount of time actually spent in the water each day by Dan’s family when on a beach trip is minuscule in comparison with the amount of time spent doing any of the following activities: a) Going to the grocery store, b) Cooking, c) Eating, d) Doing dishes, e) Going Back to the grocery store, f) Talking about when to go in the water, g) Waiting for other people to get back from the store so you can all go swimming together or h) Putting on swimsuits, swim shoes, sunscreen, hats, sunglasses, saying goodbye to Riley the dog and that one last trip or two to the bathroom… Aaargh!

I am much too Type A to be comfortable with the glacier pace at which these activities are accomplished by the group. Inevitably I reach the end of my patience long before they are finished puttering and begin harrumphing, “If people want to go to the beach so badly and want to go swimming in particular, why are we unable to get around and out of the house until about 3:00 in the afternoon at which time they will complain that a) the tide is too low or b) the water is too cold or c) it has started to rain?!” It is at times like these that I feel a definite itch for a cattle prod of my very own…

In an even handed attempt at inquiry I should also wonder why I am in such a particular hurry to get into the water when my time spent in the ocean is nothing but a constant juggling of fears: Is this the time that I will be dragged to my watery grave by some lurking sea monster? Will I impale myself on a half hidden syringe full of Ebola virus or lose an appendage to a razor sharp piece of glass? Am I going to be dragged out to sea by a rip tide or will the next huge wave twist me into a broken pretzel and toss me lifeless up on shore? I may be the first person striding into the ocean in an exasperated manner but I also breathe a deep and sincere sigh of relief every time we get in the car on the way home with all limbs intact.

Having grown up taking beach vacations with his family, Dan has none of these fears and—although he is famously wimpy about getting into the ocean if he feels that it is colder than he’d like it to be And has been known to put one toe in and decide that he must run to the bathroom again, thank you very much, be right back—he throws himself with great abandon into the surf. In fact, I have seen no other beach goers down here body surf with anything like Dan and his brother Jerry’s fearlessness and gusto.

For the uninitiated, the goal of body surfing is to catch a wave that is breaking just at the moment when it will pick you up and hurl you at the shelly shore with the most possible force, and somehow Not get pulverized to a bloody pulp in the process. If the surf is amenable and the day not too cold then Dan and Jerry will gleefully repeat this perilous process over and over and over. Whooping and comparing war wounds as they go.

I used to try to keep up with them but now I mostly bounce along, trying not to get smacked too hard by the big waves, to keep my hair out of my eyes so I can see what is coming up to smack me and to not get eaten. Bounce, duck, flip hair, wipe face, yelp, duck, repeat… Occasionally I do catch a wave, generally by accident as I am not very good at it, and my reward is getting to struggle through the surf back out to where the waves can smack me in the face again…

But I was going to try to define the mysterious allure of the beach trip. A half an hour a day testing ourselves in the Atlantic can’t be the whole story… Walks on the beach are nice (I have developed quite a fetish for shells and sea stones) and spending time with friends and family is great, coming together to play games and tell stories that we have all heard a hundred times before and still enjoy repeating. The food tends to be really good too. However I believe there is something a bit more deep-seated at play here and perhaps it is this: Memories.

Just as the smell of the North Woods, imprinted on me during the many trips I took there as a child, conjures up all sorts of nostalgic feelings for me Despite knowing that there were mosquitoes and bear attacks and long portages carrying heavy packs and aching muscles and sleeping on the hard rocky ground and rain and socks and shoes that never dried and smelled Terrible… so too does the sound and smell of the ocean speak to Dan at the most basic level, singing a siren song he first heard years ago that promises peace and the chance to relive some of the joys of childhood. Despite any disappointments, drawing him back again and again…

Critters

2007-05-29T21:56:00.000-07:00

I must confess that it’s not just flowers and birds that are to be found in greater extravagance down here. I have also already had encounters with a much larger number of bugglies than I ever did in Chicago. True, we had the occasionally scurrying roach or rodent in the Elaine Place apartment and plenty of little spiders but at least they all knew their place and were mildly embarrassed to be caught. They didn’t saunter around snickering amongst themselves about the pale new girl in the neighborhood and making snide personal remarks about my weight and housekeeping skills.

In Chicago I never opened my eyes first thing in the morning to the sight of a huge granddaddy roach sitting calmly, high up on the wall right in front of me. I never had to pull multiple ticks off myself in one day either. Or, walking down the sidewalk in the evening, ever saw giant roaches scurry past on some important errand. (Rats, yes, but not roaches!)

Here it seems that either we have constant run ins with said leathery winged things Or a nice man with a big shiny canister comes around every month or so and walks through the kitchen and living room spraying poison… Neither is a perfect solution.

Fortunately Dan has taken very well to the role of knight in shining armor and I am not quite so squeamish about the roachies as I first was. Most creepy crawlies don’t bother me that much but there is something so stomach turning about a roach. It’s completely irrational, I confess, but to see one implies to my subconscious that there are Thousands more hiding in the dark all around me and there is nothing I can do to stop them.

I was, however, completely calm tonight as Dan tried to catch a high flying cricket to take it outside. Despite all his efforts we never caught the silly thing. It had legs like little jet packs and made the most astounding leaps. Very differently shaped from the crickets I am used to. It looked something like this one.

And then I found this fat slug in the bathtub as I got in for my shower. How did he get there? I probably don’t want to know. I just calmly got his mug shot and let him go with a stiff warning…

P.S.

2007-05-25T10:11:00.001-07:00

If you happen to go to Wilber's on a Thursday, as we stumbled upon yesterday, you will have the chance to enjoy their beef brisket BBQ special... Oh, so lovely! We were informed that it's been their Thursday special for the past 45 years so I doubt they'll be changing it anytime soon.

Currently I am sitting at a computer at the Bogue Banks Public Library checking my e-mail and marveling at how different this experience is from the libraries of my childhood and yet how "library" feeling it still is.

We will hit the beach this afternoon. Full report to follow.

Good Eats!

2007-05-23T19:14:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow Dan and I will drive the long length of US Highway 70 from Raleigh to the beach where we will spend the Memorial Day weekend. About two and a half hours into our journey our car will turn of its own accord into a very large, mostly full parking lot outside of an unassuming one story brick building in Goldsboro with a big sign outside that says merely: “Wilber’s Barbeque.” I know this will happen as it has happened each and every time Dan and I have gone to the beach. I assure you that it is the car’s choice and has nothing to do with me begging Dan to stop there every waking second for two or three weeks prior to our leave taking.

Fellow travelers, I beg you, do not be deterred by the less than glamorous setting, by the somewhat dark, pine paneled dining rooms or the perhaps less than sparkling picnic style plastic table cloths. Inside this unpretentious shell lies one of the great culinary jewels of North Carolina. And you will not have to wait long to experience it! Once in the door it generally takes about five minutes to get a seat, a big Styrofoam glass of sweet tea—with extra lemon of course!—, a basket of perfect, sweet, finger shaped hushpuppies and a plate of pulled pork goodness with slaw. All this costs only about $10 with tax and tip.

If the words “pulled pork” do not send shivers of anticipation down your spine then you have never had Wilber’s barbecue! It’s moist, tender and a little smoky with a light vinegar tang and just a little heat from red pepper flakes. You will find no sweet tomato sauce here. My favorite parts are the burnt crunchy bits. And the hushpuppies... Yummm.

Wilber’s is undeniably an Eastern Carolina BBQ institution and rightly so. Shirley Wilber has been smoking whole pigs overnight over hickory wood since he opened the place in 1962. He must be doing it right too as his business has grown quite a bit since then and he has had more than his fare share of famous people rave over his food including both Clinton and at least one Bush. Yet one must ask: Is Wilber’s the best BBQ in the world?

Well… God, in Her infinite wisdom, has created as many kinds of BBQ as there are peoples that dwell upon the face of the earth. (She even gave one to Texans!) All you have to do is watch The Food Network regularly or check out the subject in Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Regional_variations_of_barbecue to become completely overwhelmed by the specifics.

Here is a simplified guide http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/9120357/ but I must warn you to be wary of simplification when it comes to BBQ lest you show your ignorance! For instance, this chart doesn’t take into account the type of fuel used which is Very important to a true BBQ aficionado. Wilber’s, for instance, is on the very edge of Hickory territory, points east use Oak. Also, Dan says that he has been to Lexington and in his experience Western BBQ is spicier than Eastern BBQ but can I find that on the chart? No.

The moral is that since practically each BBQ joint is unique and their individual charms indefinable, there is only one real piece of advice I can give: Try them All! Just make sure Wilber’s is somewhere high on your list. You won't be disappointed.

What’s a Girl to Do?

2007-05-22T18:09:00.000-07:00

It's not often that one gets a chance to redefine oneself, to start from scratch as it were. This is certainly true for a cautious soul like myself who generally avoids upheaval like the plague! Yet there are times when change is thrust upon even poor little old me and I must carpe diem!

If I don’t feel exactly capable of “carpe”ing anything right at the moment, I am at least attempting to awkwardly catch—girly style, two handed to the chest—and not embarrassingly fumble said “diem.”

So I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about where I want to go next with my life and, as a result, doing research on massage therapy programs in the area. My dream (realistic or not, I’m not yet sure) is that massage therapy might make it possible for me to work part time while still pursuing, but not being supported by, my creative endeavors. I hope that it might also be a fulfilling way of helping others in a more relaxed setting than the law office!

After visiting a couple of newcomer programs last week, I spent all day Sunday at an orientation workshop at what seems to be the grand old man of Carolina massage therapy schools: Body Therapy Institute in Siler City, http://www.massage.net/. (How early in Both the massage and internet phenomenons do you have to be to get www.massage.net?!)

It’s a beautiful drive out to BTI on twisty back roads through forests and the most picturesque farms imaginable. The school itself is on a working farm and it’s a gorgeous place to learn. During the excellent lecture and hands on exercises in “body mechanics,” “presence” and “quality touch,” I would glance out of the windows to see hawks swooping low over the fields and occasionally stooping after a small furry dinner. After class I took a walk through the fields myself, around the pond and past radiant yellow irises and fragrant honeysuckle (another delightful new floral experience for someone from honeysuckleless Chicago—but I shall keep my gushing to a minimum).

I am most tempted by this beautiful, supportive place and by this potential career.

At the very least Dan is going to be one happy, relaxed fellow for the next year or so if I go for it…

Magnolias Revealed…

2007-05-22T10:49:00.001-07:00

In Chicago I always thought of Magnolias as exotic spring flowers. Here they are common as dirt, much to my Midwestern delight. With great anticipation I’ve been watching the buds on my backyard magnolia tree grow from the size of green beans to fat little pears. Looking out my bathroom window while brushing my teeth, I Willed those tantalizing buds to burst open as I felt they surely must at any minute… The magnolias, for some mysterious reason, were stubborn and refused to open at my mental command despite the hot breath of summer breathing down their proverbial necks.

I commented on this to my Tarheel friends, “I thought magnolias were a spring flower?” “Well, late May usually…” And it hit me that late May Is spring in Chicago but down here? Well, it’s just on the cusp of summer a rollin’ in.

I am happy to report that my patience has been rewarded and my magnolia blooms are finally popping. A few fuzzy shells have split and sloughed off and the fleshy petals underneath have spread to expose the most interesting apparatus. The top of which is covered with little hooks and the bottom with tiny petalish things that shed to show a crimson center. So many things I had never noticed about the make up of a Magnolia bloom before. I suppose in future years I will not have the same delight in such mundane moments as the opening of the magnolias but for now I am relishing each new discovery.

Previously in Lee's Big Adventure...

2007-05-21T16:37:00.000-07:00

I have discovered a fabulous way to generate blog posts... Copy from past e-mails! :)

So if this looks strangely familiar... There is a reason. But the following escapades were in effect the first entries of this blog and so I am attaching them hereto:

April 25, 2007

Hello there! I thought I should send out a note saying "Hey!" and filling you in a bit on what's up with me so far post-move.

I've had many adventures since I saw you all last including, but not limited to, two eight hour Mega Bus rides up to Minnesota and back to visit friends and family over Easter, a number of days spent in the Rockford Memorial NICU with my very good friend Tina's premie (7 weeks early!), and a 13 hour drive over the mountains with a car crammed full of stuff. With all my travels I didn't actually arrive down here until last Tuesday and I came in to find our tiny house filled to the gills with boxes...

I've still got a lot of unpacking to do! But today we got my desk reassembled and I am happy to be making real progress getting things dealt with, either tucked away or unpacked.

The end of last week was very hectic with the iO South Improv festival Dan was running. Fortunately it was very successful and Dan is exhausted but happy. I'm not sure that he wants to go through it all Again quite yet... But once he has recovered a bit he might feel differently.

Last Sunday was the first real free day I had since the drive down here. Dan was teaching class all day so as I was somewhat at loose ends anyway and longing to get out exploring I went on a Long ramble around Durham and the Duke Campus and the Sarah P. Duke Gardens http://www.hr.duke.edu/dukegardens/index.html. The garden was quite a popular place as you can well imagine on a perfect Sunday afternoon, high of 85, nice breeze and not a cloud in the sky. There were an amusing number of brides and grooms being photographed around every bush and tree and shrubbery in the gardens and I also happened upon a very serious woman with a ferret on a leash which I found rather striking.

Durham is not exactly designed for walking, not like Chicago at any rate. Sidewalks come and go in a rather haphazard and mysterious fashion and those that are present are often rather patched and more vertical than horizontal. (I was actually glad I had not found my sneakers yet and had been forced to wear my boots!) Still it is quite charming wandering around my neighborhood. The campus is beautiful and everything is green and lush in a way that you simply don't find in the city. Huge trees are everywhere, bird songs sound all day long and somewhat unkempt yards gush forth all manner of greenery and flowers. The azaleas are almost embarrassingly fecund to the point that even our sadly abused and untouched yard sports a huge bush covered in salmony pink blooms.

I suggest that you all come visit in the next 30 seconds before it gets too hot to enjoy... Oops. Too late.

May 6, 2007

Sundays are good days for adventures...

Saturday was gray and rainy and cold so I stayed in and thought serious thoughts about my future and looked at job ads and recoiled in horror at the thought of pursuing any of said jobs and thought about going to massage therapy school and researched related job prospects and training programs and worried about how I would pay for such a thing and kept Dan up until 2:00 worrying about the logistics involved and then dreamt one of those dreams where I was at school and I hadn't been to class all semester and hadn't even looked at the syllabus and not only was my room a mess so I couldn't find any information on where or when my final was but it was crazy with pop bottles exploding on everything and water running through it and...

And then today it was a Glorious day. I walked outside to say good bye to Dan this morning and knew that I must do something outside or I would never forgive myself for being such a chicken that I couldn't manage to leave the house by myself when it was so perfect. I had read in the paper about a wild flower hike organized by the Eno River Association so I girded my loins (i.e. printed out some Mapquest maps) and left myself an hour to find the place. 15 minutes later I was twiddling my thumbs in the parking lot of the Occoneechee Mountain State Park wondering if I had made the right choice...

I think I did. At first I thought I might be annoyed by the chatter of the other hikers, mostly retirees, but as we all grew a bit more winded and spread out on the trail that didn't bother me and I enjoyed the camaraderie with the other hikers. We did not see all that many kinds of wild flowers but the Mountain Laurel was just coming into glorious bloom and was everywhere on the mountain. It's a beautiful flower that grows in big white clusters. That's lovely enough from a distance but when you get right up close to it you can see how amazingly engineered it is. The buds look like shooting stars and when they open up the stamens are trapped bent back against the petals. When a bee or some such critter gets close enough to disturb the stamens then they pop out. We had some fun exploring these mechanics ourselves.

Mostly I just enjoyed the trekking through the woods on a perfect day with the golden green light spangling down on me through the glowing trees, sometimes through relatively open areas where the ground cover was bracken fern and sometimes down narrow trails with huge flowering mountain laurels on either side. At one point our guide took us out of the public area on an overgrown trail back to an area called "Panther's Cave" where there was indeed a huge rock outcropping with a cave in it and a delicate little streamlet of water chirruping past. We also visited both the top and bottom of an old railroad rock quarry. The view from the top was quite lovely but the view from the bottom was more striking. The bare stone had weathered into strips of different colors with some recent rock slides providing a jagged contrast. Very grand and lovely.

And So It Begins...

2007-05-20T16:24:00.000-07:00

Have I ever posted anything on a blog or chat room before? No. Do I read other people's blogs? No. Do I expect anyone in their right mind to read My blog? Not Really.

And yet, if perchance someone might be reading this, said reader will without fail notice that this is a blog and that I am writing it and therefore they might suggest that I protesteth too much about my blogglessness and wonder what gives?

Well... In my wild post-move re-creation of myself and flagrant indulgence of my artsy side I am turning over a new leaf on the whole writing thing. As a result I found myself sending out mass e-mail after mass e-mail update to my family and friends going on and on about things they do not much care to hear about. In sympathy to their inboxes but attempting to keep everyone "Up To Date" I have decided to create this memoir of sorts of my move and let them read it or not at their leisure.

And So It Begins...