Strawberry love

I spent the weekend out of town at my sister's law school graduation. It was a whirlwindy but very fun weekend. It involved eating both local and national chain pizza and sushi. And watching The Office and laughing as my brother declared he'd rather die of tetanus than hang out in the emergency room. (He cut his foot by kicking the corner of a low-lying heater in her apartment.) And going to the student health center instead for his shot and killing time in the waiting room discussing the presidential candidates, abortion politics, the Rosie vs. Elisabeth feud, and the ins and outs of Lost. And going to a big family reception with an amazing buffet spread and greeting and meeting my sister's friends and professors. And eating gelato and Italian ice. And it was, for the most part, a very merry time. (We missed having my older brother there; his stand-by ticket plan didn't work out.) My sister looked radiantly lovely, and we were all very proud of her.

(Speaking of Rosie, I love what Nora Ephron wrote about her leaving the show.)

And we saw Waitress, which I loved and adored, and whose song I cannot get out of my head to save my life. ("Gonna be a pie from heaven above, gonna be filled with strawberry love.") It was so simple and funny and sweet. I think I loved it more than they did, because when I announced that I thought Keri Russell deserved an Oscar nomination, my sister looked at me like I was nuts. I loved watching Adrienne Shelly talk about how the movie is a love letter to her daughter, though that makes me unspeakably sad.

I also read two books during two very long days of travel. What Is the What was quite good and intense, and I'm very glad I saw Lost Boys of Sudan before reading it because I think it really informed and enriched my reading experience. I read it on the way there and would not shut up about it while my sister and I spent a while waiting for her car to be washed to the point where she drove us to the bookstore afterwards and bought it for her human rights professor.

On the way home, I read The Book Thief. I hadn't cried so hard while reading a book since my last airplane emotional breakdown, which was coincidentally also on the way home from visiting my sister. This was a very similar weeping extravaganza. I blew my nose into napkin after napkin from Au Bon Pain, and the woman next to me in the Chanel sunglasses kept looking at me out of the corner of her eye and shifting away from me uncomfortably. But I could not help it. I was so moved that what started as quiet tears running down my face dissolved into hiccups and blurred vision and whimpering and a runny nose, and it went on for page after page after page. I put my head in my hands when I finished it and kept on crying, partly because it was so beautiful and partly because I was so sad that it was over and I was leaving Leisel and her dreams and Papa and his accordion and Rudy with hair like lemons and Max with hair like feathers and Rosa and her curses behind.

I made the mistake of reading a few less than raving reviews of the book when I got home. I decided to ignore them and write the reviewers off as insane. I think I'm going to stop reading reviews of any book or movie I love because there's just no damn point. If they're positive, great. But if they're even remotely negative, I get irrationally protective and defensive and then secretly wonder if I'm crazy to have loved it. In this case, I know I am not. Sure, I can see why some of the aspects of the book would be annoying to some, but they worked for me. I loved the story and the characters so much that I don't care that the author employed some unusual and possibly gimmicky methods. It moved me utterly and profoundly, and I will love it forever.

Now I'm home and settling back into real life. My brother sat behind Lance Bass at Les Miserables last night. And here are some pictures.

(a little excited about her Friday Night Lights shirt)


(making his best Jim Halpert face)


(pretty building)

(posing for one too many pictures before heading to the reception)


(giant piles of sushi at the reception buffet)

(the graduate and me)

Mom

My mom loves orange sherbet and tamales.

She played Joan of Arc in college.

She and my dad fell in love when they were nineteen. She told me recently that part of the reason they've stayed together all this time is sharing not only common values and faith but liking to do the same things. "We both love football," she said, "and going to plays." My mom and dad are still in love. They genuinely like doing things together. They always have each other's backs. It is both inspiring and impossible to live up to.

At least one of my friend's dads has a (harmless) crush on my mom. He doesn't ask me, "How's your mom?" He asks me, "How is your beautiful mom?"

People think my mom is beautiful. My dad stared at her walking through a parking lot once when we were sitting in his car. "Look at her," he said. "Isn't she beautiful?" My mom does not know how beautiful she is.

My mom is the kind of person who tells you that you can't be all things to all people -- but she does not follow her own advice. She is so many things to so many people. She's attended daily mass since she was a little girl, where she prayed every day that God would send her a good husband. She visits the nursing home on a regular basis even though we no longer have any relatives living in any of them. Old people adopt my mother, and she adopts them. One elderly gentleman in particular loved and adored my mom, and she took some camellia trees from his yard and now they grow in her yard. She calls them "Kap's camellias" because Kap was his name. My mom transplanted some daylilies from her mother's yard to hers, and then from her yard to mine. They are currently exploding.

My mom has a regular list of people she meets with on a weekly basis to give them spiritual guidance. I've no doubt that she helps them to figure out whatever they're trying to figure out, to find whatever they are seeking.

My mom loves An Affair to Remember and To Kill a Mockingbird.

My mom's first boyfriend was gay.

She was raised by a single mother of five, and they didn't have a lot of money. She remains the thriftiest person I have ever known. She has a knack for finding the most beautiful clothes at consignment stores. She does not waste; if something she buys isn't right, she'll return it and get that refund, even if it's only $2. She didn't believe in buying us a lot of name-brand clothing, and I appreciate that, as I told her recently. I didn't when I was younger, like when I was in the bathroom stall at school and overheard a Mean Girl saying that I wore the same Esprit shirt on every free dress day, but now I like that I don't care a lick about expensive purses or sunglasses or jeans. She would regularly remind us to turn off the lights, chiming on repeat: "The more money we give to Gulf States Utilities, the less money we have for other things." I am as a result maniacal about my air conditioner and heater. I'd rather it be 80 degrees in my house in the summer and 60 in the winter than spend hundreds of dollars on my utility bill.

My mom was once an English teacher and then a creative writing teacher. She taught the older kids at my school when I was young, and I remember my friend's older sister telling me that my mom was her favorite teacher and how proud that made me. My mom is the sort of person who has written letters to the editor lamenting poor grammar exhibited by beauty queens during the question/answer portion of the pageant or valedictorians during their speeches.

My mom is a clipper and a saver of words. She has files and files of clippings of articles and essays and cartoons that are organized by subject matter and she can always put her hands on the appropriate one depending on what is going on in your life.

My mom really, really, really, really, really believes in and loves God.

She tells me one of her major regrets of my childhood is fighting with me over what I could and could not wear. She also has blocked out, apparently, the memory of washing my mouth out with soap on two occasions. I don't hold it against her, because I think I probably deserved it.

My mom let us make "potions" out of all of the liquids and solids in her refrigerator and pantry. Pickle juice and mayonnaise and paprika. I also vaguely remember making mud pies. My mom taught us to put toothpaste on bee and caterpillar stings.

My mom is all about breastfeeding. I also remember her letting my little brother run around naked a lot when he was a baby and her commenting that it's okay to do that because it makes babies so happy. I told her recently that I think that my little brother being born when were 11, almost 9, and 7 was the unifying event of our lives and that maybe the reason our childhoods were so lovely was that we had this one bright ray of sunshine that we all focused on all of the time. There was something about his birth and the fact that he was so blond and beautiful and perfect and fun that made us all nicer people, I think, and maybe made us all love each other more than we had before.

Once my mom bought us all new shoes just before the end of the school year. I didn't wear them all summer, and when it was time for school to start again, she said I didn't need new shoes because mine were practically new. I reacted to this by locking myself in the bathroom and writing a distraught letter to Ann Landers.

My mom has a very green thumb and always has plants growing beautifully both inside and outside her house.

Once my mother yelled at me that my room was such a disgrace with its piles of clothes all over the floor that I might as well take a pair of scissors and cut up all of my clothes for how well I treated them and how shameful it was because my dad worked so hard to make the money to buy them.

My mom has lots of themed holiday figurines and always tries to make the house festive. When she buys something really nice, it's usually on the last day of an estate sale when it's half-price.

My mom always has extra gift wrapping supplies in her hall closet and threatened us upon pain of death always to send thank you notes.

My friend calls me for advice and instead of asking, "WWJD?" she asks, "WWLD?" because my mom's name starts with an "L." It's just kind of a given that what my mom would do is the kind thing and the right thing, even if it's the hard thing.

Here are some things I remember my mom cooking when we were little: tacos, hamburgers, pork chops, veal cutlets, shrimp stew, chicken stew, macaroni and cheese (both boxed Kraft and homemade), roast, spaghetti, shrimp and corn soup, crawfish etoufee, drop Bisquick biscuits, grits and bacon, tuna salad, and homemade pizza. She always told us to chew our hot dogs well or we would throw up. She always had a box of popsicles in the freezer and my old friend claims to this day that no one made better peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She tried switching us to wheat bread when her little sister moved to California but we were like, oh hell no. She also makes an insanely good chocolate sheet cake which has a stick of butter in the batter and a stick of butter in the icing. She also used to make heavenly hash cake, and she would make angel food cake for her mom.

She had a complicated relationship with her mother, mostly, I think, because her mother was a very complicated woman. But she was always kind to her, even when my grandmother was at her meanest and most difficult, and she taught us to be that way, too. (Even though sometimes she would vent behind her back: "She just makes things up. She MAKES things UP!" Which she did.)

My mom bought us red jell-o to eat out of the box before our swim meets and always wore a red shirt to our meets because red was our team color. My mom is the only person who knows how to get stains out of our sweaters.

My mom really likes the love songs of Lionel Richie. She loves Mandy Patinkin's voice. Her only albums growing up were the soundtracks to Oklahoma and South Pacific, so she still knows them by heart, along with many, many other musicals. My dad likes musicals, too, but I think my mom is the one who really made me love them because I can't remember a time when movies like The Sound of Music and West Side Story and Grease were not on in our house and I suspect that was her doing. My mom loves to read and always let me check out as many books from the library as I wanted.

Once a perfect stranger stopped my mom in front of a video store to tell her that she had really nice calves. And she does really have nice calves. She has long been a regular exerciser, much more faithful at it than I have ever been. I like the fact that I think she secretly hates it. There is something me that cannot fully trust a person who loves exercising.

My mom's reactions to things have really gone down in family history. Once my sister spilled a giant pitcher of sweetened iced tea and my mom yelled so loudly that it echoed through the neighborhood treetops: "Four quarts of tea on the floor!" It was a cry of despair and disbelief. And once my sister rigged the sink sprayer with a rubber band so it would spray on the stomach of whoever turned on the sink water, and it hit an unexpected target, my dad, who was none too pleased. My mom emitted a similar cry: "Where's the camera?!" as if it were so hilarious that it should have been captured on film, but not really because it was so stupid and she was so fed up with all of us.

I remember once when my mom was sitting on the backyard swing crying and saying she just wanted to run away. This is a very, very vague and hazy memory and I don't know if it actually happened or if it was a dream. I guess it's understandable if it really happened ... at one point she had three kids under the age of four and I'm sure we drove her over the edge on a regular basis.

My mom helped me to re-grow my front yard and plant my front bed. I am complimented on my front bed on a regular basis.

My mom believes we have to face our childhood wounds in order to be set free of them. She asked me recently if I have any childhood wounds and told me she wonders what my siblings and I think about when we look back on our childhoods. I told her I can't really think of any childhood wounds, and it's true. My main heartbreak when I was a little girl was that they wouldn't let me have a cocker spaniel.

I think my mom gave us the childhood she didn't have but always wanted.

Last night my mom stopped by my house to bring me her special ice cream dessert, leftover carrot salad, and leftover cabbage salad. Just because she knows I like them.

I hope that I make her even half as proud as she makes me.

Flying by

Another weekend has flown by. On Friday night, my boyfriend and I went out for Italian food ... he had pesto ravioli, and I had spaghetti with shrimp. On Saturday morning, we drove to St. Francisville and had breakfast at a cute cafe / bookstore ... I had an egg sandwich on an English muffin and some grits, and he had Texas toast with eggs and salsa. We drove around the historic district a little bit, stopping at Grace Church and petting a cemetery cat.

That afternoon, we played a game of Scrabble and watched The Prestige. I'd heard raves, but while it was far better than The Illusionist, it fell short for me. I found myself getting more and more annoyed as the movie went on despite how much I like both Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman. Eventually, we headed out to a friend's house for dinner ... she made shrimp etoufee and salad with orange slices, strawberries, and walnuts. We drank Peroni and played Karaoke Revolution, which is always, let's face it, very fun. I sang "Fame, "Waiting for Tonight," "I Believe in a Thing Called Love," and I think that's it.

On Sunday morning, we went to the coffee shop and ate scones and read the paper. We then each went on a run. Well, he went on a run. I did Day 1 of Couch to 5K, which I've decided I'm starting over with the goal in mind of running at a faster pace. It feels kind of silly to be starting this program three months after running a half-marathon, but I've gotten really out of shape since then, and I have to start somewhere. It's shocking how much structure sticking to an exercise routine added to my entire day, my entire week. Since stopping, everything's felt sort of out of control and off-kilter. It was hot outside, but it felt good to get through it and push myself a little on the running segments.

Yesterday, I watched Not One Less, which I'm sad to say I found boring and slow. Then I headed out for a walk around the neighborhood with my friend and her daughters. We had fun pushing the stroller through sprinklers. On Saturday, I made this recipe in the crock pot, and I ate three servings throughout the day on Sunday. It's mighty good.

Then I came home and watched a shameful number of America's Next Top Model season one episodes during the MTV marathon and thoroughly enjoyed the season finale of Brothers and Sisters.

A few clips from pretty much my favorite TV movie of all time, Love Is Never Silent. (1) A great scene when Mare Winningham argues with her parents. (2) The awesome ending.

In addition to being obsessed with seeing Waitress, I'm now fixated with seeing Once. When either of them will come out anywhere around here is beyond me, but I sure hope it's soon. I'm feeling a desperate need to really love a movie, and I somehow know I will love both of these.

Wrestling

Tonight my dogs came inside wet and smelly from their day in the rain. They tore the house apart, basically, and then started a vigorous wrestling match. I've never really used the video setting on my digital camera before or used iMovie, so I decided to give it a shot. This is very basic, very low-quality, very lame, and very boring for anyone who doesn't enjoy watching dogs wrestle. Which I do, so ...

Jam-packed

This was a pretty jam-packed weekend, I cannot lie.

On Friday evening, my friend and I went out to an art hop, each having a cocktail and walking through various shops and galleries. We met her husband for dinner and each had a raspberry margarita, which I hadn't had in ages and which was the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. My crawfish burrito wasn't bad, either.

The next morning, I got up early and dropped off a bunch of giveaway stuff to a local charity, got a frozen coffee, stopped at the spa to buy my mom a pedicure gift card, and got my hair cut. That afternoon, I babysat for my friend's three-year-old and six-week-old, which was fairly uneventful except for the three-year-old's hiding under a blanket during the prologue of Beauty and the Beast and announcing loudly, "I DO NOT LIKE THIS MOVIE." She later explained that the part that sent her over the edge was when the Beast scratches the picture of him as the prince with his claws. We then watched part of Toy Story 2, The Velveteen Rabbit, and Lady and the Tramp. The newborn was pretty sedate and chilled out except during her diaper change, when she screamed so loudly I thought the windows might shatter. She immediately went into a blissful swing-induced nap after that.

That evening, I took my mom out for a Mother's Day dinner. We had a nice and fairly intense talk. Somehow we got onto the subject of how one of my deepest sources of anxiety and grief is thinking that my parents are worried about me, worried about their kids, and I felt compelled to assure her that no matter what happens to us, we will all be okay. We have each other, and we have them, and they made us strong. She said that was the best Mother's Day gift she could ask for. She shared how it is easy for parents to become obsessed with their kids' choices and become convinced that what they wanted for their own lives and what they need to be happy is also with their kids will need, but that she has learned gradually that what they need is not necessarily what we need and that they have no control over their children's choices. Like I said, it was intense. But good, ultimately, I think. Our waitress, I swear to God, was on speed and that was kind of nerve-wracking, but our food was excellent.

On Mother's Day morning, we ended up going to three different restaurants for lunch because wait times were so insane. My dad said, "Why don't we just drive up to New York and have lunch with your sister? It'd be faster." (My sister moved to New York yesterday; wow.) We also celebrated my dad's birthday, and I gave him some of these coasters, which he really liked. We settled in for a Greek and Lebanese feast, where my dad amusingly ordered a cheeseburger on whole wheat pita bread.

After lunch, my mom suggested that I come over to watch The Heart of the Game with her and I said sure. It was just as good the second time around, and she loved it. During the movie, we passed back and forth my dad's giant plastic bubblegum tub that he filled with chocolates for the class he teaches in wrappers in the school colors, which was enjoyable.

I spent the rest of the afternoon watching Music and Lyrics ... it was pretty dumb, but it had its cute moments, and I actually liked the music a lot. Seeing Jason Street as Hugh Grant's partner in the Wham-like 80s group was admittedly hilarious. (You can watch the video here.)

The bulk of the rest of the weekend was spent reading Ellen Emerson White's new book, Long May She Reign (the galley). All 708 pages of it, thanks to Melissa and her connections. I will save my "review"-like comments for when the actual book comes out in October, but I will say now that I never thought that I would see these characters in a new book, and the mere fact that one was written is thrilling. It was great to see Meg and the rest of the Powers family again, and Preston and Beth. I could say a lot more about it, but like I said, I think I should wait until the finished version is released.

Last night my boyfriend arrived safe and sound from his backpacking trip in the Smokies. He did not see any shooting stars, but he saw fireflies. Also, bears.

I wish I could tell you the story of my little brother in Vegas, but I don't think I can. Suffice it to say that it left my entire family in an ecstatic frenzy of text messaging, phone calls riddled with guffaws and screams, and hysteria.

Friday

As soon as I saw this news last night, I called my little brother. He yelled the news out to the people nearby, and shouts ensued. "The household," he reported, "is rejoicing." I then called my sister, and we rejoiced, too.

My sister pulled her last all-nighter of law school last night, finishing the biggest paper of her life. I am thinking of her right now and am so proud of her. My friend and I were talking recently about a Thai restaurant we went to that August when we went to move her in. And that feels like it just happened. Time flies.

Last night I watched Catch and Release, mostly because I really like Jennifer Garner and Sheriff Seth Bullock. And I'm going to have to give it about a C+. I liked all of the actors; even Juliette Lewis was enjoyable. But there was a little too much Kevin Smith playing Kevin Smith (which is fine in small doses, but there was a LOT of him calling people "sir," which he always does nonstop when guest hosting Ebert and Roeper, and it kind of got old), and the story was kind of slow and kind of lame. It almost reached into B- territory because of the good performances and the beautiful setting -- I can't remember ever seeing another movie set in Boulder before, and it gave me very nice and lovely flashbacks of the summer I spent there (I had to laugh when Seth Bullock's character called Boulder "a Patagonia Disneyland") -- but not quite. It wasn't terrible by any means and had some lovely moments, but it wasn't great.

Right now I'm listening to "Send You on Your Way" by eastmountainsouth. I am sad that this band will never put out another album. This is a break-up song that's simultaneously one of the sweetest and saddest I've ever heard. It's sung from the perspective of someone who's letting someone go, the perspective of the ender of the relationship. And that man is wishing the other person well and wishing that the next person will love her the way he couldn't, even though he did love her. And it reminds me of the break-ups of people I've known who love each other so much but just don't want the same things in life at the same time. And all of the angry dead-to-me break-up songs don't apply because nobody really did anyone wrong. As hard as break-ups are, I think it's easier when someone is the obvious villain. When nobody's a villain, God. What torture.

On a lighter note, I remain obsessed with waiting for Waitress. (Check out Nathan Fillion's spot on this enjoyable list.)

Lots of family time coming up this weekend. My boyfriend is off backpacking in the Smokies, and it's bizarre not to be able to contact him. I am very glad he's having guy time, though, because it's important to have time with our friends separately. I hope he is having a blast. Tonight I'm hanging out with Maryelizabeth, tomorrow I'm getting my hair cut and going to dinner with my mom, and Sunday I'm having brunch with my parents and older brother. My little brother is in Las Vegas for reasons that are not to even be believed. But that's a story for another day.

Whirlwind Weekend

Weekend whirlwind, whew.

On Friday night, I drove to see my boyfriend. I didn't get there until later than usual, so there were no big dinner plans. I ate his leftover curry vegetables and rice, and we turned in pretty early. We woke up early on Saturday morning and headed to the big city.

On our way there, I talked to my sister, who'd just run a half-marathon that morning at the very impressive pace of nine-minute miles, once again leaving me in awe of her. Once we got to the city, we attended a Jazz Fest brunch at his neighbor's house ... grits with shrimp, corn casserole, homemade cream biscuits, and other mighty fine dishes. We then headed to the festival, where we saw Snooks Eaglin in the Blues Tent and part of Galactic. We also enjoyed frozen cafe au lait, crawfish strudel, a pink lemonade snowball, a strawberry smoothie, and I think that's it. We spent a lot of time walking around the different arts and crafts booths, which is always fun.

(The Harry Shearer photo is for mo pie.) After sizzling in the sun for a few hours, we headed to a wine and cheese night with his co-worker and his wife. We walked over to the St. James Cheese Company, and smelling the gardenias and jasmine growing all along the gates on the beautiful Uptown streets was pure heaven. Somehow we spent more than $60 on cheese. I don't even know how.

I don't really know much about cheese other than I hate blue cheese and that the worse it smells the more I will hate it. I know that makes me quite a simpleton when it comes to cheese. We bought cheese from different countries, in different shapes, in different containers. It was a cheese extravaganza. The couple laid out an impressive spread of cheese, sliced baguette, crackers, and wine, and we went to town. It was quite fun, and it's too bad that they're about to move away.

The next morning, we went to brunch at the Longbranch. It was very pretty and fancy and delicious. I had the whole wheat pancakes with raspberries and blackberries and cinnamon butter, and he had eggs benedict with ham and English muffins and crispy chive potatoes. And eventually I drove home, talking to Shelley and listening to Cabaret.

I went straight to having coffee with an old friend and to Toni's reading, then I came home and watched Little Children. Which I thought was brilliantly made but pretty gross and disturbing. So I recommend it, but prepare to go, "Ew."

What else? I watched a fantastic episode of Brothers and Sisters, which I swear gets better and better every week. I love Patricia Wettig, I mean, I have loved her since she was Nancy Weston about whose evolution as a character (I'm sure I've mentioned) I wrote a 30-page paper for my Women & Television class. I watched so many hours of tape of her as Nancy that I can recite whole episodes and mimic her hand gestures and facial expressions. And so I am thrilled that she has such a juicy and wonderful role on a show that has turned out, against my initial assessment, to be absolutely good. I love that she won three Emmys for thirtysomething because she totally deserved them, and I love that she is married in real life to Michael Steadman ("Yo. It's my art center."). Love it. Love her. So it pains me to say this. But her very scary boob shelf saddens me. She is 56, and she looks wonderful, and there is no woman whose breasts should sit that high up at the age of 56. Or any age, really. Maybe she is just wearing insane bras, I don't know. It's really my only criticism, and maybe I shouldn't even be making it. I still love you, Patty!

Meanwhile, I've decided that I miss running and that I have to return to it. Not only for my physical but for my mental health. I've felt decidedly more crazy since the half-marathon. For my first run back, I'm shooting for a mile. I'm not even confident that I can run a mile. But I have to start back somewhere.

My friend, the author

Today I was lucky enough to attend a local book signing by my friend, Toni McGee Causey. Toni and I first met in early 2001. We went to see Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I was impressed by her then, and I'm even more impressed by her now. I'll never forget the e-mail that Toni sent to me on my 26th birthday.

For more information on her new novel, go here. It was great to see the crowd at the book signing event and visit a little with Toni's super swell husband, Carl. Toni looked over the moon, and deservingly so. I am so happy for my lovely and talented friend.

Enjoying

This lovely entry by Chiara.

The return of Elizabeth of Abeyance.

Mark Erelli. Especially his cover of Shawn Colvin's "I Don't Know Why" (which made me cry the first time I heard it and which you can hear here) and Deb Talan's "Comfort."

Counting the days until the release of Waitress. Felicity Porter and Captain Tightpants sharing the screen? It's too good to be true. I must be very emotional these days, because this review made me cry, too.

This poem as posted by Grace.

The fact that Long May She Reign by Ellen Emerson White is now listed at Amazon. (Thanks to Tiffany for letting me know.)

That Toni's book is now out for all the world to enjoy. I can't wait to read it.

Edited to add: this wonderful clip, which goes out to my sister.