D.C. for the 4th

Another summer, another trip to D.C. to see my sister. I'm not going to break it down day by day; instead I'll break it down memory by memory, most of them involving good food and good people.

Crying abundant and very cathartic tears on the airplane while finishing The Book Thief on the way there; a Thai dinner in the rain; visiting with my sister's officemates, some of whom are major So You Think You Can Dance Fans, and feeling as if I'd found My People; seeing my sister and brother-in-law's very cute apartment for the first time; waiting in a very long line while chatting over iced coffee for brunch at Eastern Market, where I got The Brick, a creation with an egg, a slab of ham, and actual hashbrowns sandwiched between two slices of toast, and a side of grits, of course; going running in a place where it was 74 degrees in the middle of the day, which felt like a miracle, enjoying the pretty sidewalk flowers in my sister's neighborhood and seeing the Capitol appear when rounding the curve of a hill; stopping at a fancy grocery store after my run and being yelled at for accidentally cutting in line at the seafood counter and getting between a woman and her giant bag of crabs; feasting upon a creation of my brother-in-law's, peppers and onions and garlic and tomatoes mashed up in a blender and simmered forever and ever until sweet and delicious pasty goo that when served with shrimp over pasta with a side of rosemary bread rivaled the best dishes I have ever eaten in an Italian restaurant; watching episode after episode of season five of The West Wing, one of the years I didn't watch it, and deeming it, in its often jarring Sorkin-less weirdness, "Bizarro West Wing"; going on another run on the 4th of July, again relishing the mindblowingly pleasant temperature, heading around the Capitol all the way down the Mall through the Folk Life Festival, feeling mighty patriotic and swell when running up the sidewalk sloping up to the Washington Monument, meeting up there with my sister and bro-in-law for stretching and a stroll through the very beautiful World War II Memorial, taking a moment at the pillar engraved with "Louisiana"; stopping for a very cold and totally worth it $6 cup of Stella Artois at a Wales tent at the festival, remembering our most wonderful time there five years ago this summer; gathering with some of their very nice friends over beers and snacks before heading en masse on foot back over to the Mall to watch the incredible fireworks lighting up the sky behind the Washington Monument; heading to the Dupont Circle farmers' market to see B.'s sister at her booth and enjoying seeing her and tasting her wares; walking from there over to the lovely Tabard Inn for an amazing brunch of fontina grits, a warm basket of assorted breads, iced coffee, a mimosa, an asparagus/sundried tomato fritatta, waffles topped with fruit, and a side of bacon, yes ma'am; walking past the White House and feeling a surge of joy and pride relative to its current occupancy; going to see Away We Go, which I found refreshingly honest and funny and real; dining on the sidewalk of a Cuban restaurant with my dear old friend Elizabeth, ever-wonderful; taking an impromptu day trip to Annapolis, which is surprisingly quaint and charming, eating crab cake sandwiches by the bay, strolling up and down the streets window shopping, and leaping around the grounds of the state capitol like lunatics; and dining at Matchbox with more of their friends, who were delightful, and enjoying veggie pizza with potato chips on top and several more Stellas.

Before I left for this trip I had kind of a heavy heart, and I think getting away was just what I needed. I think the best part of any vacation, on top of the great times had in its duration, is the feeling it leaves in me once I'm home. In every moment of fun and laughter with my sister and her husband, both of whom I love beyond measure; with every nod of understanding over fajitas in a discussion of how we enter the world; with every sight of the crape myrtles which seemed so much brighter there, not being burned and baked by the scorching heat we're having here these days; with every sip of cold beer; with every step on my runs through their neighborhood and past those buildings and monuments that never cease to leave me a little in awe ... I felt my heart growing lighter and letting go.

Now that I'm home, I feel more free, more focused, and more ready to embrace the pleasures of the summer ahead of me. I feel ready to enjoy this dinner I just made of onions and bell peppers and zucchini and yellow squash and carrots and celery and almonds and green peas and chick peas and whole wheat orzo topped off with a little romano cheese. I feel like me again.

Catching Up

Before it gets away from me, I want to get a little down about a wonderful weekend. I've already posted about the concerts, which were both amazing, but I want to record what else went on. It was a rare weekend when the whole family was in town -- my sister and her husband (they live out of state) and my brother and his new girlfriend (they travel a lot). My sister had the inspired idea to rent out a private karaoke room at a Thai restaurant in an early celebration of my parents' 40th wedding anniversary. We thought about inviting other people, but in the end, it was just us, and we had what can only be called a blast. There was dancing, there was drinking, there was so much eating, and there was plenty of singing. One of my favorite parts was watching my mother watch my brothers sing together. Their harmonies were admittedly beautiful but she was just blown away. Many pictures were taken, some of which I will eventually get around to posting. We also went to one of my brother's gigs, had boiled crawfish, had beignets and cafe au lait, and just had a merry time. I loved having everyone here. Just sitting around eating my mom's crawfish etouffee or lying around on the bed with my sister and brother-in-law were delightful. It was a really wonderful weekend and one I will not soon forget.

Randomness: The Great Performances special In the Heights: Chasing Broadway Dreams is excellent, even if you are not familiar with the show. Definitely worth checking out.

Meanwhile. I am still watching season two of Chuck and loving it a lot and am thrilled it has been renewed. I am reading The Wednesday Wars, finally, and loving it.

I got from Netflix the DVD of the Rent: Live on Broadway special that my brother and I went to see last fall. The special features are indeed quite special. I highly recommend both the live stage show itself as well all of the featurettes, which are VERY WONDERFUL. Seeing Jonathan Larson's parents and sister, all kinds of backstage goodness, the longtime crew members, the closing cast, the original cast (except Adam Pascal -- where were you, Adam Pascal? What could have been more important than this?). Everyone crying and laughing and singing and embracing and remembering, forget about it, it was too much, the tears poured like rain. Rent, I thought I was all cried out over you. But I was wrong.

Once again I have found myself engaging in last minute triathlon registration ridiculousness. A few days ago, I signed up for one that is tomorrow. The distances aren't terribly long, so I think I'll be okay, though I am a bit apprehensive about the biking part since the farthest I've ever gone in my life was seven miles. I'm just going to take it slow, try not to fall off or crash, and try to enjoy myself. I'm viewing it as a chance to road trip with a friend and as good practice for the one in August. I know myself, and I know my anxiety over that one will be greatly lessened over the summer by having this one under my belt.

This morning I went to the farmer's market and came away with fresh eggs, cucumbers, strawberries, bell peppers, yellow squash, and carrots. I feel really good about this. The dogs also approve.

Maid of honoring

It's a good thing I took off this week so I could devote full attention to my duties as my sister's maid of honor! Phew! This might be the most fun job ever, though. It involves accompanying her on errands, lunching, drinking half cafe au lait/half hot chocolate, folding programs, arranging table cards, opining about sash tying methods, searching for toeless panty hose, making playlists, scanning pictures, attending fancy brunches with mimosas and cheese grits, watching parents cry, eating all of the treats people keep dropping by, sharing lovely sisterly gifts, and so forth. Being the maid of honor means you participate in the action without the pressure of getting married. Not that it's pressure! It's a wonderful thing. But you know what I mean. The week is already flying by, and the big day will be here before we know it. I kind of want it to slow down so we can keep accomplishing fun tasks together.

So, it's been a hectic but enjoyable week so far, the freezing weather notwithstanding, which I HATE. It is allegedly warming up later today as God meant it to when placing us in the South.

I've had a little revelation about my running training. After having to take another 9 days off because I could barely breathe without coughing so hard it felt like my lungs were about to fall out onto the floor during the '08 Cough of Doom, I found myself running three miles on Saturday and two miles yesterday and enjoying this concept of shorter runs just for the fun of it. I realize that though I could keep amping up the long runs to train for the half-marathon, maybe I would be a much happier person running what are normal lengths to me (like 3 miles) on a regular basis and still doing my videos, which I miss. Maybe I should just do the 5K instead of the half-marathon and start enjoying running and life again. The whole point in my mind was to force myself back into a regular exercise routine, and I have. So ... I haven't made a definite decision, but that's where I'm leaning right now. It's sort of anti-climactic to train to accomplish a mission I already accomplished two years ago. I'd like to just stick with exercising regularly in whatever form that takes. That would feel like an even greater achievement at this point, frankly!

(Later ...) It has indeed warmed up outside! Thank goodness. Most of today was spent working on a slideshow. In between scanning and selecting pictures and making my mom watch different slideshow versions over and over and eating an awesome grilled cheese sandwich she made for me, I went through my iPhoto albums and deleted 2,000 pictures. I still have 5,000. It is absurd, and I know I need to delete lots more. Most are already backed up on discs, on my external hard drive, on Flickr, and in Kodak Gallery albums ... there is no need for them to just be hanging around cluttering up my hard drive and making my sweet little iBook stall and freeze and sputter all the time. Meanwhile, for the life of us, my dad and I could not figure out how to connect my iBook to his LCD projector so the slideshow would actually play. This caused a near heat stroke because LCD projectors burn at about 1,000,000 degrees. At one point I actually sat underneath the kitchen table to escape its blare and sweltering exhaust. LCD projectors are nothing to trifle with, apparently. While working on this project, I consumed approximately 6 caramel pecan pralines, and I am surprised my teeth are still intact.

I think I need to lie down and read Sarah Vowell now. I'll close this one off with some recent pictures o' holiday family fun.

Catching up

The time came when it was time to leave Hawaii. It was a sad day indeed. I took a two-mile walk around S.'s neighborhood while she went to teach class, and we went out to lunch and for coffee. Then she took me to the airport for my overnight flight. I'll tell you how it was. Depressing. On the flight home, I basically broke my neck and could not move it for several days. I tried to order coffee at the airport Starbucks during my Houston layover, but I was so deliriously sleep-deprived that I just shook my head sadly at the barista when I got to the counter and walked away in a haze.

It was a weird adjustment being home. Being back to work and school instead of on vacation. The time change was crazily life-wrecking in a way that has really surprised me. And mostly I just miss my wonderful friend more than I can ever say.

Now I'm settled back at home, fearing emotional aneurysms daily relative to the election. My nerves are totally shot. I start weeping when I contemplate a certain outcome. My sister came into town, and she and B. and I did a little phone banking, which was a good experience. I've also started training for a half-marathon, which Erin and I are writing about over here.

Yesterday my sister and I went to a football game. It was fun. My shins hurt. I'll miss Mad Men after the season ends tonight. That's really all I can think of to say right now.

D.C. Days 4 & 5

This morning we rolled out of bed and headed to Rock Creek Park, where we took a long, brisk walk. It was beautiful and peaceful.

We headed to brunch with B.'s mom at Kramerbooks -- a lovely and fun place -- and had a nice little visit with his family at the Dupont farmer's market.

Now we're sitting in Artfully Chocolate Kingsbury Confections, which is delightful as all get-out. I'm drinking a lavender lemonade.

(Later ...) We got Chop't again for dinner and are turning in early. Goodnight.

(The next day ...)

This morning I woke up early and headed to the Holocaust Memorial Museum. My sister left me detailed Metro instructions because she went to work, but after calculating that it was exactly 2 miles from her neighborhood, I decided to just walk it. My iced coffee and I had a pleasant walk down 14th Street for most of the way until I reached the Mall and lost all shade and started pouring sweat. The line wasn't too bad ... I definitely recommend that you get there early, though.

This is an amazing museum. It was very similar to the exhibit we saw in London but was obviously on a larger scale. Haunting and unforgettable. No words.

I stopped in the museum cafe when finished to grab a bite to eat as it was past 2:00 and I was hungry. Then I learned that my sister had 40 free minutes at her office so I got my roasted vegetable panini and sprinted through the streets eating it, stringy mozzerella flying into my hair, making it to the Metro and to her office in the nick of time. It was great to see where she works and meet her colleagues.

Then I met up with my old friend J. at Dupont Circle and we decided to go to Kramerbooks for a couple of pints of beer apiece and some good conversation. The graphic novels section was right by our table, so I grabbed a few to show him what I've been reading for class. It started pouring down rain, but we decided to trek through it, me with the umbrella and him walking his bike, to Busboys & Poets, otherwise known as the cutest coffee shop/restaurant in all the land. We each got a pint of beer; he had a blackened fish sandwich, my sister had pesto veggie lasagna, and I had a spinach, feta, and red pepper pizza. It was delicious and fun.

Overall, it's been a great trip. Hot as hell, but what're you gonna do? It was wonderful to get away, see my sister, drink a little, eat a lot, exercise a little, visit two awesome museums, and spend time with some dear friends. I didn't get to see all my friends who live there, but I tried to see those I've seen the least frequently in the past few years. Hopefully I'll get back soon and will be able to see everyone! P.S. Dragon Slippers is a really cute book ... thank you, Melissa.

D.C. Day 3

We woke up early this morning and headed to the Y. I ran 2 miles and my head exploded. Then we walked over to a farmer's market where a lot of pretty loaves of bread and berries were being sold.

We headed into Old Towne Alexandria, where we're at a coffee shop. It's very pretty and peaceful here. Tonight we are having dinner with my dear friend Elizabeth, and I CANNOT WAIT.

We got a little lost on the way home from the coffee shop, but it was enjoyable because we did some loud, obnoxious harmonizing to such songs as "Somewhere, Somehow" by Amy Grant & Michael W. Smith.

We decided to stop at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival on the Mall, featuring NASA, Bhutan, and Texas. It was pretty hot, so mostly we just enjoyed a giant rocket popsicle and a giant slab of watermelon.

(Later ...) Dinner with Elizabeth was great. We went to Zengo, ordered six appetizers and mojitos, and all was good. It was so wonderful to see my beloved friend again! We headed to Gifford's for ice cream after upon her suggestion, and I had a scoop of hazelnut ice cream with chocolate cookies and chocolate fudge swirls, throwing my new healthy eating habits under the train for the team. It rained like a mofo, and we caught a cab. We parted ways and vowed to see each other again soon, hopefully in November to celebrate rather than mourn the presidential election results like we did four Novembers ago.

After that, my sister and I met some of her friends at L'Enfant. They were nice and I liked them but I cannot stay up late so we left about 11:30.

Goodnight!

Catch up

Last week, my mom called to announced that there was a Camelot special on PBS. Of course I turned it on right away, and behold, there was Live from Lincoln Center: Camelot. I could not believe my bloomin' eyes. Marin Mazzie as Guinevere? LORD. Perfect. I've loved her since 1998, when she created the role of Mother in Ragtime (even though I never saw her in it, I feel like I have, you know?), and seeing her in Kiss Me, Kate was something I'll never forget. I thought she made a fine, fine Guinevere.

Anyway, I'd never seen the guy who played Lancelot before, but I understand he's an opera star and I was pleased to see that he had both comedic and dramatic chops as well as a great voice. Christopher Lloyd as Pellinore? Too good. I have no idea who Mordred was, but he was great. And Gabriel Byrne as Arthur was wonderful. Sure, he spoke through many of the songs, but that is what Arthur does, since it's not a singing part and it never has been. (Hello, Richard Burton.) And sometimes he rushed and didn't speak the words with the proper musical timing. But you know what? I didn't care. He made me cry so hard during the "Proposition" scene that B. could hear me from the next room even though I was sitting on the bed in the dark with the door closed. It was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful to see this show that I have loved so much my whole life reinvented in this wonderful way.

Of course I called my parents crying during the show to tell them it was the best thing I'd ever seen, and a few nights later, while B. and I were over at my parents' house visiting my sister who was in town, my dad busted out his Camelot script from his college production (he played Arthur) and performed the "Proposition" scene for us, stopping to explain how the notes from "I Wonder What the King is Doing Tonight" play in the background and so forth, and it was a beautiful, beautiful thing.

On Saturday, I was running around buying gifts, and I stopped at the Catholic bookstore to buy my dad a gift certificate and next-door I spotted a Mexican bakery. At least it looked like a Mexican bakery. Seeing as I don't speak Spanish, I wasn't sure. But I was so hungry that I ran and not walked inside. I was not really sure what to do, procedurally. This was definitely a Mexican-Mexican bakery and not an American-Mexican bakery. Should I order at the counter even though I could not translate any of the menu items on the wall? Should I stand at the large rack of unlabeled baked goods and inspect them carefully until someone came over to take my order? I did the latter, and the friendly counter guy asked me what I would like. I pointed to a big pastry and said, "I'd like one, please." He said, "It's chicken!" Because I think he thought I thought it was dessert. I said, "Great!" He told me, "Americans always taste that one and come back for more." $2.65 later, I walked outside, got into my car, and tore into it. It was so good I moaned. I ate the whole thing with my hands, while driving. And it wasn't small. I took my sister back the next morning, thinking she might want to speak some Spanish. She explained that if she were in Mexico, sure, but that the general consensus among bilingual types and those trying to be so is that as Mexicans operating a restaurant here, they might not want to be used for us to practice Spanish on, but rather might want to use us to practice English on. Which made sense, I think. So they spoke a little Spanish and a little English and all was merry and gay. We loaded up on stuff and it is now my favorite food establishment. They've only been open a month; I hope they're a wild success.

Spending some time with my sister when she was here was nice. We went shoe shopping, which is not either of our things, but we survived. Mother's Day was good. We also celebrated my dad's birthday, and my mom cooked an awesome meal of crawfish etouffee, broccoli casserole, and of course ice cream dessert. It was nice to have the whole family together, plus fiery B. I forced everyone to jump in the air for pictures because I read that it's a good way to spice up a group photo. I feel everyone was slightly annoyed, but these pictures will make me laugh forever.

My mom, sister, and I watched P.S. I Love You, and I'm not sure I have the words to aptly capture how much we hated this movie. Just when we thought it couldn't get any stupider or more unrealistic, it would. IT WAS BAD. I am still kind of in shock that it ever got made. I think we started hating it immediately when Hilary Swank's character complained about how small their apartment was and it was a big, lovely NY walk-up that was bigger than any apartment my NY friend ever lived in. I also hated: her fancy up-do for her husband's funeral [not really a spoiler; his death is basically the premise of the whole movie] and the way she went to bed after it in the most uncomfortable type of bra possible (corset) and sexy black panties. Who dresses like that for her husband's funeral? I hated ... everything about it. EVERYTHING. Except for the beauty of the Irish countryside. That was the only good thing about it. What a slog of a movie ... the worst I've seen in years. Possibly in my whole life.

Don't know what else to say. So ... pictures.

Update

I worked 70 hours last week, something I hope not to repeat any time soon, though I might. That's nowhere near the number of hours some of my rockstar warrior colleagues worked, so I won't complain.

Here are some things that have made me smile recently:

Standing around the island in my friend's kitchen with her, her husband, her mom, her sister, and her four-year-old daughter as we adults started randomly singing "Dumb Dog" from Annie (her husband making the tinkly doo-doo-doo-doo background notes quite impressively) and the little girl just sat there looking at us like we were all nuts. I started laughing as we wrapped it up, and she said, "IT'S NOT FUNNY!" not unlike this kid, which just made me laugh harder. Then she said to me, "Why do you sing so weird?" and I just had to shrug.

Watching The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters, which I found entirely hilarious and strangely riveting.

Going out for a nice dinner with B.

Seeing my mom's azaleas in bloom.

Hearing about how my dad cannot tolerate the small cups of coffee in Rome so, on a recent visit, brought several large to-go coffee cups from his favorite coffee shop here at home and took one with him every time he ordered coffee. He ordered a café Americano, an espresso, and a cappuccino and poured them all together into his large Styrofoam cup. At first he got weird looks from the locals, but then, he said, they began to envy his giant cup of coffee deliciousness as he strolled out with his cup. When they sat in the audience before the Pope, he aimed his camera at the man but not before placing his coffee cup on the railing. Coffee cup in the foreground, Pope in the background.

Hearing the theme music begin in the trailer for the new Indiana Jones movie. My sister says she does not remember the movies well; I do, especially the second and third - I think I spent a lot of time watching them at a friend's house. I am super pumped about this one.

Spending yesterday in its entirety with my sister on a warm and sunny Sunday. We went to see Definitely, Maybe, which was very sweet and cute, ate soup and salads outside on a nearby restaurant's patio, got coffee, walked to an estate sale, went to the bookstore and posed dorkily with Rob's book, drove around listening to showtunes, had heart-to-heart conversations, and went to the pottery painting place. It was very nice. Then we went to my parents' house for a dinner of shrimp & corn soup. Glorious!

Monday

My sister brought me some amazing handmade gifts from Bolivia - a dress, a skirt, a purse, and a wall hanging with little pockets. I love them! Before wearing the clothes, however, I will need to invest in some spanx.

We spent a little time driving around on Saturday listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter. My sister said that every song brings her right back to specific time and place in her life. I agreed. One reminds her of being in her friend's car learning to drive a stick shift. One reminds me of sitting at a red light thinking about forgiveness. The entire album we were listening to reminds us of the summer of 2004 because we both had it on our iPods when we were in Europe. There are a few artists like that, I guess, for everyone. Those whose work has followed you for years through the entire human emotional spectrum. Adventure, romance, heartache, healing. I said, "Mary Chapin Carpenter is important." She said, "She really is so, so important." Then we just went ahead and agreed that Mary Chapin Carpenter is one of the most important people who has ever lived.

I've been coming around to the idea of thinking maybe I should start running again. Not following any program or time requirements or mileage requirements. Just doing it a little at a time if only to be able to fit into my winter pants and feel like a worthwhile person again. Is it insane to tie in one's sense of self worth to whether or not one commits herself to exercising? Because I totally do.

What else? Waitress really holds up upon third viewing. Once will be out on DVD before we know it. My little brother, of all people -- OF ALL PEOPLE -- has never seen it or even heard of it. I told him, "I don't mean to go overboard and say it will make your life complete or anything, but it totally will." School remains a mystery. I like the people I've met (most of them), though, and I'll miss having classes with them next semester. I am really enjoying the Across the Universe soundtrack these days and some old, live Ray LaMontagne. I'm excited to see Juno and The Golden Compass. In completing my unplanned but somehow neverending theme of war film and literature this year, I just finished The Things They Carried, which was beautiful. I'd like to close out the year with a really excellent book or two, but I can't decide what to read next.

And now, random pictures from the past few weeks.

Not Laboring on Labor Day

Right now I'm sitting at the coffee shop with Herpreet. She's working on her laptop, and I'm working on mine. I'm not sure what she's listening to. I'm listening to Grease 2. It's not a bad way to spend part of a Labor Day afternoon.

My boyfriend is a deep thinker and has been having especially deep thoughts lately in the wake of his plunge into academia. Last week, I was only sort of awake when he started to intelligently explain Barack Obama's appearance on The Daily Show, and I actually interrupted him to say, "Yeah, that's sort of like Danny Tidwell on So You Think You Can Dance." Showing how nice he is, he nodded as if that were a totally apt and legit comparison.

I've found myself more than once recently talking about Wil Wheaton. "Well, Wil Wheaton says..." and he finally asked me, "Who is Wil Wheaton?" And I walked into my bedroom and walked out with the framed showcard I bought off of eBay with a framed picture. It's a piece of one of those big cardboard displays in the movie theater, the image of John Cusack and Wil Wheaton sitting on a bed in one of the flashbacks in Stand By Me. I pointed to him, "That's Wil Wheaton. Now he has a blog." And I really do enjoy it. It's weird sometimes to realize that the little boy who played Gordie LaChance, one of the characters that pretty much consumed my entire psyche throughout the entirety of sixth grade and who grew up to be a writer, is now a grown man and a writer. But he's a good writer and seems like a genuinely nice person, and there's something that feels right to me, in a corny way, about that.

Speaking of blogs, there have been two blogs I've been keeping up with this year that have moved me down to the depths of my being. This one chronicles a family's battle with lymphoma. Even though I don't know these people at all, I followed it so closely, hoping and praying for a good outcome and healing beyond the heartbreak they suffered. To read about them coming back into the light has been nothing short of inspiring. The writing on this site is some of the best I've ever encountered on the web. This one also has incredibly beautiful writing and tells the story of the birth of two babies and the survival of only one. It is hard to know how to describe these blogs because they involve struggles and heartbreaks of a degree I've never experienced and can't even imagine and I don't want to come off like a dork talking about how beautiful they are and how much they've moved me. I just am grateful to have been able to read them, really, and to have witnessed from a million miles away the beauty and the strength they have been able to express. I don't even know.

I watched The Pianist recently for the first time. It certainly was harrowing. Worth watching for this scene alone. {Warning: Huge spoiler in that link.}

Meanwhile, I have finally started The Road. I haven't gotten far, but I know I want to keep going. I just finished Daniel Isn't Talking by Marti Leimbach, which I thought was pretty excellent.

This week I've been spending a lot of time with my sister, which has been great. She came to exercise class with me and marveled at my ability to roll around in other people's sweat. She was proud of me. "It's definitely good germophobic therapy," I said. Class continues to be hard but fun. Sometimes I'm so tired during the cooldown that I almost fall over during the stretches. The other night a panting man saw me about to keel over and then right myself and he nodded in agreement. "Talk about spent," he said. I nodded back. Spent indeed. My sister and I went to Piccadilly for lunch, site of many childhood family meals. I ordered a side of orange macaroni and cheese and a side of orange baby carrots for my lunch and decided to drink some orange Fanta with my meal. The three went well together. It is impossible to quantify how much Piccadilly macaroni and cheese we consumed as kids. Back when they had the really delicious red punch, not the Hi-C fruit punch. Good times.

We had a party with all of her lifelong friends the other night before sending her off to South America, and we ate jambalaya and shrimp and brownies and it felt good to be in my parents' house with all of those old friends and their babies. So many babies! Wow.

Yesterday my boyfriend and I went to New Orleans together for the first time since he's moved here. We ate at our favorite brunch place -- he got debris and poached eggs and I got a bacon, arugula, tomato, and egg sandwich on focaccia. Later, we stopped for gelato (strawberry and chocolate hazelnut). Because it's so long, we've been watching The Lives of Others in installments. I thought the first 15 minutes or so were sort of boring, but now I'm hooked.

What else? I'm liking my classes so far. The material is alternatingly mindnumblingly boring and very interesting. I guess all of grad school might like that, no matter what you're studying.

Jessamyn and Grace have been schooling me a little bit on the ways of the Canon Digital Rebel. I borrowed B.'s and tried to do a little shooting with it. My main goal was to be able to shoot at my sister's party indoors without using the pop-up flash that comes with the camera. It was not a completely successful mission, but I learned a bit about apertures, shutter speed, and ISO and just knowing a little tiny bit makes me want to know a lot more. Mostly I just want to be as good a photographer as those two ladies even though that will likely not happen in this lifetime. Here are a few shots that I like even though they're nothing sensationally arty.

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)

Damn You, CamelBak

I've just returned from a disastrous run during which I attempted to use a CamelBak fanny pack contraption. What a fiasco. I couldn't get it to fit properly, and it kept riding up around my waist instead of around my hips and was bouncing around atop my tailbone and causing shooting back pains. Awesome. I was supposed to run a 10K this weekend for my long run to end week 9 of my training, and instead I ran under three when last week I was able to run eight. Failure to be certain. But for some reason I can't bring myself to care. It's rainy and dreary outside, and all I feel like doing is lying around in sweatpants watching season two of Cold Feet and eating coffee ice cream straight out of the carton.

Aside from the run from hell, it was a nice weekend. On Friday night, I made shrimp pesto pizza for my boyfriend and sister and pretended to be an actual entertainer as inspired by my Christmas gift of I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence. We started A Scanner Darkly, which was so irritatingly confusing to me that I started to pass out in involuntary protest. On Saturday morning, we went to the farmer's market for muffins and to the sporting goods store and to lunch, where I had the slimiest gumbo ever. It was like the chef blew her nose in the bowl and called it a day. I heard somewhere that if you don't cook the okra properly, it results in snotty gumbo. Clearly this chef needs an okra lesson. B. went on a run while I sat outside with the dogs and read The Wonder Spot (another Christmas gift) which I can happily report is much better than Melissa Bank's first book. We finished A Scanner Darkly, which I still didn't understand by the time it ended. After watching some special features, I liked it a little more even while realizing that a MAJOR plot point flew completely over my head. Oh, well. We played a game of Scrabble and eventually headed out to see Children of Men, which I did not love quite as much as Kymm did but which certainly made for a good night at the movies.

For breakfast this morning, we ate eggs with cheese and roasted red peppers and biscuits and orange juice squeezed with my new juicer. Another game of Scrabble was played, and coffee was purchased at the Starbucks that seems to be staffed by increasingly inept morons. Wrong-sized drinks, clots in the cream. Tasty.

My sister left today, and it is weird that she is gone. I know she has a life of her own far up in the frozen tundra, but it's always nice to know she's nearby. I'm glad we got to spend time together over the holidays and spend time together on New Year's Eve, just like we did in 2004 and 2005. I will miss her and hope she stays warm.

30 things about my sister on her 30th birthday

1.) She has always been really good at sports.

2.) She played basketball and volleyball when we were kids.

3.) Now she runs and bikes and has done a marathon and triathlons and stuff.

4.) She sang "On My Own" as the senior soloist at her high school concert and got a standing ovation.

5.) She taught herself to play the guitar.

6.) She got sick on Chinese food at the 1984 World's Fair and she was still such a miniature person at age 8 that she got pushed around in my baby brother's stroller.

7.) She is a fierce, rabid, lifelong Tiger fan.

8.) One of her eyebrows is formidably difficult to tame.

9.) She went backpacking through Europe by herself one summer and became best friends with a couple of Greek guys in Athens with whom she stayed up all night celebrating in the streets on the night that Greece won the World Cup.

10.) She left a high-paying, high-powered corporate job to go to law school.

11.) She was always being ranked first in her group at work and stuff like that.

12.) She was valedictorian of her high school graduating class.

13.) She bakes good brownies.

14.) She speaks pretty good Spanish.

15.) Once, when she was a little kid, she wrote a song about Chris Jackson to the tune of Carly Simon's "Nobody Does It Better" and performed it for a video compilation of his greatest basketball moments.

16.) She also wrote several poems about a few of her favorite athletes when she was young that had unbelievably slammin' rhymes going on in them.

17.) My sister loves Domino's cheese pizza, Coke, bagels with cream cheese, candy corn, pasta with marinara sauce, and McDonald's caramel sundaes.

18.) My sister sleeps like she's dead.

19.) I have always been very jealous of this ability.

20.) She never wants to return to the corporate world but wants to help poor people here and abroad with things like housing and finances.

21.) My sister is one of those people who is freakishly brilliant with both numbers and words.

22.) My sister and I shared a room for most of our lives and lived to tell about it.

23.) My sister cries with beautiful ease and this print reminds me of her.

24.) Every time I listen to music I love in the car I wish with a sad stab that she were there to sing it with me because chances are she loves it, too.

25.) She is refreshingly honest and will tell you the truth about whether or not those pants in fact do make you look fat.

26.) She is very talented in the art of painstakingly organized spreadsheets for all aspects of one's life.

27.) The time we spent together in Europe was one of the best times in my whole life even though once we had to stop and scream at each other in the streets of Edinburgh.

28.) She has great girlfriends whom she's had most of her life, and she also has really great friends she's made as an adult who would seemingly walk through fire for her.

29.) I'd walk through fire for her.

30.) I chose this picture of my sister for this post not only because it's one of my favorite pictures ever taken of her. I chose it because I really do see my sister as a fighter. She's always fought to succeed at whatever she's tried to do, and now that she's facing the search for her next path in life, she's fighting to find her way, fighting to be happy. I can't wait to see what happens next.

A Thrill of Hope

Okay, people. You can now watch every Friday Night Lights episode online. You have no excuse anymore. If you've missed it, you can catch up on the entire series. You won't be sorry! It's so good. You can also read Drunken Bee's excellent recaps for additional catching up. I am telling you. This show is enjoyable on every possible level. I could not love it more.

You can also download a beautiful version of O Holy Night that was played by Trombone Shorty and others here. If you want to watch the clip from Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip where it was played, you can do so here. If you want to read more about how this all happened, you can do so here.

What else? Last week, it was in the twenties every morning when I woke up. That is no way to live. I can't stand the cold, I hate it, it makes me feel miserable and completely paralyzed. Thankfully it was 74 degrees today and even though I was inside working it was comforting to know. I've been working a lot, running a lot, and eating a lot of Hershey's kisses. I ran four miles on Saturday and six miles on Sunday and four miles last night and somehow this is just sort of my life now. I'm still going just about as slowly as a person can go and pass from walking to running but am trying not to care about that. Meanwhile, I've never been the sort of person with a bowl of candy on her desk at work because I knew I'd sit there and eat the candy all day long but now I am and I do. Hershey's kisses. All day, every day.

Tonight I had a threeway call with my little brother and sister. It was enjoyable. My little brother called to announce that he's done with finals and had just had a conversation with my parents during which he proclaimed his rather unconventional post-college plans, to which they responded surprisingly positively. He was laughing hysterically while telling me this so I called my sister so he could tell her, too. We talked about that and about how we are proud of him and happy for his excitement, and of course the conversation turned to Friday Night Lights. "I love it so much," I said. "Yeah," he said, "My friends and I just sit around when it's over saying we can't believe how good it is." We agreed that Lyla is the weak link but that she is growing on us. We also agreed that we love the coach and the entire coach family and that Mrs. Coach is the hottest mom on television. My brother said, "They are the best couple ever." Which amused me very much. I mean, clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose. I wonder if one day that will become totally cheesy and awful to me. Right now it's sort of cheesy but not at all awful. I love this show, and I love that my siblings love it, too. I know my older brother would like it if he watched it. I hardly ever talk to him these days, which is sad.

Christmas will be here soon. Everyone is coming home, and that makes me very happy. My sister will be here, my little brother is graduating from college, and Shelley is coming. I'm looking forward to a lot of eating and gifting and hot chocolate drinking and loving.

Catching Up Some More

I am feeling like I don't have much to say right now so I'm just going to start writing and see what comes out.

On Friday, I worked a half-day so I could spend the afternoon with my sister. We went shopping and drove around town listening to Mary Poppins and Avenue Q. It was great to spend some time together on a sunny day.

That evening, my boyfriend arrived and we went out for dinner and ice cream. We watched Battlestar, of course. We went out for breakfast on Saturday morning and to the library and then to the book festival, which was nice. We went to a panel with three cool authors, and I got to meet M.A. Harper. She saw the book in my hand and asked, "Where did you get THIS?" because it was her first novel and wasn't for sale at the festival and I told her I've had it forever and that it's one of my favorites and that it made me feel proud to be a Southern girl when I wasn't feeling very proud of that and she said it made her feel that way, too. Then a woman sitting nearby pointed out the dedication and said, "That's me! I'm her sister." It was nice. We ate crawfish pies and a pulled pork sandwich and a pink lemonade sno-cone. Later that afternoon, we played Scrabble and watched a little Moonlighting on DVD. He left, and I went to hang out with my sister. We ate some leftover pizza and she got organized for her trip home.

Early the next morning, I drove her to the airport and went grocery shopping and then I finished up the one-hour running program by going on my one-hour run. I cannot lie. It was eternal. It felt infinitely longer than the 54-minute run of last weekend. I came in at a little under 5 miles, which is how far I estimated I'd go, which was fine. I keep telling myself that it's about endurance, not speed. My legs are still a little sore, but I'm ready to run 3 miles tomorrow. I think.

After running, I stopped at the coffee shop for a granita and headed to the outlet mall where I spent an insane amount of money on new winter clothes like magenta cords and an abundance of sweaters and a very cute tan corduroy jacket with faux sheepskin. Then came the project of reorganizing my closet and bagging up clothes to give away in order to make room for the new ones. I mowed the grass when I got home and then basically collapsed for the duration. I woke up at 3 in the morning and read a lot of Gilead, lent to me by Shelley. It started off pretty slowly, but it suddenly became wonderful in the middle of the night, and I can't wait to read more. I love the moment when a book suddenly turns from something sort of dull to something beautiful and you think, "This could be really good. This could even be great."

I love Ugly Betty. I love Ugly Betty. I love Ugly Betty.

A lot.

I'm thinking of looking into doing a sleep study. Does anyone have any experience with one or know anything about them?

This is a boring-assed entry if ever I read one. Thank God Friday Night Lights is on tonight. Really.

Catching Up

I guess it's time to catch up.

Let's see ... my sister arrived late last week, and we descended upon the parental abode for dinner on Friday night, everyone bringing his or her favorite take-out. We ate Thai; my brother's girlfriend ate sushi; my parents ate homemade tuna salad. Comically, my little brother showed up not with food but with a big box of beer.

On Saturday morning, my boyfriend and I went to the market for giant muffins, and then he went running while my sister, my brother's girlfriend, and I went to hear my mom give a little talk on the importance of silence in our lives. She encouraged us to turn off the radio, turn off the TV, and not be afraid to be quiet sometimes and listen to what life might try to tell us in the silence. This was compelling, especially in light of all of my thoughts after reading Eat, Pray, Love. I think I want to become a meditator. Seriously. My mom did a great job, as always.

After the talk, I went on my long run of the week and somehow managed to run 4.4 miles. I have no idea how. I like this running program because every week ends with reaching a personal best. It's always made easier by a beautiful day outside. I got home, and we rushed off to our massage appointments. Massages are important.

Then it was to the coffee shop with my sister for a game of Scrabble and a disturbingly gross decaf cafe au lait.

That night seemed like a good movie night so we went to see The Departed, which was FANTASTIC. It's not really my kind of movie, but it was so exciting and everyone should see it. Leonardo DiCaprio has somehow transformed himself from the wormy days of yore and is suddenly strong and manly. Everyone in it does a great job. It's a highly entertaining movie.

Last week, I used my new detergent to wash basically everything in the house. I thought it smelled pretty good. My boyfriend sniffed my sheets suspiciously and declared that they smelled like hamsters. Namely, the cedar chips in a hamster's cage. I defended the detergent. "It's supposed to smell like vanilla and lavender!" But after further sniffing, I conceded that the sheets did rather smell like cedar chips. So much for the blissful aroma of the new detergent. No. It makes my bed smell like a rodent's lair. (Weirdly, I still kind of like it. Perhaps it's the fond memories of my childhood hamsters, Spaghetti and Meatball.)

Sunday is kind of a blur. My boyfriend left. I think I did some chores and grocery shopping. My sister came over that night to watch last week's Grey's Anatomy.

On Monday, I felt not at all like running after work but went out anyway for the first run of the last week of the one hour running program. It was a pretty mellow 30-minute run.

Last night, my sister and I went shopping for work-out clothes and I somehow spent $46 on a pair of Adidas Climalite running pants which she insisted were a good bargain even though they are possibly the most unflattering pants I will ever own. Then we got sushi take-out and watched this week's Heroes, a show I'd never seen before. It seems pretty good.

I had bizarre, complex, detailed teaching dreams all through the night last night. You know, the kind where you show up for school without lesson plans, not knowing where your classroom is, not knowing when your planning period is, having never seen a map of the school, having not set up your classroom to your liking, where your students have faces and personalities that somehow your mind has made up and they tell you things like you should stop pacing so much and stop wearing skirts to school because you have ugly knees. In this dream classroom, there were curtains instead of walls so the students would slip in and out of class before I could really see what they were doing. And it was a private school so I assumed they would work really hard and be really well-behaved. But they weren't. They were just mean. Teaching dreams are terrifying. They really are.

In other news, I've decided that a bowl of grape nuts with banana slices might be the world's perfect food.

Makes whole the ruined

Jetty wave
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

A weekend away to a beautiful place is good for the soul. (Although I will never understand why the airport security guy took away my tiny, less-than-three-ounce bottle of hand sanitizer and told me that if I'd had it in a clear ziploc bag in my purse instead of just loose in my purse then I would have been able to keep it.)

I posted recently that I've been enjoying Julia Sweeney's writings about atheism, skepticism, and letting go of God. Her words and ideas have really resonated with me. I read what she writes, and I think, totally. I totally agree with that. Science! Intellectualism! Facts! Of course.

I just finished Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, which is a book not about letting go of God but about seeking God, and it totally resonated with me, too. I loved every page. It moved me the way that Anne Lamott moves me, the way that the Weepies move me. I think I'll read it over and over, and I think it could even possibly change my life a little bit.

So I'm not sure what to make of that.

I marked this passage (along with about two dozen others in the book) because it sounds like Elizabeth Gilbert loves her sister like I love my sister:

My sister's faith is in learning. Her sacred text is the Oxford English Dictionary. As she bows her head in study, fingers speeding across the pages, she is with her God. I see my sister in prayer again later that same day when she drops to her knees in the middle of the Roman Forum, clears away some litter off the face of the soil (as though erasing a blackboard), then takes up a small stone and draws for me in the dirt a blueprint of a classic Romanesque basilica. She points from her drawing to the ruin before her, leading me to understand (even visually challenged me can understand!) what that building once must have looked like eighteen centuries earlier. She sketches with her finger in the empty air the missing arches, the nave, the windows long gone. Like Harold with his Purple Crayon, she fills in the absent cosmos with her imagination and makes whole the ruined.

My sister has made whole my ruins for as long as she has been alive. I hope to be able to do the same for her, again and again and forever.