I've Moved

If you like reading the silly things I write, you can continue to do so over at my new blog 

Glitter on the Inside. 

Thanks!

A Home for My Tomes

I am weighed down by a guilt only other bibliophiles could understand. 

I have always kept a mental catalog of every book I possess. I always remember the title and maybe half of the time I remember the author if was a particularly good book or a “classic” or the author is famous. I am almost always able to recall when and where I acquired my books. Whether it was a gift or purchased by myself. New from a book store, used from a rummage sale, free from a library that was just going to throw it out (one of the perks of being a library assistant in college). I came by most of them honestly, some of them less so. 

Yes, I confess. I have stolen a few books (no more than a dozen, I swear) in my time. Mostly from my sister (sorry K) but once or twice I simply “forgot” to return a novel or two to an English teacher along the way. Well, when you have 100+ copies of The Great Gatsby, are you really going to notice one missing? But I digress. It is not these pilfered books that cause me woe. 

I used to know exactly where each one of my books was located. Pride and Prejudice? On top of the dresser between The Collected Works of Jane Austen and Wives and Daughters. Demons and Angels by Dan Brown? Second shelf of the white bookcase, sitting atop Gone with the Wind and others because I never have enough room. My stolen copies of Nora Roberts? In a box under my bedside table. That free copy of Case for Christ foisted upon me by an overzealous evangelical? On a shelf in the back of my closet because I couldn’t bear to throw a book away. *

How I sorted my books might not make sense to anyone but me, but it worked. I knew my system. I knew my shelves. Every time I got a new book I took great care in making a space for it. I loved the days when I could set aside hours to rearrange my shelves. Every book would come down. Stacks would be organized on the floor. I’d inevitably end up spending more time rereading my favorite parts than actually working. But each book would get held and considered; thus forever imprinting itself in my memory. 

Since moving many things have changed. I have new bookshelves and I have to share them. I always loved arranging my books. But this time was different. In the chaos of moving in, organizing them all so precisely seemed trivial. And now I had to consider where Dustin’s books would fit in. As a result I can no longer tell you exactly where each book is. Or even exactly which books I have. 

Twice now I have purchased a book only to find when I bring it home I already have a copy. The shame! I don’t even know my bookshelves anymore! This is almost as distressing as the time my older tomes got worms. (real thing. still difficult to talk about.) Sometime this summer I will have to take a day to go through my our books. One by one. Consider each. Recommit it to memory. Then give it a proper home. And take pictures this time so it won’t be as bad when we move again. I’ll also have to get new shelves because these are not up to the task of holding all my books. It’s a little difficult to tell from the photos, but these shelves are seriously bowed in the middle. 

*Side story: I usually donate the books that I no longer desire to possess. I have only thrown away one book in my life. Boy Meets Girl: Say Hello to Courtship. Given to me by a pastor I fundamentally disagreed with on multiple levels. I said thank you and took it home. Five pages in I threw is down in disgust. I’m a firm believer in the whole “to each their own” philosophy. But that book pissed me off. So I threw it in the trash. Looking back, I should have just given it away. I was young. 

Will You Be My Friend (Terms and Conditions Apply)

I knew that after school finding friends would become difficult. I have always wondered how adults do it. Sure you can make friends at work. But “work friends” are different. You can hang out outside of work, but what do you talk about? Work. Maybe if you’re lucky you can find a real friend who happens to be a coworker. But life isn’t a workplace sitcom. Everyone doesn’t mesh together. We don’t all go out for a beer (or in my case, a hard cider) after we punch out.* But this isn’t an episode of Scubs.

but gods, i wish it were

It’s lonely out here in the real word. All of the amazing friends I did manage to make in college have been scattered to the four winds. It’s hard to get together. But some of us do manage it every few months or so. The rest are either too far away or too busy with their new lives.

As an introvert (which I very much am) it’s always been a challenge to make friends. People often mistake my quiet demeanor for aloofness. They take offense where none was meant. Or they leap to the conclusion that I don’t like them. How do I know this? I overhear things. I’m quiet; so people often forget I have ears just because I don’t use my mouth as much as they do.

I had a woman I once worked with ask me why I’m always so serious. This aggravated me because I’m not. I’m not a serious person. I just have a hard time socializing and joking with people I don’t know well enough yet.

Is this what everyone thinks of me? That I’m just sad and serious all the time? Yeah, I can be those things but that’s not who I am. And when people say things like that to me I usually snap back because it pisses me off. Nothing in this world irks me more than the following phrases:

• “We’ll break you of the that shell”
  (which implies there’s something wrong with being introverted. There is nothing wrong with being introverted, you jerks)

• “Oh look! You even made Jamie laugh!”
  (which implies I am some alien life form that has no sense of humor. I’ll laugh when you say something that’s actually funny, dammit)

• “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for”
  (which implies I’m always plotting something devious. But, then, maybe I am…asshats)

So on and on it goes. People think I’m unfriendly or “have a problem with them” because I’m quiet. These misconceptions throw up huge blocks on the road to friendship. But I refuse to become someone I’m not just to please people and make fake friends.

i might have shared this before, but i still love it.
so look at it again. 

Side note: I've been reading Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. Highly recommend, no matter where you fall on the spectrum.

*please note that I am describing my previous place of employment here. My current coworkers do, in fact, go out after work together quite frequently.

Movin’ On Up

To the east si- Actually it’s mostly south. So really, I’m moving down. Because north is up and south is down. 

Unless you’re in Australia. Then everything is flipped, turned upside down. But I’d like to take a minute, so just sit right there. I’ll tell you all about how I because a Department Assistant in the Cardiac Cath Lab at Sanford Medical Center… 

*The other day I made some goals for myself. I plotted out a flexible outline of when I wanted them accomplished. I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. The word resolution sounds so final and concrete. And yet they crumble so quickly. So last year I set goals and gave myself a rough estimate of when I wanted them finished. I need the wiggle room. I don’t do well with deadlines. (more on that later)

But finish them I did! Well, all except getting a tattoo by my 25th birthday. But I put that off for good reason. 

I needed the money I would have spent on the tattoo for my birthday/Christmas/anniversary gift for Dustin. What did I get him that could cost so much that I could justifiably count it as three gifts in one? Another Xbox One? No. (though he did want one and eventually went on to purchase one for himself) Super fancy cologne? No. (I’m not even sure he’d want that, let alone use it) A big fat gift certificate to NewEgg or ThinkGeek? No. (but those are good ideas)

I got him a freaking sword. And not just any sword. 

Anduril, Flame of the West. 

a genuine, licensed replica of a prop
from the movie adaptation of the books.

Blow his mind, did I? Yes. Yes I did. Totally worth it. But I’m getting way off track. 

All the other goals were accomplished. Granted I only made about seven-ish goals. But they were big ones:

• Purchase my own car. All on my own. No co-signers on the loan. No other name on the title. Mine. Paid for with my own money. 
• Move out of parent house once and for all. Postal address changed. All financial and government institutions notified. Childhood bedroom being turned into an office for Father. No going back.
• Move in with Dustin. Successfully learn to cohabitate. 
• Go on a real vacation. One week. No real plans. Just he and I enjoying life. 
• Get a new job. 

And that last one brings me back around to my original point. I have a new job. I am no longer working as a CNA at a nursing home. 

I mixed feelings about this. I loved my job. I loved my people. I loved going to a place where everybody knows my name. And they were always glad I came. 

But it was time to go. The commute was the biggest factor. 35-40 minutes there, 35-40 minutes back. (inclement weather permitting) The pay was another. And the hours were getting pretty rough. I feel awful for leaving them when they were already so short staffed. But sometimes you have to do what’s best for you. I was getting burned out; finding it more and more difficult to be patient with my residents, which was always something I had prided myself on. But when you’re overworked and underpaid, it’s hard to stay positive. When it hasn’t been your day, your week, your month or even your year - it’s time to move on. 

So I said goodbye to some of my favorite people and started new. I had a lot of “new” to kick off 2016. New car. New job. New living arrangement in a new town. It’s nerve-racking. There have been some bumps to be sure. (dropped out of college for the third time - more on that later)  But I’m taking the good. I’m taking the bad. And there I have the facts of life. 

*Originally written in January of 2016

And just for funsies: a picture of me, Dustin and our fat cat Emmy. She’s slowly learning to tolerate me. It helps that I am constantly bribing her with treats. 

it doesn't help that i keep putting her in little outfits

Here I Go Again

Dear reader,

It's been a while, hasn't it? So let's jump right in!

The next few posts will kind of be a catch-up. Going through the backlog.

I've still been writing sporadically over the last year and a half. I just haven't been able to find the time (or rather inclination) to put my words on the internet.

But I'm attempting (yet again) to get back in the swing of things. Writing is one of those swing things.

So let's back this thing up and start from the beginning.

You Are Now Entering

When I have a night off and I’m at home what do I do? I read, do laundry, watch a movie, clean, cook, dance, etc. It’s strange doing all these things at night. When I look at the clock, part of my brain tells me it’s time to sleep but the other part reminds me that I need to stay awake. So I make myself some coffee and I turn on telly.

Though, as I’m sure you know, there is precious little to watch at 3am. I keep the TV on mostly to drive away the silence. Not that I don’t enjoy the silence. It’s just that it can be overbearing at times. So I’ve fallen into a TV pattern: from 10-12 it’s the Golden Girls, my comfort food. Then Fraiser, a program I find entertaining enough until two. Then Cheers comes on and I either turn off the TV or completely tune out as I do something else.

It’s usually about this time I turn to Netflix. And lately I’ve been watching one show in particular: The Twilight Zone.

da na na na, da na na na

i always have to remind myself
that it's Serling, no Sterling

I adore this show. The original, mind you. Black and white with the fabulously brilliant Rod Serling introducing each episode, cigarette in hand. His voice just get to me. And his writing is outstanding. Timeless. Perfection. Behind every “nightmare” there is a moral, a lesson, some message he’s trying to get across. Messages that still need to be heard today. There is a reason people still watch this show. There is a reason we still reference these stories, parody them.

One show in particular comes to mind when I think of Twilight Zone references. Family Guy, of all things. The more Zone episodes I rewatch, the more I find myself thinking, “Hey they did that on Family Guy! Strange.” I wonder what Mr. Serling would have to say about that.

I love that man. And I tell him evertime I watch an episode. Well, at least I think it. Occasionally I think it out loud. Right at the end of his introduction, right as he says, “…in the Twilight Zone,” I think, “I love Rod Serling.” And then I settle in for another thought provoking piece of classic science fiction. Yum.

Trouble with Typing

I have more luck with writing when I use paper and pen. Typing things out on a keyboard is all fine and dandy, but it takes me twice as long. I can't organize my thoughts when I'm staring at a virtual blank page on a screen. The flashing little line (does it have a name?) mocks me. It's a silent metronome that is waiting for me to play to its beat. Unnerving when you don't know the music.

So, as you might have guessed, I am writing this on paper first and will transcribe later. Later being now. Or whenever.

rough draft

My thoughts are always so scattered when I write (and most other times too) that I need a physical space to lay them out before I piece them together into something worthwhile. Or at least something coherent. On a computer screen I can't just stop mid-sentence and scribble a new idea in the margins. Well actually one can do that with the right software, but it's quicker with paper and pen. My ideas flow with ease when I am manually writing. Like ink from a pen. (wink wink) And if the pen slips, so what? Write around it. No need to backspace or delete. When using a computer, I feel like I need to know where all the pieces belong right from the get-go. It's a silly notion considering how much simpler it is to cut and paste in a Word document. I feel so boxed in when I write on a computer. For heaven's sake, I'm staring at a literal box as I do it.

I just spent an hour working a post for this blog by typing it out on a computer. I maybe got 100 words out. There were too many things to distract my already scattered brain. Ideas flit in and out too fast for me to grab hold of them and type them out. (not to mention the Internet) I have now been writing for 10-ish minutes and already I have a page filled in my notebook and my mind has calmed down. I can think clearer.Getting the words out is so much more fulfilling when they are on paper.

Another benefit of writing before typing is it gives me a chance to proofread what I've written in a more thorough way. Typing something out and reading though it does not help me catch all my mistakes. But if I basically have to write the whole thing again I can really pick apart what I've written. I get a better understanding of what works and what doesn't. I feel more confident in what I've written when I have to write it twice.

To me, computers seem to demand precision. Obviously they don't, otherwise we wouldn't the magic of spell check. But that's the feeling I get. The way I write is not precise. I'm not sure anyone's is. Writing is messy. Then you go back and refine it. When I'm typing I feel the need to already have my ideas in order and neatly refined.

This is all just personal preference. Everyone's process is different. Perhaps if I had embraced this process earlier I would have finished my English assignments in a more timely fashion. Though I would have felt foolish whipping out a notebook and pencil when literally everyone else in the class was using a computer.

Certified

As I mentioned in my previous post, I am currently working as a Certified Nursing Assistant at the local nursing home.

the best part of my job. i waited five months to get it.

For those of you who don't know what that means, let me break it down for you: nurses handle the pills and the paperwork. CNAs do everything else. 

the scrubs are sexy
until someone else's fluids get on them

Of course I'm exaggerating. But we do most of the heavy lifting. (literal heavy lifting in most cases) We also spend the most time with the residents. But that's a bonus. Other bonuses include losing 30lbs from running around lifting people all day and never being grossed out by anything ever again because you've already seen worse. You get attached to these people despite yourself. Even to the 'difficult' ones. Turns out cute little old ladies can have a hell of a right hook. I knew it was going to be hard work. But nothing quite prepares you from what you will have to do, see, and put up with. And when shit goes down, it all goes down all at once. (literal and figurative)

So why did I choose this line of work? Well for starters the building is within easy walking distance. (takes me three minutes to get there; five when there's snow) But mostly I chose it because of my grandma. When she had her stroke and had to go live in a long term care facility, it was hard for her. She kept saying she didn't want it to be her home.When mum and I visited (which was often and involved a three hour drive) she would tell us she didn't know how the aids there did what they did. She was so grateful for the good ones. And so hurt by the ones that didn't care. When she passed, I decided I would try my hand at being one of the good ones.

And that's all I've got to say about that. For reasons both legal and personal, I shall not discuss work here. The legal part should be obvious. If you don't know what HIPPA is, you should. It's kinda your right. Also, if I violate it I could get in huge trouble. Getting fined, having my certification revoked, and possible jail time. Personally, I don't want to talk about work on the internet. From what I've seen, not much good can come from that.

Also, it's nearly 2 am. Lunch time.

Hello Internet, My Old Friend

I've come to talk with you again. It's been awhile. Things have changed, as they tend to do. It's 5:30 in the morning as I type this. Why am I awake this early? Well, this is no longer early to me.

See, I have a job now. I am a CNA at the nursing home in my hometown and I voluntarily chose to work the night shift. I usually work three 12 hour shifts and one 5 hour shift a week. Well that's the idea anyway. But more often than not I end up with overtime because (surprise, surprise) nobody wants to work the night shift. I for one enjoy it. Less people. And I was always a night owl anyway. Sure it can be lonely and it's hard to make plans with people, but it's working for me for now. Well, it's working for the most part.

The point is my schedule has flipped around. I sleep in the day and I am awake through the night. Or I'm supposed to be. Occasionally I'll sleep at night a bit too. It's been six months but my body still hasn't decided to accept the arrangement completely. But I digress.

So here I sit on my night off in my boyfriend's living room while he and his roommate are asleep and I can't figure out how to work his damn TV.

all i want to do is play Lego Marvel Super Heroes.

If you think that's a nice set up for someone one year out of college, you should see his desktop:

the most expensive thing in this photo is the stand holding all of the monitors.
it's also the heaviest. i know. i helped move it.

My only companion at the moment is his ridiculously fat cat. Her name is Emmy and this picture does her no justice. She is huge. And heavy. But surprisingly agile...

...though you wouldn't guess so from this pose.

We have a tentative agreement: I feed her in the morning when I'm here and she accepts my presence without argument. It's a tenuous friendship.

But again, I digress.

I have plans internet. But this post is already long enough. My hope is in these silent hours I will once again find the gumption to write. It's all apart of the plan.

Liz Lemon Gif Party!

A few years ago my friend Molly introduced me to the show 30 Rock. 

I was going somewhere with that thought but now I'm hung up on the idea that this happened years ago. Years. It's disconcerting to think about years and how they are passing. Like this is life or something. Now I've stumbled upon a minor existential crisis...

But now we're back to talking about television. 

So 30 Rock was a show. A good show. And, I just found out, an award-winning show. I didn't realize how good until last week when I began watching the entire series. Up until then I'd only seen an episode here and there. Watching it, I found myself kinda wanting to be Liz Lemon. For Pete's sake, she got married as Princess Leia! How much better can you get? 

Then I realize how idiotic that is because a) fictional character and b) completely dysfunctional human. But Tina Fey makes it look so fun and awesome. 

I don't want to like Ms. Fey. I don't know why. I find her so intensely annoying on some level. But on all the other levels she's smart, hilarious, and I love her. 

On a side note, (because my brain is scattered today and I'm finding difficult to focus in on any one thing in particular (except how to be redundant)) I had a teacher in middle school that looked just like Kathy Geiss. 

fact. uncomfortable fact.

Anyway I finished the series last night and it bummed me out. Also, I've humming the theme song all day. *exciting jazz music*

I Swear I Used to Be Good at This

I really wanted to write something today but I'm finding that I  have nothing to say. I feel like I've talked myself out today anyway.

I went to a funeral today with my mother. (there have been too many funerals this year, but that's beside the point) We left town at around seven this morning. It was a three hour drive to the church where the service was being held. I didn't get much sleep last night ( I don't think I got more than three hours in) so I brought a large coffee with. Coffee always makes me chatty. So that's what I did. I talked and talked while my mum listened, amused.

The entire trip back I was thinking about writing. However, by the time we got home I was incredibly tired. I tried to stay awake but at around six this evening I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. I slept until eleven. And now here I am. Minutes to midnight, wide awake, and with nothing interesting to say.

Picture It

Shall I make a confession? I think I shall. I'm in that sort of mood tonight. Though using the word 'confession' has negative connotations. Frankly, I don't find anything wrong with this particular predilection.

I love the classic television series The Golden Girls. Freaking love it.

For years now I have loved this show. It's  been consistently syndicated on one network or another and for the last seven or eight years I have been inconsistently watching. Every few years I see it again and I remember how much I love it. I've probably seen every episode three or four times. Can't be sure though. Haven't bothered to look that up.

irrelevant, but delightful 

But even though I've seen it over and over, it never gets old. It's my feel good show. Whenever I'm feeling down, I watch a few episodes and I'm good. It's the mashed potatoes of late night television. And as I looked about the internet for these gifs, I learned I'm not the only one who feels this way:

mine too, fellow random blogger, mine too

I love those filthy old ladies.

haha. sluts.

*Bonus gif set:

Starting

I was going to save this for the first of October or maybe the fifth because I like starting things on days that feel like beginnings. But I just need to get some words on the page. No more stalling.

It's been a few months. I've been meaning to post for a long time now. Unfortunately, every time I sit down to write the thought of talking about these months depresses me. So I'm going to skip all of that, keep it light, and pick up with something completely different.

Where to begin? Well, I suppose I should start with what I know best: books, movies, music. The three basic food groups. And since books is first, I'll begin there.

So I've been a bit of a dry spell. One that's lasted for several months now. I'll start one book, get a few chapters in, then completely lose interest. Back to the shelf it goes. Or worse, it sits on the trunk I have next to my bed. Perched there, it becomes the first thing I see in the morning. It mocks me. Calls me a fake. Tells me I am no true bibliophile. But I am! I swear I am! Or at least I was.

I have had some luck recently though. I've been able to read two books back to back. Actually, there were three if you count The Last Lecture. But I read that out of desperation. I was stranded for six hours. It was available (and only about two hundred pages). Turns out it wasn't too bad. Not my usual thing, but a decent read nonetheless.

Then I started in on what I like to call my "Remarkable Rummage Sale Collection."

Story: Mum and I used to go rummaging together during the summers. About four or five years ago we were in some stranger's garage looking at their trash and hoping to find some treasure. I happen upon a bookcase full of literature for sale. Now, finding books at a rummage sale is quite common. What was remarkable about this find was each book was a hardcover in excellent condition priced at 50 cents a pop. They were recent books too; most of them were published within the last decade. I started browsing and found a few that I'd like to get to know better. I think I walked away with over 20 books for 10 dollars. If I remember correctly, the actual total came out to $11.50 but the lady said a ten would do. Outstanding.

Anyway, over the years I've gotten through about five or six of them (other books always seem to find a way to cut in line). But now I've started working through them again. First one was Medicus by Ruth Downie. Next came The Romanov Prophecy by Steve Berry. Both quite delightful books that I thoroughly enjoyed. Up next is a book called Druids by Morgan Llywelyn.

It's a good thing I try really hard not to judge a book it's cover because the cover that came with this one is just awful. 

see? ugly.

Thank god it's just the dust jacket. I dislike dust jackets. I find them redundant. And I hate reading a book with the dust jacket still on. Dust jackets get in the way and always end up ripped. First thing I do when I acquire a book with a dust jacket is to take it off and put it in a bag with all the other dust jackets. 

dust jackets

Well, wish me luck. I hope this reading trend continues for a long while.

Going Steady

This last weekend my home town had a carnival. They have it every summer but I hadn't gone in years. Nothing had really changed. It's your average small town fair I suppose. Though I don't recall ever going to any other small town fairs. So who am I to say it's average?

There are a few rides: the Octopus, the Tilt-a-Whirl, a carousel, swings, the Scrambler (though this time it was a different machine and they called it the Sizzler). And this year they had a Ferris Wheel. They never had one when I was growing up. They had the Zipper for a few years but that disappeared by the time I was old enough to not be afraid to ride it. Unfortunately, the Ferris Wheel was not cooperating with us that evening so we never got to ride that.

There's the typical carnival food: corn dogs, cotton candy, funnel cake. I only partook of the last one. God, it was good. I freaking love fried dough. Now I'm hungry.

Then there were carnival games. You know the type. Throwing darts at balloons, knocking over cups, picking a rubber duck from a pool, tossing a ring. Well, that last one wasn't there this year. Actually, I'm not sure it was ever there. I never played any of those games. I always spent my money on food and rides. But this year was different. This year I went to the carnival with my boyfriend. I told him he needed to prove his love to me by winning me a stuffed animal. Just like the movies. Although, now that I think about it, I can't name any one movie where that happened. The image is clear in my mind: a boy Letterman's jacket with his hair slicked back, a girl in a poodle skirt with her hair tied in a perfect bow. He either plays the shooting game, the ball toss game, or that one game where you use the comically large hammer to ring the bell. He wins a silly pink stuffed dog or something, she cheers, and they happily ever after. The scene is so familiar but I couldn't tell you where it I know it from. It's just one of those things I suppose.

Anyway, he didn't win me a pink stuffed dog. I got a green giraffe!

I named him Alfie (short for Alfonso). Way cooler than a pink dog. He was won at the duck pond game. Not as thrilling as ringing the bell, but still quite effective. And giraffes are kinda my favorite so I'm pretty excited about it.

Also, in the process of winning Alfie for me, Dustin (aka the boyfriend) acquired a few other trinkets. Turns out winning the big prize on the first go around is quite rare. Who knew?

The first game played was the gun one. In the movies it's always some cardboard duck you shoot with a water pistol. Here it was plastic cups and a rifle that shot corks.

From this game, we walked away with three 'prizes'.

This sad, misshapen elephant. His head is permanently tilted to the left and his trunk is the size of his foot. But he's still kinda cute in an awkward way. 

This mini plastic bow and arrow set. It has a little rubber suction cup like apparatus on the end, but it doesn't stick to anything. 

And I've been told this was an attempt at a frog. But to me it just looks like some deformed, pitiable creature who's given up on life.

As a side note, we're going to a drive-in movie on Friday. I kinda want to wear a poodle skirt.  

I Met a Man Named Loyal

Last week I traveled to Minnesota with my mother. My dear grandmother recently had to enter a nursing home. I never considered how complicated and expensive the process would be (who knew getting old would cost so much). It made for a difficult week. The shinning silver lining was seeing my grandmother, Evelyn. She's 95 now and up until February 1 of this year (when she had her stroke) she was one of the most active people I know. I knew it would be hard to see her resigned to a wheelchair, stuck in a nursing home. And it was. But I won't go into it.

What I will say is that my grandmother is quite popular. She genuinely loves people. She has an astounding number of friends and treasures each one. It amazes me that she can remember everyone's name, who they are related to,what they do, where they're from, etc. I wish I could be more like her. She is always writing, calling, asking people how life is going. And now that she's incapacitated, many are returning the favor. Almost everyday we were there she had another visitor. They call her Evy.

So while visiting grandma, I met a lot of people. Actually, I should I say met them again. They had seen me around when we lived in Minnesota. It's impossible for me to remember them though. I haven't lived in Minnesota since I was two. But I digress. Many of these folks had the most interesting names. 'Old people' names, you know what I mean? Ethelyde, Ardis, Muriel. Then there was a man named Loyal.

armless elfs grandma has gifted
me over the years

When we weren't at the nursing home, we were at grandma's apartment sorting through things and packing things away. I wished I had brought my camera. Grandma has collected some very interesting objets d'art in her time. Most of them are Scandinavian in nature (grandma loves showing off her Norwegian heritage). Lots of strange elf-looking things. But some really pretty pieces as well. She has a thing for blue glass. (I too have a thing for colored glass. Perhaps she is the source.)

i swiped a few

You know what else my grandma loves? Crossword puzzles. She had at least dozen books of crossword puzzles. Before calling it a day, mum and I would watch Nick at Nite together and solve some crosswords. It was more fun than it sounds.

Besides, there was no internet.

The Case of the Disappearing Streets

What summer is synonymous with? Sunny days and balmy nights? Picnics? Baseball? Ha! Not around these parts, my friends. Folks 'round here like to joke that there are only two seasons: winter and road construction. At the moment that sounds about right.

The streets surrounding my house have disappeared.

and to the right

to the left

It has something to do with the gas lines or water pipes needing to be fixed. At one point we lived next to a giant trench. No pictures of that stage though. Too many burly construction men meandering about. I was afraid to  photograph them. No men operating large machinery on a Saturday though. Also, it was raining. Which brings me to my next point...

After a winter that lingered on into May, we have finally reached the stage that, at any other time, I would be enjoying. The rain. Days and days of rain. I love the rain. The way it sounds, the way it smells. Who doesn't love it? Dull people, that's who. But this year the rain is not as welcome as it normally would be. Days of endless rain delays the work that needs to be done. The project is already estimated to take five months to finish. Delays of any sort are most unwelcome.

But the days when construction can continue are not pleasant either. More than once I've woken up to the house rattling around me. More than once I've received a headache listening to the agonizing harmonies of excavators, bulldozers, and dump trucks working in tandem. More than once I've fallen asleep to the same sounds because the men keep working after dark.

a photo taken a few weeks ago when the tree out front was full of pretty pink blossoms

I know I shouldn't complain. It needs to be done, whatever it is they're doing. The road was in terrible shape before anyway. But the inconvenience and noise is unavoidably irritating. Also it doesn't help that every other major road around the county is being worked on too (I'm exaggerating, but only slightly).

But the good news is I'm leaving tomorrow for a week-long trip with my mum.

The bad news is we're leaving to go pack up my grandmother's things because she had to be moved to a nursing home after suffering a stroke four months ago.

Life, it seems, never gets easier.

It Has Come To This

When I woke up this morning - actually I can't really say I woke up this morning. Truth is I never went to sleep last night. So many of my nights of late are just that: sleepless. But why trouble you with my trifling woes? Insomnia is nothing new. And even this has its silver lining.

Whilst most late night/early morning television consists of the most absurd health and beauty hokum, there

they called these two Honey and Toto

are a few gems hidden away in the wee hours. Because I was unable to sleep, I was able to watch Big Cat Diaries. I love this show. It's a pity they don't make it anymore. There's just something so purely entertaining about these British fellows racing about Kenya, filming some of the most dangerous animals on the planet. It's a delightful import from the BBC. They give the cats names, follow their personal stories, and make it all so dramatic. And the babies are so cute! It's so sad when they die. Which happens a lot.

look at his face!

I started watching this show about four years ago when I would catch it over the lunch hour. I think there were only three or four seasons of it made. But it's just fantastic. I love big cats. And because the show is a little (gasp) educational, I've learned quite a bit about them. For instance, I now know that cheetahs cannot roar and male leopards are rarely seen in the wild because they are so very shy. I could go on. They just fascinate me so.

And I've just realized I began this post with "When I woke up this morning" but never finished the thought. But that makes sense since I was going to say "with my mind racing." It's been wandering all over the place lately. It keeps me up at night, never settling on one thing. Always moving, always changing. I try to catch it, pin it down, but it's out of control. I attempted to rein it in with a book.

I've been reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I needed to see for myself why this book was so popular. I'm about a third of the way through. It's pretty good so far but nothing spectacular. I keep hoping it will pick up the pace soon. I'd like it to be at least worth the $6 I spent. I'd also like it to be worth all the time I've put in, muddling through the vast array of Swedish names.

Anyway, the book didn't work. My mind didn't quiet down. Sleep didn't come.

So the telly turns on again at around 5 AM and I watch Animal Planet until the sun makes an appearance.

It Was a Monotonous March

I woke up this morning and discovered we're already five days into April. The month of March seems to have escaped me entirely. It appears the lingering effects of Epstein-Barr virus have gotten the best of me. Alas, I have not yet broken free of the grasp of mononucleosis.

So what have I been doing all this time? I can hardly say. Time has become an enigma to me. I remain ambivalent to the days as they pass by slowly and then all at once. Time has become more wibbly-wobbly than usual. (have you seen the latest Who? I am so excited about this new companion! and no more Amy!)

For awhile I was on a hot streak of reading. But then I faltered. Right now I'm about midway through a book called Possession. It's about these two British scholars who discover some long lost letters written by a pair of Victorian poets. They then travel about together to unravel the mystery. It's actually quite good. But it's so dense. It's been a long time since I've had to work this hard at reading a book. As a result, it often sits closed and unread for days at a time.

A deep melancholy and erratic sleep patterns have combined to make my days incredibly long and short at the same time in the most distressing of ways.

But you know what today is? It's my half-birthday. I've survived another six months on this planet. So that's something I suppose.

More Death

I was going to call this "Death of a Series Part II" because the book series I want to talk about is another I will probably never finish. But that title just doesn't quite work. First of all, I do not want people to think that this series is in any way, shape, or form similar to Ms. Kenyon's work. They are as different as chalk and cheese. And secondly, I will most likely not be able to finish this series for an entirely different reason: the author died.

Ariana Franklin was her name. Well, her pseudonym. I read her historical thriller series called Mistress of the Art of Death. Brilliant books. Compelling. Suspenseful. Smart. Absolutely incredible. There were moments while reading these books that I stopped, looked around, and said in an astonished whisper, "Holy crap..."

my lovelies

Set in the late 12th century, they feature a medieval pathologist named Adelia Aguilar. Henry II is in dire need of an expert in deduction and the art of death. He summons the best and the best just happens to be a woman. However, in 12th century England any woman who possessed such knowledge would be condemned as a witch. So Adelia has to do her deducting and death arts in secret.

Side note: It is a fact that in Salerno (where Adelia is from), in the 12th century, there was a medical school that would also teach women.

book one

I could really go on and on about these books. There is so much I want to say but it would be spoilers. And these are books that should not be spoiled.

The woman really knew her history. Much of what she writes is historically accurate. The places, the people, the superstitions, the power the church had over everyone. All of it is based in fact. Lady knows her stuff.

And the characters! So brilliant. So complex and real and flawed in all the right ways. Adelia is just wonderful. She's strong, smart, and independent. But she is still a woman of her time. She knows the world she lives in and the rules she must live by. So she follows them, albeit begrudgingly. All the other characters too, I just love them. I really want to list them all, but that would take up far too much time and space.

book two

Also the crimes and mysteries in these books are just mind-boggling. They are complex, with the needed number of twists and turns to make it exciting without being convoluted. The crimes themselves are often quite gruesome. Some of this stuff I don't think even CSI would touch. But they are not so far-fetched that they could be considered impossible for the time period. It's a nice reminder that there have been depraved people all throughout history and it's not just a recent trend.

book three

But the intrepid Adelia always perseveres and finds the killer. It's never a happy ending though. How could it be? A person or two (or three or four) is always dead. Another dozen people are inevitably injured in some way. It's the 12th century for Pete's sake! People died of paper cuts back then. How many happy endings could there possibly be in such a time and place?

book four

Anyway, the point is, these books are fantastic. After reading the forth one (which of coursed ended on a huge cliffhanger) I popped online to see when the fifth would be out. And it was then I discovered there would be no fifth. Franklin had passed away... Two years ago! Two years ago and I had no idea. By that point I had been reading her books for at least four year.Well, needless to say I was devastated. An author who had just become one of my all time favorites was now gone. Also, I would now never know how Adelia and company escaped the assassins the Church of England had sent after them!

But then I found a ray of hope. Before Franklin's death she had started a stand alone novel that she was unable to complete. But her daughter took it upon herself to finish it. So maybe, just maybe, Franklin's daughter will write a fifth Mistress of the Art of Death novel as well. It's unlikely, but it's all I have.

Then of course there is the possibility that Franklin never intended to write a fifth book in the series. Perhaps she meant to have these characters' fates left unknown. I suppose that would be rather fitting and a good way to end the series.

But that doesn't stop me from wanting more.

Things That Most People Enjoy but I Do Not

Food Edition

I have nothing personal against the foods and drinks listed here or the people who might enjoy them. In fact there are occasions, albeit rare occasions (the conditions have to be just right or I have to be desperate), in which I will partake of said food.

This list is probably not complete. But these are the foods that come up most often. They are also the ones I get the strongest reactions with. Especially the first two.

People look at me like I just murdered a bald eagle:

Bacon
Steak
Gravy
excess amounts of Cheese
Nachos
Coke/Pepsi
Dr. Pepper (and all the imitators)
Hot Chocolate (with or with marshmallows)
most cases of Milk Chocolate (but I freaking love dark chocolate)
Caramel
Peanut Butter (there is a story attached to this one, but I don't think I'll share it here)
Pretzels (unless they are covered in almond bark)
Peanuts (redundant but I need to emphasize how much I dislike them and anything pertains to them)
Sour Cream
Watermelon
Honeydew
Cantaloupe
really any type of melon
Cherries (but I love cherry flavored things)
grape flavored things (but I love Grapes)
Corn when it's on the cob
Olives
Tuna
Shrimp
actually almost all seafood
Kettle Corn
Puff Popcorn
Cotton Candy
Malts (also the ball version)
Milk Duds
Cheesecake
Twizzlers (and all other Liquorice-esque things)
Pudding
Twinkies
Tootsie Rolls (they are NOT chocolate people!)
Pixy Sticks
Swedish Fish
Jelly Beans
Laffy Taffy
pretty much all Hostess snacks (but that's a moot point now)
same goes for Little Debbie snacks
Deviled eggs (however I enjoy most other ways eggs are prepared)
Pork Rinds (even sounds unappealing to me)

I'd like to make a note that the majority of things on this list are actually a bit (some more than just a bit) unhealthy (guess I'm not much of a candy person). This fact makes me feel less guilty for not liking them. And despite the length of this list, I don't consider myself a picky eater. The list of things I do like is much longer.