"My Blood Alone Remains"

I started out this morning by doing one of my favorite things - having my blood drawn. For some reason this procedure fascinates me; watching the little tubes filling up with my life force (I was actually really disappointed when they only filled up two tubes). I just think it's really interesting to witness the amazing processes that keep our bodies running. Or I'm just sort of sick and morbid. Either way.


So you may assume that I probably donate blood all the time. But, that is not the case. Let me tell you why.

It all began last summer in California. I had just turned 30, and was dealing with that trauma, when Brian and I accompanied the youth group to the Mennonite Youth Convention in San Jose. And the Mennonites, in an attempt to be good global citizens, supported a blood drive at the convention. Perfect. Brian and I and a number of really wimpy youths signed up. (Seriously, all the youth fainted or turned pale or cried.) I greatly anticipated it all week.


We arrive to give blood, Brian challenges me to a race to see who can give blood faster. (He won by using a secret hand pumping technique that I did not know we were allowed to employ.) I get set up in my chair and the lovely man who is taking my blood begins making small talk. We chat pleasantly for a few moments when he asks, "so are you a senior this year, or did you just graduate?" I sat stunned, trying to process what he had just asked. I then replied in a voice barely able to squeak out sound, "Sir, I am 30 YEARS OLD!" He finds it hard to believe and, needless to say, I become a little giddy with this boost to my morale.

The rest of my blood-letting went off without a hitch and I ate my cookies, drank my juice, and received my sticker and free T-shirt. It was a great success. And for the rest of the week I made sure no one forgot that I could pass for an 18 year-old. (Little did I know it would be the last time I would taste those delicious cookies or happily apply a sticker to my shirt telling the world to be nice to me because I gave blood.)


A few weeks later in the mail Brian receives a packet from the American Red Cross thanking him for donating blood and letting him know what his blood type is. The packet is filled with magnets and stickers and all kinds of cool stuff thanking him for saving "up to three lives." I sort of wonder where my packet is. I figure it must have gotten delayed in the mail.



A week later I receive an official looking envelope from the American Red Cross with a red stamp on the front that says, "OFFICIAL DONOR HEALTH INFORMATION." I open it up with shaky fingers. Turns out that the man who thought I was 18 gave me "the hep." Okay not really but I still sort of blame him. My blood had tested positive for hepatitis C. When they re-tested my blood it did not. They were clear in the letter that the first test had been a false positive and that I had nothing to worry about. I did not, in fact, have hepatitis. HOWEVER, because of that false positive, I HAVE BEEN BANNED FROM EVER DONATING BLOOD AGAIN! Can you imagine? I, who love nothing more than watching my blood fill up a plastic bag, can no longer save up to three lives! I, who do not get squeamish or faint but, in fact, immensely enjoy the whole process, now has to silently ignore pleas from the Red Cross to save lives by donating blood. I want to save up to three lives at a time. All the time.

The letter from the Red Cross said that I could donate blood for my own use if I ever need it. Where is the joy in that? Woo-hoo. So, I'm currently on the search for an alternate blood bank, one that won't know my past history of exotic travels and strange men who think I'm young, one that might still accept this tainted blood.

I Quit, I Give Up

If you read my post on Friday, you are aware that it was a rough day. It continued to get worse (with one bright spot that I'm still trying to figure out how to write about here). But the whole week was a real downer, a bonafide bummer of a week.

To continue the horrible Friday. Before going to the grocery store, Brian and I stopped at the post office (to mail letters) and the pharmacy (to pick up my new stupid fluoride toothpaste prescription). We get to the pharmacy and we cannot find the script for the stupid toothpaste. Harsh looks and sighs were exchanged and Brian claimed he never saw the blue piece of paper that was clearly on the top of the stack that I handed him to be in charge of. (To be fair to Brian, it was a huge stack, including bank deposits, car payments, library books, mail, and a prescription script.) Turns out we threw the script in the post office box with the outgoing mail. (The post office called me which I find embarrassing because they now know all about my bad teeth.)

Then we head to the grocery store and they have rearranged the whole goodness-saken' store! The bread is on the opposite side of the store, I can't find the soy sauce, and our shopping cart veers to the left. And clearly the person who is in charge of this overhaul does not enjoy food or anything to do with eating because the store makes no sense whatsoever. It was the wrong day to do that crap to me. Poor Brian worked so hard to get my spirits up. And he was wonderful.

On Saturday, while getting ready to head to my knitting class, I turned on my Coffee House Blend of music to soothe me a little and this song came on. And when it reached the refrain I stood quietly and thought "EXACTLY." It spoke to how emotionally drained I felt, and how tired I can get of trying to get eveything in life right.

I couldn't find a great clip of this song...the video is from the end of a Cold Case Episode and the song is "Circle" by Edie Brickell. (And I know the song is technically about a circle of friends - but I still thought it fit my attitude fairly well.)


But this week I have vowed to turn things around. I have renewed my resolve to remain positive. (As long as the dentist doesn't call me about scheduling an appointment for my molar's coronation.)

Ways to Waste a Friday Afternoon

Here is our preferred method of wasting a perfectly good Friday afternoon:

Turn on Sirius Radio Coffee House Blend (with the intention of cleaning your house), fall down on the bed, call your adorable dog up to entertain you, and then let said dog have his way with you for about an hour.

Oh, and spend about 25 minutes trying to get a decent self-portrait of your happy little family.

Cold Weather Tradition

There is one thing that the onset of cold weather means in our house. Pull out the afghans, put on fleecy pajamas, get cozy, and prepare yourself for an epic marathon of:



We started our marathon last Sunday afternoon and finished it up on Tuesday night. We have the extended versions so that means a good solid 11 hours of movie watching excitement.


It makes settling into winter a little more bearable for me knowing I have well loved traditions to look forward to.


(I just wish Brian wouldn't think Liv Tyler is so "flippin' hot." Gives me a complex everytime she comes on the screen.)

Lisa and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I woke up with upsetting news still running through my mind, I didn't have any creamer for my coffee and I didn't even have any milk in the house so my coffee tasted gross, the library book I'm half way through couldn't be renewed because someone had requested it, the perma-cloud had settled over Indiana, I had a dentist appointment at noon, and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

To start with, I discovered last week that my tires are bald and will need to be replaced soon, or at least before winter. Goodbye $300 dollars.

Then I discovered that I forgot to record a check (to a charity no less) into my checking account which resulted in TWO non-sufficient fund fees to the tune of $62. I'm normally really careful about these things so I'm FURIOUS at myself.

And to top it all off, I had a dentist appointment at noon. And honestly, going to the dentist is the most miserable thing I do twice a year. And it's not because of any pain that might occur there. They can pick at my teeth, polish them with gross grainy polish, and make my gums bleed all day long. Doesn't really bother me. What bothers me is the cotton-pickin' guilt trip they send me on every time I'm there!

"How much pop do you drink?"

"Do you drink coffee? Is it with sweetener? Is there sugar in your creamer or artificial sweeteners? Why don't you read the label?"

"Do you floss? How often?"

"Are you using the fluoride that we prescribed to you? Are you using it regularly?"

LEAVE ME ALONE! I come in twice a year consistently and responsibly. NO, I don't floss everyday or use your stupid prescription fluoride EVERY night before I go to bed, and I can't function without my coffee and creamer in the morning, and I have a Mt. Dew every now and again FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! WHAT DO YOU PEOPLE WANT FROM ME? Evidently they would like me to lie a lot and make promises I do not intend to keep because that is exactly what happens every time I go to the dentist. They make me squirmy and I start sweating bullets under their intense inquisition and threats until the lies come flowing out of my mouth. These people should work in the police department coercing innocent citizens into confessing crimes they did not commit because these dental professionals are good.

I may not be the poster child for the dental care community but I'm sure I'm not the worst patient they have either. By far. I try. I really do.

So to get back at me for trying to be a good dental citizen but not measuring up to their lofty standards, they declared that I have two cavities and a tooth that will explode if it does not receive a crown. (Alright, the tooth won't explode but a piece might break off.) And I innocently ask the price of a crown at the front desk...and it is a royal price of $1,148.00. That crown better come adorned with rubies and diamonds. Do you know what kind of good could be done in this world with $1,148.00!?!?!? And that's not even covering the two stupid cavities I need to have filled.

And now Brian wants to go grocery shopping. (We haven't actually been grocery shopping in...well a long time.) So we'll get to drop an ungodly amount of money on food now. And shopping with Brian can be like shopping with a seven year old where I'll have to endure him trying to sneak peanut M&M's into the cart and listen to him whine about how he needs Pop Tarts. And I'll have to gently and constantly remind him that Her Majesty the Molar needs a crown and that the serfs will have to go without their cake for awhile.

I am so ready to move to a commune now and live off the land, toothless and happy, and free of money woes.

Days of the Dead

It's a Tuesday. Blah. It's been cold. Brian and I both had a crummy day. I've been holding on to a bunch of Hacienda gift cards from a youth group fundraiser we had in May. I decided we should have a random Tuesday evening date at Hacienda. It was great. We both had a lot to vent so over dinner we just talked it out...and it was delightful.

But it gets so much better.

Turns out we're there during the "Days of the Dead" week at Hacienda so they have special events going all week. First of all there was a fun cover band playing. That's always a good time. (So, thank you Trick Monkey for the great music.)

But then the manager comes around trying to drum up participants in a "fun" game - bobbing for skulls. He shows us all the free stuff we can win. And I love free stuff. I mean, I really love it. Have you ever been to a convention or exhibit of any kind where you can walk around the vendor booths and collect free pens and pads of sticky notes? It feels like Christmas to me. I always walk away feeling like a million bucks with my free plastic bag full of free plastic junk.

I digress.

I take a look at that bucket of goodies and I want it. Bad. I look at Brian and say, "You've got a huge mouth. You can totally win this." So I push and prod and hum the music from the Rocky movies. I tell him he has the eye of the tiger. I can feel the victory now. I make him enter the contest. (Dan and Felicia, I wish you were there to help me with this.) He's reluctant but I don't care. It is a little lame and embarrassing to enter a contest dunking for skulls at a Hacienda on a Tuesday evening. I see his point. But I smell victory none the less.

He goes to the bucket. And he is good. Just like I knew he would be. 14 in one minute, 5 seconds. A couple of other jokers enter the contest. One is quite intoxicated. Brian ends up tying with a guy who got 14 in 1 minute, 35 seconds. It goes to the tie breaker round.

One minute of guts and glory dunking. I've got a good feeling. After the coin toss the other guy goes first. (Always the best position to be in so you know what you have to beat.) He gets 10.

Controversy erupts. Turns out two of the skulls had not been placed back in the bucket after a female contestant spit them on the floor. (Also, this was not the most hygienic of games. But when one wants to win, one does what one must.) The skulls are discovered before Brian makes his attempt, and they are placed back in the bucket. The other guy claims he would have gotten more if the two wayward skulls had been in the bucket. I insist that two be taken out because I do not want Joe whining and crying that Brian's victory isn't fair when he kicks this guy's booty. Two skulls are removed.

The timer begins. And I wish you could have seen it. Brian was a mean-skull-diving-machine. Systematically grabbing those skulls and throwing them in the bin on the floor. It was a thing of beauty. He pulls out 13 in no time, clinching his victory. He even sacrifices by diving deep and getting completely wet.

My heart swells with pride. He is made to stand on a chair and a sombrero is placed on his head as he is declared the victor and is handed his bucket of booty. (All while the manager is yelling, "yeah, he's bringing it home for Momma!!!" which I find somewhat strange and disconcerting but, whatever.)

Never mind that the bucket of booty is full of promotional items from beer companies. It's our free booty. And in the bucket is $25 of Hacienda money. Not only that, but they took down Brian's name, number, and address so that he can be invited back next year to defend his title. We'll be ready.

Sweet, sweet victory. All on a random Tuesday evening in Warsaw, IN.

Why Reggie is the Best Dog Ever

On Saturday morning, while sleeping in, I heard a sound familiar to dog owners everywhere. You know, that steady, gagging, sound the dog makes before throwing up. And then I heard the grand finale of puke landing on the carpet. As I contemplated getting up and seeing what havoc was wreaked, I began to hear the sounds of a dog...eating.

Is it wrong that I whispered, "good dog" and rolled over and went back to sleep?

When I got up there was not a sign of vomit to be found. Reggie had cleaned up after himself. This is why he is officially the best dog ever.

And causing me to belly laugh...

Brian and I walk out the back door at 11:00 p.m. last night (to let the dog out) and are greeted by this, proudly standing in our back yard:




And then, a few hours later, upon examining the front yard:



(Why didn't we think of checking there immediately? Idiots.)

Oh you prankstering pranksters. You got us good.

Pretty Much the Grossest Day in Indiana History

It's disgusting out. Absolutely disgusting.

Brian is working late because of inventory (perhaps until 9:00). It's a Friday. What is one to do with a day like today?

Well, I stopped at the yarn store and the library. You can figure out the rest.

Recently Brian took a mancation to Las Vegas. He was gone from a Thursday afternoon to a Sunday afternoon. While I didn't plan on pining away, missing my beloved, I certainly didn't plan on having the most wonderful three days in my recent history. I didn't have any plans and I didn't have to work and this is how the weekend went:

Thursday Night: Made popcorn, a pitcher of __________ (fill in the blank with your favorite beverage), finished my book, took a bath, went to bed.
Friday: Slept in. Discovered Sirius Radio "Coffee House Blend" which became the soundtrack for my vacation in solitude. Drank much coffee in pajamas. Did the dishes, cleaned out my car, blogged, emailed. Watched "Phantom of the Opera." Took a bath, went to bed.
Saturday: Slept in. Drank much coffee in pajamas. Cleaned the house while my Coffee House Blend soothed me. Started a book. Took a bath. Knit. Watched what I wanted on TV. Ran to the store for food. (The trip took only 10 minutes but I found the contact with civilization to be quite jarring.) Watched a movie. Went to bed.
Sunday: Went to church. Came home and inhaled my last few minutes of alone time. Picked Brian up from the airport.
It was like I had been on a spa vacation. I was completely relaxed and rejuvenated. And I was extremely happy to see Brian. But oh, that time alone was good. Although, it does worry me that I simply will not leave the house for one minute unless I have no choice. I fear without Brian, I may become a hermit. (I actually think it was just a nice change of pace. I'm sure a week of that would have made me stir-crazy. I think I'm sure.)
So tonight? I'm getting ready right now to fire up my Coffee House Blend and light a candle.

Well, I had sort of a dry spell with blogging for several weeks and now I’ve got the itch again. But after my “serious” blog yesterday I feel like I should lighten up the situation. Here are some madcap adventures and ponderings for October.

Beginning: October begins with a crazy Monday night trip to Chicago on the train to see the fabulous Ani DiFranco in concert. Heather, Sara, and I left South Bend at 4:00 p.m., ate supper in downtown Chicago, went to the concert, rode the train back, and I walked in my door at something like 4:00 a.m. Along with my sad tookus that I dragged in the door, was the realization that a 31 year old should probably give up pulling all-nighters.

Pondering: Why do men spit? I don’t understand this need to spit. I have asked Brian why he spits and he gave me some song and dance about how he thinks he produces too much saliva. And I’m like, NO YOU DON’T! You don’t sit on the couch watching a movie and all of sudden have to jump up and run to the sink because you can no longer control the drool that is leaking out of the corners of your mouth because you can’t possibly swallow all the saliva your body is producing. And men sometimes spit before using the, umm…facilities, I’ve discovered. I have never entered the bathroom and thought, “ahhh, I’ll just spit in the turlet here before I do my business.” Where does this come from?

Haunted Doings: As a child I was not allowed to celebrate Halloween. As an adult I have fully embraced it, minus all the satanic associations. I love handing out candy to children (it builds community), I love being scared, I love watching spooky movies, I think I would love dressing up again. So, Brian and I hauled, along with Dan and Felicia, all around Northern Indiana to some haunted productions. First we hit the Warsaw Haunted Hospital. Huge DUD! Not scary. Stupid. So we drove to Cherubusco to a haunted school in the middle of rural Indiana. There I confronted my claustrophobia and battled gravity. It was the coolest place. We then drove south to the Silver Lake Haunted woods. You may ask yourself if it is fun to be attacked in a corn field by masked men in the dark. And the answer would be a resounding YES! Bring it on! A corn maze in the dark with people jumping out at you and then a spooky walk through a spooky wood – superb, just superb.

Fondue: We threw our first fondue party. We did a practice run several days before the actual event. We invited our friend Colin over as a guinea pig. He was such a good sport. I learned not to show the cheese any fear. It can smell it, and then you wind up with a glop of cheese laying in a pool of oil mocking you. But, along with the help of my 1970’s age-of-Aquarius fondue cookbook, Brian and I threw a successful party. Cheese and bread, meat and veggies in batter and oil, and then chocolate and fruit. Our house smelled like peanut oil for days (i.e. like the fried food at the fair). Made me hugely hungry at all moments. Thankfully, nobody at the party passed a large painful cheeseball the next day, nor did they suffer from salmonella. I now would like to don some swanky 70’s wear and fondue all the time.

Ending: Well October is going to end with another trip to Chicago. You might never guess where I’ll be going. My dear friend Heather is a huge Madonna fan. So, we’re hauling to our second Madonna concert on Sunday. It should be interesting at the very least. The material girl just keeps going.

Oh and I guess there’s still Halloween (or "the big dance") itself left. I’ll have to let you know how it turns out.

Red or blue...or something in between

Well, it happened. I suspected it. I feared it. I wouldn't address it because I wanted to remain in denial. But then, my sister blurted it out in a conversation and my worst fears were realized.

My mother likes Sarah Palin.

My own dear, sweet, mother who is right under Jesus in the heavenly hierarchy. My own strong mother who planted tiny little mustard seeds of feminism within me. For the love of everything holy - WHY?!?

It's no secret to those that know me well that my political views are, well, quite liberal. (Brian was even called a socialist at work this week...imagine me giggling because that's what I'm doing.) But I try really hard to deal kindly and respectfully with those whose views oppose my own. I'm a big fan of dialogue. But I have a confession.

In private conversations with people who see politics like I do, I'm afraid I'm not very kind to the other viewpoint. (I never blast specific people, just the general masses.) And I'm probably even less kind in my own inner dialogue. (And wow, do I ramble on and on and on in my head sometimes!) I have a tremendously difficult time believing that a rational, thinking, intelligent human being could have anything but utter disdain for Sarah Palin. Really. And I don't like that part of me that so easily dismisses the good brains somebody was born with. So I've been grappling with this ever since my initial rage and indignation subsided just a tiny bit following McCain picking Palin as his running mate. I'm now really curious, and genuinely so, as to why someone would vote for McCain/Palin. And I've been looking for good reasons - not pat answers and not negatives about Obama or the Democrats.

And I've had a revelation this week. And it has cooled my jets, disarmed me, took much of the intensity out of my emotional reaction to the politics of this election season.

You see, I'm scared about the fate of this country. I'm scared of another administration like the Bush one. I'm frightened that we have become so self-obsessed and arrogant as a country that we will squander every bit of good-will we have remaining with foreign nations. I'm afraid that instead of dealing diplomatically with other governments, we will continue to engage in pre-emptive wars resulting in casualties and injury far surpassing simply those that are hurt in the direct line of battle fire. I'm afraid that as citizens, our rights will start to erode as the extreme religious right in this country pushes for a theocracy. I'm afraid that our environment will continue to suffer because, well, we're Americans and we shouldn't have to give up anything that we're used to, anything that makes our lives easy and comfortable. Our arrogance makes it okay for us to use the majority of the world's resources and energy while only accounting for between 5% to 8% of the world's population. I'm afraid for women's rights. I'm afraid about our escalating health care costs. I'm afraid about the economy. I could go on forever.

But, I'm realizing that my friends who see things from a McCain/Palin perspective are scared too. I don't know if I can accurately represent them, but I'll try to sum up what I've been gathering. They fear for our safety, that if we are soft on other nations or pull out of Iraq too quickly it will open us up to attack. They are afraid of not having the strongest military in the world because it would drastically alter the global scene. They are afraid that the government will try to take too much of their money or hurt small business. They are afraid about the economy. They are afraid about the escalating health care costs. They are afraid that morality in this country will erode, that the values they cherish will be considered antiquated and useless (especially regarding abortion and gay marriage). They are afraid that this nation could turn towards socialism. They are afraid that any quick moves, or drastic changes could damage or negatively alter the way of life that Americans hold so dear. They are afraid of things dissolving into chaos. I'm sure I'm leaving some out, but you get the idea.

Once I realized that both sides of the political landscape are afraid - I mean really, really frightened - it took away the "them and us" mentality I was carrying around. (And I'm referring here to friends and to average citizens like me - not corporate executives, politicians, journalists, etc...) And basically, other than on a few really pointed issues, we are scared of the same stuff. The solutions we believe in are not the same, but our desires for our families and for this country match up fairly closely.

When did we let ourselves get so consumed with "issues" - issues like abortion, homosexuality, gun-control, or stem-cell research, that we completely lost sight of the bigger picture? When did those become issues that we would stake EVERYTHING on? (Please do not hear me saying they aren't important because they are important issues...for instance, I would imagine if a loved one could be saved by furthering stem-cell research than it is probably the most important thing in your world. I'm only suggesting that during election time they can be used to distract Americans from working on "big picture" ideas for this nation. I would even suggest the government shouldn't be involved in all the "issues" that they are.) And when did we become so consumed with fear that we assumed complete annihilation of the United States of America and our way of life if the "other" party should be elected to office? When did we become such a nation divided, so focused on the negative that we stopped working together to build up the country?

I'll admit that I am still no fan of McCain/Palin, and frankly, the Bush administration is a scary one by a lot of standards. But I won't see the average citizens who support them as my "enemies" anymore. And on November 4, here's a wish for a prosperous journey, success, and good fortune - godspeed!

And for the Christians among us, who so closely try to link our voting with our commitment to following the way of Jesus, I offer this prayer:

In the weeks leading up to Election Day, pray that we as Christians would respect the integrity of our Christian brothers and sisters in their sincere efforts to apply Christian commitments to the important decisions of this election, knowing that people of faith and conscience will be voting both ways in this election year. (From an author at Sojourners)

oh the humanity

The entry below is copied and pasted from an email exchange Brian and I had earlier today. I need to preface the story by telling you that our youth group is coming to our house tonight. I decided I needed to finish editing the video of our summer trip to Denver so that we could view it tonight...but our video editing software makes me want to stab my leg with a blunt object. (Some of you already know that.) So it's a long a laborious process. I also decided that I should make 50 different options of snacks - which the kids probably won't even like because they only seem to fancy pizza rolls and plain cheese pizza. So that put me way behind schedule-wise.

Also, the story below clearly shows that I am in danger of my life everytime I sit down to blog. Be aware that this is a high risk behavior.




From: Lisa Showalter
Sent: Wednesday, September 17, 2008 1:16
To: Brian Showalter
Subject: Oh the humanity
Did you happen to see the computer room this morning?



From: Brian Showalter
Sent: Wednesday, September 17, 2008 1:18
To: Lisa Showalter
Subject: Re: Oh the humanity

What happened?! Cat/Dog poo... vomit...

From: Lisa Showalter
Sent: Wednesday, September 17, 2008 1:35
To: Brian Showalter
Subject: Re: Oh the humanity


(i'm going to see if i can write this email without using any caps.)

you didn't see it?!?!?!?!

you may have noticed how there were flip flops sitting at the entrance to the office. or you may not have because you're not always really observant. the flip flops are there in case entry to the room is desired, entry to the room without getting involved in a bloody mess that is.

this morning, somewhere between the hours of 12:00 a.m. and 3:15 a.m., i was sitting there minding my own business, reading whole chapters of my book in the time it took for a new window to open up on the computer, when suddenly there was a loud popping noise, and then a crazy crack/shatter sound. basically, the light fixture exploded. all over the flippin' place. i put a flourescent bulb in this weekend. evidently it gets too hot in the enclosed light sconce. hmm. explosion. it's nothing short of a miracle that it didn't happen while a student was sitting at my piano, or that bunzy or the cats weren't laying there, or that nothing in the room was hurt (i don't even think it scratched the piano or the bench), or that i didn't end up with a glass shard the size of a manatee in my eyeball. i continued working. that's how i roll.

the video finished moments before i left the house this morning at 9:20. (I started the recording at 3:20ish) i didn't have time to test it. it better stinking work.

i hope you come home with lots of energy to get stuff done because i didn't get to sleep until 4 a.m. and i'm running a little low on energy (thus the "no caps" - too much effort).

now tell me a story.


So, far no response has been forthcoming from the sleeping beauty who missed my brush with the grim reaper. Also, I'm hoping he'll clean up the glass when he gets home.

Four Womyn in New Mexico

Ahhhhh, a great vacation had by all. I'll try to sum it up in a relatively short manner. (Alright, I'm part way through writing this entry and it's not going to be short. Sorry.)

The Characters:

Heather Birky (A great traveler, but not the one I'd put in charge during a crisis)

Janice Eigsti Miller (A calm companion who is pregnant but, mysteriously, still eats less than me.)

Lisa Showalter (The one who panics)

Andrea Yoder (A seasoned traveler who has been known to turn into a doctor, or any profession that is called upon during any given crisis.)

Day 1: Flight into Albuquerque. No sleep the night before. We accidentally attend the Republican National Convention in Minneapolis during a layover. We arrive at our adobe casa where Sir Russell Betts graciously greets us. Heather eats an Indian taco and also immediately declares her love for Santa Fe - like any common hussy might. We are so tired. So tired. MUST GET ANDREA! She waits at a bus stop in Santa Fe. Heather's too tired to drive our luxury car (two free upgrades) and I'm too tired to walk. Confusion and crazy behavior ensues. Andrea is collected.

Day 2: White water rafting. Not only do I not cry the entire day, but turns out I pretty much kick booty at rowing. Andrea, Heather, and I (Prego stayed at the Casa for this adventure) share a boat with our guide Joel wherein Joel receives the complement from other guides that he has a "fast boat." Evidently quite a complement. He may have been worried when he saw three womyn head toward his boat but it turns out he had nothing to fear. He had three super-powerful, mid-west bred, white water rafting heroines.

Day 3: Tooling around Santa Fe, discovering it's mysteries, including the Georgia O'Keefe Museum and one set of mystery stairs in the Loretto Chapel. Heather has Indian Taco number two and counts it a miracle because she simply did not think she would ever eat another one in her life. I buy my first piece of turquoise and am informed that turquoise "goes with everything."

Day 4: This is the day I nearly convert to Catholicism. We visit the Santuario at Chimayo which has healing dirt inside. We all rub the blessed dirt about our bodies. (I also brought some home - let me know if you are in need.) This is actually a very moving place where people leave baby shoes, pictures of loved ones, crutches, etc... We eat at a KFC, unaware that Indian Tacos are available at the Pueblo we visit later. The Pueblo is incredibly interesting.

Day 5: Ojo Caliente (mineral springs and day spa): My first massage, by a man named Richard, who unlocked my secrets. (He wondered why my forearms and hands were so strong - I told him it's because I am a pianist - but I think we all know it was probably from the mighty rowing I had done a few days previous.) Dipping in the various springs followed: iron, arsenic!, and soda. A drink of lithium water was sipped, and mud baths were had by everyone. Several hippies spotted here.

Day 6: Oooh, this was a full day. I'll divide it into two parts.

Part 1: Bandelier Monument: Here we hiked, saw and crawled in cliff dwellings, and one of us was stung by a nuclear bee. (Alright, it was me.) Heather remained very calm (until later when she had to climb a few ladders) and removed the stinger from my wounded hand. I still think it may have been a one-toothed rattlesnake bite. Heather swears it didn't look like a snake tooth that she pulled out. The park ranger was not amused by my asking if the bees are particularly vicious or powerful there. ("Our bees are JUST FINE! It's the humans who react to them differently.") This is also where Heather panics when she is the last to fill her water bottle and cannot get the water pump on the trail to work and accuses us of "taking all the water." We then head to Los Alamos which was only a half hour away (thus the nuclear bee). We see many secret agents and undercover scientists around town. I'm sure of it.

Part 2: Zozobra: We heard about this on the news the night before (after watching the Sarah Palin speech together which I will withhold all comments about). Turns out this crazy event happens every year after labor day to kick off Fiestas de Santa Fe. A 50 foot marionette of "Old Man Gloom" is burned to dispel the hardships and travails of the last year. You can write your gloom down and put it in a box to be burned with Zozobra (and then you receive a sticker and glow-stick which pleased the child in me). We watch the three snipers on two of the nearby rooftops and hear about how the plaza is completely shut down by the police after the burning. We wonder what in the world we have gotten ourselves into. When it's been dark for an hour (not at dusk like the event info would have you believe), and the crowd is getting restless, they begin the ceremonial burning. It is very exciting and not a little creepy. The crowd is screaming "BURN HIM!!" (Heck yeah, I joined in.) And then amid fireworks and dancers, he goes up in flames. Afterwards there are shouts all through the streets of "VIVA LA FIESTA" and everyone nearby answers, "VIVA!!" We were so glad we decided to go to this very local and unique event, and it was only a few blocks from our casa. Way cool. We have a run in with the local security when we decide we'll walk through the closed plaza. Heather gets lippy and is ready to "stick it to the man." Cooler heads prevail.

Day 7: I wake up to one normal-sized hand and one that resembles an animal paw because it so swollen from the nuclear bee sting. We head to Ghost Ranch, which is the area where Georgia O'Keefe owned a home and it is the landscape that inspired much of her art. The landscape is beautiful red rocks. We take an epic hike with an awe inspiring view that rewarded our journey. It was a magnificent thing to do on our last day. We head back to Santa Fe where Heather has Indian taco number three. We then walk up to Old Fort Marcy Park to watch our last sunset together in New Mexico. I have no words...

Day 8: MUST GET ANDREA TO THE BUS STOP! I overhear someone on the street saying there would be a parade and I advise Heather and Andrea to leave a little early. Janice is taken just in case roads are blocked off and map reading is needed. Left alone to pack I enjoy a moment outside before I need to get in the shower...when peeling into the drive comes our luxury sedan, kicking up dust and screeching to a halt. Two wild-eyed women who resemble Heather and Janice tear out of the car and tell me to PACK NOW! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF SANTA FE! THE PARADE HAS ALL ROADS SHUT DOWN! (We find out later it is a dog parade.) I get ready as quickly as I can but I'm not really feeling the panic. We leave town and our adorable casa. We leave too quickly. We don't have any problems leaving town so we decide to take the scenic route to the airport, stopping in Madrid for last minute shopping. We lose track of the time and it ends with Heather chasing Janice and I down, partly on foot, partly in the luxury sedan - complete with horn honking. There is slight panic getting to the airport but we make it. Heather has Indian taco number four. We find Andrea waiting to board our airplane (her earlier flight had been canceled). We all arrive home safe and sound, with wonderful memories created, and something like 1,000 pictures to sort through.

Until next year...VIVA LA FIESTA!!

Not a laughing matter

Until recently, Brian and I lived in the red light district of Warsaw. A few years after we moved in to our house an establishment opened up a few blocks down the street named, "Dating Dynamics and Exotic Massage." If that doesn't scream HOUSE OF ILL REPUTE, I simply do not know what does. We heard reports of them being busted for soliciting you-know-what, and on several occasions I saw women walking in who, I assume, worked there. I don't think one technically needs thigh-high stiletto boots to enhance a deep tissue massage. Still, I relished the fact that we lived in the red light district. I fancied it our own private Amsterdam.

Sadly, they were busted one too many times. Restrictions were placed on them allowing them to be open only between the hours of 9 a.m. and 9 p.m. Frankly, I don't think much of their business took place during daylight hours. They could not weather the storm. They went out of business, placing a sign on the door asking for help in fighting the powers that be who had obviously, and unfairly, set them up for failure. I was already sentimental, missing the days of secretive and illicit goings-on down the street from my quiet home.

But then, something much better moved in. A JAPANESE MARTIAL ARTS DOJO! Now we have lots of little Taekwondo and Karate studios around town. But a Japanese martial arts dojo! They are sacred and cared for spaces. And it looks so awesome! So as we've been driving by I've been planning which combat skill I'd like to develop. And I've settled on bojutsu, stick combat.

So, I keep on talking to Brian about how I'm going to join the dojo. His response? "I will laugh at you every single day if you join that dojo. You know that don't you?"

Yes, Brian, you will laugh at me every day...UNTIL I LEARN TO KICK YOUR KEISTER!!!!

Then one day, my friend, you shall walk into the house. I will be waiting and will step wordlessly and silently from the shadows of the dining room. My stealth will leave you speechless...with fear. I will be dressed in black (complete with a black band tied around my head), all ninja and crap. And I will be carrying my very large stick. Then, the laughter shall be over for you, sweet Brian. You shall laugh no more.

Sick Husband

So Brian was home sick yesterday (a Monday). We had a church picnic on Sunday and he possibly ate some gamy potato salad or a deviled egg gone wrong. Who knows. He felt all urpy and miserable.

So I tried to convince him that he needed to poo or vomit - or both - in order to rid himself of the taint, whatever it may be. Finally on Monday, while I was at a funeral, he made himself throw up. He did not feel better. And he had thrown up, which is not really anybody's favorite thing to do. He was very derisive of my advice.

I was getting kind of worried. I went tubing with some friends. (It was a beautiful day...don't judge me.)

THEN, I made a spinach salad for dinner. A really good one with hard boiled eggs, bacon, cheese, tomatoes, and onions. Yum! Brian was hungry, a good sign, so he topped his with honey mustard and ate the salad up.

He immediately threw up.

But then he felt so much better. The sparkle was back in his eyes. He went to work today and is fine.

I cleansed him of his sickness with my spinach salad.

I'm so proud.

Dog Update

Well, I'm happy to report that the tin can of quarters has worked marvels. Reggie finally has learned the walking game pretty well.

He no longer insists on stopping to smell every sign, or flower, or random clump of grass. (He still stops plenty but he knows I'm not going to let him mark the entire trail.)

He no longer poops twice a walk, forcing me to carry around small steaming black bags of grossness.

He knows when I pull the leash in to get on my right side.

He does not bark or lunge at passersby, walkers or bicyclists. Mostly...he's still not fond of the sneak attack (aka bicyclists who come from behind us).

BUT, he is still one big wimp of a dog. I like to walk two miles in just less than a half hour. He way kills my time, what with his panting and falling behind, and looking pathetic, and stopping to catch his breath. I had to stop several times to let him catch up. Then I'd pet him and tell him what a good dog he is (gotta keep the morale up). I don't know what I'm doing wrong here. I have seen him chase a frisbee non-stop for an hour. I have seen him chase a four-wheeler at full speed with great tenacity. But go for one pleasant two mile walk and all of a sudden your a frail little old man dog? Will we ever reach the walking utopia that I dream of?

Creating Memories

What happens when you take two gals from the Midwest, stick them on a train headed to Chicago, and drop them off there for 24 hours? Crazy adventures ensue and fun memories are created.

My friend Heather and I spent about 24 hours together last weekend. We hopped on the South Shore train from South Bend and spent an evening and day in Chi-Town. It started with a great train ride. I can say no more because it will incriminate myself. But we had fun...and people stared at us. A great 2 1/2 hours to catch up and ponder life's greatest questions. (i.e. "Have you noticed how sexist some of the commentators of the Olympics are?")

Dropped off in Chicago we hightailed it for our hotel. A few wrong turns later we made it. Heather embarrassed us in front of the desk staff...but because of that we got a sweet room at the Inn of Chicago. The location and room were superb!

We headed to a play at the Goodman Theatre, had an excellent supper next door, and then hit the city looking for Blue Chicago. Blues has got to be one of my all time favorite types of music to see live. But in order to see great blues bands, one normally has to go to a blues bar. This leads to lots of interesting encounters. The band was so great! The crowd was hilarious. Let's just say the men in the bar were WAY more interested in being band groupies than hittin' on the ladies. (When the lead singer, a man, sang the line "I need you to love me," the men yelled out "WE LOVE YOU!!!") Refreshing. And the 45 year old white women were totally enamored with the lead guitarist and singer of the band. They were shamelessly throwing themselves at him. All this and we heard such great blues that evening! What fun.

The next morning, we got up bright and early and headed to West Egg Cafe where good eggs were had by all. (Complete with avocados!) We did an architectural boat tour down the Chicago River. We took a water taxi that had a very intense captain. We shopped at Lush, spent way too much money on organic hair products, and met Nate - who told us that we are his favorite customers because of living in Warsaw, IN (because that's where "American Teen" was shot). Heather ate her dream donut from Dunkin' Donuts, we grabbed a sandwich from an extremely inefficient Subway, and then it was back on the train and home. (I'm not going to lie, we were EXTREMELY exhausted when we arrived home.)

One of the important things about weekends like this are the memories created. I have come to realize that it is impossible for me to stay close to people when we cease creating memories together. There is only so long that you can remain friends with someone when the only things you have to talk about are the "good old days." Now, I'm not saying you have to travel with someone to create memories. Memories can be created at run-of-the-mill gatherings where someone dumps a plate of food on you, or an arm gets broken playing dodge ball. (I'm sure there are also "nice" ways of creating memories.) But memories are a powerful glue that holds us together and gives a community identity. History, after all, is just a collection of memories. (I'd like to think that all the memories I'm gathering are writing the textbook of The History of Lisa Lynne Schmucker Showalter.) Families need to share their memories and to create new ones for this reason.

But, I'm convinced that friendships need this even more. Family ties remain regardless of participation (although there are exceptions and ties can be damaged) but friendships have to be attended to. After high school and college I realized that it isn't really all that easy to forge new friendships, at least not for me. If you don't work with people your age, how does one make new friends? For me, it doesn't just happen. It's intentional and it takes effort. I'm now really cherishing my friendships that have stood the test of time. And it is because I value friendship, (I really think one has to have these apart from familial relationships) that I like to create memories with friends. And I like to talk about those memories. And I like to look at those memories, which is why I take SO MANY pictures. This is one reason that my annual vacations with my friend Heather, and our sometimes companions Andrea and Janice, are so treasured by me. I am so thankful that I get to have that experience each year. In a few weeks we are all heading to Santa Fe, NM. It will be the 10th vacation for Heather and me. I can't wait to create some new memories, to form tighter bonds, to deepen good friendships...to write the next chapter in my history book.

Free Lovin' Hippies

We went to Mad Anthony's on Friday night, which is a local restaurant within walking distance of our house that we just love. Every Friday evening is open mic. night and since we were there eating a bit late, we decided to sit for a spell. The performers are mostly guys with acoustic guitars ranging from old country singers to young, tortured, artists. It's always interesting. But last Friday was special.

We watched an older guy go up to the host of open mic. night, Josh, and introduce himself. "A new guy," I thought to myself. I quickly sized him up. He was in his 50's, wearing jeans, a plain green T-shirt, a pair of hiking-type tennis shoes, and he was completely bald. He had sort of a soft, gentle demeanor. Now he could have gone several ways with his music - BUT - I said to Brian, "Look at that guy. He's a hippie." I could just sniff it out.

For those of you that don't know, I am hippie obsessed. Very few things tickle me more than seeing a hippie, speaking with a hippie, watching a hippie exhibit hippy behavior, etc... And I like running into former hippies, you've probably all known a few of these in your life, cleaned up but still clinging to their earthy ideals. I really think I was born in the wrong era. I long for the simple life of a hippie. Someday I'll find a little plot of land on this earth...and I will live off of it, and love. Someday.

So, the small man sits down with his guitar. I wait with great expectation to hear the first strains of music. Will my instinct be on the money? For his first song he plays a haunting rendition of Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd. Hmmm, definitely not country but does not yet confirm his hippie-hood. Then it happens. He announces his second song. In his soothing voice he says, "This is a song I wrote. I call it My Treehugger Song." !!!!! Brian knew at that moment never to question my intuition again. And, oh, the song was all the hippie glory that one might expect. The chorus talked about us keeping the earth for our grandchildren's, grandchildren's, grandchildren. It talked about how we were poisoning the water and might end up living in bubbles. It was written in a minor key and was complete with Native American chanting. (Heeeey, ha, ha, ha.) It was a glorious moment for me.

He then sang a rendition of Fire and Rain by James Taylor that made me misty eyed.

Small hippie man, thank you. Thank you so much.

NOT a walk in the park...

Some of you may know about the relationship I have with my dog Reggie. In short, I believe he is perfect; handsome, funny, sensitive - basically if he were a human man I would probably leave Brian for him. But, we have had a large rift in our relationship this summer caused by his misbehavior on walks.

Here's the deal. I decided this summer that I need to take him on walks. According to the dog whisperer, walks are imperative to keeping a healthy and happy dog. And, I really wanted to get walking for myself too, to get healthier (and happier), and I thought having a little companion would bring lots of good fun. I was wrong.

First of all, he can be a total wimp on walks. Oh he starts out all guts and glory on the walks, pulling on the leash so hard he's wheezing and carrying on from the lack of oxygen he's receiving. But at about mile one, there is a marked change in attitude. He falls behind, he's panting, sometimes he just lays down. Unbelievable! I have to constantly give him pep talks and tell him that he can make it...then he speeds up a little to catch up with me only to fall behind again. The first two times we walked I thought I was going to have to pick up his 55 pound body and walk it back to the car. He was that pathetic. Now I know that he has short legs and I am aware also that his muscles need to be conditioned just like ours do. But I kind of think we have a pansy of a dog. But this isn't my biggest problem.

No, my biggest problem on walks is much worse. After a few walks Reggie decided he is king of the trail. We have a very nice trail to walk or bike on here in Warsaw (we actually have several) that opened up last year. And the great thing is that lots of people use it. And the bad thing (for us) is that lots of people use it, and Reggie has decided that he is the great defender of the path. It is SO EMBARRASSING. Now, this is the dog that loves all people, that would lick a person to death. But on that path, he hates everyone almost equally. He barks or growls at people walking by. And the biggest threat to Reggie are the bicyclists. Oh how those anger and upset him. Lovely people, out enjoying the fresh air, aggressively lunged at and attacked by a dog with short legs. Oh the shame he brings down on our household. And me, all the while, begging him, "be good, Reggie, be good" or "No Reggie, NO!" (said in an authoritative whisper). Little children pull over on their bikes when they see him coming, small children in strollers scream, adults on bikes apologize to me for angering my dog. So embarrassing! I WANT TO BE THE PACK LEADER DANG IT!!! So our walks would end with me frustrated and angry, yelling at him that he was never going on a walk with me again. (But then he would look at me so excitedly the next time I put my walking shoes on and I couldn't bear the heartache of not taking him.) So I wasn't walking very regularly because the whole thing had become a big disaster.

But there is hope in this tale. I happened to find an offhand comment by someone on a blog I was reading last week that suggested that for poor dog behavior one should carry a tin filled with quarters. Shake it in their face when they display the bad behavior and it should make them discontinue. I decided it was worth a shot. (And for all the animal rights activists who do not approve of this method, it is better than me kicking him square in the jaw which I was seriously tempted to do on many occasions.) So, I filled my little tin with spare change and before our walk that evening, I gave it a test shake. Reggie winced and ran behind Brian's legs for protection. I took that as a good sign. Off we went on our walk. Yes, I looked like a crazy lady, walking my dog and shaking a noisy tin in his face while yelling at him. Half way through the walk he seemed to be reconsidering lunging at innocent passers by. The tin was working. But to be sure, I took him on a second walk with the tin. Here is the measure of success. There is a kind looking lady, with a basket on the front of her bike, that is always riding her bicycle on the path no matter what time Reggie and I go for a walk. And he always lunges and barks at her. As we approached her, I became short of breath, my heart racing, whispering to Reggie to "please be good." As we passed he did not react at all to her...and she yelled out, "GOOD DOG!" Which affirmed two things: 1. My dog has a bad reputation, 2. The tin is a success!

The tin is successful enough that I am thinking of carrying one with me at all times. Who wouldn't stop doing whatever it is that's annoying me if I shook a can full of quarters in their face? And as for Reggie and me? Well, I think we're ready to go on another walk.

My List of Most Treasured Troyer's Hollow Experiences

We spent this last weekend at Troyer's Hollow, home of many happy family reunion memories for my husband, Brian. He camped there as a child with his mother's family and we decided to return there this summer. It was all kinds of fantastic. Here is my list of memories that will remain with me from this adventure:




1. 275% humidity. That is no exaggeration...of the way it felt. Dampness. Everywhere. Every moment. Sweat. In places.

2. Karen Renee, breaking apart glow sticks, splattering the children with them, rendering them fluorescent warriors, assuring us all the while that the glowing material was nontoxic and would not stain clothing.

3. Eric reading the glow stick package, "toxic, will stain clothing, may cause skin irritation, etc..."

3. Pallet wood for fires. Where the flaming ends of the pallet wood falls is any body's guess.

4. Kickball on wet grass. Enough said.

5. Sparklers, super sparklers, and illegal fireworks.

6. Trying to roast a marshmallow over a 20 foot flame.

7. A rain storm resulting in a mad to dash to tear down tents and get cars across the creek before the waters rose.

8. The flash flood that turned the trickling creek into a raging river.

9. The fact that the only way out of the hollow was to cross the raging river whilst hanging onto a rope that was tied to two vehicles on either side of it.

10. The fact that the Troyers were completely unbothered by this, in fact, seemed to enjoy it! (i.e. the raging river evidently looked inviting, causing some to throw intertubes and their bodies into it.)

11. Discovering once again that the more dangerous and foolhardy the activity, the more the Troyers dig it.


It was really a great weekend. This is a group that doesn't complain or get bored - ever. It's so refreshing.


They also never go hungry.

Why be embarrassed?

After working hard outside all evening, Brian takes a shower and gets changed. He's wearing athletic, basketball-playing-in type of shorts. Upon seeing him in the kitchen, this exchange occurred.

Lisa: Are your pants on backwards?
Brian: No! Why would you say that? (Said in a weird sort of overly defensive tone.)
Lisa: No that's not it...they're on inside out!
Brian: No they're not! They're REVERSIBLE. (Again, really emphatic and offended.)
Lisa: Are you sure? Alright, whatever.

Then I get to looking a little and I'm puzzled.

Lisa: If they're reversible why are there tags on the outside, and why wouldn't they sew the seams a little differently, and...
Brian: (Interrupting me) It's really bothering you isn't it? Fine, I'll put them on the other way. (Proceeds to change the shorts in the kitchen, which probably isn't sanitary but probably was enjoyed by the neighbors.)

After a brief, silent moment, we make eye contact:

Lisa: The shorts weren't reversible were they? You just didn't realize they were on inside out.
Brian: (Smiles sheepishly and bustles out of the room.)

I'm still a little puzzled about the defensive nature that Brian assumed and the immediate fabrication about reversible shorts. Who says men aren't sensitive?