Au Claire De La Lune

I am writing this particular entry in order to try to exercise the demons that have taken hold of me in the month of December. Here's what's happened:

For the last several years I've heard (and I imagine that you would have to live under a rock to not have heard) of the Twilight craze that had hit the teenage girl scene. I bemusedly listened to accounts of young girls going nutty waiting for the first movie to premiere, imagining it was much in the same vein as the New Kids on the Block hysteria that I experienced as a young teen. And then I heard a report on NPR about how the craze had swept more than just teenage girls, but women of all ages. And I thought, "hmmm...maybe these books would be fun to read, sort of like the Harry Potter books."

I put it out my head more or less, deciding I would not get involved in this, obviously, silly and superficial Twilight madness. Then people I knew and even liked started telling me how good the books were. I began surveying the teenage girls at my church to see if they had read them, and if they could give me the 411. They definitely were fans but none of them actually owned copies of the books so that I could borrow them. (Freeloading teenagers...borrowing them from cousins and whatnot.) I casually checked our library for them and the waiting list was 15 people long. Eh, not worth it. I'd just keep checking around every now and again to see if I could borrow them. And the happy reports from friends my age, and older, who had read the books just seemed to be multiplying.

So, a few weeks ago I took a long-overdue trip to the library to leisurely wander the shelves of books (a pleasure that never gets old for me). I decided to see if the first book of the Twilight series was there on some off chance that I might luck out. The computer told me that two copies were available. I'd have to enter the "young adult" section to find them, a section I had yet to experience. I tried to very casually head in that direction, feeling slightly embarrassed at what I was about to do. The books weren't there. I went back to the computer and searched again. Two available copies. I went back to the young adult section. Nothing. I glanced at the librarians at the reference desk. I had never asked for assistance from a librarian before. But it was the young adult section, maybe I didn't know how to properly locate a book in that realm. But I was NOT going to ask a librarian to help me find Twilight of all things. How shameful, acting like a teenager, giving into the status quo. But I did want to read it and the computer told me it should be there. I decided to bite the bullet and ask. I sheepishly asked the librarian for assistance. She didn't see them on the shelves and suggested that they might be in the back waiting to be re-shelved. She went into the back and came right back carrying a copy of Twilight. I felt compelled to make some explanation to her about why I wanted to read the book and express my chagrin. But she, in a conspiratorial tone, assured me that all of the librarians had started reading them and then had just gobbled up the series. Whew! This kind woman made me feel like she did not judge me for wanting to read this book.

Others would judge me. And you may be one of them now. But you can go ahead and judge me. I defy you to read these books and not be completely taken in. Even if you don't like them, I don't care. I would declare my love for these books from a mountain top.

I returned home from my library visit and decided to read the first few chapters of Twilight and see what all the hype was about. Six hours later I finally put the book down and went and got supper with Brian. It was definitely a great read...certainly geared for teen girls but entertaining none the less.

I was able to avoid picking it up again for a few days but took it with me to Brian's parents' house over Thanksgiving weekend...where I stayed up until 2:00 in the morning one night and finished it. Definitely a satisfying read. I looked forward to reading the next books, not knowing how long I'd have to wait in line at the library or who I could borrow them from, but not feeling panicked about it. Then one of my knitting friends, Rhonda, brought me books two and three (in a four book series).

And that's when it began. The feverish, fiery obsession with the romance of Bella and Edward took over my life and I haven't been the same since. I began reading the second book in bed on a Saturday morning at about 1:00 a.m. I read for a few hours. The beginning of the second book is devastating. Long gone were the thoughts about these books being somewhat juvenile. I was completely caught up in the world of Bella and Edward. I read the entire book in less than 24 hours. (Just to put it in perspective, each book, while not thick, strenuous, reading, is between 560 and 630 pages in length.) I needed to get some work done on Saturday and I had to ask Brian to hide the books so that I couldn't give into my selfish desires to do nothing but sit and read. I did all my work with the motivation that when I finished, the glorious world of vampire, human, werewolf, romance and adventure was waiting for me to return. When my work was done I ran to the living room and happily demanded that Brian reveal to me the location of my obsession.

Before getting up for church on Sunday morning, I laid in bed thinking about Bella and Edward. I thought of them while I showered and continued to ponder them as I dried my hair. On the way to church every song that came on the radio reminded me of them...and I shared this with a now concerned husband. Sunday at church, all I could think about was Bella and Edward. (Brian requested prayer for me because he was worried about this seeming devotion to this fantasy world.) I talked to every teenage girl anywhere near me about the drama that was unfolding. I FORFEITED MY SUNDAY AFTERNOON NAP WILLINGLY TO BEGIN READING THE THIRD BOOK! I don't know if that means anything to all of you but I live my life for that Sunday afternoon nap. Brian and I intentionally don't make plans on Sunday afternoon if we can help it because our nap is sacred. When we bought a new couch last January we told the sales person that we were looking for a good napping couch and we used that criteria to select our new couch. Our friends know not to call us before 7:00 p.m. on Sundays because we won't answer the phone. We are almost religious in the observance of this family ritual. And I read my glorious book all through that holy nap time. I woke up on Monday morning and just surrendered. I knew I was useless until the book was finished. I sat and finished the book before cleaning my house and getting ready for piano lessons. But Bella and Edward were all I could think about all day. And now I was done with the third book. Where would I find the fourth? I watched the movie trailers online to pass the time and see if they could give me any new insight into the books.

I used to be a voracious reader. I was that geeky kid who tried to hide her leisure reading behind a text book during class. I never was without a book. And when I was reading a particularly good book I would always go into a bit of mourning when I read it too fast and the story was over. But as I entered adulthood it became more difficult to find books that gave me this same intense pleasure. When I did find one I would shut out the rest of the world (no cooking, cleaning, working, sleeping, or talking to Brian) until the book was over. And then I would mourn and feel empty...and decide it wasn't worth doing it again. And so months would go by without me ever picking up a book. Horrifying! And so the fact that these books had me hooked like this made me feel like I had been starving on a desert island somewhere and my appetite, with my first taste of food in ages, was now insatiable! But still, I would not act like a loony about these books. I would wait patiently for the fourth book.
We had a friend over to watch football the following Monday night. I decided that they might not mind if I was reading during football. I checked online at home to see if the library had the fourth book. TWO AVAILABLE COPIES!! I admitted to them where I was going. Colin judged me ("not you too Lisa!") and Brian rolled his eyes but my infatuation would not let their disapproval deter me. I headed to the library only to find...they were not on the shelves. No sweat. I knew what I needed to do, this wasn't my first rodeo. I talked to the librarian. She walked over to make sure I wasn't an idiot that hadn't seen them sitting on the shelves. My mind is shrieking "just go into the back and see if it's on a cart waiting to be re-shelved!" I can't stand this little dance. She heads into the back but comes back unsuccessful. She's trying to placate me giving me some silly story about how somebody must have already pulled it off the shelf and probably has it with them walking around. (I considered for one moment stalking all the other library-goers to see what they were holding but decided I wouldn't know what do in a confrontation since I haven't actually signed up for my martial arts class yet.) She put my name on a waiting list.
So I went down to the circulation desk. I eyeballed their full carts of books waiting to be re-shelved. I knew my book had to be on one of those carts. I asked the librarian calmly about the book. She wanted me to go back upstairs to talk to the reference desk. I explained evenly that I'd already been there, and asked if there was any chance it was down here. I tried to keep any hints of desperation out of my voice. But I got more panic stricken as it became clear that the nice lady behind the desk did not understand the urgency I was feeling. Clearly no one knew how important it was to me to have this book, I hadn't known until precisely that moment. I thought about demanding that she move out of my way so I could check the darn carts myself...but I kept a cool head.

Crestfallen, I headed back to my car intending to return home but found myself driving towards CVS wondering if there was any chance that I might be able to find the paperback there. They had the first two books (of course, because there are movies attached to them) but not the second two. No dice. I briefly considered driving to Wal-Mart and ending my long boycott to see if they had them. My weakness filled me with great shame. I would not do that. AND THEN! I had an idea. My iPod touch has a Kindle application. I didn't really want to read an entire book on an iPod, would it be the same without the satisfying weight of the book in my hand? However, it would give me closure. I felt certain that if I could just finish the fourth book I could end this madness and get back to living my life. So I downloaded it...and the judging looks came fast and furious from Colin and Brian as they watched football and I read my book on my tiny iPod screen.

They ordered pizza. I hadn't eaten all day but I wasn't even hungry. I ate two small pieces giving the crusts to Reggie and putting the third piece back in the box. I stayed up until 5:00 in the morning reading. Every time I blinked it felt like sandpaper rubbing on my glassy eyeballs. I walked to the kitchen (iPod in hand) to get a glass of water and caught a look at myself in the mirror above the sink. My eyes were bloodshot from all the reading I'd been doing. I just looked away and kept on going. Brian caught me reading as he was getting up for work. (I've been up knitting or reading that late before but I always try to be in bed pretending to be asleep by the time his alarms go off so he doesn't see how pathetic I am.) But this time it didn't matter to me. I did go to sleep and woke up four hours later and rushed to work. I knew I'd probably have to take a nap that afternoon because I would be exhausted. But when I got home from work I simply snatched up the iPod and picked up where I'd left off. I had no desire for sleep.

I made it through piano lessons and The Biggest Loser finale with friends (it was actually really good for me to get out) and went home and picked up my book. I was definitely tired at this point and sad that the books would be ending. I decided to leave a few chapters for the next day. I laid down in bed. Who was I kidding? I got back up and finished the book. GLORIOUS! The saga was over. The books were done. I had the whole post-book glow when I woke up the next morning, still not quite in touch with reality, more living in the dream world of these books.

And then...word that there was a book on the author's website that was incomplete. The first book written from Edward's perspective instead of Bella's, leaked by a disloyal source which resulted in the author discontinuing her work on it and posting what she did have complete to her website? Could this be true? My heart raced with the hope of material to quench my thirst for more insight into the story of Bella and Edward. I got to work and made the mistake of turning my computer on...and going directly to Stephenie Meyer's website. IT WAS THERE!!! Only 264 pages though. It wouldn't satisfy me but it would be something at least. I just wanted a quick taste to see what Edward's perspective was like. Hmmm...didn't get much done at work that day. I left work for some lunch but realized on the way that I wasn't hungry. So I drove around awhile listening to Ingrid Michaelson because every song of hers reminded me of Bella and Edward. And then I went back to work.

I almost didn't go to my knitting group that Wednesday evening so that I could go home and continue reading. (And I LOVE my knitting group.) I decided that was selfish and silly, and that I should probably visit with real people. I went and it was the best time ever, and it was thrilling to be able to talk about the Twilight books with other people who love the series. So I returned home. Brian, who had been without a wife for a few days now, knew enough to realize that we would not be really communicating much until I finished the on-line book. He was very patient. I finished it that evening. At midnight it occurred to me that I hadn't eaten that day so I scrounged up a few chips and nibbled a little bit.
I've tried to figure out what the allure is for me, why these books have captured me hook, line, and sinker. I couldn't understand. I know full and well that the feminist in me should probably be enraged by these books, ashamed and horrified. I ran an Internet search at one point to find some sort of Twilight detail out and several sights popped up accusing Edward of being an abusive boyfriend and the word misogyny popped up...and my mind screamed "LOOK AWAY! LOOK AWAY! YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW! DON'T LET THE *&#@ FEMINISTS RUIN IT FOR YOU THE WAY THEY RUIN EVERYTHING!" (Please understand that I, a proud and outspoken feminist, was ready to turn on my people.) So the feminist in me should hate these books, but the woman in me is just week in the knees for them.
And then, at work a day later (of course while pondering the books), I had a flash of understanding, a moment of clarity if you will. I put 2 and 2 together with my physical responses to the books: I wasn't sleeping, I had no appetite, I daydreamed about the books, every song made me think of them, I had to force myself to be around other people...I WAS IN LOVE!!!! These books gave me the same feelings that I had falling in love AGES ago! Stephenie Meyer used some sort of Mormon voodoo and slapped me in the face with a love potion! After feeling unsettled for a moment, I realized I loved her for this, for her genius in being able to, through words, recreate one of the most lovely feelings known to humankind.
And for the record, Team Jacob, you are silly, silly, disloyal people.
Also, after reading all the books I simply couldn't stop. I immediately read through all of them again, something I haven't done since high school. Brian judged me heavily. But, he also, in one of the most unselfish and thoughtful acts I've witnessed, bought me the entire series for Christmas. And that's why he's my Edward.

Adventures in Italia

I don't want to bore anyone with a huge long list of amazing sights and litanies of churches and sarcophagi and inventories of art work that Brian and I saw in Italy. Although I could. And all of it was awesome. Instead, I will try to sum up our once-in-a-lifetime vacation with some of my favorite memories, impressions, and high-lights. I hope you enjoy.



Day 1: Burglary

This day doesn't count. It was all travel and excited anticipation. Swiss Air was a lovely airline. Brian would steal an airplane blanket that would serve me well on many train-rides to come. Also, my ankles would disappear on the plane ride, not to be seen again for another two days.





Day 2: Open the Door, Let Us In


Arrival in Rome! We were given the first of three hotel room keys we would receive that weighed approximately 12 pounds. And it was fringed. We learned that the Italians do not want you to lose your room key. And that if a stranger knocks on your door, the room key can be used as a weapon to bludgeon the perpetrator with. Also, they do not actually want you to leave the hotel with the room key, instead you turn it in to the front desk upon exiting. Strange. But, when in Rome...



Day 3: All things Pagan, a.k.a. Caesar's Shuffle


We explored the Colosseum, Roman Forum, Palatine Hill, the Pantheon, and took a fabulous night-time walk through Rome after dark. Several things are discovered on this day.

• First of all, Rome's public fountains are the best thing since sliced bread. There are little fountains everywhere for drinking out of or filling one's water bottle. (And I know your saying, "duh, they're called drinking fountains." But they're not. Please refer to the picture.) I don't know that we ever passed one without filling the bottle, whether or not there was room in it for more water. I wish these fountains were everywhere. (So does Brian - who refused to fill our water bottle in our hotel room but instead waited until we were outside each morning and walked - out of the way - to the fountain to fill it.)
• PDA (Public displays of affection) are not optional in Italy. If you are with someone in a piazza, romantically linked or not, you are required to make out with them.
• Brian is unable to identify certain bathroom equipment. Our room had both a toilet and a bidet. On this particular day Brian came out of the bathroom and declared that he didn't think the bidet was that at all, but rather an extra sink of some sort. I, incredulous, said that if I walked in there and saw him washing his face in that "extra sink" that we were going to have problems.

Day 4: All Things Christian - How the Pope Stole Our Money

In the morning we visited some catacombs which were creepy and cool. Literally, it was the first time we were comfortable temperature-wise since being in Italy. (We had several encounters with the hotel staff trying to figure out how to use our air-conditioning, which we eventually gave up on.) Our tour guide was dressed in: a sweater, a vest, a scarf, and a hat. She also had the most delightful and stereotypical Italian accent.

In the afternoon we visited Vatican City with a tour group, led by Raul the sometimes boring, always informative, liar. (That might be harsh but you'll see why I call him that.) I discover the worst job imaginable. The Sistine Chapel is supposed to be silent. No one is silent. So the Vatican employees have to run around shushing people...and yelling at them not to take pictures. And no one will shut up or stop taking pictures. I would think it would be more frustrating than teaching wayward kindergartners all day long.

The Vatican tried to confiscate our bag, with all our money and public transit tickets in it. Here's the "Angels and Demons" adventure that we were led on: We are told by Vatican security upon entering that we must check our bag. When we walk to the bag check desk we ask what's wrong with our bag. We are told that we would need to talk with the clerk's colleague. He has no explanation, although I'm convinced it's because our bag contains olives and the Vatican security wants to eat them. We are led on a very nice tour of the Vatican. At the end of the tour (4:30) Raul tells us that we should go collect our bag, the Vatican closes at 5:00 and it will take at least 15 minutes to get back to the entrance and the doors will probably be locked. He claims that we can knock on the door to reclaim our bag. Brian heads back to claim our bag and returns in about five minutes seeming concerned. He ran into Vatican police that told him that we can NOT get back into the Vatican, our bag has been moved and that we should reclaim it in another area. As the minutes tick by, we search for this "other" area. No one is concerned about our problem, and I begin to panic. It's the VATICAN. You don't just go tapping on doors asking to be let in for your pathetic bag. Dang it Raul! (They probably had sniffed out that we're Anabaptist heretics.) We finally find a Vatican official who is sympathetic, although somewhat derisive, of our problem/blunder. He makes Italian phone calls, and I can tell that the person on the other end is not feeling very patient or accommodating. We are led through back passages of the Vatican, handed off to another official after a heated Italian discussion, where it is clear to me that number 2 is not comfortable with this breach in protocol. We are guided through more back passages and told to find the bookstore by the exit. After regaining admittance (through the back door) of the Sistine Chapel by yet another Vatican official, we begin our search for the bookstore by the exit. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BOOKSTORES AND EXIT SIGNS THERE ARE IN THAT PLACE??? We are told there is a curving staircase we must go down by another Vatican employee. We go through never-ending Vatican corridors and museum rooms, the Vatican Post Office (where people are happily writing notes on postcards to be sent), through wonderful souvenir shops with cheerful shoppers, down stairs, into the basement, by the restrooms - searching for this elusive curved staircase...all the while I am having sincere panic about ever finding our bag. I can't imagine what we'll do if we can't get our bag with our money and transit tickets. We would have to curl up to sleep in a corner of the Vatican, waiting until morning where we would seek out the Pope and beg him to have mercy on us, mere sinners desiring our commoner's bag. Eventually, we are reunited with our bag and I do not think the clerk had ever seen anyone that was so very, very overjoyed to see their luggage. My olives were intact.

Day 5: Pompeii - Or "Every one's a Thief"

We take to the train station with a rough idea of how to get to Pompeii and the information from our Rick Steve's guide that every person we encounter in the train stations on the way there will likely be a pickpocket or thief. We eyeball a little old lady and exchange knowing glances with each other - clearly a thief. A couple making out - definitely creating a diversion in order for their "colleague" to steal our belongings. We suspect everyone - there is no discrimination in our suspicion.

We safely arrive in Pompeii. I had discovered earlier in the week that Brian is a guide-book-hog. He so thoroughly enjoyed leading us on the self-guided tours in our Rick Steve's book that he had virtually banned me from handling the books at all. Every time I asked to look at the book he gave me a suspicious, mistrustful look and instructed me not to read a word of the tour, grabbing the book from my hands the moment I was finished with it. However in Pompeii, he had great difficulty in keeping us on the tour route, getting us hopelessly off course. I tell him to enjoy the adventure of just exploring. He tries but I can tell that he is not truly comfortable until we are back on the Rick Steve's route. It was a great, adventurous day.

Our last night in Rome we visit Trevi Fountain for the fourth time and enjoy another helping of gelato. Ah Trevi, how we hope that throwing that penny into your waters will, like the legend states, ensure we visit your fair city again some day. We loved Rome.

Day 6: Venice - "When the going gets rough, shop with somebody tough."

We say goodbye to Rome and our hotel with intimidating staff. (They are very polite and nice, but stern men, who I felt could turn on me at any moment and declare me an idiot American.) I am looking forward to our train ride to Venice. I can't wait to enjoy the scenery and see what the countryside looks like. However, I discover that the gentle rocking of the train puts me to sleep like a baby. I slept the entirety of every single train ride we took.

Venice is GORGEOUS and delightful. Every corner you turn is a photo opportunity. And this is the day I begin shopping...and once that faucet has been turned on it's a little difficult to stem the flow. I declare a love of Murano glass and from that point forward am drawn to it like a moth to flame. Brian is traumatized in a linen store. Two middle-aged Japanese women are interested in purchasing a lace blouse but are not convinced it will fit. While I'm looking at lace, Brian witnesses one of the women strip off her top in order to try on the blouse. When she is ready to change back into her clothing she asks me to shove Brian into a corner. I comply. Poor Brian.

Day 7: Venice - One Magical Day



At breakfast, sitting outside on the canal surrounded by beauty, all Brian talks about is a group of men loading scaffolding into a boat. He marvels at how much they can fit into the boat, how they throw things on the boat without missing and hitting the water, how it takes one man to just hold the rope, etc. Silly man.
We share a glorious day in Venice and in the evening we pay the cover charge to sit at one of the restaurants in St. Mark's square to listen to the dueling orchestras. The people who don't want to pay to sit, stand just beyond the seating and do, what we dub, the "freeloader shuffle." We watch the freeloaders go back and forth between the two wonderful ensembles as they take turns playing, and scorn them. (Just kidding.) I force Brian to try an olive, and after taking a bite he reverts to three year old behavior, making faces and declaring he will throw up. It's a magical evening.
Day 8: Florence - and Our Encounter with Claustrophobia

We take another, blissfully sleepy, train-ride. This time to Florence, our final destination. We had been lucky that our hotel rooms had been large by European standards up until this point. This hotel would provide us with a glorified closet and the tiniest elevator/lift I have ever been in. After checking in, with the delightful front desk staff, we entered the lift with our luggage. We shoved in, my face plastered against the wall, Brian's body barely allowing the door to close. One had to hold the elevator button the entire way to the desired floor or the lift would stop. I had moments of panic in that tortuously slow lift that had no oxygen being provided to it. But we made it and took to the streets to explore.

We head to the Accademia where Michelangelo's David is housed. I take some illegal pictures of him and plead ignorance when I get yelled at. (It was worth it.) Another discovery made in Italy is that no art is placed where it was originally intended to be. In Pompeii we would look at a statue and the guide book would say, "this is a replica, the original is in the Naples Archaeological Museum." After awhile it became oh so predictable, and Brian and I became somewhat jaded.

Day 9: Florence - Scarf Obsession



Florence is full of outdoor markets with stalls FULL of beautiful scarves. I couldn't stop buying them, I brought home seven total. (Another discovery, if you ask someone a question in Italian you should probably be prepared for them to answer in Italian. i.e. I was proud that I knew how to ask how much scarves cost, but was totally unprepared when Italian numbers were shot back at me.) I had a few last souvenirs I felt I had to have before leaving Italia. One of these must-haves was yarn. We found a lovely stall owner who we bought a hat from. On a lark, I decided to ask if he could direct me to a yarn shop, much to Brian's chagrin. He said, "oh, that's easy." And before you knew it, I had Italian yarn to bring home with me! (Cue Brian rolling his eyes.)
We began the day by hiking up 463 horrible and exhausting stairs to enjoy a truly beautiful morning vista of Florence. I wasn't even allowed to stop to catch my breath because there were signs everywhere instructing us to keep moving. Also there were signs telling us not to write on the walls but I informed Brian that if I was going to die from this grueling climb I was going to sit down and write on the wall, "Here Lisa died. She was a brave but wimpy woman." Almost to the top we encounter a woman taking a rest off to the side. The sight of something wet and the smell of something sour made Brian yell out, "Did someone throw up?" Clearly someone had. We both exclaimed over this unwelcome treat for our senses...and then we realized that the poor woman taking a load off in the corner was undoubtedly the puker and we felt very bad. It's no wonder she threw up what with all that climbing and being told by the signs she could not stop to rest. Or maybe she just had vertigo. Either way it must have been miserable and embarrassing for her. And the worker cleaning it up on the way down was a tad pathetic with his running from the puke and gagging. Men seem to have weak constitutions where unpleasant smells are concerned.

We enjoyed the rest of the sights the city had to offer and then decided to take in a Rick Steve's recommended restaurant for our last supper in Italia. We gussied up and took to the streets trying to find it. We found the street, which looked totally deserted and like we might be mugged by a gang of Italian hoodlums or taken by the Mafia, and were about to give up when we saw the storefront. It looked small and unremarkable, but when you walked inside the door it opened into an amazing local Italian restaurant with all the ambiance and colorful personalities you might expect in a local neighborhood haunt. (Such a contrast with all the places on the piazzas with outside seating geared towards tourists.) We ate the largest steak I've ever seen and thoroughly enjoyed every moment of the experience.

Day 10 - Arrivederci

Our flight home wasn't until the afternoon so we woke up and took one last walk through the morning streets of Italy. We took nothing with us, no camera or video camera, no guide book, no bag. We just walked the streets together and soaked in one last helping of the country we'd come to love. (Imagine one lone tear trickling down my face at the memory.) Oh Italia. It's amore.

Day-Time Emmy

One of the jobs that I currently hold is that of church secretary for North Main St. Mennonite Church in Nappanee. One of the joys that accompanies that job is working with a worn-out, antiquated, barely-limping-along, copy machine. It makes me say bad words and behave violently. I've learned to nurse it along and get it to do, mostly, what it needs to do. But lately we are on bad terms more than we get along. I've given it the cold shoulder for two days and it's behaving sullenly.

The church is aware of the situation and a decision had been made to purchase a new copy machine from our office equipment company, a small company in Warsaw that I've had connections with for years. The company is unapologetically Christian, not in an obnoxious in-your-face way, but in a matter of fact way - and I must say that their ethics and business practices have never been anything short of exemplary. A year ago a new, very jolly and slightly scatter-brained salesman, Chuck, was assigned to work up our quote and handle the sale of the new machine.

Fast forward a year. Our church has fallen on some hard times. No new copy machine has been purchased and it doesn't look like it's going to happen anytime in the near future (barring some sort of horrible accident that might befall the machine with one axe and one angry woman when no one is looking). Chuck keeps checking in. He desires a sale, I desire a copy machine, but the obstacles keeping us apart are simply insurmountable.

So today he popped into the church office. He tried to make us an offer we couldn't refuse. I apologetically explained our situation. He understood. It's the same story everywhere. The economy is in the tank in Elkhart County and everyone is waiting to make pricey expenditures like copy machines. As he got up to leave he admitted that in a month he would probably no longer be with the company. He can't make ends meet when there is no commission coming in. There was a bit of an awkwardness as we joked around and tried to figure out how to part ways, realizing it would be our final goodbye. I was saying things like, "Well good luck Chuck, hope to see you around." And as he turned to go he began to speak and said, "Well, I guess if nothing else I'll see you..." Now I expected him to say, "I guess I'll see you around," or "maybe I'll run into you in Warsaw" or "maybe we'll work together again someday under different circumstances." But no, instead he said, "Well, I guess if nothing else I'll see you at the Pearly Gates. And I'll be asking you if you ever got that new copy machine."

How day-time Emmy dramatic! I had such a great laugh. Oh Chuck, you gave me my favorite conversation of the day. Best of luck to you.

No Pain No Gain

I've decided to train for a 5-K again, which is crazy and not really any fun. But I figure I should make some sort of attempt at healthfulness and this is cheap. Also, I have a great running companion, Felicia, and I would not be doing this without her.

I did this two years ago with some friends in Nappanee and ran the 5-K at the Michiana Mennonite Relief Sale. It was the year I turned 30 and it was a major accomplishment for me. It was amazing!

And then I stopped running. A fact that I could just kick myself over and over for. (I couldn't keep driving 30 minutes one-way to run with friends and goodness knows I don't have the will-power to do it on my own.)

But now I'm running again. And as much as I'm not a morning person (I get up and go run early) I sort of look forward to it. As I trained in Nappanee and now running with Felicia, I have come to cherish these early morning runs with friends. You share a goal with others, you chat (when you can breathe), you check in with each other several times a week...not to mention, the bonus of feeling healthier. While I hate the running - I like all it brings.

This morning though was especially taxing. We hit a new routine this week, run 3 minutes, walk 90 seconds, run 5 minutes, walk 2.5 minutes, and repeat. Holy Pete, it was HARD. I felt shell-shocked for 45 minutes after we were done. As we were running our final 5-minute section Felicia wheezed out, "Getting in shape is hard. No wonder people eat cheeseburgers and sit on the couch all day. It's so much easier." I couldn't agree more. This is crap. Why, if we're supposed to exercise, does it have to SUCK SO MUCH? But I suppose we'll just keep plugging away...and won't have to feel so guilty next time we eat that delicious cheeseburger.

Paved with Good Intentions

So the experiment is on hold. Rush Limbaugh is on vacation this week. He announced this information on Friday by saying that the president is on vacation next week as well. And since Obama is clearly a pansy for needing a vacation after already having had a week of vacation, Rush thinks he might as well take one too. I was all ready to do some side-by-side comparisons. But it looks like it will have to wait until after Italy...

This Really Stinks!

Last night Brian and I let Reggie out around 9:30. We sat on the back steps peacefully watching him do his "business" and let him sniff around a little. All of sudden he takes off down the alley growling.

This is not unusual. You would think, by Reggie's actions, that the cats in our neighborhood are the greatest threat to safety and peace that our community has ever seen. Honestly. And he lives with two cats! But we would rather he not go chasing a cat around the block so we usually act pretty fast, yelling at him, "Come on Reggie, let's go in. REGGIE. GET OVER HERE!" And he responds fairly well and happily zips back into the house.

So this was the routine we followed last night when he ran into the alley growling. But as Brian and I went to follow Reggie into the house Brian said, "What's that smell?" It seems to me that "what's that smell" is never referring to the smell of baking bread or freshly picked flowers. Usually the reference is to something foul. And then the smell wafted to my nostrils. SKUNK.

And then the realization hit us. Our eyes met. I watched the horror sweep across his eyes...the same horror that was probably mirrored in my own eyes. It was no cat that Reggie chased down the alley. It was a skunk. Our little dog was in the house and we needed to find out if he had escaped the skunk's spray.

Upon walking into our house the scent that assailed our nostrils was more potent and vile than I had thought possible. We bent over to smell Reggie. We did not need to bend very far to be certain that he the smell torpedo had hit it's target.

I had heard horror stories of other dog owners whose dogs had been a little too curious with a small striped animal. I always worried that this could happen to us. We did not panic. There was no time for that though we would have liked to. We needed to move fast. We became an efficient crisis-management team. I shouted out commands.

1. I yelled at Brian to move the dog outside while I went to the Internet for instructions on handling this crisis. (I found an article walking me through the crisis step-by-step. I didn't read several articles to see what they said. I went with the first one. It seemed reliable.)
2. I began running bath water, opened windows, and plugged in an air freshener.
3. I then stripped down to little more than a pair of rubber gloves and told Brian to bring the dog in and deposit him in the tub.
4. I handed Brian the computer and told him to mix up the recipe for skunk-removal wash. (It involved hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and dish soap.)
5. We screamed about how horrid the house smelled, disbelieving how the 60 seconds Reggie had spent in the house had tainted our happy home beyond all reason.
6. I secured the area that had been sprayed on the dog and began washing it vigorously...all the while telling Reggie how bad he is.
7. Brian brings the mixture and we wash the aforementioned area with that as well.
8. Brian then removed the dog from the tub and dried him.
9. Reggie then did his happy I-just-had-a-bath dance and began running through the house totally unscathed.

We, in the mean time, are left with a house that smells like a mixture of burnt plastic and organic foulness. Every 20 minutes or so we would break down and start screaming about how bad it smells in this house! I made popcorn to try to cover the smell. Even that didn't work. Brian seems to have an especially weak constitution where the smell is concerned. When we finally head to bed Brian admits that he feels queasy. I ask if he's gonna throw up because I'm ready to boot him out of the bed. I can't handle cleaning up another disaster. Luckily he made it through the night.
Alas, when I awoke Brian had plugged in the little potpourri pot again, and the smell of skunk is clearly still present. And even though it's freezing in here (which is stupid because it's still August) the windows shall remain open until the stank too has passed.

We Report...You Decide

*I want everyone to know that the blog that follows has been written with a grand twinkle in my eye. I LOVE the friends I shall refer to and think diversity in beliefs is a wonderful thing.*

I have two friends who I enjoy immensely. We do not see eye to eye on politics. Let's face it, we don't see eye to knee on politics.

I loves me some NPR.

They loves them some Rush Limbaugh.

That pretty much sums it up. I think that NPR is fair and balanced, they think it's left-wing liberal propaganda. They think Rush is a great truth teller, I think he's a hate-spreading nut job. And basically...I think I'm right.

So we're always on each other about the information we've received from our various news sources - battling it out over "Obamacare" or gun control or foreign policy...you name it. So this week I had an idea. I challenged Terry to listen to NPR for one week and I'd listen to Rush for a week. (*Inhale Sharply* What have I just done?) He did not think he could go for a week without listening to Rush. (Oh for crying out loud.) So I said, fine. We'll both listen to Rush from 12:00-2:00 and then we'll switch to NPR for "Talk of the Nation". A better idea anyway so that we're both listening to the same discussions. Felicia agreed to join us as well. My goal in this experiment is to get a better sense about where the other person is coming from rather than just having heated debates every time we're together.

Also, I'd like to convert them into NPR fans. There. I said it. It's not a totally altruistic experiment. I want to bring them over from the dark side.

So yesterday, listening to Rush, I learned what a "waitress sandwich" is (in reference to something Ted Kennedy once did in a restaurant with another man and a waitress). I also discovered that, technically, the health care plan being proposed by the Obama administration is not socialist. It's fascist.

And then I switched to NPR and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Terry called me later to check in on the experiment. I listened to 1.5 hours of Rush. He listened to 20 minutes of NPR!!! He said he couldn't handle it. It was too boring. Hmmm...you mean boring because there aren't people ranting and raving - rather they are carrying on conversations in a rational and intelligent manner? Yeah. I guess I can see how that might be boring to some.

But the experiment continues. Currently it's eight minutes till Rush.

I can't wait to see what I learn today!

Baby Come Back

It is just shocking to me that I haven't blogged since May 13! And I have a list of blogs just waiting to be written. Why haven't I blogged? Let's see...

1. Piano Recital - Held on May 16 for my piano students. A lot of work but a great day. And I had the brilliant idea that I should prepare a piano piece also for the recital, serving to make it an even more nerve-wracking day.
2. London Calling - A week long trip to England with my great travel companion, Heather.
3. Blues Fest - One weekend spent in Chicago with my sister and her family, sitting in the park, listening to Blues, having an awesome time.
4. Pork Tastes Good - One week spent pig-sitting a baby pot-belly pig, which Brian fell head-over-heels in love with.
5. Cubs Game - The next weekend, also in Chicago, attending a stellar Cubs game.
6. Preach it Sister - I prepared, and preached, my second sermon on June 28. All my creative writing juices went to that project.
7. Breathe and Be Filled - A week long trip to Columbus, OH with 12 teenagers to attend the Mennonite Church USA biennial convention. I breathed. I was filled. It was great.

I think things should settle down a little bit now. But it has been a GOOD 1.5 months since my last blog.
Except today I have to go to the dentist again. Hopefully another angry blog will not have to follow. Ugh.

Blowing Through the Jasmine in my Mind

I love summer. I love every hot, humid moment. The other day I was outside working and I had sweat behind my knees and I was so happy I almost passed out. I always anticipate the summer like a small child who can't stand the wait until their birthday. There are all these first momentous moments that tell me it's getting closer; the first time I wear flip-flops, the first time I wear shorts, the first time I open the sun roof in the car...all telling me that hope springs eternal.

It has turned out to be a stellar spring. I decided that the first weekend in May was my "opening summer weekend." It was the perfect blend of fun activities and productivity that make a summer weekend perfect. (i.e. yard work, garage cleaning, car cleaning, a baseball game in Fort Wayne, a bonfire, a knit-in, shopping for outdoor furniture...) Mix that up with the perfect weather and you have a weekend that makes life worth living.

Making this spring even more special is that for the first time, Brian and I have a back yard that we enjoy spending time in. I love being outdoors as much as possible but our backyard didn't really have space for relaxing and was just kinda - yick! - even though I tried and tried to make it inviting. So last summer began the big patio make-over...which took the entire summer and meant that our back yard was even more of a disaster than ever before. We got it done just in time for the winter. Here are some before and during pictures...so you can see the mess that we lived with last summer.

So this spring it's like we woke up to a whole new backyard! We purchased a few items for the empty patio and now - voila! - a backyard that makes us not ever want to go inside to vacuum or do anything else that needs to be done. Here are the preliminary results. It's still a work in progress.

We drag a radio outside and chill at the table eating (I have declared that we shan't eat in doors until November) or we have a fire in our little fire pit and all is right with the world. And the piece de resistance:

Brian was all talking smack to me about how cheesy I was when I showed up at the cash register with my package of white lights for the umbrella (he also thought I was ridiculous for not choosing one color for the patio table chairs but getting one of each). But, he faithfully strung those lights up like a champ, and these lights make our patio completely festive, like we're on vacation every moment that we're back there. So until we get our dream house out in the country, I am completely content, more than that, really happy right where we are.

My Crowning Glory

I've had my share of issues with the aging process, but I feel like I've learned to embrace it fairly well. I've even watched those gray hairs pop up in my dark brown hair with increasing frequency, and, after the initial falling-to-my-knees, weeping, and asking-God-"why me?" jag, I've been completely fine with them. Really, I want to grow old gracefully, embrace my gray hair like those really cool earthy (a.k.a. hippie) moms with their salt and pepper pony tails and containers of home made hummus they bring to the park for their childrens' snack. Gray hairs? Whatever. You can take your shame inducing tendencies and bury them in a box. My gray hairs will serve as my badge of honor showing how mature and independent I am. Not vain at all. Not me.

But I'll fess up. I've been fine with those grays because, for the most part, they stay concealed under my still-brown curtain of hair. Most of them reside on the right side of my head, kind of level with the top of my ear. So they get lost in the rest of my hair. But I know they're there and they don't bother me a bit. (Remember, the badge of honor bit.) My hair stylist, Jason, constantly wants to flip my hair and part it on the other side. And I'm all, dude, that is where the hot bed of grays lie. Don't uncover them! The oxygen will probably make them multiply. But I go home, flip my hair back, safely covering the evidence of my lost youth. (And don't get me wrong, Jason is the best stylist I've ever been with. He just wants me to appear old evidently.)

And then the real kicker ocurred. One night while getting ready to head out, there it stood in the mirror. Staring back at me was one lone gray hair standing proudly IN THE MIDDLE OF MY PART. This one declared war. This one said, "Who are you trying to kid lady? You can't hide us forever you old hag." I feel differently about this lone ranger. He'll inevitably need a kemo sabe.

And so now, I don't know how I feel about the salt and pepper ponytail mom anymore. She seems so cliche. Do I dye the hair, pluck the hair, accept the hair? I've never thought of myself as vain but...I guess I think this blog is about me.

New Layout

Alright folks, here is my new layout...which I spent close to three hours (or what felt like at least 18 hours) trying to figure out how to put in place. And while I like it, it's not the one at the top of my list necessarily, it's just the ONLY ONE THAT WOULD WORK. I can not begin to tell you how much I have come to hate anything with "xml" in it because all I get are errors and I don't understand code and I should never have started messing with it in the first place. But then it became a mission and I was determined to not be defeated. However, after succeeding, I still feel defeated.

And I have not been updating here as much as I should. I feel guilty but then I remind myself that this is supposed to be for fun. But Brian and I finally have a patio we enjoy sitting on and Indiana has finally released it's icy grip on winter - thus, my time has been spent outside. And somehow dragging the laptop outside with me sort of feels like I'm defeating the purpose of being out there. I guess it's all about balance. I'll try to post some entries in the next few days in case anyone wants to know what's been going around the Showalter house.

Happy Mother's Day to All!!!

Oh Fooey Moment

I attended a funeral on Thursday morning (for the man who commit suicide). I was to play piano for special music and some hymns and provide postlude. I spent some time with the family and vocalists on Wednesday to plan out the music. Luckily one of the vocalists was comfortable leading hymns so that I could accompany because one the congregational songs ("In the Bulb there is a Flower") really requires accompaniment. The other congregational song was the hymn "Wonderful Grace of Jesus." Such a great hymn! On Thursday morning driving to the church I was excited beyond all reason that I was going to get to sing alto on "Wonderful Grace of Jesus." I'm normally the one leading hymns and I'm, decidedly, an alto. I love singing alto. I'm constantly in mourning about singing soprano all the time because I'm leading. But I was going to sing alto on that beautiful morning and I couldn't wait!

I get to the funeral and park myself on the front bench so I can easily access the piano. I arrange my music tidily beside me. I even open the hymnal to "Wonderful Grace of Jesus" so that after accompanying the first congregational song I could race back to the pew, gather up my hymnal, and not even miss one measure of glorious alto singing. So I accompany the first hymn. It goes well. It finishes and I practically sprint back to the pew, pick up my hymnal, and look at the song leader with anticipation. Here is the inner dialogue that followed:

I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready!

The song leader is looking at me. Is he waiting for me to be ready to start singing? How considerate of him.

He's making eye contact with me. Yes mister song-leader, I'm ready to go. (He must sense how excited I am. Nod your head to let him know he can start.)

Why does he keep looking at me?

He's motioning with his hand. That's strange.

HE'S MOTIONING TOWARD THE PIANO! Oh no! He wants me to play.

(Me, popping up and heading to said piano.)

I don't get to sing! Oh the humanity! (Sniffles inwardly.)

(Sitting down at the piano)

Oh fooey! Bob did ask me to accompany this! I remember it now so clearly. I really dropped the ball on this one.

(Positioning hymnal on the piano.)

I have never played this song on the piano. Fingers don't fail me now.

(Begins to play.)

So there it was. Poor guy. He didn't have a pitch pipe, how was he gonna start a hymn? My excitement blinded me. It went fine though. I apologized later. And on a serious note, for what could have been such a sad and tragic funeral, this is one of the nicest, most touching and meaningful funerals I've ever been to. What a testament to a loving family. Rest in peace Mark.

Face to Face with Mortality

Three viewings in two weeks. This is the most concentrated season of mourning that I think I've ever been part of. All of them tragedies. They weren't the kind where Great Aunt Millie was 98 and had lived a full life and died peacefully in her sleep. All were cases of the deceased being gone, seemingly, too soon.

The first, a 55 year old man who passed away due to a medication error that occurred in the early and darkest hours of the morning. (The nurse administered insulin to a non-diabetic.) After a week in a coma, he passed away.

The second, a 72 year old man who had battled illness the last several years. His quality of life was quite poor and his golden retirement years were not what he and his wife had dreamed of.

The final, a 40 year old man who tragically succumbed to depression. There are no words for this one. This one is unspeakably painful for his family and friends.

But these viewings have been places where I have seen the best that humanity can be in many ways. I have seen moments of forgiveness and reconciliation. I have seen friends reunite over tragedy. I have glimpsed both vulnerable and sentimental moments taking place. These last two weeks have opened my eyes to the value of viewings. I guess I've always wondered what the point of a viewing really is. I suppose they are just rites that humans need to process sorrow, to offer comfort, to allow us to realize that we are part of a large community of humanity. And I need to be more willing to attend them.

So, tomorrow morning I head to another funeral where I give the only thing I can really offer of any value in situations like this - music. I only hope that my piano playing can speak to the sorrow that my words can not address, and offer comfort.

It Ain't Easy Being Green

Donning the rubber gloves and checking out my dog's nether regions was enough of an unpleasant experience for one night. He was really quite good for the entire session. Although, I don't know if I really helped him. I did some research on the web for reasons my dog might have the "itch"...one common reason that surfaced was boredom. Oh gah! I now have to entertain my dog lest he chew his leg off! What kind of horrible pet owner am I that my dog is so bored that he turns to self mutilation for some kind of stimulation? So now I've had to put down my knitting to, you know, play ball with him and take him on a walk. Such a burden.

But the unpleasantries did not end with the wound tending. I LOVE green salsa. LOVE. IT. I'm just crazy over it and can finish an entire bottle in a sitting. However, I've come to discover that the green salsa is not such a big fan of me. I don't know when this began but it is a cruel twist of fate. And approximately every six months I decide that I should try it again. I convince myself that last time the horrible pain I suffered was due to something else I ate, or that I hadn't been sleeping well recently, or that my stomach acids hadn't matured enough to handle the green stuff. And I'm always sure this time will be different. So the sweet husband that Brian is, he bought me a big bottle of the good stuff at the local Mexican grocery. And last night it called my name, beckoning me to give it one more shot, promising me this time would be different. I was skeptical but I thought I could maybe have just a little bit mixed with ranch...the milk in the ranch dressing would mellow out the green salsa right?

Fast forward to 2:00 in the morning where I am curled up on the floor of the bathroom praying for a swift death. I am convinced that the green salsa, upon hitting my stomach lining, has transformed into the mighty fist of the very angry hulk - and he's taking it out on my innocent tummy. This is how it always goes. Me lying there on the bathroom floor, praying that if there is a God (and at this point I'm not convinced there is one because a loving God would surely not have let green salsa ever come into existence) that I would please like to vomit immediately and purge myself of this poison. I don't think that's so much to ask. If God can part the Red Sea for the Israelites I don't think it will take too much heavy lifting on God's part to help me to disgorge the contents of my stomach. This might be sacrilege - but at 2:00 a.m. I simply don't care. But there was no relief to be found, only Reggie, worriedly licking my face and tormenting me with his concern. I crawled back into bed and, thankfully, found sleep.

I am writing this blog to remind myself that, should I EVER get the urge to eat green salsa again, I should be prepared for great misery. PUT THE JAR DOWN FUTURE LISA! This will not end well for you.

Just Another Boring Blog

Here's a little update on the goings-on at the Showalter residence this week. Frankly, it's a bit boring. I've become a boring person. Oh well, I guess there are worse things to become - like a horrible, ugly, jerk. I'll take boring.

Knittery: I'll start with a week ago Saturday. I got up early (8:45 a.m.), on my own, without crying or whining, on a Saturday morning to go...to a knit-in at my local yarn store! I was a little nervous considering I wouldn't know anyone there. Would I fit in? Would they think my project was lame or that my stories were dull? Would they tell me, in as many words, that my kind was not welcome? When I got home at noon Brian asked how it was and I replied, "It was only the best time ever." Something about sitting around knitting with a bunch of people and having idle and interesting chit-chat, enjoying each others company and admiring their work is so relaxing and energizing. Conversation ranged from knitting projects to books we're reading to bras. Even though these are strangers conversation is easy and enjoyable. We do, after all share a common interest which is a good start. And everyone is pretty much looking at their hands, lest they drop a stitch, which provides a safety in sharing. None of this intense eye-contact business. They meet the first Saturday of the month and I intend to become a regular.

Here's the project I finished that day. I call it my "I am Woman, Hear Me Roar" bag. Because it's really the first project I've done completely on my own.



Cleanery: Last week was spring break around here, so I didn't have piano lessons. And the weather was beautiful and it made me want to spring clean. And so on Monday I turned into a mean, cleaning machine. (Here's where that "I've turned into a boring person" really comes into play.) I had to pick and choose my projects because I so wanted to turn this house upside down in my cleaning frenzy. But I got a lot done. What is it about a day of thorough cleaning that makes me feel like a productive and worthwhile citizen? Wow that was rewarding. I really need to wash my windows though. I'm embarrassed to say how long it's been. But the last time I did it a bird immediately flew into my clean window and dropped dead. I decided it was a sign from God that I should not have clean windows. But I think even Jesus would be shaking his head in disgust at the current state of my windows.

Friendery: We've recently started playing Rummy with friends of ours, which is a darn good time. That's how old and boring we've gotten. But I also had a great time at the Theater with my friend Heather on Friday night. We saw a great production of "Annie." Which leads me to...

Vacationery: On Saturday morning we had the most lovely and fun Easter breakfast with my family. We had to have Easter breakfast a day early because I then had to get Brian to Da-Lite so he could catch a flight to Holland. Again. (Over Easter? Really Da-Lite?) So he's trotting around Amsterdam right now and I have another week of solitude. Although this time I'm not quite as excited about it. I talked to him a few minutes ago and told him to tell me what he's seen. All he could say was, "Well, we've seen everything...You know." No, I don't know. Name some names. Give some detail. "Well, we've just seen a bunch of stuff. Everything really." Thank you for such a compelling and detailed account of your travels abroad. I can't wait to hear more about you seeing "stuff" and talking to "people" about "things." But, after finding out that he would be heading to Europe again Brian didn't feel any compunction about Heather and I heading to England!!! So, plane tickets have been purchased and travel guides bought and Heather and I are making plans to have tea with the Queen! (The last part is a lie but I would like a spot of tea while there.)

Pettery: So, for now it's just me and the animals around here. After the trip to the vet last week with Fitty, I now have another animal with undignified itching. Reggie's hind-end seems to be giving him trouble. So tonight I shall don my rubber gloves and attempt to do some unpleasant veterinary-type procedures and see if I can heal him. It should be a very fulfilling evening.

That's all for now. More boring blogs to follow...

Trip to the Vet

There's always a little song and dance that has to be done when I need to take one of the cats to the vet. And today was Lex's turn (a.k.a. "Fitty"). Fitty's been scratching like it's going out of style and he wants to get one last lick in. He's losing hair and losing weight and ugh, can't these animals just stay healthy?

So I'm driving home from work, plotting the best way to trap the cat. I figure the best thing to do is act natural. Fitty can smell a plan hatching a mile away and then he hides in some strange crevice in the house that I can't possibly get to. Then he hunkers down for the long haul forcing me to use the broom handle to scooch him out, which traumatizes him so he starts to drip saliva out of his mouth, and then there's a wild chase around the house which ends with me cursing and experiencing an unsafe elevation in heart rate. (Repeat this once a month for application of the flea preventative.)

I walk in the house as breezy and normal as can be. I don't have a cat carrier so I snagged a box and a laundry basket. I walked right up to him, scooped him up, placed him lovingly in the box and wedged the laundry basket down on top of it tightly. He did the crazy "distress" meow. I assured him he'd be fine. And then I walked away because we had an hour before needing to leave for the vet. (I didn't think I could act natural for very long I guess.) And then he popped the top off my cat-carrying-contraption and escaped! I knew things would now be considerably more difficult.

I went back to plan "a" - act natural. I acted like his escape did not phase me a bit. I then implemented plan "b" - do things that normally lures him upstairs. I opened up sandwich meat. No Fitty. I poured cereal in a bowl. No Fitty. I poured milk in the bowl. Still no Fitty. I went to the basement to scope out the situation. He was in a high area that would require broom handles. I didn't want to do that just yet. So I took the bowl of cereal down stairs with me. I don't like cereal and all we had was a box of year-old cornflakes. But, in a bid to act natural, I sat down and started eating the stale cereal. With trepidation he approached the bowl. He dipped his paw in a few times and started purring. Then I felt horrible for what I was going to do next. So I snatched him up and off we went...with the crazy "distress" meows providing the soundtrack to our car trip.

So now, Fitty's on the roids. (He got a steroid shot.) Let's hope he doesn't get roid rage - because I know where he'll be directing that hostility.

Disturbing...

Friday is trash pick-up day at the Showalter house. As we pulled into our garage last night Brian said, "Huh, there's an extra trash can sitting there." We inherited another trash can. Weird, but not so weird.

This morning we were sitting outside drinking coffee and playing fetch with Reggie. All of sudden Brian says, "I hope there's not like, a dead baby in that trash can." I gasped in horror, nearly choking on my mouth-full of coffee, wondering what in the world could have made Brian come up with this possibility.

He walks to the trash can, checks it, returns to me and reports, "No dead baby."

A few moments later he says, in a matter-of-fact tone, "It happens you know."

Phew! I guess we narrowly averted that messy situation.

The Flair Fairy Has Struck Again

The Flair Fairy continues his or her sneaky work at church, further intriguing me. Who in the world can this possibly be?

My most recent pieces of flair:

My sister suggested that I should knit an item such as a hat or scarf to place these wonderful buttons on. I think that's a FANTASTIC idea. What to knit, what to knit...

A Little Knittery Update

My sister was here this weekend and we have both become huge fiber fanatics. She is probably a bigger fiber fanatic than I am. And it is oodles of fun to have somebody here who totally gets my obsession and can talk fiber lingo with me. And she brought a hysterically funny knitting book from her library, Mason Dixon Knitting (they also have a website here). I sat at my dining room table and read bits of the book that would make me giggle with joy, and then I would share the excerpt with my sister who would giggle with me...and admittedly our giggles sound creepily a lot alike. And our husbands would look at us and then at each other feeling lost, and say, "I don't get it." Which would make Lanie and I laugh even harder. The book even had a section that was written as if for the characters of The Red Tent which is one of my favorite books of all time. I could have died and gone to heaven, it was the funniest thing I have read in ages.

AND, my local yarn store was having a customer appreciation night on Friday and so my sister joined me and I bought yarn and it was delightful. So we sat together and I knit and Lanie crocheted and all was right in the Showalter house. Here are projects I completed this weekend:

I finally finished my socks! Hooray!

And here is my uneasy male model, Brian. His hat I had made him was just too small. It fit my nephew, Casey, really well. So I gave his hat away and it made Brian really sad. So I knit him up a new one and he is quite pleased...and so am I.