You know how it goes, one minute you're relishing in the fact that your weeknights are blissfully unscheduled, you blink, and things start popping up during your free time?
Last night I attended a jewelry party with a coworker. It was conveniently being held in very close proximity to my parents' house, so how could I not go?
The bad news is that I slightly broke my spending limit, but not by much. Less than $30 over, so that's good. I think. Of course, I have no budgeting husband to answer to, so whatever.
The "good" news is that my coworker and I volunteered to jointly host another party next month. We had no problem assembling a list of at least 30 people to invite and it looks like we have a venue that should be able to accommodate us nicely. The hard part is finding everybody's mailing address.
You would not think this was terribly difficult, but it is. It is truly an example of just how much email and online messaging has replaced traditional mail in that we have email addresses for most people and barring that we at least have Facebook connections with them, but to actually send them a card? It sends us scrambling.
Thankfully, my list is not as long as my co host. Some might be sad that they had fewer friends or seemed less popular, but it is fine by me. Less research to do.
It is strange, there is a part of me that feels like I should be the kind of person who avoids these sales parties like the plague. I couldn't tell you why, but it just seems like a very desperate housewife sort of event, and I am about as far from that lifestyle as you can get.
On the other hand, these parties are made for me. Get me in a comfortable chair in a warm room with snacks, wine and sparkly objects and it is a done deal. Of course, this formula has also worked on me with kitchen gadgetry, candles and baking mixes, so I don't know if the product type really matters. The wine really helps too.
The only thing that really causes me anxiety in these situations is the not-so-subtle push to encourage attendees to host their own parties or even worse, become a sales rep themselves. I realize that this is how the business model works, and I acknowledge that people can be wildly successful at it, but it always makes me nervous. If I didn't have a partner helping me with this, I am sure I would never have volunteered.
That said, I am willing to admit that there was a time in my life when I was nearly drawn into this crazy world. It was about four years ago, and I was constantly worried about money. It was driving me crazy to the point that I started to look into alternative sources of income. Getting a second job was not a palatable option as it would mean giving up what meaningful free time I had left. Although I am not a natural salesperson, I thought that I could somehow learn and parlay things into a lucrative enough business to quit my day job. Big dreams, I know.
I went so far as to submit an inquiry to the company's website. I was promptly contacted by a woman in my area who set up a meeting time with me to go over the setup, rules and answer questions. Even though I had initiated contact, I was still hesitant about moving forward.
Of course, life intervened in this situation, and the death of my brother pretty much put an end to this process. I did host a party because I felt bad for wasting so much of the representative's time, but honestly, I was hugely relieved not to have to continue.
Back to our upcoming party. If you know me personally, one thing you probably notice is that I am not usually heavy on the bling factor. I do not wear a lot of jewelry on a daily basis. Sure, when there is a formal event or I just want to feel pretty, I may throw on a pair of earrings or maybe even a bracelet or ring. But generally, necklaces baffle me completely. I never know what length looks right with different necklines and I am completely unsure of myself when it comes to colors and styles.
When one attends a jewelry party in person, one actually gets to see the necklaces in their natural habitat and assess the features with the added bonus of second opinions from other guests. So last night, for the first time, I found myself drawn to the necklaces. It could be dangerous, but I keep reminding myself that my accessorizing skills may not be advanced enough to handle them.
Every so often I dream that one day I will wake up and have a much better sense of fashion, but every day I get up and face the same type of clothes in my closet. Until I finally get a personal stylist, I think my jewelry budget is going to stay put. But ask me about this again in a few weeks.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
This is the way we wash our socks
I can hardly believe that I forgot to mention a momentous seasonal change that occurred last week: the return of socks. The obvious reason for the reintroduction of knitted foot coverings to my daily wardrobe is that the temperature up here in beautiful MN has started to drop to my favorite levels.
Truthfully, I have nothing strongly for or against socks. The only reason I shun them in the summer is because it helps to keep my internal thermometer at a reasonable level. Indeed there are moments in the bleakest winter that I overheat inside and wish to remove my socks, but I take pity on my coworkers and do not subject them to the white skeletal objects that are my feet.
I know that I have written about my feet in the past. Just to give you a little update, I did take a pumice stone to them this morning after my shower. It was productive but not very pretty. There is still a long way to go before they could be considered camera-ready.
Now to the part where I complain about the weather. Actually, no, I am not complaining. This is my favorite time of year; the blasted unbearable and disgusting heat and humidity of summer are past (hopefully) and the arctic chill of winter has yet to fully arrive. Let it be known that I truly measure the arrival of winter by when I actually have to bring my Nanook of the North snow boots back into play. As a fun aside, the actual manufacturer's name for my boots are "Helen of Tundra." Cute, huh?
If there was anything that I would say was occasionally frustrating about fall in MN, I would say that it would have to do with the temperature fluctuations. One day it will be 40 degrees and the next it will be 74. This may not sound that amazing to you, but after several days near freezing, 74 feels balmy and I almost hate it.
Getting dressed in the morning can be tricky. It may feel chilly, so I will put on more insulation. But the wise MN-dweller should know that this insulation must be layered. Otherwise, you will find yourself walking out to your car at the end of the day to your car to feel like you are Thanksgiving stuffing roasting inside a turkey in a large car-shaped oven. Without all the wonderful smells.
Other than the daily question of "How warmly can I dress?" the other change comes in through my laundry habits. When one is required to wear socks to work, it is necessary that one has a clean supply of work-appropriate sockwear. Now, my definition of "work appropriate" when it comes to socks is somewhat loose. Generally, it just means NO WHITE TUBE SOCKS. Actually, for me, white tube socks are only an option if I am going to the gym, so it is a good idea to make sure that one's sock drawer supply has not dwindled down to hold only these varieties.
Not to admit to being a lazy laundress, but I often forget about it until 10 p.m. on work nights. In the case of "delicates" like underwear and other sundries, I can still swing a late laundry load because these have to be air dried anyway. When it comes to regular clothes such as socks, the dryer must be employed, which means that I must stay awake until the wash cycle is done. This does not make me a happy camper.
It occurs to me that this is precisely the kind of situation in which women with husbands potentially have the upper hand. Note I said potentially. Yes, ladies, I realize that there are men out there who are unwilling or unable to master the process of laundry. But I would hope that they would at least be able to assist in the process of laundry-reminding. That's really all I need. Maybe I could rig up an alarm system of some kind of my iPhone. Is there an app for that?
Tonight I am going to a jewelry show. You know, one of those in-home parties where the hostess gets all kinds of discounts and the guests get pressured into having parties of their own so that they can reap the benefits of having another party and spreading the joy to their other friends. Yep. That kind.
Thank goodness it is a brand that I have purchased in the past, so I am fairly knowledgeable of their prices and selection. I have therefore instituted a spending limit on myself of $50. If the item cannot be purchased for $50 or less, I will not buy it. Don't worry, this is not a per item limit either. It is a TOTAL party limit. I feel pretty good about it and my ability to follow the rules. Of course, I don't have anyone at home to hold me accountable, but now that I have told all of you, my accountabilibuddies, you will help me out, right?
(By the way, Bill and Rox, if you're reading this, it is a Lia Sophia party. You know what I mean.)
Truthfully, I have nothing strongly for or against socks. The only reason I shun them in the summer is because it helps to keep my internal thermometer at a reasonable level. Indeed there are moments in the bleakest winter that I overheat inside and wish to remove my socks, but I take pity on my coworkers and do not subject them to the white skeletal objects that are my feet.
I know that I have written about my feet in the past. Just to give you a little update, I did take a pumice stone to them this morning after my shower. It was productive but not very pretty. There is still a long way to go before they could be considered camera-ready.
Now to the part where I complain about the weather. Actually, no, I am not complaining. This is my favorite time of year; the blasted unbearable and disgusting heat and humidity of summer are past (hopefully) and the arctic chill of winter has yet to fully arrive. Let it be known that I truly measure the arrival of winter by when I actually have to bring my Nanook of the North snow boots back into play. As a fun aside, the actual manufacturer's name for my boots are "Helen of Tundra." Cute, huh?
If there was anything that I would say was occasionally frustrating about fall in MN, I would say that it would have to do with the temperature fluctuations. One day it will be 40 degrees and the next it will be 74. This may not sound that amazing to you, but after several days near freezing, 74 feels balmy and I almost hate it.
Getting dressed in the morning can be tricky. It may feel chilly, so I will put on more insulation. But the wise MN-dweller should know that this insulation must be layered. Otherwise, you will find yourself walking out to your car at the end of the day to your car to feel like you are Thanksgiving stuffing roasting inside a turkey in a large car-shaped oven. Without all the wonderful smells.
Other than the daily question of "How warmly can I dress?" the other change comes in through my laundry habits. When one is required to wear socks to work, it is necessary that one has a clean supply of work-appropriate sockwear. Now, my definition of "work appropriate" when it comes to socks is somewhat loose. Generally, it just means NO WHITE TUBE SOCKS. Actually, for me, white tube socks are only an option if I am going to the gym, so it is a good idea to make sure that one's sock drawer supply has not dwindled down to hold only these varieties.
Not to admit to being a lazy laundress, but I often forget about it until 10 p.m. on work nights. In the case of "delicates" like underwear and other sundries, I can still swing a late laundry load because these have to be air dried anyway. When it comes to regular clothes such as socks, the dryer must be employed, which means that I must stay awake until the wash cycle is done. This does not make me a happy camper.
It occurs to me that this is precisely the kind of situation in which women with husbands potentially have the upper hand. Note I said potentially. Yes, ladies, I realize that there are men out there who are unwilling or unable to master the process of laundry. But I would hope that they would at least be able to assist in the process of laundry-reminding. That's really all I need. Maybe I could rig up an alarm system of some kind of my iPhone. Is there an app for that?
Tonight I am going to a jewelry show. You know, one of those in-home parties where the hostess gets all kinds of discounts and the guests get pressured into having parties of their own so that they can reap the benefits of having another party and spreading the joy to their other friends. Yep. That kind.
Thank goodness it is a brand that I have purchased in the past, so I am fairly knowledgeable of their prices and selection. I have therefore instituted a spending limit on myself of $50. If the item cannot be purchased for $50 or less, I will not buy it. Don't worry, this is not a per item limit either. It is a TOTAL party limit. I feel pretty good about it and my ability to follow the rules. Of course, I don't have anyone at home to hold me accountable, but now that I have told all of you, my accountabilibuddies, you will help me out, right?
(By the way, Bill and Rox, if you're reading this, it is a Lia Sophia party. You know what I mean.)
Ancient blogging
This new blogger format has opened my eyes to an interesting circumstance. As much as I would like to say that this blog was my first experience in blogging, it was not. My first was actually done as part of a final project for one of my first classes in graduate school called Organization of Knowledge. Essentially, an intro to cataloging.
My professor was pretty loose on requirements; he wanted us to be creative and find our own medium of presentation. Many classmates found this lack of direction to be unsettling and therefore opted for the tried and true presentation format of a formal paper. One enterprising gal did something called a zine. I can only assume that this is some sort of ultra-hip and artsy offshoot of a magazine, but I didn't care, so I didn't ask.
A few of us took up the blog idea and made it work. Truth be told, I found that it was much easier than a formal paper would have been. It allowed for much more free flowing ideas and far less attention to proper writing protocol. My only problem was in determining a subject to blog about. Again, the professor was thin on requirements.
So I decided to take two things that interested me, poetry and Library of Congress Subject Headings (LCSH) and mash them together somehow. If you don't know (or don't care), LCSH are standardized terms chosen by the Library of Congress to be used as subject descriptors in catalog records. It allows for better searching and categorizing of items. OK?
Due to the fact that this project was time specific (due by a certain date), I started before the end of class and stopped at the end for a grand total of four entries. That's right. FOUR. I then submitted the URL to my professor and two classmates for review. It must have been good enough because I got rave reviews from the classmates and an A from the teacher.
Honestly, I felt a little funny about doing well with the project. It was so easy.
The final outcome of the blog was that I found an interest in blogging which led to my attempt at the cookie blog, which was also short-lived but not graded. I knew that I could take down any blogs I created at any time, but I didn't have anything in any of them that would reflect poorly on me, so I let them be and ignored them.
Now that Blogger has started to update their interface, my full blog list has returned to my immediate line of vision. The cookie blog remains largely unviewed, but my LCSH blog manages to get sporadic hits. Enough to put it up over 250 views, which to me is pretty incredible for a four entry blog from two years ago that no one supposedly knows about. As I imagine that you are all anxious to get a view of this mysterious blog, I will relinquish the URL: http://odetolcsh.blogspot.com/
Maybe you will read it and think "What the heck, Megan?" Or maybe you will say, "Wow, this is how all your blog entries should look!"
So there you go. The good news is that my rediscovery of my old blog has inspired me to share a story from my high school years that was heavily intertwined with poetry and awkwardness, with a little pinch of hormones thrown in for good measure. But not now. Let us part for now and rejoin on the morrow, alright-y?
My professor was pretty loose on requirements; he wanted us to be creative and find our own medium of presentation. Many classmates found this lack of direction to be unsettling and therefore opted for the tried and true presentation format of a formal paper. One enterprising gal did something called a zine. I can only assume that this is some sort of ultra-hip and artsy offshoot of a magazine, but I didn't care, so I didn't ask.
A few of us took up the blog idea and made it work. Truth be told, I found that it was much easier than a formal paper would have been. It allowed for much more free flowing ideas and far less attention to proper writing protocol. My only problem was in determining a subject to blog about. Again, the professor was thin on requirements.
So I decided to take two things that interested me, poetry and Library of Congress Subject Headings (LCSH) and mash them together somehow. If you don't know (or don't care), LCSH are standardized terms chosen by the Library of Congress to be used as subject descriptors in catalog records. It allows for better searching and categorizing of items. OK?
Due to the fact that this project was time specific (due by a certain date), I started before the end of class and stopped at the end for a grand total of four entries. That's right. FOUR. I then submitted the URL to my professor and two classmates for review. It must have been good enough because I got rave reviews from the classmates and an A from the teacher.
Honestly, I felt a little funny about doing well with the project. It was so easy.
The final outcome of the blog was that I found an interest in blogging which led to my attempt at the cookie blog, which was also short-lived but not graded. I knew that I could take down any blogs I created at any time, but I didn't have anything in any of them that would reflect poorly on me, so I let them be and ignored them.
Now that Blogger has started to update their interface, my full blog list has returned to my immediate line of vision. The cookie blog remains largely unviewed, but my LCSH blog manages to get sporadic hits. Enough to put it up over 250 views, which to me is pretty incredible for a four entry blog from two years ago that no one supposedly knows about. As I imagine that you are all anxious to get a view of this mysterious blog, I will relinquish the URL: http://odetolcsh.blogspot.com/
Maybe you will read it and think "What the heck, Megan?" Or maybe you will say, "Wow, this is how all your blog entries should look!"
So there you go. The good news is that my rediscovery of my old blog has inspired me to share a story from my high school years that was heavily intertwined with poetry and awkwardness, with a little pinch of hormones thrown in for good measure. But not now. Let us part for now and rejoin on the morrow, alright-y?
Monday, September 19, 2011
Learning from Lena
Although I realize that I have already posted today, I had another interesting thing to add and I just didn't feel like editing and re-posting.
As you know, I have a dog. She is a two year old Rat Terrier/Papillon mix. I do not have any experience with either of these breeds in specific, so I rely on web resources such as Wikipedia for my information on their expected behavioral traits.
One thing that I can say for certain, when you mix the two, you get a lot of energy. Whether she is waking for the day, being released from her kennel after a varied length of confinement or just jumping down off the couch, she is always "ready to go."
In her limited vocabulary, the word "outside" has special cache. Merely utter the word in a hushed voice and she will spring forth and bound to the door expecting you to immediately follow. If you do not follow quickly enough, she will bark. Incessantly.
For this reason, I normally wait until I am already walking to the door before I say the magic word.
At my parents house, the excitement is tripled as she knows that release to the outdoors is unfettered by a collar and leash as it is when we are at my house. During daytime hours, Lena usually has a companion in the form of Thor, one of my parents' Jack Russells. Their female JRT, Pippi, does not share their enthusiasm and will usually only join them if she really needs to go out.
For Lena and Thor, the need to be outdoors is not always driven by bladder or bowels. There are squirrels and chipmunks to chase, dirt to eat, smelly things to roll in. Lena bounds into the yard with the energy of a jackrabbit. Seriously. She SPRINGS into the back flower bed and mulch flies in all directions. Thor is usually bit less crazy, but when there are critters to be found, he is never far behind.
As of late, the anticipation of this release has caused a change in Lena's morning behavior. When her internal clock (and the sunlight through the window) tells her that it is time to wake up, she joyously shares this information with me, usually by licking my face and leaping on top of me. Cute, right?
Normally, this is enough. She patiently waits until I drag myself out of bed and make my way to the door.
For some reason, she has lately added incessant barking to her repertoire. In my face. Try as I might to reason with her, she will not be denied. It has proven too effective for her.
I have now decided to take up this tactic for my own life. From now on, when I want cars to move faster, I will honk repeatedly. When I need to get the attention of an inattentive cashier, I will make beeping noises at the top of my lungs. When I want to get an annoying Sirius XM Radio sales clerk off the phone, I will bark like a Rat Terrier/Papillon.
As you know, I have a dog. She is a two year old Rat Terrier/Papillon mix. I do not have any experience with either of these breeds in specific, so I rely on web resources such as Wikipedia for my information on their expected behavioral traits.
One thing that I can say for certain, when you mix the two, you get a lot of energy. Whether she is waking for the day, being released from her kennel after a varied length of confinement or just jumping down off the couch, she is always "ready to go."
In her limited vocabulary, the word "outside" has special cache. Merely utter the word in a hushed voice and she will spring forth and bound to the door expecting you to immediately follow. If you do not follow quickly enough, she will bark. Incessantly.
For this reason, I normally wait until I am already walking to the door before I say the magic word.
At my parents house, the excitement is tripled as she knows that release to the outdoors is unfettered by a collar and leash as it is when we are at my house. During daytime hours, Lena usually has a companion in the form of Thor, one of my parents' Jack Russells. Their female JRT, Pippi, does not share their enthusiasm and will usually only join them if she really needs to go out.
For Lena and Thor, the need to be outdoors is not always driven by bladder or bowels. There are squirrels and chipmunks to chase, dirt to eat, smelly things to roll in. Lena bounds into the yard with the energy of a jackrabbit. Seriously. She SPRINGS into the back flower bed and mulch flies in all directions. Thor is usually bit less crazy, but when there are critters to be found, he is never far behind.
As of late, the anticipation of this release has caused a change in Lena's morning behavior. When her internal clock (and the sunlight through the window) tells her that it is time to wake up, she joyously shares this information with me, usually by licking my face and leaping on top of me. Cute, right?
Normally, this is enough. She patiently waits until I drag myself out of bed and make my way to the door.
For some reason, she has lately added incessant barking to her repertoire. In my face. Try as I might to reason with her, she will not be denied. It has proven too effective for her.
I have now decided to take up this tactic for my own life. From now on, when I want cars to move faster, I will honk repeatedly. When I need to get the attention of an inattentive cashier, I will make beeping noises at the top of my lungs. When I want to get an annoying Sirius XM Radio sales clerk off the phone, I will bark like a Rat Terrier/Papillon.
Home invasion
I like to think of myself as a girl of simple pleasures. This is never better illustrated than on weekends when I get to be "alone." I use the quotation marks because with the addition of dogs to my life, I am rarely truly by myself. It is a qualified statement that means "without human contact."
These weekends have become increasingly rare these days. Actually, if I had to date it I would say it has been about four years. Coincidentally, today is the fourth anniversary of my youngest brothers untimely death. In many ways, his death changed the way that I live my life. I will likely spend a lot of my down moments today thinking about him and my memories of the life he shared with us for almost 20 years, but I will not spend most of this blog entry doing so.
My brother died around the same time that my parents were finally moving back from Wisconsin to Minnesota. They were still in transition; their house back in WI had not yet sold when he died which enabled us to have a place to stay during his funeral and memorial activities. In fact, the house did not sell for another six months after that. Again, a mixed blessing as it allowed us to gradually let go of a place that was filled with memories, mostly of him.
In the end, my parents bought a house and now live fully in MN. But for the first five years after I finished college, I lived in this state without them. At best, it was about a five to six hour drive that separated us. This meant that unless I had plans with friends or obligations otherwise, it was perfectly possible for me to spend my weekends alone at my house. I could read, do laundry, watch movies, go on walks.
Everything was different, even my dating life. It was much easier to carry on active dating under the radar of my parents and thus avoid the scrutiny and dissection of potential boyfriends (not dissection in a literal sense, if you were worried).
Now that they are here, I do not spend many weekends at home. There is more to do from their house, and of course, there are the dogs. Now that I am in graduate school and a dog owner, their house is a necessary holding place that allows me to keep my sanity in the midst of a busier schedule than I have had in a long time.
This past weekend, I had the responsibility of caring for all three dogs under my parents' roof while they traveled to the farm to clean, see my grandfather and visit the grave of my brother on the anniversary of his death. I did not join them for several reasons: there are not enough places to sleep, the dogs make it difficult to get anything done, and I had to be at an internship orientation on Saturday in St. Paul.
Saturday was interesting, but I have already highlighted that in my previous entry. Saturday evening, after I had written my blog entry, I sent the dogs out for one last bathroom break and gathered my things from the basement to get everyone to bed. One of the items I gathered was my cell phone.
If you do not know me well enough to be on my contact list, you probably do not know that I have the (sometimes annoying) habit of leaving my phone's ringer set to silent. This is more often the case than not as I feel it is inappropriate to have one's cell phone ring during work, class or internship orientations.
As I am also not known for being overly attached to my phone, it is not unusual for me not to look at it very often to check for missed calls or messages, unless I am expecting to hear from someone. In an unusual act, I did happen to press the wake-up button on my phone as I went to bed on Saturday, around 11:15 p.m. I noticed that I missed some calls from my parents, but there was a voicemail message from my father. He simply said that they were at my grandpa's apartment, and that if I felt like calling I could. As the message was left at 9:30 p.m. and the present time was after 11, I opted to let my parents sleep.
Sunday morning was a bit off for me. As luck and my biological calendar would have it, my period started that morning. Not a fun feeling, believe me. The pups let me stay in bed until 8 a.m., when their patience ran out. We arose, and I released them into the cold and soggy backyard for their morning bladder and bowel relief. Once this was done, the eager beavers dashed back into the house (after some foot wiping with Megan) for their breakfast.
Once their food was consumed with lightening speed, I rewarded them by giving Pippi her medication in a piece of string cheese. Never one to be unfair, the other dogs also received string cheese pieces, without medication.
After I was satisfied that everyone was relieved, fed and medicated, I decided to lay down for a bit longer. I figured I could get in another 30 minutes before the dogs decided that they needed to bark away the rest of the morning.
For some odd reason, it was a quiet morning. This is the only reason I can give for why it was noon before I opened my eyes again. Seriously, I haven't slept this late in a very long time, but I must have needed it on some level. It did, however, serve to make me feel quite disoriented.
Due to the weather and the fact that my parents were not coming back until Monday, I decided to make it a pajama day. I moved my messy self to the basement and settled in with a book and the TV remote.
About two hours later, I was startled to hear some very loud knocking at the front door to the house. It is important to keep in mind that at this point, I was still in my pajamas and looking quite a sight, and it was 2 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon. In my experience, the only people who come a knockin' at this time were activists or politicians. As I had no interest in speaking to either, I allowed the dogs to go nuts at the door while remaining ensconced in the basement.
I did peer surreptitiously out of the office window to see if there were any cars in the driveway indicating that perhaps a friend or other known person had stopped by. Seeing nothing, I quietly returned to the basement. Several minutes later, when I figured the visitor was gone, I crept upstairs. I needed to use the bathroom.
As I sat on the toilet, doing my business, to my horror and dismay I heard the garage door opening. Many thoughts ran through my head, not the least of which was that someone was breaking into our house and here I was sitting on the toilet. Then I remembered that I had the foresight to lock the interior door before going to bed the night before and that I had not had occasion to unlock it yet.
I finished my bathroom duties faster than I had ever done in my life just in time to hear the garage door close. It was in this state of panic that I heard my phone vibrating from my bedroom. As I had been contemplating a call to the local police, I took this as a sign that I could perhaps communicate my situation to someone before an axe murderer broke through my back door.
The incoming call was from my mother. My frantic and angry mother. Apparently she had been in a panic because I had not answered my phone. In her state of overreaction, she called not one but two of her neighbors to ask them to stop by and "check on me." This explained the knocking on the door and the opening of the garage as my mother had given the neighbor our code.
Said neighbor and I are not acquainted. I have never met or spoken to the woman. I have seen her in the distance across the street, blowing leaves off her driveway in a fit of OCD, but I do not know her by sight.
At this point, both my mother and I were upset and annoyed. She because I did not pick up my phone or call them back to check in, and me because I am 31 years old and do not like being treated like I am 4. As my only scheduled outing had been to the Cathedral on the previous afternoon, I could hardly think what my mother thought could have happened to me.
To be clear, I have lived alone for almost a decade and daily I travel and do things without checking in with my parents. In fact, days often go by with little or no communication between us. Not because we are avoiding one another, but because we simply have no need to speak.
Perhaps I am odd or old-fashioned, but I have a slight aversion to being constantly available through the use of cell phones. Part of me misses the olden days when speaking on the phone required the right timing and one had to accept the fact that sometimes you just can't reach out and touch someone through the magic of technology.
That said, did I deliberately avoid my parents' calls? No. I received their message that they had arrived safely, and thought that was enough. Unless there was an honest emergency, I did not anticipate hearing from them until they were one their way home. To make this point stronger, I also missed a text message from a friend inviting me out on Saturday night until Sunday as well.
In the end, I did speak to my mother and apparently she was satisfied that I was alright. Unfortunately, she must not have fully relayed the all-clear to her neighbor. Around 7:30 last night, I was in the basement when the garage door opened once more. Still clad in my pajamas and likely smelling of wet dogs, I did not run up to greet her, but I did double check to make sure the interior door was locked. I briefly contemplated releasing the hounds, but the hounds can be mighty hard to get back into the house, so I kept them inside.
When it started to sound like she was having problems getting the door to shut, I feared that I would have to reveal myself to this stranger in all my smelly and Monchichi pajama pants glory, but fortunately, she mastered the machinery first. I have to admit that at this point I was a bit irritated. Clearly, there were lights on in the house. I have no idea why she thought that she needed to invade my privacy once more as I am pretty sure that my mother did not ask her to come back.
So even though it is Monday, and an important anniversary to boot, I was quite relieved to return to work today in order to bring myself back into the normal world. Hopefully the neighbor lady does not make a return visit today because the interior garage door is now open and I know of two little Jack Russells who would be more than happy to accost any snooping visitors.
These weekends have become increasingly rare these days. Actually, if I had to date it I would say it has been about four years. Coincidentally, today is the fourth anniversary of my youngest brothers untimely death. In many ways, his death changed the way that I live my life. I will likely spend a lot of my down moments today thinking about him and my memories of the life he shared with us for almost 20 years, but I will not spend most of this blog entry doing so.
My brother died around the same time that my parents were finally moving back from Wisconsin to Minnesota. They were still in transition; their house back in WI had not yet sold when he died which enabled us to have a place to stay during his funeral and memorial activities. In fact, the house did not sell for another six months after that. Again, a mixed blessing as it allowed us to gradually let go of a place that was filled with memories, mostly of him.
In the end, my parents bought a house and now live fully in MN. But for the first five years after I finished college, I lived in this state without them. At best, it was about a five to six hour drive that separated us. This meant that unless I had plans with friends or obligations otherwise, it was perfectly possible for me to spend my weekends alone at my house. I could read, do laundry, watch movies, go on walks.
Everything was different, even my dating life. It was much easier to carry on active dating under the radar of my parents and thus avoid the scrutiny and dissection of potential boyfriends (not dissection in a literal sense, if you were worried).
Now that they are here, I do not spend many weekends at home. There is more to do from their house, and of course, there are the dogs. Now that I am in graduate school and a dog owner, their house is a necessary holding place that allows me to keep my sanity in the midst of a busier schedule than I have had in a long time.
This past weekend, I had the responsibility of caring for all three dogs under my parents' roof while they traveled to the farm to clean, see my grandfather and visit the grave of my brother on the anniversary of his death. I did not join them for several reasons: there are not enough places to sleep, the dogs make it difficult to get anything done, and I had to be at an internship orientation on Saturday in St. Paul.
Saturday was interesting, but I have already highlighted that in my previous entry. Saturday evening, after I had written my blog entry, I sent the dogs out for one last bathroom break and gathered my things from the basement to get everyone to bed. One of the items I gathered was my cell phone.
If you do not know me well enough to be on my contact list, you probably do not know that I have the (sometimes annoying) habit of leaving my phone's ringer set to silent. This is more often the case than not as I feel it is inappropriate to have one's cell phone ring during work, class or internship orientations.
As I am also not known for being overly attached to my phone, it is not unusual for me not to look at it very often to check for missed calls or messages, unless I am expecting to hear from someone. In an unusual act, I did happen to press the wake-up button on my phone as I went to bed on Saturday, around 11:15 p.m. I noticed that I missed some calls from my parents, but there was a voicemail message from my father. He simply said that they were at my grandpa's apartment, and that if I felt like calling I could. As the message was left at 9:30 p.m. and the present time was after 11, I opted to let my parents sleep.
Sunday morning was a bit off for me. As luck and my biological calendar would have it, my period started that morning. Not a fun feeling, believe me. The pups let me stay in bed until 8 a.m., when their patience ran out. We arose, and I released them into the cold and soggy backyard for their morning bladder and bowel relief. Once this was done, the eager beavers dashed back into the house (after some foot wiping with Megan) for their breakfast.
Once their food was consumed with lightening speed, I rewarded them by giving Pippi her medication in a piece of string cheese. Never one to be unfair, the other dogs also received string cheese pieces, without medication.
After I was satisfied that everyone was relieved, fed and medicated, I decided to lay down for a bit longer. I figured I could get in another 30 minutes before the dogs decided that they needed to bark away the rest of the morning.
For some odd reason, it was a quiet morning. This is the only reason I can give for why it was noon before I opened my eyes again. Seriously, I haven't slept this late in a very long time, but I must have needed it on some level. It did, however, serve to make me feel quite disoriented.
Due to the weather and the fact that my parents were not coming back until Monday, I decided to make it a pajama day. I moved my messy self to the basement and settled in with a book and the TV remote.
About two hours later, I was startled to hear some very loud knocking at the front door to the house. It is important to keep in mind that at this point, I was still in my pajamas and looking quite a sight, and it was 2 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon. In my experience, the only people who come a knockin' at this time were activists or politicians. As I had no interest in speaking to either, I allowed the dogs to go nuts at the door while remaining ensconced in the basement.
I did peer surreptitiously out of the office window to see if there were any cars in the driveway indicating that perhaps a friend or other known person had stopped by. Seeing nothing, I quietly returned to the basement. Several minutes later, when I figured the visitor was gone, I crept upstairs. I needed to use the bathroom.
As I sat on the toilet, doing my business, to my horror and dismay I heard the garage door opening. Many thoughts ran through my head, not the least of which was that someone was breaking into our house and here I was sitting on the toilet. Then I remembered that I had the foresight to lock the interior door before going to bed the night before and that I had not had occasion to unlock it yet.
I finished my bathroom duties faster than I had ever done in my life just in time to hear the garage door close. It was in this state of panic that I heard my phone vibrating from my bedroom. As I had been contemplating a call to the local police, I took this as a sign that I could perhaps communicate my situation to someone before an axe murderer broke through my back door.
The incoming call was from my mother. My frantic and angry mother. Apparently she had been in a panic because I had not answered my phone. In her state of overreaction, she called not one but two of her neighbors to ask them to stop by and "check on me." This explained the knocking on the door and the opening of the garage as my mother had given the neighbor our code.
Said neighbor and I are not acquainted. I have never met or spoken to the woman. I have seen her in the distance across the street, blowing leaves off her driveway in a fit of OCD, but I do not know her by sight.
At this point, both my mother and I were upset and annoyed. She because I did not pick up my phone or call them back to check in, and me because I am 31 years old and do not like being treated like I am 4. As my only scheduled outing had been to the Cathedral on the previous afternoon, I could hardly think what my mother thought could have happened to me.
To be clear, I have lived alone for almost a decade and daily I travel and do things without checking in with my parents. In fact, days often go by with little or no communication between us. Not because we are avoiding one another, but because we simply have no need to speak.
Perhaps I am odd or old-fashioned, but I have a slight aversion to being constantly available through the use of cell phones. Part of me misses the olden days when speaking on the phone required the right timing and one had to accept the fact that sometimes you just can't reach out and touch someone through the magic of technology.
That said, did I deliberately avoid my parents' calls? No. I received their message that they had arrived safely, and thought that was enough. Unless there was an honest emergency, I did not anticipate hearing from them until they were one their way home. To make this point stronger, I also missed a text message from a friend inviting me out on Saturday night until Sunday as well.
In the end, I did speak to my mother and apparently she was satisfied that I was alright. Unfortunately, she must not have fully relayed the all-clear to her neighbor. Around 7:30 last night, I was in the basement when the garage door opened once more. Still clad in my pajamas and likely smelling of wet dogs, I did not run up to greet her, but I did double check to make sure the interior door was locked. I briefly contemplated releasing the hounds, but the hounds can be mighty hard to get back into the house, so I kept them inside.
When it started to sound like she was having problems getting the door to shut, I feared that I would have to reveal myself to this stranger in all my smelly and Monchichi pajama pants glory, but fortunately, she mastered the machinery first. I have to admit that at this point I was a bit irritated. Clearly, there were lights on in the house. I have no idea why she thought that she needed to invade my privacy once more as I am pretty sure that my mother did not ask her to come back.
So even though it is Monday, and an important anniversary to boot, I was quite relieved to return to work today in order to bring myself back into the normal world. Hopefully the neighbor lady does not make a return visit today because the interior garage door is now open and I know of two little Jack Russells who would be more than happy to accost any snooping visitors.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Saturday: A retrospective
Shocking news, all. I am spending another night as mayor of Dogville, USA. Super fun, super fun.
It has been an interesting day.
The morning started with a scheduled visit to my car dealership for a free oil change. They were done in record time, and I got a car wash. Score. I made a stop to visit a friend who recently started working at Caribou. Again, good.
I arrived home and sat around for a bit before volunteering foolhardily to take the dogs for a walk. By myself. It was not easy, but not impossible and everyone survived. Despite Pippi's valiant attempts to cut the walk short by steering us back towards home after the first few blocks.
Sadly, we could not continue on our path of awesomeness as my next major experience of the day was a very minor family driveway fender bender. No, it was not my fault and no, the damage was not major. But it will require repairs and insurance adjusters. Just a little more excitement for the coming week, right?
Fortunately, as I said, the damage was minor and my car is completely drive-able. This is good, because my parents went back out to the farm and I had to get myself to the Cathedral of St. Paul for my archives internship orientation. It went well, and I am very excited (and a little nervous) to start my 16 hours in a few weeks. I expect that I will learn a lot about archiving and quite a bit about the Cathedral's history as well.
After my religious experience, I returned home to the attention-starved pooches. We spent the rest of the afternoon/evening moving around, playing, reading and sleeping. What an exciting life we lead.
Tomorrow, I do not expect things to be much more lively. I should definitely get working on my reading for class this week so that I can write the necessary reflections, so hopefully my housemates will allow it. They can get a little jealous when it comes to books. Or maybe it is just that they don't like me to focus that intently on something that isn't them. Whatever.
This is one of those weekends where I really do have time to hang out and have a little fun, but wouldn't you know most of the people I would do this with are busy or out of town. So the party stays a bit more local. Oh well.
It has been an interesting day.
The morning started with a scheduled visit to my car dealership for a free oil change. They were done in record time, and I got a car wash. Score. I made a stop to visit a friend who recently started working at Caribou. Again, good.
I arrived home and sat around for a bit before volunteering foolhardily to take the dogs for a walk. By myself. It was not easy, but not impossible and everyone survived. Despite Pippi's valiant attempts to cut the walk short by steering us back towards home after the first few blocks.
Sadly, we could not continue on our path of awesomeness as my next major experience of the day was a very minor family driveway fender bender. No, it was not my fault and no, the damage was not major. But it will require repairs and insurance adjusters. Just a little more excitement for the coming week, right?
Fortunately, as I said, the damage was minor and my car is completely drive-able. This is good, because my parents went back out to the farm and I had to get myself to the Cathedral of St. Paul for my archives internship orientation. It went well, and I am very excited (and a little nervous) to start my 16 hours in a few weeks. I expect that I will learn a lot about archiving and quite a bit about the Cathedral's history as well.
After my religious experience, I returned home to the attention-starved pooches. We spent the rest of the afternoon/evening moving around, playing, reading and sleeping. What an exciting life we lead.
Tomorrow, I do not expect things to be much more lively. I should definitely get working on my reading for class this week so that I can write the necessary reflections, so hopefully my housemates will allow it. They can get a little jealous when it comes to books. Or maybe it is just that they don't like me to focus that intently on something that isn't them. Whatever.
This is one of those weekends where I really do have time to hang out and have a little fun, but wouldn't you know most of the people I would do this with are busy or out of town. So the party stays a bit more local. Oh well.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Burning sensations and bad moods
Today I am feeling cantankerous. Curmudgeonly, even. Watch out.
Why? No reason, of course. Well, there is a contributing factor (I am fairly certain), but it is purely biological and cannot be helped. Nothing short of a beach chair and a pina colada on a secluded beach somewhere is going to make it go away.
So let's just move on from there, shall we?
Last night after class was over and I wandered zombie-like back to my car to drive home at 9 p.m., an interesting thought popped into my head. This is my third fall semester as a grad student. While the courses I have taken for my fall semesters as well as the particular days I have scheduled classes has changed, one strange phenomenon has remained constant.
Actually, this phenomenon is not likely directly related to school itself. At least I do not think so. It is related to my weak physical structure.
Every time I have an evening class that takes place after a full day of working in the office, around 8 p.m., my eyes give up their will to live. Yes, they get droopy and it becomes hard to keep them open, but this is not the strange thing. They do not just droop, they start on fire. In order to put out this fire, they begin to water. They itch. All I want is to shut my eyes in a dark room and go to sleep.
Unfortunately, at 8 p.m., I usually still have an hour left of class, so this is not an option. The only relief comes from removing my glasses for about 15 minutes. It doesn't really help the fact that my brain is shutting down from exhaustion, but at least I can keep my eyes open without looking like I have been crying all day.
My first guess as to the cause of this drama would be allergies. After all, I tend to have a similar reaction when trapped in rooms with cigarette smoke or when my car's air circulation system brings in outside air during the fall or spring. Yeah, that's right. This sometimes happens to me while driving.
But if this is so, why does it only happen around 8? Why not all day? Or at least from the beginning of class?
My next theory is that it has something to do with computer screens. I sit in front of one all day at work, followed by three hours in front of one for school. If this is the case, it may explain why the removal of my glasses causes some relief. It allows my eyes to fall out of focus and not spend as much time looking at the glow of the screen.
My final theory is that my school is haunted. Not by evil ghosts, but by mischievous ones, sort of like Peeves from Hogwarts. Every night around 8 p.m., this silly little spectre sneaks in and sprays dust or pollen into my eyes beneath my glasses. The reason that the removal of my glasses helps is that it allows the dust or pollen to escape.
Which theory sounds the most plausible?
Why? No reason, of course. Well, there is a contributing factor (I am fairly certain), but it is purely biological and cannot be helped. Nothing short of a beach chair and a pina colada on a secluded beach somewhere is going to make it go away.
So let's just move on from there, shall we?
Last night after class was over and I wandered zombie-like back to my car to drive home at 9 p.m., an interesting thought popped into my head. This is my third fall semester as a grad student. While the courses I have taken for my fall semesters as well as the particular days I have scheduled classes has changed, one strange phenomenon has remained constant.
Actually, this phenomenon is not likely directly related to school itself. At least I do not think so. It is related to my weak physical structure.
Every time I have an evening class that takes place after a full day of working in the office, around 8 p.m., my eyes give up their will to live. Yes, they get droopy and it becomes hard to keep them open, but this is not the strange thing. They do not just droop, they start on fire. In order to put out this fire, they begin to water. They itch. All I want is to shut my eyes in a dark room and go to sleep.
Unfortunately, at 8 p.m., I usually still have an hour left of class, so this is not an option. The only relief comes from removing my glasses for about 15 minutes. It doesn't really help the fact that my brain is shutting down from exhaustion, but at least I can keep my eyes open without looking like I have been crying all day.
My first guess as to the cause of this drama would be allergies. After all, I tend to have a similar reaction when trapped in rooms with cigarette smoke or when my car's air circulation system brings in outside air during the fall or spring. Yeah, that's right. This sometimes happens to me while driving.
But if this is so, why does it only happen around 8? Why not all day? Or at least from the beginning of class?
My next theory is that it has something to do with computer screens. I sit in front of one all day at work, followed by three hours in front of one for school. If this is the case, it may explain why the removal of my glasses causes some relief. It allows my eyes to fall out of focus and not spend as much time looking at the glow of the screen.
My final theory is that my school is haunted. Not by evil ghosts, but by mischievous ones, sort of like Peeves from Hogwarts. Every night around 8 p.m., this silly little spectre sneaks in and sprays dust or pollen into my eyes beneath my glasses. The reason that the removal of my glasses helps is that it allows the dust or pollen to escape.
Which theory sounds the most plausible?
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