Sorting it out.

Yesterday, Dad convinced me to go out to the farm and go through the wreckage to see if there was anything I wanted to keep. I bundled up, then walked in through the missing front door. Things crunched under my feet. The stairway looked just the same, but the rooms upstairs certainly didn't. We went in J.B.'s room first, where I found a blue glass perfume bottle that belonged to my great grandmother.

Then we went to my room. In one place, the wall was cracked, and my curtains had gotten sucked off the window and through the wall (see photo at left).

My books were strewn everywhere (see photo below). Then I found my greatgrandmother's jewelry box. It's gold and plays "Sunrise, Sunset." I know it's not valuable, but I love it a lot. Inside was my ruby necklace. Then I picked up a few favorite books and some photographs.

In the attic, I found a box of my clothes. I sort of wanted to keep all of them, but in the end I just took my favorite jeans from high school (at some point, I'd already pinned a note on them that read "Please keep."), my brother's football uniform, a 4-H t-shirt and a Woodward-Granger (my high school) t-shirt. Then I salvaged a couple toys: a metal top that still worked, and a green, wooden grasshopper on wheels, with legs that moved up and down as you pushed it on the floor. Then I resigned myself to leave everything else behind to be destroyed with the demolition. It was the possibility that was hard...the possibility that something I loved might still be intact, but hidden. But I made myself let go and walked away. Then Dad and I exited through the entirely-missing wall of their bedroom. I couldn't believe how much smaller it looked. It was like at funerals, when the person in the casket looks so much smaller than they did when they were alive.

My favorite tree survived, but I got a bit crabby when Dad told me they might tear it down, it and my second-favorite tree. I told him I was cold, and he said "Okay," but soon got caught up in showing me where the new house would go and pacing out the footprint.

"Daddy," I eventually interrupted, "I'm really cold!"

"But we're visuallizing!" he exclaimed. "Well, I guess I'm visuallizing you as a popsicle, and I'm not having to work very hard."

We realized I wasn't wearing a hat, so he put one on me, then we transfered my salvaged stuff to the semi-trailer they rented to hold our stuff. After that, I helped him load gates into the truck. (In all fairness, I had volunteered to do so the day before, but I hadn't been shivering and damp then). "Oh, sheesh," Dad said, "I better get you inside before I end up giving you pneumonia from this whole deal." Then we drove over to Unkie and Helen's house.

I believe that I've already mentioned on this site that Unkie and Helen and their daughters were like my second family growing up. Unkie is watching Dad's flock for him, and one of the ewes lambed early. Unkie is pretty generous, but he warned my dad that his sows farrowing and dad's ewes lambing would be too much. I imagine Helen's cancer doesn't make it any easier. So dad and I built a small pen for the ewe and her lamb, and Dad's looking for someone else to take on the ewes who are about to give birth. When we saw it was a Dorset ewe that had just had a lamb, Dad and I both chuckled that we (and Unkie) needn't have worried. Dorsets are wonderful mothers. While I was there, I joked with Unkie, played with his Border Collie puppy, Callie, and arranged with Helen for me to come spend the night on Thursday.

That night, I fell asleep on the couch at 8, Mom and Dad sent me to bed at 9 and I slept until 7 a.m. this morning. Then I chatted with Mom, had breakfast while watching "You've Got Mail," walked the dog and took a three-hour nap. I must really be sick, because I am not a napper (as anyone who ever took care of me as a child can attest!) I wanted to go with my parents and some kids who are friends of the family to see Jolly Holliday Lights in Des Moines this evening, but I had a headache so I decided to rest some more in the hopes of finally kicking this bug. Wish me luck.

White Christmas. (Warning: long one!)

Welcome to my family members, who just learned this site exists!

Some people who know me give me credit for being adventurous. I'm not afraid to uproot and start my life over with new careers, new locations and new friends. The truth is, I'm rather traditional. It was the knowledge that my home base would always be there that let me go off to Spain or New York or wherever. I knew that my home and my family would always be there waiting for me.

This was my first Christmas, my first time home, since my home was destroyed. That concept of home "always waiting for me" was easily disspelled. But my family has been here for me like always before, and hopefully forever after.

Saturday, my flights were delayed and delayed and delayed. I was sick and stressed out and started crying when I called to tell my parents when to come to the airport. A stranger who passed me to board his flight said, "Merry Christmas, dear. I hope it gets better." I thanked him and laughed at how pitiful I'd apparently become. I didn't get to Iowa until after midnight, I think.

We went home and opened one present each. My one present was an iPod Shuffle (YAY!). The next morning we went to church. Everyone was so nice and supportive. Mom and Dad asked if I wanted to go the the farm. I said no, because I was not in the mood to cry, but we ended up going anyway because they'd promised J.B. a load of firewood. As they tossed walnut logs from a destroyed tree into the bed of Dad's pretty new truck, I circled the shell of what was our house. It wasn't just the structural damage that made it a shell. It was that the house was empty and cold. Without us living there, it had shrunken somehow.

Tears streamed down my face, but I wiped them away and stopped sobbing before I met up with my parents. As we drove away, past the razed hillside that used to be an orchard, my dad said, "See? That wasn't so traumatic, was it?" But my face fell. "Oh," he chuckled sadly, "maybe I spoke too soon." I couldn't stop the tears then, but they didn't last too long.

We sang along to carols as we drove to see my brother, J.B.; sister-in-law, Erika and my niece, Brooke. When we got there we all hugged. Brooke was shy for the first five minutes, but instead of trying to hold her, I got down on the floor and played with her. Thus, we were fast friends. We had a soup supper (a Christmas tradition in our family). We opened our presents. I loved mine, Mom and Dad seemed to love theirs. J.B. loved his Dukes of Hazzard boxed sets, Erika loved her stamps (she's very crafty) and Brooke seemed to dig the books I got her. She loves to read, and I loved reading to her. Erika estimated that I read Brooke 253 books. The next day, I changed her clothes and read her "The Polar Express," which lulled her into a morning nap. Cuddling her was so wonderful. She's so smart, right at the age when she's constantly picking up the language used around her. Mom sang her a lullaby, and she tried to sing it back to Mom, which was the cutest thing I'd ever seen until we were driving away and I saw her in the window saying "Bye-bye! Bye-bye!" until we pulled out of sight.

Then we went to Uncle Jay and Aunt Dea's house for another soup supper. (Good thing I love chili!) I got to see my first cousin-once-removed (I think) for the first time. Logan is just as cute as can be, and it was hard for me not to hold him, but I restrained myself due to this nasty cold. Megan (my cousin and Logan's mom) was quoting "Anchorman" and holding the DVD. "Oh," I said, "I got that for my boyfriend for Christmas." This resulted in an instant uproar by my cousins (Jenny and her husband, Sam; Megan and her husband, Josh). "Woah, woah, woah, guys! Calm down. I did not mean to make a big announcement." "Well," Jenny replied, you just did." Then Mom piped up that you could see his picture on my blog. Soon it was being booted up. The cousins informed me that they'd been through it, and now it was my turn. "No, I'm fine," I replied. They laughed and informed me that they'd be watching for big announcements. Then Sam started his own blog.

Now admittedly, I've not had a real boyfriend since the '90s, and I rarely mentioned the guys I casually dated. As such, I can't blame them for getting all worked up. The truth is, my life is up in the air right now. I don't know how it will turn out, professionally, geographically or romantically. I try to just take everyone's interest as a show of love.

Nothing says 'Happy Holidays' like a transit strike!

Yes, it's heartwarming...the sight of seven million New Yorkers bustling frantically around the city, not buying presents or looking at window displays but just trying to get to work and back home again. I've been bumming rides to and from work, and it hasn't been too bad. Luckily, I had most of my Christmas shopping done.

I've been rushing around like mad to get done all of the things I need to get done this week: the shopping, wrapping, packing, cooking, cleaning, laundry, lesson planning, etc., etc. On top of that, to save a little cash, I decided to make jewelry for some people's presents (see above). Yeah, I'm insane. I had also hoped to take a picture of myself in front of the Rockefeller Center tree (to frame for the grandparents' presents), but it's more than forty blocks from here and it's too cold to walk that far.

This Christmas is going to be weird. I'm big on tradition, and this year the house is gone. The old ornaments are gone. I won't even get to Woodward in time for the Christmas Eve church service. On the other hand, I'm really looking forward to seeing my family, friends and pets. I think that will be strong enough to hold me together.

Sing praises unto the Lord!

I have been swamped lately, but I rearranged my schedule. As such, I made it to Park Avenue United Methodist Church (above) for the first time in a month and sang with the choir. The choir members teased me about my absence. We sang Vivaldi and Christmas carols, which I adore. It sounded and felt amazing.

One song, "Jesus Child" was challenging and had these strange, fun Callypso-ish sections. I got the other singers giggling with my suggestion of shimmying and the use of jazz hands, but in the end they turned me down.

On the more traditional songs, we were accompanied by two professional trumpeters. The odor of poinsettias was heady and thick, going straight to my head as I dove into the music.

Joy to the world.

The last ten days...

Quite a bit has happened since I wrote last.

I remember nothing about December 5...perhaps something traumatic occurred and now I'm blocking it out. December 6 my counselor wasn't available for our normal session, so I went to a great store called Beads on Fifth. I've been making jewelry for Christmas presents, and I needed supplies. Since then, I've made six pairs of earrings and two necklaces.

I've noted that when I first met Mr. B, I was struck by the urge to bake. A while back, I bought a bunch of apples, but hadn't had time to actually make the pie (from scratch!) until Wednesday. It was a dutch carmel apple pie with a lattice crust (see photo above). I think I over-worked the shortening in the bottom crust, but the top crust was perfect and flaky. The filling was breathtaking, if I do say so myself.

Thursday...yeah, I blocked that out, too.

Friday I went out with my ladies. It was fun, but I had to go home earlier than usual because I was exhausted. The insomnia...she is back.

Saturday, I went to Mr. B's for dinner (his family is out of town). He made me chicken cutlets with garlic pasta and we had my pie and icecream for dessert. He's a great cook.

Sunday I did laundry and turned a few black bananas into a loaf of yummy banana bread. I also planned my lessons. I also chatted with my parents. Mom said Hooligan has made to move to the apartment in town. She also told me Aunt Helen, with whom I'm very close, has lung cancer. Lung cancer! She's never smoked. Unkie never smoked. It's so unfair. But the doctors seem to agree. They said she's so healthy that she'll probably be okay.

Monday I had a tough day at work. Well, it started out all right. I had to video tape a grammar lesson for my Fordham final. I taught it to 702 and they were great. My 803 class was good, too. Then the tide turned: Kids in class 705 were swinging belts and I couldn't get anyone to come help me. Between that and having a cold, I almost cried. I then had a long staff meeting in which my administrators were trying to manipulate the staff. Usually our staff gets along well, but that day we were all CRABBY. On the plus side, that day I bought this miracle elixir called Zicam. As I see it, there are three possibilities: 1-Zicam is a wonder drug that has done wonders with my cold symptoms. 2-It's the placebo effect. 3-The cold is just running its course. I say who cares, as long as my nose no longer feels like it's full of jello, I can pronounce the letter d, and I don't sound like I've been gargling gravel.

Tuesday I finished the paper to go along with my grammar lesson video, which was due that night. My Fordham field advisor watched me teach and he thought I did a great job. 803 was okay, but 705 went nuts again. After school was Fordham, after Fordham was counselling (Quick summary: 'Props on getting the paper done on time! Don't try so hard to impress other people. Don't be afraid to go for your dream and write. Good luck with the holidays!' Thanks, Angela!) I went home and made earrings (that was pair 6), then went to bed. I didn't get to sleep until almost midnight, though. Yes the insomnia continues. I must get more that six hours sleep soon or I will snap.

Today the kids were decent. It was photo day, and no one warned the teachers, so we were crabby at our administration...again...some more. Then, because it was so cold, Mr. B. gave me a ride to the train. On the way to his car, we ran into some of my students on the street. They went nuts, screamming that they had caught us. They were giddy, surrounding us like the paparazzi. Seeing us walking together was, to them, a sure confirmation of their suspicions. This shall feed their need for drama for quite some time.

Tomorrow, I'm going to see one of my students play basketball and another dance during the halftime show. It's the first time students have invited me to one of their activities, and I'm proud that they want me there.

Overheard in New York

I am addicted to the web site Overheard in New York, and since Val told me about it I have longed to overhear something funny. Living in NYC, it had to happen sooner or later, right?

Well, recently I did. It went something like this:

Fordham boy: ...and then the salesgirl said, "We don't have any. They're out of season." Out of season? They're bathrobes. Have I missed something? Is there a season for bathing?

Hee!