Keep reading, it gets lighter at the end

Out of nowhere in particular, today was a sad day at church. Sad, but at the same time better because of that. Two of our congregation died this past year, and now whenever there's a sermon or epistle reading that mentions death I think of them. And the people they left behind. And the people who keep finding out they have cancer, like a woman I've known since I was a baby, whose kids I've grown up with.

We've had several variations on the same theme in sermons over the past year or so - that we pray for the sick and the dying, hoping for physical healing but knowing that their souls are what we really pray for. That sickness can bring a person closer to God, in a way that they might not have been had they lived to eighty and died in their sleep. I started thinking today, while half-listening to a sermon on the paralytic being forgiven his sins before being told to get up off his bed and walk, about how the rest of us can take something from this. That by being here with them while they are sick, some of that grace can rub off on us. Or rather, I guess, that we can be more receptive to the grace that's coming at us from every direction.

We have a corner where people light candles and pray for the dead, and there are framed pictures that people have left. Today, the four-year-old daughter of the man who died in February took his picture and was showing it to everyone around her. "This is my daddy," she said to me, "on his wedding day. That's why he has a flower, see?" And I tell her that, yes, I know, I was there. I was a few years older than her, and I was there. "Were you two?" she asks. Um, no. "Four?" No. "Maybe eight and a half?" That's more like it.

And now, on a lighter note - what I remember from their wedding. It was the first wedding where I really noticed what was happening. When I saw them kiss, my only thought was "eww!! In front of all these people? No way. I'm never doing that."

Life is a trilogy, life is a trinity

I was about to go run some errands when I noticed I was tagged by Katya.

Three names I go by:
1. Jess
2. Jessmonster
3. Miss J (this recently from a coworker who can't remember my name, just the J. This is a progression from "Kathy's daughter" since my mom used to work there and helped train him when he was new.)

Three screen names I've had:
1. none intersting enough to bear repeating

Three physical things I like about myself:
1. My hair.
2. My eyes - apart from trips to the eye doctor.
3. My feet.

Three physical things I don't like about myself:
1. My hip/waist ratio and how pants rarely fit well.
2. the way it feels like I have an extra set of shoulders (although I like my actual shoulders just fine - it's just the extra set that bugs me)
3. the jungle that grows on my legs

Three parts of my heritage:
1. French-Canadian
2. English
3. Swedish

Three things I am wearing right now:
1. Infamous green-stripey shirt
2. Green pants from Columbia, purchased simultaneously
3. Doc Marten slides from the warehouse sale ("children's" sized and thusly half of adult price)

Three favorite bands/musical artists :
1. John Vanderslice
2. Josh Ritter
3. Ryan Adams

Three favorite songs:
1. Kathleen - Josh Ritter
2. Damn Sam (I Love a Woman that Rains) - Ryan Adams
3. Summer Wasting - Belle and Sebastian

Three things I want in a relationship:
1. laughter - because if you can't laugh with someone, you might as well die
2. understanding - a kindred spirit
3. faith

Two truths and a lie:
1. The first book I remember checking out of the library is a Blaze book.
2. The first book that made me cry was The Last Battle.
3. The first book I lent and never got back was Sense and Sensibility.

Three physical things about the preferred sex that appeal to you:
1. Hands
2. Shoulders
3. Eyes

Three favorite hobbies:
1. Blueberry picking
2. Reading
3. Knitting

Three things I want to do badly right now :
1. Swim in warm, clear salty water where I can see the bottom
2. Go to the coast (note that these are two seperate activities)
3. Swing in the park instead of going to work

Three things that scare me:
1. water where I can't see what's under me
2. large crowds (more in a "what has humanity come to?" sense than a panic sense)
3. friends dying

Three of my everyday essentials:
1. books
2. pen and paper
3. sleep

Three Careers you have considered or are considering :
1. English teacher
2. getting paid to read
3. Librarian

Three places you want to go on vacation:
1. Greece
2. Ireland
3. Israel

Three kids' names you like:
1. Meg
2. Jonas
3. Barsanuphius

Three things you want to do before you die:
1. write a book
2. have weekends
3. parent

Three ways I am stereotypically a boy:
1. I lift heavy stuff at work
2. I don't own makeup
3. I'm out of stereotypes

Three ways I am stereotypically a girl:
1. I wear skirts a lot
2. I bake constantly
3. I love chocolate

Three celeb crushes :
I'll pass. I think I answered this question before and came up with something snide

Three people I am tagging:
You, you and you.

And then almost 12 hours later, I finished it!

I think I'm onto something here

I have problems making dinner. As in, I routinely get home after 8 pm. Who wants to cook then? And who wants to spend their morning preparing a meal to be reheated hours later? I suppose what I really should be doing is making lovely salads for myself. Quick, yummy, good on hot days. Okay, that's my new back-up plan.

But my real dinner plan these days is called crashing the party. Usually at my parents' or my cousins', sometimes at Bronwen's parents' (good grief, could I have a sentence with any more possessive apostrophes?). Three out of my last five dinners have been at someone else's house - and with no effort on my part! It just happens. Tonight the plan is this: my cousin's wife (Di) and my dad (Jimmy Timmy) (I hope no one googles his nickname anytime soon...) are on a softball team, and tonight is the last game. So we're all trekking over to a field in NE and watching the game (although in my case I'll be lucky to catch the last inning) and then the cousins are hosting a potluck. I can bring some melon and cookies and hey, dinner! Isn't family great?

my kingdom for a horse

First of all, I'm listening to Daughter of Time thanks to the reminder of its loveliness from Babel. It is, to use someone else's words, "excessively diverting." I read it years ago but now I get so much more of it. Plus, now I've been here! But it's the mind that fascinates me - Josephine Tey's, and her characters', and the way I feel that this is all really happening, and the book is completely engrossing without me really caring at all where the story goes (because I've forgotten). But when you've got Derek Jacobi's long in-drawn breath at the beginning of each chapter, and a bed-bound detective with a fascination with faces, and some history, you know it'll be good.

Next, this link (stolen from above) has me cracking up this morning. Who knew history could be so funny? And who knew that I was born on the day Richard III died? Or that history could be so funny? Not the dying part, because I've just read this and have quite a vivid picture of medieval battle, thank you very much, but because every August, the Richard III Society places newspaper death notices for "Plantaganet, Richard." What IS it with Richard III? Do people simply need more to distract them?

Apparently I do, given the amount of time I've devoted to providing links on the subject.

a message from the beyond

My uncle Paul died this February, bringing the dead uncle count to three (3) and leaving the missing uncle count at one (1). I learned this weekend that he's been speaking to us from beyond the grave.

We have this weird generation thing going on in my family, where my uncle was 12 years older than my dad, and his sons, my cousins, are 40-ish, and their kids are all under age ten. My dad is halfway in age between his brother and his nephews, and my siblings and I fit in right inbetween our cousins and their kids.

So my aunt and uncle had 3 boys. Two of their boys (the East Coasters) had three girls each. One (West Coaster) had a boy and a girl (see Independence Day photos). (How many were going to St. Ives? Are you paying attention? I expect you to draw a diagram for your homework.)

While my uncle was sick, the youngest daughter-in-law was doing some of his care, being a nurse. This being the DIL whose last baby was, if family rumor has it right, a little bit of an oops. A good oops, but an oops.

"E," my uncle says to her, drugged up, "you're going to have another baby."

"No, Paul," she says. "I'm not having another baby. Even if you're dying. I'm not having a baby because you say so."

Fast-forward to Saturday. My aunt is visiting.

E. is pregnant.

This is SO my uncle. Somewhere he's either nodding seriously and saying, "It was God's will. It's meant to happen." Or, he's chuckling over a bowl of ice cream and saying "I hope it's a boy!"

Will she break the Great East Coast Girl Streak? Stay tuned.

jessmonster's saturday review of books

A little hodgepodge this week. I recently realized that in the period of a week, I'd started and finished five books, and finished two others that I'd started earlier.

Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy won a Newbery Honor this year and was better than Kira-Kira, which won. Both dealt with some heavy issues, but this one captured my imagination in a way Kira-Kira could only dream of.

The Chocolate War - let's just say that I finally finished listening to it on tape. It was good but I never really liked it. I would, however, recommend it to people like my brother.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Enjoyed it like a nice slice of chocolate layer cake. My only real complaint is that it can't stand on its own. It is, of necessity, heavy on backstory and furthering the series at the expense of its own plot. Was there one? I'm not sure. Goblet of Fire, someone could pick that up and enjoy the story for its own sake and let the 'series plot' stuff go over her head. This one...well, it couldn't really be anything else. But CS Lewis, who gave us my all-time favorite series, still managed to make the books stand on their own. So it's not like it can't be done.

Holes. I guess I missed this one being in college. Thoroughly enjoyed it. Can now recommend it at work, which is the excuse for all these books (shh, don't tell anyone).

Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader - perfect for people who love books and love reading about people who love books. Favorite quote, after discussing PC translations of scripture and how clunky they are: "I'm not sure I want to be embraced by an Almighty with so little feeling for poetry."

An adult book! And here's another one! In the Currently Consuming Category:

Housekeeping - I love the language and style, but I don't feel compelled to keep reading. When I do, though, it's just right. And the library copy I have is very nicely thumbed through and curling up at the corners.

And back to the juv section with...Midnight for Charlie Bone. This is my 'listen to on the way to work' book and it's great for distracting me from traffic jams and crazy drivers. As the SLJ review says, "Many aspects of the book are not fully thought out, making it less compelling than it might be." But the characters are very appealing, and the reading is great - I hear the voice in my head constantly now.

fairy tales

I don't sleep in anymore. I lost my ability to sleep in, so I claim, upon graduating with a BA. I can keep strange hours, and be lazy, but I can't really sleep more than 8 hours, or 9 tops. Sometimes I cheerfully wake up with less than that (although not too cheerfully).

This morning I woke up at 10am.

After going to bed around 11:30pm.

Okay, on to more interesting topics. Does anyone else out there just absolutely love Trina Schart Hyman's illustrations? I think I first ran across her in...great. She's dead. Died in November. I hate it when you find out things like that.

Anyway, I first saw her illustrations in Caddie Woodlawn. I also had a strange fondness for this book as a teen. The picture of the house alone was enough for me. I've always been able to spot her illustrations from a great distance - the earnest girls with their hair billowing, the fairy tale forests...Last night at the library I was shelving fairy tales and saw her version of Sleeping Beauty, which I had to stop and read, sitting on the floor in the 398's.

I adored fairy tales as a child. One of my early memories is acting out Rumpelstiltskin with my mom. I devoured most of Andrew Lang's fairy books. And then, I stopped liking fairy tales. Probably around the same time I stopped reading only fantasy and historical fiction and starting reading contemporary fiction. High school/college? A few months ago I picked up a book about the Grimm Brothers, talking about all the women they gathered stories from, and suddenly fairy tales sounded fascinating again.

Cheap and angsty

You are a Black Coffee

At your best, you are: low maintenance, friendly, and adaptable At your worst, you are: cheap and angsty You drink coffee when: you can get your hands on it Your caffeine addiction level: high

What Kind of Coffee Are You?

The first two points - me to a T. The lack of cream? Unendearing. Addiction level? Not really.

Verbs for Dessert

This morning's winning conversation topic (I'm thinking of carrying little awards to hand out or something...?) was with Bronwen. The topic of frittering came up. As in, frittering away one's time doing ex, why and zee. And she said she liked the word fritter. "I love verbs that are also desserts."

Which got us thinking. Verbs that are also desserts...we made the following list:

fritter*
slump
crisp
cake
cream
trifle*
candy

And then we went to Grand Central. And while we were in line, we admired the blueberry tarts.

"Tart is an adjective and a dessert," said I.
"It's a verb, too! 'Tart yourself up!'" said Bee.
"Yes!" said I.

And then we laughed at our unreasonable enthusiasm for tarting oneself up. And so go the days...

*favorites

Okay, does anyone else talk to books while they're reading? Katy and Keith like to laugh at me when I do this. It's like a little conversation.

Book: Intriguing thing happens.
Me: Oh.

Book: Amusing moment.
Me: Hahaha.

Book: Revelation.
Me: So that's why he...

We're pretty good friends, Book and I. I've been spending an awful lot more time with Book than Computer. Book is very supportive and portable and fictional. Computer gets weary on long outings. Book calls out to me.

Oh shit. Now I doubt. Is it Book and I or Book and Me? It's Book and Me. Disregard previous bad grammar. Want to know how I made sure? I thought of this book, which I've never read. But all titles are there somewhere in my brain.

The-Book-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named

I participated in an illegal activity yesterday. I feel no guilt. I will not be turning myself in.

So there's this book? That's coming out this weekend? And it's a really big deal to a lot of people? And there are about 850 who have it on hold in our county library system? You know the one I'm talking about? The-Book-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named, (TBTSNBN) let's call it for the sake of googlers and, um, publishers with legal injunctions on their minds.

Yesterday, it arrived. Our 15 copies were escorted to the children's library by our supervisor. The box with "TBTSNBN" in large, bright letters was draped with a cloth. When it quieted down for the evening, J and I took them out. I property stamped them. And then, gentle reader, while story time lured patrons to the other side of the room, I read.

It's like candy, and I have a huge sweet tooth.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) no juicy details were reached, no main characters were reached, and there shall be no spilling of such details online. But yes, I'm a criminal.

bookworm

I just read tuckova and naturally that got me thinking. About my own pet peeves with children's books.

What bugs me most, possibly, are unmemorable books. I had this problem with Kira-Kira. Well-written, certainly. But not that kind of well-written where the characters lives in your head for a while. I've got a whole bunch in there, and I intend to start blaming them for any memory lapses. The Pevensies, the Ingalls, and Anne, Jonas, Despereaux, Mary Poppins, Meg, Stuart...the list goes on and on. Characters that jump start your imagination. Where you enter into a world that leaves you 1) wanting more and 2) believing. Where, if it's a series, each book gives you something new instead of simply repeating.

So I suppose I'm okay with fluff books as long as they do that. I don't know if every child can appreciate every good book in the same way, but I DO believe that there are books every child should be introduced to and given the chance to love.

My other cousin with bubbles and princess dress. 

My cousin celebrating his independence with a few fireworks. 

Little Farm in the City

This morning I dropped off my empty half-gallon raw milk jar with my "source," the mother of the "let's dance to bluegrass" kids I babysat this spring. They made me close my eyes so I would be surprised by their chickens (each child has a chicken), constantly interrupted their mother to tell me about the chickens, gave me chicken feathers to take home, and let me hold a still warm, just laid egg. They've only had chickens for a week and already act like experts. "She's quiet because she's laying." "They only lay one egg a day." "I named her Brownie because she's brown."

I begged my source to hook me up with more. I think it scared the kids a little when I got down on the grass and started crying. Sobbing, "I want raw milk!" Unfortunately her source is operating at capacity and they rarely have extra. She said she'd see what she can do.

Then I proceeded to ye old blueberry patch, where I ran into a half dozen kids from church (and their parents were there somewhere...) and picked two big yogurt containers full. Of off three bushes. Most of the berries came off one huge bush, which I dove into to reach the biggest ones. See picture below.

Milk, eggs, blueberries...it doesn't get much better than this.

The fruits of my labor. I picked twice as many as you see - the rest are awaiting their future demise in the freezer. 

Can you help me spell that?

My weekends? They incorporate more business (I mean busy-ness, but I suppose business is apt as well) and bread-winning than average weekday. Sad but true. And they will only get worse, with no end in sight.

Manager at work (who I just found out is MY manager. Huh. I'm glad someone thought to tell me. There are oh, maybe seven managers. Mine left for another job in the company over a month ago. Apparently my new manager traded teams and got us.): "You're on the schedule for Saturday."

Me: "...Oh? Cause I work at my other job this Saturday."

[Lots of kerfuffel and negotiating occurs. Calendars are wielded.]

Manager: "Okay, so you'll work the other Saturdays here from now on."

Me: [trepidatiously, cause, you see, I have things planned already for most of my free Saturday afternoons, but he'd probably strangle me at this point if I told him that] "What time?"

Manager: "Eight to two."

Me: [having a sleep schedule heart attack while breathing a sigh of relief at the magic number 2, allowing me to continue aforementioned activities] "Okay."

I spent the weekend collecting. Overheard remarks, funny things kids do. There was Katy's little brother doing an elaborate interpretive dance to get out of his sweater in the middle of church. There was four-year-old Sarah winking at two-year-old David - with both eyes. There was 1st grade hipster Nick saying to his mom, "I'm not the kind of boy who likes to stand in the rain."

There was the girl at the library signing up for the game computer.

Coworker: "What's your name?"
Girl: "Rosemary."
Coworker: "Can you help me spell that?"
Girl: "C R O O T K"
Coworker: "Perfect."

baking up a storm

When it rains, I bake. Apparently. I get domestic. I can't stop. A batch of biscuits (recipe courtesy of poppymom) just came out of the oven. I organized the tea cupboard. Did a load of laundry. Ran the dishwasher. What next? What will be the next thing to fall prey to my unquenchable thirst for organization and using the oven? My eyes roam the kitchen, looking for my next victim...

In which I insert a lot of parenthetical remarks

Lately I've been doing more blog reading than blog writing. That's good sometimes. It's like those periods when you just throw yourself into books - hey, summer vacation! - and you're 12 and you sit in the back yard reading Jane Eyre and you only take breaks to go to the pool or eat a popsicle.

What with seeing Lis and Toni both in boots for foot injuries, it got me thinking about the summer after 7th grade when I had a broken foot (through no fault of my own, just a freak accident. But in my head, the cause is all tied up with the meanness of my classmates that year. The year everyone went sour. Although it makes no logical sense, I feel like all the adolescent insecurity heaped itself up and landed on my foot and crushed it.) At first, I was heartbroken not because I couldn't walk and had to spend the summer on the couch, but because I couldn't dance. I almost marvel at that me, the one felt so strongly about it. Mostly because I've lost all of that drive - for dancing, at least. Four years later, I quit.

Instead of spending the summer sweating in a gym-turned-ballet-studio in Oregon City, I spent it on a nubbley blue couch in my parents' family room (a room that, might I had, has recently undergone a most remarkable transformation involving paint and the removal of my brother's soda can collection) begging my mom to go to the library (where I now work, of course!) and get more books for me. I read all of Austen, and most of the Brontes, and The Count of Monte Cristo, and who knows what else.

For the first time since my sister was born I had my own room. Normally I slept on the top bunk & my sister slept on the bottom (living in constant fear of collapse and death by crushing) and our brother had his own room. Thanks to an inability to climb, I got his room for the summer.

I don't know what my point is. I guess that's the end of the story. Anti-climactic, huh?

I had a lengthy dream last night that involved being back in college, only in the dream my school was on the East coast. And I was driving across campus and this run overtook me - I had to pull over to let them past.

I baked the most delicious cookies last night. All buttery and milk chocolatey. It was worth the wait.

music to a godmother's ears

I was on my way home from purchasing some essentials at the grocery store - eggs & chocolate chips - and planning on whipping a batch of domesticky goodness - when my phone rang, and it was she who yesterday brought raw whole milk* into my life, Q's mama. And she said, "Want to come over? Q has been asking for you."

The cookies will have to wait.

*Forward flavors of grass and sunshine, a hint of barnyard, and a nice creamy finish.

Overheard in Sellwood

Girl 1 (smoker's voice and a little drunk, maybe?): "But the people developing the pictures will see them."
Girl 2: "And maybe ask you out?"

I think not writing is killing me more than the run did. Accounts of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

My thanks to Katy for her side-splitting account of the run. We're sticking to 5Ks from here on out.

Today I am awash in medieval vocabulary and increasingly curious about what kids get and what they don't get. I'm pretty sure that if I'd read this book in 6th grade, I wouldn't have stumbled over words like "henceforward." Or "beguiled," "transgression," or "wrought." For two simple reasons: the lame one is that I just glazed over words I didn't get. I hadn't yet begun my affair with the dictionary, but I read a lot of things that went over my head and just figured it out from the context. The other reason is that a lot of the words in this book are ones we use in church. No, we're not hanging onto antiquated translations, we're helping our younguns with their vocabulary!

Speaking of church, this past Sunday was the feast of all saints of North America. Which means we get to sing things like this:

Rejoice, O mountains of Pennsylvania,
Leap for joy, O waters of the Great Lakes,
Rise up, O fertile plains of Canada,
for the elect of Christ who dwelt in you are glorified,
men and women who left their homes for a new land.
With faith, hope and patience as their armor,
they courageously fought the good fight.
Comforted by the beauty of the Orthodox Faith,
they labored in mines and mills, they tilled the land,
they braved the challenges of the great cities,
enduring many hardships and sufferings.

Try it. Try singing about the mountains of Pennsylvania and keeping a straight face. How often do you get to sing about mines and mills in church?

Back to my henceforwards.

Photo tribute

Sad news

Everyone, this is Katy. I am Jess's roommate. She gave me her username and password before we went on our run this morning so that, in the event of her death, I could log in and tell you all what happened. I am sorry to tell you that our dear friend Jess has passed from this life.

Looking back, I guess there were warning signs. The way she made a lovely meal for us all the night before. One last offering from the Jessmonster. How she lovingly gave me a high five before we began the run. She knew in her heart that this would be her last Earthly Run.


We started out fine. The sun was a little bright, but there was an occasional breeze. It was out in the country in farmland, so we were cheered on by the migrant workers in the fields. They waved and smiled, but I know that they were making fun of us as we passed by. I swear I heard someone say, "pinche gueros locos" as we passed a blueberry patch. I guess it doesn't really make a whole lot of sense to pay lots of money so that you can get up at 5 Am to sweat and grunt and face shin splints and death (in Jess's case).

Anyhoo, we were running along like we usually do, laughing at the funny way that certain people run, scratching our heads at the man who passed us with band-aids on his NIPPLES. At about mile 3, Jess started to look tired, but she was a trooper and kept on. We were spurred by the fact that the speed walkers were beginning to pass us at this point. Our only goal for the run was to not finish dead last. We wanted to achieve that goal.

At 3 1/2 miles, Jess began to moan. She clutched her sides and turned to me, still lurching along, "I don't think I can go on anymore".

"Just try to make it to the next water stand and we'll take a walk break" I said cheerily.

"No, I mean I don't think I..." and she fell to the ground. Rolling into a raspberry bush as runners whooshed by us.

"Jess!" I cried. "I'm coming for you!" I cried, as I fought through the throng of fat free bodies powering past.

When I finally got to her, she was bruised and scratched. There was a little raspberry juice trickling from the corner of her mouth. I took her in my arms, sobbing. Her eyes were glassy. I knew she wasn't going to make it.

She looked up at me. "Garish...tweed..." and then she was gone.

I held her. When my shin splints were gone, I grabbed a couple of raspberries for the road, slung my fallen roomie over my shoulders, and finished the race in record time. But this blog is not supposed to be about me.

Let's all take some time to remember this wonderful, kind, intelligent, mean (in a good way), thoughtful woman.


In tribute to the Jessmonster, let's all comment about the things we will miss most about her. I am sure they have DSL in Heaven.

Personally, I will miss her blueberry muffins.

Sincerely,

tyKa

In the event of my death

I'm trying to go to bed early. Can you tell? Ten thirty and I've already brushed my teeth, had a bath, and am on my bed, if not in it. Honestly, I don't feel like getting under the covers. I might toss a sheet across my nether limbs, but that's probably it. I've even broken out the tiny fan.

The only things I accomplished today were a dinner of grilled raspberry jam & balsamic vinegar marinated chicken (and salad and bread- although someone else did the actual grilling (thanks, Keith!) and brought the bread (thanks Elizabeth!) and chocolate eclairs (ibid)) and the making of a lemon blueberry cheese tart.

Other than that, I did some sitting in the sun on the banks of the Clackamas river (pictures to follow if Katy will share) and some falling off of exercise balls and nearly killing myself. Pretty much lazy, pretty much fantastic. Except the bruise I might have tomorrow from banging into a table on my way from exercise ball to floor. But all good things come at a price.

Tomorrow, I shall get up at oh-dark-thirty and go on a 5 mile run. And then I shall die. If I don't post again, assume I'm dead, somewhere on Sauvie's Island. I've given Katy power of post-mortem blogging, but she might be dead, too. So don't count on it. Which really makes me wish I'd had a chance to revise my will before this run. Oh well.

Hallelujah, I adore it

At the risk of incurring the roommate's judgment ("how self-centered can her blog get??") (sarcasm, okay? the land of blog has been having a problem with getting sarcasm lately) - what do I do with my hair, internets? I guess this is a rhetorical question unless you've actually seen my hair. And if you have seen it, and are also reading this, chances are I respect your opinion. It's been growing unhindered since February. I do this - I go on hair binges and don't get it cut for ages and then throw up my hands and say "it needs to be short again!" and get it cut off. But the usual bob? Something different? I'm sacrificing my pigtails here, people. It had better be worth it.

And why on earth do we feel so defined by our hair, anyway?

I had long hair for most of my life. Well, until I was almost 18. Then it's been more or less short since then - shoulder length or above. Short is fun. But I have this horror of turning into a 40 year old with the mandatory short hair. You know? I want long braids again someday. Very Maud. I want to be all old-timey and wear it pinned up. To go with my crinolines, don't you know. But seriously. Very Laurel's Kitchen. Very Little House in the Big Woods. The only problem is the amount of hair I have. Out of control. I'd need to learn some serious coping techniques.

I don't know how to end this post. Goodbye.

One day, Little Sal went with her mother to Blueberry Hill to pick blueberries

I got up early this morning to blog before our run. I was on my way to bed last night and realized that I hadn't written anything here since Wednesday! Horrors! The problem this morning is trying to remember all the things from yesterday that I meant to blog about.

[For some reason this morning, the computer keys sound really thunky. The noise I'm making is more like "rustle clunk thunk rustle" that "tap tap tap." I wonder why.]

Yesterday I went blueberry picking during one of the sunniest parts of the day - 11 to 1. Last week when I went, I got a little sunburn on my forearms. Yesterday, my shoulders. I'm so smart. Not badly, just pink & warm to the touch.

Beyond those trees? The blueberries. They're huge this year. No one has cut the grass between the bushes so it's taller than my head, and, as my brother put, "give me a machete and a gun and I'd be in Vietnam." (Can you tell what someone just read for high school English?) No, don't give me a machete and a gun. Leave me in the blueberries & let me fight my way through the blackberry brambles and tall grass and overgrown bushes, and come home with enough blueberries to break the bank if you bought them in a store.

Q & Katy (not roommate, the other one) met Joey & me there. Q was very talkative, running around and eating unripe berries and offering them to everyone and pretending to sneeze a lot. She pretended to sneeze for about 10 minutes straight. It mainly involved a fake sneeze noise and a lot of spit.

Two things to melt my little heart right there in the sun: she says my name. My whole, mouthful of a name. I'd go around to the other side of a bush and she'd ask her mom where I went. I love it. Also, after weeks of not wanting me to hold her, she fell asleep in my arms on our walk to see the goats (who've disappeared). However, 25 pounds of sleeping child, no matter how many times she says your name, will turn your arms to jello.