50 Random Questions

So I haven't read through these questions. I'm going to just paste them into the blog and answer as I go along.
Fun, right? No guarantees!

1. Would you rather be twice as smart or twice as happy?

Neither. I'm pretty smart. I'm also just as happy as I make up my mind to be, so we'll call my life the blessing of "enough". 

2. What's your worst habit?

My worst habit? I'm so self-critical. 

Take off glasses. Brush hair. Put on a shirt with sleeves. Maybe get a tan.... maybe some make up.

When I see pictures of myself, I just see what can be improved or how old I am getting. I have to remember that life is for living, not for being so damn vain. 

3. Are you dating?

As a matter of fact, yes. My husband and I have a date night each week- cliche, I know, but it works. It breaks up the week and lets us connect with each other. We don't do much; a movie, appetizers out, stuff like that. And we reserve that time for each other.

4. Do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels?

 No. I used to but it dries out my hair and my hair is already dry (see Q2). 

5. What is the one thing you'll never do again?

I'll most thankfully never have another first date. I'll do lots of things again, or at least I am willing. I'll paraglide, get more tattoos, eat weird foods. But I'd never give up on G. 

6. Do you collect anything?

Books. pictures of my adventures, memories, electronics, and apparently, clothing. And shoes. I'm a shoe hog.

7. Worst injury you ever had?

It's not something I talk about much. I've broken bones and I've wrecked my feet, I've got some arthritis in my hip and knee. But what hurt, hurt, was when my ex-husband and I were taking martial arts classes and he overdid it on a joint lock. It was a belt test, and he did it wrong the first time. On the second and last try, he ripped the tendons in my right wrist. It made a huge popping sound. That's not what hurt. What hurt is that he blamed me for it. Because I hadn't pretended he did the lock correctly the first time. I still have to be careful with my right wrist. The other students at dojo never got over that though. They didn't trust him anymore. 

I hadn't planned on telling that story. I don't really talk about my martial arts days, but I was a third degree black belt in Kempo Karate. I taught and took lessons for the greater part of a decade. I loved it and I was really good at it. 

8. What is your favourite pet/ animal?

I love most pets. And I've had a few. Dogs, cats, sheep, and a guinea pig.  I'd like to get a few pygmy goats for pets, but that's going to have to wait awhile. I do get along well with most animals immediately. Heck, I was once accepted into vet school. 

Right now, my favorite pet is Eleanor. She's something. And the only cat my husband isn't allergic to. They've grown fond of each other these last three years. 

Best pals

I have more pictures of my cat than of my family. 

In the way of adorable animal pictures, my nephew Joe has the CUTEST pit bull. She is happy all the time. Her name is Leia.

9. What's your dream vacation?

 I'd like to do parts of Western Europe. Or all of it. Maybe a series of vacations. Lots of people want tropics or sun and sand. I don't. I want culture and people and cold weather. Maybe mild weather, but cold is good. I want to spend Christmas in Germany or Austria just once. I want to spend enough time in these places to learn language and get jokes. 

10. Honestly, are things going the way you planned?

Depends on the when you're talking about the planning.  Very little of my life has gone as planned. I have an idea of the direction I'm going. That's about it for now. There is an old man under a mountain and every time I plan my life, he chuckles. 

11. Do you have any tattoos?

Yes, I do. I love them and they have meaning. I contemplated each of them for a long time before I got them. And I've been contemplating a third for some time now. 

One of two tatts

12. What's your secret to lure in the opposite sex?

I don't have one. Although, to lure G, I found that blueberry pancakes work pretty well. And homemade blueberry jam. And a little blueberry behind each ear does the trick too.  And being myself.

Back when I was "luring" men, I wasn't very good at it anyway. 

13. Any phobias?

I worked in a prison for almost a year. As a result, I usually find myself in any room with my back to a wall, just in case. I don't like crowds anymore either. My experiences changed me in some difficult ways. And I have always disliked man-made heights. Weird though, because I don't mind large cliffs in the least. I used to have hyper vigilance, but it's subsided and I feel safe more often than not. 

14.  Do you bite your nails?

No. They are usually too long and I need to trim them. 

15. Do you ever count your steps when you walk? 

I usually record my steps with a fitbit. Mine recently died and I haven't replaced it. I hate guessing. I like to keep around 12,000-15,000 steps a day.

16. Heels or flats?

Sneakers, boots, and flip flops, thanks. 

17.Have you ever stolen a street sign before?

No. Is that a thing?

18. Do you always smile for pictures?

I don't like my smile much.

19. Do you ever dance even if there's no music playing?

No, is that also a thing? 

20.  Do you miss anyone right now?

Yes. Old friends in Oklahoma and my sweet old dog who lives a very happy life back in OK with some friends and their 4 kids.

21. What's your favourite colour?

Probably black. Maybe red.

22. Do you want kids?

Yes.  

23. Are you patient?

No. My brain tends to go a million miles an hour and I have a hard time slowing down for others. 

24. Can you swim?

Yes, I am a strong swimmer. Or at least I was. I haven't been swimming for a few years. I both love and hate swimming in the ocean. I love the salt water; hate the yucky jellyfish. 

25. Tea or coffee

Both.  Coffee- hot strong black- in the morning and tea in the afternoons and evening. 

26. What do you wear to bed?

27. Ever used a gun? 

Yes. I'm a pretty good shot with a .22 open site rifle. And I've used a thirty ought six for hunting. I've shot pistols. I'm better with a rifle. But I don't enjoy it. One of my acquaintances had her home broken into a few years back. She had two little babies in the house under the age of 5. She killed one of the people and injured a second. The third ran and was caught. It was the worst experience of her life. She wasn't charged or anything. It was just awful for her and her family. They moved out of state and sold the house. I can't bring myself to own a gun for that reason. But make no mistake; I have every other kind of weapon and know how to use it. I have them stashed about the house. 

28. Do you sing in the shower?

No

29. Are you stubborn?

About some things. I'm a good compromiser. 

30. Are you lazy?

No.  Too much time being inactive makes me depressed. I have to do stuff.

31. Can you change the oil in a car

I have done it before, but not on Gs car. On an older Ford truck, probably. 

32. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper?

A couple months ago. I have a friend who is incarcerated. I like to write him letters. I'm good that way.

33. Would you ever strip or pose nude in a magazine?

Not that anyone would want to see this, but how much money are we talking? 

34.What is your favourite food?

Po-tay-toes. 

Or maybe fresh crab pulled from the bay. Or tomatoes from the garden. Or stuff with cheese on it. 

I like food.

35. Do you still watch cartoons?

Sorry, I don't have time for that.

36. What movie(s) can you watch over and over again and not get bored?

Constantine, I think. And perhaps a few Sandra Bullock movies.

37. What superpower would you have for one day?

I would like to read people's minds. Probably for one day only. 

38. Whats been your favourite age so far? 

Every day I wake up. I didn't like my youth. I didn't get to be much of a child and our house was often angry and traumatic. I liked my 30s and I like my 40s so far. I'm 41. So I guess maybe I like today.

39. How old are you?

41

40. If you could go back in time, what advice would you give your younger self?

I've made so many mistakes. I would save myself so much heartbreak and so much pain. I would say "Go find examples of unconditional love. Copy them." I would tell myself that in the future, I would learn to accept who I am and what I am and that these things are not just enough, they are good. And that I am good too. It took me far too long to figure that out. Maybe some people never do. 

41. If you knew you would die in one week, what would you do?

I'm not sure. Maybe visit my family. Visit the ocean. See some friends and dance with them. Kiss my husband more. Write out the story of my life. 

42. What celebrity would you trade lives with?

Oh good lord, no. Just no. You couldn't pay me to be a celebrity.

43. Do people ever take you seriously?

Yes. It's the perks of being me, of being a professor. 

44. What happened the last time you cried?

It was about six months after my grandma died, so a few years ago. I hadn't cried about her death. She was close to all of my sister and me. I had a dream about her and told it to my friend V who was also my roommate at the time. She simply told me that my grandma is gone and there was nothing I could do about it. It was one of those great heaving sobs that you can't stop. V always seems to know just what to say. I have a sniffle from time to time, but I'm not really a crier.

45. Who knows you best?

My sister.

46.  Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed?

Door closed. It's a small bedroom, and it's my husband's closet.  I actually have a dressing room. Yes, I'm that person!

47. What is your song of the week?

Scarborough Faire

48. Last person you kissed?

49. Best thing to eat for breakfast?

I don't eat much breakfast right now. Probably my Saturday thing with G: sliced cheese and fruit. Then some physical exercise outside.

50. Does anyone know the password to your email?

G does. You never know what might happen. 

Wednesday HodgePodge

Today's quick and dirty post is inspired by Nonnie at Nonnie's Random Thoughts. She borrowed the questions from Joyce.

It's not stealing if you give credit, right? Of course.


1. What's something you wanted to do this summer that you never got around to actually doing? 

It's still summer break for me. We don't go back to school until September 23rd. I have a couple of weeks off to work on personal projects, prepare my syllabi and maybe go visit family once more. It's been a good summer so far!


2. Share a favorite memory of your own back-to-school days as a child. 

I remember in third grade we were in Port Angeles, and on picture day my oldest sister did my hair.  She told me not to smile in the photo so I didn't.  But I also got to borrow another sister's pretty white dress with a blue ribbon.  The effect is a little disconcerting.

3. What's one chore or task you enjoy doing "Old School"? 

I like walking to school. I live less than a mile from the university where I teach, so I like walking to classes, especially in fall with all the leaves and crisp autumn air.  It makes me happy.

4. Share something you've learned in life through the "school of hard knocks". 

Be careful who you trust and whose opinion you let matter to you. Let the right people in though.

5. As a child, did you mostly bring or buy your lunch for school? What was your favorite thing to find in your lunchbox? 

When I first went to elementary school, it was sandwiches and thermoses of milk in my awesome C.H.I.P.S. lunchbox.  It was yellow and had Ponch and John on it.  I loved it. In junior high I went to the cafeteria and my grandma worked there as a lunch lady.  I loved her so much. I can't even tell you. I miss her every day. Lots of people do, I think.  She was a great soul. 

My grandma, Verline Marll, with one of her many great-grandchildren. 

6. Football season is upon us, which has me wondering- how big of a sports fan are you (not just football)?  On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being "I scream at the players through my television screen" and 1 being "is knitting a sport?" where do you fall in fandom? 

Oh, I'd say I'm about a 3.  I like the Seahawks, and have since childhood. They are a symbol of my geography.  I like Seahawks memorabilia and watching games at a small neighborhood bar. I can name two players. I also like the Mariners and have gotten to see one of their games live. It was fun.  But mostly? Yawn. 

7. Share a favorite quote you think might inspire students of all ages at the start of a new school year. 

I have lots of these! Just keep in mind my two professional interests: English composition and social justice. 

Admit it- you laughed!

One of my classes bought me this and they all signed it. 

I'm not sure what I'm inspiring here, but I like this. 

Ok, this has nothing to do with anything. But I sent my friend Greg a unicorn headband and he sent me this picture. It's not called "Wednesday Hodge Podge" for nothing.

Surely, this is the most inspiring.

8. Insert your own random thought here. 

I love that we are careening towards fall.  I had to close the windows today because I was too cold! I know we'll still have some hot days and a few above 88, but autumn is right next door and I love it. I love the slowing down of the world. 

Costumes

I've written about clothing before.  Truthfully, it fascinates me the way our clothing affects so many facets of our lives.  How we feel, how we act, what role we are playing at that particular moment; how others perceive us and how we think others perceive us.

On Thursday I dressed as professionally as I could. Black and neat, with my hair in a bun and my nerdy librarian glasses.  My department and I were meeting with the assistant superintendent for the school district.  I imagined I looked a little like Professor McGonagall from the Harry Potter books.  She is, after all, the English professor of the magic world, with the ability to transform and to show others that way.  Loved, feared, respected and sometimes unexpected.  That's what I was going for, only without the stage makeup. I'm not saying that clothes make the man, but the meeting went well.  I feel as though we have won a battle in the curriculum war.  I offered her the instrument I created to gauge teacher's reactions to the AC curriculum and she seemed pretty excited.  She referred to the Pearson company as "the vendors" and assured me that in no way would I have to listen to them in accordance with classroom visits. Probably the best scenario I could hope for.

Friday I wore jeans- it is Jean Friday at our school and the students and teachers wear jeans and a school tee-shirt.  I am often mistaken for one of the kids on these days.  It cracks me up.  I zipped home after school and took Eleanor to the vet.  He never knows what to think of me.  Sometimes when I come in, I wear my professor clothes. Sometimes it's sweats and Friday, it was middle school togs.  And honestly, even if my vet were wearing a suit you would still guess his profession from his burly bearing, high crewcut and the giant scar across the face.  Yeah, he's got character.  And he always remembers me and my friggin' old cat.  I think he secretly wants to do a case study on her but doesn't like to write.

Friday I also went to my doctor.  Yeah, with 20 minutes to spare from closing time.  I am going to put this in polite euphemistic terms on purpose so as not to over-share or embarrass myself. I've been having girl problems for about three months and it's gotten worse.  As it turns out, the clinic didn't have the equipment to look properly under the hood, and I have a bad history, so he recommended that I go to the emergency room to make sure I wasn't dying, then to come back next week to order regular tests.

I don't like going to the doctor.  I don't like being sick. I intensely dislike hospitals and dislike even more when I'm the one who has to be poked or prodded or subjected to cold instruments and drugs.

A regular person might have gone straight to the emergency room, post haste, tout suite, no delays whatsoever.  Not me.  I went home. I called Grey- who was coming down anyway- and discussed the situation.  I did not want to go.  I didn't know what to wear, what costume to put on to give the right impression to medical personnel.  Frankly, I didn't have the right clothes. No scrubs, no latex gloves and nothing like a lab coat to lend me credibility in that venue.  Plus, I knew they were going to hit me with needles and ask me questions that my own mom doesn't ask.
"I'm leaving here in a few minutes. I can meet you at the hospital."
"Really? I don't want to go. Can't it wait until Monday?"
"You'll be freaking out about it all weekend if you don't do this."
"Sigh. Alright. But I'm taking a shower first."

And I did.  I put my hair up and took a long enough shower that I was only at the hospital for half hour before he showed up.  And when he walked in the room, I was ready with my costume: floral green/blue unbuttoned in the back hospital gown, clean ankle socks and a pretty argyle scarf around my neck to keep me warm.  The nice nurse provided me with a heated blanket so that I wouldn't get too cold.  Grey held my hand through all that fun stuff and said comforting things.  We made jokes and talked until the doctor came back in with test results.  He wore what he always wears; a pair of black jeans and a tee-shirt.  I found out that he owns four pairs of identical black jeans.  The khakis and collared shirts are for work. This man is exactly as he appears.  He is straight forward and says and does and wears what he means.  In all, it wasn't a bad date, given that I had an IV stuck in my arm the whole time.

The doctor said I wasn't going to die right away.  She didn't know what was wrong with me but she knew what wasn't wrong and that's just as important.  She gave me prescriptions for pain and sent us on our way with a stern admonition to see a gynecologist next week.  Fine. I will go. Glad I'm not dead yet.

For the weekend, I wore the costume I like best: sweats and a tee, with a cup of coffee and my nerd glasses so that I can be as comfy as possible and not worry about who I am impressing or how I will be perceived.  I know that some days I have to dress up.  I'm going to meet Grey's family for Thanksgiving and when and if I ever get an interview at a university, I will need to worry about wardrobe and hair and make up.  And Saturday, I picked up my gown, doctoral hood and tam at OU.  The mom waiting in line to pay for her child's sweatshirt and travel mug seemed very impressed and congratulated me.  That night, I watched my roommate and her niece get dressed to go dance at a powwow.  She took out a suitcase and said "I've got to put on my Indian clothes." And indeed, she looked beautiful and regular and very different than her "other" life as a librarian with her hipster glasses and layers of twinsets and knee boots.

I don't think these things we wear change us.  I mean, I'm 38- what more can you change at this stage of the game?  We wear specific clothes for mourning, for church and religious functions, for getting married and in many cultures, for coming of age.  Rather, I change clothes for a purpose and use the idea that other people perceive me based on my appearance to my advantage.  Costumes both mask and express who I am, shows aspects rather than defines and most of the time, playing dress-up is just plain fun.

21st Century Women Revisited

I've often made the point to my students that revision is writing. I knew that when I posted my last blog, I'd need to add something. There was just some point I hadn't made, some note that didn't ring the right note. Hmm. So I talked to my editor about it and bounced some ideas off of him about what I'd written. Grey is my editor/boyfriend/collaborator/friend. He observed that I had written something about what did not qualify me a 21st Century woman, but not much on what it means to be one. How would I recognize other members of this tribe? What, if anything, did I think of as "woman's work"? To put it differently, is there anything a man might do that would make me feel as though he was infringing on my domain?

That made me think. I guess there isn't much. I think men who clean house are pretty sexy, and since if I'm ever going to live with a man in an egalitarian sense, he should probably do his fair share of cleaning. In the home, I do prefer to be the one who cooks breakfast most of the time, and the one who cleans the bathroom. I suspect, and perhaps someday science will fail to rebuff my theory, that men do not see dirt the way that women are able to do so. Women always love it when men do dishes and to tell the truth, I have one more dirty little secret: I hate dealing with finances. I would clean every toilet every week for eternity if I didn't have to worry about money and what we do and do not have. I care that if I want a new dress, I can just go get one. I care that I have reliable transportation and money for food and maybe something shiny once in awhile. That's it. Seriously, I couldn't give two shits about money unless I didn't have any. But I'm pretty sure that this is much more about laziness than it is about gender roles.

Likewise, I think my upbringing wasn't really so much about gender roles than it has been about necessity. Women and men both can hunt and fish and work like dogs on harvest crew. It's more likely to find men in jobs that require outside work or dangerous work, but it's still pretty common for women to be in those roles too. I have snowmobiled quite a bit, jumped off of cliffs, spoken to audiences of over 2,000 people and stepped into a prison to try to make a difference there. And yet, nothing about me is particularly manly.

Maybe the things about being a woman that I like best is the ability to slip into a nurturing role, a mom-type of role that offers comfort, guidance, support and help. I usually can tell when one of my kids is upset or hiding some emotion. They don't seem to mind speaking to me about personal issues or asking advice. I like being a care giver. I dislike that Grey is sick and hope he feels better. If he isn't better when I get home from Louisville (I'm here for a conference), then I will bring him some cold remedies and cluck over him like a chicken until he either passes out or pretends to feel better so that I will go away.

Speaking of conferences, I happened to end up in a workshop with the Assistant Superintendent of the school district where I teach. I stepped out to take a phone call, and in my absence, my assistant principal told her we were having difficulty implementing the America's Choice curriculum. When I returned she asked "What do you think of America's Choice"?

In my defense, I was far more polite than one might think. I strongly believe that as a for-profit company, Pearson does not have my student's best interests at heart. Their curriculum is for 1 hour classes and I have only 45 minute classes. Furthermore, this year none of the grade level teachers have ever seen or had training on the curriculum. We have since had a one-day workshop wherein there was a group grump session at the organizers. They suggested implementing adaptations tot he curriculum that the teachers in the district often were gotten in trouble for doing. In fact, the Pearson "coach" for my school threatened me several times by telling me that her report would go to the very woman who was standing before me, asking for my input. I almost quit over the unsupported mandates and the coach barging into my classroom, writing reports about me that I was not privy to, reports that did not cast me or my teaching practices in a positive light. This from a non-district book company. A corporation.

But I was polite and I was diplomatic. And at the end of our long discussion- I think it was productive- the Asst. Supt. decided to come visit my school in the next two weeks. I offered to create an instrument to help gauge district teacher's attitudes towards the curriculum and immediately went back to my hotel room to construct a survey. As I exited the workshop and overheard my assistant principal exhale loudly and say to his friend "Well, the Assistant Superintendent *did* ask. What was she expecting?"

This guardianship of my students, fighting for what I believe is their best interest, and being willing to speak my truth and not back down- this is what a woman does in the 21st century. I could get fired. My principal may get into some trouble and life could become more uncomfortable than what it is right now. It's a risk I am willing to take. And man or woman, you had best step aside when in that particular arena.

I am a 21st century woman; articulate, adventurous, athletic and sometimes brave. I am not good at mopping floors or mowing grass, but I can split an infinitive or demonstrate the correct of the pluperfect subjunctive on short notice. Usually I'm ok for a laugh. My very romantic relationship is multi-platform and highly engaging with a man I like, respect and find to be more than qualified to handle a woman such as me. And handsome. Perhaps that's what I like best about being a woman. Maybe It's as simple as great sex and emotional connection; feeling safe and cared for and knowing that the one you care for in a healthy relationship also cares for you. Yeah. Glad I'm a woman.

The World is Changing

When I was a little girl, I lived a life often coloured with uncertainty. We moved, we changed addresses, we left this state for that one; once in the middle of the night. Home was sand underneath my feet. It shifted and sometimes we sunk. I got really lucky though, in my mother's family. Specifically, my Grandmother's family were pretty neat people. Many summers, we'd go with my grandparents for a few weeks to fish, camp, swim, pick mushrooms and huckleberries and drive along the back country roads around Dayton, Washington. They were days shot with sepia lenses, faded and better looking as memories than what happened in real life.

If I close my eyes, I can still imagine what it was like to ride in the back of Grandpa's old white Ford truck. There were places where the paint had rubbed off and it was down to metal. There was always leftover hay or straw or weeds in the back and an old spare tire tossed in on its side. In the evenings, when the air still smelled warm and the dust from the day had begun to settle, we'd go for a ride over washboard gravel roads looking for deer and elk and other wildlife. Jeans and tee shirts and old tennis shoes were required, though sometimes we wore flip flops. But otherwise you'd get something stuck to your leg or butt or the sun beating down on the truck all day would make it burn you when you got in and sat for the first time. If I stood up and leaned over the cab while we were going full-bore, then the wind would steal my breath. Occasionally, a bug would smack my cheek or we'd drive right through a swarm of gnats. I inhaled one once and couldn't spit it out. It was stuck in my lungs and I could hear it drowning, beating against my wet lung with it's pitiful wings.

For at least a few days, Grandpa would hitch the camper onto the truck and put my sister and I in the back. He'd pull us over the Hartsock grade to the Tucannon to go camping with my grandma's kin. Then he'd split for a few days and go fishing with his buddy Herb off somewhere else. He taught me to fish, though. Grandma's brothers and sisters and their families and we would bring our campers and trailers and hang out for a week. We'd go fishing and only half hope to catch something. I had to clean my own fish, which I didn't mind, but I did not like the way trout tasted. Grandma would bread and fry them sometimes over the campfire. They'd often keep their heads and skins on and I didn't like the work of dissecting my dinner before I could eat it.

There were other things to eat besides fish. Grandma brought us all the licorice we could eat, and sunflower seeds and snack foods and potato salad we could hold. We never had to eat something we didn't like around her. It was the rule and we knew it. She let us roast marshmallows and hotdogs over the fire; we even got to cut our own sticks with knives we often carried for gutting fish and getting into trouble. And we'd bathe in the crick (that's a creek, only said how Grandma called it) but made sure that our campspot was pretty close to the outhouses. Nobody wants to poop in the woods, though sometimes it was liberating to pee out there. Kinda difficult when it's ten at night and pitch black when you're way out there and the only light comes from your flashlight and the dying embers of the campfire. I'd be holding up my nightgown with one hand and leaning on the other one and hoping I'm on the correct side of the downhill slope and that I didn't hit my foot. If I did, I'd step on over into the crick for a minute.

In the evenings and sometimes in the middle of the day, Grandma and her sisters would get into a card game. Their dad, my great grandfather Abbot, would join in. I would watch at first and see how they played. Grandpa Abbot was a master pinochle player at the age of 86. You laid anything down and he knew what was in your hand. His head was mostly bald with a few nostalgic strands combed over age spots. He was old and hunched over and his wrinkles all but hid his sparkling eyes. Abbot's smile was the magical part though. The corners of his mouth didn't go up like normal; they went back towards his low-set ears and pulled smooth the skin from his face. The result was sort of beautiful because then you could see his blue watery eyes and that there was always something crafty going on behind them. In the evenings, he'd tell stories about the maul cat and how thunder came to the hills.

Pinochle and canasta games were the only times I ever heard my grandma swear, except for the whispered expletives behind my grandpa's back when he made her mad. My grandma's name is Verline. Her sisters Earline and Sis (Whose real name was Alberta), Teddy and brother Bill were the main people who came along and each treated me and all of the other kids running around as though we were interchangeably theirs. My cousins and I did a few chores together, went fishing and played and played and looked for snakes and periwinkles together. We always found plenty of them. When we got bored, we'd lay around and read. When it was too hot to fish, we'd just play in the water. That creek was fed by a melting mountain and even in the dead heat of August, the temperature held at about 12 degrees. It took some getting used to but we'd float down a ways in our swimsuits and flip flops and make friends with other kids coming to camp as well. Sometimes, a shoe would fly off and someone would have to make a dive for it before it floated off down the bend, never to be seen again. This happened pretty often and we got good at retrieving them. I don't think we ever lost one to the crick.

Our world has changed irrevocably since that time. Frankly, it scares me. A lot of my aunts and uncles have died. A few of those cousins are gone too, due to accident or illness. Great Grandpa Abbot and Grandpa are gone too. I'd never think of bathing in a creek; it pollutes the environment to put shampoo into the water. It isn't just a world evolving, it's also about our loss of American innocence and the birth of fear and anger in the wake of 9/11. America is a teenager. And now we have cell phones and blogs and I can't remember how to play canasta. I couldn't imagine a whole week of being disconnected from my technology. I become very frightened about what is happening to our environment, our laws, our fears for safety and the basic freedoms we seemed to enjoy when I was a kid. I wonder about the world I inherited and about the one we will give to our children. I worry about the exponential population growth. I wonder why we need bomb-sniffing dogs in our schools. I wonder when all this political jostling turned into racial, gender and sexual hatred. I wonder why I am so disconnected from the world I grew up in while I have the means to be more connected than ever.

I do things about it. I vote, I protest, I'm growing my own garden and ride my scooter and sometimes my bike to save gas and pollution. I mow with an electric mower even though a gas one would do much faster work. I teach tolerance and hope to open dialog that is meaningful and productive for my students and for me. Will the children in my family get sepia-colored, hay-smelling Kodak instant picture memories? I don't think so, and I mourn that. Sometimes I have to take a break from the news or panic will set in and I will become frantic and depressed.

I've made new memories in Oklahoma. I have experiences with red earth and hiking, coffee shops and friends and conversations about changing the world and the joy that we, collectively, can bring. We philosophize over steaming mugs of fresh roasted beans pressed through a sieve. I cup it in my hand any time of the day and inhale deeply the smell I associate with hope. I remember that even though my childhood is gone, I know people who know those place and who have brought their children up to enjoy and conserve them. People who ski in the winter every weekend and do back-breaking work in the summer on harvest jobs. It brings me back up. I remember that there are many advances in the face of our disasters.

I am lucky today. Most of this is because I get to live the life of my choosing and that I feel I make a positive difference. I don't want children to be oppressed in Arizona, or for people of non-Caucasian origin to have to carry papers to prove their citizenship there. One of the major things I was proud of as an American is that we can go from sea to shining sea without papers. Check that- we used to be able to. I just don't want the national sand to shift, the oil to flow into the gulf or for people to be prevented from marrying because of their sexuality. It would just be better if we pulled up a stump by the campfire and poked at the embers and told stories as equals until deep into darkness.

Easy As Apple Pie

I imagine that my grandma is like any other American grandma. She did so much with her life, in the quiet ways, that don't often get recognized. She took people in and nurtured them, raised her family, worked full time and had supper on the table at 5 every night. She came from a family of 10 way up the Tucannon without electricity or indoor plumbing, and learned early on the pain of loss. Grandma and her identical twin sister live within 60 miles of each other and have their whole lives. Their summers were spent wearing flour sack dresses and running barefoot through the canyons. And since the early 1950's, she and my grandpa lived on the same 5 acres that I found so magical as a child and which never dims with my annual visits.

Every summer, she would take me and my sister for a couple of weeks. We'd go swimming and camping and fishing and blackberrying and sometimes mushroom hunting. She hates snakes. Hates them. And she taught me how to bake pies. Her apple pie, much like all of Grandma's "recipes" for things like making pickles and canning deer neck, are founded on experience rather than measurements. For apple pie, you have to have her big green bowl full of apples. You get the apples either from Uncle Vernon's orchard (he's since deceased), or from one of the roadside vendors. You heap the bowl full of apples and that will be enough for one pie. Core and slice the apples and mix them up with about this much flour (fills palm of hand- Grandma's hand, not mine), and about 2/3 cup of sugar.

In her later years, Grandma preferred Pillsbury pie crusts, but she used to make them from scratch with flour from the flour drawer, lard or Crisco, and some butter and salt with water sprinkled in. You know who makes the best pie crust in my family that I can remember? Uncle Steve. Yeah, he's the best. He also makes pretty good bread. Anyway, the trick with the pie crust is to let it rest and to not mess with it too much after you add the water. Roll it out on the bread board and poke holes in the bottom of the crust, add the mixture, crimp the top and cut a few holes, bake at 400 for about an hour (depending on your oven) and voila, apple pie.

I didn't think much about it when I was a kid. My summer days were spent eating cups of vanilla ice cream and ice cold watermelon on the back porch step with my cousin. My grandma is a lot like apple pie. Sweet and sometimes tart, crusty, lots of butter and encompassing of the ideals of the American Nuclear Family. She never fought in a war. She never marched on Washington or burned a bra or raised a ruckus. In fact, Grandma very much likes the status quo and going along to get along. She's the iron-willed peace-maker in our family and our beloved matriarch.

Each person, especially your author, is flawed and human. This is what makes us so interesting. Grandma, like those of her generation, is sometimes painfully and practically honest. She once told me- with the most helpful of intentions, I'm sure- that even though I wasn't as pretty as my sisters, I had nice childbearing hips. I was eleven. It's funny now, but during that fragile age of budding puberty, I was mortified. She just always says what she thinks- as long as it's in private. Grandma would never publicly criticize anyone. She wouldn't bring attention to herself that way. Because of this, people thought she didn't have political or social opinions. They are wrong. They were just said in the privacy of her kitchen, while my grandpa watched television in the front room. If this is the worst of my grandma, then so be it. I wish I were as good of a person on her worst day. I have watched her my whole life, taking care of others, giving of her time, energy, food and kind, supportive words. She has never been rude a day in her life and has never kicked anybody when they were down. She does not, and never has, drank alcohol.

Grandma also says that we reap what we sow. This is true. Her family loves and supports her. My grandpa died last September and it's been a decline for her ever since. Her whole life has been about the care and feeding of others- both literally and figuratively. She was a school lunch cook for over 20 years. She also cooked at several summer camps up at Camp Wooten over the years. There isn't anyone in our communities over the age of 25 that she hasn't touched in some way or another. The Dayton and Pomeroy communities do love her and they are filled with relatives and friends.

Grandma has recently moved from her home for the last 60 years to Booker Rest Home in Dayton. It's a difficult transition, made a bit easier by support from the community and our little family church. I wrote the pastor a note and asked him to pray especially for her. Pastor Greg, much like others in our town, is not shy about saying that he looks on Grandma as second mom. As for me, I write my blog and hope and tell my stories to others so they can know her too. I planted two apple trees in my back yard, to carry my uncle's tradition of orchard care, and to make apple pies for my grandma. It's the best I can do for today.

Pippi

Usually around my birthday I get depressed. The usual questions always pop up: What have I done with my life, really? Why am I not married? Why don't I have children? Where is all of this headed and will I ever be a grown up? All of these add up to me beating myself over the head for a couple of weeks, throwing myself into too much exercise and too little eating and generally being miserable.

This year, Luke has started moving into the house. There is stuff out of place. As a single woman of some years, I am used to having my stuff in my places and nothing else. I'm... particular. And I've asked for him to disrupt that by living here and really, really, living here with, you know, his stuff. But now his stuff is here. So I'm freaking out about that a little bit. Add to all of this my anxiety about House Bill 3284 having the veto overridden and a real possibility of it becoming law and you have a tense Mindie.

When I was a little girl, I was stressed from about 1973 until about 2009. Generally speaking, anyway. We moved a lot and there wasn't a whole lot of stability. I had three older sisters and just sort of hung out in the background. Sometimes I played in the closet. My favorite place to play was under the staircase in one of the houses we rented in California. It was close and easy to get to and safe. No grown ups allowed. And there were Disney movies that would come on television to help me escape. This was before I learned to read and drown myself in books. My favorite one was called "Pippi Longstockings", and the heroine was a little girl with freckles and long red braids and she was never afraid. She could do anything, defeat any enemy and sing while she did it. She made me happy and gave me hope that little girls could win.

Tomorrow is my birthday. Luke went with me to get my driver's license renewed, then to clean out my office at OU for the summer. Then we went by Target and for my birthday present, he bought me a bike. A beautiful bike, a Schwinn hybrid. Big handlebars. Big bike seat for my big butt. A place to carry stuff in the back. Oh yes, a happy bike. I wanted to sing and wear a long skirt so I could dance in it and throw confetti. So I named her Pippi. And when I get done writing this, we're going for a ride. But first, maybe I'll go paint some freckles and braid my hair.