NEW THINGS

Hanging around @midtownyogakc probably going back there soon

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I decided to use the coupons that I had recently received from Victoria Secret and buy some new bras over the weekend. I don't really remember the last time I bought a new bra, but I think it was about four or five years ago. I've been wearing the same two bras for five years. It had been so long since the last brazier purchase that I couldn't even remember what size to get. When I mentioned this to one of the sales ladies, she got super excited and clapped her hands together while saying "Oh! let's do a bra fitting!" I responded with zero enthusiasm and a "okay." Turns out I've gone up one whole cup size which really leads me to wonder how that is when the scale at home keeps telling me that I have lost weight. Am I living the boob dream where all of my fat migrates to my chest? Are boobs like noses and ears and just continue to grow as we age? What is happening to my body?!?! I don't understand bra sizes any more than I understand the sizing of pants or children's shoes. 

I spent the next twenty minutes trying on different styles of the right sized bra before narrowing it down to two different styles. Then I added five pairs of cotton panties to my pile, because why not? I spent enough money to earn a 'free' tote! (Any one want a VS tote?) One of those styles has more padding and push up power than what I'm used to, so I'm waiting for a more confident day to wear that one. When I tried it on at home, Michael said "People are going to be looking at your boobs and wondering if you got a boob job." I'm not ready for that. I put the other one on the next day and was really surprised at how nice the new bra felt. Nothing was pinching or poking. The straps weren't slicing into my shoulders like a cheese slicer. I mentioned this to Michael who then asked me about the last time I bought a new bra. I mumbled something about the five year old bra and he said "Maybe you should buy new underwear every year." Sure, this is probably true but buying new bras is like shopping for pants or children's shoes. I'd rather poke myself under a finger nail with a toothpick. 

Then, I took my newly clad boobs to an intermediate AlReal yoga class (yoga in a hammock) at Midtown Yoga KC where I felt like maybe I was the oldest person in the class and definitely the least fit. I knew this class would be challenging, but I also new that as a teacher, I would not have any problems modifying. I was a little concerned about hanging myself in the hammock, but I ended up surprising myself and everyone else in the class with how easily I managed to get myself into wheel and shoulder stand. My body hurts a little bit today. There was a whole lot of core work and I have bruises on my hips and kidneys from hanging upside down in the hammock, but I kind of loved the class. I kind of loved the whole studio and I will probably be going back. I need to be pushed out of my comfort zone sometimes in my yoga practice. This class does that. 

So I did two things that I am normally resistant to this weekend: bra shopping and challenging yoga. And I liked both of those things. Well, maybe not the shopping part as much as the having a bra that fits me well part, but you get the idea. I just also realized that I tend to put myself in situations where I am either the oldest person in the class or the youngest. I guess I have a hard time hanging out with people my own age. I prefer to think that I have just grasped onto the concept that age means nothing and we could all use some time suspended in a hammock. 

IN THE KEY OF D

Traffic

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Saturday morning, I got up and headed out for my usual Saturday morning routine. Michael and I have agreed that on the weekends we have the Cabbage with us that I should do the grocery shopping on my own. It's just easier and I get it all done before the two of them make any kind of peep of getting out of bed. On this particularly cold Saturday morning, I walk into Trader Joe's and I'm half way through the produce when they start playing China Girl. I can't help singing along as I marked things off the grocery list. 

"And when I get excited, my little China girl says 'Oh Baby, just you shut your mouth."

I get home and put all of the groceries away. The house is still quiet with the exception of Josephine who follows me around while dragging the toy Mom bought her for Christmas. There's a squeaker on the end and Josephine holds that end in her mouth, repeatedly biting down making a clacking squeak sound. "Play with me." So I do. We play tug of war for a bit until I look at the clock and wonder if I should nudge the sleeping bears. We have to drop the Cabbage off at birthday party across town at noon. 

Before I can make a decision about waking the others, Michael comes into the kitchen and drinks a full glass of water. He nudges the Cabbage and then gets in the shower. At some point Michael asks me how my mental health is doing today. I shrug and say that I think I'm doing okay and I believe it when the words come out of my mouth. Really. Then we're in the car, teeth chattering from the cold, backing out of the driveway and heading out. Ask Me Another is playing on the radio and Michael turns up the volume so we can hear the interview of Chris Hadfield. The host asks Chris to play Ground Control to Major Tom, the song he sang in a YouTube video while on the space station. Chris starts singing and there is something so perfect about his performance. I don't know what happens or why, but suddenly tears are streaming down my face. It's the second time today that I am hearing David Bowie and I start to wonder if Chris (my Chris) is trying to send me a message. 

We drop the Cabbage off at the ice-skating rink for the birthday party and then head over to a Chinese place for lunch. Michael and I are the youngest people in the place and no one is Asian. We should have turned around and left but we stay and eat the blandest Chinese food. My vegetables are basically raw, which I don't mind. I'm not a fan of over cooked, soggy veggies, but all the chewing was exhausting. Maybe Chris had been trying to warn me about our lunch choice and I totally missed it. Disappointed with lunch and with an hour left to kill before we pick the Cabbage up, we head over to the Duluth Trading Company so I can get a pair of fleece lined leggings. I grab the last pair of XS from the shelf and try them on. The last time I bought leggings from there, I bought the mediums and they were too big. I exchanged them for a small and even those constantly need to be tugged back up onto my hips through out the day. I but the XS small and was shook my head at sizing. I've never been an XS small anything. Ever. I'm still not, but I'll let Duluth think that I am. 

We go back to the skate rink to collect the Cabbage and watch her walk around on ice skates on the ice. It's too late for me to get skates because the free skate time is about to end. So we help the Cabbage get her skates off and then head home. Michael wants to make a stop at Vintage Stock. The Cabbage has recently discovered Minecraft and he wants to get a copy for her to play on the X-Box in the basement. I wander around the toy and collectible section and try not to think about which toys Chris would have bought here today. I pick up a Princess Leia from the Force Awakens and for a moment consider buying it. I put it back because I know that money would be better spent elsewhere. Game purchased, we finally head home. I distract myself with laundry and reading a book while the Olympics play in the background. I'm going to make it through this day without shattering into a million pieces. Which I do. No thanks to David Bowie. 

I leave for New York early Wednesday morning. Michael will join me Friday night. We have not traveled together before to a vacation destination where we have to fly. We have not done this kind of sightseeing together where we try to cram as much as possible into two days. New York City is a lot. I'm glad I'm leaving before him so that I have two days to acclimate to the city. Maybe I'll just hermit it up in our apartment, only leaving to walk a dog and get food. My bag is packed. I'm mostly ready to go. It seems odd to imagine being still in a city like New York, but I'm looking forward to being still.

I believe with my whole heart (or what's left of my heart) that I will come back with better stories, the kind of story that I'd want to read. 

I DRANK LACTOSE FREE WHOLE MILK FOR A WEEK AND HERE'S WHAT HAPPENED

Tea and writing notes

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I get a lot of junk email because I went through a phase where I entered a contest every day or so. Some times I open a few of those emails and there always seems to be at least one article in the email that starts with "I drank blah blah blah for a week..." or "I ate this..." or "I started getting up at the same time...." I've fallen for the click bait sometimes because I do wonder what happens if you use a charcoal pore strip on your nose every day (don't) or if you eat raw meat every day. Most of these articles end on a positive note. The author is usually pretty happy with the results of giving up sugar or eating more fat or whatever the newest trend is. This post is not like those articles.

I wash down my breakfasts of pancakes or tofu scramble every day with a glass of almond milk. I used to use soy milk, but I started to get weird and weepy. Something about estrogen. I don't need help with the weepy thing or even the weird thing. So almond milk it is. Last week, Michael and I went grocery shopping and Trader Joe's was completely out of Almond milk. They didn't even have an empty space for it in the dairy section which caused me to panic. Michael checked with an employee who said something about getting a new distributor. In the meantime I needed to find a substitute. So Michael pointed to the lactose free whole milk and said "what about that?!" I looked skeptical and said "Ahhh....I don't know." So into the cart it went. I also made a very unhappy face that Michael said I should never make again. 

Growing up, I always had the option of milk or orange juice with breakfast. I always chose orange juice, mostly because I didn't really like milk. My mom was not concerned about calcium or vitamin D deficiency because I was one of those weird kids who liked to eat broccoli and spinach, most vegetables, really. I would occasionally have a glass of milk with a chocolate chip cookie or with crumbled up cornbread, but I was never one to go "Mmmmm...a big glass of milk!" Now the only time I drink milk is if it's the cotton candy milk from Shatto. That's not very often and it always makes me sick to my stomach. Which is why I made that very unhappy face as Michael put the lactose free milk into the cart. I was skeptical that 'lactose free' would make any difference in how my gut reacts to milk.

And I was right! Lactose free means nothing! NOTHING! I spent the whole week bloated up like a balloon with a crampy gut. It also tasted like I was drinking cream instead of milk. I couldn't figure out if this was because I hadn't had actual milk in so long that I forgot what milk tastes like or if this particular milk tasted weird. Later, when I'd given up on the milk, Michael had a glass of it and confirmed that milk tasted weird. So, I am back to almond milk. Thankfully it was back in stock at Trader Joe's this weekend. 

I've just written post that goes against one of the first rules of blogging and that is no one cares what you had for lunch. Or what you drank for week. 

IN OTHER NEWS

Birthday Pimms cup!

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Over the weekend, I increased in age by one whole year. According to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, I am now the answer to the ultimate question of life, the Universe and everything. You probably will not be surprised to hear that forty two doesn't feel any different from forty one. It just is. So the real answer to life, the Universe and everything is that it just is. It just is, people. That might be a slightly unsatisfying answer to some, but unicorns wouldn't be magical if you saw one every day. I don't know what that means, but just go with it.

We celebrated my birthday with a Pimms cup and snails from the Westport Cafe, because the Pimms cup is becoming a birthday tradition. Terry and Billy met us there for appetizers and drinks, which was a surprise because I didn't know they were coming to meet us. I received a card from Billy and Wilson that had a sexy man picture in it and set of lottery scratchers. Terry gave me a gift bag containing multiple awesome gifts, but the most awesome gift in the bag was a bag of tiny hands. They fit on the ends of my fingers so that if I put one on each index finger and then pull my sleeves over my hands, I look like Dooneese. I plan to keep a pair of tiny hands near me at all times because you never know when you're going to need an extra (tiny) hand. The rest of those hands are going to end up in my Halloween display. I love them so much. After drinks and appetizers, Micheal and I went to Bob's Wasabi for dinner where I ate the best sushi I have ever eaten. That's really a remarkable statement because I've eaten sushi on the east and west coast. Also, KCMO is darn near the middle of the country. It's a loooong drive to the ocean. I don't know how Bob does it, but it is delicious. After sushi, we headed back to the Westport area to a donut/cocktail place. I ate a mediocre donut while drinking a champagne and Chartruese cocktail. The cocktail was delicious and made by a bartender who thought very very highly of himself. It's good to be confident. 

The next day, we went to our hairdresser for haircuts. I looked down at the chunks of hair that fell into my lap and noticed that there sure was a whole lot of gray in those chunks. I said something about that to my hairdresser and she said "Yeah...I noticed that you've gotten a lot more gray since the last time you were here." That was a little more than two months ago. My new haircut is kind of edgy with my bangs real long and the sides real short. I have a strong urge to color my hair gray. I know that there is a lot involved in this process, especially if you are not already blonde. It's totally damaging, but I still kind of want to do it. Maybe this is a mid-life crisis thing. Except Michael and I both agreed that I'm probably going to live to be ninety something. So, it's a little early yet for a mid-life crisis.  

Maybe it's a pre-mid-life crisis thing. 

CRYBABY

Alien shadows

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I used to cry whenever someone would say something to me that was harsh or unkind. A girl on the playground would criticize my dress or my cartwheel and I would burst into tears. Then I would listen to her laugh while she stood with a group of girls, all wearing the same color hair ribbons and she would say "She's such a crybaby." Girls are so cruel to each other. You couldn't pay me enough money to go back and do that part of my life all over again. It never eased up either. All through elementary school, middle school and high school, there was always that group of girls who went out of their way to be judgmental and cruel. I remember in high school, just after breaking up with a boy I wasn't really into, overhearing Katie Hanniford say "I don't know why she would break up with him. It's not like she's ever going to get another boyfriend." It wouldn't have stung if I hadn't thought that Katie was a friend.

For the Record: I'm sure I said my fair share of cruel words as well. I regret every single hateful thing that came out of my mouth. I am sincerely, truly sorry if I said those things to you. You deserved and deserve to be treated better. 

By this time, my outsides resembled a hard bouncy ball and those snide, snarky comments just bounced off. What did I care any way? I was too busy plotting my escape from that town to give a thought to boyfriends or mean girls or friends who really turned out to not be friends. The crybaby phase did not last long. I learned pretty quick how to shut off the main valve to the waterworks of my eyeballs. Tears only showed up in cases of pain (like the time I broke my arm on the playground and had to sit in the main office for four hours waiting on a parent to come get me) or deep sorrow (like the time my favorite 4-H extension agent got a brain tumor and died). Getting the inside part of my ear pierced hurt so bad that I wanted to jump off the table screaming, but I did not cry. Not crying became part a rule. First, you never let them see you sweat. Then, you never let them see you cry. 

Do you even remember those deodorant commercials? "And never let them see you sweat!" Women were supposed to take care of the kids, the house work, have a career and stay fit. Like really fit. Like look good in a leotard and leg warmers fit. You're supposed to do ALL of that without breaking a sweat. Or burping. Or farting. Crying is the ultimate weakness. We're expected to cry but we should be ashamed of it. "Whut? You gonna cry like a girl?" is a line they teach all of the bullies. Only sissy babies cry. Thanks to that stigma of weakness, we've been forced to sequester our crying jags to while we're alone in the shower or sitting alone in our cars at the grocery store parking lot. Sometimes while shoving Oreo cookies in our mouths. We must be exhausted from always putting on the 'brave face'.

If I start crying in public it means I have lost all kinds of control. And THAT is unacceptable. The problem is that main valve I shut off so many years ago has gotten worn out and in the process has sprung a leak. The threat of losing control hangs over my head like a guillotine. One time I walked into the women's bathroom to find a coworker crying. We were both so awkward neither one of us knew what to do. It was like I had might as well have caught her smoking in the bathroom. It took a minute, but I came to my senses and reached out and hugged her to give her some kind of comfort. She didn't need me to tell her that everything was going to be okay. She didn't need to explain herself to me. I had already used that bathroom for a crying space so many times. I didn't need an explanation. Instead, I told her this was a good place for crying. It’s like we just don’t know how to even handle seeing someone crying let alone allow another to see you cry. 

The thing is, we've been taught that showing any emotion other than happiness is in some way wrong, weak, or just generally unacceptable. It makes people uncomfortable to see you sad or even just indifferent. You're sitting on a park bench minding your own business or walking down the sidewalk when you hear someone say "Smile, sweetie!" You can't let your face rest for a second. 

Every time you smile, it's a fake. Stop pretending...

I sweat. People have seen it. I don't care. I cry. People have seen that too. I'm trying not to care. 

GOODBYE HELLO

I got up for another cup of coffee. When I came back, she curled right back up in this spot on my lap. She's mine and I'm her's

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I took down all of our Holiday decorations yesterday along with doing some normal Saturday things. I got up early and went grocery shopping. Then I stopped by Anthropologie to spend my Christmas gift card. I walked in to find that all sale items were an additional 40% off, which meant that I could buy these really cute denim over-alls and the softest sweater with frilly sleeves. I went home to collect Michael for the rest of our errands and then we spent the evening on the couch. Today has been much of the same. Sunday has been just like every Sunday with CBS Sunday Morning, a dog in my lap and a cup of coffee in my hand. I scrubbed the bathroom and the kitchen. I even scrubbed all my jewelry. Michael vacuumed while I put clean sheets on the bed. Then we watched more TV. 

It's the last day of 2017 and I've spent the whole day in pajamas. Later on, Michael will make Pad Thai and we'll eat while watching a movie. After a week of traveling and visiting friends and family in Oklahoma, we've opted for a New Year's Eve homebody celebration. The temperatures here are part of the reason we decided to stay in tonight. That, and I've also agreed to teach a yoga class in the morning. But really, it is too cold outside. The chickens have only left the roosting box for a minute to get a drink of water. I went out to feed them and nearly lost all of my fingers to frost bite. Right now my weather app says that it feels like minus seventeen outside. There's a lot of swearing any time I have to go out to the garage to get to the washer and dryer in the basement.  

I don't regret our choice for the evening. I'm glad I spent the day cleaning. It feels nice to know that we will be starting out the year with a clean house. It just feels nice to be starting a new year. Most of the time, I am ambivalent to moving from one year into the next. Of course there have been years I couldn't have said goodbye fast enough to, as if the idea of moving from one year to the next actually removes all the strife and grief from the previous year. Even then, I have made the transition from those bad years into the new year with apprehension and a wish that the new year is at the very least not as bad as the previous. The strife and grief doesn't change just because the planet got a year older. 

It is funny how this time of year makes us all a little bit more reflective and ambitious. We all take a moment to look back at the good and bad of the year. Then we all make plans for the next. Those plans often involve becoming better versions of ourselves: skinnier, healthier, more organized, more outgoing. I wake up with those very same plans every morning. If I were to make any kind of plan for this new year, it would be to finish a project. Any project. I've become the worst about starting things and just leaving them to sit and fester. I'd like to break that cycle in 2018. That is one of the reasons I'm thinking of doing another 365 Day photography project. The other reason is to remind myself to not just be content with this body, but to love this body. I do want more for 2018 than to simply finish a project. I look forward to the new joys and adventures to come in the next year, but I am content with that one resolution/wish.

2017 IN PICTURES

As I was putting together this year's picture video, I couldn't help but notice how different this year looked compared to last. I travelled a whole lot in 2016 and not so much in 2017. The result is that my pictures include more faces of the framily I'm building in KCMO. I like this a whole lot. In 2017, we all watched as our friend Charles became an ordained priest. We marched for women and we marched for science. We camped and added a lot of stamps to our National Parks Passport. We added new framily members. We witnessed a total eclipse. The Cabbage turned seven and got her ears pierced. Politically this year sucked, but personally, this year was pretty good to us. 

Next year will bring new adventures and new joys, but right now I'm going to be grateful for the adventures and joys of 2017. 

EVE

Little birdie

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I am the only one awake and have the living room to myself. I am currently watching Little Women with a mug of coffee and Josephine curled on my feet. She's keeping them warm. I've already made cinnamon rolls, or opened a tube of cinnamon rolls, and eaten two of them. It snowed here in the early morning hours. It is every kid's wish come true, a white Christmas. The Cabbage has been harping about snow for days. She'll be pleased when she finally wakes up. This is our Christmas day. There's a note in her stocking from Santa telling her that he could not visit both houses. He's sent his elves instead to hide thirty Shopkins all around the house. Some time today, I will pack for our week in Oklahoma and make sure the chickens have food for the week, but right now though, I am enjoying this moment.

The night before last, I dreamed that a skinny French woman showed up on my doorstep. She was petite, with curly hair and glasses. When I answered the door, She said "Chris?" I looked at her with confusion and asked "you are looking for Chris?" She nodded and replied "oui!" I sighed and then gently reached for her elbow. I remember that her elbow was so bony and slight, like a bird's. Then, once again, I found myself telling the story of how Chris wasn't with us any more. I am surprised the story hasn't become permanently tattooed onto my body with so many tellings. The next night, I dreamed that I was teaching a yoga class in a room that held a potato bar. There might be something marketable here. Yogatado: Come for yoga; stay for a potato. 

I don't know what any of this has to do with Christmas Eve except that maybe I'm having an Ebenezer Scrooge moment. So far, I've seen the ghost of Christmas past and the ghost of Christmas future. They're coming to me out of order. Maybe tonight a I'll get visit from the ghost of Christmas present. I wonder what that's going to look like. Michael and I will be traveling on Christmas day and having Christmas dinner at Mom's. Maybe tonight I'll dream of driving through a winter wonderland with talking deer, followed up with a table piled with fried oysters. If I'm lucky, I will avoid an encounter with the two emaciated children, Ignorance and Want. Though it's pretty hard to avoid Ignorance even in the waking world. 

My time of stillness is up. The Cabbage just came out of her room wearing nothing but her underwear. I've just told her to go put on some pajamas so she can start opening her presents. She has thirty individually packaged Shopkins to open. 

We'll be here a while. 

COOKIES

I made cookies

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Saturday, Michael and I went to IKEA because we have an illness. No really. IKEA is the best place to buy picture frames and we needed some last minute gift picture frames. They are not paying me to say that. They have a wide variety of reasonably priced frames. Some might even go as far as to say cheap. Depends on your idea of cheap. Any hoo...Micheal parked the car and I looked at him and said "We are going straight to picture frames. We don't need anything else. Picture frames. That's it." He nodded his head in agreement and we walked into IKEA. We only briefly browsed the kitchen area because Michael wanted to replace his old lunch box. They did not have a replacement that he liked, so we quickly moved on straight over to frames.

Okay... we made another stop in the new pet area and almost bought a retractable leash for Josephine. Then we went over to frames.

The tricky part of IKEA is getting out of the store with only the things you went in there for in the first place. I have yet to succeed at this. We picked up the picture frames we needed. I wanted to look at Christmas wrapping paper. Michael wanted to look around the second chance area. He found a giant map of the world and I found Christmas cookie cutters. I just want to put it on the record here that my impulse buy was way cheaper than his impulse buy. Though I will say that the giant map of the world does look nice behind our TV. I saw those cookie cutters and all I wanted to do was go home and make pretty cookies. Which is strange because I am not the type of person who makes pretty cookies. But I saw those cookie cutters and imagined making beautiful, lightly frosted bears, moose, wolves and snowflakes.

I don't bake. It's not that I can't bake. It's that I don't bake. My kitchen is small with limited counter space. Making pretty cookies means making a mess. Also we do not need cookies in this house. I might eat one cookie and then I'm good on my cookie intake for a half a year. Pretty cookies require work and weekends are for not working. The internal struggle of wanting to make cookies versus my laziness is real. Finally I decided to make the cookies because I knew I could take them to work and it would be a nice treat. My first cookie cutter attempts did not turn out well. The cookie dough stuck to the inside of the moose and wolf cookie cutters. I sprayed all of the cutters with cooking spray. This worked for the bear and the snowflake, but I had to give up on the moose and the wolf. Moose are mythical creatures any way and probably jerks.

I made a few bears and a lot of snowflake chocolate sugar cookies and then delicately piped icing onto each one. And you know what? They all turned out just as I had imagined. They weren't perfect, but they were very pretty and tasty. The people at work loved them. I almost want to make and decorate more cookies. 

Almost. 

CLIMBING UP

Climbing

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We were sitting on the couch last Thursday when Michael asked "When's the last time you wrote a blog post?!" I said "last Friday. I've written one for this Friday." Then he asked me if everything was okay. I nodded my head yes and then said "I just don't have anything I want to say that doesn't sound angry or too complaining." Everything is so irritating and when I am not shaking my head at the news I'm reading, I'm thinking about the next year. I have great expectations for myself in the coming year and I can't help but start planning now. I feel like buying notebooks and writing out a game plan, but part of my plan is to use my iPad more efficiently. I have an Apple pen. I should be writing out this game plan in my iPad. 

Friday, my department went rock climbing for our team building event. I had mixed feelings about climbing. There was a part of me that was very excited and gung ho. I visualized myself scrambling up the wall like a ninja and then floating gently back down with the aid of an experienced belay guy. The doubtful side of me was nervous about being strong enough to pull this body off the ground and then being too heavy for the belay guy. I was a little concerned that a scale would be involved upon sign in. I had no idea. This was my first time at an indoor rock climbing place or at any climbing place. Does that surprise you? It surprises me. It seems like rock climbing is an activity that I would have done already. I have climbed my fair share of trees over the years and I've hiked up sides of mountains. Yet, I have never rock climbed.

This place offered a room for 'bouldering', which is just climbing around on boulders unharnessed, and a room for wall climbing where you are clipped into an auto-belay. I did a little of both. I was mostly to the top of my first boulder when it hit me that there was nothing keeping me from falling to a not so soft mat about six feet below. So I continued up because once you reached the top of that boulder you could climb over to a landing and then walk down a set of stairs. The giant wall climbing was another story. I would climb up maybe six or seven feet and then stop. I'd just cling to the wall, not moving up, not going back down. I would just be stuck there. I was too scared to climb higher, but I didn't want to give up. I also did not trust the auto-belay to hold my weight. You fall a good two feet before the auto-belay kicks in and slows you down and that's falling just enough for me to say "NOPE!" I did a lot of climbing up and climbing down, which is exhausting. My armpits were sore the next day. I also had raw, almost blistered, places on the palms of my hands from gripping for dear life. I eventually did get used to the auto-belay, but I never reached the top of a wall. I scrambled up boulders like a ninja and turned out to be strong enough to pull my body up a wall. There was not ever a mention of needing me to step on a scale and I was not too heavy for the belay. The doubtful side of myself never suspected that I would end up being afraid of being so high up. 

I told Michael about my adventures when I got home that evening. He asked me if we all had to go rock climbing now. I told him no, that I was good with my current experience in indoor rock climbing. Except, I'm not so sure that is true. I just keep thinking about how I never climbed all the way up to the top of that wall. I feel like I need to go back by myself and just climb to the top, even if I just end up clinging to a spot on the wall for hours before I convince myself to continue climbing up. I feel like this has been a year of clinging to a wall. I've hesitated and doubted and just stood still in indecision on whether to move up or down. I want more climbing up in 2018. Without hesitation. Without doubt. Without fear. 

COSTCO CONVERSATIONS

Costco shopping

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The subject of what container I will one day put Michael's ashes in comes up around here more often than you would expect. It comes as a little bit of shock to people who only know me as the widow, to hear that I've put my late husband's ashes in a coffee can. Of course all of us who knew Chris all agree that a coffee can is probably the most fitting place for his ashes. I can't think of anything better really except maybe a bag of beef jerky. It would have to be a really big bag and seal really really well. I can be irreverent when it comes to death. For some reason, every one just assumes that I will also out live Michael. Michael is the first person to point it out. He’s surprised he’s lived this long. I’m surprised he’s lived this long. We are practical and we’ve had the talk about what to do with life insurance money and vaguely about what to do with his ashes. Our friend Jen, suggested a bottle. I was all “Ooh! Good idea!” then started to wonder where I was going to get a bottle big enough.

Costco. That's where I'm going to get a big enough bottle for Michael's ashes. They have an end cap of wine on display and all the bottles were either a three liter or five liter. Michael picked up the five liter and tucked it under his arm. We did not buy the wine because it was almost sixty dollars (and our wine comes out of a box!), but it just looked funny to pick up a five liter bottle of wine and carry it around like you were going to a fancy party. When we first saw the bottle, we both had the same thought. This was the bottle for Michael's ashes. So then we ended up standing there and having this whole discussion about not wasting the wine. First we should all drink the wine and then put his ashes in it. We shouldn't just dump the wine out. Unless it turns out to taste awful. Then, we mix it with fruit and make sangria. Next came the debate over the size of bottle to get. The five liter is funny, but I really feel like it's too big. The three liter would be fine, I think. I did also think that a regular size coffee can was big enough to hold all the ashes of one person. That was an inaccurate. We should probably go with the five liter just to be sure.

As we are having this conversation about what size wine bottle to get for Michael's ashes, I notice that there's a few other customers standing around. Their faces ranged from sad and pitying to what the fuck is wrong with us. They probably thought Michael had some incurable illness and wasn't expected to live long. "Look at that sad couple having to make funeral arrangements while grocery shopping at Costco because they don't have time to do it later." I so want to dead on seriously look them in the eyes and say "No one has time do it later!" Instead I just started laughing because for one thing it's a HUGE bottle of wine and for another thing, I can see a clear image of how ridiculous my bookshelf is going to look one day. Actually, it really is a good excuse to travel more. Eventually I'm going to run out of Chris's ashes and I won't need that coffee can any more.

Then I'll just be left with an enormous bottle and small canisters for all the pets (and I mean ALL the pets).

There was an old woman who swallowed a fly.... 

PANCAKE

Plate setting

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Three times a week, in order to get more protein in my diet, I've been eating cottage cheese for breakfast with some walnuts, chia seeds and a little honey drizzled on top. It is yummy, but it is cold and started to sound really unappealing as the weather turned cold. I came across a giant box of Kodiak Power Pancake mix at Costco last month. After reading all the ingredients and nutritional facts, I found that if I used milk and egg to make my mix, I'd be getting twenty something grams of protein at breakfast and most of the carbohydrates would come from fiber. Michael did some math and said that it was way cheaper for me to eat pancakes three times a week (we're working really hard at sticking to a budget). So now, I eat two Kodiak Power cakes sprinkled with chia seeds and walnuts and topped with a banana three times a week for breakfast. 

Some of you are probably wondering how I could possibly have time in the morning to make myself pancakes. I have some super time management skills between 6:00 and 7:00AM. One hour. I've got one hour a day of super time management skills in me. The rest of my day is only mildly time managed, just enough to be productive at work. When I'm done drying my hair, I go place a pan on the stove and turn on the burner. Then I go get dressed. By the time I'm dressed with shoes on and jewelry and everything, the skillet is hot. I make up the pancake batter on Sunday. All I have to do is pour, sprinkle with chia and walnuts and flip. Pancakes are easy. That's probably why my mother made them for breakfast for us all the time. One morning as I was pouring the batter into the skillet, my two pancakes merged into a globby snowman shape. I thought of fancy pancake shapes I'd seen videos of people making on the internet. Some of them are crazy elaborate with food coloring. I do not have time in the mornings to make pancake art.

I don't know how old I was. I was small. My parents had to leave us with our friends, the Elders for some reason. It might have been the time my parents went to Tijuana or maybe it was the time Dad went to the hospital for kidney stones. Any way, Karen and David kept me for the night. When I got up the next morning, Karen made me pancakes shaped like teddy bears. It was all I talked about when Mom came to get me. I talked about it for days. “Karen makes pancakes shaped like teddy bears! Mom, did you know she could do that?! Can you believe she makes pancakes shaped like teddy bears, Mom?! That’s so neat!” A morning very soon after teddy bear pancakes, Mom called me down for breakfast. Then she placed a pancake on my plate that was shaped like an elephant. It was the most perfect pancake elephant ever. I mean, like you could see darker shaded areas around the ears and wrinkles in the nose. It was so perfect, I almost couldn’t bring myself to eat it. 

At the time, I didn’t think much about it. Mom just felt like surprising me. Now, I can imagine Mom hearing me go on and on about teddy bear pancakes and thinking that there was no way she was going to be out mothered in the pancake arena. It’s like my Mom said “I see your teddy bear pancakes, Karen, but can you make her favorite animal? BOOM!” It makes me wonder how Mom would have handled Pinterest if it had been around then. Mom was/is pretty crafty. You could draw a picture of the costume you wanted for Halloween and she could turn it into a pattern and sew it up in no time. I wanted to be Lucy Little one year and the butter lid for a giant button was all Mom’s idea. Her rubber glove finger witch noses were stellar. My Mom came up with about half of those crafty party ideas you see on Pinterest, back in the day when Mom judging was limited to just the women in your community and not the whole internet world. I can’t imagine the stress I could have added to my Mom’s daily life if I’d had access to Pinterest as a child.

It would have been a childhood of pizzas shaped like hot air balloons and cupcake elephants.

WINNER

Animals

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Not too long ago, Michael and I were in JcPenny's and we were checking out. The young woman working the registered told me that I qualified for a special coupon that could be worth up to 50% off. When I peeled back the tab to find out the coupon's worth, I revealed a 50% off coupon! I enthusiastically cried out "Winner!" in a perfect Kristen Wiig voice. It was really quite hilarious and Michael even snorted a little. The young woman at the register just lifted her eyebrows and said "oookay". Not even a chuckle. Who cares what that young lady thought or that she's missing her sense of humor! Michael and I now use my Kristin Wiig "winner" for any successful moment. 

Right now, I feel like I am the Christmas Winner! The reason I am winning Christmas is because I have gotten all of the Cabbage's Christmas taken care of, with the exception of some candy for her stocking. Michael and I are only buying for the Cabbage this year because we are poor and on a super tight budget to pay somethings off. Like all the presents I bought for the Cabbage. We tried to stick to a new rule of four gifts: something you want, something you need, something to wear and something to read. We got her a couple of things that she wants and then I saw the Kindle Fire on sale and decided that this could be something she reads. There was also a pair of leggings with kitty faces on the knees and some shoes, because the child always needs shoes. Any way, I'm sure as she gets older this want/need/wear/read list will get easier. I've been trying to figure out what on earth we were going to do for this year's Christmas card. Then, as we were driving back from Oklahoma, we spotted a Christmas light display. It was a Christmas miracle (not really). I made us get out of the car and I got a hilarious photo of the Cabbage with Christmas lights. Then, on Sunday, I made our Christmas cards with that picture and printed them out. They're all cut and ready to be addressed and I'm looking at myself in the mirror and giving my reflection a high five.

It's not even December!!! Look how much I've accomplished! Look! I'm amazed with myself. I have zero decorations up, but Halloween decorations are down (Winner!). There's still a tiny pumpkin out front because of Thanksgiving. He's not decorated or carved or wearing vampire teeth, so I thought he could stay. The decoration thing doesn't even bother me all that much. Now that I have most of all of our Christmas shopping done, I have more time to set up decorations. The Cabbage wants to help put up our tree which means inside decorations wait until the next weekend we have her, but I can start on the outside decorations this weekend. My brother's been making these cement Moai and selling them on Facebook. He gave me one for my front yard and I've got to find a Santa hat or antlers or something. I've named him Marvin and he must be included in our seasonal decorations now. I haven't figured it out how he's going to be decorated for Christmas just yet, but look at all the time I've got to figure it out. 

And! Micheal came down with a sore throat and achy body this morning. So now I've got to pull out all the tricks to dodge whatever virus he's contracted. I did get a flu shot this year (Winner?). I'm going to go home this evening and perform some rituals in hopes of not getting sick because even though I've gotten so much accomplished, I've still got some stuff to do. 

Like decorate Marvin. Maybe he needs an ugly Christmas sweater....

SNOWFLAKES

We made snowflakes and when I say 'we' I mean me.

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The Cabbage likes science, which is great and awesome. It makes me feel very good about my life choices, but we don't do any science like stuff when she's at my house. She'll ask me what I did at work that day. I always try to tell her something in simple words. It's just that it is really hard for me to explain something complicated in simple terms. I'm just not good at it. Ideally, I'd like to do silly science related craft projects with her all the time. Like make sugar crystals or swab the house to streak on agar plates to see how many kinds of things will grow. I'd really just like to do that with her hand. Press her whole hand into an LB agar plate and see what kind of grossness grows on the plate. She will never forget to wash her hands again. The reality is that I lack the energy to deal with all the things involved with crafts, particularly the mess. I'm good at keeping my own mess under control, but keeping my mess under control while containing the mess of a seven year old is why people drink.

I came across this craft for making snowflake Christmas ornaments and thought we could give this one a try. It looked relatively easy and the mess is contained in Mason jars. I bought some Borax and pipe cleaners. Then I cut the pipe cleaners into lengths that allow them to fit into the jars without touching the sides. I got the jars all ready by adding the Borax and I put together a couple of snowflakes so I had an example to show the Cabbage, who was excited about the project until she had to twist pipe cleaners together. Then came the complaining and whining and the "ugh! I don't even know what you're doing!", because twisting pipe cleaners together is hard (?). Finally I looked at her and said "This was a bad idea wasn't it." She replied with a "what?" and I said "asking you to do this with me." She shrugged and I said "Why don't I twist together all of the pipe cleaners and then I'll come get you when it's time to add food coloring to the jars." She was happy with this plan and came back to the project to add three drops of food coloring to each Mason jar of boiling water and Borax. 

The snowflakes were the first thing she wanted to see when she woke up the next morning. We all stood in the kitchen oohing over the crystals that had formed on the pipe cleaners and in the bottom of the Mason jars. Now I want to dip everything in Borax solution. I've thought about making enough crystallized crap to make into a new Christmas wreath. Sure, my snowflakes didn't turn out as nice as Martha Stewart's, but I learned enough from this attempt to do better on the next. I'm thinking big bowls of Borax solution for the next go around so I can make larger snowflakes. And what if I make snowflakes out of something other than pipe cleaners? Will crystals form on paper or cardboard? What if I twist red and white pipe cleaners together and make candy canes? The possibilities are endless! 

Who cares about entertaining the seven year old. I'm entertaining myself! 

LITTLE BLUE BOXES

Tiffany's glass

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I have a thing for Tiffany's. I don't know why or how it happened. It might have had something to do with the 1961 movie, Breakfast at Tiffany's, which is still one of my favorite Audrey Hepburn movies. Maybe I have a secret passion for really expensive jewelry. It's probably both of those things. I have always been drawn to that signature Tiffany's blue. My scooter and my bicycle are close matches to that color, as well as our couch. I remember attending a wedding shower with my mother once and we set our present down on the gift table next to a large Tiffany's gift box. I remember looking at my Mom because she had gasped at the sight of it and then she turned and looked at me and said "Someone has spent a lot of money and the bride is going to get a really nice gift." I was a pre-teen and this was my second hint that there was something special about Tiffany's. The first was hearing Marilyn Monroe singing about diamonds in Gentlemen Prefer Blonds. Tiffany's represented something classical and sophisticated, beautiful and durable. Things from Tiffany's became family heirlooms. 

One of the coolest things I have ever done was to have breakfast at Tiffany's. On my first trip to New York, Talaura picked me up from the airport and asked me what I wanted to do while I was in New York. I said "I want to have breakfast at Tiffany's." Talaura knew exactly what I was talking about. You can't, or at least at the time could not, have breakfast at Tiffany's. I mean that there was not a restaurant at Tiffany's. Breakfast at Tiffany's was standing outside with a cup of coffee and a pastry of some sort while gazing at the beautiful, sparkling window displays. Just as Holly Golightly would do on mean red days. This is what Talaura and I did one morning on that first trip to New York City. We picked up everything bagels with everything cream cheese from the Bagel Boyfriend and two cups of coffee. Then we rode the subway down to 75th and walked the few blocks to Tiffany's. We stood outside drinking our coffee and eating our bagels while people walked by, mostly tourists. Occasionally we would hear someone say in an excited whisper "they're having breakfast at Tiffany's" and Talaura and I would give each other a sly look and a slight nod as if to say "yeah...we know we're the coolest."

I did not go inside the store on that trip. I admired a pair of sunglasses in the window display, but I did not go inside. I was still intimidated by the idea of walking into a store where I knew that I would only be looking. I was still under the impression that I would never be able to buy something from Tiffany's, that it would always remain a representation of the kind of sophistication that I would never be able to attain. Later on, I would and do walk into Tiffany's to look at all the pretty things and I would even purchase something. I bought a very sturdy sterling silver chain that holds mine and Chris's wedding rings. The chain, I feel, was a very practical purchase and worth the price. It has held up well with the weight of those rings. That opening scene of Holly Golightly standing outside of Tiffany's looking at the window displays is so much more than just a girl hoping for a diamond. She's looking at things that for right now, are unattainable, but some day...some day she's going to have all the money and confidence to buy the whole store. Really, in the end, it's not the money she gains, but the confidence to open herself up to another person, to be herself. It's a girl hoping for bigger and better things and we've all been that girl. We are all a little bit Holly Golightly, struggling to find a place in this world where we are accepted, yet still able to maintain a unique quality of self. 

Tiffany's has updated their flagship store in New York City and have released a line of products they call "everyday objects." The everyday collection is beyond ridiculous with a replica of a plain old tin cup, this one made of sterling silver. It is the most expensive tin cup for panhandling or holding pencils you will ever see, costing you about $1000. The everyday object I find most annoying though is the crazy straw. The crazy straw ranges from $250-$350 depending on your choice of metal and I wouldn't call it 'crazy' as much as I would call it 'bendy'. At $250, I'm not even sure if it's meant for drinking or looking. Along with the release of these everyday ridiculous objects, Tiffany's also announced the opening of a new cafe on the fourth floor of the store. For $29, you can now have breakfast at Tiffany's as well as a $39 lunch and a tea for $49. I have to admit that I am slightly tempted by the luxurious menu offerings, but I'm not paying $29 for a cup of coffee, a croissant and a slice of avocado toast, nor will I ever again stand outside drinking my coffee while eating a pastry. The things inside Tiffany's are not so much unattainable to me now as they are unwanted. 

With the exception of that really cute elephant charm they have where the proceeds go to save elephants. 

747

See ya Kansas City

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CBS Sunday Morning had a segment about the 747 airplane being retired from commercial use last week. It's not the first story I've seen or read on the subject. The New York Times ran a nice article about the Early Days on the 747 back in October. The segment on CBS Sunday Morning also talked about the early days of this plane and how no one believed it would be able to get off the ground. It talked about different airlines competing to have the most interesting lounge in the upper deck with bars and even a piano on an American Airlines 747. The 747 was the cruise ship of the skies. 

Way back when I was little and we took that first trip to Hawaii, we flew on a 747 across the Pacific. The memories of that trip are hazy, particularly the actual travel parts, but I do remember being really excited about flying in a 747. I was wearing my nicest church dress. It was one Mom had made for my sister as a Christmas dress and had a layered ruffled skirt. As would be the case with most of my clothes, the dress became mine after my sister out grew it. Mom replaced my sister's dress with a matching dress of the same style, just a different color. Dress clothes were required attire for flying on the stand-by list because you never knew if that open seat was going to be somewhere in coach or up in first class. This was the late 70s, early 80s. People still dressed nice in first class and people still smoked on airplanes. Airlines started phasing out the lounge part of the 747 in the late 70s in order to make room for more seating, but this particular plane still had it's lounge. 

I have fuzzy memories of my sister holding my hand as I followed her down the long isle to the spiral staircase that led up to lounge. The stewardess standing at the bottom of the stairs looked at the wings pinned to our pretty dresses. We always got new wings whenever we flew, even though pins were only meant for first time flights. There was always someone working on the plane who knew Dad, either a pilot, co-pilot or stewardess. Dad knew everyone. There were benefits to that, like wing pins and extra peanut snacks. One time while traveling in first class, my Mom admired the salt and pepper shakers and the stewardess wrapped them up in a napkin and gave them to my Mom. The stewardess on this trip bent down to eye level to talk to us and then pointed up the stairs. She was letting us take a peak. I trailed behind my sister up the spiral stairs and we peaked through the rails. I only remember seeing feet. Shiny loafers. Black dress heels. Fancy cowboy boots. The lounge was dark and filled with cigarette smoke. I remember hearing music and the clink of glass. All of these images where absorbed in seconds before we hurried back down the staircase, giggling, running back to our seats. 

Really, I don't remember a single thing about our flight back home from that trip. I only remember the flight over and I don't think I ever again flew on a 747. The plane Mom and I flew on from Chicago to Heathrow was a big plane, but it was not a 747. It's a shame to see it go. It's a shame they got rid of the lounge. I don't miss the cigarette smoke though, but the whole idea of a lounge on an airplane seemed to make travel a decadent treat. Not the hassle it has become with long lines and very little leg room and the feeling of being squashed into a tin can. The 747 is one of those planes that made the traveling to the destination part of the adventure. I wish I could have ridden on one just one more time. 

A HOUSE ON FIRE

This is happening across the street. Michael and a neighbor busted open the door, but didn't go inside. All of the surrounding neighborhoods don't think the man who lives there is home. Firefighters are in the scene.

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Last night Michael stepped outside and noticed flames shooting up from the roof of the house across the street. There was a small group of teenagers standing next to a parked car, looking on in awe. Michael yelled at them to ask if any one had called 911. One girl yelled back that she was on the phone with them now. I ran to my room and threw on some shoes and a coat. Michael did the same. We stepped outside and could hear a guy banging on the door to the house yelling the owner's name. Michael ducked back inside, ran to the garage and grabbed our sledge hammer. Then the two of them took turns busting open the door, while yelling for the owner. They finally managed to bust the door open, but had to shove the door because of all the stuff pilled up around it. The house was thick with smoke. It was determined that the owner wasn't home, but no one felt it was safe enough to go inside and check. 

The firetrucks started to arrive (seven in all) and we all stepped back out of the way. Many of us stood on the sidewalk across the street, watching the firefighters work. The owner, thankfully was not home at the time of the fire. Michael said that from what he could see, he suspected the man of being a hoarder. There are five cars parked in his driveway and none of them are in running condition. The roof was still visibly smoldering an hour later. I fell asleep to flashing red and blue lights reflecting through the window and dancing on the ceiling. When I left for work this morning, it was still dark. The house, still over grown and shadowed behind trees, didn't look any different than usual. The street was quiet and all of the cars still lined the driveway. The hint of a charred wood smell was the only indicator that the fire had even taken place. 

When I was a kid, we'd hear the firetrucks and Dad would say "hop in the truck! let's see where they go!" The firetrucks never led us out to a house fire. We always ended up in one of the many rolling fields that filled up the spaces between towns. Grassfires. Someone said to me today "Oklahoma just seems to get all the weather. Ice storms and crazy tornadoes." She forgot to mention the grassfires and the burn bans. I remember the time we were all sent home from high school early because there was a grassfire a field over and the winds had shifted. The high school sits just on the outskirts of town. As you drive east on Highway 20, the first thing you come to is the Collinsville cemetery on the right. As soon as you pass the cemetery, the high school is there on the left. Fields and farm land lead up to it all. Watching the grass burn is as a familiar of a sight as watching the clouds swirl in the sky. 

But a house fire? That was a new sight. I have seen burnt out shells of homes and buildings, but never the actual fire until last night. I felt an urgent need to do something, had even ran across the street prepared to help drag anyone or anything out of the burning building if need be. I was also really worried that once Michael and the neighbor busted down that door, that both of them would head inside the house, searching for life. Just as they got the door open, part of the roof caved and this was what we were seeing from the outside. There was no telling about what was happening inside the house. In the end, all of us came to our senses and backed away from the house, but there was the tiny fraction of a moment where I would consider our actions to be unsafe if you think house fires turn out like they do in the movies. 

This house fire, thankfully did not turn out like a house fire in the movies. 

OUT OF CANDY

Alien

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I ate four caramel apples over the weekend. Really...it was more like three and a few bites of one. They had them in the cafeteria on Friday and I was super excited about it until I bit into a mushy brown apple. This made me real sad. I scrapped the caramel and peanuts off the outside and then threw my apple part away. Saturday night, we met the gang for pre-party drinks and then all headed over to a party in a fancy old three story house in a really historic Kansas City neighborhood. We all headed straight back to the kitchen (as one does at a party) and there, sitting on the kitchen island was a bowl full of caramel apples. I immediately picked one up and took a bite. It was a perfectly crisp and sweet apple. No mushy brownness. Bradley looked at me and started laughing. He said "look how happy you look with that caramel apple!" And I was happy. It was a great party, but the best thing about it was the caramel apples. I took two on our way out the door, ate one when we got home and the other for a pre-dinner dessert the next day. I have no regrets. Except for that first one.

The hosts of the party we went to had their whole house open (except the basement) and encouraged everyone to go on a tour. Michael and I picked out rooms on our way through the house. On the second floor, there's a room attached to an enclosed porch. It used to be the sleeping porch. They had filled this room with house plants. Michael and I chose this room with the attached room for the Cabbage. The third level held a bed and a small living room. There was a bathroom and small alcove that held a tiny stove like the one I had in the first apartment I shared with Amy and Chris. I declared that this room was mine and started planning out the room to hold a small office and yoga space. Then we went back down stairs to join the rest of our gang and came to our senses. There is no way ever that we need a house that size. Michael has a ten year plan that has us buying a new house in nine years. We will be fifty years old and should be considering downsizing, not upsizing. The new house will really be for income anyway, as we plan to rent my house and the new one while we travel around the country in a RV.

Something really interesting about the house we went to for the party is that it has only had three other owners before this couple purchased it. One of the owners hung himself in the basement. One of the owners had a book of all the house history and the whole story behind the hanging in the basement. Terry spent the evening running from room to room trying capture EVPs on his phone. As Michael and I were saying our goodbyes, Terry popped through basement door. I have no idea what he discovered down there or if had to get special permission, but I did hear someone else say "there's some weird shit happening down there." As you would expect with it being so close to Halloween and there was death in the basement and alcohol consumed and Terry. I spent the whole next day in my pajamas and mostly on the couch. Every time I got up to do something, I had to peel an animal off of me. It was just easier to do nothing. 

So today, even though it's two days later, I feel like an inflated parade float and thinking that I should have skipped a couple of meals if I was going to eat all the caramel apples. It is Halloween. I screamed three times while watching Stranger Things on the exercise bike in the gym. We will probably watch the most recent Walking Dead episode. I do not have any candy for trick-or-treaters. I am not too bothered by this because I have had maybe four trick-or-treaters the entire time I have lived  here. Also I have a wreath with a sign that already tells people I am out of candy. 

CREATING TRADITIONS

Pumpkins are carved

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I cannot carve a pumpkin without thinking of Dad. I know that I have told the story a thousand times about how Dad and I would carve a pumpkin together every year. It was such an ingrained tradition and we never carved anything fancy. This was all before pumpkin carving kits and Pinterest, back in the day when people carved their pumpkins with knives and risked slicing off digits. That's part of the fun. I did not buy us special pumpkin carving kits this year partly for this reason and partly because there are bits of carving kits of past hiding around in the back of a kitchen drawer. We didn't really ever use anything out of those kits but the scraper and even then a spoon turned out to (still) be the best tool for the job.

They got a head start on the Cabbage's pumpkin while I was folding a basket of laundry. So by the time I was elbow deep into my pumpkin, Michael was already carving away at the face the Cabbage had drawn on her pumpkin. I could hear them behind me as Michael sat at the dinning room table with the Cabbage peering over his shoulder, directing Michael's knife. Was it so long ago that this was me doing the exact same thing, peering over Dad's shoulder and directing his carving knife? I smiled as I continued scraping the inside of my pumpkin. One of the tricks of pumpkin carving that Dad taught me, was to not just thoroughly scrap the sides of the pumpkin but to also scrap the bottom of the pumpkin. This way you roll the guts into ball as you go and then all you have to do is dump the pumpkin upside and watch as all the goop falls out. It is a lot of scraping and you should expect a hand cramp somewhere in the middle of the whole process, but it is the cleanest, most efficient way to pull out the insides of a pumpkin. 

I paused to rest my cramping hand and rub my forehead with back of my sleeved arm. I looked over at Michael who was doing the finishing touches on the Cabbage's pumpkin. The Cabbage was now dancing around behind him, no longer directing or even really paying attention. I wondered if he got it, if understood what kind of memory he was building with her. He didn't have the same kind of childhood as I did. He's never talked about carving pumpkins or participating in the same kind of traditional holiday activities as I did. Sure, he went trick-or-treating, but I don't know if he's ever been to the kind of Halloween party where kids bob for apples and jump over broomsticks. Collinsville used to have a Halloween festival at the fair grounds. One activity was to toss a bunch of money into a hay bale and let a group of kids dig around in the hay collecting whatever coins they could find. This was how we learned that I am allergic to hay, but it was my favorite thing. We didn't do this every year, but every year Dad and I carved a pumpkin. Always. Even when I was old enough to do it on my own. 

Michael asked the Cabbage about next year's pumpkin, something about maybe getting a carving kit so she could carve the pumpkin on her own. She told him that she didn't want to carve the pumpkin on her own. The Cabbage told him that she wanted to help him carve the pumpkin like they did this time around. I wonder if she has taken the lead in setting a tradition. I wonder if Michael recognizes that. I wonder if he realizes that maybe one day when the Cabbage is much older, she's going to tell stories about how she and her dad used to carve a pumpkin together every year. 

THE PUMPKIN TRAP

Queen of the mulch

14 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Queen of the mulch"

The Cabbage decided that she wanted to carve a pumpkin. I though 'Great! I'll let her pick out a pumpkin at Aldi!" Aldi has the cheapest pumpkins. I got a perfectly round pumpkin for $3 a couple of weeks ago. Then there was talk of going to a pumpkin patch and Michael looked at me and said "Can we do that?" I shrugged and mumbled an 'okay' knowing that if we were actually going to go to a pumpkin patch, I would be the one doing the research into which one and where. This was more work than my previous plan of just picking a pumpkin from the bin at Aldi's. I thought maybe if I didn't mention it again the whole thing would be forgotten. I did spend a few spare moments looking at pumpkin patches in my area and it kind of reminded me of shopping for curtains. They both include spending a lot of money for not a lot of things. 

It seems that pumpkin patches have become this big thing. They all include a corn maze (at an extra cost), a hayride, some inflatable thing to jump on, and a trip out to a pumpkin patch where all of the pumpkins have been already harvested and placed neatly in rows. This is where you choose your pumpkin (which will cost you) and then end up lugging it around along with whatever the child you are with ends up picking up along the way like coloring sheets and balloon animals. All of this without the extra things like the maze and the pumpkin will cost you around $15 a person. We've gone to these things before and every year, I walk away feeling like I've been slammed by a truck. I understand the appeal. Really, I do. Fresh air and an illusion of being on a real life farm. For people who are from the city or the suburbs, this is the idyllic Fall adventure. It is an opportunity for their children to see the country, pet some goats and get lost in a corn maze. It is an opportunity to drag a professional photographer along with you to capture a beautiful family portrait. On paper it all sounds really lovely. All of those places have hot apple cider and some sort of apple pumpkin donut. The reality is that these places are over crowded, the weather is this weird blend of hot/cold and windy and there is no joy in lugging around the giant pumpkin your child picked out while they run screaming from some so-called farm attraction to another attraction. 

Lucky for me, Michael got some sort of food poisoning on Friday. No one mentioned pumpkin patches. I did want some mums for the front porch though, so I dragged the Cabbage out of bed to go get mums and a pumpkin for her to carve. Suburban Lawn and Garden was having their Fall fest which includes hayrides, face painting and popcorn. There's a silly witch that dances and makes balloon animals. And, the best part, it is all free. I still paid an exorbitant amount for a pumpkin, but my mums were cheap and the Cabbage had a good time. Afterward, the two of us had lunch at a nearby Mexican place where we played tic-tac-toe while we waited on our food. Then I made her work on a Christmas list while I finished my lunch. By the time we got home, Michael was almost back to normal and I had plenty of afternoon left to clean up the front porch and plant my mums, as well as clean out my closet. Pumpkins were carved before dinner and I declared the day a success. 

The Cabbage and I don't spend a whole lot of time alone together. The whole point is for her to spend time with her Dad, whom she only sees once a week for an evening and every other weekend. The theory is that the more time she spends with him, the less often she will call him DustinDaddy. Dustin is the ex's boyfriend. Nice enough guy, but you can probably see how all of that would set some teeth on edge. The Cabbage and I alone off on an activity together only happens when Michael is sick. Once, the two of us went to the zoo. Another time, I had to pick her up after school on a Friday. I took her to McDonald's. The pumpkin patch was the third time in the four years since I've known her that we've spent the day just the two of us. And I didn't leave her at the pumpkin patch. So..that's something. These excursions always includes some awkward moment from somebody assuming that I am the Cabbage's mother. This time it was the face painter. When the Cabbage told the girl her name, she turned to me and asked if I was a big fan of Ferris Bueller, assuming that I had named her after one of the characters. 

It's not that I want to be so insistent about NOT being the Cabbage's mother. It's just that I feel like maybe I should just wear a button that reads "Not the Mom!" just so that people don't get any ideas. And when I say 'ideas', I mean I don't want any one to think that I have any sort of parenting skills. I fed the child beans for lunch. Seriously. She ate a refried bean and cheese burrito with a side of refried beans for lunch and I did not recommend she add something green to that plate. We all suffered for it the next day when she continued to fart up the inside of the car on our way back from IKEA. The only thing I will take credit for is the totally awesome t-shirt she picked out to wear that day because I bought the shirt and stuck it in her dresser. She usually picks out a dress, but this time she pulled out that t-shirt that talks about Marie Curie on the back and has science stuff on the front. When people asked her about it, she would tell them "I like science and Cindy's a scientist."

So, yes. I will take credit for that.