ZOMBIE. PROM.

Oh yeah, Halloween was 1/2 a month ago. Oh yeah, I'm still going to post these pictures. This is what happens when they make me in charge of a dance, I go a little bit psycho with some elaborate theme. I kinda think that I would have more enthusiasm for life if every day had a theme, like spirit week in high school. Except it was spirit life and there were community committees dedicated to coordinating twin day and wacky day. I know it's not going to happen, but it can happen in small ways. And so here is my attempt at revolution. One day, one day.

That's right, a jellyfish! There's something delightful about having a zombie being stung by a giant jellyfish.

I stayed in character all night. Being 1/2 dead takes only 1/2 the energy.

Family Folklore and Sesame Street

A few years ago my family went to see my mom's dad and her stepmother. They had gotten married a couple years after my mom and dad did, so even though we grew up called her grandma, my mom called her Jody. And I remember that confusing me.

Both of them had been falling apart since I could remember them. My grandma Jody, who died about 2 years ago, had been in a wheelchair for years, and my grandpa doesn't have an eye (no, he doesn't wear an eye patch and yes, the state of Arizona reissued his drivers' license, which my mom talked him into surrendering).

So while we were sitting around, Grandma Jody got to telling stories about growing up and her first husband and teaching. She had been a kindergarten teacher for 30 years, and she had centered her instruction around letters instead of concepts. So she would teach them about Fish and to count to Four and Five and learn how to play Football. She was explaining this concept to her summer professional development class, when a girl in the corner picked up the stapler and said, "This lesson was brought to you by the letter F." And everyone laughed.

Later Grandma Jody was visiting with the teacher, asking her about what all the students were up to, and the teacher referenced that girl with the stapler. Apparently, she had gone to New York to start and educational television program using my grandma's teaching style. Yeah, Sesame Street.

I felt like I had never met her before. How could I have possibly not known that my grandmother partly inspired Big Bird?

Part of me doesn't really believe it. Short of calling my own grandmother a liar, I can imagine that she was just confused or was exaggerating in some weird, extreme way. But Joan Ganz Cooney did graduate from U of A in education, and she did work in Phoenix for a few years before going to New York. And sometimes I think it's okay to just believe her. It makes me, in some way, feel like somewhat of a cousin to Oscar the Grouch. And come on, who wouldn't want to be related to a puppet?

I Can Really Get Into This

I wonder how many things I could get tricked into if it were made more fun. Like abstaining from Diet Coke. Or not procrastinating. Someone really needs to get on that.

Espanol Por Favor

I wish that by my sister marrying a Mexican it somehow entitled me to just knowing Spanish. I also wish that going to Puerto Rico for a week for spring break or working at a mid-level Mexican restaurant for 9 months would have counted as immersion. But as it is, I have to take a Spanish translation test tomorrow armed with a freshman and sophomore of high school level knowledge and only really thorough knowledge of nouns related to serving food.

My program requires a working translation ability of a written language. I knew this from the beginning. Part of me was hoping that somehow I could use Sign Language, but because the written language of ASL is English I knew in my heart it wouldn't count. I also had assumed that at some point before the test my stress level would inspire me to poor over verbs charts and conversational exercises. I was wrong on both accounts. And now I'm scrawling verbs endings on blue notecards, cramming in a way that I haven't done since my calculus final my senior year at Chandler High.

I did try to try. I thought that finding a 501 Spanish Verb book by the library dumpster was a great start. I even turned my phone to Spanish setting for 3 weeks, which only resulted in erasing too many messages and never knowing exactly what was going on. I have decided to turn to the Soaps, and I'm pretty sure this is what my translation will look like:



Necesito un milagro.

Love and Fall and Singing

There's something therapeutic for me about singing in the car.

One of the things I remember most about my childhood, besides having incessantly tangled hair, is singing. Packed in a van--first red and then later forrest green--my family primarily did two things on road trips: fight and sing. The folk songs that my dad taught us are basically how I learned all of my US history and geography.

This past Saturday, Amy and I spent the entire 2 hour car ride from Orlando (after gorging ourselves on the trappings of suburban entertainment: JcPenny's and the Oliver Garden) singing a mixture of folk, 90's, country, showtunes, and a healthy portion of Tom Jones. And as I was belting some odd medley of Fiddler on the Roof classics, I felt as if the spirit of Tevye was filling my soul with the dulcet tones of happiness.

So to celebrate a visit from the reputable Ms. Scott, on Sunday we made strata and roasted potatoes and ate it with a group of girls. And then I tricked them into singing Ingrid Michaelson's You and I on the stoop. Not a car, but a beautiful moment nonetheless. If you don't feel your heart warming over, you might want to get your soul checked out.


(For some reason I can't get Safari to show the entire width of the file, thus cutting off Sarah and Laura.)

Ode to Autumn

I don't think it's lame that my love for fall began with You've Got Mail, because it would have happened at some point. I just would have taken me a bit longer to figure out that the Arizona switch between the brown, dry, and hot of summer and the brown, dry, and cold of winter was what other people of the world call Autumn.

So after a couple years in Utah (which for the record has much more of a fall that AZ) and a glorious year in Washington DC (Mt. Vernon!), I'm back in Florida where fall is almost the opposite of Arizona--being green, humid, and hot--but still non existent.

So instead, Aleksi and I threw an Ode to Autumn dinner party on my back porch. I don't have any pictures of the food, but we had butternut squash-apple soup, pecan-peach cornbread, strawberry-heath salad, homemade chicken potpie, and wassail. It was deLIcious.

I knew that last year when I bought 14 plates from the dollar store I would use them all at the same time one day. There were people (Aleksi, Cynthia) who mocked me. No longer.

I loved seeing everyone eating together! Even though I was still very bitter that it refused to cool down (Come on, weather! Throw me a bone!), it was lovely.

I don't know why Sarah is sad; she was actually very happy.

Just now, after watching exactly 5 minutes of Kevin Costner in For the Love of the Game, I cried when a fictional character threw a fictional perfect game.

I can't really explain it.

I like seeing people do things that mean a lot to them. It makes me feel. Good. And proud in this maternal way.

I should have been a professional mourner. You know, putting my crying to use.