Summer of Stories: The "Snowball Incident"

Rachel, Me & Anna, incognito.

My friends Rachel and Anna and I were destined to be friends in college. We all entered our college experience as members of the Freshman Honor Corps, a group of study-focused individuals (read: nerds) that spent the semester taking challenging courses together and participating in crazy team-building activities. Rachel and I became fast friends and became known as "the Rachels" (I miss you, other half!), and Anna frequently joined us on our adventures.

And we had many adventures, or rather, adventurous mishaps. The most infamous of these was the Snowball Incident of 2003, which began with us innocently enjoying a particularly heavy January snowfall, sliding around in the parking lots and making snow balls out of the fresh piles accumulating on commuters' cars. This progressed to a full-on snowball fight, after which, in a rush of pink-nosed giddiness, we decided to take our snowball fight into one of the dorms and ambush our friend Jackie.

So, we began the journey from our current parking lot across campus to Jackie's dorm, carrying our carefully-packed snowballs. Attempting to outdo the rest of us, Rachel kept rolling her snowball into each patch of fresh snow we encountered. The snowball was the size of a tennis ball, then a softball, then a small cantaloupe. Right before we ran into the dorm, she took advantage of one more undisturbed spot of snow, primly located in the dormitory's landscape area. The snowball was now rather bowling ball-sized; it was no longer white, but was covered in a fresh layer of mulch and dirt from the landscape area. A slushy landscape ball, if you will.

The three of us ran up the stairs, knocked on Jackie's door, and waited. She opened the door, hair freshly washed and dried and a clean outfit on. Anna and I threw our dainty snowballs. Splat. Splat. We all kinda giggled. We looked at Rachel, and she threw the monster. SPLOOSH.

It landed on Jackie's head and kind of slid down the side of her face. And then we feared for our lives, so we ran.

Jackie didn't speak to us for weeks. It took lots of apologies and "please forgive us" cards before we could be friendly again. We even volunteered to come shampoo the dirt out of her carpet.

I've never laughed so hard in my entire life. I haven't seen or talked to Jackie in years, but as for Anna and Rachel and I, that snowball cemented our friendship.

Summer of Stories: Beach trips

I love this picture of me and my grandmother. I'm not sure who was more wary of getting in the water, and I think we both feel the same today. :-)

I grew up going to Florida nearly every year with my mother, grandparents, aunt, and cousins. Grandma grew up in Pensacola, so we would go down to visit family and play on the beach. My memories from those trips consist of happy nights snuggled in homemade afghans at Aunt Marylou's house, playing in the red dirt of her fire-aunt infested backyard, and picking up seashells on the beach. Most of my beach memories include my cousin Melody.

For visual reference, Melody is on the left, next to Harvey.

For many years, we would go to Pensacola to see family, then head over to Panama City for our relaxing beach time (this was when it was just starting to become an airbrushing, go-carting tourist trap. don't judge). I have great memories of Melody and I playing in the surf for hours, building sandcastles, getting eaten alive by sand fleas, and even dancing around in our matching grass skirts. Our annual trips got more infrequent as all of us grandkids got older, and the long car rides got to be too much for my grandfather.

My grandfather passed away several years ago, but my Grandma still likes to go back to Pensacola every couple of years visit her nieces, and be reminded of the place she and Grandpa met, I think. Last week my mom, aunt, and I had the privilege of joining her on such a pilgrimage.

I'd had high hopes for the trip, because of all those wonderful memories. But wasn't everything I'd hoped it would be.

Grandma was sick, and wasn't quite herself. In between coughing fits, she was bossy and irritable. I probably would have been, too, if I was 80 years old and felt as bad as she did. Mom and my aunt were both stuffy and snoring, so no one slept a whole lot. Melody wasn't there, neither was my little brother. Neither was Grandpa. I had no desire to collect shells, because they didn't match my house's decor (snooty, huh). This trip was just different. I wasn't a kid anymore.

There were many really good things about the trip, too. The beach was beautiful and clean, still unspoiled by the coming oil slick. The weather was perfect. The hotel was great, with a nice little pool and a great view. We saw amazing sunsets. We got to visit with family. I got to talk with my aunt a lot, which I don't think I've been able to do it years. I think I had the most fun of the whole trip when mom and I went out to the beach by ourselves on our last evening, walked along collecting shells for a craft project she wanted to work on, watched the sunset, and entertained ourselves by setting the camera's timer and attempting the perfect jumping-in-the-sand photo.

We can't get the past back, obviously. But the present can be good, too. And I'm so grateful for such wonderful grandparents, who took the time to share their past and present.

And, in case you're wondering, our timer photos were hilarious, if unsuccessful. :)

Reprieve

Summer is almost here. I can tell because the days are getting warmer and more humid, my second semester of grad school is officially over, and the sun is staying up nearly as long as I am in the evenings.

I am so grateful for the reprieve that is summer.

I received very, very good news this week. I am not allergic to any foods, much less the entire food pyramid. Apparently skin testing (which I had done this week) is much more reliable than blood testing (what I had done a couple weeks ago). As in, blood testing has a 50/50 reliability rate, while skin testing has a 95% reliability rate. I wish I had known that before, but I don't regret cutting all that stuff out of my diet for a few weeks. I diversified my food repertoire quite a bit. I've added everything back in except wheat and dairy, and I think I'm going to stay away from those for a while just because I feel better.

I decided against taking summer classes this year, just because I need a break and some time to finish settling into our new home. I'm excited to (finally) unpack that last room full of boxes, to paint my kitchen and bathroom, and to hang things on the walls. Time at home that doesn't involve sleeping or doing homework will be a good thing.

Summer hours start in two weeks. I love working at a school.

I hope you find rest and reprieve in at least some small way this summer, even if your work is not dictated by the school calender.

My favorite season

Fall is most certainly my favorite season. It is one of those times I am very grateful to live in Tennessee, especially in Chattanooga. If I ever have to live somewhere that doesn't get to experience fall in all its colorful glory, it will be a sad day. In case you didn't get to experience fall this year, or you weren't able to get outside and enjoy it, here are a few pictures I took on campus at McCallie last week.

(If that flag pole wasn't in the way it'd be even prettier. :-))

(The view from Missionary Ridge is beautiful.)

(The iconic McCallie chapel)

We have a few more good days of fall left, then most of the leaves will be gone. I'm trying not to be sad about it, and just soaking up the beauty as much as possible.

God likes fall, I'm sure of it.

Changes in Freezing Temperatures

It's been cold. So much so that I've stopped wishing for snow (well, at least cut back) and I'm ready for spring. Our pipes froze this week even though we left a faucet dripping. We hoped and prayed for two days (during which the temperature hovered at or below 20 degrees), and when it finally got above freezing again, the pipes thawed nicely with no bursting. Whew. Hot water is wonderful, and I take it for granted. All that and no snow. Sigh. Maybe I'm not quite over it yet.

It was a frigid day in Washington D.C. yesterday, but that didn't stop more than a million people from gathering on the national mall to catch a glimpse of President Obama's inauguration. No matter what your political leanings, you have to agree that it was a historic and significant occasion, not only for us in America but for people around the world. Now, when we tell a child that he can be anything he wants when he grows up, even the President, it's actually true.

Gettin' all Martha Stewart-y

I am in love with all things Martha Stewart. It's kind of like our wedding (and all of the DIY crafts and projects that went into it) switched on some part of my brain that had been dormant for a long time.

I've always been artistic and rather crafty. I owe that to my fabulously creative mother. I remember making pine cone turkeys, clay Christmas ornaments, and cotton-ball snowmen not long after I could walk. So I suppose it's only natural that I should catch the crafting bug again, even if it's been a decade or so since our regular rainy-day craft dates.

Thus, I have plunged myself deep into the world of holiday craft-y-ness. Nearly all of the Christmas gifts we are giving this year are at least partially homemade. And, boy, is it fun. It's been a great way for me to pass the time while Lee is out of town for the ridiculously busy fall sales season. Yesterday afternoon, while sipping hot tea and listening to Vince Geraldi Christmas jazz, I made this:


It's our holiday wreath! I know it's only November 10, but when you're making all of your holiday decorations, you've got to start early. Now, I know what you're thinking: "How did you make this glorious holiday creation?" I'll tell you!

First, I cut a giant cardboard "G" out of a big, sturdy box that was awaiting our recycling bin. Then, I went to walmart and bought $10 worth of red fake poinsettas. With five blooms on each $1 stem, I got 50 flowers for really cheap.

Then, I took a screwdriver with a very small head (maybe 1/8 inch), and poked holesin the cardboard. I pulled each bloom off of the poinsetta stem and stuck it in a hole. after I had covered the whole G, I went back in with the blooms that were left and tried to fill in any sparse spaces I could see cardboard through.

And, ta-da! I could have hot glued each flower in, and I might if I decide to keep the wreath for consecutive seasons, but the screwdriver and bloom stems were so perfectly sized, the flowers fit well and don't seem to want to fall out. You could also paint the cardboard the color of your flowers if you don't want to risk a bit showing through.

That's all for now! Next crafting/design project up: our dining/library/craft room. Now, back to my day job.

The Dog Days of Summer

Flipity, flipity, flipiteeee-whooooooosh.

It's one of those super-cheesy/dramatic movies, where the calender on the wall has just had its pages ripped off and blown away by a big gust of wind, and then you suddenly realize three years have gone by and you have to figure out what's happened in the interim.

I felt kind of like that this week when I looked at the calendar. What? Summer's almost over? School begins in a couple of weeks? When did that happen?

And I find myself wondering, what have I done with my summer?

I've been working, of course, so I can't enjoy quite the lazy summer days of yesteryear. Our workdays are shorter, though, so life has been a bit more laid back, things have seemed less harried. We've spent a lot of time working on the house, which has been good. I've discovered IKEA, and my life will never be the same. And we've actually discovered that we have a yard under all that trash in the backyard. Who knew?

Mostly though, I've been spending my time on this:



Enter my wonderful, energetic, exhausting puppy, Scout! I love her soooo much, and, just as we had expected, she's been a lot of work. It's been really fun though, watching her grow from a tiny, fuzzy little squirt, to a big, gangly teenage German Shepherd that can already drag me around even though she's only about half grown. She may knock you over unintentionally, but she will love and kiss you to death once you're on the floor.

Since Scout is going to be a ridiculously large dog, and I'm a relatively average-sized woman living in a really, really small house, it is crucial that we train her right now. There will be NO taking off down the road after cats or jumping on guests when she is 80 lbs, it's just not acceptable. So last week, we started obedience school. The verdict is still out on how well she's learning, but I'm sure getting in a good workout on Tuesday nights.

I'll keep you updated on how the obedience training is going, but so far she's doing pretty well with "leave it" - that one comes in handy when you accidentally drop a piece of chocolate on the floor, your favorite pair of shoes simply can't take another gnawing, or you don't have the strength to hold her back from that roll of paper towels she's just discovered on the kitchen table.

It's definately been a summer I won't forget anytime soon. :)

cullinary therapy

(image source)

I am a firm believer in making soup.

Soup is the best, cheapest kind of therapy available. Eating it is great, but making it and then eating it is even better. Rainy day? Make soup. Feeling sick? Make soup. Budget tight? Make soup. In need of some comfort food? Make soup. Need to feed a lot of people? Make soup. While I tend to make at least a pot a week in the fall and winter, I'm usually less inclined to start boiling broth and chopping veggies when it's 95 degrees outside. But every once in a while we get a cooler, rainy day like today, and I can tune out the news, hum along to some Frank or Dean, and start tending to a pot of soup, and all is right with the world once more - for a little while.

my 103 degree summer

I'd forgotten what 103 degree days were like.

It's hella hot.

There are times, like in the middle of a cold spell in February, where you can't seem to remember ever being warm, and the thought of sunshine, hazy afternoons and static summer heat is a pleasant one. The moment those days actually arrive, though, I find myself longing for weather that doesn't constantly make me feel like I'm trying to jog in a steam room. I try to remind myself that we always what what isn't, and that by January I'll be longing for August (or at least May) once again. Relief will soon be here in the form of cooler September mornings, and I will spend some quality time with a bicycle.

Speaking of bicycles, remember this guy? . . .














. . . Yeah, I'm gonna marry him.
Crazy, this life is. Never would have guessed that a year ago. Turns out, God knows me better than I do. I am astounded by His grace.

Lee asked me to marry him last Sunday, August 5, on my birthday - having "officially" dated just shy of 8 months. It's funny, but I've never been so sure of anything in my life. He is for me, and I for him. The doctrinal ramifications of the whole thing are still blowing me away. . .
The proposal included a walk to a beautiful view over Chattanooga, a bottle of champagne hidden in the bushes, and little tiny notes tucked under mailboxes, lampposts and street signs all the way home. It was lovely. And he succeeded in surprising me, which given my ability to piece things together with incredible speed (I mean, I was a reporter, you learn), was quite a feat.

So now, I will spend the remainder of my sweltering summer days attempting to learn how to best build a life, plan a marriage, and host a celebration . . . daunting, but good . . . So many more thoughts to come.