I decided to go for a little drive today. (Taken with Instagram)
Two years ago today I graduated from Ithaca College and spent a wonderful weekend celebrating the accomplishment with my friends and family. I remember the commencement eve fireworks as if I watched them yesterday. Time can slow down any time now.
“Novelist Alice Randall sparked controversy with an op-ed in The New York Times in which she wrote, ‘chemically … black fat may be the same as white fat. Culturally it is not.’ Randall argues that overweight women of all ethnicities must lose weight, but many are fat because they want to be.”
Let’s just say that I had a few existential moments while pedaling.
Happy Mother’s Day to the woman who taught me how to wear a headband and bangs like a champ, how to make super sweet sock puppets, and that working hard will always pay off — sometimes even with a blue ribbon.
Simply put, I am so grateful for my kind, loving, funny and beautiful mom.
Running a couple miles, and walking a few more while chatting on the phone with my man and my mama
Showing up at Starbucks earlier than usual and in time for the morning rush
Realizing after the banana bread batter was mixed up that the loaf pan moved to Pennsylvania and the toothpicks moved Colorado
Not to worry, 1 loaf = 18 banana muffins and, while less discrete, you can check if the muffins are done using a fork and aerate the little buggers simultaneously
Hopping in the shower after my run, but not being in there alone
Finding a three-inch cockroach in my soap holder
Now, as you might imagine, I was 1.) naked, 2.) wet, and 3.) startled at the time of this discovery. My immediate thought was, “Cockroaches are perverts!”
Just kidding. My first thought was actually, “YOU MUST DIE F—ER!” I considered my options for smashing the genuine bugger, and I decided against using my shampoo bottle. It seemed like an amateur move, and I learned long ago that you cannot leave anything to chance with these speedy demons.
So, I flung the shower door open, ran over to my closet (dripping), grabbed a strategic shoe with a flat bottom, wide sole and rock hard construction, and slid my way back to the shower. The roach was still tucked in the shower caddy, so I coaxed it out of hiding and smashed the helloutta it.
If I’ve said this once, I’ve said it a hundred times: I keep an abnormally clean house, and I still have roaches. Everyone in Savannah has bugs unless they spray for them. Also, if you live in a state free of roaches and enjoy peaceful bathing experiences, stay where you are.
People often say that smell is the strongest memory trigger in terms of the senses. I’d argue that, for me, hearing — and particularly music — is a more dramatic way to transport my thoughts back in time.
I was driving home from the grocery store on Saturday afternoon when an annoying commercial prompted me to scan my radio presets. At that time, one of the country stations was featuring Alan Jackson’s “Little Bitty.” This song was fitting for the vibrantly sunny and upbeat weather we experienced last weekend, but my thoughts were not in Georgia.
For the rest of my life, “Little Bitty” will remind me of the first week I interned at KARE 11 in Minneapolis. I shadowed reporters and videographers most workdays and enjoyed getting to know the real people behind the sport jackets, microphones and broadcast voices. I gradually began to see the anchors and reporters as real, “normal” people, but I was timid and awed at the beginning of my summer internship.
So, as you might imagine, I was taken aback when I found myself sitting in one of KARE’s white SUVs headed to a rough area of North Minneapolis to cover a new school lunch program with a sprightly female photog and a hip, Uptown reporter who decided to blare this tune and let her arms flail out the windows.
These ladies had created a mix CD with the oddest concoction of music to span decades and genres that I’d ever heard. One moment we were listening to folk-inspired hipster music and the next minute Mr. Jackson was telling us about a little bitty dish and little bitty spoon.
Just a moment ago I watched the music video because I like to verify that I’m not accidentally posting something on this blog that will make my mother blush when she reads the post. I have a question for you: What is going on with that weird-o scare crow?
In the end, it doesn’t matter how strange I think this song/video is, because Mr. Jackson managed to make a gazillion dollars all the while wearing a henley and blue jeans to work. Consider me jealous, but I’ll get over it. After all, “might as well smile, life goes on for a little bitty while.”
This morning Lena turned the key in her little Civic and, for the last time, pulled out of the Georgia driveway that for nearly two years has threatened to rip off her bumper with the slightest angle miscalculation. If she had left during the evening, she would have used the North Star as her guide. Well, either Polaris or the unruly GPS that’s duck taped to her dashboard.
My roommie former roommie is moving in pursuit of new career opportunities and a whole lot of happiness.
I know she’ll find it.
Last night we went to a lovely going away dinner with old friends and brand new (to this world) friends.
Lena jokes that years from now she wants to live in an apartment above my garage and be known as “Crazy Aunt Lena.” You know what? I think this is a fantastic idea. She held a two-week-old infant last night and, while she was reluctant at first, turns out to have an elbow built for baby cradling.
In my mind, she will be the aunt of my 2.5 children, serve as a surrogate mother in baby yoga classes, and teach them to eat and love vegetables at a much younger age than she managed to convince their mother of the same notion.
Lena and I have been pals for a very long time. If you read this blog frequently, you’ve probably noticed that she’s one of its main features.
Every once in a while I’m reminded just how long we’ve been friends. We’re not exactly on par with married couples who celebrate their 40th, 50th or 60th wedding anniversaries, but we’ve had a few milestones.
For instance, I was clicking around in my Twitter app the other day and came upon the very first direct message I sent through what was then a fairly new social media platform. In April 2009, I was living in London and wrote to Lena who was living in New York saying, “I miss your face…and I think this Twitter thing could get addicting!”
Well, Twitter has since been incorporated into nearly every media outlet in existence, drives commerce, highlights trends and is all around influential. I’d say my prediction was correct. I hope that my ability to forecast is as good tonight as it was three years ago. That’s because this is my message for this evening:
“I miss your face…and I think we’ll live in the same ZIP code again, someday!”
Climate change has led to more precipitation and less moose in Minnesota, but who knew our climate was already hospitable to animals that normally reside in the tropics?
Apparently, Bloomington is now home to alligators, and nobody is quite sure how they got there.
A dog came across a small alligator while on a walk near the Bass Ponds area of the Minnesota Valley Wildlife Refuge yesterday, and a fisherman in the refuge told Fox 9 “there is a big one [near the ponds] too.”
The small gator was turned over to the Vicky Sherry, the Wildlife Refuge’s biologist, who freely admits she didn’t initially know whether it was a alligator or crocodile.
“Nobody is really equipped to handle an alligator in Minnesota that we could get a hold of,” she told Fox.
The best Sherry can do for now, apparently, is place the gator in a trashcan with a weight on top to make sure the little guy or gal can’t break loose overnight. But don’t despair, because the gator will be liberated from the trashcan soon — a local herpetological society is taking the gator today to ready it for adoption.
And be warned, those of you who plan to spend time in the Everglades Minnesota Valley Wildlife Refuge this spring. Apparently, there is at least one big gator still on the loose.
I know that in Georgia there’s always the possibility of seeing an alligator, but seeing one in Minnesota would just too weird! C’mon, this is crazy talk!