I never wanted to be a teacher.

At different times during my growing-up years, I considered what I wanted to be as a grown-up and the list included: ballerina; jockey (horse, not disc); air traffic controller; attorney; police dispatcher; print journalist; anchorwoman; missionary. I was able to rule a few of those out fairly intelligently (didn't have the discipline to be a ballerina, the short stature to be a jockey, the nerves to be an air traffic controller or police dispatcher, the guts to be an attorney). I might have pulled off the journalist or the anchorwoman, and I did have three shots at missionary, which I loved.

But I never wanted to be a teacher until now. I want to homeschool my children, and plan to start in the Fall. As with all things I pursue, I've researched the heck out of it and am going forward. My two stipulations for myself before making the decision were that I had to be in regular therapy for my anger, and I had to research and implement better home management ideas. Both are happening. Therapy is every other week, and it's been just over a month since I started some new routines and practices around the house. In addition, I joined a Catholic homeschool support group and we attended one activity last week since my kids are on track break. I'm glad for the remaining months I have before we start to prepare, and I'm looking forward to it.

Considering that at one time or another in my past, my list of things I never wanted to do included: get married; be Catholic; run; and cook, I think this will turn out just fine!

Twelve Quiet Hours

Spent Saturday Uniquely. (Pause to wonder how repugnant it is to begin a blog post with a sentence fragment. But that's sort of the way of the blog. Heck, it's lately the way of the newspapers and magazines. No one follows grammar rules anymore.) I had my first official once-a-month "Day Off." Humble thanks to my husband who gave me his blessing and cared for the fabulous four kids from sunup to past sundown.

My theme for the day was solitude and silence. Let's see if I can recall the few words I spoke here and there throughout the day.

1. (Well, there was a lot of speaking to go along with the liturgy of daily Mass - I won't type it all here.)

2. "Bless me, Father..." (I went to confession next.)

3. "Two people actually," when I was asked by a man in a suit and tie who I was looking for at a cemetery at 9:15 a.m. Other than the overly-bold and nosey employee, it was a silent time.

4. "I'd like the Power Wrap." "Thanks." "Thanks." "Sure." "Thanks." (Brunch.)

5. "It does look really old." (Regarding a copy of Robinson Crusoe I picked up at the library's used book sale. --- Janelle, I will find out how old it is!)

6. "One for 'He's Just Not That Into You.'"

7. "Just an order of fries, please." (After six hours without food, but not wanting to spoil dinner.)

8. "A chocolate chip Frolatte, please?" "No whipped cream." "Thanks."

9. "Honey, it's me. Where's the gas cap release button on this car?"

10. "Shredded beef bowl, please." "Beans." "Mild." "Yes." "A Sierra Nevada, please."

After dinner, I went home. It was a glorious, very still, contemplative day. I particularly enjoyed ending it sitting in Chipotle reading my homeschool book at a table alone and drinking a Sierra Nevada.

Half Marathon Goal Time

Okay. I ran today and paid a lot of attention to my pace (as told by my GPS) and how I felt at different speeds. Then, I came home and entered a reasonable pace into the handy-dandy calculator at Runners World. Voila, my goal time for my half marathon is 2:30. Considering aches and pains, but also adrenaline and cheering bystanders, I'll be happy to finish as far under three hours as I can. Then, when I sign up for this madness again, I can try to shoot for closer to two hours.

Other items that need to be addressed: Who will come to cheer me on? My knee hurts. What shirt will I wear? Will I bring my iPod? (In the 53,000 5Ks I've run, I've never used music. But I think I'd like to. Maybe.) What to eat beforehand? Where to convalesce afterward? And how soon will I run the next one?

Another Recently Uncovered Favorite Quote

Favorite line from Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre that I wrote in my journal when I was reading it in August, 1992.

The crisis was perilous; but not without its charm: such as the Indian, perhaps, feels when he slips over the rapid in his canoe.

FSF

In college, my friend Rhonda used the initials FSF in place of saying "feel sorry for". It got mean. We'd look at someone having a bad hair day and say "FSF". Or, more commonly, she'd say something like: "I'm FSFing. I have a test tomorrow that I'm not ready for."

Well, I'm in an FSF mood.

Tried to pull myself out of it with a one-mile "pilgrimage" to church for a brief prayer time. Didn't help. I only realized you shouldn't walk fast in jeans, and you shouldn't walk at ALL in Vegas wind.

Came home. Yelled too much at my daughters putting them to bed. Slumped down on the floor of my bedroom and pulled open a never-opened drawer in a nightstand to find an old, old, old journal I wrote favorite quotes in. I'm not in the mood to FSF myself in blog form, so I'll just share this quote. I loved it then (in about 1994), I love it now.

"They have cradled you in custom, they have primed you with their preaching-
They have soaked you in convention, through and through;
They have put you in a showcase; you're a credit to their teaching-
But don't you hear the wild? - it's calling you.
Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
There's a whisper on the night wind, there's a star agleam to guide us,
And the wild is calling, calling... let us go."

Okay, it's not just a quote. More of a poem, really. By Robert Service. Jim Elliot includes it in his journal and it appears on page 82 of Shadow of the Almighty.

I have cousins who are missionaries in Ecuador, just like Jim Elliot was. I was a missionary of sorts for a few years, but now I have a different vocation. I'm wondering what the "wild" looks like for me. Different, yes. But not nonexistent.

Take Time to Stop and Smell the Creosote

We spent part of our President's Day-off on a trail above Lake Mead. Long ago, it was the route of the railroad, having much to do with Hoover Dam. Today it was a fun family destination and in a month it will be my half-marathon path.

Beautiful desert. In the foreground, creosote bushes.



Today I learned something valuable. I have always credited my favorite desert aroma to sage. But today we saw all these plants on the trail and smelled their fantastic fresh fragrance and I told the kids it was sage --- Kevin corrected me and said it was creosote. Since he has spent WAY more time in the desert learning from his stepfather the wilderness expert, I know he's right. Here's a sprig.


We walked two miles. One mile to the first tunnels, and one mile back. Snacks and benches along the way saved us from some whining.


Upon reaching the tunnels, the kids got very excited. We all did, actually.


At first, Bethanie was a little frightened to go in. But she overcame her fear and soon flew past us.


I think my children could spend several hours throwing rocks into water or down hills. We've spent LOTS of time on LOTS of hikes doing both.






(Look at that face!)




Cayna, John, and Kevin were in on the action. Notice Kevin is holding on to John's jacket. It really was a steep dropoff right there.


The end.

"Just Call it a Popsicle" Mood

Somehow, some way, lime popsicles looked good to me one day in the Trader Joe's freezer section. And they ARE good. Sweet, a little sour, cold, and confoundingly weighty in the hand to the point that your fingers get sore only an eighth of the way into eating the thing. But my good ol' favorite store Trader Joe's does not call them popsicles. They are "Fruit Floes". I'm all for a good ol' fashioned ounce of pretension, but really. Sometimes their product naming department is just a little too dear. And tonight I'm in a "Just Call it a Popsicle" mood.

Also an issue in my current mood:
Does the man I share a bed with HAVE to order a pepperjack burger at dinner? HAVE to?

My new flip phone is WAY easier to hold than my old flat phone, and WAY easier to dial and text with, but it pinched the living crap out of my finger yesterday. Is this some sort of joke? We have the technology to put a phone, camera, and internet connection in a package the size of a half-eaten granola bar, but can't pinch-proof the thing?

NBC was stupid to let go of "Scrubs". It's just as darn good on its new network!

Valentine's Day

Started off the day making jewelry boxes with heart shapes on them at Lowe's. It was me and the girls. And forty-thousand other small children all hammering away. QUITE the noise factory. But they both did their own carpentry and it was fun.

No Valentine's Day is complete without a visit to the hospital! Again, me and the girls traveled across town to visit my dad - the proud recipient of artificial hip number two! He said he plans to be jumping over houses in no time. I guess after years of pain and handicap, you sorta get lofty goals.

We spent hours outside this afternoon in the crisp, sunny winter weather. My hands are still numb, but it was a fun time in the fresh air!

Scrambled eggs and heart-shaped waffles are on the menu for the night.

And our big date is watching "Fireproof" after the kids go to bed. I've heard good things, so I expect to enjoy it.

Other than that, we have four twenty-year old guys staying at our house tonight. Maybe I can get them talking about their Valentines back home! They're traveling with a Catholic Evangelistic team and they're great guys.

That's it for the Love household on St. Valentine's Day. Lest you think I didn't get my fair share of sweet treats, I did have a party the other day and served some fun desserts: homemade caramel popcorn, Snickerdoodles, Cranberry-Orange pinwheels, toffee, and a to-die-for white-chocolate raspberry bundt cake from the yummiest cake bakery in the neighborhood! Plus some store-bought cream puffs and festive M&M's Oh! And pink citrus punch and chai tea latte. Man, I know how to do dessert!!!

10936 and 25:44

I am the happy owner of some cotton curtains from IKEA all the way from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Here's the long-awaited package:


I love them. They have all the right colors for my kitchen. Colors and butterflies and various species of flora. But something else caught my eye - the number 10936 is all over the pattern:


What is THAT all about? Of course I Googled it, because I'll be staring at this mystery number for hours each day (while dish-doing and spying on my neighbors). According to my research, electricity was transmitted from Hoover Dam to Los Angeles for the first time on October 9, 1936. Neat. But not all warm and fuzzy enough to entrance me in the kitchen. Furthermore, 10936 is an item number for the vehicle suction cup mount for a Garmin GPS, and a listing number for a promising piece of real estate in Philly, in case you're interested. I'm disappointed. I need to assign some significance here.


Which brings me to 25:44. That was Kevin's first-effort 5K time. His race is in two weeks, so he tried the distance this morning. While he ran three miles, I snoozed in bed. When he returned, he came through the door and nonchalantly announced "25:44 --- how's that?" Well, pretty good, mister speedy pants! Some of us aspire to running a 25:44 5K IN OUR DREAMS!!! Oh, well, we can't all be phenomenal.

About my friend...

...She is thirty-eight years old. She is married to a guy with a dry sense of humor. She has four kids - two boys and two girls. She lives in a two-story house, likes to bake, and loves Jesus. We have all that in common, and we've been friends for about three years. We also both had recent mammograms.

I have a letter in front of me from the imaging center where I had my mammogram that reads, "We are pleased to inform you that the results of your recent mammography examination are normal."

But there's also an e-mail received today from my friend that reads, "I do have breast cancer..."

I looked for the perfect Psalm to quiet all her fears, and it's not to be found. I imagined sending a care package of a fancy showgirl wig (since I live in Vegas), some marijuana (like my aunt used for her chemo nausea), and a handmade blanket (to keep her warm and because she made such a sweet one for John - pictured above), but right now she still has her hair, probably wouldn't smoke the pot, and I can't sew.

All I can do is pray. Blah, blah, blah - it sounds so worn and so useless. But I know it's not. I know the Lord we love and serve really hears our prayers and truly responds. And I know, as I commit to pray every day for my friend and her stinkin' breast cancer, that God will answer. I also know it is the one tiny way I can stand beside her in this, thinking of her regularly and often. (Plus, let's be honest, I don't really know how to get ahold of any marijuana anyway...)

Last week at my kids' school I saw a woman wearing a t-shirt that said, "Hey, Cancer! You picked the WRONG girl!" Let that be true for my friend.

For Laura:

5 Things I was doing 5 years ago:
Looking at places to live in Temecula, California
Living in Hanford, California
Taking piano lessons
Getting used to having two children (same as Laura!)
Planning to celebrate Valentine's Day

5 Things on my to-do list today:
Meet Janelle at Great Harvest
Make caramel popcorn
Go to Moms' Group at church for Valentine's Party
Take Cayna to gymnastics
Go to RCIA

5 Things I would do with a million dollars:
(Let's trust that I'd give a lot and save a lot... other than that)
Fill my ever-empty living room with furniture
Get my eyes fixed
Go to Europe with all four kids and take brave friends along
Buy ridiculously pricey custom shelves throughout my whole house
Landscaping

5 Places I have lived:
Las Vegas
Ridgecrest, CA
Hanford, CA
Murrieta, CA
Yucaipa, CA

5 jobs I have held:
Receptionist (countless places)
Hostess at a restaurant
Sales at a mens' store at the Fashion Show Mall
InterVarsity Staff
Temp! (Just as glamorous as it looks on "The Office")

5 things I want to be doing in 5 years:
running FAR
blogging
homeschooling
writing my testimony of becoming Catholic
serving in ministry outside my neighborhood

Introducing...

I almost fall off my office chair with rhapsody when I discover another friend has started a blog.

Layla just did. You should read it! She has vibrant humor and personality in real life, and now it's in print.

I met her back when you could spend as much time reading her jacket as you'd now spend reading a blog post. Later, we spent a night on a dirt floor in a hut with chickens an arm reach away. She's a true friend after all these years - willing even to buy curtains for me while out of state on sabbatical.

On her blog, I enjoyed a poem she wrote from a template. Decided to try it out myself and this is the result: (Here's to you, Ms. Hanash.)


I am from a box of sugar, Kirby vacuum, and white carpet.

I am from a pink house on a busy street…simple, small, sterile.

I am from the lilac bush, oleander, cactus-in-a-pot. The philodendron, morning glory, sun-bleached livestock skulls adorning the back fence.

I am from Grandpa’s corsages and stubbornness, from Noela Beth and James Erwin and the unknown biologicals.

I am from the quiet and the rage.

From wash your hands and bring your sweater to the theater.

I am from Methodism and Evangelicalism. Christmas and Easter and nothing else.

I'm from Mojave Desert and gold mines and boom towns. Dr. Pepper Jello salad and Pennsylvania Dutch.

From the two who met on Fremont Street, the Thunderbird convertible, and the loooong wait for a baby.

I am from precisely half a dozen multi-colored rectangle photo albums, then piles of Polaroids, sloppy file boxes and stacks of memories too complex to arrange with well-thought-out captions.

And too colorful to arrange in poetry.

Threw Cook's In the Trash

Somehow I got a free issue of "Cook's Illustrated". (Perhaps my eight year-old finagled it from the folks in America's Test Kitchen. He has a serious interest in seeing me become a better cook.)

If a magazine has an article entitled "Rethinking Braised Short Ribs", I'm out. Sorry. But how can I REthink something that's never crossed my mind in the first place? And how can I take a publication seriously that presumes I know what "braised" means? Puh-lease. I will buy a cooking magazine, oh publishers of the world, when you have articles that sound something like this: "How Any Nuthead Can Make Ribs to Impress Company." Braise schmaise.

My sweet friend Magan, who compiled a cookbook just for me in my second set of postpartum days back in '03, is a big fan of America's Test Kitchen. In honor of her, I skimmed the 32 pages of the January & February 2009 issue. I tried my hardest not to wince or to laugh out loud.

On page one, I noticed a black & white illustration that resembled those on the front page of Wall Street Journal. Well, if this is a cooking magazine for investors, STRIKE TWO. I'm no investor. I'm a Hamburger Helper girl with Chateaubriand tastes who also happens to own a LIFESUCKING PROPERTY IN CALIFORNIA THAT I CAN'T UNLOAD. And even if I could, I still wouldn't have enough moola left over each month to dump into the stock market. At least not personally. (Well, we do have some set of dealybob things somehow earning us money set up by Kevin's company that I know nothing about.) Do you see a pattern here? No cooking knowledge, no investment sense. But by golly, I can read a mean periodical! I think I've gone off on a tangent of sorts. Back to my magazine review.

Dang, the whole magazine is covered with those Journal-esque illustrations! Do all cooks know how to draw this well? Is there a whole set of talents that go together that I missed out on? Cooking-drawing-investing-singing-sayingnotothefifthPopTart? My set of talents is more like cleaning-organizing-spending-decorating-writing-eating. But I gotta feed six people ridiculously often, so on I browsed. "No More Soggy Cheesecake." (Trader Joe's sells a damn good cheesecake that will change your life without every dirtying a measuring cup or worrying about "soggy".) On page 6, "Tandoori Chicken, Reworked" actually fascinated me. I never knew a "tandoor" was a 900-degree Indian clay oven. And I've BEEN to India. But I'm more satisfied coming away with this trivia than I am knowing I can make the same chicken in my broiler.

"A Better French Omelet", again, sounds like it is presuming I can make "A French Omelet" of any degree. I can't. I screw omelets up worse than anything else. I blame my Costco cookware.

"Basic Vegetable Prep" begins on page 16 with the subtitle, "You peel, slice, and chop common vegetables like garlic, onions, and carrots every day. But are you doing it right?" At this point, I am sure this magazine is for "those other girls". How do I know? Because I hyperventilated reading that subtitle and imagining that I might be chopping my carrots incorrectly. COME ON. I have children to raise! If I get time to analyze my chopping - I'd rather use it to trim someone's toenails, of which there ARE sixty of 'em in my family.

I will concede that I can't ridicule the whole magazine. I was pleased to discover in the "Equipment Corner" that someone invented cut-resistant gloves. I need some. Along with a burn-proof omelet pan, broiler knowledge, the dictionary definition of "braise", and a subscription to a different cooking magazine.

Double Digits, Baby!

I did ten miles!

I am now going to divulge the information I would have liked to hear from another amateur before I got to this point:

Before- I drank my usual sixteen ounces of water. No other food or drink, but I brought along a Gatorade and a gel.

During- There were moments of beauty: the sunrise, the top of every hill, the first time I saw another runner (at mile 7). Plus, it rained last night and the air smelled heavenly. And there were moments of pain. I kept having quirky pain in different places in my legs, so I'd stop and stretch and walk a while. What surprised me the most, though - was that I got bored. As varied as I make my route, it's still just me and the sky and the street. I hadn't thought of running as isolated or lonely until recently when I read an article that mentioned it. It's true. Even for just ten miles. Three or five and you're back home quick - but this was almost two hours of just watching the scenery go by. Well, there's been a theme of silence and solitude in my prayer life lately, so maybe I oughtta look at this as part of that.

Gel review - Gross. Tolerable if I didn't look at it oozing out of the pouch, and if I told myself it was pudding. And it did help. Gotta do more research in this area as I go further.

What I said to myself - Anytime I started tensing or trying to compensate for my foot-size difference (which made itself more known than ever just after mile 8 with noticeable slipping and sliding) I'd think, "Just listen to your music and cover the distance." Musta said that to myself a dozen times. I didn't have a route picked out beforehand, but I do know a lot of rough distances within a five-mile radius of my house, so I looked at my GPS pretty frequently. The miles surprisingly went by faster than I expected.

After - I'm hurting. My knee is killing me and my quads are sore. Had to sit in a TERRIBLE chair for two hours right after my run at a class we had to go to, and that didn't help. Perhaps I'll take a cozy ice bath after dinner tonight.

The class we went to this morning was at church and there was a funeral going on. During a break we had, the coffin was on the way in and I stared at it for a few minutes. My knee hurts, and my freaky feet are causing me problems, but I'm alive. For now. Might as well make the most of it and run.

Wanted: A Running Partner

Where can my new running partner be? I've looked high and low, but no one has come forward. Two people have laughed in my face (well, in my ear - it was over the phone) when I said "10-miler" and "early morning". Three-fourths of the way into training for a half-marathon is NOT the time to start searching for a new partner. You don't start looking for a husband after you've got five kids; you shouldn't wait to find investors til the building is nearly complete; and you might as well skip the glass of milk if you've already eaten twenty-two Oreos.

I walked by the gym on my way to get an evening haircut and observed all the men and women on the treadmills. Eesh. One guy was running with a towel on his head. Maybe to reduce sweat, but the look he achieved was a cross between Rocky and a serial killer. There were several women, one on a cell phone. And a guy going very VERY fast. Honestly, it didn't look very fun. They weren't GOING anywhere. How hard would it have been to talk one of them into running outside with me on the asphalt?

After another week of less-than-optimum health, I'm headed out for my first double-digit run ever. Wish me luck. And, because I don't mind offering you a laugh at my own expense - here is a list of the songs I just bought off iTunes to add to my running playlist:

"Chariots of Fire", because how have I gotten this far without it already?
"Love Don't Cost A Thing" - Jennifer Lopez
"Bad Day" - Daniel Powter (I love this song.)
"How You Remind Me" - Nickelback
"Sk8er Boi" - Avril Lavigne (no one tell Dave Hansen, PLEASE)
"Don't Stop Til You Get Enough" - Michael Jackson
"Hard to Handle", "She Talks to Angels", & "By Your Side" - The Black Crowes
"Madly" by Tristan Prettyman
"If I Never See Your Face Again" - Maroon 5
"Just Like Heaven" - The Cure
"Don't You Want Me" - The Human League
"Kentucky Rain" - Elvis
"Viva Las Vegas" and "Legs" - ZZ Top

How's that for eclectic? You just never know what will get you over a hill while you're running. Some of those are off the new "He's Just Not That Into You" soundtrack. Some of them are off my personal life soundtrack. If the song itself doesn't get me over a hill, sometimes the memories it evokes will. I'll let ya know how it goes.

Ice Baby Jesus

A month and a half ago, snow fell on Henderson, stuck, and stayed. Days later, it was still piled on our trampoline and the kids had fun rolling it around and packing it and jumping in it.

Cayna, decked out in a snowsuit and lavender mittens, deemed herself the Virgin Mary as she closely held a small slab of frozen snow... none other than Baby Jesus.


After forming an attachment for her little ice doll, as she does for anything she finds, we couldn't very well leave it/him outside to melt. Welcome to our freezer, little ice Jesus. It's been about six weeks that this delicate "doll" has resided between the popsicles and the frozen Weight Watchers entrees.


Hm. Not sure how this story will end. You can't just turn a Jesus doll into a Slurpee or dump it into the sink. Perhaps I'll let Cayna decide. I have a feeling our freezer might be a long-time residence.

Pre- Dreams

You know how you have kooky dreams before big events?

Before my wedding, I dreamed I was at my final dress fitting and they brought out the gown. It was BLUE. Best of all, it had a nearly life-size manatee embroidered on the extremely-long train.

Before my first baby was born, I dreamed it was a boy (prophetic) and that he was born able to speak. I've heard since that that is a common dream.

Last night I dreamed that I was running my half-marathon. There were no distance markers, so no way of knowing if I was at mile 3 or 12. In real life, I'd have a sense about how far I'd gone, but in the dream I had no idea. I had forgotten my handy new drink carrier so was toting a full-size backpack loaded with loose bottles of Gatorade, several Clif bars, and the water bottles of numerous fellow racers. A portion of the race went through the busy airport terminal. The moving walkways and crowds were a problem. Another portion was in the bowels of a casino. Think long concrete hallways and fire escape routes. None of it was marked for the race and for short distances we ran on the midway at Circus Circus. I kept looking back and noticing people taking different turns than I took.

Apparently I was racing with some of my old junior high friends. In real life, I've been communicating with my friend Allyson from that time and discussing doing a race together in the future. But it was Laurie that I was racing with in the dream and we got to a part of the course that was in complete darkness, spiraling up a tall steel tower with a sheer dropoff on one side. I had freakish confidence during that part and grabbed her hand and told her just to "stay with me!"

No way the real half marathon can be that challenging, right?

I wonder if Katie Couric has a major role?

http://www.amazon.com/Slobbering-Love-Affair-Pathetic-Mainstream/dp/1596980907/ref=reg_hu-wl_item-added

I suppose I could get over it.

Groundhog's Day. I always hold a candle for this day, probably because it's just so unusual and I love unusual. But I don't get cards or gifts or overnight stays at swanky resorts, so maybe I oughtta rethink my attachment.

As I was unloading my Costco haul just now, and heard that my husband left me a "Happy Groundhog's Day" phone message, I was trying to remember when I picked up my affection for the day. Part of it has to be the 2/2 date. I have that thing for numbers and 2/2 is catchy. Another part has to be the connection to a place called Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania - because the name "Punxsutawney" is unusual and because my dad's side of the family is Pennsylvania German and the holiday has roots in their customs.

There was a guy I worked with in, like, 1991, who sent flowers to his wife on Groundhog's Day - just to be different. I was attracted to the notion of receiving flowers for reasons like that. It was probably a year later that two of my most tolerant-with-me friends came over to help me try to make a papier-mache groundhog in honor of the day. I somehow acquired a big ol' roll of chicken wire to sculpt the groundhog and everything. It didn't go well. I don't remember what we crafted, but it wasn't a groundhog. I'm guessing we mostly just ate a lot of the Nutter Butters I bought to bribe my friend Sandee with. Yes, this is a true story. Yes, I have long been a complete weirdo. When Bill Murray's movie "Groundhog Day" came out in 1993, that affirmed my devotion. Clever plot. At my wedding, my matron of honor mentioned my penchant for unique things and included how much I liked Groundhog Day. But that was nearly 11 years ago and nothing more has come of it. I don't expect any more celebration today. Maybe I'll give it one more year. If nothing happens for Groundhog's 2010, though, it might be time to forget about it.

Anyway, today's official groundhog outcome? Six more weeks of winter. I doubt that applies in Nevada. Check official results here. Maybe my 2010 plans could include going to Gobbler's Knob.







Evening update: My husband brought home a card AND an iTunes gift card for me this evening. I am a lucky woman!


Later note: I just lost all my journalistic integrity, didn't I? It appears possible that I composed this blog in order to bring myself some financial (iTunes) gain. Well, believe what you will. I'm off to buy some running music!

Superbowl Sunday at the Grocery Store

What a weird place my normal grocery store became today. I went in, like everyone else, to grab some chips for the party I was attending and it was FASCINATING. First of all, I have never seen such a high concentration of men in the store. And, of course, these were men wearing football shirts. At least two seemed drunk (at 2:00 in the afternoon), the majority were older than me, and most were alone. It was odd. The chip shelf was nearly empty. Beer and soda cleared out, yodda yodda yodda - I'm not telling you anything surprising. What is surprising is that I couldn't resist buying a couple of those five-dollar Superbowl t-shirts they were selling at a makeshift stand in front of the store. Not for me, no - I wore the only other clothing suitable for Superbowl Sunday other than a jersey - I wore an oversized flannel plaid shirt that belongs to my husband. And pearl earrings. Shoulda seen me.

I'm not a fan of the Steelers or the Cardinals, but I did want the Steelers to win because our neighbor is a HUGE fan and I would have empathized if his team had lost. Also, I would have been afraid to return to my neighborhood for fear that cars would have been burning. The game did get interesting there at the end. Not as interesting to me as the grocery store, but interesting just the same.