Three Cups of Tea

Every year at work, we read a book either as an all-staff or in small groups. This year we each picked from a variety of offerings to read over break and discuss when we got back. Based on back-cover summary, I chose Three Cups of Tea: One Man's Mission to Fight Terrorism and Build Nations...One School at a Time, by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin. The book is about Mortenson specifically, who co-founded the Central Asia Institute with northwest scientist Jean Hoerni. Mortenson was a climber who failed to summit K2 and wandered accidentally into the Pakistani village of Korphe. There he was that the students would gather for school outdoors because the government had not provided the town with a school building. Three days a week the children had no teacher becuase they had to share one with another town. The town couldn't afford to pay the teacher his own salary -- of $1 a week. Girls were often excluded from this education. So Mortenson went back to the states, gave up climbing, and tried to find a donor to provide the $12,000 needed to build a school for Korphe. Some 300-pages detail Mortenson's education in Pakistani and Islamic culture and his successes and many setbacks in buildling schools and, later, vocational centers, health clinics, and more around Pakistan. Late in the book Mortenson enters post-invasion Afghanistan to begin building schools there.

The book is inspiring, yes. The writing is sometimes a bit slow and dense, but there's enough dialogue to through it. Mortenson is problematic as a director for the institute, and the author does give his critics an opportunity to say their peace. The thing that I liked most about the book, though, beyond what great work is happening to provide education to girls, is that I learned so much about Pakistan, Afghanistan, the history of the region, and the events on and around 9/11 and after, especially the hunt of Bin Laden.

If you are at all interested in climbing, central Asia, the Islamic religion, the wars and conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq or Pakistan and India, then pick this book up.

Chicago History Museum

On Thursday, during one of Wes's days off, we went to the Chicago Historical Museum. It's long been on our list of places to go and see, but it was something that I never wanted to do spur-of-the-moment. So we planned and we went and we saw. It's a really cute museum. You get an audio tour done by a Second City actor as part of your admission, and that was fun. The museum takes you through an original El car, one of the first trains, Pullman porters, the stockyards, the Great Fire, the Haymarket Square Riot, the 1919 and 1968 race riots, Chicago neighborhoods, stores (did you know that Crate and Barrel was a Chicago original?), architecture, housing, music, the World's Fair, sports, and theater, plus a timeline of the city. Downstairs you can see artifacts related to Illinois' favorite son (Abraham Lincoln, of course), plus two special exhibits.

We went to the Abraham Lincoln Bookstore (one of Wes's favorite places, though I had not been previously been) before dinner and a show, where we learned from one of the shops insanely knowledgeable Lincoln-philes that the museum has only recently become so diverse. Evidently, the museum has a wide array of Lincoln artifacts -- including Mary Todd Lincoln's bloody dress from Ford's Theater -- that used to be out but now are stowed to make room for important things like Michael Jordan's shoes.

Anyhow, if you come to Chicago and enjoy history, it's worth a stop. The highlight of the audio tour was, of course, a brilliant pun. Evidently, in the 1990s the Chicago city council officially exculpated Mrs. O'Leary and her cow for any responsiblity in the Great Fire. Our narrator's take on that decision: "To err is human, to forgive bovine."

Lucy, however, had some trouble with hers.

Wes enjoyed opening his gifts and trying them out...

Volume

Wes and I had our Christmas morning before he headed out for work at the hospital. He has off Thursday and Friday, but alas, not Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Years Eve, or New Years Day. I agree with him, though, that it's okay. We don't have kids, and we're happy to celebrate whenever and in whatever way we can. He looked at the list of attendings a few days ago and was bothered by the number of doctors with small children who were working on either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day (and who he knew celebrated the holiday) while other single or childless doctors -- or many who don't celebrate Christmas at all -- weren't working. I guess there's no law that says you have to martyr yourself if you don't have a spouse or kids or a belief in Santa or Jesus, but his saying it at least gives me hope that he'll do his best to be around once our family grows. And if you can't be, I'll still be okay with it. His services make other people's holidays safer and happier.

I finally did my Christmas shopping yesterday. It was actually nice -- the first time I shopped the day before Christmas. I walked from the condo building north about 2 miles, hitting about 10 shops for various purposes on the way, and then saw a movie by myself at the end. The weather was nice (for Chicago), the stores pretty empty, and the movie (the new National Treasure) quite cute.

Wes got a themed gift. He got 6 items, all of which corresponded with an event to which we have or will get tickets: Christmas boxers, which go with a Second City Christmas revue we're going to on Thursday night; a blue-gray sweater and flannel shirt, which go with tickets to the Blue Man Group next week; a DK book on opera, which goes with tickets to The Barber of Seville at theh Chicago Lyric Opera; postcards of Edward Hopper's works, which go with an exhibit of Hopper's work in March at the Art Institute; a copy of A Comedy of Errors, which goes with a showing of the same play at the Shakespeare Theater on Navy Pier; and finally Frank Lloyd Wright inspired coasters for the office, which go with the annual spring Wright Homewalk in Oak Park of ten or so of Wright's famous houses. He also got a Curious George calendar with all of the dates of the events so he can request those days or nights off. I don't know if we'll go to all of the events (we've only actually purchased tickets to one), but it was fun to find little gifts to go with each, trying to make them practical and useful in their own right. Oh, and the Red Spice is just something he needed from Walgreens.

Wes didn't get me a gift. Santa, however, thoughtfully brought me something Tiffany blue -- a new Ipod Nano to replace my old and ailing Ipod Mini, the battery life of which is a few short hours. The Nano can run for 24 hours continuously and holds up to 8 hours of video. Ahh, technology.

Two Weeks

Today begins the first day of my 2 weeks of for winter holidays. This is a time of year treasured by school teachers near and wide as a break in the middle of the school year. Since I only get 6 weeks in the summer, it seems that much more exciting -- it's probably equivalent to the amount of free time I had this summer after workshops, conferences, and visitors (not that I didn't enjoy all of those, too). I have quite a list of work to complete during this break, and yet the idea that I am in control of all of it makes it that much more exciting. Of course, check in with me in a week, and see if any of it has been started on.

Cookies!

This week has been my week to indulge in Christmas's culinary delights. On Tuesday night, I put together a lasagna for later in the week, baked pumpkin bread and muffins, made Snickerdoodles, and whipped up some cake frosting.

On Wednesday night, I made the inside of peanut butter balls (known to many as Buckeyes) and light and dark dough for cookies. I also attempted, though rather failed at, making Spiders (chocolate and butterscotch over chow mein noodles) -- I think I had either too many chow mein noodles or not enough chocolate and butterscotch.

On Thursday night, some of Wes's colleagues came over to eat the lasagna, dip the peanut better balls aka Buckeyes, and bake and decorate some of the gingerbread cookies. We had a pretty nice time -- a group of people at and over 30 with not a small child in sight decorating Christmas cookies -- as we garnished our cookies. Wes made a special one for one of the women there (see lower left). It became not so much a cookie with icing as icing supported by a cookie. I don't know how many layers of icing was on there. It was kind of a Pollock-esque piece by the time it was done. Even our resident anti-Christmas-baby-puppy bachelor managed to consume one of the finished products.

On Friday, several of my students came over to finish baking and decorating cookies. The girls had hot chocolate, cut out and baked more cookies, decorated, watched a movie, and played Scrabble (in which my failure to teach them spell became apparent). They seemed to have a genuinely nice time, and even stayed almost an hour later than they had to as we were all engrossed in the game.

Wes and I don't have kids yet and won't have ones old enough to enjoy these traditions for several years, so it was extra-special to share these traditions from home with friends and students. I figure by the time I have kids old enough to decorate cookies with me, I'll be old hat at this.

The bald doctor and his hippie/hippy (?) wife

Wes and I are going to a holiday party on Friday with some of his co-workers. It's at the house of an attending physician with whom Wes works. We've met the wife of this coworker at least three times, more for Wes. Evidently today this woman said to a friend of Wes's, "Make sure that bald doctor and his hippie (hippy?) wife come. I like them." I don't know if I should: a) be flattered that she likes us and wants us to come; b) offended that she still doesn't know who we are, or c) bothered that she called me a hippie (or did she call me hippy?). Maybe I can get it out of her on Friday.

A few of my favorite things...

Top songs on my Christmas playlist this holiday season:
1. "Let it be Christmas," by Alan Jackson
2. "Grown-up Christmas Wish," by Michael Buble
3. "I Pray on Christmas," by Harry Connick, Jr.
4. "O Holy Night," by Celine Dion
5. "Silent Night," by Johnny Cash

What's yours?

Cabbage Butt

When I was ordering groceries tonight (Peapod), there was a sale on "smoked butt and cabbage." What in tarnation is "smoked butt"?

Jumpin' Jehosephat -- it's fooy pajamas for grown-ups

It really can't get any better from this one, so this will mark the conclusion of my SkyMall entries. And really, folks, if there's anyone out there that doesn't know what to get me this Christmas, THIS is the gift. I think I'd go with the rubber duckies. My sister Laura, if she had one, would need the camo. Who doesn't want jammies with footies? My mother tells stories about how, when I was a child, I would go to bed in my footy pajamas and wake up in just a diaper. I think it's worth getting a pair of Jumpin Jammerz just to see if it's still true :)

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Yesterday I spent the whole day doing something I've wanted to do for at least a week -- decorate our apartment for Christmas. Wes and I spent Christmas together in Chicago two years ago, and while we definitely did not have room there for a tree, I did use fresh pine garland, a paper chain, and some creativity to enliven the place. This year we could have had a tree, though the lack of the car somewhat hampered it. But I did manage to have some fun. I put out some ornaments on shelves, hung others from the garland (firmly secured, of course), taped snowflakes (both paper and crocheted) to the windows, put up our new stockings (with our names on them!), and found a place for the Swedish Christmas goat to oversee the whole place. I didn't have enough space to put up all the ornaments, but I did put up some favorites -- German wooden ornaments that I got while living overseas, one to represent each family member, a bird that my mom gave me, a pickle, a Mitford snowman, and a Santa that's also a bell. The "joy" moose, of unknown origin, sits in the front bathroom. I even put up twinkle lights around our bookcases because, well, you just have to have twinkle lights somewhere. I'm sure we're breaking any number of fire codes, but it feels like home at Christmas, now.

An indoor weenie roast

Just when you thought nothing could beat the deluxe digital toaster -- I think this requires no commentary.

Sandwiches, mmmmm

There's a lot of growth happening in the South Loop area where Wes and I live. There's plenty residential going up, but we're also slowing accumulating businesses. Down the street at Roosevelt and Canal, we've not got, in addition to a Dominick's and some banks and indepedent stores, a Home Depot, Linens 'n Things, PetSmart, Office Depot and Staples, Panera Bread, and soon, a Best Buy. Right in our area, though, the smaller store space has been slower to fill up. We've recently gotten a Marble Slab and a Jimmy Johns, but nothing much more notable. Then a run-down building two blocks away suddenly started getting rehabed. Turns out they were putting in a big wine store and a Potbelly's! For those of you who have not had the good fortune of enjoying a Potbelly's sandwich or, more importantly, chocolate shake, I can only attempt to convey the wonderfulness of this place. It's warm sandwiches, and it's just, well, good. Last week I came home from work, looked at Wes, and said, "Know what I want?" And he said, "Potbelly's". It's the only time we've eaten there since it opened, but I fear it's proximity could be a dangerous temptation.

Finally!

This is the chair! We've had it for a few weeks now, but I haven't taken a picture. After the thorough apartment cleaning yesterday, it seemed like time (although that wierd shadow on the seat has me nervous!)

If I'm being honest

...I wouldn't hate this item from SkyMall. I love blankets. Sometimes I turn the heat down or the air up so I can sit on the couch under a blanket. In my family, the most popular blanket is the camo green army poncho liner that we all have. We had one at home growing up and used it make tents, capes, and all sorts of things. Now it's more for cuddling and signaling to the dog that he's allowed on the couch (Laura). But sometimes you get all covered on the couch and then have to free your arms to hold a book or the remote (unless you can master, as I have, the art of remote controlling from beneath the blanket), or you have to adjust and you lose the warm spot. With this blanket, all of those serious concerns are gone.

On a side note, do you really think picking this guy to advertise the blanket was the best choice?

Toast, anyone?

Skymall item #3 (and something that, if I'm being really honest, I would take if it were forced upon me, but then wish I didn't have because it's ridiculous): Deluxe Digital Countdown Toaster. I mean, come on people. It puts a picture on your toast, AND it lets you know when your toast is ready. Like, you know how there's all these t-shirt with smart, sassy little sayings. This is ten times better. It puts smart, sassy little sayings AND graphics on your toast.

Goodbye margarine and marmelade. Hello picture toast.

Up or off?

SkyMall item #2: a ladder/ramp for your dog to get on your bed. And here we've spent so much tiem and money trying to keep the dog off the bed.

While You're Traveling

When Wes and I were traveling over the holidays, I took advantage of my in-flight time to peruse the Sky Mall magazine. What I present to you now are 9 products that particularly caught my attention (difficult to do with the great variety represented in this catalogue). All are things I don't need (is there anything in that catalogue that anyone does need?), most are things I wouldn't want, but if I'm being really honest, some are things I would delight (at least for a few minutes or one visitor) to own.

First for your consideration is the pet autofeeder and oasis kit. Now, I've seen these things before. They just replace the going to the big bucket of food and kitchen sink to replace your dog's food and water. What really caught my attention here, though, was that this is supposed to "take care of your pets while you're traveling." Now I have to say -- we've left Lucy at least half a dozen times while traveling. Sometimes she's stayed at a boarder's, sometimes at a kennel, and at least twice she's stayed with a friend or family member. But never, ever, have I thought to just leave her home alone for a few days while Wes and I took a short trip. Never have we thought, "You know, Lucy's really shown herself ready for the responsiblity of staying home alone."

The only way I would ever buy an item like this is if it came with a autopoop-scooper and litter box so that Lucy could self-regulate the output as well as the intake.

The little boys are growing up!

Home for the Holidays

Wes and I spent Thanksgiving in Georgia this year with our families. We were at my parents' place outside of Atlanta for two days and with his mom and aunt and uncle for another two. The holiday travel was surprisingly unproblematic. We didn't wait long in security lines, and although our flight back was delayed about 45 minutes, it wasn't that much of an issue. Our cab fare out to Midway (at 4:15 AM on Thanksgiving!) was even cheaper than we'd thought.

Although we did have a relaxing time with my family, our visit there was plagued with a stomach bug my nephews brought with them from Florida. Being the generous children that they are, they gave it to their parents, my parents, and finally, my sister. Fortunately, Wes and I managed to avoid it. We did manage to get a good game of Scrabble in with my sister-in-law and mom (Jennifer kicked our butts, but we were all proud of how nice the board looked when we were done and for having used all of the tiles). Then, in an act from above, White Christmas, a big classic in our family, came on television. My father chided us for watching a movie on TV that he owns on DVD. My mom and I tried to explain to him the communal nature of watching a beloved movie on television (someone else likes it, too!), but he didn't get it.

The house was busy during our time there with the two boys under three and two dogs. My brother's dog, Boo, is adorable and extraordinarily well behaved. He's most devoted to Jon and has a very hard time being away from him, even to go for a walk. Laura's dog Remington found a way to make himself comfortable on my parents' couches, something previously verboten at their house. I laid down on the couch and was surprised when he jumped up to make himself comfortable beside me. Evidently, it's a privilege he enjoys at home.

Other highlights of the trip to Acworth was a ride in my mom's new car, an Acadia with all the bells and whistles, and some of the most delicious turkey I've had in many years.

On Saturday, as everyone took off for home, Wes and I headed back towards the city to spend some time with his extended family. We had a really nice time hanging out with his cousings, eating Asian takeout(not Chinese food, according to Uncle Bob), and looking through scads of old family photos. I also got to visit possibly the most expensive mall I've ever been in. We saw where Wes's mom works and met all of her co-workers.

It's hard to go home sometimes when you're older. You have expectations of everyone sitting around chatting and making S'mores, but sometimes it's just everyone doing their own thing under one roof. And, well, that's okay, too.

Music Malfunction

Wes and I braved the crowds on Saturday and did some shopping on Michigan Avenue. We looked for some couch pillows to match our new chair (which is finally arriving on Wednesday after sitting, unnoticed, in the warehouse for more than a week) and a few new duds for him. Saturday was the Michigan Avenue Christmas parade, complete with Santa and -- Mickey Mouse? The sidewalks were swamped with people, and a lot of the bigger stores like Crate Barrel were virtually impossible to navigate, but we still had a nice time. Surprisingly, the biggest nuisance wasn't the throngs of out-of-towners standing still on the sidewalk staring up. It was the Christmas music.

I know people write about his every year, but this year is the first that it really struck me. It's not even Thanksgiving, and yet the stores are festooned with wreaths and greenery and are blasting Christmas music throughout the store. Everywhere I looked I saw Christmas trees, big red bows, and twinkle lights. And my reaction, every time, was, "It's too soon. I'm not ready."

I love celebrating Christmas. I like decorating the apartment, shopping for gifts, baking cookies, planning for the special morning, attending Christmas eve services, and all of the merriment that goes with the holidays. Most of all, though, I love listening to Christmas music on the radio for 25 hallowed days. Christmas music makes me happy. I like the secular as well as the religious tunes, and I can sing along to all of them -- albeit none well. I love to belt out "Hark the Herald" and get goosebumps hearing a really talented singer do "O Holy Night." I even like the cheesy ones, like "My Grownup Christmas Wish." I'll take 'em all.

But not until after Thanksgiving at least.

Theft Deterent

Lucy has been getting into trouble recently -- again...still...whatever. She has now mastered the art of breaking into the hall utility closet, something she previously only toyed with. She is unafraid of breaking in even when we're home. Wes and I came home recently to find the Greenies' bag open and several consumed, and another bag of treats out but as yet unopened (maybe she was full). Just the other day we actually caught her in the act after she had managed to get the Greenies' box tipped over so the bag would come out. Today, Wes reports, while ironing not 2 feet away, she broke in again without him noticing. She managed to get two Greenies in her mouth and was running over to her bed to consume them when he tackled her. She evidently cried when he did so, but didn't give up the treats. He had to pry them out of her mouth. Although Lucy does sometimes have a "scarfing," when she rapidly consumes her dog food, it's not like she's starving. In fact, while she was doing this afternoon (and attempting again this evening), she had a bowl full of dog food. She was just a kid who had found the candy shelf down low and was trying to exploit it.

Even though Wes and I find the whole thing really funny (and honestly, I would pay for a video of the process from beginning to end), we both agreed that the best way to solve the problem was to move the games down and the dog treats way up. Not only has she previoulsy eaten enough to make herself sick, she could also get sick on the packaging or even choke on it. So, they're now almost too high for me to reach.

Choices

Today, while home sick from school (the curse of the head cold that has robbed me of my voice), I sat down and made a list of all the things I could imagine doing with my life. I feel like I'm killing time right now, and it's not a fulfilling way to go through life. I always heed my mother's reminders that nothing will ever be perfect -- every job and every choice will have drawbacks and downsides. But sometimes I think I've stuck with teaching because I'm reasonably good at it and can easily get a job doing it. It's not necessarily what I really want to be doing with my life. But, as Wes always asks, if not this, then what? Even if he won't admit it, I think he feels like I either need to or will want to keep working after we have kids. At the same time, though, he and I both grew up with moms at home, and we know the importance of having at least one parent primarily home with kids. And all of this is somewhat moot, of course, since I still have no idea when, exactly, Wes expects that we will have kids.

More than any angst around that, though, is this sense that I will soon be stuck. No matter how many stories you tell me about people who decided at 50 to start a new career, you're not going to convince me that it doesn't get exponentially harder as you get older to change. How many grad programs are going to look at a woman who is 30, has spent her life in one field, and think -- ah, yes, this is who we should admit. I keep wondering -- why didn't I choose sooner? Or did I choose Wes, and that was my choice? Or was I afraid of the hard choices, and so I chose a safe one? People often say they have no regrets in life because their choices made them who they are today. I don't know if I buy that. I'm only 28, and I have regrets. Or I think I do. I don't know what to regret because I don't know what the trade-off would have been had I not taken the road I did.

Beyond all of this, there has been one larger question on my mind. Does it even matter? If you really look at the world and how many people there are and all the good and bad things out there, does one person really matter? Will the choices I make really affect almost anyone beyond me? With all due respect for my husband and family, my circle is pretty small. It's overwhelming to recognize one's insignificance in the grand scheme of life. And no tomes of heartwarming teacher stories or endless reruns of It's a Wonderful Life can really erase the recognition of this fact. And so if it doesn't matter, what do I prioritize? Do I do the things that make me happy, regardless of the "costs" column? Do I do the things that I think will make my husband happy so as to make our home more harmonious? Do I try to do as little harm as possible? Do I buy into the Peace Corps hype and try to make a difference, even in recognizing how small it may be?

And more importantly, am I the only one who thinks these thoughts?

Two Dudes and Emergency Math

Wes has been studying for USMLE Step 3, which he takes next week (hurray for moonlighting!). The test has a very unusual, complex structure, and Wes has been telling me about it. In the midst of some practice questions this weekend, Wes called me into the office and asked me to look at one of the questions. See, in emergency medicine patient lore, there's these two dudes. Sketchy characters come in all the time and say they were "just walking down the street minding my own business" when all of a sudden these "two dudes," usually 6'+ and 250 lbs., jumped them. The joke is that if somebody could just find these two dudes, emergency room visits would be cut in half. Evidently, the legend of the two dudes is so strong that it even made it into USMLE questions.

Something else I learned last night with some of Wes's colleagues --when it comes to people reporting how much they've had to drink, divide men's drinks by 2 and multiply women's drinks by 2. For example, a man who claims to have had 8 drinks has probably had 4, and a woman who claims to have had 3 drinks has probably had 6. I balked at this, but it was corroborated by several physicians.

Dog gone fun

Wes had a Halloween work event last week. He normally doesn't like to combine fun with work, but since the doctor hosting the party insisted everyone dress for the event, Wes complied. We don't really do Halloween at our house, so costume items aren't readily available. Strangely, Wes and I had the same solution -- he could go as a puppy dog. He came up with the idea of dressing in all brown (the photo was a trial run), and I had the idea to use the brown eyeliner to make his nose and whiskers (thanks, mom). Word with his classmates is that he added little ears on top of his head for the real event -- guess that's an advantage of being bald. The only question is -- who makes the better looking dog?

Save Paul the plant

I bought a new plant when my parents were here this sumer. Since my father carried it more than mile from the Home Depot to our apartment (whilst my mother and I divided the weight of a watermelon carried from a neighboring farmer's market), Wes and I thought it only appropriate it to name it after my dad. But Paul hasn't been doing so well recently. He was strong through the summer months but has begun to fade recently. We've tried mroe and less water. More and less sunlight. But Paul keeps losing leaves. Paul is pitiful. How do I save Paul?

To appropriately contextualize Paul's trials, I share with you here a short essay I wrote this summer in Iowa about my struggles with plants, particularly those I name.

I have always liked naming things. When I was a little girl, my stuffed animals and baby dolls had names like Harry and Ernie and Angelcake. When I was a teenager, I helped my sister rename the dog almost every month until my mom told us to give it a rest before the dog had an identity crisis. When I was a college student, I would spend great effort titling my papers, mastering the use of the colon. Now as a married woman, I love to think about the names I will give my children. Just because I’m not pregnant doesn’t mean I can’t pick up a baby name book now and again, does it? Recently, though, I’ve noticed an unsettling trend. Everything I name seems to die.
It started in college when I named my first laptop computer. Do not ask me why I felt compelled to name a thousand dollar piece of technology or why I chose to name it Bob. It did seem somehow to help, though, when it was stolen on one the safest college campuses in the US. When the campus police asked me to describe the computer, it was easy: “Black Gateway, about this big, answers to the name of Bob.” Bob’s replacement, Bob II, turned out to be a lemon. When I bought my first car several years later, I had the foresight not to name it and turned my fascination to plants.
Unfortunately, nurturing plant life is yet another skill I did not inherit from my mother. If her thumb is green, mine is the mushy brown color of dead violets that have been overwatered or the scorched yellow of some leafy plant described by the nursery workers as “hearty” or “low-maintenance.”
I have had some limited success with named plants. When my husband and I were first married, we had two small trees in our house – a cornhusker plant named Clay after an old roommate from Nebraska and a small palm named Ethan after the visiting puppy that knocked it over repeatedly. When we left Virginia for a much smaller apartment, we left them behind, though, and things just haven’t been the same since.
Just recently, after the quick demise of a perfectly lovely purple cyclamen named Chloe, I bought three new plants with my sister who was in town for a visit. After holding a three-way phone conference with my sister and mother from Home Depot for suggestions – “Philodendron, p-h-i” – and reading the little plastic stake in each plant, I took home several new plants – three African violets, the Viola triplets; a succulent named Jade; and one “assorted foliage” with variegated leaves, hence Foley, and hoped for the best. A week later while I was out of town, my husband reported to me that the triplets in particular weren’t doing well.
“They might not make it ‘til you get back,” he said.
“What about Foley and Jade,” I asked like a worried mother.
“I think they’re okay. Do you think they need water?” he asked.
When I commented on this phenomenon to my husband, he said, “But what about Lucy?” referring to our dog.
“Yes,” I said, “I guess Lucy has survived.”
“Not just survived,” he countered. “She’s flourished.” And if you call a four-year-old beagle mix who howls at doorbells on the television, trembles at baths and baby gates, and sleeps under the bed “flourishing,” then I suppose she is.
I’m not suggesting, of course, that these plants are dying because we have named them, but it does seem a compelling reason to leave the birth certificate for our first child blank for just a little while.

Fall is

My mom asked what Chicago looks like in the fall, and here are some pictures. The leaves have finally begun to change. It's nothing compared to what we used to enjoy in Virginia, but sometimes you have to take what you get. Spring is pretty magnificent here (and winter is, well, bold), so I can take a less-than-inspiring fall -- though it is Wes's favorite season for any number of reasons. Fall reminds me of falling in love. Wes and I had our first date on a September evening in North Carolina, so the beginning of our relationship was in the fall. It makes me think of trips to his parents' house in the mountains. Of jogging on a side road with Lucy, listening to the sounds of the leaves crunching. Of layering up for the evening, when the temperature dropped just enough to make you want to snuggle. Of a campfire we had that very first weekend at his folks' place. Of riding horseback through the surrouding woods. Of watching at a million stars at night, not a single one obscured bynearby lights.