I moved

And now I live in what my dad has designated is "just like a dorm room." That identification was quickly deemed depressing by my mother and me, but I will admit, without my parents, I could not have made this transition.

My dad built shelves. Installed a new doorknob with a lock and was otherwise very handy, not something any of us, including himself, ever dreamed he could be.

He also bought me a ginormous bag of dark chocolate M&Ms. What a good dad!

...more on this later...

I work because I love my profession

Research, both the process and the many forms in which information can be sought, is something I love. I always have; even in elementary school, I spent way too much time digging up information for my reports.

2nd grade: Betsy Ross oral presentation. We had to put on the persona of an historical individual, so I had to find everything I could about this woman. I even dressed up in a prairie costume (well, it wasn't so much a costume as an ever-present part of my wardrobe).

Any way, so I love trying to find specific information on random topics.

What I don't like, is when things get in my way.

Confusing database interface - makes me angry.
Misshelved books - I'm annoyed.

How about today's episode: an f-ing COCKROACH the size of a small field mouse walking across, no running across the floor in the library.

After the head of the department killed it, I had to excuse myself because I thought I was going to be sick. I still feel ill. It was enormous, people.

I've never seen a regular old cockroach. La cucaracha, if you will. I've seen a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach before - last summer, even - and the zookeeper had it crawling all over her. She stored it in her pocket. This was not the kind you store in a pocket or in a library, for that matter. Scary beast.

Finally gave in

I finally couldn't take another moment.

When I looked at the seemingly endless list of readings that I had 24 hours to complete for the most inane class ever, I collapsed. It was the end. I spent 12 hours at the library today, between class, working, and homework. And to come home to this.

It was unacceptable.

So, in an effort to consolidate for the move, I finished my bottle of rum, which has accompanied Kate and I on many a Gilmore Girls' night this past school year.

The readings haven't been half as bad as I thought they would be. In fact, I've gotten a few ideas for my upcoming final project from them. Well done, Rum!

Another good thing from today

I was helping a very intense patron at work today, explaining research technique, which was actually fun because he was competent, unlike most of the people we help around here.

He caught on quickly and had this distinct, yet undefinable accent on certain words that intrigued me.

When he gathered his papers to leave he said, "I'm sure you've heard this, but...[pause]...great eye color. Okay, thanks, bye."

As if I chose my eye color today.

I'm sure I blushed. Because that's such a nice, random thing to say, and people just don't do that. To be honest, I'd been thinking his eyes were a lovely shade of light blue. But I hadn't even considered telling him. Maybe next time I think that about someone, I will.

Made my day.

He's too cute to ignore

Whether or not his mother would agree, Max is adorable.

I'm pretty sure that I could not take care of another person 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I'm pretty sure I'd lose my freaking mind.

That's why I appreciate when friends and relatives have children with whom I can play or just hold for a time. I can always give them back. That keeps the relationships (on the adult-adult level and child-adult level) healthy.

However, were I to be the one waking up a million times a night to feed, change and comfort a baby, I don't think I'd really be a fun/nice person to be around. Which is why I admire and appreciate all those who do manage their households with children and their lives, while they're at it.

I guess today is a day to post about kids. Now it's Max. Previously, you've seen Maddie and Katie. I don't have pictures of any others, so there will be no others today.

Much like Pirates II, really

Somehow, this reminds me of all of the sea urchins and other crusty creatures that were sucking on the faces of those serving Davy Jones, ruler of the sea. It could even be compared to the frightening jaws of the Leviathan, crazy sea monster that swallows up…people in the movie.

Today's my lucky day

I thought this entire week was going to blow because of all the assignments I had due. And while it has up until this moment, I can see a ray of sunshine about 300 km in the distance. Even if I'm walking super slow, I know I'll get there at some point.

And this email I received today certainly helped me along towards the end of this unending season of work.

"Lana,

I think everybody is nice in my family.
And I love that you are my Aunt.
I'm going to draw a picture for you.

Love,

Maddie Grace"

I have received some great emails this month - from siblings far and near, cousins I adore, my best friends in the whole world, and long lost friends. But can I just say that nothing makes me happier than spending time with, talking to, or exchanging email with my Maddie Grace.

I can't sufficiently explain why, except that she's a little loony, or you could say particular about odd things, many of which correspond to oddities within or about myself. Maybe she affirms to me that I'm not the only person with an overactive imagination who loves books and words and rocks. Maybe having a child in your life simply changes a person - and for me, having Maddie in the family has changed the way I think.

It could be her love of imaginary realms, like the one where she's a princess for hours, even days on end.

Here she is:

The Edge of Reason

I'm on the edge of a breakdown, I think.

You know when you're standing at the precipice, and you can feel the air rushing around you, and you've nowhere to go...but down.

I'm a girl who likes a good cry, but to me, my crying must make sense. It must be logical.

And I fear, presently, that I'm so mentally and emotionally spent that my breakdown will not be as resonable as I want it to be.

I wish I could stand on top of a broken-down crane and scream for the hell of it, to clear my head. In a trashbag, in the rain.

My mind never stops churning

I have so many random thoughts every day, and I always want to post them because, well, I think people would laugh at the craziness that I must deal with all the time.

Here is one example from today:
I see a young, bald man playing tennis and I think, Oh, he's hot. I wonder if he's dating someone.

It's not just that guy either. Show me an attractive bald man and I'll wonder if he's free for dinner and a movie later.

What is wrong with me?

Sometimes when I'm walking down the street and one of these thoughts pops into my head, I laugh, which makes me one of those crazy people you see and secretly (or openly) make fun of because they are talking to themselves in public. Yes, this is me. Next time you see me, observe from a distance how my lips move and nothing comes out, or how I chuckle quietly when I'm sitting by myself.

T-shirt possibilities

Today our class was amazingly interesting, as far as learning how to teach unmotivated undergraduates goes.

We had a guest speaker who was full of energy and pep, which somehow reminded me of one of my roommates. I think if these two girls met, they'd be insta-friends.

This Instruction Library was extremely passionate about teaching and libraries, and so animated that it was hard to keep from smiling or laughing at every pause in the classroom dialog. She's a firm believer in humor as a necessary component of library instruction, which is great. No more stodgy librarian crap. We're fun people, didn't you know?

The guest speaker had so many great one-liners and cute comments that Kate and I began keeping lists of possible T-shirt or button slogans, a few of which follow. I'll try to get more of Kate's this weekend, she copied down the best ones.

First, Buttons:

Information literacy = life

Librarians = Control Freaks

Next, T-shirts:

I've got some problems in my pocket...that I brought for you.

Librarians are always genuinely interested.

I needed a new profile picture

mostly because I'm vain. Let's be honest.

But the old one is from March, and it's July, and I thought it appropriate to update.

So the new one will be this one, which is me after a long, hot walk from school to my home, well almost to my home. This is the apartment complex that I walk through every day during the school year.

Apparently, they have a perfectly wonderful lounging rock near the algae-encrusted pond, where I have many turtle and frog friends. Mom insisted on taking this picture.

Life resumes...no, it picks up

Sometimes the little breaks are the best.

I took a long weekend to spend with my family, my entire family (minus one very-missed brother-in-law). This is such a rare occurrence apart from any major holiday (meaning Christmas), that I couldn't resist traveling home, despite the ever-increasing gas prices. Somehow, at times like this, money is a means to get somewhere more important, to be with people who inspire and encourage me to continue with "normal" life, which is often quite boring.

None of us slept very much. And we ate too much, every day.

But we laughed a lot and we talked more than we ever used to, making the inconveniences disappear, for the most part.

Yesterday, Evan, Emily, Dad and myself resumed our stress-inducing regular lives: distracted from the disappointment and letdown of a week beginning and a fabulous weekend fading away by the details.
Today, Leslie reconvened her march: over 1,000 miles left, 3 months to go.
Tomorrow, Emily and the girls head back to their desert to take up where they left off: QuickBooks, anyone?

Even though this week and the next may be my most trying and exhausting this summer, I'd do it again. I'd go home and spend time with the only people who consistently love me and challenge me to be a better individual. How could I not love them?

Cheers to time well spent. To laughter and games and dark chocolate s'mores.

Power of Persuasion

It's amazing what adults will do for a child.

I knew that Maddie (3.8 years old) had some sway on every member of the family, but until Sunday afternoon, I had no idea how much of an influence she could be.

I found myself in the family room late in the afternoon, as I was searching the house for everyone else. I came upon a somber scene - Maddie "up front," as it were with a candle snuffer as a microphone, and five adults seated around her on the couches and leather chair, each with a book, pretending to read. As I walked in, Maddie said, "You can have a seat. Let me get you a hymnal." I wasn't aware she even knew what a hymnal was - her church at home doesn't have them.

I sat on the carpet and took the book that I was given, Zoo Animals, and opened it to the middle, where the page was falling out. Maddie proceeded with the event.

It was church. Not just any church, but a Methodist service. Earlier that day had been Maddie's first experience in an entire Methodist service, and she needed to process it by acting it out. She was the pastor, "Today we're gonna talk about God, guys," she kept saying.

Then she'd sing a song, that had a lot to do with "just because" and "God loves me" and "God loves you." No one could really figure out what the song was, but I had tears streaming down my face, nonetheless. It was hilarious. She was so serious as she sang.

Then came the disturbing part. "Lana." She walked towards me, grabbed my hand and attempted to lift me from my seat on the floor. "It's your turn to sing."

I did my best to assure her that Grandma, in fact, was a great singer and should be the one to sing. All the while, Grandma was telling Maddie that I had the nicest singing voice. (Neither of these statements - by me or my mom - are true, by the way.) Maddie grew impatient.

"Everybody has to sing!"

She chose a singer - Aunt Leslie. Maddie then indicated that she, herself, would be the dancer, this time around. Dancer? I thought this was a Methodist service, you say. Well, this is true, and while liturgical dance isn't common in this setting, an very sweet 8-year-old girl happened to do a dance involving a shiny ribbon on a stick that very morning in church. Maddie had a pink scarf that would substitute nicely for the ribbon on a stick.

So, Leslie sang; Maddie danced.
Then, Grandma sang; Maddie danced.
Then, Maddie sang; Lana danced.
Then, Maddie sang; Leslie danced.

It continued. But when she extended the candle-snuffer/microphone to Papa (her grandpa, my dad) he simply shook his head, and there was no argument. [Maddie had, an hour before, jumped on my dad while he'd been sleeping. In the shock of sharp knees hitting his chest, he'd jerked his arms toward his face and knocked her in the nose. She promptly sat down on the coffee table and explained to Papa why she didn't like being struck in the nose. He was so not amused.]

How is it that this highly imaginative little girl can get her family to do almost anything for her. If there had been hidden video cameras, that may have been the most embarrassing afternoon of my life. Luckily, no one even had a camera handy. We were all saved, for sure!

Random Encounters

This week, I had to send out a couple important packages through the United States Postal Service. I don't often visit the Post Office, but it's always crowded when I get there.

I had several minutes to study the wokers behind the desk. They were all men over the age of 40 and they all spoke quiety and had very pleasant demeanors. None worked in a rushed manner, despite the line extending out of the door.

One man was busy setting up his station-counting money, tap-tapping the computer screen when necessary. He moved with slow, deliberate steps and you could tell he thought about everything step he was taking, to make sure that it was done correctly.

That's when I noticed...he looks like a Bridges brother. In fact, he looks like an elderly Jeff Bridges.

He moved his mouth in the same way that they do, which is so distinctive. It was amazing.

Then, as I turned around with this new revelation, I saw a girl who was good friends with my sister Emily in high school. There she stood, with her young baby in a stroller, a stranger who I hadn't seen in 10 years. She didn't look a day older. Then again, maybe I don't either.

Sharing McSharerson

I may have mentioned here or to a few of you how odd it is that I find myself recently interested in sharing clothes with my mom and my sisters.

We have always given my mom hand-me-downs whenever we outgrew or grew to dislike an item of clothing. She gladly took the over-sized sweatshirts, colorful vests, and other things that we discarded, and wore them into the ground, as it were.

After our shopping spree last week, I wouldn't mind going through her closet every once in a while when I'm home to spice up my own wardrobe. A frightening new reality.

Last night, Leslie, Mom and myself spent the night trying on each other's clothes, trying to pick out the right outfit for church. This morning, it turned out, we were all going to wear black print skirts and Leslie decided that we shouldn't promote the mother-daughters twin ensemble. She opted for my new brown skirt at the last minute.

I wanted to wear my white pink-flowered skirt from last year, but I'd left my white heels at school. I was searching my closet for them but could find nothing but last November's 4-inch fuschia heels. They didn't exactly go with the skirt. I tried Leslie's white dress sandals, only to find that my oversized feet and bunions couldn't even slide into the strap. I looked like Cinderella's ugly step-sister trying to pry her long foot into that delicate glass slipper.

It's a fact that I've never been able to wear my sisters' shoes. I've always been the Big-Foot of the family women. I wear 9's, they all (including my mother) wore 7's. That's a huge difference, but then again, we're separated by 2-3 inches in height, so I'm glad I don't have size 7 feet. But I've never had cute shoes, making the borrowing of their trendy clothes in recent years difficult. Whereas I think my chunky brown flipflops are "dressy," Leslie finds them unfit for anything but messing around the house. I wear them to work, to church, and everywhere else almost every day. What does this say about me?

All this is to say, sharing clothes with siblings and mothers is a weird concept for me, one I'm trying to come to grips with (quickly, as it were, due to the cute factors of their wardrobes).

Cauliflower Ear

Do you ever talk on the phone so long, with the receiver pressed to your ear so hard, that you come away from a conversation aching in the ear?

I don't know if it's because I am hard of hearing, or if it has something to do with my OCD and wish to hear and capture every piece of a conversation, but I almost always press the phone to my head so forcefully during a conversation, that my ear is sweaty and bruised when I'm done.

You'd think I'd learn, but I don't. It's no wonder I have CPS (carpal tunnel syndrome). Everything I do with my hands is overkill - writing in tiny, very precise letters all the while clutching the pen or pencil as if someone is actively trying to pry it away from my fingers; controlling every motion of my fingers with concentrated precision when playing the piano; gripping the steering wheel as if lightening my touch would instantly induce a fatal crash.

I should lighten up, friends. I know. I've been told this every year of my life, even though I have made great efforts to do so in the past three years.

Next time you're on the phone, hold the receiver a few centimeters from your poor ear to give it some breathing room and to spare it from a death by cauliflower ear.