Just like a shiny present

I miss having a first day of school.

I was one of those kids who was pretty excited for the first day of school. New school supplies held so much promise. Looking at the lists provided by my teachers, I would wonder what we were going to do with a compass or protractor... I would wonder why we needed colored pencils. Sometimes the teacher asked for rubber cement instead of glue. What could that mean?

In Omaha, I remember walking down to the bus stop wearing my favorite red-plaid dress with the white peter-pan collar and thin red-leather belt. I can't remember if that was the first day of 3rd or 4th grade (I think 3rd), but I do remember the smell of the air and excitement in my stomach. And, of course, I remember Mark Shannon, the smartest boy in the class who I absolutely l-o-v-e-d until he broke my heart one day in the letter-writing unit when he wrote me a brief letter that read:

Dear Jessica,
How are you? What are you doing? I suppose playing with Ashley. Anyway, I want to let you know I don't like you like you think I do. I just like you like a friend.
Sincerely,
Mark Shannon

I don't know which was worse: the content of the letter or the fact that our teacher, Mrs. Screamin' Neiman, now knew that Mark Shannon did NOT like me.

I remember high school orientation. I wore a purple button-down shirt with shoulder pads, a fantastic tapestry vest with black-satinesque back, and black shorts. I also wore a thin gold necklace. I was so cool. I definitely had planned that outfit out days in advance.

My favorite first day of school, though, is without doubt the first day of college. Well, first day, first month, it's all rolled together in my mind. Living at 629 McIntyre Hall was a wonderful year. My loft bed, mini-refrigerator (not the tiny kind, the taller one), toaster, coffee pot, and popcorn popper were all symbols of this new life that was ruled by me. Wow, what a great feeling. I watched MTV for the first time, (I will always have a soft place in my heart for the Peaches video by The Presidents of the United States of America) stayed up too late, and ate too many chocolate-covered espresso beans. I fell in love, however briefly, with Chip, the RA on all-male floor below mine. He was a junior, an English major (oh, the romanticism in that fact alone was almost enough) and his room smelled like coffee. He also wore oxford-style Dr. Martens which pushed his cool-factor through the roof. Alas, he was in love with an exchange student from Sweden, so it didn't work out. I made friends whom I loved, and still do, and became a much better person than I was.

I miss the promise of what first days of school held: you never knew exactly what was in store, but it was all new and much of the time seemed like an adventure. Now that my school days are over, I will simply have to write my own adventures.

We should at least charge rent

How many different types of wildlife have to reside in an area before it's declared a 'wildlife refuge'? And are bees technically considered wildlife?

Lately when we've been outside on our patio, we've noticed that there are a few more bees than you might typically expect at an outdoor function. A couple weekends ago when we had a little get-together, one of our guests pointed out that he was noticing that the bees seemed to be disappearing inside the wall, close to the light that doesn't turn on (some of you are familiar with this light).

Then, two mornings ago, Jeff was back from his run and was stretching in the sunroom monitoring his breathing, listening to the birds, when he noticed a certain buzzing that broke his reverie. A buzzing coming directly from his left. A buzzing coming alarmingly from inside the wall. Hmmm.

Today we had a bee expert out to the house. Did you know that bee experts have special stethoscope-microphone devices designed especially for listening to bees through walls? And, if you're an especially good bee expert, you can tell by the decibel meter approximately how many bees you might be dealing with. Let's just say that the bee expert likened listening to our wall to attending this really killer Led Zeppelin concert back in the 70s.

It seems that word is getting out among the animal kingdom. The Price house is open for wildlife. Rodents in the attic, bees in the wall -- what's next? Snakes in the sewers? God, let's hope not.

"Flint's finest hour"

The Crim Festival of Races was today in Flint. The races include a 10-mile wheelers, 10-mile run, 8K run, 8K walk, 5K run, 5K Family Walk, 1-mile run, 1-mile walk, and a Teddy Bear Trot. The races attract participants from all over the world and is arguably one of the best things that happens in Flint. As the announcer said on ABC12 this morning, Crim race day is "Flint's finest hour."

Jeff and I had been living here for about 4 months when we experienced our first Crim last summer. The course is 10 miles long, starts in the heart of downtown Flint, and eventually winds its way through our neighborhood. We live near the 7-mile mark. The morning of the race, we were awakened by the sound of a marching band that sounded like they were right in our backyard. Turns out they were one street over, but still, a pretty rousing way to start the day! We watched as over 1200 people ran, walked, and wheeled their way toward the finish line.

One year later, and Jeff was in the pack sporting number 3121 on his shirt and I was on my bike watching for him.

Hi Jeff! (yelling and waving my arms, notice the two guys in the foreground with their bewildered expressions)

(Jeff isn't actually in this photo, but I thought it was a nice shot.)

Leaving our neighborhood after coming up a very long hill.

Gooooooooo, Jeff!

Crossing the bridge over the Flint River. About 1 mile to go.

Yay, Jeff!!!!!!!!!

Where have all the good clothes gone?

I just got back from some retail therapy... bad news, people. There simply are no good clothes for fall. Pull out the old stand-bys from last year, because trust me, even if they're faded or a little pilled under the arms, they're probably still better than what I saw today.

Here is a list of problems encountered this afternoon.

1. The no. 1 problem plaguing the fall fashion line-up can be summed up in this question I overheard in two different dressing rooms in two different stores: "Does this shirt make me look pregnant?" I mean seriously, does every single shirt have to have an empire waist with a voluminous bottom half? Do the fashion designers of the world have no faith in American women and have thus determined that the best way of dealing with a little unwanted padding around the middle is to simply borrow the tried-and-true pattern from their good friends in maternity wear?
2. Unless your name is Anne and you hail from Green Gables, you might find the puffed sleeve trend a little disturbing. Actually, Anne is currently sporting at least 2 of fall's heavy-hitting trends, the aforementioned puffed sleeves, and the ruffled bodice. Another terrible idea if you have anything over what, a B cup?
   
3. My final gripe with this year's fall fashion is the cropped round-button 3/4-sleeve boxy jacket. Here's how this one goes. The designers of the world united and said, "Let's take some beautiful wool, known for its fluid drape, and wrap it around your shoulders, buttoning at the neck so that the fabric lies over the largest part of your torso and then extends down in a straight line from there. Voila! Perfection!"

So, let's take a stand. If no one buys into any of these trends and the clothes stay on the shelves, perhaps they'll start making some reasonable clothes again and we can all get dressed without having a meltdown every single morning.

Workin' it

This afternoon was my first chance to attend the AquaBox class since that first day. Knowing that pool space is at a premium in this class (don't have to tell me twice!), I got there early. Many of the same ladies were there. This time, the nice lady who almost drowned suggested that she be in front of me from the start. Good idea.

So, there I was kind of hanging out by the wall warming up my arms as the other ladies chatted amongst themselves. One lady was mentioning that she hasn't been here the last few weeks because she was visiting her daughter in Arizona. The others were glad to see her again. There was discussion of weekend plans and grandchildren. And then the conversation turned, as it sometimes does when a group of women get together, to men.

"So, Dory, what are you doing this weekend?"

"Well, I'm actually, I'm going to have to leave class early today to get ready for this afternoon."

"Oh? What are you doing?"

"Well," she continued, lowering her voice and fluttering her eyelashes a little bit, "my friend is picking me up. We're going to dinner at the 21 Club."

"Ohhhhh!"

"Is this the same boy that you play chess with, Dory?" asked the third woman.

I stood there, respectfully looking at the walls around the pool, checking the clock, basically anything I could do so they wouldn't think I was listening -- but of course I was! Anyway, I was struck by the word 'boy'.

Blushing a little, Dory responded. "Yes." She quickly continued. "But, I don't think it's going to go anywhere for heaven's sake! He is 20 years younger than me."

I almost gasped out loud!

I'll admit, the first time I went to class, the ladies struck me as the kind who enjoyed coming to this class for a little workout and company and then went home and did grandmother-esque type things... like, bake cookies or visit their grandchildren or knit. But, apparently I had it all wrong. These ladies are working out for a reason. They are working out in order to work it! You go, girl!

I cocked my head a little more toward them because their conversation had gotten conspiratorially low.

"Dory," the woman floated a little closer, "you never know." And then she winked.

Job requirements: Punch, kick, talk and make it look easy

Tonight at kickboxing, my fabulous instructor said something to all of us at the end of class:

"Stuff, stuff, stuff, stuff, stuff, Oh, and if you're ever interested in teaching, I would be happy to train you..."

What?! Seriously??

Okay, need to go back a little bit. Somewhere along the line, I developed this list of jobs that I thought would be really fun and that I'd like to do at some point in my life.

On my list:
1. Farmer
2. Bartender
3. D.J.
4. Mailman
5. AEROBICS INSTRUCTOR

I have already held the following jobs: farmer and bartender. Bartending was much more fun and a helluva lot more profitable than farming. Holy cow, do you know how hard it is to be a farmer? Good grief those people work hard.

Anyway, not to brag or anything, but my kickboxing instructor has called me 'hard core' on more than one occasion. I think I may be punching my way toward crossing one more job off my list.

Oh, to runaway and join a rock band

An open letter to Jack Johnson (my new favorite singer of all-time)

Dear Jack:

I have recently discovered your work through Pandora Radio. I bought your CD In Between Dreams yesterday at my local Target. I played it for the first time this morning as I got ready for work. I even made my husband listen, too. Well, to be fair, probably even the neighbors heard it, as I had it cranked up to maximum volume. I love to dance (although I'm not what you'd consider a good dancer) and I danced as I applied my eye shadow.

I love your music. And, as it turns out, I'm a musician, too. Flute. Now, I've listened to your CD about 3 times through today and I will admit, I was trying hard to imagine some flute sounds mixed in with this fabulous music because then, well, you would need a flute player and I would so do it. Bad news. I don't think you need flute. Which sucks. Because I would totally be in your band. I noticed you used accordion on a couple tracks. That was cool.

I would still like to be in your band, so I've come up with the following ideas..... 1) Nada.

Lame. I would like to be in a rock band. I could do it.

Well, if you ever need a flute player or a pretty bad dancer (I do kickbox quite well, though, and that's kind of like dancing...well, I can totally punch in perfect time at any tempo), please don't hesitate to call.

Sincerely,
Jess

Knotted, er, I mean, knitted

It's 11:47 p.m. and I should be in bed. It's officially past my bedtime, but I am committed to a project that I started almost 3 hours ago. To turn this mess into...

This.

How did I get here, you may ask? Well, it all started much earlier today. We'd just had coffee and I was sitting in our office (my new favorite place to sit) looking at our newly installed bookshelves that were just waiting to be filled with all of our music books and flute and saxophone CDs. A long project, but with a very satisfying result.


Then I turned my attention to the closet in one of the guest rooms that was one of the last refuges of boxes from our move last year. The boxes contained mostly old quilts and blankets from our childhoods. They were nice boxes to open.



At the bottom of one box, I found my knitting bag, which I hadn't thought about in about 3 years and before that, 12 years. Jeff had joined me in the sorting process by then and found this little test piece I had made.

He was so impressed -- seriously! And I was like, this is nothing! Back in my youth, I actually knew how to knit and made my very own sweater and everything, which got a blue ribbon at the 4-H fair, thank you very much. (There's no way I could do that now, by the way...) Anyway, there he was, standing there all impressed and the topic of scarves came up. So I asked him if he would actually wear a scarf if I made it and he said definitely yes. And he would tell everyone that I made it for him, too.

So this evening I sat down with my mother's trusty "Learn How to Knit" book that has both left- and right-handed instructions (lefty here) that has all the patterns I recognize. It came back pretty quickly, so I was inspired to get to work on the scarf this very night. (I must admit that I was perhaps influenced by my recent completion of The Friday Night Knitting Club, a book I enjoyed very much.)

I pulled out the lovely green wool yarn that I bought 3 years when I last thought I might knit something nice for Jeff. It was wrapped in this beautiful figure-8 twist. I found the end, but then something terrible happened and I ended up with the mess you saw at the top. So here I sit. Pile of knotted wool yarn in front of me, wishing I could go back in time and be much more careful as I pulled on the loose end. *sigh*

It is nice to have a project.

Of Mice and Men

[Please make sure to read this before proceeding]

A play in One Act

Cast of characters:
Rod: An unidentified species of rodent
Charlie: His side-kick
Jess: a perturbed homeowner
Jeff: the other perturbed homeowner

Place: A spacious attic in Flint, present day

(The curtain opens with Jess at the computer. She glances up toward the ceiling, annoyed, listening to the persistent gnawing. The lights fade down on Jess and come up on Rod and Charlie in the attic.)

Rod: (walking on his hind legs, using a piece of floor joist as a toothpick) Hey Charlie, here's another one of those sticky sheets, watch out for it. (talking as he expertly maneuvers around it)

Charlie: (a heavy set fellow, prone to clumsiness) Thanks, Rod. There sure are a lot of these sticky things up here these days. Where do you think they came from?

Rod: (stomping extra hard on the floor, snickering as he glances down) Oh, I have my suspicions.

(Jess angrily glances up at the ceiling, trying to will the power of x-ray vision to see the little bastard through the floor)

Charlie: Say, Rod, I'm hungry. Where should we go today?

Rod: (looking at his wristwatch on his wiry rodent arm) Hmm... well, it's about 10:30 in the morning. I'd say the humans are out of bed and are probably working on the computer, so why don't we snack above the office? That would probably piss them off most.

Charlie: (chuckling) Good one, Rod. Good one.

Rod: (clawing ferociously at a piece of insulation) And then for our lunchtime snack, we'll move over to the guest room closet at the end of the hall where the human practices the flute. I'm sure she heard us in there yesterday. I think I heard her scream a little bit. (cruel chuckling)

Charlie: (grabbing his rotund belly, shaking with laughter) Rod, you are truly inspired.

(lights fade on Rod and Charlie, and come up on Jess as she calls down the stairs to Jeff)

Jess: Jeff, do you think we should check the traps today?

Jeff: (calling back up the stairs) No, I don't think so. Remember, if we don't go up there, they won't realize they're traps and we'll be more likely to catch more.

(sounds of gnawing pervade the office)

Jess: Hmmm... I'm not so sure of that...

(Lights fade. Curtain falls with sounds of Charlie gnawing and Rod's fading laughter).

THE END.

We know you're up there...

We have creatures living in our attic. We're not sure what they are, but we know they like to chew things... because we can HEAR THEM chewing in the walls, scurrying about, wreaking havoc. We're not fond of these creatures.

Last summer, we called an animal removal place and they sent over a guy who placed a trap on our roof. At that point, we thought we were dealing with squirrels. The removal guy said that for one flat fee, he would remove an unlimited number of animals. Great! Everyone else was charging per animal, so this seemed very reasonable. Well, after our $250.00 squirrel was captured, we hoped for the best.

Flash forward to the recent past...(cue the wavy lines and tinkly music)
Laying in bed on a Sunday morning...
Me: (stiffening at the recognizable sound) Do you hear that?

Jeff: (groaning) Yes.

Me: Crap.

We've been talking about how we should really get up into the attic to investigate, but, gosh darn it, things always seem to come up that would be much more fun, like ANYTHING! So this past weekend when my dear, sweet sister and her affable and capable boyfriend were visiting my parents, we convinced him to come help Jeff deal with this problem in exchange for food. Because he's in college and food is always welcome, he agreed.

Mom, Mel, and I took off for IKEA (the happiest place on earth) and left Jeff and Hans (not his real name ;) ) to take of the problem. Their plan: go buy a million glue traps and spread them out all over the attic. We called at regular intervals to check on the progress. Each time, Jeff answered a little out of breath and assured me of their progress. It was hot, this was hard, yeah, they've seen lots of evidence of some sort of creature, it was difficult work, but yeah, they were really working hard, etc... I was even feeling a little guilty...we had been gone for about 4 or so hours and they had been working in the sweltering attic all afternoon...

We got home and they had finished the job. As I was showing Jeff my latest treasures from IKEA, he made his confession. Here's a dramatization of the account.

(cue wavy lines and tinkly music)
Jeff: Hey Hans, as long as we're at Wal-Mart getting these traps, let's go check out the bb guns.

Hans: Okay.

Jeff: (holding a bb gun in his hands looking a lot like that kid in A Christmas Story) Cooooooooooooooollllll....

Hans: (who is a very capable outdoorsman who provided this year's Thanksgiving main course by killing it with his bare hands) Yeah, it's cool.

Jeff: (who had a somewhat sheltered childhood...indoors) You know, this could come in handy. I mean, when we catch the mice or rats or whatever, we can't just let them stay on the glue sheet until they die. It would be much more humane to get it over with right away. Plus, IT WOULD BE SO COOL TO SHOOT THINGS!

Jeff buys the bb gun. They spread the traps and are finished in a cool 1 hour flat.

Jeff: (with a slight dampness in his eyes, cradling his bb gun in his arms) Hans, in this moment, I have finally fulfilled my childhood dream. (a deep sigh of happiness) Let's shoot stuff.

Hans: Cool.

So, they opened the sliding door to the back patio in the backyard, lined up 4 Coke cans and shot them to pieces for the next 3 hours...

We still haven't caught anything. But Jeff can hit the "C" in Coke with amazing precision.

Life is sweeter...

Yeah, I've decided I'm not so into keeping track of my candy consumption on my blog because a) who wants to read about that? and b) I just don't want to. So, I'm going to try and eat less candy and that will be that. Cool? :)

Will punch for food

How many calories are there in 1 M&M? Okay, more importantly than that, how many jab-cross punch combos do I need to do to cancel it out??!!

Just kidding, kind of... Here's the problem with exercising: it makes me hungry. It's this horrible catch-22 phenomenon. I think, Hey! I'll go to the gym, ride the bike, do a little walking, take a walk with Jeff tonight after dinner, and then eat 28 peanut M&Ms.

So, I have to resort to self-tattling. It was something I was trying to avoid, but clearly, I'm not strong enough to do this on my own. I will henceforth be instituting a daily M&M count, starting from now (which will conveniently let me omit the small handful of M&Ms I just had walking upstairs to the computer...hey, how many M&Ms can I have for walking up the stairs?... 1? 2?...)

5:31pm
M&Ms: 0, 3 at 9:03pm
Reese's Pieces: 0
Jelly Bellys: 0
Ghirardelli chocolate squares: 0

(What can I say? Jeff loves candy and apparently has much more self-control than I do -- damn him!...)

May the force be with me.