Cleaning My Kindle

I have a collection on my Kindle labeled "Read books" and that's where I put books once I've read them. That is, if I don't delete a book because it sucks so badly I'll never want to read it ever again for sure.

When I don't do one of these posts for a while, I see all these books on my Kindle when I open it up and it stresses me out big time!! So here's what I've been reading.

Big Jack by J.D. Robb - This is a book from the In Death series featuring Eve Dallas and Roarke. I don't know how I missed this book in sequence (maybe it was originally in a collaboration?) , but it was a solid early book from the series.

Gone to Green by Judy Christie - A newspaper editor moves to a small southern town after acquiring the local newspaper. It was quirky and enjoyable - a nice light book.

The Goddess of Fried Okra by Jean Brashear - The main character in this book is a bit ditsy with no sense of forward thinking, so it took me quite some time to warm up to her, but once I did I loved this book. I love the characters and the small town charm.

Curious Folks Ask by Sherry Seethaler - This is a collection of questions and answers about history, inventions, and other assorted interesting things. As I was reading this, I find myself asking Dr. BB "did you know that people who are more fit sweat faster and earlier?" and "did you know thiamin was the first vitamin discovered?" If you are the kind of person who finds it important to increase your stores of trivial information, you'll love this book.

Germs, Genes, & Civilization by David P. Clark - Basically, this is a just a look at history with the interpretation that every major event in history was the product of disease. Great stuff.

I'm currently reading The Works of L.M. Montgomery and I'm enjoying it greatly. It may take me a while to get through it, though.

Deeply

He bounced around the apartment, checking under the couch cushions, noting that someone needed to vacuum the couch, rechecking the pockets in his jackets and pants, rooting through all the bags in our living room, including mine, and moving furniture to check underneath. I scampered after him and before too long sweat was pouring down my face and I could feel my blood pressure rising. I was all but guaranteed a bloody nose before the end of this event.

He lost his keys.

I repeatedly told him to take mine and I would look for his while he was gone. I told him he didn't need any keys today. Just ring the bell and I'll let you in when you get home, I promised. I just wanted him to leave because he was stressing me out so very much with his lost keys.

I know I had them when I came home last night, said he, so they must be in the apartment.

Finally, I had enough.

Let's do the dumb thing. Walk through the events of your homecoming last night. So we did. So the keys were found.

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I've been reading a lot lately about how hard marriage is. For the most part, I don't know that I believe it has been hard for us. Our day to day existence is relaxed and easy going. Sure there have been moments of intolerance, miscommunication, and snapping at each other, but when if I had to pick five words to describe our marriage, difficult would not be one of them.

But these last few months have been difficult. My father's death has been a bigger life event that I could have ever imagined. We have been pulled in different directions, we have been in different states, we have seen different challenges. Dr. BB is still going full throttle on the academic job market in one of the worst markets in memory, I'm trying to help my mother and sister with bureaucratic bullshit from three states away.

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So maybe marriage is only difficult when life is difficult. A shocking conclusion, I know.

The Last 17 Days

Roadtrip songs of repetition played on endless rotation on country radio from Minnesota to North Carolina: Undo It by Carrie Underwood and Love Like Crazy by Lee Brice

Texts sent to my husband quoting Carrie Underwood songs: Approximately a dozen

Seashells collected: Approximately a million

Pictures taken: Two and a half rolls. Yes, I still use FILM. And I need to use up the rest of that roll before I get it developed.

Number of beds, not my own, slept in: 6

Days at the beach: 5.5

Days away from my husband: 11

Days away from my husband that I cried on the phone because I missed him: 4 (we are not doing that again)

Bottles of sunscreen used: 2

Days back in Minneapolis: 1

Delight at being back home: Too much to express in numbers

Sunrise and Sunset

The heat of the day is too much for me here at the beach. I get up early, before sunrise, and run along the beach at low tide while I watch the sun slowly come up over the horizon. By the end of my run, my legs are sore, sweat is sliding down my face, and I collapse in the sand and stare at water. The morning people are of three types: athletic types who are running, boarding, or fishing; the folks allowing their dogs to roam free - sometimes these people walk slowly and comb the beach for shells and sometimes these people chase after their dogs in the surf; and the gawkers - people with video cameras who get really irked when you run on the packed sand right in front of their recording.

I sit until I can't take it anymore - the heat, the sweat, the sand slowly creeping into every crevice of my body. Then I get up and slowly amble back home, savoring the quiet, the warm cool, and the peaceful thoughts circling around my head.

During the day, I occasionally head to the pool, but more often we leave to find air conditioning - a trip to the aquarium, a boat tour to find dolphins, or a trip downtown to wander through the cute little shops attempting to find postcards to send to my grandmother and some cheesy trinket to bring home to my husband. The early start time usually means I slow down by 4 or 5, occasionally taking a nap or just reading for half an hour to recharge.

But, night, night is where it is at for me. Low tide again, watching the sun go down, slowly, slowly, slowly. Then out come the flashlights. I watch the waves roll in and out while the sea foam roils and the mist fogs my glasses. There are few foolhardy folks out at this point, most of us laughing and giggling, as if we are doing something wrong.

I had no idea how much I needed this time. I really felt like I was fine at home, like Minneapolis had wrapped me in its summertime hug. But right now, as I sit here and type this, listening to my cousins bicker, my aunt referee, and the ocean in the distance, I realize that Minneapolis has healed me in its own way, but this week is the week I needed to invigorate my joy and faith in nature.

Sound and Fury

It was pitch black when we pulled in, hours and hours after our planned arrival time. A series of bad navigational decisions and a wrong address were behind us. I hadn't even finished unloading the car when I decided I had to go to the beach. I couldn't wait even a minute longer. 24 hours of driving and fourteen hundred miles, give or take, and the water was calling to me.

Once down there, I kicked off my shoes and ran into the water, screaming over the noise of the crashing waves. My cousin and I screeched as the water came roaring up, soaking our skirts and covering our legs with sand. My glasses had a fine film of sea mist over them. It was dark, so dark that the flashlights barely cut the darkness. We could see other people coming by the lights bobbing up and down.

Further and further into the ocean, screaming. Tears started streaming down my face. Crying and screaming, crying and screaming. I ran further, arms raised high, driving away the hours in the car, the stress of getting lost, and the tensions of days spent at my mother's house, dealing with bureaucracies and mess.

On the slow walk back to the townhouse, we laughed giddily and attempted to skip in our sandals and flip flops. We were soaked, sandy, and so excited for the week to come.

Black and Gold and Red All Over

He spent ten minutes poring over the box of belts and belt buckles. I was there to perform the most basic of yard sale tasks - name a price and take his money. But, honestly, if he had asked, I would have handed him the entire box without taking a penny.

"How much for these?" he asks, holding up four belts and just about every buckle in the box.

"For you, four bucks."

He looks excited. I have clearly lowballed the price since my garage sale expertise is so limited.

"Ain't nobody else gonna want them," I drawl, slipping into my hick voice as easily and comfortable as I slip into the sheets at night. The "ain't" takes three syllables and the "want" turns into wone. "Don't see a lot guys this size shopping at garage sales." I slip my arm around his waist as I help him stand up from the lawn chair.

My husband's head whips around. I smile at him, knowing that once again, the suburban boy from Iowa is impressed with my ability to blend into this environment.

"Five dollars for the lot." He hands me his five dollars, cobbled together with one dollar bills and coins from the ashtray in his pickup truck. I scratch the beagle sitting in the passenger seat of the pickup behind the ears before he turns it on, once, twice, coughing and sputtering all the while. I wave goodbye.

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They had packed it all up. In a matter of ten hours, we sold a lot of it and dropped the rest of it in the donation box twenty miles away. If you walked into the house, with the exceptions of the photos and the strange assortment of dream catchers and walking sticks hanging on the walls, you wouldn't even know he had lived there.

It is a sobering thought that the possessions so important to us right now - our clothes, photos, books, and dishes - are worth so little at the end of life. There's nothing left now. Nothing but memories and the ability of his youngest child to slip in and out of rural and metropolitan environs without missing a beat.

Eraser Dust

If I could:

I would not break his heart.
I would stop pouting and smile at my parents.
I would just stop when I was unhappy.
I would get up earlier and enjoy the blissful early morning quiet.
I would not put it off.
I would get a dog before I met Mr. Practical.
I would stop worrying about things out of my control.
I would call her before her number changed and she was gone for good.
I would apologize to them.
I would stop rushing into judgment so quickly.
I would show off that 18 year old body.
I would study less and party more.
I would be braver and less insecure.
I would love more, laugh more, and smile through it all.

I will:

Live now.
Enjoy now.
Stress out later.
Jump up and down every day.
Scream out the frustration.
Curl up to him in the middle of the night.
Leave my cell phone at home.
Call her every week.
Forgive them.
Forget that.
Think happy thoughts.
Help fix the wrongs.
Kiss the boo boos.
Push the swings.
Live the life I've been given.

More Books

The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible by A. J. Jacobs - So the subtitle says it all here. Jacobs tries to follow the Bible for a year. He starts with the Old Testament and works in the New Testament at the end. It was oddly hilarious. It's the kind of book that points out the intrinsic contradictions of the Bible while desperately trying to reconcile them. Jacobs writes in a similar wryly anecdotal style to Bill Bryson and while I know each of them has their critics, I think they are super funny and I am definitely going to put more Jacobs on my library list.

The Opposite of Me by Sarah Pekkanen - A story about sisters. I think my relationship with my sister is as fractured as the relationship in this story and the whole time I was reading it, I had a knot in my stomach. So, hey, maybe if you don't have the same thing I have going on with my sister, this book would be for you!

Mixed Bags by Melody Carlson and Always Watching by Brandilynn Collins - Both of these were sneakily free downloads on the Kindle and both are Christian literature aimed at young adults. They were pretty good, but sneaked in some preaching I didn't really need to read. The Christian fiction publishers are very sneaky in their descriptions of these novels on the web site. I'm starting to get very, very leery of any of the free downloads.

Katy's New World by Kim Vogal Sawyer - This book was overtly Christian (shocking! another free Kindle download). A Mennonite girl goes to a regular public high school and hijinks follow. I knew the premise going in. I thought the book was okay in a "we're all different and we're all picked on in high school" kind of way.

Waiting for it to cool completely

Somewhere along the line I entered a contest and won ten pounds of blueberries. The blueberries arrived last week and, um, do you know what ten pounds of blueberries looks like? Because I really had no idea. Turns out, it's approximately 25 times the number of blueberries that you buy at the grocery store for $4.99 a pint. (Yep. That's what our local grocery store charges for them when they are not on sale.)

The blueberries arrived with about a pound ruined during shipping since one of the containers opened. We froze about six pounds in glass jars. We had delicious blueberry pancakes approximately eighty million times, made a gorgeous blueberry pie, and canned two pints of blueberry jam. You may call me Martha Stewart.

Details on gluten free baking that you probably don't care about unless you came here for gluten free baking help:

We used the gluten free Bisquick mix to make pancakes the first time and they were fabulous. Light, fluffy, and delicious. They did not brown up evenly, but it was still pretty obvious when they were done cooking. We used this mix to bake biscuits also and the mix did an awesome job. I got that box from someone at General Mills before it was available in stores. Now I can't find it in any stores, but the web site says it's coming soon. Every gluten free cook should have a box of this stuff in their cupboards. (We just put 3/4 cup of blueberries in the batter, let the batter sit for 30 minutes, and then cooked them up.)

The other times we used Bob's Red Mill's pancake mix. It was okay. Not nearly as fluffy as the Bisquick, but fine. It cooked evenly and the texture was good. Since it's cheaper and more readily available than the Bisquick, I think we're going to be using it a lot. (We just put 3/4 cup of blueberries in the batter, let the batter sit for 30 minutes, and then cooked them up.)

To make our delicious pie, we followed the recipe in the Joy of Cooking for the pie filling (berries, sugar, lemon) and added some cinnamon. We used a pie crust mix from Breads by Anna and it was really, really good. Flaky and just like regular pie crust. We pinched the bottom pie crust into a pie pan and rolled out the top crust between some wax paper. I was shocked at how quick the process was. Maybe someday I'll attempt a pie crust from scratch, but I thought this was a pretty good start for our first pie.

The jam was easy, but required us to buy a bunch of stuff we didn't already have (pectin, Mason jars, a jarring set including a lid lifter, wide mouthed funnel, and a jar grabber) and also required me to improvise on something I should have had (notably, a wire rack to put on the bottom of our big pot that I used to boil the jars to sanitize them - I had to wrap the jars in dishtowels to prevent them from touching each other or the metal pot). The preparation was a pain in the rear, but the jam is delicious. I used the recipe provided by the foldout in the pectin box.

If I was going to make jam again or start to jar vegetables (which I'm just crunchy enough to think I might do), I'd invest in a steam canner to avoid some of the issues I had with sanitizing my jars. Now that I have all the other equipment, I'd be all set!!

My Invisibility Cloak

We were watching a scene from an episode of an old television show. The main character pretty much ignores her younger sister so what you see on the screen is a pair of eyeglasses bobbing up and down in space at the younger sister's place at the dining room table. The younger sister is invisible. As we watched this scene, I immediately knew what was going on. But Dr. BB was a bit puzzled and when the special effects went away and the younger sister was revealed, he let out a soft "oh." (This is from the pilot of Dead Like Me, a strange television show from 2003-2004 with a mixed tone and annoying main character that I am oddly entranced by.)

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I suggested to my class that they make flashcards to study the concepts. "There's been some research done in the psychology journals that suggests you should look over the cards in three different physical locations so that your brain gets used to seeing the ideas in different places," I paused here for comedic effect, "so don't just keep looking it at while you're at your desk, but put a few in you pants pocket and take a look at them while you're waiting for the bus or eating lunch at Taco Bell or waiting at the checkout line at the grocery store."

Right on cue they snickered.

"But won't people look at you ?"

I paused. This was a new question. "Do you pay attention to other people at the grocery store?"

They stared.

"Hmmm. Well, I guess I just assume no one is paying any attention to me."

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We live on the same block as a senior citizen center. It has day programs and residential programs, and makes the best neighbor. Elderly folks are always out and about with their canes, walkers, wheelchairs, and scooters. The nurses and other caretakers are also always about. It's nice. It feels homey and sometimes I stop and flirt with the old men sitting on the benches.

Tuesday was National Night Out's block party and we had gotten a flyer in the mail about how our block's party was to be held in the courtyard of the center. BB and I put on our sunscreen and hats and walked to the courtyard to find that the party had been moved indoors thanks to the eleven billion degree temperature with 99% humidity.

Inside, there was free cotton candy, ice cream, hotdogs, and popcorn. There was a polka band with a tuba player and clarinetist. There was a creepy clown wandering about with a kazoo. There were also a couple of hundred gray haired individuals sitting around listening to the band. The band was good and I was smiling and enjoying it. Dr. BB was not.

We left shortly afterward. As we left he told me that he just felt so out of place - a good 30 years younger than anyone else there. I smiled.

I don't think anyone even looked at us.

Damn You Applebee's

I am going back to Michigan soon to deal with some lingering issues regarding my father's death. The last time I was there, I was exceptionally impressed by the support my family got from, in particular, my friends from high school. One of my high school peers, a girl I was close to in high school, but someone I had grown apart from for assorted reasons having mostly to do with me having had an abortion and the two of us having radically different religious and political views, was one of the most supportive people while I was there.

So I emailed all those people, including this woman I've had some problems with in the past, and told them that I would love to hang out with them while I am in town. Two nights have been set aside and then the planning began.

It started out so simply. What do you want to do? Suggestions range from hanging out at someone's house, going to a park, or going out to eat came forth.

I respond that going out to eat is usually not a pleasant task for us because of Dr. BB's (I think I'm going to call him that now because it pisses him off) dietary restrictions.

She emails back that her mother has Celiac's and that their family eats at Applebee's all the time.

I responded with a note that I am not entirely sure how sensitive her mother is, but Applebee's does not have a dedicated gluten free grill so cross contamination would be a problem and since there is no GF information on their website, the servers and cooks are bound to be unknowledgeable about the issue, and my husband's system is pretty sensitive to even small amounts of gluten. While some people take it up that they are responsible for educating these servers, Dr. BB and I do not. Applebee's is out.

She emails that she doesn't see what the big fuss is about. If he gets a little bit of gluten through cross contamination, no harm done.

And here I stand. I want this friendship to continue. I really do.

But what I really want to write back is: Fuck you. My husband will die with repeated "little bits of gluten through cross contamination." I have no idea how your mother hasn't gotten sick eating at Applebee's all these times. If my husband has even a small amount of gluten, he is sick for days. I can't believe how insensitive you are to this issue considering your own family history.

What I probably will write is: We are uncomfortable with Applebee's. If everyone else wants to eat there, we will eat at home and meet up with you afterward.

This eating out thing? It's really stressing me out.