2013 Book List

This was a 'bad book' year, I would recommend all of seven books on this list—bolded below:

• Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn
• Drop Dead Healthy: One Man's Humble Quest for Bodily Perfection by A. J. Jacobs
• Sparkly Green Earrings: Catching the Light at Every Turn by Melanie Shankle
• The Fault In Our Stars by John Green
• Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail by Cheryl Strayed
• Push by Sapphire
• The Kid by Sapphire
• The Storyteller by Jodi Picoult
• Inferno by Dan Brown
• Factory Girls: From Village to City in a Changing China by Leslie T. Chang
• The Boy in the Striped Pajamas by John Boyne
• Growing Pains by Billie Piper
• Defining the Decade: Why Your Twenties Matter--And How to Make the Most of Them Now by Meg Jay
• Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls by David Sedaris
• Love the One You're With by Emily Griffin
• Siddhartha by Herman Hesse
• Lincoln Lawyer by Michael Connelly
• Tell the Wolves I'm Home by Carol Rifka Brunt
• Where'd You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple
• Skipping Christmas by John Grisham 
• Christmas Bliss by Mary Kay Andrews
• Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson
• The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs
• Calling Invisible Women by Jeanne Ray

Oyster Night

While visiting Boston, Massachusetts over the Christmas holiday, we had dined on oysters one night for dinner. This was my first time having oysters not ordered from a restaurant. And the experience was quite a delight. It's quite a process to reach the eating portion of the meal: the oysters must be purchased, in this case there was  seven varieties of oysters; then kept on ice in a ventilated environment; and last opened with a special knife while wearing cut-resistant gloves. The oysters were served three different ways, of which I can not decide my favorite--as shooters, oysters rockefeller, and, of course, on the half shell. To compliment the meal, M.R.B. made mushroom wellington; this was quite a treat.

There was also some research that took place prior to consumption. And maybe some research during the meal. My notes proceed this words.

1. Raspberry Pine - Prince Edward Island (Canada)
• Size: small
• Method of consumption: on the half shell
• Tasting description: briny, light
2. Pickle Point - Prince Edward Island (Canada)
• Size: medium
• Method of consumption: on the half shell
• Tasting description: easy to open, juicy, meaty; group favorite
3. Noank - Noank, Connecticut
• Size: large
• Method of consumption: oysters rockefeller
• Tasting description: easy to open, deep cup
4. Salt Aire - Prince Edward Island (Canada)
• Size: small
• Method of consumption: on the half shell; shooter
• Tasting description:
5. Cotuit - Cape Cod, Massachusetts
• Size: medium
• Method of consumption: on the half shell
• Tasting description: standard oyster--no real distinct flavor, chewy
6. Fancy Sweets - New Brunswick (Canada)
• Size: medium
• Method of consumption: shooter
• Tasting description: smooth texture, sweet, salty
7. Montauk - Montauk, New York
• Size: large
• Method of consumption: shooter
• Tasting description: hard to open, juicy; personal favorite
  

I guess the secret is out. This girl is officially back on the "meat eating" bandwagon. I can't say it's been half bad. 

Putting Others Out

I’m sitting here at Gate 63 in the lovely Kansas City International Airport, minutes before an estimated 7:18 pm departure. Boyfriend and my flight was supposed to leave at 2:33 pm, bound for Cleveland, Ohio; then later (at approximately 7:22 pm) on to Boston, Massachusetts. But those are all just minor details. We had a heads-up on the flight delays and were granted some extra time with my childhood best friend forever, M.E.K. My busy itinerary originally only allowed for an early breakfast on Sunday at Panera. Due to our flight situation, we were able to visit both her old and new home, briefly stop by her parents to exchange greetings, play were her puppies—Addy and Mogley, and watch the Kansas City Chiefs lose another depressing game to the Indianapolis Colts.

This visit to Kansas City, Kansas was an in-and-out trip–lovely, quick and very cold. To pull this trip off, to be there for M.K.B.M.’s big (wedding) day—we needed a lot of help. Boyfriend and I needed a ride to Lenexa from the airport; we landed late on Thursday at a not exactly convenient time. Then Friday, we needed a ride to Lawrence… or to borrow a car—both, again, of which would put someone out. The simple solution would have been to rent a car. But I was clearly unprepared. Friday, getting a loaner car and driving to Lawrence, we wandered around the cold, bitter cold Massachusetts Avenue. Saturday, we got ready for the wedding and anticipated the winter storm. A storm that would result in tons of cancellations for the unfazed bride and groom. On departure day—Sunday, we needed to get back to Lenexa… meet M.E.K. for breakfast… return our “rental” car… and get to the airport all before our 2:33 pm flight, with roads in OK-ish conditions. If you ask this I-don’t-know-how-to-drive-in-the-snow-girl, the roads were in poor shape.

But again, we found out early enough that our flights were delayed, and were allowed to relax a little, enjoying our final hours while simultaneously lining up a back-up plan. It is just so terrible. And I'm not dealing with adversity well. Because no part of me wants to be stuck in Cleveland. All I see are dollar signs—hotel rooms, rental cars, dining out. And though I have visited Cleveland before, navigating an unfamiliar city late at night after a long weekend. Plus, I'm so exhausted from putting others out. I was beyond worried about not only needing a ride to MCI but after waiting and waiting and waiting... the possibility of needing another pick-up later this evening, if our flights are ultimately cancelled.

So, here I am, finishing the remainder of this story on Christmas Eve. I also so badly wanted to get to Boston, I had late-night plans with my recently married college roommate, H.C.H… and the thought of missing this girl time was upsetting. And last—what I thought was the final piece of our puzzle, in terms of inconvenience—I now felt as though I was putting Boyfriend’s parents out… because we’re not scheduled to land until 12:05 am. They are much closer to Boston Logan International Airport, then my Lenexa friends are to MCI; regardless, I felt like we’re got this trip off on the wrong foot.

With false promises that our flight out of Cleveland would not be cancelled, we hopped on the 5:55 pm flight (delayed over-and-over again until we officially departed at 7:52 pm). And when we landed in Cleveland, our flight had been delayed until 11:26 pm. But by the time we got off the plane, the last leg of our journey—the flight to Boston was cancelled. I burst into tears. I couldn’t deal. It was admittedly pathetic. Boyfriend jumped into problem-solving mode. And I called my mom for sympathy. Not one of my prouder moments. There were just so many emotions—my first Christmas away from home was looming. After talking to his parents, Boyfriend had us boarding at 10:40 pm flight to Manchester, New Hampshire… minutes after landing in Cleveland. Something seemed so promising about getting that much closer to Boston, lifting my spirits a bit. His parents, with near perfect timing, were waiting for us when we landed in Manchester. I cannot express how grateful I was for them (and everything that had come together through the duration of the weekend) when we landed at midnight.

From there, we drove the 70 miles down South to Boston… and began celebrating Christmas week, luggage-less. Boyfriend called United three or four times, waiting 40 minutes each time to speak to an agent, in hopes of tracking down our bag on Monday. Then, rather randomly, was contacted around 8:30 pm with news that our missing piece was on a plane to Manchester… and would be dropped off in the middle of the night. At 5:18 am this morning, Where Is My Luggage was ringing to let us know our luggage was waiting outside the door. This was after a Monday shopping trip to Kohls, where the lines were 100-people deep, to pick us tide-us-over necessities at United's expense.

So now, my great adventure and story has ended; I wish I could say I enjoyed and relished in the ride. 

Eight Years and Counting

My friend is currently going through a tough time. Tough is a mild statement. She is living a soap opera. And not the good kind. She is facing life-altering, adult challenges. Those of a variety I have not yet witnessed or, thankfully, experienced for myself. But it's not my story to share so tell I will not. 

This past weekend I did what any friend living in reasonable proximity would do, I made the journey to New York City for a weekend together. For several  reasons, she will be leaving NYC in a few days... and gone will be my place to crash in Manhattan! In addition to bringing her some comfort, which I'm not even sure I was capable of, I came armed with an agenda. I needed have one last go at all my favorite things in the city. I figured, albeit selfishly, my to-do list would serve as a nice distraction. 

I'm not a re-visitor. I like going some place and doing it all, then picking a new destination for my next excursion. But the Big Apple is a place that keeps calling me back. I feel anyone can find their niche in the city. As far as dining goes--for me, I opt for bagels and iced coffee. And while I'm tempted to try new bagel and coffee shops, I don't. I am loyal to Ess-a-Bagel and Stumptown Coffee, NYC's second-rate bagels and fourth-rate coffee. For entertainment, Broadway shows--duh. And I shop at Uniqlo, for Japanese-inspired outerwear.

So Saturday, it was Matilda followed by Insomnia Cookies. And it was fabulous. I pretty much danced around singing Matilda music the rest of the weekend. Even if you're little you can do a lot, you mustn't let a little thing like 'little' stop you. If you sit around and let them get on top, you might as well be saying you think that it's OK. And that's not right. I hear--from the Broadway Queen herself-- it's going on tour in the next year. And yes, I will be seeing Matilda again (when it makes a stop in Washington, D.C.). I will be promoting it here for some time too. 

Sunday morning brought my first round of fresh, warm city bagels. Then a trip to the movie theater to see Frozen, which in NYC is the price of a Broadway show. But it was worth it. The movie was filled with excellent music--sung by Broadway stars themselves--and a sweet message of true love between sisters. We hit up the Union Square Holiday Market for a little shopping after the movie. For dinner, we met a mutual friend to celebrate R.D.S.'s upcoming birthday at Número 28, her favorite estaurant. And since we were in Greenwich Village, I opted for dessert at Pasticceria Rocco. There I had my very first cannoli! 

We decompressed after dinner with TLC's Extreme Cheapstakes, where I had to embarrassingly confess to employing several of these "extreme tactics" in my own home. At least I haven't resorted to cloth toilet paper and/or asking fellow restaurant patrons for their leftovers. I do wash Ziploc bags for reuse and, at times, use spare lemon combine with baking soda to wash dishes. I was reminded of the Girl Scout days, when an extreme cheapskate threw soap slivers in pantyhose for washing oneself with that final ounce. And I learned used foil can be thrown into an onion bags for homemade steel wool. Who knew?! 

My final day--Monday--started early as R.D.S. had to be up at an unreasonable hour to monitor some some silly work task. I decided it would be best to get out of her hair and wander the streets until my 11:30 am bus ride. To Ess-a-Bagel I went for round two. This was followed by a trip to Stumptown for iced goodness. I was not deterred by the 25 degrees outside; I was going to drink my coffee iced (and like it too!) even if the result was frostbite. The weather was sub-par all weekend, but the bitter, snowy temperatures definitely got me in the spirit. If NYC does one thing right, it's Christmas. That being said, my obvious next stop was Rockefeller Plaza for a photo opt of the tree. This wasn't my first time seeing the Rockefeller Plaza at Christmas, but--just like the city--something brings me back each winter. The tree is of an incomparable size. I'm not sure how it works--the transporting a live tree of this mass, the decorating, the costs, the removing, etc. I feel it demands to be admired. And I had time to kill before Uniqlo opened at 10:00 am. On my way back towards 5th and 34th to shop, I stopped in Bryant Park to viisit another holiday market. I ended up getting booted out as the vendors did not appreciate my homeless appearance: I was lugging all the goodies R.D.S. has no interest moving to Raleigh, North Carolina; a dozen bagels; the remaining sips of an iced coffee; my backpack; and purse. And again it was freezing, so I was bundled from head-to-toe in winter boots, two jackets, a scarf, hat, and mittens. The Uniqlo doors opened promptly at 10:00 am and I was first in line. Yes, line. I had 45 minutes to browse before getting in line to pay-up. I would have been better off not going... but you know, this was my last affordable (i.e., free lodging) trip for some time and it is the holidays; I went wild. 

I scurried the six avenues over to my bus... and regretting not running into  another shop, in anticipation of a late bus, as was the case this time. That's a wrap

Dinner. Dinner. KU Basketball. Dinner. KC Chiefs.

Thursday started off with a trip to the grocery, list in hand; I was hosting A.J.S. for dinner. And ended with grilled sesame tofu, lemony creamed Brussels sprouts, and steamed asparagus. Pretty tasty. Though... not nearly as tasty, not even close to the dinner the man in A.J.S.'s life, S.A.G., hosted Boyfriend and me for on Friday. We started with Brussel sprouts afelia, replicating those of chef Jose Andres. The dish was spot on, delicious. Beyond. The progressive dinner continued with collard greens, acorn squash soup, and grilled cheese. And in between each plate, we cleared our palates with the homemade brownies I whipped up. From the minute we walked in the door, Christmas music was playing. The music continued through the post-dinner tree decorating. There was wine and beer and Christmas cheer abounds. And later, a few new friends joined us for my soon-to-be-famous holiday cocktails. I think I fell into a food comma around this point. I surely made a fine impression on our new friends.

Saturday I slept until 11:00 am. I do not kid. I cannot remember the last time I did that. I made pumpkin pancakes for breakfast... or lunch. And then Boyfriend and I left for The Laughing Man Tarvern--a local University of Kansas bar--to watch the Jayhawks take on the Colorado Buffalos, Boyfriend's Alma Mater. We met our favorite Kansas friends there. I only invited Boyfriend because this was a for sure win for the Hawks. Except the Buffs dominated the entire second half. Even when KU tied it up with three seconds to go, the Buffs were able to get off a game-winning, buzzer-beating three-point shot. Boyfriend proceeded to make a fool of himself with the one other CU fan present, while the rest of the bar went dead silent--stunned. Bill Self had not lost to CU in his 11-year tenure at KU prior to this gloomy, sad afternoon.

I was nonfunctional proceed this loss--the second one of the season, which is probably how we ended up on a bus going the wrong direction in route to S.N.L.'s for a Lesotho potluck dinner. We eventually got there, thanks to the friendliest WMATA bus driver. While we were driving all sorts of wrong ways, I put my fate in Bus Driver and buried myself in Where's You Go Bernadette?--my current read. We eventually made it to S.N.L's new adobe. And I was immediately jealous of his brick-walled kitchen and all the contents being brewed within.

Together, all five of us Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (from Lesotho) went all out, but A.A.P.'s chakalaka, a vegetable relish, took the win for best dish. He was smart enough to beg for a local recipe before hopping continents. To "compliment" the chakalaka, there was pork smothered in local spices; papa, ground maize meal and water cooked to a Pay-Doh texture; samp, hominy loaded with butter; moroho, mustard greens cooked to death in oil and salt; and Eat Sum More biscuits, shortbread cookies. The dinner was MSG-loaded; we did Lesotho proud. As I have mentioned once or twice before, Lesotho is heavily influenced by South Africa... and with Nelson Mandela's death on Thursday, the timing of this feast was appropriate. After a few wild games from the Peace Corps days, Boyfriend and I headed home. Only we didn't go to bed because Michigan State was beating Ohio State... and with the earlier loss... I needed to go to bed on a positive note. Go State Go!

Then, yesterday, the most anticipated day of this season--Kansas City Chiefs at Washington Redskins game day. This day started early with layering up for the outside sub-arctic, snowy weather. I could hardly contain my excitement--December 8 was finally here and we had free(!!!) club-level seats. Boyfriend and I caught the metro to Morgan Boulevard where we met A.A.P., a devout football fan, and H.M.O., my childhood, Chiefs-adoring friend for tailgating with more fans. The designated tailgate spot happened to be forever away from the metro, but our brisk walk was probably good for our already freezing selves. At the tailgate, we celebrated and cheered and amped up... until we were frozen. Then a magic fairy appeared with a fire. At this point my fingers burned the most painful burn as I tried to thaw them over open flames. There was an abundance of tailgate no one consumed because that meant risking further frostbite and crunching on icy cold food. It was not such a pretty thing.

We arrived at our seats just before kick-off... and as mentioned... they were club-level... which meant I was perpetually tempted by the warmth of the indoors. I had to remind myself on more than one occasion that I was there to watch the game live, despite pounding ice pellets. Though we prepared for the "ice pellet" condition, we did not actually expect ice pellets/sleet/snow because forecasters are never right. Except I guess when I have outdoor plans in December. And if I haven't made my point about the freezing cold yet, let me share this tragedy: I paid $13.00 for a Bailey's infused hot chocolate. That has a whole lot of desperation written all over it. The Chiefs pummeled the Redskins, in a game that will ultimately cost Mike Shanahan his job. So I think even the Redskins were happy about the loss!

After the game, H.M.O. and I ran to the metro in the icy conditions--she fell twice, once for both of us--as A.A.P. and J.P.B. tried to keep up! I wish I could express how warm the train felt. I didn't even care that people were breathing down my back. We survived, though it was close to midnight before I felt warm again.  

And that was my weekend. Hope yours was good, too.

Seller Central

I'm somewhere between an old job and a new job. And while I wait for the official promotion, I'm all sorts of miserable. It really makes zero sense. A typical day begins at 8:00 am with breakfast. Then I decide to exercise or shower. And because I have nothing, nothing at all to do, I often opt for skipping both the exercise and shower. I can usually entertain myself with various house chores until about 11:00 am. The rest of the day is a wash. Though as a result of my being here to sweep up each dust particle before it settles, the apartment is cleaner and more organized than it will ever be.

I read about two books a week. I drink way more coffee than necessary to fuel my sedentary day. And I watch a lot of Food Network. I attempt dishes I have no business making in my kitchen--inspired by Pioneer Woman and Ina Garten. I honestly have less interest in cooking and more interest in messing up the kitchen so I have something to clean. Oh and I can tell you nearly every Ellen DeGeneres joke from the past three months; I'm tuned in everyday at 3:00 pm. I also do a lot of clock watching, in anticipation of the 5:00 pm hour, when all my friends are heading out their various office doors home to play with me. This has been a true test of patience.

So clearly in search of things to do, I started a business. A book selling business on Amazon. I'm finally parting ways with all those classics from high school and college. I have to admit I'm a bit distraught about it. I'm a hoarder of all things books... and saying goodbye is tougher than it might seem. But we need the space and I'm not going to read these classics again as I once dreamed, especially considering they weren't fun the first time.

Turns out, I'm a horrible business woman. Boss Man would be ashamed as I've spent the past 18 months developing business. I've sold two books, both at a five cent loss. That puts me a dime in the hole. Plus, I had to make a trip to CVS to purchase brown shipping paper--the cost: $5.70. I bought two rolls to prepare myself for all the selling I would be doing. And because shipping paper was buy one, get one half off. What a steal!

In addition to the change, I've lost quite a bit of time. Listing all my books for purchase took two hours. Then there was the walk to CVS and back. The wrapping the books for shipping. And the walk(s) to the post office. I'm estimating the prepping each book for shipping and journeying to the Post Office comes at an estimated 30 minute cost. I'll spare you from the further exact cent and minute-by-minute details. But do know it's all been a loss, a negative--I'm in the red.

You can now find the classics of my formative years for a premium price--at least twice their worth, though each classic is loaded with nuggets of quality notes embedded (within text)--at Amazon near you.

Oh Christmas Tree

This Thanksgiving was such a nice one. And afterwards I jumped right into Christmas, which is something I would normally abhor. My parents have a Christmas Tree Farm just miles down the road from them, so on Sunday Boyfriend and I went to check it out. I had too much fun frolicking around looking at all the varieties of trees. I seriously felt five. The memories of my childhood years came rolling back; and the sweet memories being made that day were almost too much! Boyfriend had all these restrictions about size and girth. And the farm had these complicated pricing schemes. But my search for the prize tree disregarded all matters of size and price. I refused to accept that a nine foot tree won't fit in our living room.

I was about finding a tree with a lot of character, one that would charm me throughout the season. About half way through the search, there was a tree with too pretty to pass up. Before deciding--spirits still high--we searched the rest of the farm before ultimately settling on The Tree. I opted for pursuing the gift shop, after we paid the more-than-reasonable $12.63 for our tree. And landed with some incredible vanilla bean honey to compliment my morning oatmeal.

We brought the much too tall tree home and Boyfriend began the process of sizing our tree to actually fit right-side up in the apartment. Then we strung lights. And slowly began hanging ornaments. I have to say, I liked our tree much better pre-ornament. But I'm learning to accept the ornaments.

Each night, the glow of the our Christmas tree lights up the living room. And our whimsical tree graces us with its charm. Tis the season.

The Beginning of Closure

To tell this story right, I need to flash back to March 2013, when Peace Corps reached out to me with an “urgent question”. To ask this question, Peace Corps wanted my phone number. For several reasons, I felt less than comfortable providing my number to this agency. I said I would consider answering the question via email.  After more than two weeks of waiting – clearly lacking urgency – Peace Corps opted not to question me and once again dissipated from my life. In March, it was the Country Director of Lesotho who reached out to me.

In August – on the 26^th – Peace Corps returned; this time the Regional Security Officer, a man based out of Pretoria, South Africa and the same man who sat through all the interviews before I was released from Lesotho contacted me. He asked for my phone number, and again I refused to provide it. Four days later, via email, he asked me to return to Lesotho to testify in the High Court. I had several stipulations for travel, my number one priority being that I would not travel alone. My conditions for travel were met on September 10. Mind you, in the interim, the third anniversary passed. Then the preparation began. On September 12 at 5:30 am I had a conversation with the prosecutor to address my questions (and those questions others helped me prepare). On Friday, September 13 – after work – I spoke with the Victim Advocate by phone. Then, on Tuesday, September 16, I went to Peace Corps Headquarters to meet with the Lead Security Specialist, the Chief of Overseas Operations in the Office of Safety and Security, the Victim Advocate, a counselor, and the Acting Director of Peace Corps. I was there for over two hours being debriefed on everything. At 11:45 am on Wednesday, September 17, not having heard anything, I reached out to the Lead Security Specialist. And it wasn’t until then – departure set for Friday afternoon – that I received confirmation this was real; Boyfriend and I would be traveling back to the Mountain Kingdom. So preceding this, I shared the news with extended family and friends.

The back and forth with Peace Corps was a blur. Fielding the countless emails and phone calls was a second full time job. I tried through all of this to give work – my paying gig – my best; I was busy prepping for an impending Government Shutdown. And when I’m on the clock, work is (as it should be) my number one focus.

Those final two days leading up to departure continued in a hazy manner. I remember there was a lot to get done. But mostly I remember breaking down a whole bunch. Over. And Over. Same story. I pulled myself together on Friday morning enough to function. I managed to write overdue thank you notes, sent birthday cards, and run some errands – bank, Whole Foods, Dunkin Donuts, and the library. Oh and I finally packed. Boyfriend showed up about a half hour before he arranged the taxi, a million hours too early. But I had zero energy to refute his bizarre airport etiquette. So I went with it. In tears. At the airport we browsed every store Terminal B had to offer… and then waited. I read Emily Griffin’s Love the One Your With, in search of true mindlessness. After arriving in Atlanta, where there were food and shop options for entertainment, we had zero to no time to move from Terminal B to Terminal T. If you know Hartsfield-Jackson, you know what a feat that can be. The plane was exactly what you’d expect a 15 hour flight to be – poor food, intermittent sleep, cramp-y legs. I read. Boyfriend slept. I slept. Boyfriend watched videos. And I vowed to never fly Delta international again.

Then we landed in Jo-Burg. And based on my inability to ID any suspect coupled with the fact three years of time has passed and I there was a single new piece of information I could offer, I wondered what the heck I was doing on the street of Africa… again.

The Journey

More than four years ago, I started writing as an experiment to see if I would enjoy the ride. I have. This blog has been multipurpose throughout the years, but over time morphed into a place of healing for me. I needed to write to escape and process. For better or worse, this experiment has come head to head with my real life on several occasions. And all of a sudden my thoughts are too dark and confused to put on the blog. This has been the case most recently. So as I have before, I had to sort through these thoughts before I could put them on the internet for the world to read. It’s easy to sit down and write about the good times, say my first adult vacation. The one I took back in July. More difficult though, are the hard times, the dark times, the times I’d often rather forget.

This road I have traveled for the past four years has been flooded with moments I’d rather forget. The lessons I’ve learned have come at a price. I’m not entirely sure the full price, but I do know I’ve had to give up part of me to become who I am today. It has been painful, lonely, dizzying, and disconcerting. The times I’ve cried in sadness, anger, confusion, and weariness. Oy, the ugly cries.

I had no idea closure would be this tough. I had no idea if closure – in this form – would come at all. The rest I feel today, though preceded by many sleepless nights, is a deeper rest than I’ve ever known. Though I would not choose this journey, having come out on the other side I am stronger because of it.

Over the next few weeks I will share more about the journey I’ve been on. I hope you’ll join me.

These are the Days

This weekend I had a moment when I paused, breathed deeply and realized how peaceful everything around me seemed. The apartment was clean. I had two hours to myself outside running and walking along the local trails while colorful leaves slowly fell from trees all around me. The temperature was perfect. A friend visited, allowing us to deepen our roots through time together. There were several hours of college football watched while our crock pot dinner prepared itself. When it was time, we dined--together, slowly. There was pumpkin cheesecake for a (late) dessert; Boyfriend kindly whipped one up at my request while I was out enjoying the outdoors. After watching Florida State demoralize Miami, we had had just enough football and put on a movie. (And finally got to taste dessert! There are apparently strict cooling rules when it comes to cheesecake.) So we all know that means I dozed off while the guys watched.

I think my actual "aha" moment was this morning during our prolonged coffee hour(s). There was pot after pot of French press coffee. And then, this afternoon Kansas City Chiefs (at Buffalo Bills) football--more rest and relaxation. I said goodbye to J.W.M., my friend, shortly after the Chiefs win and filled the rest of the evening organizing all the paperwork that has piled high during the moving madness. A little productivity to follow all the lethargy! There was another satisfying crock pot dinner--chili--to cap the weekend.

As far as scorecards go, this was a boring weekend. But something filled my heart with joy this weekend. Something tells me these are the days I'll remember.

Stand Up 2 Cancer

Today began rather insignificantly. It's a working Friday, so I assume thoughts of the weekend were floating through my head. In a chain of emails with D.D.M., a coworker and old neighbor, Gabriella Miller came up. Gabriella Miller, another (old) neighbor, was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor last November; at age 10, she's fighting cancer for her life. I hadn't heard the latest. I honestly hadn't followed Gabriella's updates too closely since last December when I participated in the Make A Wish with Gabriella campaign by writing a letter to Santa. Macy's turned these letters into dollars contributed to the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

This is the latest, heartbreaking update from Gabriella's mother:

Mark & I started our day at a cemetery looking for a burial plot for our ten year old daughter. We had to make a decision as to which funeral home we wanted to use. Our day ended with Gabriella asking us if she was going to make it. She wouldn't use the word die. We held her hands & looked her in the eyes & told her that there were no other options to help her. We had to reassure our Sweet G that she was going to be alright. That our love doesn't disappear, it goes with her. Gabriella asked us how much time she had left. With Mark & I sobbing & Gabriella hyperventilating & crying she shoves her lovey - a stuffed animal, Baby Turk from Tarzan - at me & says she wants me to have him. This is her stuffy that always makes her feel better. She wants ME to have it!

Oh, God, I HATE cancer! We, all of us, have failed our children so miserably. It is criminal that our beautiful, innocent children are going through these out-dated & tortuous treatments with such bleak outcomes. No child & parent should have the conversation that we just went through. Devastated beyond words.  

A few months back--late this spring--I fell for Gavin Rupp. Mathias Giordano, Latte Woman's son,  shared Gavin's story with me. Through early summer, I read everything I could about this Northern Virginia Cancer Warrior until the ugly disease took Gavin's life on July 30, 2013. After a three year battle. I never met Gavin and yet he inspired me. And I wasn't the only one he inspired, not even close--he was touted as "a hero" of Bryce Harper's (on his Twitter account) after they met.

And then there is my superstar--Mathias, battling osteosarcoma, and demanding the majority of my heart! Before clicking for a status on Gabriella, I stopped off to read the latest from Team Mathias. I scrolled down to a day-old post from Latte Woman.

Her stark words caught my attention:

I have entered this "cancer club" all my news feeds are cancer related,  families fighting cancer, talking chemo, radiation, clinical trials, hospital stays, surgeries, amputations, relapses, hospice, beautiful kids gaining their wings... 

This is insane. Kids should be kids! Kids should be at school, play sports and just live a carefree life. I want that for Mathias, I want that for Gabriella, I wanted that for Gavin... I want that for all the kids that are fighting. This is not fair. We need a cure and we need it now. What is wrong with our society, why are we "accepting" that childhood cancer is the number one killer of our kids? How are we ok with that and how are we not doing anything to change that NOW.

So now that I'm a sobbing mess, I'm passing some of the responsibility to you. These parent's are right--cancer is unfair; we all need to stand up. These three children of extraordinary qualities come from a first-rate community. But this is not the only community with a story; children everywhere are fighting. And each one of them deserves to be heard, to be rallied behind. 

I personally feel helpless. What can we do to make a difference in the lives of these children? In the life of each child fighting from his or her corner. I spread childhood cancer awareness through Mathias' story each chance I receive. But I can't stop there. 

I know I should do more. We should all do more. I'm consumed by this illness, almost paralyzed--scared. Gabriella and Mathias battle right through their fears. And Gavin battled through his too.  

In November of last year, I hosted a blood drive in honor of Mathias. And while the turnout was a great success, my efforts were thwarted by the Red Cross. There were so many wonderful, willing donors last year. Should we give again--through a better, more organized service--to show we believe there is hope? Because there is hope. A lot of hope. And donating blood helps save lives! Their lives. 

A few weeks back--during the furlough days--I strolled through my parents' neighborhood early one morning with Latte Woman. And while I think about her all the time, despite seeing less and less of her (after moving out of the neighborhood); the time together revived me. She is a wonderful, wonderful being. I can't speak highly enough of her, of the courage she's shown her son. She is an unstoppable force. This woman, my dear friend, spent the majority of our walk listening to my woes and worries when all I intended to do was give her my fullest attention. She wouldn't even speak of herself or Mathias until she heard my story. That's right, my story. I had updates to share, but they were trivial in comparison. I fought through my hard time, and while there are still rough days, I was pulled out of the weeds by my community. It's my turn to give to hers. 

When I realized how insignificantly today began, it made me feel awful. These children do not have--they are not allowed to have--insignificant days. They rise and fight for their lives 24/7. Through agonizing treatments, with reduced strength because of medication, these children are fighting battles we can't fight for them. We can--together--fight for a cure. And we need fight that battle now. These words are woefully insufficient. But at the end of the day, my heart wants more for these children. And I know yours does too.  

A Clemson Tradition

It’s over.

The Clemson Tigers football season, that is. Now that it has happened I can actually speak it out loud. I had a depressing feeling the Tigers were going to lose to the Florida State Seminoles. After the Georgia Bulldogs were upset by the Vanderbilt Commodores, I just knew somewhere deep inside that we were going to be next.

But, naturally, I proceeded to go to Union Bar – a Florida State bar – with all my cheering gusto, hoping again hope that the sinking feeling in my stomach was from the something I’d earlier consumed and not because the Tigers were going to blow it.

Sure enough, in spite of my best efforts to help Dabo Swinney, Clemson’s coach, by not voicing my concerns, we lost. And I’m only mildly despondent about it because, frankly, we’re the Tigers – the school where “pulling a Clemson” originated. Now consider Florida State plays in the same division of the Atlantic Coast Conference as the Tigers... it doesn’t bode well for the remainder of the season.

So I will gracefully say well played, Florida State.

It helps tremendously that I have lived through darker days than this with the Tigers. I mean I proudly yelled C-L-E-M-S-O-N T-I-G-E-R-S all through the Tommy Bowden era. I know what real pain feels like and this isn’t it. There is potential in Clemson’s future as soon as our offense remembers scoring points leads to wins and our defense learns that tackling means you stop someone from running into your end zone. Oh, and turnovers are bad. Very. Bad. Especially those on the first play of the game. That's a lesson that might have been of value pre-Saturday night. 

And I will love Sammy Watkins forever because he is a warrior.

I wish I could say the rest of the night was delightful. But the Tigers of Clemson were not the only Tigers to go down; Detroit ended it's season as well. Boyfriend would be real upset, if I expressed any boo hooing over this. He simply doesn't understand all my loyalties. If the Boston Red Sox destroy the St. Louis Cardinals, I'll be much more apt to find a place in my heart for them. 

I shifted gears to the NFL on Sunday, where the Kansas City Chiefs picked up their seventh win… and the Denver Broncos went down in epic fashion in Indianapolis against Peyton Manning’s replacement – Andrew Luck.

Oh sports, I hate and love you so.  

Hartland Orchard

Today,  I headed to Markum, VA - not exactly close but not exactly far - for an apple picking experience I'd been deprived of my entire life. This is a true shame, Mom and Pops.

From my garden experience this past summer, I knew just how fun it was to eat the fruit of my labor. The fruits of labor are especially sweet when it's someone else's labor. The picking selections were slim. I guess hardcore apple pickers get to the crop before fall weather reaches perfection, as it was on this particular day. Anyway, after picking--and then feeding millions of (rotten) apples to cows, we hand selected a bushel of pre-picked apples to bring home. Probably more than a bushel.

There was fresh cider. Like a grandfather and grandson grinding apples into some apple sauce resembling mash right in front of me with what looked to be a hydraulic juicer. So we're talking very fresh. If I hadn't been tarnished by Crescent Ridge, some best-of-the-best farm outside of Boston, MA, this would have qualified as the most delicious cup of cider in my life.  But alas, Crescent Ridge outdid themselves, unfairly ruining my appetite for chocolate milk, cider, and apparently soon--egg nog, elsewhere. It seems I'm left to settling for second best cider from Hartland Orchard here in Virginia. Boyfriend and I splurged for a gallon. And pretty much devoured the entire thing on Sunday night.

There were also fresh carmel apples for purchase. I opted to have mine dipped in nuts though I'm normally against tainting desserts with nuts. After watching A.J.S. make that wise decision, I was sold. Those peanuts were the glue that kept the carmel wrapped around my apple, instead of my fabulous new jacket.

There was also honey. And apple butter.

Then, perhaps best of all - a pumpkin patch. And sugar-coated donuts.

So wholesome and fun. And now an annual tradition.

Today I Tackled Showering

I was dreading Saturday with all my being. The stress (i.e., my biggest fault) being I don’t deal well with change. I like routine and stability and control and things of those likes. And I follow a pattern, be this pattern good or bad, of creating comfortable situations and habits. In high school, my parents uprooted our family – exchanging a quiet Midwestern upbringing for a bit of southern charm. This moved was hard to accept for a l-o-n-g time. I recovered, went to college, and proceeded (as most probably do) to move every year, twice during my freshman year. Those college moves were slightly easier – from a dorm to an on-campus apartment to an off-campus apartment to a house in the downtown. So though I stood grounded in South Carolina working my way through the rigors of college, my family remained in motion – switching their residence from Georgia to Michigan and eventually to Virginia; I was never certain as to where I might be spending my summers. Following college, I of course opted for a unique ‘next step’ – forming a home in Africa. That, like the high school move, was an adjustment, though this time one chosen by my own doing. In college, Peace Corps, and my young adult life, I never knew where to tell people I was from… Kansas? South Carolina? Or – being family oriented – where my family happened to be located during that particular moment?

So in all this, moving lost a lot of luster. And while if only me, this past move could be considered one of the smaller ones – one apartment in Washington, DC to another, it was compacted by the fact Boyfriend and I were moving in together. Moving two apartments into one and in doing so melding two lives into one; this qualifies as a big change. And while it’s super exciting, it’s also terrifying. 

For this move, I enlisted my parents’ help. This ended up being a wise decision as the four of us worked from 8:00 am to 6:00 pm without stopping, moving belongings from my parents’ home in Northern Virginia and Boyfriend and my apartments into our new space. For 10 hours we piled heavy boxes and bulky furniture from in our new home. After bidding my parents a thankful farewell, Boyfriend and I returned our borrowed UHAUL from which we had unloaded three full loads throughout the day. Then, exhausted – to the point Boyfriend was called out for being so (at the Uhaul drop off) – we headed to Rice Paper, our favorite restaurant, for a celebratory dinner. And not quite ready for what awaited us, I convinced Boyfriend to go for a post-dinner bubble tea. With the sole goal of getting the bed set up, we paved our way through boxes and built a bed-assembly workspace. Boyfriend constructed while I busied myself elsewhere – out of his way. And that was only Saturday. 

The Red Panda on the UHAUL truck made his day. 

I drove out to my parents early the next morning. Rain fell the entire hour cruise as I relished in my silent, clean car. Boyfriend was left to himself with a million unpacked boxes. After the baby shower, I went to “collect forgotten items” (i.e., hang out with Old Roommate). Upon returning home, I was in a less than good mood. Because nothing says happiness like a disheveled home. While away, I had been to my parents’ cozy, puppy-filled home, my parents’ neighbors decorated, candle-lit home, and my old apartment – restocked with the replacement roommate’s belongings – in the early staging of creating her life there. I loved that little apartment – the oversized windows and the balcony over looking the park; it’s been my favorite home to date. I shall not discount Boyfriend’s effort – our place was becoming more livable; I was pleasantly surprised that was possible for when I left, it was as though we just had too much stuff to make this place work. 

(I admit I was disgusted by the amount of “cherish-ables” I’ve accumulated. I can’t blame this on Boyfriend; my junk is doing the cramming.) 

I forced my sour attitude into action, hoping to give my deserving man some relief.

There was some fun amidst all the work - homemade pumpkin seeds.

Monday was a holiday for me, the irony being that I’ve essentially been on holiday since returning from Lesotho; I do not thank you Government Shutdown 2013 – I am about to lose my mind. I celebrated Columbus in style because I feel it’s what Columbus would have wanted. I kid. I occupied my time organizing and unpacking the bathroom, then preceded to make grand progress in the bedroom. I also grocery shopped and prepared a meal we both love – pizza on my new pizza stone(!!!). And if you don’t have a pizza stone and enjoy pizza as much as we do, go ahead and make that purchase. It makes all the difference. It took 45 minutes for the oven to reach 500 degrees but the pizza a.m.a.z.i.n.g. Boyfriend doesn’t see beet, goat cheese, red onion, and spinach pizza as a complete meal so I whipped up a tortellini pasta salad, recipe courtesy of the Barefoot Contessa, to accompany the dish. After working all day for a company that clearly has zero respect for Columbus, Boyfriend further slaved away trying to get cable up and running. To no avail, though we are able to hardwire Internet. So not all was failed.

And today I tackled showering. There is something about showering that makes everything real. I can’t shower in a new place until I’m in the beginning stages of sure. Tuesday, being four days in – ready or not – it was time. The shower did not sell me on this place. No, not even one bit. But Boyfriend claims, it’s gets better with time – he’s taken at least six showers, including two on move-in day. I’ll hold on to the hope he’s given me. So there you have it, 1000 words on my accomplishment – showering. 

Links I Like

This is called procrastination. This is called I'm losing my sanity piece-by-piece with each day the Government remains shutdown. This is called laziness. I still have unpacking to do,  I'd rather write though. I could write about my summer vacation or closing the chapter on Lesotho, but procrastinate further, I will. I would like to share with you two polar opposite but equally fascinating articles I came across on the World Wide Web. I'm by no means an internet wizard. I stick to what I know--email,  perusing the New York Times and Twitter, and blogging--and beyond this scope, family and friends alike keep me in the loop with article forwarding. This is how I ended up at BuzzFeed Sports reading about the joys of being a Kansas City Chiefs fan.

The first article: 11 Reasons You Should Start Loving the Kansas City Chiefs 

If you're not a football fan or don't have a team to pull for, this might lure you to my favorite franchise. No. 10 had me recalling fond childhood memories, while point 11 made me sigh Chiefs amongst a fan base that has weathered it all. Boyfriend fell for the Chiefs at seven--the story of Eric Berry's fear of Warpaint; he's shared the story with all ears as soon as the news broke sometime last year.

The second article: Moose Die-Off Alarms Scientists

This is an extremely sad piece of writing. It's no secret that my heart is in Montana. I absolutely love the way the animals roam freely. And while my biggest passion is for the wolves--snow-covered baby buffaloes being a close second--there is something indescribable about moose; it's a see-it-to-believe-it phenomenon. So winter ticks, brain worms, liver flukes, snails, heat, pine bark beetles, and hunters be gone. Yes, hunters. There are people obtain hunting licenses to kill moose. Would you conceive it?! I do not believe that is necessary, no not one bit. And wolves, be kind to the moose. For you know what rapidly declining populations are like.

In Minnesota, there's an ongoing study monitoring dying moose. Jim Robbins of the New York Times quotes Dr. Bulter, who leads the study, in his article, “If the heart stops beating, it sends a text message to [Dr. Butler's] phone that says, ‘I’m dead at x and y coordinates.’” It's just all so terribly tragic.

I Love You Through and Through

Have you read the book I Love You Through and Through by Bernadette Rossetti-Shustak? It’s a childhood gem. And also the theme of the baby shower I attended to celebrate S.J.M.’s soon-to-be third baby. 

The honoree, the host(s), the attendees – everyone – agreed a baby shower for the third born was over the top. Even still, we had to party. I’m delighted we did. It “forced” me to block off my calendar and – when the time came – allowed me to spend a morning with the neighborhood gang after not seeing them for oh so terribly long. In lieu of gifts, there were donations collected for the Loudoun Abused Women’s Shelter. This is actually the second collection held by this group this year; S.J.M. gathered donations in June during one of her “hormonal episodes” after learning the number of struggling women and children in Loudoun county – the supposed richest county in the nation according to Forbes. To continue this effort, S.J.M. intends to hold biannual, off-season donations to help the shelter because, as we all know, Christmas is often the only time of year do-good organizations are provided any relief.

Aside from doing a hare of good before football on a rainy Sunday, there are few things more perfect sharing brunch, including a crepe and cappuccino bar, with friends in a sweetly decorated home to celebrate new life. 

Growing Together

Things are about to get personal. Boyfriend and I are in a wretched place right now. That’s uber fantastic because we’re moving in to an apartment together on Saturday. I must say, stellar timing. And I can’t really let anything we’re dealing with right now go. So naturally, being a lover of words, I want to delve deep, to fully process the root of the issue.

I love the man I fell in love with. The man who fought for our relationship. The man that never made me question anything. I could ask him to go for a walk and he’d lace up his shoes as the words came out of my mouth. I could ask him to fix my computer, knowing full well he hates the Apple brand, and he’d do his best to resolve my issue. I could cry on his shoulder when distraught over something personal. I could lash out to him in confidence about life. He never made me feel crazy, not once. This is a man I would run to at the end of the day, elated to share the dumb things - the “I had Jimmy Johns for lunch.” things (i.e., happenings nobody cares about, not even him). He’d never admit that, of course; he’d listen with ears wide open and be just excited as I was about whatever. Frankly, it was at times too much. This man fawned over me. I bragged about him because he seemingly had no faults. (I was glad to learn that he had faults because that made him real. And added the character.) He truly adored me. He never left me doubting where we stood at the end of the day, and his actions always spoke even louder than his kind words. As we fell in love, things were new. And they were certainly easy.

More than a year in with a foreseeable future ahead, the fights have been catastrophic. Particularly because, as it always does in the moment, every words counts so much. Mean words have been exchanged. The bickering has been often. And the fights, well, they’ve been l-o-n-g.

I hate the petty fights. I hate the way they bring out the worst in us. I (sometimes) hate that we’re both so fiercely independent because when face big, real life things, we make a great team. Just 10 days ago we returned from Lesotho, where we faced the man accused of murdering a mutual friend. A place I almost lost my life.

It’s as though we’ve created a dependency on one another than neither wants to admit. And I don’t know if that’s wrong. Or right. Or normal. We’ve begun carving a life that seems right together. From plans to go apple picking this fall to building dream a homestead in Montana. And while it’s obvious we’d be lost without one another, lately we’d rather roll the dice, than play a hand together.

The big fights scare me too. The unknown after the “what if” this and that.

It’s scary to open up about my past. To be brought to near tears while expressing what it was like to be called Hamburger as a child, in hopes of explaining why I’m so weight-conscience today. It’s terrifying to put so much trust in another person. To not be afraid to further change and grow (together) as we move into the future. After more than a year, I’m weirded out by the silly things I want to share with or do for him. After seeing my parents’ place decked out for Halloween, I felt compelled to run to Target to pick up some Halloween decorations for us. Instead of feeling like decorations are a waste of money, space, and time, I thought they might help create a home… instead of a white-walled, décor-less space for us to start and end our day. (And I thought it might show that I’m making an effort to gear up for his abundant Christmas cheer!) As well, these little things – finding pleasure in the kitchen when it means cooking for my man; being excited to run our new vacuum to keep our place cleaned for him, for us; and that kiss at the end of a tiring day, the one that feels like we’ve been apart for days, when the clock says it’s only been nine hours – bring me so, so much joy. From the start of our life together, to what I hope will be our entire future.

I don’t want to grasp for straws. I don’t want to have big or little fights. I don’t pretend; I know there will be tough patches ahead. There will be disagreements. I want to believe we can and will manage those situations as they arise. I don’t want to belittle the one I love. I don’t want him to tell me he feels as though I’ve intentionally push him away. I know our real selves are still there. They’re just hiding right now. They’re afraid. They’re excited. They’re adjusting to change. Instead of bringing out the best in one another, we’re provoking one another’s worst side.

We’ve reached a point where we can no longer shake our issues with a hug. It’s time to sit down to talk through each issue (and all the underlying ones that will be unveiled during the conversation). Then we will have to develop an action plan to repair some damage. To get us back on the same team – appreciating the quirks and imperfections – where we value ourselves and our relationship.

Holy Sports

I'm not a statistician. And I'm particularly awful at remembering stats for athletes, whether the sport be baseball or basketball. I rely on Pops, C.D.H., or Boyfriend for knowledge that might be of interest to me. This year, though, I was aware of one prominent fact: The last time the Atlanta Braves won the World Series was also the last time the Government shutdown - 1995.

From the first pitch in April, the stars seems aligned for the Braves. This is the year. 

Until 12:56 am on Tuesday, October 8 when they weren't.

In the bottom of the seventh inning, the Braves were up 3-2. I felt hopeful. To force that Game 5 in Atlanta, where victory in the National League Division Series would be SO sweet, we needed to close out Game 4.  In the seventh, Louis Avilian (of the Braves) took the mound. The announcers told me he's held left handed batters to a 0.144 batting average. With two runners on, A.J. Ellis was up to bat. And from the announcers I learned he leads the league with 39 RBIs against left handed pitchers. The Braves prevailed, there; the Los Angeles Dodgers stranded those two runners.  At the end of the seventh, the Braves, still up by one, needed just six. more. outs. to solidify a fifth game. Then in the bottom on the eight, there stood David Carpenter, already having given up one hit to deep right field. My worry set in. I haven't been a fan since we acquired him from the Boston Red Sox, however, I try to treat all my Bravos as equals and put full faith in Carpenter. Then in the blink of an eye the 2013 Season was gone. Juan Uribe of the Los Angeles Dodgers hit a towering, two-run homer... and the Braves wouldn't come back in the top of the ninth.

Our Super Star closer - Craig Kimbrel - never even saw the mound.

The season was a particularly fun one. I got the see the Braves in action several time, including once at Turner Field. I finished only eight articles behind in my challenge to read as many articles as there were games this season. I learned how to keep score. And I'm not as depressed as I ended 2011 and 2012. I'm certainly disappointed. I really wanted, as any fan does, to see my Bravos play in the World Series.

Assuming Brian McCann doesn't ditch us for greener pastures, I should be a confident fan going into 2014 and beyond.

Summer Heat in October

Somehow summer weather made its way back to Washington, D.C. around Wednesday of last week. And the 90-degree temperatures lingered into the weekend. My heart melted a little as I pulled tank tops from the bottom of my dresser drawer.

Friday I was essentially furloughed... so I seized the day! I rode the metro into the middle of the city and had coffee--blissfully alone--at M.E. Swing Co., a coffee shop I've been eager to try. One that has unfortunately restricted its opening to business hours, when I've commuted far from the city. There I sat and read chapter after chapter in my book. I thought about heading home after I had slurped down my final drop. Then decided, rather brilliantly, to do the opposite of what one is probably supposed to do on your unpaid vacation--I walked over to Georgetown for shopping. I hit up Gap, Banana Republic, Anthropologie, and J. Crew. I was on a mission for a properly fitting, work appropriate pair of jeans. This has been ongoing hunt for several years now. I always procrastinate until I no longer need them. I thought Friday would be the day. I ultimately ended up with a well-priced jean jacket and a pair of red shorts. The shorts paid for themselves as I proceeded to wear them all weekend; my normal shorts repertoire wound up at my parents house after my bi-annual clothing switch. (I might have been preemptive in that move.) Once I had all the shopping I could handle, my walk continued to Dunkin Donuts for a lunch of champions--a pumpkin donut, then home.

Following a showered, I headed toward Bethesda, MD to meet Boyfriend at The Barking Dog for a Leukemia & Lymphoma Society fundraiser held by K.S.D., my roommate. There we sipped adult beverages and watched the Atlanta Braves hold off the Los Angeles Dodgers in Game 2 of the National League Division Series. Tired, we were in bed promptly at 11:00 pm. When morning came, Boyfriend and I were up early for no reason as is always the case on the weekend. We took advantage of the quiet streets with a morning walk that became more focused on food and less focused on exercise with each step. The first stop was Brooklyn Bagel for egg, onion, and cheese bagels. From there, we headed over to the Court House Farmers' Market.  We struck it BIG. I purchased beets, the most beautiful--vase worthy--rainbow swiss chard, and kale. In the seasonal department, I got a loaf of pumpkin bread and pumpkin yogurt. Then I might have gone back to Dunkin Donuts for another pumpkin donut and been convinced (by Boyfriend) to instead go with 50 munchkins (for the weekend). I clearly have no willpower; it's an issue.

From there, sweaty and hot, we changed clothes for Oktoberfest at The Village at Shirlington in Arlington, VA. This was something new and totally different for me and ended up being an awesome spontaneous date. I truly enjoyed the peak into Boyfriend's world; it was really fun to step aside and bear witness to him in his element--watching his nerd fully bloom. See image, note--the lanyard with an attached glass holder, the paper, and pen. He was clearly prepped for the ample note taking. This being my first beerfest, I had no idea that took place after each pour. Also, he later had me run to the grocery to purchase pretzels for stringing to his lanyard. I'm not sure if he was hungry, trying to impress or embarrass me, or clearing his palate between samples. I do know he received several compliments on the pretzel necklace. Bizarre.

Then I had all these ideas productive indoors ideas, since I could not longer tolerate the outdoor temperature, but those lost out to the superior plan of sitting on the couch watching football--Go Clemson Tigers! Georgia Bulldogs! Michigan Wolverines!--the rest of the afternoon. There might have been a late nap that wound me up until well past midnight.

Sunday morning was an easy one... until convincing Boyfriend we should walk to Buffalo Billiards in DuPont for the Kansas City Chiefs/Tennessee Titans game. He wound up getting more out of the Chiefs game while simultaneously watching the Green Bay Packers/Detriot Lions game than me. H.M.O. and I could not be bothered as we caught up on all things this and that. I left the bar and relished away the rest of the day in the fashion I began the weekend--alone. There were NO roommates. There was NO Boyfriend. I bounced around from the reading on the balcony. To wishing both Tony Romo and the Denver Broncos could lose the same game. To walking around my neighborhood. To writing. To deciding the Braves would lose and ultimately settling in to bed before 9:00 pm. That was a winning decision last night; it will absolutely not fly tonight.

This was the kind of weekend that gave me a chance to catch my breath before another week hits me with high sports drama... and life.