I've been checking weather.com a lot lately because it's the Midwest and it's Winter and I like to know what kind of freezing temperature, storm, or crazy bursts of wind I'll be driving through on the way home.
The weather.com site has lots of banner ads that show icons of little dancing people. Have you seen these ads? They show a little person caught in a freaky dancing loop that's supposed to grab your attention. (You can try to view one here. You may have to scroll down the page or refresh it a few times to catch the dancers.)
I cannot stand the dancing people. They scare me. Something about their repetitive gyrations is so obnoxious and unnatural that I must look away. They're like the visual equivalent of nails on a chalkboard to me. I can't explain why I have such a response.
Do these dancing people creep out anyone else?
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
From Perfectionism to Brokenness
My life as a child and young adult revolved around performance. The way I understood things, my major activities -- school and piano -- each had a standard, and my job was to match that standard as closely as possible. School was never a problem -- I got straight A's from fifth grade through college -- but piano proved more challenging. With the piano, somehow no performance I gave was ever good enough. I began to concentrate less on making music and more on not making any mistakes. By the time I reached high school I had severe performance anxiety, and I changed my college major from music to history in part to avoid having to perform regularly.
My perfectionism, driven by anxiety about measuring up to an increasingly impossible standard, resurfaced with a vengeance in graduate school. I took an extension in at least one class every semester to finish the final essay, and rarely slept the last week of classes -- not because I was pulling all-nighters, but because I was lying awake at night obsessing over how much work I still had to do. By the end of my third year I'd developed a stress-related disorder. I was testing the limits of my scholastic, physical, and emotional abilities, but nothing I could produce was good enough for my inner perfectionist.
Around this time I read Henri Nouwen's Out of Solitude, a collection of three sermons that woke me up to a different way I might live my life. Instead of enslaving ourselves to worldly standards of success or usefulness, he calls us to "discover that being is more important than having, and that we are worth more than the results of our efforts." The last phrase, "We are worth more than the results of our efforts," seemed as if it had been written for me, as did Nouwen's next idea: "To the degree that we have lost our dependencies on this world . . . we can form a community of faith in which there is little to defend but much to share." Nouwen calls such a community the fellowship of the weak (or broken, a word he uses elsewhere in the book).
At that point in my life, I had stretched myself to my utmost limits. Simply being, and sharing with a community that recognized everyone's faults and failings but loved instead of judged, was something I longed for like someone might long for a drink of cool water in the desert. Nouwen's words did not point to a goal to be realized so much as a journey to be traveled, and I was ready to start.
I by no means claim that I've perfected this way of living. Just because I understand it doesn't mean that I can always live it well. But the point (to me, at least) is that perfection is illusory, something that promises more nourishment and well-being than its pursuit actually delivers. If I try to empty myself and just be, however, and to seek others who are following the same path, it doesn't matter if I stumble or fall. (To mix ice skating and educational metaphors, there are no points for style but lots of A's for effort.) My life is not perfect; it is less like a Ming vase than an old clay pitcher that has plenty of cracks and chips, and whose handle has been glued back on more than once. But the pitcher still holds water, and my life is richer and more balanced than it has ever been.
My perfectionism, driven by anxiety about measuring up to an increasingly impossible standard, resurfaced with a vengeance in graduate school. I took an extension in at least one class every semester to finish the final essay, and rarely slept the last week of classes -- not because I was pulling all-nighters, but because I was lying awake at night obsessing over how much work I still had to do. By the end of my third year I'd developed a stress-related disorder. I was testing the limits of my scholastic, physical, and emotional abilities, but nothing I could produce was good enough for my inner perfectionist.
Around this time I read Henri Nouwen's Out of Solitude, a collection of three sermons that woke me up to a different way I might live my life. Instead of enslaving ourselves to worldly standards of success or usefulness, he calls us to "discover that being is more important than having, and that we are worth more than the results of our efforts." The last phrase, "We are worth more than the results of our efforts," seemed as if it had been written for me, as did Nouwen's next idea: "To the degree that we have lost our dependencies on this world . . . we can form a community of faith in which there is little to defend but much to share." Nouwen calls such a community the fellowship of the weak (or broken, a word he uses elsewhere in the book).
At that point in my life, I had stretched myself to my utmost limits. Simply being, and sharing with a community that recognized everyone's faults and failings but loved instead of judged, was something I longed for like someone might long for a drink of cool water in the desert. Nouwen's words did not point to a goal to be realized so much as a journey to be traveled, and I was ready to start.
I by no means claim that I've perfected this way of living. Just because I understand it doesn't mean that I can always live it well. But the point (to me, at least) is that perfection is illusory, something that promises more nourishment and well-being than its pursuit actually delivers. If I try to empty myself and just be, however, and to seek others who are following the same path, it doesn't matter if I stumble or fall. (To mix ice skating and educational metaphors, there are no points for style but lots of A's for effort.) My life is not perfect; it is less like a Ming vase than an old clay pitcher that has plenty of cracks and chips, and whose handle has been glued back on more than once. But the pitcher still holds water, and my life is richer and more balanced than it has ever been.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
BlisterWatch '08
[Cue local TV news theme music] BlisterWatch 2008!
The devastating attack of blisters on the balls of both of Tim's feet during a grueling tennis match Monday morning continues to hamper his tennis activity. Sources close to his feet say that the blisters may incapacitate him for the rest of the week.
"The left foot looks like it will be ready to go by this weekend, but the right one, where the skin broke, make take a few more days to heal," reported Tim at the breakfast table this morning. Although he's no longer walking with a limp, his feet are not ready for the rigorous demands of tennis motion, he added.
The appearance of the blisters has caused much anxiety on the part of local residents. "I've been hearing the whine of the Double-Blistered Loser all week long," says Rebecca, a local resident of Timbecca Manor. "It's causing me to lose sleep. I'll be glad when this is over. It's the only thing people around here talk about."
Authorities believe the blisters are the result of Tim trying to squeeze in too much league play over the course of the long MLK holiday weekend. On Saturday, he played his first league match, which he won, 7-6 (10-8), 6-1, but the long match took a toll on his aging body. Sunday evening, Tim played in a doubles league match, which turned out to be more strenuous than he'd anticipated. "Usually there's not a lot of running in a doubles match, but this one was pretty competitive," he explained.
The first blister appeared Monday morning during the second set of Tim's second singles league match. After losing the first set (4-6), Tim was down 1-2 in the second set when, during a long game that went to deuce several times, a blister opened on his right foot. He lost that game, and then the next, to go down 1-4. The second blister, on the left foot, made its appearance sometime during Tim's apparent comeback run, where he won four straight games and took a 5-4 lead. With two set points in the next game, however, Tim failed to convert and his opponent won three straight games to win the match, 6-4, 7-5.
"My scouting reports said that this guy really worked the angles well," the Double-Blistered Loser said, "but I didn't know what that really meant was, 'You're going to run your ass off.' This guy ran me all over the court."
Tim Enthusiasts are hopeful that blisters will not become a recurring problem in his tennis game. "Some people are trying to blame my new shoes, but I've played in them several times before and never had blisters before. I think it was just the combination of too many matches so close together and the style of play of my last opponent," Tim said. He emphasized that he will monitor the blister situation more closely from now on.
Although it's hampered his tennis game, not all Timbecca residents are bothered by the blisters. Some furry locals are enjoying the extended hours of couch time required for blister recovery. "Squeek!" said one as she plopped down on Tim's lap and demanded to be stroked.
Pictures of the blisters and a time-line of related events can be found on page B4.
[Cue local TV news theme music] This has been... BlisterWatch 2008!
The devastating attack of blisters on the balls of both of Tim's feet during a grueling tennis match Monday morning continues to hamper his tennis activity. Sources close to his feet say that the blisters may incapacitate him for the rest of the week.
"The left foot looks like it will be ready to go by this weekend, but the right one, where the skin broke, make take a few more days to heal," reported Tim at the breakfast table this morning. Although he's no longer walking with a limp, his feet are not ready for the rigorous demands of tennis motion, he added.
The appearance of the blisters has caused much anxiety on the part of local residents. "I've been hearing the whine of the Double-Blistered Loser all week long," says Rebecca, a local resident of Timbecca Manor. "It's causing me to lose sleep. I'll be glad when this is over. It's the only thing people around here talk about."
Authorities believe the blisters are the result of Tim trying to squeeze in too much league play over the course of the long MLK holiday weekend. On Saturday, he played his first league match, which he won, 7-6 (10-8), 6-1, but the long match took a toll on his aging body. Sunday evening, Tim played in a doubles league match, which turned out to be more strenuous than he'd anticipated. "Usually there's not a lot of running in a doubles match, but this one was pretty competitive," he explained.
The first blister appeared Monday morning during the second set of Tim's second singles league match. After losing the first set (4-6), Tim was down 1-2 in the second set when, during a long game that went to deuce several times, a blister opened on his right foot. He lost that game, and then the next, to go down 1-4. The second blister, on the left foot, made its appearance sometime during Tim's apparent comeback run, where he won four straight games and took a 5-4 lead. With two set points in the next game, however, Tim failed to convert and his opponent won three straight games to win the match, 6-4, 7-5.
"My scouting reports said that this guy really worked the angles well," the Double-Blistered Loser said, "but I didn't know what that really meant was, 'You're going to run your ass off.' This guy ran me all over the court."
Tim Enthusiasts are hopeful that blisters will not become a recurring problem in his tennis game. "Some people are trying to blame my new shoes, but I've played in them several times before and never had blisters before. I think it was just the combination of too many matches so close together and the style of play of my last opponent," Tim said. He emphasized that he will monitor the blister situation more closely from now on.
Although it's hampered his tennis game, not all Timbecca residents are bothered by the blisters. Some furry locals are enjoying the extended hours of couch time required for blister recovery. "Squeek!" said one as she plopped down on Tim's lap and demanded to be stroked.
Pictures of the blisters and a time-line of related events can be found on page B4.
[Cue local TV news theme music] This has been... BlisterWatch 2008!
Monday, January 21, 2008
Room with a View
Tim and I have lived in our apartment for about six months now, and I love it. It's not because it's better insulated or better laid out than the house we lived in for three years, though I appreciate those things. I love our apartment because of what I see from its windows.
From the east windows I see the sun rise and the trains and cars go by. I see a farmer's field in all its colors and states -- deep green with crops in the summer, yellow with discarded husks after harvest, brown and fallow in the winter, and (I imagine) light green with delicate new life in the spring. From the southern windows I see the lake and, on the other side, the village, which looks as if it's been imported from southern Italy, with rooflines and cypresses rising in the distance. (I am, of course, leaving out the car wash and bowling alley in the foreground, which ruin the effect.) And from the western window in my office I see the lake itself, which like the field reflects the seasons. Right now it's glittering and frozen, and in the evening flocks of water birds settle on it to sleep.
I also like watching our cats as they look out of the same windows (except for the southern ones, which are in the bathroom). I never get tired of observing Katya and Hermione; their sleeping, yawning, stretching, and grooming fascinate me. But I especially love how they express their curiosity (and their hunting instincts) when they look out the window. Both Katya and Hermione love to look out the eastern windows -- the one in our living room is a sliding glass door onto our balcony, and they spend a good part of the day watching the traffic, human and animal. In our bedroom, we have a small cabinet and a bookshelf below the window, and it always amazes me to see the cats' nonchalant agility as one or the other leaps from the floor to the cabinet and then the bookshelf in two fluid movements, and then crouches on top of the bookshelf, tense and motionless except for her eyes, which scan the field for a tasty treat she'll never catch.
Hermione, our younger cat, is limber and strong enough to jump from the floor directly onto the window ledge in my office, and I often find her there, especially these days when there are birds on the lake. Sometimes I think she enjoys watching the coming and going of humans just as much, though, since that window affords a good view of our complex's parking lot. I'm not sure if she's simply attracted by the movement or if she's stalking people the way she stalks birds. I think I'm happier leaving that mystery unsolved.
From the east windows I see the sun rise and the trains and cars go by. I see a farmer's field in all its colors and states -- deep green with crops in the summer, yellow with discarded husks after harvest, brown and fallow in the winter, and (I imagine) light green with delicate new life in the spring. From the southern windows I see the lake and, on the other side, the village, which looks as if it's been imported from southern Italy, with rooflines and cypresses rising in the distance. (I am, of course, leaving out the car wash and bowling alley in the foreground, which ruin the effect.) And from the western window in my office I see the lake itself, which like the field reflects the seasons. Right now it's glittering and frozen, and in the evening flocks of water birds settle on it to sleep.
I also like watching our cats as they look out of the same windows (except for the southern ones, which are in the bathroom). I never get tired of observing Katya and Hermione; their sleeping, yawning, stretching, and grooming fascinate me. But I especially love how they express their curiosity (and their hunting instincts) when they look out the window. Both Katya and Hermione love to look out the eastern windows -- the one in our living room is a sliding glass door onto our balcony, and they spend a good part of the day watching the traffic, human and animal. In our bedroom, we have a small cabinet and a bookshelf below the window, and it always amazes me to see the cats' nonchalant agility as one or the other leaps from the floor to the cabinet and then the bookshelf in two fluid movements, and then crouches on top of the bookshelf, tense and motionless except for her eyes, which scan the field for a tasty treat she'll never catch.
Hermione, our younger cat, is limber and strong enough to jump from the floor directly onto the window ledge in my office, and I often find her there, especially these days when there are birds on the lake. Sometimes I think she enjoys watching the coming and going of humans just as much, though, since that window affords a good view of our complex's parking lot. I'm not sure if she's simply attracted by the movement or if she's stalking people the way she stalks birds. I think I'm happier leaving that mystery unsolved.
Zombie Alternatives
I've been watching a lot of zombie movies lately. You know, the basic formulaic boy-meets-girl, boy-bashes-girl's-head-in-because-he's-a-zombie, girl-turns-into-a-zombie, boy-and-girl-go-around-bashing-everyone-else's-head-in movies.
The modern take on the zombie movie is that some sort of virus is turning everyone into monsters who want nothing but to attack the non-zombie population, which is usually only a handful of people just trying to survive in a bleak apocalyptic world. Fun stuff. Conceptually, I like the idea of a virus causing the zombiism, despite some major plot holes. (For example, why would the virus cause them to be violent only towards the uninfected? Why wouldn't the infected people just kill each other off?)
But then I thought, why are zombie-movie-makers so obsessed with violent zombies? If people are being infected with a virus, why not one that affects their behavior in more harmless, or even benevolent, ways? Here are my suggestions for alternative zombie movies:
- Cuddle Zombies. They go around cuddling everyone they see. Once you've been cuddled, you have the irresistible urge to cuddle others.
- Zerbert Zombies. Also known as "raspberries," zerberts are when you put your mouth on someone's stomach (usually a baby) and blow. What if the zombies just tried to zerbert everyone?
- Sex zombies. They try to have sex with everyone they come into contact with. This could actually be just as frightening as the violent ones.
- Pacifist zombies. The infected refuse to fight or kill other people. They form task forces to protest war and figure out strategies to promote peace and justice. They turn vegetarian, but develop and insatiable appetite for ice cream, which leads to their ultimate undoing when they peacefully accost the wrong ice cream truck, driven by Chuck Norris.
- Pull-My-Finger Zombies. Don't pull that finger! Not only will it unleash a cloud of stinkiness into the room, but you'll become a flatulence zombie, too.
- Tennis Zombies. Not content to just enjoy the game, they try to recruit everyone they know into taking it up. The difference between tennis zombies and the uninfected tennis enthusiast will be that the former have really weak serves, but can move around the court really well and get everything back. Also, they like to eat brains.
- INSERT YOUR IDEA HERE.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
OCS: Obsessive Compulsive Scheduling
Over my winter vacation I played a lot of tennis, and I spent so much time contacting people, negotiating times, and reserving courts, that I mentioned to Rebecca, "It's a good thing I'm on vacation, because just setting up all my tennis games feels like a full-time job."
Now that the holidays are over and my regular leagues and workouts are starting again, I hope to get back to a more regular tennis schedule that doesn't involve so much planning and organizing on my part.
As a result of winning my Sunday afternoon beginner's league last December, I get to move up to the Tuesday evening "Bronze" league starting this week. I'm very excited to be playing in the more advanced league. It's like graduating from half-day Kindergarten to first grade, and I'm looking forward to competing with the big kids. I also like the fact that the league meets on Tuesdays, which is a perfect midway point between playing on the weekend and my Thursday evening workout. I'm looking forward to the new schedule and the new competition.
Now that the holidays are over and my regular leagues and workouts are starting again, I hope to get back to a more regular tennis schedule that doesn't involve so much planning and organizing on my part.
As a result of winning my Sunday afternoon beginner's league last December, I get to move up to the Tuesday evening "Bronze" league starting this week. I'm very excited to be playing in the more advanced league. It's like graduating from half-day Kindergarten to first grade, and I'm looking forward to competing with the big kids. I also like the fact that the league meets on Tuesdays, which is a perfect midway point between playing on the weekend and my Thursday evening workout. I'm looking forward to the new schedule and the new competition.
- On Monday I get an email from an instructor at my college. She has a night class that needs a library tour. Can I do it on Tuesday, Jan 22? The class only meets once a week, on Tuesdays, so I can't offer to do it another day. In order to do my job, I'll have to miss the second meeting of my new tennis league.
- Sure, the 22nd is fine, I reply to the instructor, knowing that I'll have to see if I can reschedule the match for that week for another day.
- The Bronze league season begins on Tuesday, and I woke up that morning excited about my first match that night.
- Tuesday morning I get an email from my first scheduled opponent. He has a "conflict" and can't make it tonight. When am I available to reschedule? I'm crushed at this news-- I was so ready to play! And now I have to miss the first two Tuesdays in my new league. So after ruminating about the best days/times to play that would fit in with my schedule and that are available for league make-ups, I send reply that I can play on Saturday, any time, just let me know when.
- Then I email my opponent for week #2, tell him I have an unavoidable work thing that night, and ask him if we could possibly reschedule our match. I suggest a few times.
- Disappointed that my opponent for tonight canceled and I was so pumped to play, I email a tennis friend and ask her if she would like to play that night.
- She says sure, just tell me what time.
- I call the tennis center and re-reserve the court that had been canceled by my opponent #1.
- I email back my friend and tell her what time.
- Tuesday night, I play a non-official match with L, who whips up on me. She just won the Bronze league, the one that I'm moving up to, so she's moving on to the Silver league. I put up a pretty good fight (we have lots of long points and close games) in a 2-6, 4-6 loss.
- Wednesday morning, I haven't heard anything from opponent #1, so I email him again which days/times I'm available this weekend for a make-up.
- Opponent #2 emails me back and gives me a time he can play.
- I call the tennis center, cancel our regular league court time for Tuesday night #2 and reserve one for the previous Monday instead.
- I get a second email from the instructor at my college. She actually had it wrong-- it was Jan 29, not Jan 22, that she had me on her syllabus to visit her class. Can I come then instead?
- I start to respond to her that I'm not available on the 29th, which is kinda not true, because I'm just as available on the 29th as I am on the 22nd, except that I've already gone through all the trouble of rescheduling my match for the 22nd (see items #5, 12, 13 above.) And if I did her class on the 29th, I'd have to miss three Tuesday night tennis matches in a row, or un-reschedule the week #2 match, which would be a headache and also make me look like I don't have my shit together, which I don't like.
- But I don't send the email. That evening I talk to my advisers, who both assure me that I'm not being unprofessional or unreasonable to tell the instructor I'm unavailable when I really don't want to mess with my tennis schedule again after I've already re-arranged it for her.
- I send the original mail to the instructor, saying I'm not available on the 29th, but could we go ahead and do the 22nd anyway? I offer to come to her class an hour later in case she needs to get some things done before I get there.
- I call opponent #2 and confirm our match for next Monday morning, 9:00 am. (As luck would have it, that's MLK Day so I don't have to work.)
- The instructor emails back at says an hour later on the 22nd would be "perfect." Excellent.
- Thursday morning, I get an email from another tennis friend, asking if I want to play sometime this weekend.
- I respond, sorry, I have to make up two league matches over three days. I'm also playing in a doubles league on Sunday afternoon. Maybe another time.
- Meanwhile, opponent #1 still has not told me when we're playing on Saturday. He's had three days to reserve a court, so I email him and ask if he has a time yet. I say I'd like to know when when we're playing so I can plan my weekend. I even offer to call the tennis center myself. I don't mean to nag, but it's been three days, and how long does it take to pick up a phone and call the tennis center?
- He emails me back almost immediately: he's reserved a court Saturday late morning. Does that work for me?
- Yes, it does.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Our New Vacuum Sucks
Our old vacuum, a traditionally-bagged black model called "The Boss," didn't remind me at all of Bruce Springsteen. It was nuisance-level loud and terrified the cats, but it would often run over the same piece of lint several times without picking it up. I kept telling Rebecca, "This vacuum sucks," to which she'd respond, "Well, that's what a vacuum is supposed to do." So then I'd have to add the rejoinder, "...but not in the good way."
My biggest problem with the old vacuum is that it hid all the dirt in a bag, so I had no idea how much stuff it was picking up. I always suspected it didn't get much, but I had no proof.
Over the holidays we visited my sister, and she got out her vacuum, which was bagless. It caught all the dirt in a clear plastic cannister in the front, so you could see how well it was working. When you're done, you dump the cannister in the wastebasket, and you know you've accomplished something: you've transferred a load of dirt from the carpet to the wastebasket. Wow! A bagless vacumm! That's what I want! I thought.
So after consulting the Consumer Reports article rating the best vacuum cleaners, we went out and immediately bought our own bagless model. Here it is, right out of the box, freshly assembled, in the most pristine condition it'll ever be in:
So I fired it up and started on our bedroom. I did one-half of our bedroom and looked at the cannister:
I was shocked. This was, mind you, 1/2 of one room. Maybe a 10' by 4' stretch of carpet, and it almost filled the cannister half full. It was as if this carpet had never been vacuumed. I imagined the carpet singing Madonna's Like a Virgin as it experienced a vacuuming like never before. My suspicion that this carpet had never seen a vacuum like this before was confirmed when I checked under the carriage and saw actual carpet fibers in it.
Stupidly, I finished the entire apartment without once emptying the cannister. I wanted to see how much dirt I could pick up in one vacuuming. When I was done with the whole place, I took the cannister out and took a picture. (I took three pictures, but this is the best one:)
As you can see, it's entirely full. (The predominant gray color is due to our two gray-haired cats.) What you can't see is how packed full it is. When I released the trap door into the garbage can, the detritus clung to the sides like an action-adventure hero in a bathroom stall trying to hide his feet from a dangerous assassin looking under each stall. I had to reach my hand into the cannister (a thoroughly disgusting endeavor) and pull the muck out, which was packed as tight as insulation.
But I've learned my lesson, and the second time I vacuumed the apartment, I cleaned the cannister out three times. The carpet looks great and I feel that I've accomplished something. Our new vacuum sucks awesome!
My biggest problem with the old vacuum is that it hid all the dirt in a bag, so I had no idea how much stuff it was picking up. I always suspected it didn't get much, but I had no proof.
Over the holidays we visited my sister, and she got out her vacuum, which was bagless. It caught all the dirt in a clear plastic cannister in the front, so you could see how well it was working. When you're done, you dump the cannister in the wastebasket, and you know you've accomplished something: you've transferred a load of dirt from the carpet to the wastebasket. Wow! A bagless vacumm! That's what I want! I thought.
So after consulting the Consumer Reports article rating the best vacuum cleaners, we went out and immediately bought our own bagless model. Here it is, right out of the box, freshly assembled, in the most pristine condition it'll ever be in:
So I fired it up and started on our bedroom. I did one-half of our bedroom and looked at the cannister:
I was shocked. This was, mind you, 1/2 of one room. Maybe a 10' by 4' stretch of carpet, and it almost filled the cannister half full. It was as if this carpet had never been vacuumed. I imagined the carpet singing Madonna's Like a Virgin as it experienced a vacuuming like never before. My suspicion that this carpet had never seen a vacuum like this before was confirmed when I checked under the carriage and saw actual carpet fibers in it.
Stupidly, I finished the entire apartment without once emptying the cannister. I wanted to see how much dirt I could pick up in one vacuuming. When I was done with the whole place, I took the cannister out and took a picture. (I took three pictures, but this is the best one:)
As you can see, it's entirely full. (The predominant gray color is due to our two gray-haired cats.) What you can't see is how packed full it is. When I released the trap door into the garbage can, the detritus clung to the sides like an action-adventure hero in a bathroom stall trying to hide his feet from a dangerous assassin looking under each stall. I had to reach my hand into the cannister (a thoroughly disgusting endeavor) and pull the muck out, which was packed as tight as insulation.
But I've learned my lesson, and the second time I vacuumed the apartment, I cleaned the cannister out three times. The carpet looks great and I feel that I've accomplished something. Our new vacuum sucks awesome!
Monday, January 7, 2008
What We Did During Our Christmas Vacation
We spent four tranquil days in South Carolina with Rebecca's family:
We spent two short days at home:
We spent three hectic days in Indiana with Tim's family, where he lost his voice trying to shout over the din of eight kids and 12 adults:
Then we came home ready to relax from our travels and greet the new year. Rebecca promptly got a terrible cold/sore throat/flu that she shared with Tim two days later. (No picture available.) This sickness has incapacitated us for a week, and although we're mostly recovered, we still occasionally set each other off on coughing fits like competing bullfrogs. Oh, the phlegm we've seen! (No picture available.)
In the meantime, the weather got really cold for a few days (between 5 and 15 degrees), and the pond behind our apartment froze in a cool S-shaped pattern:
To see more pictures of our travels, see our Flickr page.
Rebecca went back to work this week, but Tim still has four days off before the new semester starts. What does a librarian do on vacation? He:
We spent two short days at home:
We spent three hectic days in Indiana with Tim's family, where he lost his voice trying to shout over the din of eight kids and 12 adults:
Then we came home ready to relax from our travels and greet the new year. Rebecca promptly got a terrible cold/sore throat/flu that she shared with Tim two days later. (No picture available.) This sickness has incapacitated us for a week, and although we're mostly recovered, we still occasionally set each other off on coughing fits like competing bullfrogs. Oh, the phlegm we've seen! (No picture available.)
In the meantime, the weather got really cold for a few days (between 5 and 15 degrees), and the pond behind our apartment froze in a cool S-shaped pattern:
To see more pictures of our travels, see our Flickr page.
Rebecca went back to work this week, but Tim still has four days off before the new semester starts. What does a librarian do on vacation? He:
- Re-arranges all the books in the house. (This had to be done. When we moved last summer, we unpacked them all willy-nilly onto bookshelves throughout the house. Now all our books are integrated, categorized, organized, and in some cases, even alphabetized.)
- Prints out and organizes pictures from the last four months. Posts them to his Flickr page.
- Starts a new blog
- Cleans out the bill & mail credenza for the first time in eight months. ("Hey, here's the receipt for your birthday present last June. Can I throw that out now?")
- Watches movies in an attempt to make a dent in his Netflix list. (Currently 68 movies.)
- Plays a lot more tennis.
- Vacuums! (More on this later.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
.jpg)