Stories, rediscovered

For my anniversary a few weeks ago my husband bought me the 35th Anniversary edition of The Princess Bride by William Goldman, and we have been reading it together several times a week--well, he reads it to me. He insists. It's just something we do. In any case, it's the first time either of us have read the book. My father used to boast of its greatness, of course, because my family adored the movie and I had lines memorized at the tender age of six before I even realized that Westley falling down into the ravine was tragically romantic and not actually slapstick comedy. My father also used to groan about having loaned the book out to someone and they never returned it, so I never had the opportunity to read it. (In addition, I remember seeing the cover once very briefly, and flipped through it, but upon seeing the word "bitch" I thought it wasn't appropriate to read. Ha.)

We're nearly done reading it now, we're in the midst of the epilogue, and I will be very sad to see it end. The book is vastly different than the movie, and vastly more enjoyable. That's not to say the movie is bad--it's not. However, the book includes so much more depth and comedy than the movie. I haven't laughed this hard at a novel in quite a long time. The characters, especially Inigo and Fezzik, are layered with personality quirks and mannerisms that are barely glimpsed in the movie, if seen at all. They are real people, suddenly. Westley is not just a farm boy, or just a pirate, but a tortured soul. Fezzik is not just a giant but an orphan, a fighter, a beloved friend. Humperdinck is less of a bumbling fool out to kill his bride and more of a conniving sportsman with a taste for blood and subterfuge.

I would give you more details, but I can't seem to type out the words. There has been something truly spectacular and heartwarming about reading the book and discovering new aspects of each person, each scene. It's something I want everyone else to discover themselves.

With all that in mind, I have also rediscovered another story: Mary Poppins. Little did I know, there is a delightful story about how the movie came to be. I've always wanted to read the books, I've never had the chance, but I'll have to fix that soon. For you see, there's a movie coming out in December. It's about the story behind the story. It has some of my favorite people in it (Tom Hanks, Emma Thomspon) but I don't want to steal Disney's thunder so you can read all about it on their blog here. (Click the link! Do it!)

I hope you all watch the trailer on their blog, and I also hope you go out and buy yourself a copy of The Princess Bride. Please remember, it's by William Goldman. Don't try to look for S. Morganstern. If you've read the book, you understand. If you don't understand, you just need to read the book. $9 at your local Barnes & Noble.

Stuffed animals, dying traditions, and citizenship

My 2-year wedding anniversary was this last week (on Tuesday, thankyouverymuch!) The hubby and I celebrated by putting on our finest and most glamorous black-tie-event couture and dancing the night away upon a yacht. Michael Bublé performed at midnight, and he wrote a special song just for us. My husband then gave me a string of champagne pearls and a pair of gorgeous diamond earrings. As a surprise gift, I bought him the yacht.

You probably didn't believe that, which is fine, because what we actually did was exchange random gifts in the morning (including a stuffed Totoro, a Justice League t-shirt, and The Princess Bride [the novel]) then ate made-from-scratch chocolate chip pancakes for brunch. We had dinner at Sushi Station in Arlington Heights, then went to see Man of Steel at the Keno Drive-In theater just over the border in Wisconsin.

This is Totoro. If you've never seen the movie, you're missing out. It's adorable. This is likely one of the best gifts Joey has ever given me. Ever.

And here is our shared half-a-ticket. Behind it you will see a quote about drive-in theaters, from a three minute video they showed before the film. If it's too small for your squinty little eyes, it says, "America once had 4063 drive-ins. Only about 400 survive today."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a very sad truth. But it wasn't always. I spent many summer nights camped in a car at the Valley 6 Drive-In in Auburn, Washington. I saw Chicken Run there, and Jungle 2 Jungle, and some others I definitely can't remember. But I do remember having a good time, and even as a kid I reveled in the fact that I could bring my own snacks. A recent article, written in March, explained the high likelihood that the Valley 6 is now closed--forever.

It might seem like no big deal to most people who have never been to a drive-in (including my husband, whose first drive-in experience was just on Tuesday) but to many of us the realm of drive-in theaters is magical and comforting. I was happy to see that the lot was over half full. Many families actually brought portable radios and camping chairs and sat outside with blankets. One family even brought their dog. Between the two movies that night (they showed World War Z first) there were kids running around in front of the big white screen, playing with the projector lights as they waited for the next movie. They continued to play there while the "drive-in movie info" film ran, and even the advertisements didn't disturb them. 

The ads didn't disturb me either, probably because there were only two other than previews, which brings me to this: Drive-in theaters are better than the regular theater hands down (weather pending.) Here's why.

1. Drive-in theaters are more accommodating. You can fit truckloads (literally) of cars in the lot. This also means you don't have to pay for building upkeep, or heat bills, because the parking lot is also the theater.

2. Drive-in theaters are cheaper. $8 for adults, $4 for kids, and the Keno Drive-In actually has a deal on Tuesdays that's just $12 per car. (pile 'em in, folks!)

3. Drive-in theaters usually start movies late. We left for the theater half an hour early (Man of Steel started at 10:30, we got there at 10) and World War Z was still playing. We saw the last third of the movie, which was a nice surprise.

4. To add to point 3, drive-theaters ALWAYS offer a double feature. One ticket (or half a ticket in my case, haha) allows you to see two movies. That's $8 per person for two movies. Got that?

5. Drive-in theaters can't stop you from bringing your own snacks. There have been a few times I went to a Starbucks or some other coffee joint before a movie, and because I'm a terribly slow drinker I had to sit in the lobby and sip my drink--or just throw it away. At the drive-in, you could bring a four course meal in the car if you wanted to. The drive-in companies claim that they make most of their money from concessions, but I'm not too worried about that because, hey, no one can resist movie theater popcorn in an old fashioned cardboard cup.

6. Drive-in theaters allow you to be comfortable. You can sit in your car, with blankets, and pillows. You can sit in the open trunk with a puppy on your lap. You never, ever have to worry that there will be enough seats in your row for the huge group you came with. (Yes, I've had that problem too.)

The negatives:

1. Smokers. The solution: roll up your window. (or bring air freshener!)

2. Driving around to find a spot. The solution: try to get there early.

3. Walking to the bathroom in the dark. The solution: bring a flashlight. You probably have one in your car somewhere, silly.

You can see now why they're better overall, and I hope at least a few of you out there remember how enjoyable movies at the drive-in are. Be a good citizen and go support your local (or not-so-local) drive-in theater. Now.

Antagonizing (and a questionnaire! )

Life post-graduation has been antagonizing. I am thrown between utter fascination of things and ideas and the potential for creativity and then whipped back into a sleepy, glass-eyed stupor consisting of aged iced tea and watching The Cosby Show on Hulu. I've had trouble sleeping at night, regardless of an imposed bedtime of 10 o'clock or waiting until my eyes won't stay open, which is typically around 12:30. The moment I get comfortable and my husband begins to snore I am either struck by a thought that won't be tamed or the upstairs neighbors begin playing a video game with large explosions. Hubby sleeps through them. I am not capable of such blissful ignorance. But of course, if I wanted to take a nap during the day, no problem! Except that then I get a horrible post-nap headache especially on days like this one with atmosphere the density of fog on Mt. Everest but hot as a deep African jungle.

And I know what you're all thinking. Or, at least, what my mother is thinking! I should get a job. Lord knows I try to. I have made myself a beautiful resume and I have advertised myself on three websites (not including FB). Most of the time I don't get replies at all, and sometimes I get an immediate reply, but usually the person says, "Oh, I just found someone to tutor my daughter for free. But I'll send your name along!"

But I don't want to write about job searching or my reasoning behind not looking for burger-flipping jobs (maybe some other time. sorry, folks.) and I definitely don't want to talk about my frustration with the people who look for babysitters and tutors. What I DO want to explain is that somewhere in the midst all this frustration is a beautiful thing called art.

I mentioned in my last post, a whole three weeks ago, that I've been doing a lot of painting. I painted a dresser and a bookshelf. I fixed another bookshelf. I've made quite a few other things as well, and due to a recent trip to the North Shore Unitarian Church in Deerfield, where I picked up a few free items, I now have a mountain of ideas and things to mess with. But I want to do something more constructive with them than just put pictures up here.

I'd like to start a craft blog. I tried this on here once before and while it seemed like a good idea at first, I certainly had no idea what I was doing. I look back at that post, which I put up in December, and I roll my eyes at myself and I cringe and feel like my very own most annoying friend who is that crazy but inept Pinterest lady. I know that many of you ladies out there have meandered (or scoured) your way through Pinterest, so you've seen the sort of blogs I'm talking about. With that in mind, I want to ask a few questions, if you'll kindly respond in the comments below.

1. What features of craft/DIY blogs do you like the best?
2. What are two or three of your favorite craft/DIY blogs?
3. What about these sort of blogs frustrates/irritates you?
4. I can't think of a good name for my craft blog. Any ideas?

So pass this on to your friends, because I'm very interested in the responses! These sorts of blogs are everywhere these days so I'm really curious to see what "the people" actually think about them.

Fear is like a lost spider

In the last couple of weeks my husband and I came to the conclusion that we have to stay in Illinois for another year. Don't worry, it's for a good reason--he's getting promoted! In fact, he's getting one promotion in about 2 weeks, and they want to give him another by the end of July. We're hoping that by December he'll be the GM Apprentice (I know, fancy, huh?). Things are looking up in that regard.

However, with the need to stay, also comes the realization that we will be staying in this apartment. We could move, yes. But nothing else is affordable, since we now have the dog. It's also more beneficial to just stay here and not pay for a moving truck, etc. In general, I'm pretty content living here. The neighbor upstairs is nice (when his girlfriend isn't yelling at him) and the neighbors to our left are nice (even with a crying baby) and the people to our right are probably awesome because A. the lady is in the military and always says hello and B. the guy plays the guitar and I spend my mornings trying to figure out what song he's practicing.

We live on the ground floor, so there's no one under us to bother or worry about. According to this blog from Apartment Therapy, living on the ground floor is glorious and peaceful and sort of pretentious. (Leads into a garden. Ha. I've got a runoff pond and geese, does that count?) But according to this other blog my apartment is also a dangerous place to live, and I should be wary and afraid of pretty much everything, and consult my local crime prevention officer.

While they suggest I buy a safe for all my furs and expensive jewelry, my only real complaint about living on the ground floor is the amount of creatures that inhabit my walls. That's right, I'm talking about spiders. 

About a year ago when we first moved in, I encountered at least two spiders every day. They were not small. They were usually nickel-sized. One was literally (and I promise I'm not exaggerating) the size of my palm, and lived in the bathroom for two days. That was July. We're not quite in July yet, or that intense heat, but I'm already starting to find a spider or bug on a daily basis. If you know me, then you understand my fear of spiders. If you don't know me, I'm sure you know SOMEONE who gets chills just thinking about them. When I have to kill a spider my entire body gets goosebumps and I angrily attack it, sometimes with shrieking and flailing, in order to scare the crap out of the little bug before I end its life. 

Small spiders are easily dealt with, if I act in the manners mentioned above. It's the big ones, or the high-up ones, that give me seizures of panic. When I find a spider I can't immediately vanquish, I call my husband in, and he smacks it with his shoe. (Thus, our walls are covered with size-12 shoe prints.) But the worst thing, the very worst and most horrible circumstance, is when I am home alone and I find a gargantuan spider I can't reach and then it DISAPPEARS. 

Then I have a problem. Because on one hand, I'm glad it's gone. But on the other hand, now it could be anywhere, and might jump out at me. (A spider once crawled out of my computer while I was typing. I almost died.) A lost spider is the pinnacle of fear because now there is anticipation, now there is fearful and anxious waiting for the spider to reappear, only to cause you more fear at its return.

And that, my friends, is the point I really want to drive home. Fear is like this in all its forms. Whatever you're afraid of, you hate to see it. But if it leaves without explanation, it takes a certain strength not to be afraid of its return. It takes willpower to not be in perpetual anxiety that the thing you most fear will suddenly reappear. You have to learn not to wait for it, not to expect it around every corner or underneath the space bar or shift key. 

I lost a spider this morning. It was there all day yesterday, and now it's gone. It was above my desk. In the past I probably would have avoided my desk all day in order to stay away from the beast. Instead, I chose to organize my desk, and write a blog, and hope that if that sucker appears I have something handy to smack him with. But I'm not waiting for it. Honestly, I hope it just went back outside. I don't feel like being afraid of it today.

Like spiders, I was afraid, for a long time, that my husband would never find a job that's worthwhile. I feared we would be stuck in Illinois for an undetermined amount of time and he would move from job to job, and we would be miserable. But that's not the way it's happening. In fact, quite the opposite. I can't begin to tell you how wonderful it is that he goes to work, has a good day, and has mostly good things to say when he's done. He works with people who support him and believe in him. Sure, things could go sour. Nothing is permanent. People can change. But I don't have to sit here and worry that it's too good to be true.

When the thing you fear is gone, just let it go. 

DIY

I have trouble with time, and don't know what to do with my life right now. Perhaps I've mentioned it before, but I'll mention it again. I've tried to become a tutor, or a babysitter, but everyone who wants to hire me for babysitting or tutoring also wants me to clean their dishes and wash their clothes.

I mentioned this to a woman at church last Sunday, thinking she would laugh, and instead she said, "Oh! I just hire someone else to do that, two days a week, you know?" And I laughed, very uncomfortably. Yeah, I totally understand that, especially since I haven't done laundry in a month, and I buy my dish soap at the dollar store. But yes, I find myself completely relating to your life. 

Anyways. I do have one semi-tutoring job, which pays $8 an hour, and is with a dear friend. The company is good, and I actually learn a lot myself in the process because the "tutoring" involves reading her counseling textbooks. This month's class is about parenting, so we're reading through a "how to parent" book. It's totally dry and often nonsense, or obvious. For example: Three pages of tiny print explaining that financial hardship causes stress on children, and parents are oblivious to it. Really? Financial hardship is hard on the WHOLE family? I never knew. 

In the vast void of nothing that is my life post-graduation, I have also begun seeking housewife-y activities and Pinterest adventures. I've spent my free time during the last few weeks organizing my desk. (I even bought multicolored file folders. Imagine that.) I also went out and secretly bought bacon and donuts this morning to surprise my husband, although he woke up before I finished cooking the bacon. And today I'm going to paint the interior of a bookshelf with paint I found in the clearance paint section at Walmart. Yep. I feel awesome.

So there you go. I'm gonna Do-It-Yourself myself into a crazy, painted stupor. And then I'll probably just take a nap, or watch The Cosby Show on Hulu, because that's pretty awesome as too.

One Sky

Earlier I was having a conversation with my husband about my birthday. The conversation was mostly about how last year's celebration was anticlimactic. My birthday was actually on the first day of student teaching, blah blah blah, but, that's all beside the point. What I'm really trying to examine here is that I'm going to be a quarter of a century old in about three months.

That's a pretty long time for someone who remembers practically everything. I remember my fourth birthday. That means I have approximately 20 years of memory stored in here. It also means I have a lot of loss in there. My mother told me (when I was about sixteen or seventeen) that I "carry my hurts around with me, and never let them go." Maybe I do. Maybe I don't feel bad about it. It's lead to a lot of excellent writing, eh? Yeah.

I'll be a little honest, and it might seem like "a lot" honest since this is a mostly unread blog, and--who cares if I'm honest, right? Well. I've had my fair share of deep hurts in my relatively short life. When I choose to love something, I love big, I love with all I've got, I love so much that it makes me nervous. I'm not just talking about high school boyfriends (of which I only had one, and I loved him relatively quietly) or pets. I'm talking about things you wouldn't even notice unless you asked me. I love The Book Thief by Markus Zusak so intensely that I read it at least once a year and I think about it almost daily. I have a favorite memory, of laying beneath a willow tree just a few weeks before I started college, and as simple as that moment was I want to go back there, every time I am overwhelmed or anxious.

And I have  had friends that were so ingrained into my daily life that I still remember them often, and then I remember that they won't speak to me, and I walk around all day wondering what could have happened and imagining myself talking to them and trying to figure out how those conversations would go. I don't talk about this to very many people. They think I'm being dramatic. My brother says that I "worry" about it.

It never occurs to other people that I actually love others so much that it hurts me to think about the fact that I've lost them. The smallest things are reminders of those best friends I had, reminders that something went wrong. There are people I've known that literally now refuse to speak to me, and do not acknowledge our friendship, and I have no idea why. No conflict occurred. We didn't fight. Our mutual acquaintances didn't fight. I just woke up one day and these people were no longer connected to me online, and they won't answer my phone calls. And that might sound dramatic, it might be overly sentimental, but nobody likes to be rejected, especially if they don't know why.

I have this other friend, whom I still occasionally speak to, and used to comfort me by reminding me that no matter how far apart we are we're still under the same moon. It was easier to believe when I was in the same timezone as all those old friends. Now I feel as if time and distance have caused some irreparable damage, and it doesn't matter what I say, the connection is just lost. We could be sitting under the same roof and these people wouldn't talk to me. Another 25 years might go by and I could see them in a church at someone's wedding, and they would just scowl, or look the other way.

Most of the time, this blog is about things you find. But tonight I just feel loss. I've lost something and it's likely there's no way of finding it.

I can't accurately say how I feel, and neither will this poem, but it's a start.

One Transparent Sky - by Rumi

Lovers think they are looking for each other,
but there is only one search.

Wandering this world is wandering that,
both inside one transparent sky.
In here there is no dogma and no heresy.

The miracle of Jesus is himself,
not what he said or did about the future.
Forget the future. I would worship someone
who could do that.

On the way you may want to look back, or not,
but if you can say, There is nothing ahead,
there will be nothing there.

Stretch your arms and take hold
the cloth of your clothes with both hands.
The cure for pain is in the pain.

Good and bad are mixed. If you don't have both,
you do not belong with us.

When someone gets lost, is not here,
he must be inside us. There is no place like that
anywhere in the world.

Ten Nonsensical Days

As I sit here, ready to write, it occurs to me that ten days have passed since I last blogged. Ten days filled with walks in the woods and illness and paper-writing and black coffee and a glorious lack of final exams. And naps. Many naps.

On Friday the 3rd I turned in the final paper of my college career. (That is, a real paper, not a reflection.) Actually, my husband turned it in for me. I intended on staying up most of the night finishing it. So I posted this picture.

Diligently, and with my (awesome) cup of black coffee, I worked until about 3:00 am. A dizzying tiredness then forced me to sleep, but I swore to be back up in three hours. Two hours into my "night nap" I got sick. Achy, nauseous sick. I got up at 7:00 am, despite the overwhelming desire to throw up (I am actually incapable of doing so), and spent the next four hours finishing my paper. I took frequent breaks to walk around and growl like a bear, because somehow that made me feel better. Once finished, my husband drove to the school to turn in my paper, and I stayed sick for the next two days.

On Monday I went to Starbucks with my homegirl Emily, and we decorated tote bags.

Also on Monday I downloaded a bunch of free music from Amazon. My favorite 2-volume album is linked below, so you can enjoy it as much as I do.
The Power of Independence, Volume 1.

The Power of Independence, Volume 2. 

The Nettwerk Spring Music Samper 2013 is pretty awesome too. (and also free!)

On Tuesday Emily and I went to TWO Forest Preserves (because in the Midwest you have to preserve the forest. They can't exist on their own. Apparently.) Here are a few of the many photos I took. 

  Chunky bark.

 Drop-dead gorgeous.

 Because no one appreciates dandelions.

Bright blossoms.

 Nap in the grass.

Just plain awesome.    

On Wednesday I actually had nothing to do, so I stayed home and slept and rested in preparation for the weekend. Thursday I met with a friend briefly, went to my final class of college ever (which included no homework or classwork, just watching others' presentations) and then tried (unsuccessfully) to find a dress for graduation. Friday I spent many hours in commencement rehearsal.

At long last, after 5 years of hard work, sleepless nights, and endless amounts of paper, Saturday came. I sat through lengthy speeches and lovely musical performances. I (barely) held it together, knowing that my parents couldn't be there. I laughed when someone threw beach balls into the section of graduates and then the coordinator, quite flustered, had to retrieve them, and gave us all a shaming frown. And then I walked across that stage, took my diploma cover from the dean-of-something (who was chewing gum the whole ceremony), shook hands with President Williford, and sat back down with the biggest smile on my face. I still somehow managed not to cry. 

Sorry, no hat. It was too windy.

So there you have it. The last ten days of my life. I don't know how I managed to fit in so many things, but I did. I think I made up for it by sleeping in until 10:30 am today. And now I'm off to find something to clean, or maybe just some more coffee.