let this be a lesson to you

This is why you should always choose the nerd:

He eventually grows up.

Now, can the same really be said for the one you oogled over at 14?

I didn't think so.

The Paper Porcupine

Alice has ventured into the big bad world of etsy with her

mad paper-embossin'-card-creatin' skillz.

You should visit her little shop,

The Paper Porcupine.

And, if you like what she's created, maybe purchase a little hello note for someone you think deserves a cheery howdy-do.

(Oh, and keep coming back.

She has plenty of brilliant creations she hasn't posted just yet.)

favorite things

Sometimes it isn't fair to be 30 and single. It isn't fair to have crushes like you're still 13, armpits sweating in said crush's presence. It isn't fair to still be in a singles' ward with people who: A. graduated this year and, B. will probably marry before you will--maybe even this year (2011 has to be big for somebody).

Sometimes it feels impossible to remember how blessed you really are. Or that, were you to have married the same year you graduated, your life wouldn't be as beautiful as it currently is. Still, sometimes it doesn't feel fair.

Sometimes, however, the thing that can make your pity-party kind of day much better is a little Sound of Music action.


I double dare you to watch it and not feel even just a little bit better.

Mwahahahaha!

English Teacher Humor

It is official: I hate dating.

I had another one last night. A date, that is. It wasn't necessarily a bad date. He was a gentleman. He had a quasi-plan for activities. He was really quite sweet.

But, in the wide spectrum of male to female sizing ratios, the dear man made me feel much more like this:

than this:
(Neither are preferable, of course. But these are the two ends of the aforementioned spectrum.)

I am not a tall girl. In fact, I'd say I'm just shy of average. But Mr. Former Soccer Player had me feeling like a fire-breathing, genetically mutated, mythological dragon towering over the helpless streets of Tokyo. And I only had on a slim 1 1/2" wedge: small potatoes in the stilettoed world of women's footwear. I spent the evening feeling astronomically gargantuan and it just wasn't good for this chubby girl's ego. He certainly didn't mind; and, if my radar is adjusted correctly, I think he was jonesing for another date towards the end there. But, though I view myself as an independent thinker willing to step outside traditional gender norms and expectations, somewhere along the way I've been socialized with a need to feel smaller (at the very least shorter) than whomever I end up with.

My mother, I'm sure, will tell me I'm too picky when she reads this. And maybe I am. But he was daintier than I. I had flashbacks of shopping with friends in junior high school at 5 7 9, knowing I was more of an 11 or a 13.

And, more importantly, he lacked that intellectual spark I find so appealing (that intellectual spark makes up for a myriad of sizing disparities). And so I categorize this date as yet another learning experience about myself in relation to the single men of this world. I am officially putting this out into the universe, my dear Nerd in Shining Armor: ANY.TIME.NOW. I'm ready for dating retirement. Aren't you?

Godzilla over and out.

if i were a rich (wo)man. LaDiDaDiDaDiDaDiDa...

I'd shop at Whole Foods for just about everything in my cupboards and fridge. I'd probably own more shoes and a nicer camera with a slew (yes, a slew) of nice lenses. I'd globe trot. A lot. I'd probably retire Rosy (my car) for something newer, fancier, shinier, and black-er (don't tell Rosy, please). I'd buy my dream home and decorate it and re-decorate it some more. I'd start a scholarship foundation for underprivileged kids.

But that's about all that would change. Because I'd still teach. I'd still have this girl for a best friend (she'd just travel more too--with me, naturally). I'd still believe in this with all I have in me. I'd still have my amazing family. I'd still remain smitten with the written word. I'd still use coupons (because paying full price is for the birds). And this is how I know my life is good. Because even if I had more money, it wouldn't make anything better than it already is.

to make beautiful music together

What I'm enjoying lately.

The Civil Wars (covering Elliot Smith)


William Fitzsimmons



Meaghan Smith

I'm Hosting an Intervention

Alice, the cute girl pictured above and

the best bestie/roomie that a girl could ask for,

hasn't blogged in over 2 months.

It is time for an intervention.

Who's with me?

Earning it.

I want my face to flash my life's narrative in an instant. I want each emotion and thought and whim carved there. I want a permanent set of parentheses around my mouth--a side memo to the world that I am a woman who has smiled so many times that my joy is forever etched there. I want a brow furrowed in thought or concern for my children, my students, the people I love. This brow will show I cared. Deeply. I want crow's feet scratched across my eyes' corners from squinting and straining to see my world in clarity, from laughing and making funny faces. I want my face to be a written word, a calligraphy of experience, of pain and peace and worry. I want my skin to memorize my life's work. To not only whisper but project the message that I lived a life worth living.

I want to earn my face. The story--my story--that is written on it. I want my face to tell my tale before I utter a single word.

In Which I Dream About India and then Lose Everything

I composed a post today. It was all written up. It was lovely and beautiful and expressed my dreams of journeying to India one day, my smitten state about the subcontinent. There were photos. The spacing was cooperating (you know how blogger can be). I was merely highlighting everything to change the font.

And then I deleted it. All of it. Accidentally.
(Multi-tasking at work can be hazardous.)

Forgive me. I'm grieving the loss of a post I really liked but feel unable to recreate. One I'd been marinating for a while.

Here's a taste of what you missed (and I lost):







I refuse to see this as a sign that I'll never make it there. I will. And the going and experiencing will fill me so much deeper than any silly old blog post (even if I really liked it).

Amen and Amen: Found on Pinterest

30 things I learned by 30.

1. The book is always better.

2. Chips and salsa might feel like a food group, but in all actuality are not. Same goes for Diet Coke.

3. Freckles, curves and naturally curly hair make for a unique kind of beauty. I prefer unique beauty.

4. Loving your job is only possible when you make sure to love your life as well.

5. No one is all good. No one is all bad.

6. Good friends are precious and rare and happen when you know how to be one in return.

7. My parents are wiser than I ever gave them credit for.

8. True charity isn't merely dropping something off at good will or the occasional service project. True charity is loving unconditionally even when it is hard to do so.

9. A good teacher ends up being more of a student.

10. Laziness is usually just a mix up in one's priorities.

11. Life hurts. A lot. And then something miraculous happens to remind you how very good it all is.

12. Every baby is pure and perfect. A miracle. Everyone was once a baby.

13. Harboring feelings of offense or anger or vengeance hurts me more than anybody else.

14. I'm terrified of losing and grieving someone, anyone who is close to me--someone who fills my life with joy. I know I'm blessed that I haven't had to yet.

15. Time is very easily wasted if one isn't mindful.

16. Some so-called "time-wasters" are also those moments you grow closest to people, including yourself.

17. Some of life's most spiritual moments happen in quiet, outdoor places.

18. The first time holding hands carries so much more weight than anything that falls after.

19. Education happens everywhere if you pay attention.

20. It is important to know how to decipher between that which is arbitrary and that which is a true measure of value.

21. Some of life's best experiences happen outside of one's comfort zone.

22. Failure isn't really failure if you gave all of yourself over to the attempting.

23. Prayer is real. Someone is listening if you are sincere about it.

24. Mediocrity in one's efforts leaves one unsatisfied and empty.

25. God, Life, The Universe, call it what you may--s/he/it knows what we need more than we do.

26. Painted toenails and mascara will always make me feel feminine and pretty--even when I'm 90.

27. I am loved because I see myself as someone worth loving.

28. Curiosity and imagination are the true ingredients for intelligence.

29. I'd rather be considered a smart woman than a hot woman.

30. There are times for acting like a grown up and times for acting childlike. It is important that I coordinate my behavior with the appropriate occasion.

Letters that Need Writing

Dear Summer Cold,

You stink. At least I think you do. I can't really smell at the moment. But if I could, I'm quite certain you would stink.

Signed,
Miserable


Dear Garden (specifically the tomatoes),

Please grow. I'm begging you here. What's it going to take? Need I open a vein a la Little Shop of Horrors?

Respectfully,
A First Timer


Dear Cardigan Sweaters,

Without your loveliness I'm quite certain I'd go naked--or at least have more morning "I've nothing to wear!" tantrums.

Love,
Your Biggest Fan


Dear Pinterest,

You're sucking more of my time away than necessary. I can't say I mind all that much.

Love,
The one who can't help but smile and celebrate


Dear Best Friend,

Happy 29th Birthday this week! I'm happy you were born. I might be a hot mess without you in my world.

Love,
"Little Pinch"

P.S. I dare say it is time for a new blog post in your neck of the woods. Just a (kind of pushy) thought.


Dear Snow in the Mountains,

You're cramping my hiking style. And I hear you're going to wreak some serious flooding havoc down in the valleys.

Signed,
Not a skier, not a fan


Dear New Second Job,

You're really not all that shabby as long as I don't think about missing out on my lovely summer. Nonetheless, thank you for helping me pay off debt. Thank you for making my travel dreams seem like a possibility. Thank you for not being in retail. I'll hope my appreciation lasts even as school starts up again (eeks!).

Love,
The New Girl at Work


Dear AP Kiddos of 2010-2011,

I kind of miss you. But in order for me to bid a gleeful farewell to my obnoxious 9th graders, you and I had to part ways as well. Bummer. Please don't forget me.

Signed,
Your favorite English teacher of the moment


Dear Body,

Take this plateau and shove it. No, really. It is rather frustrating.

Love,
Me


Dear Target,

It is a love/hate thing with you and me, isn't it? Why must everything about you be so tempting?

Love,

Weak to your wily ways


Dear Writing,

It has been far too long. I miss you. Let's change that, shall we?

Love,
Me


Dear Chris O'Dowd,

You're giving Javier a run for his money. Good boy.

Love,
A Bit Smitten

Sol y Soul

“I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness

the astonishing LIGHT of your own being.”

- Hafiz

To You, Cheryl

Last Friday, a dear friend lost her battle with cancer. I posted about it once upon a time here.

It came as a shock. I was reading Oh, the Places You'll Go! to my AP students on their final day of class when my co-chair came to the door to tell me. We looked at one another and there weren't any words. What can one say in a moment such as this?

You see, Cheryl was a feisty, charismatic, ethical, and entirely beautiful human being. Every teacher who has ever worked with her can only say all that is good about her. She was only 62. She'd taught in our district for nearly 25 years and she was really, really talented at it. Those who CAN teach. She was to retire at the end of this year. And then the ovarian cancer we thought she'd beaten last year returned. Everywhere. And suddenly time seemed to be of such import to all of us who were touched by her.

Today, after her husband had a chance to take what he wanted of his wife's career, several of us went to help clean out some of her things from her classroom. And still, the space smacked of Cheryl: the posters, the unique and quirky teaching aids, the videos and beautiful volumes of poetry. The treasured mythology projects of bygone students. I teared up to see her handwriting still scrawled on the calendar--the little reminders we teachers give ourselves.

It felt healing, spending some time in a space that was so uniquely Cheryl just as I knew her. To be in a room that she designed, in a space that had soaked in her energy day after day. Sometimes I feel as though a teacher's classroom is a statement about their personality and teaching style. With Cheryl, this was true. As I worked, it struck me what a beautiful life she's lived. Until the end, she loved teaching. Her students adored her, trusted her, felt safe in this room because she was there. She was wise and gracious and funny. She taught them the double entendres in Shakespeare's plays and made them act out balcony and fight scenes. She took them out on the back lawn under the trees and made each one lay stomach-down and stare at the blades of grass when they read Walden.

Her death is a tragedy. But her life, her life is just as I think she would have wanted it. She raised three kids. Had a happy second marriage. She loved a cup of coffee or a glass of wine with friends. She read--oh, how she read. She was the best at suggesting good, entertaining books. She spent each day of her life imparting only the most important gifts to the future. Her life was a good one.

Henry David Thoreau, whom Cheryl adored, once wrote, "...I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

Cheryl LIVED. Fully. I, like so many others, will miss her. I only hope that I can live my life in a way she did.

On Cooking, Booking, and Other Good Things

Recently I read this:

Not only did Bard's sweet and simple gem convince me that I don't REALLY have what it takes to live abroad--other than in my imagination (let's face it: American convenience can be nice), but it made me want to cook. It made me want to cook and be really good at it. It made me desire to share recipes I've mastered. I've long enjoyed watching Food Network--especially that Hampton Yuppy, Ina Garten. But this gem of a memoir made me long to walk to the farmer's market hosted at my local park and let its wares create my week's menu. It was entirely entertaining and I can't wait to try some of its recipes.

I warn you: if you do read it, please do so on a full stomach (or at the very least with a full refrigerator)!

Next on the docket:

Major Ernest Pettigrew is that old fashioned sort of British curmudgeon that brings me nothing but delight. Simonson's novel is witty, sharp, perceptive, and includes a bit of romance. (C'mon--who doesn't like a little romance?) Pettigrew's inner-monologue won me over. He's human through and through. Read it. The end.

And, finally, this fun escape:
I love rockin' book sales. The Borders near my house went out of business recently and this cover caught me--it was one of my lucky sale finds. Beginner's Greek is chick lit at its very heart, but chick lit with decent prose. Peter and Holly and their delayed love made me swoon and ache and long just a bit. The plot has moments of shock but the main characters' story remains delightfully predictable. I argue that sometimes this isn't a bad thing: these well-carved rivers of story are necessary, comfortable, and entirely entertaining. Even as an English teacher who forces the tragic on my students (Cold Mountain, anyone?), I like a happy ending as much as the next gal.

In other mediums of loveliness--

I've fallen hard for some new (to me) cosmetics & beauty products:

ULTA makes a mean eye shadow.

I love the shade "Twilight" and, on my flashier days, a shimmer of "Envy":

(as an aside, I want the job in which you name the various hues of cosmetics)

Next up:

Shellac nailpolish is pretty much amazing. I've long adored a crimson splash or shocking shade on my nails, but longer loathed the chipping and purely craptastic appearance it gets after one day of teaching or a single load of dishes. My life doesn't allow for upkeep of such things. But along came a solution: gelish, shellac, call it what you may. This stuff is a hybrid of gel and nail polish. It lasts up to 14 days (though I can't handle the length my nails get to by then). Alice and I tested it out when we went to Cancun. It made it the entire trip and then some. It has altered my world for the better.The roomie got a "little" kit with UV light and the rest of the products for her upcoming birthday from her rather awesome momsy. Life is good when one's polish plays permanent. (And when one's best buddy come with polish perks!)

As a teaser: I also "re-did" my bedroom. Photos to come soon. I hope. No, really.

School's out next Wednesday. I'm back. Promise.

sometimes you just need to get away from it all

Remember how I have a blog?

No?

Me neither.

But I do. This post is proof positive. And I'm back again.

So--I went to Cancun a few weeks ago. I loved pretty much everything about it.

I loved that turquoise water.

I loved getting a deep tissue massage just because I could.

I really, really loved lounging in the hammock on my deck watching that turquoise water.

I loved waking up early and watching the sun rise over that water:

I loved that I got to enjoy that water for 7 days straight with this chica:

I loved the enormous platters of fresh fruit in the mornings.

I loved my henna tattoo:

I loved my tan:

(it's gone now--but I did have one)

I loved swimming in a cenote and snorkeling

(note to self: develop underwater camera film) and visiting ancient ruins:

I loved these breathtakingly beautiful Mayan babes with their handkerchiefs for a dollar:

I loved reading my books as the sunshine and ocean breeze kissed my skin.

I loved buying trinkets and dishes and beautifully sewn muu-muus just as a good tourist should:

I loved all things lime. Virgin lime daiquiris, lime sorbet, lime in my diet cocola.

I loved the magnificent people watching made so much easier behind sunglasses.

And, OH, how I loved my room:

So you see, it was a very lovable trip. We left happy to have been there:

But I'm also forgetting things.

Like the obnoxiously drunk adolescents whose permissive parents clearly don't understand the dangers of alcohol poisoning.

Or how bartering and bargaining got old.

Or the cocky taxi driver who tried to screw us over.

Or Miguel, one of the entertainers, who physically flirted with me to the point of awkwardness.

(When in a bathing suit, the perimeter of one's personal space grows exponentially.

Let it be officially stated for all.)

I may never forget the funky milk and yogurt.

Or other food concoctions gone awry. Sorry.

But, truth is, I really, really loved my trip.

It was practically perfect in every way.

I should go back sometime soon.

If only for this:

Or this:

(we had a full moon!)

And definitely for this:

But only if she gets to come too:

Oh Cancun, how I miss you!

"Thirty, Flirty, and Fabulous"

I was celebrated for my 30th just the way one should be--with multiple celebrations!

(Beware of photo overload below.)

It started with the fam-damily a few days before my birthday at my favorite Italian joint.

As evidenced below, I come from a long line of the insanely photogenic:

Alice joined us because she likes me...

Not because of this deliciousness, I swear!

It was a good time courtesy of this handsome (and maybe halfway shaggy) couple:

Then it was my birthday on--hip, hip, hooray--a Saturday!

That evening some girlfriends and I met up for Japanese food and gnome-ish party hats:

I still contend that our hats were cuter than:

Proof positive:

Yes, I totally wore a sash (I'm a yellow, remember?):

And tried green tea ice cream:

And it was all because of this lady:

I like her. I might even like her better in a gnome-ish yellow party hat.

The next night these lovely folks threw me a little shin dig:

Dave and Michelle are two of the most down-to-earth,

enjoyable people I know. Plus they have cute kids.

We partied with some of these guests:

(The "Legendary" Benincosa Cousins--

Italian Stallions, these boys...or something like it.)

The Mennzz

And Vicky and Johnny--who we failed to snap pictures of (oopsy!)

Going with the silly hat birthday theme...

Lest you think I'm totally ridiculous, the get-up was solely to entertain this cutie:

All while his older brother did what teenagers do:

Thanks everyone for making 30 so fabulous!

You all rock!