Comma Coma

Katie needed something edited so I got out a pen and started reading.  And when I needed to verify a certain grammatical rule I pulled out the old Chicago Manual of Style...and spent the next 30 minutes reading it like a novel.  Because what the real party girls do on a Thursday night is read up on the proper use of a comma in a compound sentence.  (Conclusion:  historically, yes.  But used more so now only if it is needed to clear up ambiguities.)

While we're on the subject, I'd like to go on the record as stating I am for the Oxford, or serial, comma, even though it is going the way of Pluto.  I think it helps in clarification, continuity, and aesthetics.

And now I'm going to go put on a muumuu and find myself a few cats because I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life if I keep talking about commas.

The Haftan

The nice thing about not having any extra money to spend is that I can try on whatever clothes I want without having to worry about the cost.  Everything is outside of my budget so why not try everything on?  I had an hour to kill before the movie last night so I headed over to Macy's to play dress up and while perusing the selection came across this little number:

You guys!  It's an orange and cream zebra print halftan!!*  Because of the spending moratorium the only price that would have worked for me was free but oh how I laughed myself silly in the dressing room.  It is so Golden Girls!  Doesn't it just make your day?!  And don't you wish it came with a turban, a pair of silk pants, and a stack of personalized stationary?  If it did I could go as a legitimate Woman of Elegant Leisure for Halloween.

I'm not sad about leaving it in the store because twice before I have found pieces that I loved during a spending moratorium and have gone back months later once I could spend again and have found them significantly reduced and in my size.  If it's meant to be, it's meant to be.  And then I can get down to some serious lounging.  A turban should be easy to make, right?

*A caftan that only goes to the hips. Rotating the picture cut off the bottom.

A new set of gym rats.

I let my membership at the Old Lady Gym run out while I was away.  And when I came back I didn't have any money to re-up.  I made half-hearted attempts at exercise on my own - like brisk strolls around my complex and doing arm-toning exercises I found online - but let's get real - with my pajamas and couch in such close proximity, that wasn't going to work.  So I found a really cheap gym in the area (Thanks, Taryn!  I mentioned your name.) and signed up after work today and came home and put on my Flash Dance shirt and leg warmers and sweat band and headed back for a real workout.  One that did not end with me giving up after 10 minutes to go pour myself a bowl of Cocoa Pebbles.

Now, the Old Lady Gym wasn't restricted to just the 80 and over crowd but it was restrict to just women. So I haven't worked out with men in a while which means that I had forgotten one important aspect of it:  Men are weight hogs.  I could barely find a free set or machine to work with.  And they like to make big shows out of it with lots of grunting and veins bulging out of their beet-red faces. I imagine a hernia is a badge of honor for them.  Gone are the days of the Old Lady Gym where the weight room was more like a living room with uncomfortable furniture.  The elderly would gather around and gab about the cruises they'd been on and what nonsense their grandkids were up to while occasionally hoisting a 2 pound weight above their head.  I'll miss those gals.  I'll miss always being able to get on the leg press machine and listening to them shoot the breeze about support hose.  But I'm sure there's plenty of entertainment at the new place.  I mean, while certainly not anything to laugh out loud over, there is something inherently funny about a hernia.

Period-Space-Space

How many spaces do you put at the end of a sentence?  Two, right?  Because that's what you were taught in typing class*, lo these many years ago.  Every single person I've asked so far (4) has said they put 2 spaces.  Well, there was an article in Slate by Farhad Manjoo who tells us that we're wrong and boy is he annoyed with us.  Typesetting rules dictate only one space.  It sends him into fits of rage when he sees the double space after the period.  So to him I say, "Suck it up ya big baby."  I've seen the documentary Helvetica, which means that I know exactly how ridiculous typesetters and people who care about fonts are.  Some of them will go so far as to equate the Vietnam War and the invasion of Iraq with certain typeface.  You will not believe the outrage they have towards this.  I thought it was pretty funny that people would care so much about a non-issue.  But here's the thing - as I was reading the article I found myself getting all panicky about the thought of not doing a double space.  Typing is one of my better skills and the double space has been such a solid rule to live by that I don't think I could give it up even if I wanted to. And suddenly I'M one of those people who cares.  And for the last 2 days I've been relishing that double space.  Like it's my declaration to the typeface regime that I WILL NOT BOW TO YOUR ELITIST SINGLE SPACE!  Unless, of course, someone wants to publish me, in which case I will simply ask, "Am I bowing low enough?"

*True story:  I took typing - using an actual typewriter, because I'm 80 - during summer school from a young male teacher who wore MC Hammer pants and a Dodger shirt every single day.  It was 1990.  I have no doubt that I daydreamed of Donny Wahlberg.

The sweet taste of bitterness.

There are a few things I could write about.  Such as:

1.)  How I ended up as a judge of a couple of high school debates on abortion and how teenagers acting serious is one of my favorite things to watch;
2.)  How lately I've been running into people I haven't seen in years and years and I have almost the exact same conversation with them:  "Are you married?"  "No."  "Oh.  You look SO GREAT!"  This makes me think that I either I need to a.) put people on a rotation to be cut out of my life for several years or b.) never get married because who doesn't love being told you look SO GREAT!  Especially considering the tragic tumbleweedy state of my hair on several of these occasions. 
3.)  Parents who take their children to movies they will be bored with and then let them run up and down the stairs like maniacs only to scream at them for acting like maniacs.
4.)  How I went to a free Pat Benitar concert last night but left before she actually got up on stage because I'm 80 and can't handle sweaty, dirty crowds.

But instead of those things I will tell you about the deep, dark conspiracy to deny me a chocolate shake.  Oh, there is a conspiracy and I will not rest until I find who is behind it. 

Katie and I were coming home from the movies tonight when we both were overcome with the need for a chocolate shake.  So we drove out of our way to get one, only to be told at the drive thru that they were out of ice cream.  We were disappointed but not deterred and we drove to another place.  Only to be told, again, that they were out of ice cream!  And this time we had to suffer the indignity of sitting in the drive thru until the car ahead of us was done.  The guy at the window felt bad and offered us free sodas, which was nice and all but it just showed his ignorance.  What is a soda to a chocolate shake?  He could have offered us a handful of those little salt packets - it would have had the same appeal. We could have just gone across the street to the store to get ice cream and make our own shakes but we decided instead to go home and wallow in our bitterness.  Because nothing tastes as good as righteous indignation. 

Wait, that's a lie.  A chocolate shake would taste better.

Knecht Fest '010: Part 1

It was Knecht Fest '010: Part 1 this weekend up in Utah. (Part 2 will be in 2 weeks when Casey and Kylea get married. It will be similar to Part 1 only there will be even more family in a smaller place. Look out Logandale, NV. We're coming!) The whole family was together and we laughed a lot and ate a lot of ice cream (True story: it was 32 degrees and snowing yesterday morning outside of Cedar City, UT when we stopped to get gas. This did not stop us from getting ice cream cones. That is how dedicated we are to the cause.) There were many, many highlights but here are just a few:

1.) Lindsay graduated from college in December but did not attend the ceremony. So we threw her a surprise one. Because if there is one thing my family loves it's a graduation ceremony...to mock. (I actually think my family should be hired out to sit in the audience at graduations because you can not believe how entertaining we can be.) It was complete with banners, Pomp and Circumstance, a mortar board, a speech (that was written for her and contained a lot of Seinfeld quotes), and a multicultural portion wherein Gina and Chris sang "The Impossible Dream" in Spanish.

2.) When I was introduced to Kylea's grandma the first thing she said to me was, "It looks like I've just met the midget of the family." I can not express to you just how funny I thought this was because a.) sassy grandma! and b.) so true. When I'm really and truly 80 I plan to be just like that. Do not be alarmed if I start practicing now.

3.) Camille and I flew out there on Thursday night and while on the shuttle bus from the long-term parking to the airport a woman got on and said, "Boy, it's windy out there. How's my hair? It was blowing all over the place. And I even glued it down this morning."

Food-Freezer

1.) It all started last week when I had leftover ingredients for chicken enchiladas. I made them up and filled an 8x8 pan and froze it. The same thing happened last night when I had left over ingredients for stuffed shells. And today I was craving oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and since an entire batch is too much of a temptation for a Woman of Elegant Leisure who spends her days primarily at home I baked up a few and froze the rest of the dough in individual balls. I am officially a food-freezer. It's a good thing my freezer is wee and already stuffed because I can see this becoming a serious problem. If this is not a sign of 80-year-old-ness then I don't know what is.

2.) I'm amongst the gainfully employed. Sort of. It's part time. I work from home. And I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing. No seriously. When I try to explain it to people it takes me 10 minutes and we all end up more confused then when we started. It is very Kramerica Industries.

3.) You may not have caught Angela's comment about firesides because she just posted but she says that in New Zealand, where she is from, firesides are usually 2 hours long and they have no refreshments at the end. Clearly New Zealand is where the monastic order of the church is located. Do they also give up all worldly possessions and wear sack cloth? When no one makes a comment in Sunday School is that just because of their vows of silence?

Total MuuMuu Immersion

I was talking to Amanda today about my Total MuuMuu Immersion when I'm 70. My plan is to completely switch out my wardrobe to muumuus. I hope that by that time my leg hairs will have stopped growing (I hear rumors that this happens) so I won't have to shave my legs every day. Being a good friend, Amanda cautioned me to not think too much about it because I am liable to just bag the wait and start now - seeing as I'm 80 and all. But I told her that I refuse to even go to the grocery store in work out clothes, like every other human being does, so she doesn't have much to worry about now.

Except that it was an exhausting day today. I've been fighting off this mutant cough for 4 days now and this was the first morning I woke up feeling like I could face the world. So I made a list of things to do and got at them. Only I didn't factor in the Valentine's Day crowd. I went to Target and there were hundreds of people in line with flowers and candies and teddy bears and then I went to Albertson's and it was the same story and two hours later I got home and all I wanted was a muumuu and a nap.

Instead I made dessert won tons for our Olympics party we're throwing tonight. Here's a taste of what the festivities will be like:


Definitely worth missing a nap.

Grounded

I went to a lecture last night at the Claremont School of Theology that took a look at the priesthood from both the Catholic and Mormon perspectives. Really fascinating stuff. I learned all sorts of big words. And it has sent me to Wikipedia to study up on the Catholic church because the whole hierarchy confuses me. He called himself a pastor, and a priest, and his title is Right Reverend but he goes by Father Alexei and at one point someone in the audience referred a question to "the Bishop" and both he and Robert Millet (batting for the Mormons) stood up. Comedy, I tell ya. There were some really lovely and profound things said and as usual, whenever I get a perspective from other faiths it helps me understand and appreciate both their faith and my own faith all the more.

But as I've reflected on it throughout the day my mind keeps going back to one thing: Father Alexei had sensational hair. It was white and billowy and kind of sparkled in the overhead lights. He looked like Moses.

I am clearly 12 years old.

But, also 80. Because after the lecture we went out for yogurt and I broke my own curfew. I stayed out past 10 on a school night and I've been suffering all day because of it. Does this mean I'm grounded?

The Importance of Capitalization

Dear People Looking for Work:

Use capital letters. And proper punctuation. And correct spelling. I don't think I can emphasize this enough. Which is RIDICULOUS! Because you're a grown up and I'm assuming you have made it beyond Kindergarten and know the difference between a big letter and a small letter and when the appropriate time to use them is.

When I get your resume and it's entirely in lower case I throw it away. If you don't spell your previous job titles correctly, I throw it away. If you use the phrase, "I seen," I throw it away. When I give you a typing test and you tell me that the reason why you only scored 20 wpm is because you forgot to use capitalization I don't even bother looking through your application. I throw it away.

When you don't use capitalization I imagine you're a 14 year old girl stuck in a remedial English class texting me a resume your boyfriend helped you prepare. It's okay that if at one point you were 14 and stuck in remedial English, I would never hold that against you. But if you're over 18 you should know by now that your name needs to be capitalized.
If I get one more email that reads, "i seen your ad heres my resume call me," I'm going to spit. And I hate spitting.

Regards,

Rachel

I found a hair on my lip

I was getting ready for work this morning when I noticed something on my upper lip. Something black. Something that looked like hair.

The following is an excerpt from the inner monologue I had (exclamation points, italics and caps included):

"A hair! I officially have a mustache! I'm an 80 year old woman with a MUSTACHE! I know it was only a matter of time before I got one but Knights of Columbus, I'm too young to have a mustache! I already have rogue eyebrow hairs sprouting up on my eyelids! Haven't I suffered enough!?!? I'm going to have to wax! Or I could bleach. But if I bleach it I won't ever be able to go outside again because it will catch the light of the sun and someone will say, 'Hey, you got something glittering on your lip,' and then they'll go in for a better look and then recoil in disgust. Or I could pluck, but it looks pretty sturdy. Like it has deep roots. Like it's sucking all the youth and vitality right out of me. NO! Waxing is my only option. Or maybe I should just go to the Home for the Ugly and Tragic and wear muumuus and support hose for the rest of my life!"

Upon closer inspection I turned out to be one of my rogue eyebrow hairs that landed on my lip after vigorous plucking. Crisis averted.

For now.

The evening started with a show and ended with a walk through a cow farm at midnight. Awesome!

I went to an Eric Hutchenson concert last night. Funny story: I only vaguely knew one song of his but because I like going to shows with fun people in small venues I decided why not. Right? Except that it was on a school night. And my school night bed-time is 10. So is my weekend bed-time. But I'm 80. I'm telling you this because if this post ends up being just an incoherent bunch of letters that means I have fallen asleep on the keyboard and as my head fell forward my nose managed to hit the right keys to publish the post.

So there I was, 80 years old, at a concert of a guy I had barely heard of, having a really fantastic time. Because his songs are super fun and catchy and he and his band were great performers and I was with Camille and my cousins Sarah and Allie. Win-win-win.

A few observations:

1.) I was standing behind the TALLEST COUPLE ON THE PLANET. They were easily 8 feet tall. They were the Jolly Green Giants of Young Love. Except that they were both wearing orange. Interesting. I managed to have a good view between their heads but they were in love and they liked to show it by kissing after every verse. And sometimes at the beginning and ending of the chorus. And all the way through the bridge. So a lot of my view consisted of them making out.

2.) Mormons love Eric Hutchenson. Just in my immediate surroundings there was my group, and the Giants (we noticed a CTR ring) and then when I was mentioning the ring the girl standing next to me was all, "Are you Mormon? So am I! Well, I was. But I'm not anymore. Obviously," as she had just spilt her cocktail on the floor.

3.) Can we please be done with the headband craze? Pretty please? You know what I'm talking about right? Not the demur ones that go on top of your head but the retarded ones that go across your forehead. Like your Pocahontas. Or an extra in Hair. There were like 20 girls there with them on (including the Giantess in front of me. Hers had feathers dangling from it!) and, sure, they're kids, and this is what kids do, they follow trends like this, but golly they look ridiculous to me. Because I'm 80.

At this point of the story it is important to note that we met up at Sarah & Allie's family's home. My uncle works for a school/farm for wayward boys and their home is on the property. Well, the gates were closed by the time we got back and neither of the girls had their remotes to get in and my car was still up at the house so Camille just dropped us off at the gate and we ended up walking up the hill to the house. In order to save a half mile or so on the walk we decided to cut through the farm. Did I mention it was midnight? And there wasn't a moon? And we were all in flip-flops. We had to cut across a ditch and walk through some pine trees with enormous spiderwebs and it smelled like skunks and manure and I had the vague feeling that I was this close to stepping in cow pies. It was pretty hilarious. I love it when fun nights end in unexpected ways.

Things we would discuss over breakfast

Things I would bring up if I had called you up and said, "Hey, let's go get some breakfast this morning.":

1.) My rogue eyebrow hair. On my left eyebrow I have a rogue hair that grows in the opposite direction as the other hairs, thus causing it to stick straight out. Part of me doesn't want to take care of it because I admire it's plucky attitude.

2.) The jam I made over the weekend. I've only ever made freezer jam but its shelf life isn't long enough for me and I end up throwing away half the container because I can't eat it fast enough. So I decided that this year I was going hard core and making cooked jam, with the glass jars and the sterilizing and everything. Because this is exactly what 80 year old women do. So I headed down to Chino, which everyone knows has the best strawberries, and I took over my parents kitchen and I made jam. And it is delicious, my friends. It's a good thing the mouth of the jar is so small because I would be tempted to stick my whole face in it. If we had gone to breakfast this morning I would have brought you a jar of your very own.

3.) The lesson I taught yesterday in Sunday School about the Word of Wisdom convinced me that I should make a salad for lunch and how I'm really sad about it because even though I always enjoy a good salad (this one has avocado, and what's not to love about that) I never actually look forward to eating a salad. And there is nothing sadder than not being excited about your lunch.

4.) Katie and I walked out of church yesterday to sunshine. SUNSHINE!!!! I know you're all thinking, "Duh, Rachel. California!" Yeah, and that would be true, except that we have had gloomy, cloudy, drizzly, stinky weather for weeks. Weeks, I tell you! I suppose I should appreciate that fact that it isn't 100 degrees yet but when I walked outside yesterday and felt the sun and saw my shadow I felt like skipping to my car. Except that I was wearing shoes that don't facilitate skipping very well and opted for skipping in my heart.

5.) How much I love going out for breakfast and I think we should do it more often.

***

Post Lunch Addendum: My salad was actually super awesome and hit the spot and I plan on making the same one for lunch tomorrow. And looking forward to it. (Spinach, tomatoes, avocado, chicken, gorgonzola, strawberries, balsamic dressing. It needs some crunch though. Maybe cashews.)

Ouch

I've been trying to think of a good metaphor for how sore I am today. One does not exist. I will tell you though that I painted red curbs for a few hours on Saturday which has caused my hamstrings to stage a revolt. They will no longer let me sit, stand or walk. And yesterday at the gym I worked my abs, which from the looks of things don't actually exist on me, but let me tell you, they do. You can't see them but if you listen closely you can hear them screaming. I'm pretty sure they have pitchforks. And last night at nunchucks we had to practice our blocking. We do blocking every week but it's just the motions. This time we actually had to block foam sticks coming at our face. Guess what happens when you block a foam stick about 100 times. Your arms fall off. I'm typing this with my nose, which is the only part of my body still working.

I am 80.

I've done the math

An update: The Doc is in a much better mood today. I commented on it and she pointed to her eyebrows, upper lip and chin and said, "I took care of this last night and felt so much better." So, to sum up, if you're ever feeling glum just pluck your unwanted facial hairs and the Bluebird of Happiness will once again rest in your soul.

Now let's do some math:

My age: 33

I went to a concert on a school night: -14

I went to see Louden Wainwright III: +13

He's related to Rufus Wainwright: -10

He's his dad: +16

I heard him on Morning Becomes Eclectic: -17

Which is on NPR: +18

He's a folk singer: +11

I went with my dad: +12

We made fun of a guy in a poncho who was sitting a few rows ahead of us: -7

It was in Cerritos (Home of the Ancient and Practically Dead): +13

It was a really great show and I had fun: -6

We left half way through because it was way passed our bed times: +18

Actual age: 80

I am putting on my lab coat

I never thanked you all for your music recommendations. I've been checking them out and have to say that my friends have awesome taste in music. I knew there was a reason why I liked you all so much. I would especially like to thank all those lurkers (I really hate the word lurker. I sounds sketchy. Someone give me a better word please.) who spoke up. See, it wasn't so bad. And now we're all best friends.

And here's something interesting to no one but me but it's my blog so deal with it: When I first met Courtney she reminded of me of someone but I could never put my finger on whom. And that feeling has always lingered and bothered me. And then both she and Colleen recommended In the Aeroplane over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel and then it struck me. It's Colleen. She reminds me of Colleen. And none of you actually know both Courtney and Colleen but let me tell you...two sides of the same coin, those girls. If they were ever to meet, who knows what would happen. I like to think world peace and chocolate fountains in every kitchen.

But here's what this post is actually about. Books. Because I mentioned that I want to spend all my gift cards on music and not books. Do not be alarmed. I'm fine. I'm just doing a little experiment. Back in the Dark Days of Unemployment I often wondered in amazement that I was able to get by on so little. Because when I was working and making the big bucks I was always wondering where all of my money went. But when you're not making any money you realize exactly where it went. On things you didn't really need. Lovely things like going to the movies and new pairs of shoes and another shade of lip gloss and fancy cheeses and Trader Joe's and books. Lots and lots of books. But you can't get those things with your grocery money when you're not even sure when you'll have grocery money again. So I stopped buying those things and I missed them. A lot. Especially the books.

Then (rejoice!) I got a job and the money started trickling back in and I got excited about buying books again. Which ones would I get first? I had a huge list to choose from. It was a wonderful dilemma. And then a strange thing happened. As I was thinking about how long it had been it I went from "It's been seven months (hand on forehead while swooning a little)!" to "It's been seven months (fist thrust into the air over my awesome willpower)!" Because it was seven whole months of not buying any books and I still had plenty to read, thanks to the library and friends and that enormous stack in my bedroom of books I've always meant to read.

So I decided to go for a year of no new books. Just to see if I could do it. Because I figured it out -- it's been about 20 years of book buying for me. Twenty years! That's a long time habit there folks. And I'm happy to report that I'm doing fine. I still miss it and I fully intend to go back to buying books in February. But maybe not so many. I'm totally 80 right now, all wise and restrained. I'm going to go home and knit something with old yarn.

Open Letter to Me

Dear Rachel,

You are an 80 year old woman and because dementia has set in I would like to remind you that 80 year olds do not stay out until 1:30 in the morning gabbing with the ladies. You were cut out for that sort of thing way back when you were 25 but now that you're in the sunset of your life you should be making wiser choices. Choices that would allow you to get 7 hours of sleep. Choices that don't give you puffy eyes and an even manlier morning-man-voice. Especially now when you know you always automatically wake up at 7. On the dot. Every morning. No alarm needed. No matter how little sleep you have gotten. It stinks being 80.

Love, Rachel

P.S. You're hair looks surprising good today. Did you switch shampoos?
P.S. 2 You should have oatmeal for breakfast. Trust me.
P.S. 3 I actually think it may have been a little worth it to stay up late, only because 1.) you got to watch North and South and 2.) you got to hear someone coin the term, "cesspool loins" which you would not have heard had you left at midnight.

Spring Break

I use to get a spring break. Well, I use to use my vacation hours to get a spring break but it was always the week of the actual spring break, so you get it. I was a little sad that I wouldn't get one this year. (Dear Rachel, Couldn't your life be viewed currently as an extended spring break? Love, Everyone. Dear, Everyone, Yes. If spring break consisted of filling out applications and honing my gas siphoning skills. Love, Me.) But I can cheer up because suddenly this week has turned into my spring break. You should see my calendar. It's packed with fun (and cheap) outings (well, cheap if I actually do learn to siphon gas).

Cynde is in town (sad reasons, let's not talk about it.) and she's staying with me and we stayed up late last night laughing and coloring. Ah, coloring. I could write an entire dissertation on the joys of coloring. And Amanda comes into town this afternoon and we will no doubt stay up late laughing and maybe coloring some more. Seriously, I love it so much. I'm taking my little 10 year old buddy to the Huntington Library tomorrow (Yeah, so I have a 10 year old friend. You would want to hang out with her too if you knew her. Adorable.) and we have tickets to the Getty Villa on Friday. And general conference is this weekend. Wahoo!

Okay, so maybe my idea of an awesome spring break is slightly different from other people who drink too much and get tattoos and venereal diseases down in Florida, but for an 80 year old, I think my plans sound pretty fun.

Sixty Pages

Dear Ayn Rand,

Sixty pages? For reals? You had one man speak for sixty pages? I mean, I think that 6 pages is a little too long for a character to talk but 60? That's pushing it, even for you. I hate to say it but I had to skim through most of it, mostly because you had spent the last 1000 pages explaining everything already. I got it. Socialism is bad. Just ask the Russians who are still using 1 ply toilet paper.

And while we're on the subject, and you're a captive (albeit, dead) audience, why don't I share my feelings on long books. I'm not afraid to read long books but I do get tired of them, no matter how great they are. Yours was pretty terrific (you got a "like", which is high praise my friend.) but even so, I felt like I had my fill and wanted out. But I couldn't get out until I finished. You see, I am a very loyal reader. I only read one book at a time. And I'm a slow reader. I like to soak it all in. So you can see what a commitment a big fat book is for me. That means that for weeks I can't read another book. And I spend all my time thinking about finishing it because I just want to know how it ends! So I keep reading and reading and reading, as fast as I can but not so fast that I miss everything and trying not to get discouraged that page 600 is only the halfway point.

Which brings me to another problem I have with long books. One of the things that makes me an 80 year old is my miserable memory. I can read a book and a week later I won't remember a thing about it. I like to think that in the eternities I will have a glorious memory and I will be able to recall all of the plot lines of the Anne of Green Gables books without Katie having to remind me, but for now that is just not possible. So it's pretty simple math that if I'm reading a book that takes about 4 weeks to get through the chances of me remembering what happened on page 200 or 400 or even 600 are about as high as me remembering my 7th grade locker combination. By the time I finished the book I could basically remember that a train was built through Colorado and that it was destroyed. It's not you, it's me. But you see what I'm getting at, right?

In conclusion I would like to say that I loved the book although you're slightly misguided in your philosophies. But that's all I'm going to say on that subject because, even though you're cold in the grave, I'm a little scared of you and I think your editor was too because there is no way a fully functioning editor would have let that speech go any longer than 10 pages.

Best,
Rachel

In the Cave with the Other Ne'er Do Wells

Lately I've been having the craziest dreams. Some scary, which is weird because I don't usually have nightmares, but most of them just weird. So weird that they wake me up at 4 am and won't let me go back to sleep because my brain won't shut off. And if I do go back to sleep I just keep having more. For instance, this morning I found myself sentenced to a home for wayward teens that was located in a cave. I don't know what I did to get me in there but it must have been pretty bad because my main duty was to wash the toilets. That was the one that woke me up at 4. And when I briefly made it back to sleep I dreamt that I was on Jeopardy and was getting every answer right. I have now added Long Term Jeopardy Contestant to my list of things I could do with my life.

It will be great to be BFF with Alex Trebeck (Watch for the triumphant return of that awesome mustache. You know you've missed it.) but it does not solve the problem of the 4 am wake up call from my subconscious. I've never been a late sleeper. I'm almost always awake by 7. But 4 is ridiculous.

That being said, I get so much more done in the morning when I do wake up at 4. I got everything done that I needed to do today by noon. Which gave me time to work on Liz W.'s stocking (I'm so close to being done. I just need to add some sparkles to it and your name. Do you want Liz or Elizabeth?) and a few other projects. And I listened to NPR* all afternoon (80!) which will no doubt help me in my Jeopardy quest. I'm going to smoke Ken Jenning's record.

*For all you local NPR listeners: When you hear Patt Morrison on the air do you picture what type of hat she's wearing? I do. I also picture what she looks like without one. I have a feeling she's hiding something from us. I hope it's a unicorn horn.