are things complicated yet?

This is my obligatory Happy New Year! post and YES it has poetry in it. But, not mine. (I'd never do that to you.)

It's really the small things in life that make it worth living.  Worth remembering.  Worth sharing. 

It's these small slices of ordinary that we'll all look back on when we're older and I know that sometimes (oftentimes) I forget that.  It is easy for me to get caught up in things that aren't really all that important (in a big picture kind of way) and I need to be reminded every now and then to chill the hell out and enjoy each moment I'm blessed to have.

The poem below was written by one very, very talented Maya Stein.  She is officially one of my new favorite writers.  If you have a few minutes, a stopover at her site is a mighty fine idea.

I hope you have a 2010 worth sharing, remembering and living with the people you love most.  There is joy and value to be had in even the most simple of experiences and tasks. 

Happy New Year.

***

something for everyone

by Maya Stein

I want the water to fill your glass the moment
it sees your thirst.
I want the staircase to meet your footfalls.
I want the line to the freeway to move like breath.
I want the wind flattering your hairline, the rainshower
a welcome refreshment. I want the parking space to fit your car.
I want the birds on your back deck to warble in the exact way
they did during your childhood. I want the photographs
of all your holiday dinners buzzing with a certain unnamable
happiness. I want the dry cleaners to understand
your outrageous requests.
I want the man calling your house to survey
your thoughts on phone companies to remember
the evening is precious as silk. I want your new jeans to not
come undone in the wash. I want snow to land on your eyelashes
like it does in the movies, an etheric, slow-moving kiss.
I want a letter to arrive the moment
you feel most unwelcome of your own company.
I want the scent of lemons in the air. I want the power lines
overshadowed by the view your neighborhood offers at twilight.
I want the downtown ice rink to keep your fantasies aloft.
I want the moon to articulate your most punishing silence.
I want the willow tree revived and teeming, the broken daisies
resurrected and obstinate with brightness.
I want the labyrinth of what ifs narrowed
to a single, poignant sentence.
I want the tulips to be wild as clover, as fog, as good intentions.
I want your heart to cut through its own brutality,
for your body to see everything about you that’s beautiful.
I want love to come at you in thick pats of butter,
in strands of spun sugar, heavy and light as cream.
I want it to bathe your skin until you are nothing
but forgiveness, until your shadows have disappeared,
until all of your perfect right angles have collapsed,
until you are a curve of a curve,
and your hands slide forward and open
and are able, at last, to feel everything.

I wasn't dreaming of a white Christmas, but I got one anyway

It started out innocently enough. They said it was going to get cold and rain. Then, this morning?  They said it was gonna SNOW!  1-3" of SNOW!  WOW!

It started snowing at 10 am and didn't stop until 6 pm.  In that time we went to Dallas for a family event then trudged 30 miles back across town to open presents with my family.  Here I am la-di-dah'ing and taking pictures of myself in the car on the way over, with NO SNOW on the ground behind me.

Here are Chris and Claire at the Christmas party.  Is there any freaking doubt in your mind that these two are related? 

And dudes.  There was serious-for-Texas SNOW when we were driving back.  It was blowing parallel to the ground and, much to my surprise, starting to stick.

Claire fell asleep on the 90 minute (usually takes 40 minutes) drive home.  YAY.  What a good baby.

If you don't live in Texas, let me educate you on how we handle snow.  We freak the flip out.  We can't drive.  We shut down the city, cancel Christmas Eve services, and stay home with our eyes glued to the window, unable to believe that there's freaking SNOW in Texas.

SNOW!  OMG OMG OMG SNOW!

The fun is always short-lived.  See, it rarely stays snowy.  Usually we hover right about freezing and we end up getting a lovely product called "Wintry Mix."  Since it never drops to a respectable 20 degrees, it's really hard for it to KEEP snowing at/above/about 32 degrees. 

It's sleet and rain and snow and maybe some freezing rain.  At the end of the day when it's been raining/snowing off and on, once the sun goes down and the temperature drops to juuuuuust below freezing it coats roads with a thin, glasssy, slicker-than-snot layer of ice.

That's really when people here start to panic.

Tonight, after all of the presents were opened and pie had been eaten, my parents and grandparents loaded up the Suburban to head 20 miles south to my grandparent's home for the evening.  They traveled about a half mile in 45 minutes.  My mom called and I made them a reservation at the Marriott another 1/2 mile down the road. 

It took them TWO AND A HALF HOURS to travel ONE MEASLY MILE to the Marriott.

On Christmas Eve.

I feel terrible that my parents and grandparents are holed up in the Marriott without pajamas, toiletries or anything really, while we all sit snug and happy here at the house, just a mile down an icy road.

I don't know about you, but I'm starting to think a White Christmas isn't all it's cracked up to be.

***

I hope that everyone has a fantastic day tomorrow and that Santa has you on his "nice" list.  Eat a lot of pie!  Drink a log of eggnog!  Hold your loved ones close and tell them they mean everything to you.

Please also have a giggle at the gift that my dear brother selected for Claire.  It's a copy of "Radicals for Capitalism: A Freewheeling History of the Modern American Libertarian Movement."  He says you can't get them started too early on the right path.

I'm tired of feeling bad about myself.

I told myself that I would open up this window and write and see if at the end I felt better about myself.

Because I do not feel good about myself right now.  I feel stressed and like I'm a little bit of a failure and a bad person.  I feel like I should probably be taking blood pressure medication.  I feel like I need to go to the spa and CHILLAX and stop guilt-tripping myself about the fact that I am not Super Woman and I can't Do It All and I shouldn't have ever started out trying because HELLO UNREALISTIC EXPECTATIONS.

I feel like house buying and selling is too much of a project for me to handle on top of the holidays, on top of being a working mother, on top of managing a household, on top of being a wife and on top of retaining some small sliver of self and personal time for little old A'Dell.

First of all, I am pretty fiscally conservative.  This is not to be confused with being cheap.  I simply mean that I am rather uncomfortable spending large amounts of money and I'd always rather save a chunk of change than blow it on something shiny.  Buying and selling homes deals with writing checks with a lot of zeros and, well, that gives me nervous tummy.  Just the idea of parting with that much money makes me freak out.

I am also afraid (very, very afraid) of buying the wrong house that we'll end up not loving 6 weeks after closing.  Or buying a house with weirdos next door or a house with Chinese drywall that makes us sick.  Or maybe buying a house that somehow bankrupts us and makes us get divorced like Tom Hanks and that blonde (Shelly something?) in The Money Pit.  The thing is, you don't know what in the heck someone else has done to it.  You just have to trust them that they haven't ruined it and just made it look ok for purchase. 

And then you give them a lot of money for granting them this trust!  I don't trust them!  How can I possibly trust these people that I don't know?!

What it comes down to is control.  Of course.  All of my "issues" have to do with control and how I need to be in control of situations to feel most comfortable.  This presents a problem with the current set of events. 

I can't control the history of the house we buy and I can't control which houses are available for sale.  I can't control how much someone will accept for one of them, what day we move, when OUR house sells, whether people will be honest or not....LOTS OF GAPS IN CONTROL HERE PEOPLE.

I just keep thinking that the simplest thing to do is stay put.  Stay in this house that we love, in this home that we have made together and just...deal with its shortcomings.  But that means we have to keep living in the Super Sticks, 45 minutes from town, 15 minutes from the nearest grocery store and...I can't do that for the rest of my life.  I want to live somewhere that they deliver sushi.  I want to live somewhere that people will actually come visit me at.  I want to live somewhere with a linen closet.

Another thing is that I'm tired of feeling bad about is wanting those things.  Really, I am.  I am tired of feeling guilty about being a successful adult in America who wants a freaking bigger house to have dinner parties at one day and a dedicated room for storing folded towels.  Nobody is making snide comments, but every night when I watch Brian Williams I get this feeling that I'm in the minority and there aren't that many Successful Adults With Their Shit Together out there. 

I also get the idea that the President is probably going to tax the crap out of me next year to punish me for being a Successful Adult.  I am tired, SO TIRED, of having the press, government and some loud-mouthed people on the street try to make me feel BAD about being a Successful Adult.  It's as if I DESERVE to have to give up more of my income because my success, hard work and responsible nature is something that merits punishment.  And that really makes me mad too.  I don't want to be punished for being successful.  I want a linen closet.  ME AND MY TOWELS DESERVE ONE.

And the holidays.  Oh my hell, the holidays.  BAH HUMBUG.  I could really give a flying crap about Christmas this year.  I have too much to do, not enough time to concentrate on it to get it done well and Christmas is IN MY WAY. 

Christmas is busying up Wal-Mart so I can't grocery shop.  Christmas is making my favorite shopping center crowded so I can't park to get enchiladas with my work buddy at lunch.  Christmas is making me stress out about gifts that I have to buy that nobody really wants.  Christmas is making me travel when I want to stay home in my pajamas.  Christmas is making me feel bad about myself because I haven't done anything tradition-y with Claire and we haven't even gone to look at lights or hang stockings. 

Christmas makes me feel ungrateful for the good things in my life.  It makes me think I'm an bad person.  So, yeah.  Not feeling the proverbial Christmas Spirit this year. 

And that also makes me feel bad about myself.  Just throw it on the pile.

Merry Christmas!

I haven't sent out my Christmas Cards yet (even though they're all addressed and stamped and ready to be taken to the post office), so this is going to be a spoiler for those of you in my address book but...eh.

Merry Christmas to everyone!  I hope that your holiday is filled with laughter, pie, smiles and lots of hot chocolate with Bailey's.  I hope that you wake up Christmas morning surrounded by the people you love most.  I hope that 2009 was a great year, but I know that 2010 will be your best year ever. 

Lots of love,

Chris, A'Dell and Claire

I got married! Three years ago! Ish!

I feel like I've been looking at and reading about all kinds of gorgeous weddings in my reader these days. 

Of course, there was Holly's incredible wedding which the entire internet must know about by now because it was THAT FREAKING GORGEOUS.

Then there was this unreal Indian wedding that showed up in my Twitter feed and goshdarnit I spent about an hour drooling over those photos and wishing that I had married some awesome Indian man so that I could have had henna on my hands and feet and oh look she wore a ball gown at the reception and not a fluffy white dress - yougogirl stick it to the wedding dress industry with their thousands-of-dollars-dresses you wear for 5 hours.

SIGH. I love weddings.

Then I realized that hey!  I had a pretty awesome wedding too!  I also didn't have a blog at the time so I didn't get to share the photos with any of my internet friends.  I didn't even HAVE any internet friends back then. 

We got married in Maui in 2006.  I'm not even sure how we even agreed that we wanted a destination wedding.  Getting married at home wasn't something we considered for even a day. We knew that we loved Maui and it sounded like a really awesome idea to get married there.  So, we did. 

One thing you should know about the planning process is that I bought three wedding dresses.  That is not a typographical error.  THREE.  Now, it's not like I bought three $2,500 dresses or anything.  I bought the first two at this bargain basement dress clearance center in scary-ghetto-Dallas and I think we spent less than $500 for both of them.  The only reason I bought them is I felt pressured - you know, bargain basement price, there aren't any extras, my mom and I might have been a little overexcited about the whole situation...Anyway, those two dresses weren't The Dress.

The Dress was found crumpled up in a pile in the back of the clearance rack at David's Bridal in Austin.  When I walked into David's Bridal I thought, "Ew.  I do NOT want a dress from this place.  Just...EW."

But then I found The Dress I'd Been Dreaming About in a crumpled pile on sale for $499.  And just like that I turned into one of those people who says "You know, David's Bridal isn't so bad." 

We were married on a Wednesday in April, by a Hawaiian man named Kimo, with 24 of our closest and most beloved friends and family present.  It was amazing.  It was awesome.  It was the Best Day Ever, as any wedding day should be.  And now, picture overload.

I thought my shoes were fantastic. I found them at DSW the day I was having alterations done.  LOVE.  Big, big, big fan of the fun bridal shoe.

I did my own hair and make up, and I will not lie, it was kind of scary.  But, I didn't want to shell out big bucks for some random lady in Maui who might turn me into a lookalike from a soap opera.  I kept things pretty simple and left my hair down.  I bought all new make up after a refresher how-to at Neiman's.  Did it cost a lot?  Yeah.  But it was cheaper than hiring someone who might have screwed it up.  (Or, so I rationalized.)  I was pretty happy with how it turned out, but as you can see, I was Very Serious about my hair that day.

I saw Chris before the wedding on total impulse and I am so glad I did because our photographer took one of my favorite photos from the day at that moment.

THEN we got married.  And it was awesome.  I cried.  About a third of the way through the ceremony I had a very clear moment where I thought, "Oh wait. This is really beautiful. I SHOULD HAVE HIRED A VIDEOGRAPHER DAMMIT." Oh well.

My best friend was my only attendant.  I told her to go buy a dress she liked.  Really, that was the whole conversation.  She found one on sale at J Crew. I thought it looked awesome.

Here's Kimo, the guy who married us. At one point I remember looking down and noticing that he was not wearing shoes.  Huh.

 We took pictures on the beach while everyone else enjoyed the sunset and a cocktail hour.

 

 

We had a lovely evening under the stars on a lawn with tiki torches.  I remember not eating very much and only drinking white wine out of complete fear that red wine would end up on my dress. We visited and ate cake (which a cat tried to eat, so for most of the reception it was in the fridge. It only came out when it was time to cut it.  At one point I turned around and was like OMG WHERE IS THE CAKE?).

 

 It was over way too soon.  But oh man, was it the Best Day Ever.

 

A little bit of this, a little bit of that

I love Sunday mornings.  We're watching the news, Claire is playing with a dishtowel, Chris made us both coffee and we're deciding if we want to run up to the kolache shop or make pancakes.  It's cold today, about 39, and the sky is the sort of pale gray color that gives you permission to wear your pajamas long past lunch time.

Of course, we won't be doing that.  We'll be getting dressed and cleaning up and doing something really, really stupid today: willingly walk into the doors of Costco.  On a Sunday.  Send prayers.

I have just a few things (it always starts with "just a few things," doesn't it?) that I need to get, that I've been TRYING to get for a week.  You know, DURING the week when Costco is only 70% Batshit Crazy instead of the 100% that it is on weekends.  Nothing makes me lose my temper faster than those people who go Sunday Driving through the aisles of Costco and block the entire main thoroughfare with those giant carts when I just need to pop in.  ARGH.

***

We need to go buy Claire some shoes.  She only has one pair of shoes (Pedipeds) and while they are great, they aren't exactly winter weather footwear.  The sole is pretty thin, they're Mary-Jane style and not very warm.

We're journeying to Iowa next weekend to visit family.  I suspect it will be Actual Serious Winter up there.  You know, with snow. 

If you live in a place where it snows more than once a year, and the snow actually sticks and accumulates and maybe you have to shovel it (the horror, I cannot imagine) can you recommend some footwear?  That is not expensive?  And is readily available at a local shop or the internet? 

***

Chris is from Iowa and we are going to visit them.  Well, as long as there isn't any visible precipitation next Friday we're going.  Our little tiny airplane isn't rated to fly in conditions that may potentially lead to ice.  But, assuming it's ok, this should be a tidy little trip.

It will take 4 hours to fly up there, versus 10 to drive and 6 to fly commercial door-to-door. This will be our first BIG trip in the plane and we're really excited.  It's a trip that we wouldn't be able to take if we had to book it on American (too pricey at the last-minute in December) and we are the kind of people who would never ever consider driving. Plus, a 10-hour trek both ways would require us to take vacation days.

Claire has only been in the plane for 90 minutes at a time, so this will definitely test her limits.  We're going to stop in Wichita for lunch and to have a little break.  I think it's going to be marvelous. 

It feels so great to be in control of our travel like this.  We can leave when we want, stop when we want, even make a detour to Graceland if we feel The King calling to us.  It's such a different way to approach going places and I love it. 

There's no security: we can keep our shoes on and I can take as many bottles of water as I want.  Our teensy regional airport is about ten minutes from the house, so it's literally get in the car, load up the plane, hit the runway and get going at about 250 miles per hour.   

***

Yesterday Claire kept pointing at the fruit bowl and urgently saying, "na-na."  So, of course, I gave her a banana and she got really mad at me because that is NOT what she wanted.  DUH MOMMY.  Turns out that she wanted a Clementine orange.  She ate THREE of the suckers last night for dinner, two at lunch and then another one for breakfast this morning.  I feel that she's protected from Scurvy for a while.  Parenting Win of the 17th Century.  SCORE!

Today at breakfast she pointed at the fruit bowl again, but this time said, "a-nana."  (And YES.  It sounded TOTALLY DIFFERENT than "na-na.")  She wanted a banana, we gave it to her and she ate the whole thing plus the orange and a container of yogurt.  She said "a-nana" a couple more times.

It's kind of cool to see her language skills developing like this.  It's also probably a signal that it's time for me to stop saying SHIT! so much.

I'm not sure I can take Agony the Third, Fourth or Fifth.

Well guys, there is a sign in my yard and the house is officially for sale.

It's been spruced up, tidied up and, well, I think it looks great. Really, I do.  The toys are put away, there's a very attractive bowl of fruit on the table and for the twelve seconds each day that the house is "ready" I feel rested, relaxed and like this is all going to work out in a jiffy.  I think ridiculous thoughts like, "I'll have my fancy-ass First World linen closet by Christmas!"

Then Claire dumps a box of Cheerios on the floor or we decide we'd like to use our kitchen to prepare an actual meal.  Or maybe someone has the gall to want to change clothes and create actual dirty laundry.  That's all it takes for me to lose my shit.

Yep, just a few simple acts over a span of moments will elevate my heart rate and make me drop what I'm doing to CLEAN UP OMG CLEAN UP ASAP!

I start to stress that someone will call and want to show the house in a half hour and it won't be "ready."

What if someone calls when I'm in the shower?  And maybe I'm taking a long and leisurely shower (you know, the kind I haven't taken since BEFORE I had a baby), WHAT THEN?!?!  Yesterday, I took my iPhone INTO THE SHOWER with me just in case someone called while I was shaving my legs.  That is when the full-on Batshit Crazy of what we've signed up for hit me.

OMG WE CANNOT EAT, PLAY OR GET DRESSED HERE ANY MORE.  Chris, we are moving to the Marriott for the duration of this exercise.  And we're going to the nice one that I like downtown.  Not the crappy one by the racetrack. 

We're really doing this aren't we?  We are going to sell this house and buy a different one with a linen closet and I will finally have a place to put my towels and sheets in proper and orderly First World, spoiled American fashion. 

Then I will have a cigarette and a vodka gimlet, because I have morphed into Betty Draper since I'm actually daydreaming about a place to store folded towels, sheets and table cloths.

It better be one hell of a linen closet.

Agony the First: Making the house look like a toddler doesn't live here

We didn't do anything dramatic really.  We took down every single photo and/or personal item and every surface in the house is bare except for a few lamps.  I replaced the happy family photos on the wall with flower shots I took at the Botanic Gardens. 

I painted all the places on the wall that have been blessed by Claire.  In the process, I discovered that the walls have faded over ten years and the "matched" paint doesn't really match.  I figured this out the next day after I had spot painted THE ENTIRE HOUSE.  Oops.

I also took about half of the contents of our closet to storage and 5 other SUV-loads of random miscellany that we can't seem to life without.  I boxed it up and Chris did the heavy lifting over 5 or 6 nights.  I scrubbed a bit here and there, went over almost every surface in the house with a box of magic erasers, had Chris do a serious mow/edge and called it done.  

I have to say, the efforts of a week of hurried activity have produced noticeable results.  The closets look bigger and so do the rooms.  (It has affirmed my notion that we absolutely, positively do not need any more material things in our life.)  I think the house will show well.

We don't have any doilies, wallpaper from the 80's, hideous paint jobs, collections of angels/crosses, or other eyesores that might be called "Shabby Chic," Country Chic," or "Early 90's navy/burgundy/hunter green thematics." In other words, we are normal and pretty current/contemporary.

(Compared to some of the houses I've been looking at in our neighborhood, HOO BOY could we ever win a contest at Normal.)

Even though it was a lot of work to cram into a week of evenings after bedtime, the crap thing is that the worst is ahead of us.  KEEPING it looking like this is impossible.  IMPOSSIBLE!  I spent 20 minutes running around before I left this morning to get the house perfect, and then nobody even came by to visit today.  I was kind of pissed!

How do people put up with this for months and months?  I have my heart set on a quick sell.  If this takes more than a month?  I might have Magic Eraser'd my brain away by then.

Agony the Second:  Hire a Realtor or Sell it Ourselves?

I really spent too much time thinking about this. I was in pains over the topic for about two weeks.  It occupied my thoughts constantly. 

As a basic concept, I have such a huge problem paying a percentage of sale price to an agent.  It's too big of a moving target for a flat quantity of labor.  If the house sells for $10 or $15 there's still the same amount of basic work involved.  I'm not so sure that a $10 house takes more time to sell than a $15 house.  It should cost what it costs.  It's a service: I want to be provided with a firm estimate and it's frustrating that I can't get one.

(Obvs I am making up some figures here in the interest of simplicity.  We are not selling the house for ten dollars.  PHEW.)

I would much rather pay for someone's time on an hourly basis (even at a high rate).  I feel like I know exactly what I'm paying for that way and if feels like a much more equitable compensation model.  It's transparent.

On the other hand, selling it ourselves sounds like a huge pain in the ass.  There's research to be done, photos to take, upload and maintain and showings and follow ups and blah blah blah.  I can't seem to find time to upload my photos to Flickr so I don't know where I thought I was going to invent the time for this.  I have to be a good employee, mother and wife every single day without fail.  I cannot be a Real Estate Agent in my non-existent spare time. 

Waffling back in the other direction, we could save a truckload of money.  That would be very, you know, uppity of us, right?  To tell the Real Estate Establishment what we think of their System and Policies and Customs?  We don't agree with it so we just won't play that game.  Nanny-nanny-boo-boo! We're keeping our 6% and you can just shut up about it!

Right?  Right???

In the end, I wasn't sure what to do.  Chris told me that he knew I could sell it, but he didn't think I had the time.  He was just as spooled up about the concept as I was and we kept feeding off of each other's ire.

We hired a realtor.  We had a moment of clarity where it occurred to us that we'd spent the better part of almost TWO WEEKS endlessly debating the topic back and forth with no conclusion.  We'd already spent more time thinking about it than it was actually worth in hard dollars. 

I made the call, we signed some contracts and a photographer and sign showed up that same day.  Ta da.  House for sale.

So far, I think we made the right decision.  Their pictures are light years better than mine.  They sent a dude over here with a wide angle lens and he shot for like forty-five minutes. 

For example, here is MY picture of the kitchen taken with a point and shoot, crappy lighting, no special tweaking, just the "green means go" function:

And here is THEIR picture of the kitchen, with proper lighting, wide angle lens and slow exposure that makes it look more shiny and polished than it actually is:

 

Dudes, it doesn't even look like the same freaking room.  This is a shinier, more classy room than my kitchen.  Usually those counters are covered with sippy cups, keys, purses, Tupperware and anything else I've dragged in from the car.  That wide angle lens streeeeetches everything out and makes it look bigger.  The countertops are NOT that spacious.  For those of you who have been to my house before?  You know that my house DOES NOT LOOK THIS SHINY.

So, high hopes, crossed fingers, rubbing Buddha's belly...I hope this turns out to be a very good idea and not a terrible one.  WE SHALL SEE.

***

I feel the need to write some sort of standard disclaimer here, like yes, we really are aware of how privileged and lucky we are to be in the position of owning a home, with the option to sell it and buy a new one closer to town that has more space.  We are very thankful for the good things in our life, no matter how angsty or annoyed I may make this adventure sound.

7 quick takes

1.  After a lot of research, spreadsheet math, filling out of forms, cleaning, painting, removal of extra possessions, angst, frustration and excitement we decided to jump on the crazy train and sell the house.  (And, uh, buy a new one so we aren't out on the street.)

I'm excited to get to the end of this adventure where we're unpacked, have more space and everything is over.  The rest of this is just such a huge PITA.  More on it later (far more than you'll be interested in, I AM CERTAIN), but just know that getting this house ready to sell has consumed my life so much this week, I forgot that The Biggest Loser was on Tuesday and I didn't remember until this morning.

Now THAT is the definition of busy.

2.  Since we are selling Ye Olde Home, Jake is off to visit with my parents for the duration of this exercise.  We're taking him down to their house this afternoon and I have a feeling that Jake will feel as if it's a well-deserved vacation.  The last year has been rough on the poor animal.  When Claire arrived he was suddenly pushed to a very distant #2 and I'm ashamed to say that I don't pay him NEARLY enough attention.  He'll be happy with my folks for a few weeks.

(And don't even MENTION the possibility that this might take more than just a few weeks.)

3.  Since we're going to sell the house I didn't put my Christmas Tree up yet and really?  I'm not sure we'll get that chance this year.  It might be just as well since Miss Grabby Hands would likely destroy it in the first five minutes.

4.  I've been making eggnog lattes at home this week and HOO BOY those are yummy.  You know you have a problem when your first conscious thought of the day is,

"Yay!  It's morning!  EGGNOG LATTE TIME!" 

Highly recommend.  I do two shots of espresso and 1/2 cup eggnog and 1/2 cup milk, foamed and frothed up.  If you go 100% 'nog it's way too rich.

5.  I have made Smitten Kitchen's salted brown butter crispy treats twice this week and I plan to make them again this weekend.  They are THAT GOOD, so simple and will vanish before your eyes.

6. My iPhone 2g has started to lock up a lot. I can't decide if it's just reaching the end of its natural life span or if I shouldn't have let Claire slam it on the kitchen floor as often.  I'm loathe, positively LOATHE, to buy a new iPhone since I paid big bucks for this one and expected it to last more than a measly two years.  But that's the crap thing about technology gizmos, right?  They advance so quickly that you're quickly lapped several times over again.

7.  Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is someone to buy my little house with no linen closet in the sticks.   Love, A'Dell

Texas Aggie Bonfire 1999

10 years ago at 2:42 am Texas Aggie Bonfire fell.  I was a sophomore.

It twisted in a nightmarish pile of logs that were tied together.  The logs were on top of the students.  Students were trapped in the logs.  It was horrific and shocking.  It took hours to rescue them.  12 students died.

This is Tim Kerlee.  He directed workers to at least 5 other students before allowing them to help him.   He did not survive and was, by all accounts, an amazing young man.  Look carefully at his legs; they're not in a normal position. 

It's a really painful picture for me to look at, even a decade later, and I'm only posting it to give you a grasp of the scale and reality of the scene.

It was horrible.  The day was horrible and the weeks that followed were awful.  We were a dazed student body. 

***

When I was at school there were 2 types of students: those who were REALLY REALLY into Bonfire and those who planned to watch it burn.  The REALLY REALLY group had t-shirts that said things like, "Up on Stack all night...test at 8 am." 

That's what they actually did: they stayed up ALL NIGHT stacking logs on the Polo field and then went to class at 8 am in their dirty overalls and Carhartt jackets, reeking of cigarettes and Copenhagen, took the test and then went back out to stack.  The Bonfire guys were an unofficial fraternity that had many layers of unique traditions.  They formed friendships for a lifetime out there. 

The other group loved Bonfire, but we preferred not to get our hands dirty.  In any case, it's fair to say that there were only a small handful of hippie students who piteously worried about the poor trees and the rest of us loved the ever living hell out of Bonfire for a variety of reasons.

When Bonfire fell it was sort of this watershed moment for the University.  We knew that the school would never be the same; there was a level of enthusiasm, spirit and camaraderie that Bonfire created for us, that nothing else could replace.  We knew that after such an accident there was no way the University could allow the activity to continue on campus.

And so Bonfire just...ended.  It was there and then it wasn't.  It was strange.  It was this fall ritual that a lot of activities and traditions were built on and then POOF.  It simply vanished and we sort of didn't know what to do with ourselves to achieve that same level of excitement and activity. 

People tried to continue.  The traditions with odd names like Elephant Walk, Yellow Pot, Red Pot, Pass-Down, Crew Chief, Grode and Replant carried on.  It was strange though because these traditions were predicated on Bonfire and without Bonfire it felt weird continuing to follow through the motions.

And so, as traditions are wont to do when their purpose becomes unclear to their new keepers, the old ways and rituals and purposes gradually faded.  Some are gone.  And some probably have a new stated purpose that has nothing to do with Bonfire.

Bonfire truly was an impressive event and it's tragic that the story ended this way.  I only ever saw one burn - 1998.  I so would have loved for it to be all stacked up this week, ready to burn next. 

***

The Last Corps Trip

By P.H. DuVal Jr. '51

It was Judgment Day in Aggieland

And tenseness filled the air;
All knew there was a trip at hand,
But not a soul knew where.

Assembled on the drill field
Was the world-renowned Twelfth Man,
The entire fighting Aggie team
And the famous Aggie Band.

And out in front with Royal Guard
The reviewing party stood;
St. Peter and his angel staff
Were choosing bad from good.

First he surveyed the Aggie team
And in terms of an angel swore,
“By Jove, I do believe I’ve seen
This gallant group before.

I’ve seen them play since way back when,
And they’ve always had the grit;
I’ve seen ‘em lose and I’ve seen ‘em win,
But I’ve never seen ‘em quit.

No need for us to tarry here
Deciding upon their fates;
Tis plain as the halo on my head
That they’ve opened Heaven’s gates.”

And when the Twelfth Man heard this,
They let out a mighty yell
That echoed clear to Heaven
and shook the gates of Hell.

“And what group is this upon the side,”
St. Peter asked his aide,
“That swelled as if to burst with pride

When we our judgment made?”

 “Why, sir, that’s the Cadet Corps
That’s known both far and wide
For backing up their fighting team
Whether they won, lost or tied.”

“Well, then,” said St. Peter,
“It’s very plain to me
That within the realms of Heaven
They should spend eternity.

And have the Texas Aggie Band
At once commence to play
For their fates too we must decide
Upon this crucial day.”

And the drum major so hearing
Slowly raised his hand
And said, “Boys, let’s play The Spirit
For the last time in Aggieland.”

And the band poured forth the anthem
In notes both bright and clear
And ten thousand Aggie voices
Sang the song they hold so dear.

And when the band had finished,
St. Peter wiped his eyes
And said, “It’s not so hard to see
They’re meant for Paradise.”

And the colonel of the Cadet Corps said
As he stiffly took his stand,
“It’s just another Corps Trip, boys,
We’ll march in behind the band.” 

All I have to offer is a simple thank you. Somehow, it never feels like enough though.

At 4:38 pm on January 17, 1991 , I was wandering the halls of my elementary school in California, impatiently waiting for my mother to finish her after-school duties.  I was eager to go home and and dig into the candy drawer for a Little Debbie Nutty Buddy. 

I was in sixth grade, Mom taught fifth and my brother was in fourth.  We spent a lot of time at school that year.

For some reason I had wandered up to the front desk and a radio was on.  (A radio!  Ha!  Remember when we used to get news from the radio?)  I don't remember anyone else being there.  Maybe there were other adults or my brother, maybe even my mom.  I can't picture them though.

The voice was telling us something that we'd all known was going to happen.  I think the way he phrased it was something like,

"Well, we're really at war now folks.  It's started.  It's official.  War..."

War.  His voice was heavy with concern and anticipation.  I briefly wondered if our family was going to plant a Victory Garden, like I'd seen the families in my textbooks do.

I remember standing there and thinking,

"Oh.  This is kind of a big deal.  And my Dad is probably going to war.  My dad is going to war.  AAAUUUGHHH MY DAD IS GOING TO WAAAAARRRRRRR."

I was pretty freaked out.

The last military engagement authorized by Congress had been Vietnam.  The Korean War ended in 1953.  In 1991, we had not kicked Saddam Hussien's ass even once yet. The limited context I had wasn't very positive.

It would be later that evening or maybe the next day before we saw missiles light up the Iraqi sky like fireworks on CNN.  It would be several more days before everyone started to make jokes about how much Iraqi ass our military was kicking.

Point being, on January 17, 1991 it had been a while since widespread scary shit had happened to the Marines.  But all of the previous scary shit from WWII, Vietnam and Korea had made its way into my textbooks in all of the 4-color glory that McGraw-Hill could get the State of California to sign off on. 

It wasn't gory but, you know, message received: War is some scary shit, it'll last a long time and a lot of people will probably die.

At least, that's what my 12-year-old brain got out of it.  Up until that point, I'd never really considered that my father might actually see combat during his tenure in the Marine Corps.  I'd never had any reason to think otherwise.

Besides a lack of recent war, January 17, 1991 was before the modern day crazies and terrorists started showing up.  It was before Columbine, Oklahoma City, September 11, Virginia Tech and the horror that happened just days ago at Ft. Hood. 

Can you even remember what it was like to feel insulated like I did in 1991?  Can you recall what it felt like to not be on edge and wonder about that freaky dude you just saw?  Do you remember a time when you thought everything was gonna be ok - no matter what? 

Sure, I was young and naive, but compared to today's 12-year old?  I might as well have had the worldview of Bubble Girl.  There was no internet.  We didn't have cable.  I wasn't allowed to watch PG-13 movies (As my mother so pointedly reminded me, I was not 13 yet.)  War-wise, life had been good in the United States for a while in 1991.  

War, an official, real WAR felt very disconcerting to pre-teen me.

I often toggle between my 12-year-old self and my 30-year-old self when I hear people, the media and politicians talk about our current war.  What I often consider is that it hasn't been 8 years; it's really been 18.  Our troops and their families have been invested in this for 18 years - long enough to turn a newborn into a college freshman.

That's an awful lot of troops and families to thank today for their recent service, in addition to those who have served in the past.  Thank you.

***

My father was deployed from May 1990 to March 1991. He was supposed to go to Okinawa for 6 months but that didn't really play out as planned.

In July he performed rescue operations in Manila after a 7.7 magnitude earthquake.  He assisted primarily at Christian College, where a six-story building completely collapsed and approximately 250 students and teachers were trapped inside. 

Nope, no cell phones.

He was in Saudi Arabia by January 1991 and led ground combat operations as part of Task Force Grizzly. 

Their mission was to be a foot-mobile infiltration force tasked with breaching enemy minefields.  This means they spent a lot of time walking, in the desert, with a full pack, sleeping in holes and trying not to step on mines.

The sign says, "Better Holes and Gardens, Hole of the Month." 

They made their jokes where they could.

They covered approximately 45 miles, carrying a combat load, over eight days.  They took 68 prisoners of war when an entire company of Iraqis surrendered to them.  When it was time to come home, two Marines had been killed in action and 14 wounded.  A very detailed description of the entire mission can be found here.

When he finally came home, safe and sound, in March 1991 it took all day for the battalion to make the few hours drive back to the base.  We thought they'd be there by lunch but it was long after dark when they arrived. 

The cause of the massive delay?  The highway between the base and airport was jammed with joyful, thankful, ebullient people who reached into the bus to shake their hands and say thank you.  FOR MILES AND MILES.

These thankful people passed buckets of fried chicken, cases of beer, bags of potato chips, dozens of cookies and whole cakes into the buses for the Marines.  Keep in mind that they had been in the desert for months with no television, internet or newspapers, fighting a war on foot.  They had no idea what the mood was at home or how they would be received upon their return. 

To say they were surprised by the reception would be a massive understatement.

***

I know that almost every family has a service member they're proud of.  As the great military tradition in this country continues, there are very few families out there who don't have a somebody deserving of great thanks and respect on this Veteran's Day.

It's just that I am so privileged to claim him as our Marine. 

Thank you, Dad.  Thanks for spending your career, the prime of your life, working to save and better the lives of so many people who may never know the freedoms that I do, but are perhaps a little bit closer after you crossed their path. 

Thank you.