format cells

Under the buzz of weary fluorescent lighting and over the "stand-up" station cubicle dividers someone business-professional-ly hollered, "Don't be a stranger."

I looked to the bright yellow flowers of the potted plant sitting on my desk, an empty thank you! notice conspicuously sticking out of the dirt, then down at the bar coded sticker that still remained on the over sized yellow (and loud) cellophane wrapped around the plastic pot. "How do I reply to that?"

"OK." managed to stumble out of my mouth just to end an awkward silence that, in a world of Excel sheets and deadlines, seemed to be going on for too long. She was busy, I could tell, because she's always busy. That and because she was hollering at me from over the divider where I could barely see the top of her head, maybe even the rims of her glasses. It takes all of two seconds to come around to where I sit.

So, I stopped working for a minute to add onto my rubber band ball and to think. What does that phrase even mean?

I didn't come to any kind of conclusion but apparently I have agreed to "not be a stranger".

I hope I succeed.

taggerty

Ok, I admit it...

I've been hiding behind the facade that I understand how "tag"-ing works in the world of blogs.

The truth is, I don't.

If it has anything to do with the process of picking recess soccer teams during elementary school then I doubly don't know how it works.

But I'm glad I have friends that do.

So here goes.

Six Random Things About Yourself

1. I eat and enjoy condiment sandwiches.
2. Apparently, I have an accent that no one can place.
3. Mayonnaise.... bleh.
4. "Groceries" is a difficult word to say.
5. I saw a solar eclipse once when I was younger, you know, through a pinhole in a 3x5 card. Neat. I'm waiting for the next one.
6. The Mustard Museum is actually a store... not a museum. Oh, that's not about me, but it's a useful piece of information nonetheless.

good sleepin' weather

I recently admitted to myself that I have quite an interest in the weather.

I constantly think about the weather and what the weather is like in different places.

When I talk to my family on the phone (many of them scattered about the country) I find it difficult to fight the urge to ask them right off the bat, "What's the weather like out there?"

I also fight the urge, unsuccessfully, to tell others what the weather is like where I am standing.

For example, yesterday the average temperature was 75 degrees Fahrenheit, partly cloudy (but big cumulus clouds) with little humidity. Cool enough to wear a cardigan but sunny enough to get a tan (not that I would know). Pleasant evening weather and even better weather for sleeping. Yeah, that's right, good sleeping weather.

I had a whole conversation with someone I recently met about the different weather experienced on Halloween day. After all, isn't that one of the days it matters most? I mean, I've gone through all sorts: dressing up like Lucille Ball only to have to wear a parka leaving people to guess what the crazy hair and lipstick meant, walking around with two pieces of soggy poster board after it rained and the Three of Spades became a stick of human licorice carrying two soggy pieces of poster board, and happily skipping through a cool autumn breeze as a pencil where the weather wasn't a hindrance... but rather being able to get over a curb due to a costume deficiency and limited range of motion in my knees... oh, that and everyone thought I was the Tin Man... come on people.

So, now I'm curious... what's the weather like where you are?

Or better yet, any good Halloween weather stories?

July 24th.

I always look forward to this day with anticipation. It's that extra bit of celebration you feel cheated out of on the 4th of July. You know, when you think, "Did we really go through all of our fireworks? That was it? Hmmm. That didn't seem like much. Thank goodness for the 24th."

Ok, so maybe that's just me.

Still, I love that we have yet another reason to celebrate. Thank you Pioneers. I'm sure you had my love of pyrotechnics in mind when you traveled across the country battling disease, hunger, freezing temperatures, and other misfortunes.

There was only one problem this year. You'll have to come close to the computer so I can whisper it in your ear...

Wisconsin doesn't know.

I know! How embarrassing, right?

Still, we made what we could of it and went to a nearby state park to eat impromptu hamburgers and strawberries and honey. We were the only people at the lake for the majority of the evening while we constructed a sand castle out of freshly imported sand they haul in to make a small beach. For a few minutes we were joined by two gray-haired men who discussed buying estates and "taking up flying". They asked us if we were making a replica of the Taj Mahal. I guess it did look a bit like it from afar.

And even though Wisconsin somehow doesn't know that July 24th is a holiday, it sure turned out a beautiful day despite its ignorance. Perhaps it knows deep down, "Hey, I think people should celebrate today."

thus far: 2nd Edition

Wisconsin is kind of like an old Honda. It just keeps on giving.

Three more things I like about Wisconsin.

Governor Dodge State Park

or just, "Governor Dodge" as I've heard many times

these crazy mushrooms

strawberry picking at Bures Berry Patch

to be continued...

rhyming is fun, so says Mayor Ben

I admit that it isn't rare for me to break out in song.

And before you get the wrong idea, I'm not talking about the hey-look-at-me-I-could-have-been-in-our-school's-musical-if-I-wanted-to kind of breaking out in song, but rather, songs often come to my mind and when they do, well, I sing them.

I'm sure this isn't unusual, and only rarely has it been inconvenient bordering on embarrassing (I could have accidentally hummed an Enya song in the library during finals week... I might have... but at least it was Enya, right? Soothing while you're studying. My thinking exactly).

Anyhow, yesterday, for some reason this song came to my mind. Usually, I sing the song until I can't remember the words (or don't know them) so naturally, I thought this song would yield the same results.

So I kept singing.

And I didn't find a place to stop.

And by golly, I knew every word!

It goes thusly (not a word, kind of):

Every up,

Every one in,

Time for the fun to begin!

Come along with us to

[Chorus]

Zoobilee Zoo

Zoobilee Zoo

Magic and wonder are waiting for you.

It's as close as a dream

And as bright as the brightest blue!

Welcome to Zoobilee Zoo!

Let's introduce the Zoobles to you:

I'm Mayor Ben, I'm here

To lend a helping hand.

I'm Bill the Beaver,

I invent things on command.

There's daring and adventure

When Lookout comes to call.

And a Kangaroo named Wazzat!

Can put music to it all.

My name is Van Go,

Just color me fine.

And you will say Bravo

Once the show has begun.

Everyone! Spread the news,

There's so much to see and do.

Just see Cockatoo

When you're in Zoobilee Zoo.

[Chorus]

Apparently it's actually Bill Der Beaver, and I think Van Go (correct spelling, I think) really says, "...color me fun" but still! This song comes back to me about every four years or so. And the show was so crazy.

I mean, it had the likes of Ben Vereen in it, who I remember from our fifth grade viewing of Roots, as Mayor Ben. And I think the actor who played Wazzat (who I couldn't stand) has her own Wikipedia page which means she probably has some sort of career beyond crazy kids shows produced in the mid-80's.

Ah, thank goodness for PBS.

click here for a poor quality YouTube rendition of the Zoolilee Zoo opening song

you're in our town when:

Monday night seems to be hooligan night.

Around 7pm they come out it droves yelling "Hey!" to any passers-by followed by artificial teenage guffaws. Quiet Monday night walks down main street are now Tuesday night walks.

And,

Twelve year-old "Floyd" pulls his eight year old brother in a small trailer behind the family riding lawnmower.

When you get here and you recognize the signs... stop on in. You've got a friend in this town.

involution:

-noun

1. an act or instance of involving or entangling; involvement.
2. the state of being involved.
3. something complicated.
4. Botany, Zoology.
a. a rolling up or folding in upon itself.
b. a part so formed.
5. Biology. retrograde development; degeneration.
6. Physiology. the regressive changes in the body occurring with old age.
7. Grammar. a complex construction in which the subject is separated from its predicate by intervening clauses or phrases.
8. Mathematics. a function that is its own inverse.

"the road to the post office seemed long..."

What happened to writing pen and ink letters?



I mean, I understand that methods like email, gmail chatting, and text messaging are so much faster; I understand why those forms of communication might be beneficial, don't get me wrong.



But there are things I miss in them. The handwriting, the crossed out mistakes, the misspellings, the different kinds of paper, the different kinds of ink, the seal I have to break open to read it, or the seal I have to secure before I send it, the address--both addresses, actually--that somehow get the thing where it is supposed to go, the time I have to wait before I can expect another, the black smeary stuff the post office marks it with, and the stamp.



My sister used to write letters diagonally on the page. My brother skipped every other line. My dad did the same only in his wonderful left-handed, uppercase scrawl.



And my mom wrote perfectly, usually without the help of prefabricated lines. Each row of writing precisely parallel to the next and to the top and bottom of the page. Her straightforward cursive was easy and calming to read. And her closing often contained some form or other of a practical and practiced heart... or many hearts as the moment might have moved her.



Handwritten letters are great in so many ways.
So, where did they go?

thus far

My Three Favorite Wisconsin Things: Thus Far

sea star fossil in the capital steps

the Cripple Creek Cloggers; sharing their talents since 1982

the views

to be continued...

the tornado warning sounds everyday at noon

things I was told and should have believed but didn't:



1. "It's much to hot to go jogging in Arizona in July... at any time of day."


2. "Wisconsin is humid."


The fact is, both are true.

The one about Arizona I learned the hard way.

Wisconsin taught me by making the linoleum floors feign mild flooding:
"What is this phenomenon? Is something leaking?"
"No, all the floors are like that."


Does anyone else make this mistake or am I just prone to skepticism?

more on the Louisiana Purchase

This post is for my friend Cate.

She expressed some skepticism, and understandably so, as to the existence of Mount Rushmore.

Being that I've always wanted to see Borglum's giant sculpture carved in the Black Hills of South Dakota, I took it upon myself to attempt to set her doubts at ease.

I traveled to Keystone, South Dakota to produce a photograph that would prove the existence of such a monument. This I knew would solve the question (if questions can indeed be "solved").

The method I have chosen to create such evidence is to place my hand in a photograph with Mount Rushmore... very difficult to fake. Thank you, yes, I pride myself on this flawless logic as well.

And there it is: my hand...

and Mount Rushmore.

Here are some other things that one might doubt the existence of, but in my journey I found them to be there:

a new place requires new shoes

Quick!

I need your opinions...

Give me three things you like about Wisconsin.

reading rainbow (perhaps with pun intended)

This morning, I was assigned to be the caboose. Really, I just wanted to blend in and enjoy the view, but I had to open my big mouth and mention to the ranger that I'd been on the Fiery Furnace guided hike before. I couldn't really help it though! It was like being in grade school again. "Has anyone been on this hike before?" And up shoots my hand. Something inside me wishes I hadn't been so conditioned in my youth.


There was an unforeseen benefit to being the caboose, however. One of the best parts about going on the Fiery Furnace guided hike is watching everyone else go on the Fiery Furnace guided hike. As the caboose, and pre-caboose (which I deemed my husband since he stuck with me during my brief caboosing career) we were able to see what other eager hikers did not. Our fellow hikers were cordial, but occasionally had trouble keeping their minor anxieties inside. An example:

"Just jump over here, honey, and I'll catch you and help you over." [Insert shoe-traction-slipping noises]
"Do you have sure footing?"
"Yes." [More slipping noises]
"Ok, now I'm just scared."
"HONEY, just jump!"
"I can't!"

It was fantastic to observe the struggle and have an extra few minutes to explore the Furnace ourselves... that is, while we waited for people to, you know, jump.


And I must mention Panati's Extraordinary Origins of Everyday Things. This was my

graduation gift from my oldest sister. We read this book one night at the campsite while waiting for dinner to warm up and... well... couldn't stop reading. Seriously. We read before going to sleep. We read on our way to our next hike. We read while in the tent while it rained. And when we woke up and traveled to our final hike, we read some more. There was a point in one day when I said, "Well, shall we start another hike?" and the conversation continued, "Sure... "
"I sense hesitation... and I'm really tired"
"Yeah, I'm tired too."
"Actually, I just want to read about more about the origins of ordinary things."
"Me too!"

So we did.
And, I have to say, without regret.

Origins we've enjoyed so far:
covering a yawn
flipping of a coin
the evil eye
knocking on wood

...and more!

But don't take my word for it -- [duh-nunt-nunt]

spill the purse (bag)

A while ago I was tagged to spill the purse. So, I took the pictures and promptly discovered that the camera cord had slithered away into the world where all lost things go. We mourned it's loss.

But then! That little black camera cord decided to venture back into our world. It must have really missed us. And so, a belated spill the purse.

To be honest, I don't really like the word purse. It's like how my sisters hate the word moist or pamphlet. So, when people talk about purses, I generally tend to change the word to bag in my mind. So, here is my bag.

I got it in Arizona over Christmas.

It came with a white bow on one of the straps.

I took that off.

It's a pretty common bag seeing as I got it at Target [plug for Target] but I really liked the little round trees and their skinny white trunks. And besides, I like trees.

And here are the contents of my bag.

Well, that is: here are the contents of my bag last March.

They include the journal I got for Christmas from my older brother, a few paycheck envelopes, (They told me I'd have direct deposit, however, for the several months that I worked there, that magical deposit thing never happened) A Tale of Two Cities which I have long since finished and loved, a small notebook with the grocery list, my hand-me-down Eagle Creek wallet from my sister who has one that looks pretty similar, my check book, my homemade day planner, my glasses, some C.O. Bigelow Apothecaries Cinnamint Mentha lip shine which was given to me as a gift and that I really like, the Shuffle (we caved and are now ipod people) we purchased for ourselves for exercising but which I used to keep focused at work, and a penny that I probably picked up for good luck; it's a shiny one.

Whew! That is quite a bit of stuff!

So there we have it...

My bag in nutblog.

vocab vagabond

I misused the word lucrative the other day.

Boy, did I feel sheepish.

Apparently it doesn't mean "prestigious".

You know, deep down, I knew that... right?

So... I won't be defining any words for you this post.

I don't think I've earned it.

So maybe YOU could define some words for me, eh?

Any cool words you want to share?

Who knows... you may just save me from another embarrassing vocab blunder.

Please do.

Apparently, I need the help.

misfits

To be honest, it took me a little too long to realize our apartment wasn't livable anymore.

And that was even after the sewage pipes backed up and flooded the kitchen, bathroom, and the small extra room in under 10 minutes.

Come to find out, the reason our bathroom had been periodically flooding (clean water those times... don't worry), and water kept trickling down from the apartment above us was tree roots.

Apparently these tree roots were old "friends" to our landlords who were twice informed about the flooding bathroom and of our suspicions that something was greatly amiss.

Their teenage sons did a tolerable job of removing the carpet and vacuuming up the sewage water with an old Shopvac, but sadly lacked the judgement to refrain from placing soggy boxes and contaminated objects on our previously (and quite luckily) unscathed bed saying they needed to, "get them out of the way".

In the end, it was kind family members, whether it be a kind word over the phone, or giving us a place to stay for month before we make the move we were actually planning on making, that made it possible for me to fully comprehend the sanitation craziness of it all without completely losing my cool...

heck...

I might still be living there if it weren't for you all!

So, here's to first apartments and impositions upon the ones you love!

And to the festering sewage (that I'm sure the appropriate disaster clean-up crew will never see) I can only emphatically say, "See you, suckers!"

mael·strom

-noun

1. a large, powerful, or violent whirlpool.

2. a restless, disordered, or tumultuous state of affairs: the maelstrom of early morning traffic.

to the tune of glass figurine

I used the word tomfoolery today.

I was granted a speeding ticket on my way to work.

It was given in the usual manner. Did I know the speed limit? I did indeed know that the speed limit changes as one turns onto this street. Did I know that it doesn't change until after the overpass? I did not. Yes, indeed, the speed limit remains at 35 until after the overpass and the picks up to 50 thereafter. Is that so? It is. This pleasant exchange of getting-to-know-you questions ended with me handing over my license, registration, and proof of insurance.

This is how I would have liked to end the conversation:

"Well, thanks for clearing up my misunderstanding of the speed limit in those few yards of space," roll up my window and drive away...

You'll be happy to know that I didn't respond in this manner and that I was offered Traffic School (indicated by the "TS" the officer wrote on my citation, he told me).

I'm obviously thankful, however, I've been issued so many speeding citations (not that I'm proud of it by any means) that I'm pretty sure they're soon going to be asking ME to conduct traffic school. And I feel like the police officers and I have a bond. You know,

"hey, you're speeding again."
"bah! you're right! silly me."
"you know, you're not supposed to."
"yeah, yeah, I know."
"well, I'll go get your traffic school invitation for you."
"thanks."
"you know the drill right?"
"yeah, I know the drill."
"ok, drive safely."
"you betcha."

You can bet your boots I won't be speeding anytime soon. But the officers know I'm out there, and I'm sure we'll meet again during a period of speeding weakness. Let's just hope the intervals in between our get-togethers get exponentially larger, eh?


tom·fool·er·y
noun
1. foolish or silly behavior; tomfoolishness.
2. a silly act, matter, or thing.

tomfool
"buffoon, clown," 1650, from M.E. Thom Foole, personification of a mentally deficient man (1338), Tomfoolery is recorded from 1812.

two weeks to make a habit, eh?

I'm hungry.

I mean, really hungry. And it seems like all I can think about is a hamburger and fries!

Blast!

I mean, after three years of attempting to train myself to steer my hunger toward healthy things, my thoughts are still going to fries?!? (hamburgers can be healthy, so I'm not too worried there, I mean pickles... right?)

So here's what I'm proposing. Can you send me some good ideas of what to think about when I get really hungry like this? I mean, to take the place of greasy fries.

Thanks. You're a gem.

proclivity:
noun
natural or habitual inclination or tendency; propensity; predisposition: a proclivity to meticulousness

sundowner at shell house

There has only been one other time when I read an entire book in one day.

That was Tess of the D'Urbervilles, and boy did I have a knot in my stomach after that one. Thomas Hardy can sure make a bad situation MUCH worse. I mean, time sensitive notes going under door mats! He obviously didn't think of me, a procrastinator in my senior year of high school, starting his novel at 8pm and needing to finish it by 4th period the next day. Had he indeed thought of me, that book may well have been several hundred pages shorter.

But that was then.

Just yesterday I took a break from reading A Tale of Two Cities (I'm not too worried. That book seems to lend itself well to small breaks) to read Roald Dahl's Going Solo.

It's the sequel to his first installment of autobiographical stories, Boy, which I read on a on a Thanksgiving extravaganza in 2004, and it is wonderful. So I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw Going Solo sitting untouched on the school shelves where I work. I couldn't resist.

I read the first few pages during silent reading time at school and, well... couldn't keep silent. I was laughing, and pretty hard too. The students were nice to ignore me for the first few minutes... but I was distracting them quite a bit. They let me retell the story I was reading and laughed with me.

I then took it home with me and finished it later that evening. And guess what: no knot in the stomach. I loved it.

So, I'm sharing this with you... go out and get both Boy and Going Solo (don't worry, you can take a break from [insert book you're reading here]) and give them both a read. You'll be glad you did. And then you'll wish you could go to a sundowner in the African evenings and eat brown rice and bananas... seriously, I'm going to try this.

and a new word for me from this book:

benighted
adj.
1. overtaken by darkness or night
2. being in a state of moral or intellectual darkness; unenlightened

i would just like to thank...

... the brookses for good music.

Sometimes a good song is all it takes to make a bad day good, or a good day better, or a grand day best.

Recently it has been:

Mushaboom
by Feist

and

Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity
by Gustov Holst

What about you? Any good tunes to send my way?



serialsim
noun

20th century music that uses a definite order of notes as a thematic basis for a musical composition.