Fact.

I am one of those people who wears her sunglasses indoors.

And contrary to what I imagine the people walking past me are thinking, I do not do this because I think I am a rockstar. (That would be Ben.) I do dream of being a rockstar, but if that dream came true, I would NOT wear sunglasses inside because that would be way too typical. I would be the most down-to-earth normal joe rockstar, I would even have to refrain from doing humanitarian aid and funding a well-publicized cause. But since I know quite well that I'm not a rockstar, it is perfectly okay for me to wear my glasses inside.

I do it because my glasses are fragile and I've already broken infinity pair(s)--never know about pluralizing that one--and the safest place to put them is most def not in my bag, nor in my pocket, nor in my hands when I'm carrying books, books, etc. and putting on my puffy jacket. When I'm around David, the safest place to put them is most def also not on my face, but no place is safe around David so I still have to put them on my face and risk getting pushed out of the canoe and into the lake and then watch my glasses sink to the green mush floor. Actually, I don't open my eyes under water (still afraid, and can't jump off the diving board without plugging my nose) so I just imagine watching them fall. That was a good pair of glasses. R.I.P. bitten tort shelled dears.

When I wear my sunglasses inside, especially underground, I get strange looks. So in the vein of Huck Finn (as long as I'm in and in for good I might as well go whole hog!) I pull out a little strut and pout my lips and act as rockstar as I can.

Now you know.

Over it

I'm feeling over blogging, and I'm getting the feeling that some of you sympathize. It feels like a pet--not in the hairy poopy slobbery way that demands attention, but in the manthistakesalotofwork way.

Taking a step back from blogging and facebook, etc. (my phone is even dead currently), it's nice to remember how to live just for livings sake, not for postings sake. Once again, I've reached the point of no return. My attention span is beeping at me. I know my time is limited until I hit "publish post" out of irritation. Maybe my fingers can squeeze in one last thought before mutiny: I want to buy a macbook. And soon. Any thoughts?

String Quartet in F by Ravel

It sounds like pine trees and endless grass. Like Firehole River smashing powerful on rock and wood then falling vulnerable through air. Like early early sunshine that sees you before you see it. Like the way the earth grows, and as mysterious.

I admit, I don't know what to do with music most of the time as far as words are concerned. How to spin sound into letters, either to describe or mimic. But there are a few songs that seem to play the inside of me, and I wonder if they sound as familiar to everyone else. I don't think my brain very much resembles Ravel's or Mozart's or any of the greats--so how did they know me well enough to write me in their songs?

Last night, we discussed the question, "What is Literature?" in one of my classes. I eventually arrived at a saying of Marvie's: The meaning of communication is the response you get. I think I agree with Mr. Stanley Fish--literature may be shaped more by the eyes reading than the hands writing. And perhaps its the same with music.

I read and hear landscapes.

Here's to you, 2008

Best of:
-Busath (working with Jane and the Strega Nona candy drawer.)
-Summer work (living outside in the shadows of the Tetons. I'll be back for you, Jackson, and for whatever else is mine.)
-Graduate School (books, books, and more books. books are a more expensive indulgence than Odwalla SuperFood, but might be better for my health.)
-Teaching (being laughed at by my students. and not when i was intentionally funny.)
-Life Decisions (getting those wisdom teeth out, buying my first pair of skinny jeans, resubscribing to Pandora online radio)
-Biking (Putt Putt to Hagen at dusk, being thwapped on both sides by wildflowers.)
-Accomplishments (watching three complete seasons of gilmore girls, and restraining myself from watching more.)
-Skiing (my first mini-cliff. next year, 360. okay, probs not.)
-Family (new sister [Dana], new nephew [Peter], new brother [David, post-mish] and finding that I still like all the oldies. You're tops.)
-Trips (Hawaii, New York, Montana)


It's been real.

It came, it went, it conquered.

Why does Christmas have to end? Each year, I feel such a post-Christmas let down that I have to spend the rest of my break moping around watching past TV series on DVD. Some days I can't even leave the house for fear that Christmas will slip that much farther away. Because outside my house, I'm sure the world has moved on. But inside my house, wearing my Christmas pjs around the clock* and propped up on either side by Christmas goodies from friends and family, Christmas lives on.

I'm thinking about posting a few pictures, but I'm trying to discipline myself to write all I have to say before I start uploading, because that long process always puts end to my typing hands. This Christmas was lovely, I mean-- is lovely. It snowed and snowed and snowed which is exactly what I asked for. I also discovered the hobby in my future which will make me socially indispensable: yodeling. (Thanks Uncle Mike.) Believe me when I tell you I will be practicing. During my sophomore year of college I decided I needed to learn to roll my Rs, and I drove my roommates nuts with my incessant talking to myself, and only ever one word--correo. Roommates, consider this a late Christmas gift. We'll all benefit, I promise. All good things take time.

I'm done. Enjoy some pictures.

Skiing makes us all happy.


David's request for Christmas morning wrestling didn't end so well for him.

Love this creche.


Girls' outing to The Nutcracker.



*I actually don't have any Christmas pjs. But that hasn't stopped me from wearing my regular pjs around the clock.

A quickie

To all automatically flushing toliets:

I appreciate your efforts (especially when wearing skirts or very tight jeans cause my momma done taught me right--only flush with your foot) but could you at least wait until I'm done?

I'm speaking for my niece too, who jumped off the toliet at the bowling alley mid-go if you know what I mean because the flushing scared her so bad. Sheesh. There are some places where a person deserves a little leisure time, even in today's fast-paced world.

P.S. I took the above picture from a ny times article about kids who fear automatic toliets. I'm including some of my favorite lines:

"Even some adults confess that the machines make them nervous. But to many toddlers, they are the stuff of nightmares."

"Jerilyn Ross, president of the Anxiety Disorders Association of America, said that a fear of automatic toilets did not, in itself, meet the criteria for a psychiatric diagnosis."

" For children who panic about automatic flushing, she said, “You can say, ‘Ooh, look what happened, it flushed without you.’ That really helps a lot.”"

Read the whole article here: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/11/12/nyregion/12flush.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

So, this is Christmas

I'm not listening to Christmas music, but it's not snowing, so I feel like the universe and I are square. Music vs. Snow--that may be my ultimate life "would you rather" dilemma. I've gotta have them both.
So right now I'm emotionally, geographically, and temporally (and grammatically and ecumenically) in the middle of finals--but the end is in sight. And actually, finals week has always been my favorite time of the semester because I get to do or not do whatever I want whenever I want. No class. No teaching. No office hours. The days are mine to fill as I please, start to finish.

I really love making choices. (Note: at least once during every blog post, I see what I'm typing and think "Anne Shirley, what in the heck are you doing here?"..."Fishing for lake trout." no, what I really think is "why would anyone else care how much I really love making choices?" But those moments are brief, my egotism kicks in, and I get back on blog track.) I really really love making choices where I get to do what I want in exchange for a consequence--or in other words, where I get to weigh my own priorities and opportunity costs. Example: I can choose to study for my test and get a good grade or I can choose to sleep in and make hashbrowns and not get a good grade. I get something sweet in either case. Which is what this blog is all about--me and the sweet things I get.

Can't wait for Christmas break and the reunition of the fam-dam. But if you know me, you know that my Christmas ends about three weeks before midnight of the 25th, when the long wait till next year begins. Christmas '09--I'm already counting down.

Holiday cheer and non-Christmas music to you all.